She was from the middle-West, and despite the fact that she was married, and that twenty-one half-blown blush roses had enwreathed her last birthday cake, she had the alert, quizzical brightness of a child who challenges everybody and everything that passes with the countersign “Why?” She investigated New York with unabashed interest, and, like many another superior provincial, she freely expressed her likes and dislikes for its traditions, show-places, and people with a commanding and amusing audacity.

Her objections were numerous. The chief one that made a deep impression upon her metropolitan friends was her disapproval of Sarah Bernhardt’s acting. The middle-Westerner, instead of becoming ecstatic in her admiration, and at a loss for adjectives at the appearance of the divine Sarah, merely perked at the great French artist for some time and then demanded, querulously: “What’s the matter with her? Why does she play so much with her back to the audience? I don’t like it.”

It was a shock to the adorers of Sarah Bernhardt to hear her so irreverently criticised. They loyally united in her defence, and sought to squelch the revolter by loftily explaining that the actress turned her back so often to the audience because she had such a noble, generous nature and desired to give the other actors a chance. “She lets them take the centre of the stage, as they say in the profession,” remarked one of the party, who prided herself upon being versed in the argot of the theatre.

“But she plays with her back to the audience when she is speaking and acting, and everybody else on the stage is still but herself,” petulantly insisted the Western Philistine, showing no signs of defeat.

The situation was not wholly agreeable. The worshippers of Sarah could say nothing more in justification of her turning her back on them, but, with true feminine logic, concluded, “If Sarah Bernhardt turns her back on the audience it is right, and that is all there is to say.”

Just at this dramatic moment a voice from the adjoining row providentially interposed. The voice belonged to a well-known exponent of physical culture, who was never so happy as when instructing the intellectually needy. She said: “I will tell you why she plays with her back towards the audience more than any other actress upon the stage to-day.” The middle-Westerner, no less impressed than her metropolitan friends, listened eagerly.

The exponent of straight backs and high chests explained didactically: “The back is wonderfully expressive; indeed it is full of vital expression. Bernhardt knows this better than any other actress because she has studied statuary with the passion of a sculptor, and because she understands that, not only the face, but the entire physical structure, is capable of expressing dramatic emotions. Strong feeling and action may be strikingly revealed by the back. Imprecations, denunciations, even prayers, seem to be charged with more force when an actress delivers them with her back turned, or half-turned to the audience.

“Bernhardt’s back expresses a storm of fury when she imprecates vengeance,” said the voice of authority. “Not only on the stage is the expression of the back discernible, and a knowledge of its character valuable, but in every-day life in drawing-room and street. How many women consider their backs when they dress? Look at the backs here deformed by laces and fallals,” she went on contemptuously. “The majority of women never look below their chins and I believe not one in ten ever looks thoughtfully at her back,” she said emphatically.

The dramatic value of a well-poised, expressive back may only concern the thousands of young women who are aspiring to be a Sarah Bernhardt or a Rachel; but a knowledge of what constitutes a properly and artistically clothed back should be of interest to all women in civilized countries.

That there is much truth in the assertion that “the majority of women never look below their chins, and not one in ten ever looks thoughtfully at her back,” every observer of womankind might testify.

The open placket-hole and sagging waist-band, is an all too familiar sight that advertises the fact that too few women take even a cursory look at their backs. Fathers and brothers who wish to protect their womankind from adverse criticism frequently give impromptu lectures upon this very subject, as this slovenly arrangement of skirt and basque is not only seen in Grand Street, Second Avenue, and equally unfashionable quarters, but in Fifth Avenue where the modish set are en evidence. If the dainty safety-pin goes out of vogue, the time-honored custom of sewing hooks to the waist-band of the dress, is always in fashion. Indeed, many women prefer this way of connecting separate skirt and waist to using a conspicuous pin. This is almost too trivial a detail to discourse upon, but it is as true that details make dress as it is that “trifles make life” and neither life nor dress is a trifle.

The offence is more the result of untidiness than of a lack of artistic discrimination. On the contrary, outrage the laws of art, and display ignorance of the value and beauty of lines.

That really seems its only excuse for being. The full, ugly, straight pleat that falls to just below the waist-line lends neither grace nor style to the figure. It is too short to give the distinction and dignity that handsome wraps with long lines almost invariably do, although they seem to add age to the form. There is a hint of youth in this ungraceful jacket to be sure, but it is not especially attractive in its suggestion of youthfulness.

