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IN WOMAN'S WORLD.
boms op the things which in
terest the pair sex.
i Few Folnts About Gowns-The
Newest Things in Gloves—A Few
glories That May Interest the Many.
Other Matters of More or Less Im
portance.
Mies Harriett Pullman, says the Louisville
Truth, daughter of the palace car builder,
vbo is to be married in the spring, is as well
known in New York, Paris and Loudon as
she is in Chicago, for she divides her time
between these cities. In appearance she is
tall, superbly formed, a typical American
girl, independent, dashing, straight and
strong. Hbois not exactly beautiful, but
she has rather an intellectual face. She is
a linguist, a musician, something of an art
ist and student of the drama, Che dresses
with rare good taste. I saw her onoe in a
binker’s office in Paris where she had come
with a letter of credit. The bunk clerk
t yed her for a moment carefully, examined
ter letter of credit and then timidly in
quired: “How will you have it?"
" "In bills,” was the quick response.
"How much do you want!”
"All of it”
“Hut it’s for *5,0001”
"I know it. I need it all. I have to pay
mv French dressmakers and milliners to
morrow, before I return to America."
The clerk almost had a St, bat he banded
the young lady the money, and she swept
cut of the office.
home day she will be worth a good many
millions. Her husband that is to be is
wealthy, too. Her wedding will be a great
event. Her sister Florence is said to be en
gaged to be married to a newspaper writer
of this city.
I have often thought, says a writer In the
New York Press, what ’curious develop
ments would be yielded if some patent
scientific investigator, like Herbert Spencer,
would set to work studying out the first
causes of coolness between man and wife.
Iu many cases they would Do found to ba
ridiculously insignificant, but yet none the
le-s ellective. We know, or think we
know, why Napoleon I. divorced Josephine,
1 at what curious disclosures would be made
If Henry VIII. had only left a written state
ment of his reasons for changing wives so
often. Human affection is a curious thing.
Sometimes it will go through fire and flame
for iis object; then, again, a light word
t o. ghtlessly spoken, a sneer, or some ap
parently insignificant act, will nip it in the
bod, destroy it absolutely, turn it into the
most complete indifference.
Bible studeuts will remember how terri
bly displeased David’s wife was when ha
danced under her window, and I knew of
such a case in my day when a young wife
took a deep and lasting dislike to her bus.
band because ho attempted to waltz in the
presence of a large assembly.
A lawyer friend assures mo that the dis
turbing causes of conjugal affection whioh
ultimately lead to divorce are oftentimes
tl:e mod trifling and absurd, such as inabil
ity to spoil correctly or a disposition to over
eut. In one instance it was a vulgar laugh,
which had been carefully disguised by the
girl during courtship.
"By the saving of oandle-ends and sich,”
we are told. “Miss Mebetible Green grew
exceedingly rich.” However skeptical we
may feel, savß the Now York Tribune,as to
to the possibility of such desirable results
coming from caudle-ends, it is nevertheless
true that thrift and constant care in petty
economies will accomplish wonders. One
has only to compute a little to realize what
really respectable proportions the simplest
savings consume when carefully managed.
Avery satisfactory account of successful
frugalities is that of a German lady who
saved every scrap of paper, aud by
the mi an. of bugs hung in divers places
hrevailed upon the various members of
her tamily also to put every morsel of old
letters, etc., into lue handy receptacles;
moreover, not only her family, but her
frieiris, wore persuaded to keep and give
her all the bits and scraps of paper which
would otherwise be thrown away. These
collections she sold, and (for in frugal Ger
many these things are possible) with the
money derived in this manner she supported
an institute for a benevolent purpose. This
is an actual faot, and only goes to show how
much may be done in converting waste
material into sources of revenue.
