Old ladies and bonnets have gone out of fashion. Dress—especially women’s dress—has in all ages and climes, so far back as we can trace by rifling tombs, and studying picture-writings and prehistoric carvings, formed subject of comment and satire, but also of invariable interest. What of the dress of womanhood in this opening century? On one point all mankind cry out and many women join in the loud appeal. Here, so please you, is an exordium that—one woman unit—fain would publish. WOMEN OF ENGLAND, Unselfishness is the keynote of the female race—at least men say so—but what must they think of us to-day? They take a ticket for a theatre, and a woman sits in front of them whose hat is so enormous that they cannot see above it, and her feather or tulle boa is so huge, they cannot see round it. That “lady” ought to have paid for a dozen seats, for she impedes the view of a dozen longsuffering beings. Many women take their hats off (how we bless them!), others wear dainty little caps or small (not large) Alsatian bows; but in shame be it said, there are still women at theatres and concerts, or at such functions as the giving of the Freedom of the City of London to Mr. Roosevelt, whose presence is the essence of selfishness. Where is their unselfishness? Where their kindness of heart? Where their sympathy for the rights of others, whether male or female? Women of England! when your head-gear inconveniences others, bare your heads, I pray, before an Act of Parliament is passed like the Sumptuary Laws of old, insisting that women shall not be a “public nuisance.” Concede to the wishes and convenience of others before you are humiliated and made to do so by the law. There is no doubt a woman should dress according to her station. If she is the wife of an artisan, she should dress suitably; if the daughter of a professional man, she should dress with care; and if the wife of a millionaire, she might gown herself in such material as will give the greatest amount of employment to the greatest number of people. Here is where French women excel. They are taught from childhood to regard what is _convénable_, that is, suitable, not whether velvet pleases their eyes better than serge. For years and years every garment I put on was made at home. I did not actually make it. I drew the design and did the trimming, while a dear old body who worked for me for fifteen years did the sewing. We were rather proud of ourselves, she and I, and when I saw a description of one of her “creations” in some paper, I sent it to her, and she chortled with joy. An occasional tailor-made from Bond Street did the rest. Hats! Well, I can honestly say that it was twelve years after my husband’s death that I bought my first ready-made hat. Up to then I trimmed them myself.