itself, was of no account; to graces which, however imperfect, had all the attractions of naturalness they preferred a stuffed and padded ideal. For alas! with the majority of women, a dialogue of Plato could not hold a candle to a conversation with a dressmaker. Fashion was omnipotent; under Louis XII. there was nothing but high-starched neck-ruffs; under Francis I. nothing but low-necked dresses cut square in front, and boldly gored to a point behind. The philosophic spirit, untrammelled by physical barriers, manifested itself in the internationalisation of fashions. It was known throughout western Europe that a fashion adopted by Isabella of Mantua was one to be followed, and that the ladies of Paris were adepts in matching bright colours, and ridiculously concealed their faces under thick veils. It was the acme of good style to dress one day like a Frenchwoman, the next like a German, Italian or Greek. The platonists somewhat resented this vulgar application of their ideas; that was not their conception of cosmopolitanism. To weld the minds of men, to introduce into men’s hearts far and wide the truly refining leaven of affection, fraternal concord and tenderness, by means of the common love of the beautiful—that they could applaud. But masquerades like these—what a mockery! In this matter, however, their authority was ineffectual; a stronger was required. Francis I. knit his brows when Spanish mantillas made their appearance at his court; he had his own reasons for not being fond of them. He said that he believed himself among a rout of devils. This one saying accomplished what no arguments would ever have succeeded in doing: the Spanish frippery was packed away in the wardrobes until the political sky changed.