There is something peculiarly distressing
In this decree of science that kissing endan
gers health, says a vivacious write •. It is
painful to reflect that henceforth we shall
not be able to read our favorite novelist’s
description of his heroine’s “full, pouting
lips, parted in a smile, aud showing two
rows of perfeot teeth,” without having un
e mfortable cogitations about the microbes
that must be lying there in wait for any
u i wary lover. Othello’s agonized cry about
dying on a kiss will have anew and literal
meaning that will take all the poetry out of
it. Under the circumstances longevity,
purchased at the loss of kissing, may lie a
Hewing, but iu which wav, we poor victims
cf the transition period cannot guess. But
it would be certain then, as it is certain
fcow, that the man who lives simply to
no:d death is taking a large amount of un
lecessary trouble at a great cost, and that
he grave will be as surely waiting for him
n his unlovely Isolation as it is for us. Wise
Edwins and Angelinas, however, will turn
fc deaf ear to science, and kiss and kiss,
i ffid be happy after the fashion of their
\ Pscientific but not utterly miserable an
\ IStoi'B.
The beginning of evefy season, says the
t w York Sun, witnesses the spasmodic
Torts of glovers to foist upon a long-sulTer-
public fancy novelties In startling
ors and bizarre desig; s because there is
>re to be made in selling one pair of these
in in three of the ordinary gloves. Now
> glove displays include brilliant purple
and green tints, lemon yellow gloves, yan
ked in at the wrist with white or black,
and those of brilliant scarlet with blacic
istß. A bright saleswoman answered
i query as to what kind of people pur
ißed the gloves with the expressive
inch shrug of the shoulders and “As
icy as the glove, I take it.”
'aristas gone wild over a kind of em
udered gauntlet tor visiting, but New’
rk women find this jewei-wrought cuff
1 comfortable for wearing with the long
je sleeve of the mode,
or morning wear gentility selects the
pish dogskin glove, with lapped seams
I backs decorated only with raised welts
he kid, in tans or the reddish-browns,
or calling and theater wear the pearl
ite glove, with heavy black stitching on
back, is the universal choice, no matter
' severely tailor-made the gown may be.
ise gloves have largo black or guilt but-
S ’ P r °bably more four button gloves
sold than any other.
or evening wear the most popular sa
tin is the dressed kid four-button glovo,
on comes now in all the light and deli*
* shades of yellow, blue, oink and laven
rhe sleeves of new evening gowns are
!, which docs away with the necessity of
wrinkled glovo popularized by
ahardt in the days before maturity
*Kht her dimples. However, ladies who
affect the sleeveless bodice wear the
: ““Me glove, which fits so softly to the
II and arm.
men’s gloves three shades 6taud out
t nnently. For business and morning
a craven tan, English tan. or mabog
an, as it is variously called, is tho cor
-umg. For afternoon wear the only
°B R istent with good form is brownish
1 l "d * or evening the ladies’ pearl gloves
”, iplicate lin men’s sizes with the black
and two button length.
fal C^ ° ra ' s0 tfla 116 w regime is more
Qrtistic than its prototype of
riX . fame ’ It is made of the fairest
roL a .u OVor fainted in the bea r t of the
j e T t “° Fe'est lavender known to vio
°f tlle BUi:Bt ’t color reflected
i Marschai Neil bud. The neck is
very much decollete and finished with frills,
one above the other, to the number of three
each drawn upon a ribbon of its own, in
modest tucker fashion. The lower frill fails
over the bust and drape- Usa shoulder
obviating the necessity of sleeves. Some
times it has a daintily wrought insertion
of needlework about the waist m and out of
which a ribbion slips to tie coquettishly on
one side. And ihe French led touch is
given to it by having each one of the Van
dyked trills wrought on its edges with
black, the ribbons black as well.
