FROM THE LADY’S POINT OF VIEW.

Southern Cross, Volume 1, Issue 49, 3 March 1894, Page 4

FROM THE LADY’S POINT OF VIEW.

While we fully agree (says an exchange) with. the criticism of the large hat and plumes which declare it, however becoming the face beneath it, and however much an object of beauty on the street, or when calling, or anywhere in the open air, yet entirely out of place whenever: it unkindly obstructs the view of those behind it, still we think those critics ■who complain of it so in season and out of season, and make it the target of their ineffectual jokes—ineffectual since they have thus far accomplished nothing —might take a little modesty to themselves, and subdue their impatience till they have abated the accompanying nuisance of which they themselves, or else their brothers, are guilty. Men in the compactness of their own dress cannot enter into any sense of the discomfort which is occasioned a woman, with all The draperies and ruffles and pretty i-rifl.es, which are not her fault, 'but that of the men who ’ invented, designed and commanded her fashion, through the perpetual stepping over and past her and in front of her by the men who go out between the acts during the performance of any play or opera. A women goes to the theatre usually dressed in her best, both from her innate sense of propriety and because her husband or other escort expects it, and because it is part of the brilliancy of the occasion. But when the curtain falls on the first act of the play, she finds that she has put on her pretty patent leather shoes only to be trodden on by the great blundering boots getting by; her beautiful hat and feathers onlv to have them tilted all on one side, if not nearly thrust off, by the overcoat on the arm of the individual who needs air and water so badly, or by the tall hat he carries in his hand, or by his stick or umbrella. Her skirt has been trampled on, her cloak has been pulled away, her fan has been swept out of her hand, her handkerchief is lost , her opera-glasses have fallen, and she has to stay to gather up her belongings, her gloves in the lower stratum of dust, jambing her hat still mote awry, disarranging whatever portion of her toilet is not already disarranged, and feeling the veins on her forehead swell to the point of apoplexy, rising flushed and heated, and kno wing it to be all done over again when the man returns dispensing odours. And so site wonders what right the man has who smears her dress with his boots, tears it with his floundering motion, crowds her in a way she feels like an insult, disturbs, discommodes and offends her, to outrage her further by criticising the hat she wears, and she hopes in her heart that the hats will stay in fashion and she will be able to wear one as long as men go out between the acts.