[Illustration: CHILDREN À LA MODE, 1829.]
[Illustration: A VIEW IN HYDE PARK, 1829.]
Here we doubtless confront just such a pair of fashionable ladies as are described in the pages of Dickens, Bulwer, and Disraeli, with their Liliputian ruffs--which fortunately did not become a permanent fashion--their leg-of-mutton sleeves, and quintuple rows of lace "insertion." We are fain to speculate upon the countenance of one of these pre-Victorian young ladies, for it is wholly obscured by a magnificently-plumed "blush-concealer," as the coal-scuttle bonnets were facetiously called.
[Illustration: FASHION-PLATE FOR 1837. ATTRIBUTED TO "PHIZ."]
[Illustration: FASHION PLATE FOR 1851. DRAWN BY JOHN LEECH.]
In order that our fair readers may have a peep at the dress of the juvenile portion of the community in that same year, we give a spirited drawing from a French fashion journal. The costume may perhaps hardly commend itself to the children of 1904, but it doubtless appeared quite appropriate to the mammas of the time, as well as to the artist. As to the artists of these fashion-plates, it must be remembered that they were usually struggling young painters and draughtsmen, who were glad to get work of this kind, and many of them afterwards became famous. Both Doré and Meisonier drew fashions for the magazines and _Cabinets des Modes_ of their day. Moreover, our own Hablot K. Browne ("Phiz") was responsible for many such, the accompanying plate for 1837 being attributed to him; while there is no doubt of John Leech's authorship of the fashion-plate for 1851, which we also reproduce.
[Illustration: LADIES' FASHIONS, 1854 (THE BLOOMER PERIOD).]
Before we approach the "sixties," with their extraordinary revival of the hoop or crinoline fashion, we must remark on the extraordinary fashion-plate promulgated for the year 1854. What would the ladies say to such a tyrannical dictate of fashion to-day? It is inconceivable now; but many a fair dame and damsel seeing it in that year must inwardly have quaked with terror at the prospect of facing her beloved Adolphus in Bloomerian garb. Happily, the prophets proved false for once, and the fashion passed away, just as a year or two ago the threatened crinoline scare passed away with us. Crinoline had to run its course although not before it had been guilty of many enormities, as will be seen by the appended plate. The ladies' heads herein appear but as the apexes of pyramids; and the singular cut of the bodices and the rotundity of the young ladies' skirts appear to us, in this age, ludicrous.
[Illustration: CRINOLINE AT ITS ZENITH. 1865.]
On the whole, it may be our vanity and self-sufficiency, or it may be our superior taste; but to us it seems (and we trust the reader, on comparing these fashion-plates of our grandmothers with the last of our series that for 1904--will agree with us) that however our past generations dressed, and whatever Worth and Paquin have in store for the future, our English girl of the present has decidedly the best of the sartorial bargain.
[Illustration: SOMEWHAT NEATER THAN OUR GRANDMOTHERS (LADIES' FASHIONS FOR 1904).
(By courtesy of Messrs. Weldons, Ltd.)]
_A Willing Scape-Goat._
BY S. B. ROBINSON.
Jack Selden only half suppressed an exclamation of angry despair by a simulated fit of coughing, as he read at breakfast the solitary letter that had fallen to his share from the mail-bag. It was not pleasant reading: it was a thinly-veiled command to pay, within three days, a card and betting debt to the tune of two hundred pounds.
He raised his face, from which the colour had fled, and glanced furtively round at the other occupants of the table, as he crushed the letter into his pocket.
His father, Dr. Selden, a tall, grey, ascetic-looking man--blind for some years through a disease of the optic nerve--had not noticed the exclamation; neither had Madge Westbrook, his _fiancée_, a handsome girl, who chanced to be too deeply occupied with her duties of hostess, in the absence of Miss Selden, the doctor's sister. Cyril Wayne, a fair, resolute-looking young fellow of Jack's age, the doctor's amanuensis, was the only one of the trio who had perceived the trouble.
