We can read the words of Winthrop, the governor of Massachusetts, in which he recounts his mortification at the undignified condition of affairs when the governor of the French province, the courtly La Tour, landed unexpectedly in Boston and caught the governor picnicking peacefully with his family on an island in the harbor, with no attendants, no soldiers, no dignitaries. Nor was there any force in the fort, and therefore no salute could be given to the distinguished visitors; and still more mortifying was the sole announcement of this important arrival through the hurried sail across the bay, and the running to the governor of a badly scared woman neighbor. We see Winthrop trying to recover his dignity in La Tour’s eyes (and in his own) by bourgeoning throughout the remainder of the French governor’s stay with an imposing guard of soldiers in formal attendance at every step he took abroad; ordering them to wear, I am sure, their very fullest stuffed doublets and shiniest armor, while he displayed his best black velvet suit of garments. Fortunately for New England’s appearance, Winthrop was a man of such aristocratic bearing and feature that no dress or lack of dress could lower his dignity. Governor John Winthrop. Governor John Winthrop. Our forbears did not change their dress by emigrating; they may have worn heavier clothing in New England, more furs, stronger shoes, but I cannot find that they adopted simpler or less costly clothing; any change that may have been made through Puritan belief and teaching had been made in England. All the colonists “ ... studied after nyce array, And made greet cost in clothing.” Many persons preferred to keep their property in the form of what they quaintly called “duds.” The fashion did not wear out more apparel than the man; for clothing, no matter what its cut, was worn as long as it lasted, doing service frequently through three generations. For instance, we find Mrs. Epes, of Ipswich, Massachusetts, when she was over fifty years old, receiving this bequest by will: “If she desire to have the suit of damask which was the Lady Cheynies her grandmother, let her have it upon appraisement.” I have traced a certain flowered satin gown and “manto” in four wills; a dame to her daughter; she to her sister; then to the child of the last-named who was a granddaughter of the first owner. And it was a proud possession to the last. The fashions and shapes then did not change yearly. The Boston gentlewoman of 1660 would not have been ill dressed or out of the mode in the dress worn by her grandmother when she landed in 1625. Petty details were altered in woman’s dress—though but slightly; the change of a cap, a band, a scarf, a ruffle, meant much to the wearer, though it seems unimportant to us to-day. Men’s dress, we know from portraits, was unaltered for a time save in neckwear and hair-dressing, both being of such importance in costume that they must be written upon at length.