232 HACKS AND HUNTERS 



tery to me, however, that the American woman who, 

 as a rule, prides herself on being the most elaborately 

 and beautifully gowned woman in the world, should 

 be willing to appear out riding, clad in clothes that 

 look as if they had been thrown on with a pitchfork ! 



Anything seems to do for riding. Ill-fitting habits, 

 boots that bulge at the top and look as if they could 

 contain the week's laundry, and hats of all kinds, are 

 all means by which an otherwise pretty woman turns 

 herself into a frightful-looking guy. The things one 

 sees in Central Park, in the way of riding clothes, are 

 a sight for the gods. Even in the hunting field one 

 sees caps, soft hats, queer-colored ties, and sloppy ill- 

 fitting coats, and at those American hunts, which per- 

 haps represent more aggregate wealth than any other 

 in the world, the men and women, although as well 

 mounted as any field in England, spoil the general 

 effect by their untidy appearance. In their rat-catcher 

 clothes they are rarely as well turned out as a smart 

 groom. Excessive prinking and fussing over one's 

 clothes is, of course, as abhorrent as the vanity that 

 prompts it, but nevertheless it remains a fact that 

 one can ride just as hard and just as straight if one is 

 well turned out, as if one looks like a frump. Some 

 of the hardest and best riders I know are immaculate 

 as to their clothes, and most particular as to their 

 tack. 



The men of olden days, with their plum-colored coats 

 and ruffles, satin knickerbockers, and silk stockings, 

 were not one whit less manly or brave than the men 

 of the present day in their monotonous black-and- 

 white sameness. I, for one, would think it a vast im- 

 provement were men to return — in the evening at 

 least — to the picturesque costumes of old, so that a 



