them a useful lesson. Needless to say that the prices of the Madame Modiste who could set forth such an exhibition of melodramatically designated feminine apparel as "The Night has a Thousand Eyes," or "Spring's Delirium," were in suitable proportion to a "frenzied song of amorous things." Such amorous things as are "created" in her establishment are likely to make husbands and fathers know exactly what "a frenzied song" means. When the payment of the bills is concerned, they will probably sing that "frenzied song" themselves.
It is quite easy to dress well and tastefully without spending a very great deal of money. It certainly requires brain—thought—foresight—taste—and comprehension of the harmony of colours. But the blind following of a fashion because Madame This or That says it is "chic" or "le dernier cri," or some parrot-like recommendation of the sort, is mere stupidity on the part of the followers. To run up long credit for dresses, without the least idea how the account is ever going to be paid, is nothing less than a criminal act. It is simply fraud. And such fraud re-acts on the whole community.
Extravagant taste in dress is infectious. Most of us are impressed by the King's sensible and earnest desire that the Press should use its influence for good in fostering amity between ourselves and foreign countries. If the Press would equally use its efforts to discourage florid descriptions of dress in their columns, much of the wild and wilful extravagance which is frequently the ruin of otherwise happy homes, might be avoided. When Lady A sees her loathëd rival Lady B's dress described in half a column of newspaper "gush" she straight-
