A well-dressed woman enters the glove department of a large shop on Fifth Avenue, New York. She may be an independent professional woman or she may be the wife or daughter of a man of means. In either case she should be concerned to know what value she receives for the money she spends. She asks for mocha gloves; but finding these rather more expensive than she had supposed, she may be persuaded to accept a sueded sheepskin under the misnomer of mocha, which substitute—could she but know it—is a fraud, as even the finest suedes in point of durability are invariably inferior to, while they strikingly resemble, the Arabian mocha. The fallacy consists in her not being educated to know that it is the genuine mocha which she requires and for which she should be perfectly willing to pay. The unqualified superiority of real mocha to sueded sheepskin is worth every cent of the difference she would put into the purchase. On the other hand, a man has been told that the only serviceable heavy glove for common wear is the cape glove. He insists, therefore, upon having the genuine cape—a name originally and properly used to designate gloves made of superior skins from the Cape district of South Africa. As a matter of fact, the soft, pliable, widely-worn glove in various weights, now commercially known as cape, is made from skins grown in many lands—principally lamb, tanned and dressed by the “napa dipped” method. In consequence of having wool hide, these skins are not so tough as the Cape Hope goat with the hair hide. One pays less for them than for the real cape, but, for ordinary appearance, they are a fair substitute, and their wearing qualities undoubtedly meet the average requirement. A practical saving of this sort the public should be taught to appreciate. But not for material reasons alone should gloves be given a prominent place in the curriculum of popular “uplift.” In the most obvious sense they are too little known, too vaguely appreciated, to be sure; and yet, the satisfaction of being well-gloved consists in something more than merely the delightful sensation of having one’s hands neatly, warmly and substantially covered. We think of gloves first, no doubt, as a daily necessity. But we also value the finer qualities as a mark of elegance. Beautiful gloves impart the _coup de grace_ to the formal costume of either man or woman. At the same time, clinging to this luxury, like a perfume of old, we are dimly conscious of an aura of half-forgotten associations, linking the glove with royalty, chivalry and romance; with famous affairs of honor, with the pomp and ceremonial of the Church, with countless dramatic episodes in history and literature.