Somebody writes in the Ladies' Home
Journal that Mrs. Crrus W. Field is a very
Martha of housewifery, and maintains a
New England mistress’ keen oversight, not
withstanding she has been marrie l more
than fifty years. Mrs. William C. Whitney
likewise looks well to the ways of her house
hold. So too does Mrs. L. P. Morton, wife
of the Vice-Presideat, who is, in addition,
most accurately systematic in all her ex
penses, even for charity. Mrs, CM. Depew
buys and pays cash for all that is needed
la her family. Hpi eot society and litera
ture combined Mrs. Van Rensselaer Cruger
is a wise and careful bousemistress, whose
menu is often of her own making out. The
same and more may be said of Mrs. Burton
Harrison, who can upon occasions cook you
dainty delights. That is the case also
with most women of the Va.derbilt
families. In addition they know all
about sewing, and can make their gowns if
necessary. Mrs. Calviu S. Brice writes
poetry, keeps house, and cooks excellently
weil, in spite of being a very aotive social
force. Mrs. George J. Gould gives all her
time to husband, home and children—caring
nothing for society, and keeping her ex
penses strictly within the limit sue herself
sets upon them. Mrs. Abram S. Hewitt
does all ber own marketing and supervises
strictly all that goes on in her kitchen. Sira
Charles A. Dana is likewise an old-fashioned,
thorougu-going house-and-houie keeper.
Contrariwise, Mrs. A9tor leaves everything
to her chef and Jbutler, who have twenty
servants under them, and never herself
makes u household purchase—a fashion also
followed by Mme. Belmont, widow of the
late August Belmont, millionaire banker,
turfman and politician.
I think a mother ought to teaoh her
daughter not to make her chief aim iu life
to be exactly like all other women of her
acqaiutance, but to follow her own ideas of
right conduct and kind action and graceful
dre-sing. says the New York Press
But ti:e dreadful wall of conventionality
which is built abcut women seems to shut
out the sunlight of kindness and humanity
from their hearts.
1 saw h young girl covered with confusion
In a public conveyance one dny by the
bursting of a wrapper paper, which allowed
half a dozen small parcels to roll about un
der the feet of her fellow passengers. Not
one woman stirred an inch to aid her in
gathering them together, but two men at
some considerable distance came to her as
sistance finally. And every woman la the
vehicle regarded her with that pitiless cu
riosity which adds tenfold to the mortifica
tion of such a situation.
It was not selfishness which caused these
women to aot in this way. It was their
dread of becoming conspicuous in a publio
place. They did not possess enough inde
pendence of thought to act on the impulse
of helpfulness which I have no doubt was in
their hearts.
When we do find the exception she is
adorable.
A sweet faced woman touched my elbow
the olher day as I clung to a strap in a
Fifth avenue stage and endeavored to
keep hold of parasol, portmonnaie and a
parcel.
‘ ‘Let me hold your parasol and parcel,”
she said, with a bright smile,“until you can
get a seat.”
1 could have hugged her, not for her
kindness to me personally, but for her inde
pendent thought.
Every other woman in the stage stared at
her and then at me, as if we were curiosi
ties, when I handed her ray two annoying
incumbrances. They all seemed to think
that she had done a queer thing iu offering
her aid and I in accepting it. Women’s
min.ls are so conventional in such matters.
They seem unable to understand the slight
est departure from the general way, no mat
ter how narrow that way may be.
This is a little incident, says the Press,
that goes to show why no one ever has any
thing but warm words for Chauncey Depew.
There was a woman reporter sent after him
not long ago, and as Bhe bad less experience
than energy she managed to miss him all
day loug, and finally learned that he had
gone on an early morning train to Bawling,
where his family was spending tbe fall.
She followed him there, but it was quite
dark when she arrived, and the walk to
the hotel was accomplished by faith,
not by sight. Mr. Depew received her in
stantly on receipt of her card, and gave the
required information pleasantly. Then, as
there was a little time before the return
train was due, he offered the cup of tea that
comforts women s souls, and finally asked
if a pass had been provided. As Bhe an
swered in the negative, he laughed and
said: "Well, I will send you home,” and at
once wrote a pass on his visiting card. Then
he had orders given to drive her to the sta
tion. In a minute or two a figure bundled
in a big overcoat took possession of the
seat in the oarriage beside her. It
was Mr. Depew. He said “I was afraid
the conductor might make some objec
tion to that pass, as mv name is only en
graved; here, let me sign it.” He did so,
and then began to chat. “Was she used to
running around at uigbt by herself?” No!
