shown to you. In the Revolutionary times, some of the leading
matrons of New England gave parties where the ladies were dressed in
homespun and drank sage tea. Fashion makes all things beautiful, and
you, my charming and accomplished friend, can create beauty by
creating fashion. What makes the beauty of half the Cashmere shawls?
Not anything in the shawls themselves, for they often look coarse and
dingy and barbarous. It is the association with style and fashion.
Fair lady, give style and fashion to the products of your own
country,--resolve that the money in your hand shall go to your brave
brothers, to your co-Americans, now straining every nerve to uphold
the nation and cause it to stand high in the earth. What are you
without your country? As Americans you can hope for no rank but the
rank of your native land, no badge of nobility but her beautiful
stars. It rests with this conflict to decide whether those stars shall
be badges of nobility to you and your children in all lands. Women of
America, your country expects every woman to do her duty!

VIII

ECONOMY

"The fact is," said Jenny, as she twirled a little hat on her hand,
which she had been making over, with nobody knows what of bows and
pompons, and other matters for which the women have curious
names,--"the fact is, American women and girls must learn to
economize; it isn't merely restricting one's self to American goods,
it is general economy, that is required. Now here's this hat,--costs
me only three dollars, all told; and Sophie Page bought an English one
this morning at Madam Meyer's for which she gave fifteen. And I really
don't think hers has more of an air than mine. I made this over, you
see, with things I had in the house, bought nothing but the ribbon,
and paid for altering and pressing, and there you see what a stylish
hat I have!"

"Lovely! admirable!" said Miss Featherstone. "Upon my word, Jenny, you
ought to marry a poor parson; you would be quite thrown away upon a
rich man."

"Let me see," said I. "I want to admire intelligently. That isn't the
hat you were wearing yesterday?"

"Oh no, papa! This is just done. The one I wore yesterday was my
waterfall-hat, with the green feather; this, you see, is an oriole."

"A what?"

"An oriole. Papa, how can you expect to learn about these things?"

"And that plain little black one, with the stiff crop of scarlet
feathers sticking straight up?"

"That's my jockey, papa, with a plum