Jack dropped his eyes guiltily, and made a show of continuing his meal while he mentally reviewed the situation. It seemed to be a desperate one, and he cursed his fate. He could expect no assistance from his father. A college career that had resulted in nothing but heavy debts was too fresh in his memory for that. Jack had been told by his exasperated parent that never again would he receive assistance beyond his ample allowance; and, further, that the bulk of the property would go to Madge, the doctor's niece. Jack could only, in a sense, become his father's heir by marrying his cousin when she came of age.
At the time this arrangement had been made Madge had acquiesced to her share in it without any effort and, indeed, without much thought. It pleased her uncle, and that had been enough to decide her. As for Jack, he would have preferred a free hand; but since he was not to have it he consoled himself with the thought that Madge was a very presentable encumbrance.
But the arrival of Cyril Wayne at Highbank--the country residence which the doctor had occupied since his blindness--had opened a new chapter in Madge's uneventful life. The new-comer, intelligent, accomplished, masterful, made a startling contrast to the weak-willed, illiterate Jack, who was intellectually lost when he ventured outside the precincts of the stable.
The result of the companionship into which Madge and Cyril insensibly drifted was as inevitable as the course of time. There was no one to warn them of the danger. The doctor could not see it; Miss Selden was too deeply engrossed in her charities, and Jack in his own affairs. There came a moment then when the pair found out for themselves how imperceptible is the boundary sometimes that separates friendship and love. Madge discovered with horror that her thoughtless promise was repugnant to her, and Cyril that he was in love with another man's betrothed! The pleasant intercourse was broken from that moment, without a word of explanation on either side.
With Cyril Wayne this discovery could only have one result: he immediately commenced his preparations for leaving Highbank, sore in heart and self-respect.
This morning at breakfast Jack's stifled exclamation had warned him that some mischief was afoot, and he was anxious to know what it was. What concerned Jack concerned Madge, alas! When the meal was concluded, instead of at once following the doctor to his study he stepped through the open French window on to the terrace, where the _enfant prodigue_ had already preceded him.
He was standing at the stone balustrade reperusing his letter. When he heard Cyril's footsteps on the flags behind him he started, crushed the paper in his hand, and turned round.
"Jack, I want to speak to you for a few moments," said Cyril, as he advanced.
"What's up?" asked Jack, shortly. He thrust the letter into his pocket and took out his pipe.
"Well----" Cyril hesitated a moment to ransack his brain for some reasonable pretext; then it occurred to him that it was nearly a certainty his listener's trouble was a pecuniary one. To feign a like predicament for himself might evoke Jack's confidence.
"Well," said he, "I want you to lend me twenty-five pounds. I'm hard pressed for it at this moment."
Madge had approached the window to speak to Jack. She caught Cyril Wayne's remark, and, drawing back at once, turned away unperceived by both of the young men.
Jack fell an easy prey to the trap that had been laid for him. He gazed at Cyril in astonishment and let the match he had lighted die out in his hand.
[Illustration: "HE GAZED AT CYRIL IN ASTONISHMENT."]
"Lend you twenty-five pounds? Great Scot!" he exclaimed.
"Yes."
"Twenty-five pounds! You've come to the wrong shop this time, old man!" Then he suddenly lowered his voice and bent his head forward, anxiously. "Can you tell me where I can get just eight times that amount?" he asked. "I want it badly."
"Oh! So that is the reason for the letter you received just now?"
Jack nodded his head and flushed.
"Two hundred pounds!" exclaimed Cyril, aghast. "Let me hear the whole business," he continued. "I can't lend you the money, but I may be able to suggest something."
It was the same old story of betting and cards. Cyril had heard it all before, in the same stumbling phraseology of contrition. "And the brute gives me only three days--three days, or he will write to the governor," concluded Jack, turning suddenly savage.
"Then forestall him," replied Cyril, "for as far as I can see there is no remedy but to ask your father to help you out of the mire once more."
"Ask the governor? You can just bet I sha'n't do that," said Jack, sullenly. He thrust his hands deep into his pockets and stared hard at the ground.
"Then, no money-lenders," replied Cyril. "It will only make bad worse. Come!" He caught Jack by the arm. "Make a clean breast of it to your father. He has much more than the sum you require in the house at present, and you may not find him so difficult as you imagine."