I thought not. Now’, lam going to teU the
conductor to take care of you. Have you
far to go when you reach New York, aud
will you get a warm dinner?” All this to a
girl tie had never seen before and who had
asked him a lot of questions that must have
bored him awfully. It did not take him
very long, but it made him another friend
who would do battle for him to the last drop
of ink.
It was at a little luncheon, says the New
York World, and one woman held the
floor.
I ‘l saw a girl with a pocket to-day,” said
she, “an ostensible pocket on the front of
her gown where she could get at it. The
opening was provided with a flap and a but
ton, and it corresponded in finish to the rest
of the dress.
“Now it seem to me that here is the solu
tion of the pocket problem in a nutshell.
The secret of the elusivenessof the feminine
pocket is that it is ashamed to be seen and
wants to shrink away among the folds like a
violet—and that sort of thing. The re
morseless verdict of the dressmaker, that
•you can’t have a pocket in that dress,’ is
sometimes accompanied by the explanation:
‘You can see for yourself that there isn’t a
single place whero it wouldn’t show.’ It
doesn’t strike you to argue the matter
further, as one does not play out a game of
chess after ‘check in three moves’ has been
announced. Of course the pocket must cot
bo seen, and that’s the end of it.
“But, perhaps, after all, the world would
continue to wag if pockets were visible to
the naked eye. They might be made orna
mental. Tbero are certain points and lines
about a gown, as about a building, which
present themselves to the eye of the artist
as proper for ornamentation. The collar,
the culfs, the junction of the sleeve with the
bodice, the vest, the belt, the edge of the
skirt or basque, and so on. Now, if by a de
termined effort the pocket could be made to
assert itself boldly as having come bo stay,
hero would immediately be a fertile field
for garniture. Focket flaps would give
breadth to a lank figure and jauntiness to a
slim one, and lengthwise folds or panels
break the expanse of skirt on a stout woman
and make good oovers for pockets.
“American women are not generally
troubled with conservatism, and nothing
else stands in the way.” .
"Perhaps you are right, ’ said the othei
women, each mentally resolving to try
the experiment. So look out for the new
pockets.
A bedspread curious enough to bear de
scription, but not pretty enough to adv.se
imitating, was one which may be termed a
“crazy au-tograpb.” A young woman had
THE MORNING NEWS: SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 15,1891-TWELVE PAGES.
procured, by sending small squares of linen
broadcast for the purpose, the written signa
tures of hundreds of people, friends and
strangers, famous and otherwise. The
names were written in indelible ink, and, to
facilitate the work, the bits of linen were
stretched and ironed before they were sent
out, to present a stiff, smooth surface. After
the signature was obtained the squares were
cut down in various shapes, oblong, octa
gon, rectangular and the like, and were
sewed together, the joining being afterward
outlined wit i a coarse wash silk in shaded
mahogany reds. A hemstitch hem formed
a border, and the article as finished
possessed the tricle merit of uniqueness,
strength and ability to be laundered, what
ever it missed of actual beauty.
A model Felix evening gown, says the
Paris fashion writer of the World, is ot
mauve gauze over pink satin, a most artis
tio combination. The skirt it made long
and full, with several festooned frills of
silver lace about the bottom. The bodice is
short—the long coats for bodices are seeing
tbeir last day% here—and finished by
a pointed piece of silver embroidery. A
square Spanish jacket of silver filigree work
is worn over the puffea gaze of the bodice,
which is made of pink satin like the under
skirt or slip. It is decollete and has short,
full sleeves, showing all of the arms, and
filled with frills of the silver lace.
Another gown for a young lady is of
pure white tulle over white satin and is fair
to look upon. It is exquisitely simple, its
only decoration being a wide Greek border
in silver ribbon about the bottom of the
skirt, the low-cut corsage and the short
puffed sieeves. A white satin oorslet
finished the waist.
There are still some dressos made with
foundation skirts, in spite of the popularity
of the fiu-de-siecle or bell skirt. Many of
tne bell skirts, however, are arranged over
a foundation skirt, though this Is not the or
thodox manner of making them. Some
dressmakers fancy they bang better
mounted in this way rather then when
simply lined.
