ion, but as a fine art. To construct a costume that will be at
once rational and beautiful requires an accurate knowledge of the
principles of proportion, a thorough acquaintance with the laws of
health, a subtle sense of colour, and a quick appreciation of the proper
use of materials, and the proper qualities of pattern and design. The
health of a nation depends very largely on its mode of dress; the
artistic feeling of a nation should find expression in its costume quite
as much as in its architecture; and just as the upholstering tradesman
has had to give place to the decorative artist, so the ordinary milliner,
with her lack of taste and lack of knowledge, her foolish fashions and
her feeble inventions, will have to make way for the scientific and
artistic dress designer. Indeed, so far from it being wise to discourage
women of education from taking up the profession of dressmakers, it is
exactly women of education who are needed, and I am glad to see in the
new technical college for women at Bedford, millinery and dressmaking are
to be taught as part of the ordinary curriculum. There has also been
started in London a Society of Lady Dressmakers for the purpose of
teaching educated girls and women, and the Scientific Dress Association
is, I hear, doing very good work in the same direction.

* * * * *

I have received some very beautiful specimens of Christmas books from
Messrs. Griffith and Farran. Treasures of Art and Song, edited by Robert
Ellice Mack, is a real edition de luxe of pretty poems and pretty
pictures; and Through the Year is a wonderfully artistic calendar.

Messrs. Hildesheimer and Faulkner have also sent me Rhymes and Roses,
illustrated by Ernest Wilson and St. Clair Simmons; Cape Town Dicky, a
child's book, with some very lovely pictures by Miss Alice Havers; a
wonderful edition of The Deserted Village, illustrated by Mr. Charles
Gregory and Mr. Hines; and some really charming Christmas cards, those by
Miss Alice Havers, Miss Edwards, and Miss Dealy being especially good.

* * * * *

The most perfect and the most poisonous of all modern French poets once
remarked that a man can live for three days without bread, but that no
one can live for three days without poetry. This, however, can hardly be
said to be a popular view, or one that commends itself to that curiously
uncommon quality which is called common-sense. I fancy that most people,
if they do not actually prefer a salmis to a sonn