Velasquez, contemporary with Van Dyck, painted the Infanta Maria Theresa; the portrait is now in the Prado at Madrid. She carries a handkerchief as big as a tablecloth; but above her enormous hoop appears not only the familiar virago-sleeve, but the straight whisk or collar, just like that of English children and dames. This child and the Princess Marguerite, by Velasquez, have the hair parted on one side with the top lock turned aside and tied with a knot of ribbon precisely as we tie our little daughters’ hair to-day; and as the bride of Charles II wore her hair when he married her. French children had not assumed hoops. I have an old French portrait before me of a little demoiselle, aged five, in a scarlet cloth gown with edgings of a narrow gray gimp or silver lace. All the sleeves, the slashes, the long, hanging sleeves are thus edged. She wears a long, narrow, white lawn apron, and her stiff bodice has a stomacher of lawn. There is a straight white collar tied with tiny bows in front and white cuffs; a scarlet close cap edged with silver lace completes an exquisite costume, which is in shape like that of Margaret Gibbes. The garments of all these children, royal and subject, are too long, of course, for comfort in walking; too stiff, likewise, for comfort in wearing; too richly laced to be suitable for everyday wear; too costly, save for folk of wealth; yet nevertheless so quaint, so becoming, so handsome, so rich, that we reluctantly turn away from them. The dress of all young children in families of estate was cumbersome to a degree. There exists to-day a warrant for the purchase of clothing of Mary Tudor, sister of Henry VIII, when she was a sportive, wilful, naughty little child of four. She wore such unwieldy and ugly guise as this: kirtles of tawny damask and black satin; gowns of green and crimson striped velvet edged with purple tinsel, which must have been hideous. All were lined with heavy black buckram. Indeed, the inner portions, the linings of old-time garments, even of royalty, were far from elegant. I have seen garments worn by grown princesses of the eighteenth century, whereof the rich brocade bodies were lined with common, heavy fabric, usually a stiff linen; and the sewing was done with thread as coarse as shoe-thread, often homespun. This, too, when the sleeve and neck-ruffles would be of needlework so exquisite that it could not be rivalled in execution to-day. Many of the older portraits of children show hanging sleeves. The rich claret velvet dresses of the Van Cortlandt twins, aged four, had hanging sleeves. This dress is given in my book, _Child Life in Colonial Days_, as is that of Katherine Ten Broeck, another child of Dutch birth living in New York, who also wore heavy hanging sleeves.