LXIX.
WHAT HAS BECOME OF ALL THE LITTLE GIRLS?
WE look in vain into many pleasant homes, or into the streets, cars, or steamers, for what was once a common sight, and was then, and ever must be, the sweetest object in nature,—a simple, artless little girl with all the pretty, unaffected ways and manners of unsophisticated childhood, fresh and beautiful, about her. There is no lack of small beings, dressed in such a marvelous style that Darwin himself would be puzzled to make out the class to which they belong; but we find nothing to remind us of the little girls we used to know, either in dress or manners.
In former times a pretty muslin bonnet or a simple close-fitting cottage straw was thought the most appropriate covering for a little head, protecting the bright eyes from too intense light, and shielding the rosy cheeks from the sun’s too fervid kisses; but now, leaving eyes and cheeks entirely unprotected, we see something placed on the sunny curls, which is elaborately trimmed with bows, feathers, a flower-garden, or perhaps a mingling of both; for, although it is too small for even a good-sized doll, the milliner, with an ingenuity which would have been praiseworthy if exercised in a more sensible manner, has contrived to pile up trimming enough to hide even the faintest suspicion of a bonnet. But, what is sadder than the lack of true taste and good common-sense in this stylish affair, we see no semblance of childlike simplicity in the wearer. And the bonnet is but the beginning of this unfortunate change which we mourn; the pretty baby waist, the plain white dress, the neat muslin or merino, so appropriate, which little girls used to wear, are supplanted by incomprehensible garments, the fac-simile of the grand dame’s attire; flounces, fringes, bows, and double skirts looped and festooned in an astounding manner; the child’s—no, we mean the young lady’s—height (there are no children in these days) is less than her circumference. This dress is put on over a hoop, and the “mite” who is made to carry such an incongruous burden totters about on high-heeled boots. This tiny specimen of womanhood, hardly weaned from her mother’s breast, or, more probably, a wet-nurse’s, shakes out her redundant robes, bending and twisting her small body in grotesque imitation of the women spoken of by the Prophet Isaiah, “with haughty mien, walking and mincing as they go.” See how the little ape looks over her shoulders as she tottles about, to be sure that her hoops give her dress and figure the correct wiggle her sharp eyes have observed in the stylish mother and her fashionable friends. It is lamentable that all the simplicity and beauty of babyhood and childhood should be destroyed by fashion.
Added to the absurdity of the dress, these little women attempt to discourse on the “latest style”; with their companions or dolls you will hear them imitating the discussions on this subject that they daily hear in the parlor or nursery from their mother; or, still imitating, with a contemptuous toss of their little heads, they will inform their listeners that they “couldn’t think of ’sociating with those girls, because they are not stylish!”
A few days since, as we passed out of a store on Broadway, our attention was arrested by the conversation of two little figures seated in a fine carriage, waiting, doubtless, for mamma to finish her shopping. They were dressed in a style positively overwhelming: their hats were wonders of skill; their gloves had the orthodox number of buttons, with bracelets over them; a dainty handkerchief, suspended from a ring attached by a chain to another ring on the little doll-like fingers,—the dress was simply indescribable. The elder was speaking to the younger, who, scarcely more than a baby, sat demurely by her side: “O, mercy, just look at that horrid little girl who is crossing the street! she has no hoops on, and not a single flounce; no trimming at all on her dress! and, oh, see her gloves; she has only one button! Pshaw, she’s nobody,—not a bit of style!”
The younger lisped a reply, which we lost as we passed on; but it was painful to think of the training they must have received which enabled them at that early age to judge a child of their own years so quickly by the rules of fashionable dress, and because her attire was not in exact accordance with that week’s style, turn from her with contempt as something too low for their notice.
Then, again, how soon a child, taught by daily precept and example, learns to watch her little companions with envious or exultant feeling, as the case may be! How quickly she begins to grow hollow-hearted and deceitful; receiving, as she sees her elders do, a companion with open arms or a welcoming smile; expressing the greatest affection, but the moment she leaves begin to criticise or make unkind remarks.
“I don’t like Nellie one bit, mamma; she’s such a proud, stuck-up thing! I suppose she thought I should feel bad ’cause her dress had more trimming, and was a little newer style than mine. I didn’t let her know that I noticed it. But I do think it real mean, mamma, that she should have nicer things than mine. Papa is twice as rich as her father. It made me mad to see her show off her dress; and she kept looking at mine and sister’s in such a way.”
“I hope, my dear, you were polite to Nellie.”
“O yes! but, mamma, I was awful glad when she left; though I was just as smiling and pleasant as could be to her face.”
“That’s a good girl. You must always be very polite and cordial to your companions, you know. But I must say I think Nellie was quite vain; and you must never show that you are proud of your clothes. I shall go out to-morrow and get you that pretty dress you teased so for, I think!”
“O mamma, I am so glad! And as soon as it is made I’ll go right over and call on Nellie. Won’t she feel bad when she sees my new dress! It will be ever so much prettier than hers.”
And the mother smiled complacently, with never a thought of the wicked feelings she was cultivating in her child. O mothers! how can you be so blind! Both by precept and example you are teaching your children to make dress their idol, and to know very little of anything but that which pertains to fashion; to be envious or contemptuous of their little friends and companions, according as they are dressed better or worse than themselves. Can you ever reflect that God did not commit such treasures to your keeping without meaning some day to call upon you to render up the account of your stewardship? What can you say, when asked how you have trained the young souls given to your care? Can you reply, “We have been instant in season and out of season in teaching them,”—what? To work for the good of others; to learn to do right; in all simplicity to love and obey the Saviour, who, taking a little child in his arms, said, “Of such is the kingdom of heaven.” Of such? Ah, no! Not of such children as those; you are training to avoid, not evil communications, but unfashionable companions; to look on the outward adorning, and not on the heart.
But it is not alone the worldly-minded who make no pretence to any higher law than their own selfish gratification, who bow the knee to fashion. Christian mothers, are you guiltless? Think of the time, the health and strength given to dress; the bondage which compels you to pervert all real taste, to do violence to your own natural instincts of neatness and true elegance, and accept the absurdities of fashion, simply because the ruling style requires it. If you are thus influenced and beguiled, do you flatter yourselves that your children will not, from their earliest years, regard such homage as important? We do not think it wrong to dress neatly and in as good taste as possible. We blame none for giving so much thought to their own dress and their children’s as to provide those articles that are appropriate and becoming to the different styles of face, figure, and complexion. It is natural, and we think right, for a mother to dress her darlings as neatly and prettily as she can, without unnecessary waste of time and strength; but we do think it sin to spend money and time lavishly in following the dictates of fashion, and not of good taste and common-sense; no one pretends to believe that there is either of these in the present style of dressing. It is utterly destitute of grace; is ridiculous to the last degree; but fashion compels, and women—Christian women—obey, and teach their little daughters like obedience! O, the money, time, and strength given to destroy, by the absurdities of fashionable dress, every vestige of beauty and grace which God gave you in your little ones! Take the week through, hour by hour, do you not give more time and thought to your own and your children’s dress than you can spare for your Master’s service? Do not your children gather from your daily walk and conversation that to be fashionably dressed is of more importance than loving and serving the Saviour, who died for them and you? Judging by your daily conversation, which will they think of the greatest importance, the service of God, or devotion to fashion? To which do they see you giving the largest part of your time, the adorning of their little bodies,—“the plaiting the hair, the wearing of gold, and putting on of apparel,”—or in teaching them that which is not changeable, “not corruptible, even the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which is, in the sight of God, of great price”? What can you say, fashionable Christian mother, when He calls you to give an account of your stewardship?