With a line at the neck-band, crossed bands in the centre of the shoulders, and lines across the back, is obviously inartistic. The back of a Venus, even, would be detracted from by such criss-crossed effects. Happy the woman who has so shapely a back she can afford to allow her waist to fit smoothly and plainly, unbroken by any conspicuous lines. If bands must be used to remedy the deficiencies of ungenerous Nature, let them be at the neck and waist; and if the back is unconscionably long, a band, or fold, or ruffle across the shoulders is to be commended.

A glaring error frequently made by the thin sisterhood. A tall, slender woman with a long waist, should not emphasize her length of lines by wearing pointed or V-shaped effects. The V-shaped arrangement, either in cut or trimmings, apparently increases her “longness and leanness.” She should aim to shorten her waist instead of lengthening it as the basque finished with a point obviously does. The drooping sleeves elongate her shoulder-lines, and bring into clearer relief her meagre proportions. She can easily improve her appearance by adopting either style of gown. The broad belt at the waist-line, and the flamboyant lace or braided piece that adorns the shoulders, perceptibly adds to her breadth and decreases her length.

The jaunty bloused waist smartly conceals deficiencies in fine points.

The tall, thin sisterhood should eschew pointed effects and study to attain apparent breadth by using trimmings arranged horizontally. Bands of velvet, braid in waved lines, ruffles, and not too deeply cut scallops, may be used effectively by the very slender, who sometimes appear as if they are “without form and void,” as the earth was “in the beginning.”

An exposition of the mistake made by the sturdy sisterhood of stout and pendulous proportions. It is plain to be seen that the fluffy ruche at the throat-band, and the ruffle at the shoulder, and the spreading bow at the waist, and the trimmed sleeves, add bulkiness to a form already too generously endowed with flabby rotundity. Corpulent women must forego the swagger little basques or any sort of short, flounced effects below the waist-line.

One observer of beauty-giving effects has not unadvisedly called the waist-line “the danger-line.” A stout sister, above all others, should not accentuate the waist-line. She should conceal it as much as possible. The coat back apparently lengthens the waist.

The same effect is produced by the arrangement of ribbons, and by the long-pointed basque. V-shaped effects and long-pointed basques are as becoming to those burdened with flesh as they are unbecoming to tall, thin women.

Long, graceful folds and draperies are admirable for the stout sisterhood, who should avoid short sacques and tight-fitting garments that give the on-looker an uncomfortable impression; there is too much in a small space. Very light colors and thin textures that billow and float should be eschewed by the large, fleshy woman who wishes to give the impression that she possesses the lines of a finely modelled statue. She should avoid puffs and any suggestion of the pulpy and clumsy, and be careful not to sub-divide the body of her dress by plaits or braids laid on horizontally across or above the bust, or below the hips. Horizontal lines invariably decrease the height; for that reason stout women should not wear dresses cut square in the neck, but should adhere to the graceful V-or heart-shaped cut which has a tendency to give length.

The rotund woman with a short waist, may improve her figure, by choosing belts and collars the exact shade of her shirt-waists in summer, and by not cutting off her height by any sort of outside belt on winter gowns.

Tall, stout women should forego high heels on their shoes, high hats, and striped dresses. Although stripes increase the effect of height, they also add to that of breadth. A plain cloth basque and skirt of striped material make a happy compromise and can be worn with becoming effect by a stout woman.

A basque cut high behind and on the shoulders apparently gives height.

A very stout woman should never wear double skirts or tunics or dresses with large sprawling patterns, such as depicted by cut, which suggests furniture stuffs. A large woman who had a fancy for wearing rich brocades figured with immense floral designs was familiarly called by her kind friends “the escaped sofa.”

White, or very light colors, should never be worn by the stout; they greatly increase the apparent size. Large plaids should also be eschewed. Small checks and plaids may sometimes be becoming.

Neither the too thin nor the too stout should adopt a style of gown that caricatures the form as does the voluminous wrapper, finished with a box-pleat. There is no grace in straight lines.

The height of the over-tall, thin woman, is better adapted to enhance the charms of a woman of finer proportions. The bony and scrawny, of the type, seem to have a perverse desire to wear what makes their poverty in physical charms only more conspicuous. A woman of distinction in Boston, who is exceedingly thin and tall, wore Watteau pleats so frequently, even on reception and evening gowns that she was dubbed by a wag “the fire-escape,” a title which so strikingly characterized her style, that the term was adopted by all her friends when they exchanged confidences concerning her.

The garment with the Watteau pleat is not unlike the princesse gown which is a very trying style except to handsomely proportioned women. A tall, well-developed woman, adorns the princesse gown and attains in it a statuesque beauty. In suggesting statuary it fulfils the true ideal of dress, which should hint of poetry, art, sculpture, painting. The massing of colors; the arrangement of lines, the quality of textures, the grace and poise of the wearer do not these hint of picture, statue, music?