The new wraps are either extremely long
coats or mantles that reach to the knee.
There are also some long driving-coats of
fleecy soft camelshair in mottled patterns
richly trimmed with furs with harmonizing
colors. The coat may be of black, so that it
can be worn with any dress, or it may be in
colors like granite or tan, to harmonize or
contrast with the gown, as the
wearer fancies. The newest color this
season in coats is cornflower blue—a
darker, becoming shade than
the cadet blue of a few years ago. The new
wraps are almost always trimmed with fur;
the jackets have fur collars and are faced
with fur iu front. The capes are often fin
ished with the popular triple bauds around
the edge, separated by a space, each band
being only an inch wide on the pelt, but
about three times this width on the face.
Pale granite gray camelshair capes mottled
in a darker tone are trimmed with bands of
sable and finished with a high Medici.collar
lined with sable. Royal blue is another
color whioh is liked in broadcloth for coats
and is generally trimmed with a loug fur
like Alaska sable, or a light fur like fox.
Mode shades of cloth are often made up
into coats and long wraps, and trimmed
tfith showy, though inexpensive, badger
fur, which comes in tones of these colors.
GOOD FORM IN WOMEN.
Its Highest Development Is In Emo
tional Repression.
“Affinity,” “magnetism,” "psychic force,”
these and kindred terms, says an exchange,
have been so abased by spiritualists, free
thinkers, perfectionists, and the whole
unhealthy lot of more or less doubtful sects,
that one almost hesitates to use them in
ordinary parlance.
And yet there is something, call it what
you will, that is a tremend us force in this
world. All purely physical manifestations
ha\e their co-ordinate force iusouie mental
oonJition. The terrific outburst of passion
in a strong tnan or woman corresponds to
the battle of the elements. There is all the
fury of the storm in great rage. The sudden
outburst that sometimes sends a human
soul quickly to its account while the slayer
stands motionless, with the smoking weapon
in his hand, is like the lightning’s dash. Not
more swiftly does the electric fluid dart
from the heavens than does passion some
times conquer the soul, and sweep all—yes,
even honor itself —before it.
A mother’s voice softly crooning to her
child is like the first baltny south breeze of
spring blowing through blossom-laden
branches, aDd tropic stars shine not more
brightly than the mother’s eyes as she looks
out into the future for her darling.
Somewhere something in human nature
must correspond to the light of the sun.
There must be something analogous to the
mysterious power of gravitation. There
must be something in the human soul like
this far-reaching force that controls the
universe and holds the planets in their
starry way out in the boundaries of time
and space.
What is it? Are there not feelings for
whioh there is no name? Have all the emo
tions of the mind been classified aDd cata
logued? Love may indeed bo known, but
love is only on open door into an
other world, and love itself can neither
name nor describe all it knows, all it sees
and hears and feels.
Every day this great tide ebbs and flows
and penetrates iuto every circle and makes
itself felt in society and business aud friend
ship and all the relations of life, and yet
isn’t muoh talked about, because people are
uearly always afraid to talk about their feel
ings or about their soul’s salvation or God
and heaven or anything that can’t be
bandied and bought and sold.
It is said that people like to go to the thea
ter to see acting. It Is not so.
People like to go to the theater because
they see manifestations of what is within
themselves naturally acted. We do our
acting off of the stage. We act when we
smile and shake hands with
someone whom we cordially
dislike. We act when we wear a
brave front with a heavy heart; when we
walk confidently along the street and smile
and salute aud are inwardly sick at heart.
We act when we are calm when instead we
want to cry aloud, to scream, to break out
violently, or to run, to leap, to sing, to pro
claim our joy from the housetops.
Why do we not ?
Why, it is not good form. It fti not even
good form to laugh out loud, to innocently
display one's emotions, to blush. All this
is very orude, very unoonventional; and so
people act, and get all wrapped in a crust,
like a mummy, and are proper and conven
tional, and a great deal of “style." But
away down in their bosoms there is some
thing that is alive aDd breathes, and is vital
aud quickening. And sometimes some
thing stirs this feeling into a manifestation
of life, and the color comes and goes,
and the heart beats more quickly,
and the whole being is vitalized.
