People often ask what I think of the costumes of the 'Empire,' and whether I consider that it will 'suit' such and such an one. If they had read one-half what has been written against the 'Imitation Greeks,' my readers, at least, would not ask such a question. Still, as examination and re-examination again and again of motives and habits is always serviceable, I may give here a brief description of (1st) what the Empire dress was; and (2nd) why it cannot suit anyone, if to 'suit' means to 'become,' and to become implies concealment of defect, accentuation of good points, and protection from the elements, for these are the three main requirements of clothing, and the Empire Dress fulfils none of them, nor ever did, or can; and (3rd) why this fashion, nevertheless, possesses a kind of beaate dn diable, and does not misbecome a certain few.

The dress, like the furniture, of the Empire drew its inspiration from ancient Greek art, and, being a reaction from a totally different kind of costume in the last stages of decay, caught the fancy of the more educated classes under the artistic direction of a man of extraordinary originality and force of character, Jacques Louis David the French painter and politician. Indeed, the whole nation was then eager to reverse all that had been popular under the old noblesse and to cleanse both the inside and the outside of the platter, and warmly seconded the efforts of the artists to bring in a new school of art. Hence, manners and habits, furniture, china, plate, jewellery, everything connected with aesthetics followed the new bent. In the dress reform which took place, greatly under David's direction, the adaptation of dress to the human shape was aimed at, instead of the adaptation of the human shape to dress, as in the previous fashions. Sated and disgusted by artificial forms and foul corruption and falsehood, the people cried out for honesty, simplicity, candour, cleanliness. Hoops, furbelows, and their attendant miseries disappeared. Extraneous aids, such as padding, patches, powder, buckram, and paint, were cast aside as unworthy the elevation of awakened minds.

Scarcely Greek, perhaps, this - at any rate, 'out-Heroding Herod;' but the Greeks were sometimes misconceived by their admirers. However, this seemed to be the modern view of the permanent condition of ancient Greece, and they jumbled up Athens and Sparta somewhat, no doubt.

For the first time for many years, the feminine shape became normal; beautiful girls gained credit for beauties which had lately been buried under mountains of deception; the lovely complexion, hair, and limbs were acknowledged in due order of prominence, the attitudes and movements were nature's own, cleanliness suddenly became fashionable, and the toilet became scentless and took up very little time. The stiff brocades gave way to the humblest fabrics, white muslin or calico printed with unobtrusive dots, within reach of the whole 'Egalite.' Beautiful women simulated the philosophic candour of statues - the gown, very simply cut, in fact like a nightgown or long chemise, fell straight to the feet, slightly longer behind than in front or at the sides. A small sash or girdle confined the folds of this loose gown somewhat above the waist, under the arms, often brought across the shoulder to keep it in position, and tied before or behind. For outdoor wear, a straight scarf (a faint and shrunken echo of the Greek himation) was cast about the shoulders. The sleeves were nil, for a shapely arm brooked no disguise. The small bonnet, helmet-shaped, offered a slight, very slight protection to the eyes; and the shoes without heels were rather high and tied with a small bow on the instep.

By this violent reaction from the previous fashion, now called 'Queen Anne,' which was a regular domino, a graceful woman could appear graceful, a clean skin could assert itself as dark or fair - in fact, one could detect a pretty woman at a glance.

But - and this is noteworthy - one could also at a glance detect an ugly one. A word for the poor plain, or plainish, ones! The clinging low gown was unmerciful to an attenuated frame, still more so to one unduly robust. The large wide foot had no retreat; the thin red arm no shield; the skin spoilt by the long use of bad paints, the hair worn thin and broken by years of pulling over an unclean cushion large enough to weigh something considerable - these had neither pity nor palliation. If the beauties were beauteous then - the plain were likewise most deplorably and hopelessly unattractive. Woman in fact was severely, savagely Herself!

This was at the time of the Revolution, about 1793. Sir Joshua Reynolds has left us some very graceful examples of what the beauties of his day looked like under the reformed costume before it became a servile plagiarism, and the promise was fairer than its fulfilment. A long plain gown, the severity of which was broken by an Indian scarf swathed about the waist, or falling from shoulder to foot - the somewhat undefined waist revealing the curves of a fine bust without aggressive display of charms, nor any attempt to deny their existence - the whole contour of the figure acknowledged, but softened by the natural fall- of loose folds, which adapted themselves to every attitude gracefully enough when the attitudes were graceful. Gillray shows us the 'other side of the carpet,' - his coarse caricatures give us the vulgar and ill-shapen gestures and frames, which naturally went side by side with beauty - he shows us how little chance had those many who are neither handsome nor ugly, of receiving fair credit for their small merits in a garb so painfully candid, and how the smallest approach to vulgarity or defect became nearly as disagreeable as its extreme!

Those were indeed sadly trying times; but so strong and stern was the national inclination then, suddenly roused out of supine subjection and laisser-aller, that beauty was less cared for than virtue; and, consequently, though the beauties were in clover, the plain ones had to be and were accepted as facts - very numerous and unmistakable facts - on the ground that beauty was of minor consequence per se. There is something fine in this semi-Spartan mood; but it was overstrained, and therefore false, like most reactions when too violent (the Puritan reaction is a similar instance); and whenever beauty, as beauty, is undervalued, the loss is felt in all departments of life - progress in all refinement and culture is temporarily numbed and impeded, and in many ways the whole community suffers. It is quite terrible to see, now looking back, how the temper pervading the art reform in David's day, while producing many worthy contributions to art, seemed to kill or nip the vital energy of the sense of beauty, so that upon David's removal the decadence of that fashion was ugly as disease, hopeless like a fire unfed, and barren like ashes (which every decadence is not), containing within it no germ of new life, yet incapable of checking its own dismal decay.