Someone comes into the room, it may be a
man or it may be a woman, for this force
has no sex. You have never seen this per
son before, and you look carelessly, but
when your eyes meet you see something
that holds your regard more closely. A
thought wave rolls over you; there was a
subtle communication from that other
mentality, and, by a common impulse, you
meet. Sometimes you are introduced and
sometimes you are not. That makes no
difference. You knew each other when
your eyes met.
When this peculiar fores is large—devel
oped in a marked degree—there are states
men and orators and heroes and patriots.
You and I can name public speakers whose
published speeches in the morniug papers
lead tame and passionless. Yet the night
before thousands hung breathless or were
swaved to tears or laughter or shouted in
wild enthusiasm aud went home saying,
“What marvelous eloquence."
"I cannot see anything in this speech,”
says one. "Ah, but you Bbould have heard
him,” says one who was there; “his mag
netism thrilled the audience, and he moved
them by the very tones of his voice." Aud
so it is.
You touch a thousand hands in an irre
sponsive way, but one day you are thrilled
by another touch, and your fingers invol
untary close more tightly over that hand.
You meet and forget a thousa and faces, hat
some t me only a passing glimpse photo
graphs features on your memory that you
would remember for a thousand years.
The human race cornel and goes, and we all
see men os in a dream, or as though they
were shadows; but here and there the
dream is a reality; now and then the shadow
is substance. Once in a while someone in
spires you, lifts you out of yourself, irradi
ates your pathway with light.
What is it?
There are answers, but they are in
adequate. It is like the shout from one
vessel to another, lost in the waste an J the
distance of the waters, and they signal, and
go drifting out to sea far apart. But there
is something.
A~SIK)RT STORY.
I was young. Life was one continual
spring for me. The flowers, the music of
the birds, the rippling rills were the only
sounds that reached my happy ears. 1 saw
not the clouds of the world; felt not the
pains that pierced other hearts, never
dreaming that it would not always be
thus.
I loved. Mau always does. My love was
young; a mere child she was, a rosebud,
balf-formed to kiss the dew-laden Bpring
time morning air. She was as happy as
the spring day was soft and long. Even
the sunbeams laughed and wrestled for the
first kiss of her golden ourls, and the little
birds outdid themselves iu merry song when
she passed by. The green leaves of the
trees along the roadside nodded their
trembliug heads as she skipped along, and
the flowers in every hedge and field bowed
low In acknowledgment of the presence of
their queen and devoutest worshiper. The
soft tinkling of the dew-mellowed harebells
was beard wherever she placed her little
feet She knew not fatigue; foit not pain
and would challenge me for a race down the
long, long red hill any day. My file was to
climb to the utmost top of some tall tree and
pluck the most luscious bunch of all the
sweet grapes, or with a superhuman effort
snatch a defiant wild rose as it hung by
some tiny vine suspended, a pretty and
saucy pendulum, over the rocky cliffs, at
the bottom of which the laughing of the shal
low waters was beard. When I did so, she
would laugh, and what music? The rocks
would take the sweet notes up and echo
them back and back again, when they
would at last die away In some pretty wood
bird's throat, and he would give it to the
world of wood and dale and nodding flow
ers as his sweetest song. She didn’t mind,
too, if I manacled her dainty wrists with
my own loving hands and drew her to me,
and, wrestling with the roses struggling to
reach her rosy lips, steal a kiss. Her sweet
est smile wns always mine, and the sun
shine was not half so bright. Over field
and meadow wo would romp day after day,
gathering buttercups, sweet williams and
water lilies, uutil her young limbs
could go no further, and she would
sink exhausted into my arms, all heaped
and covered with the flowers that wo tiad
stolen from nature’s golden garden. With
her big sun -hat 1 would coax the breezes to
kiss her soft, flushed cheeks in cooling ten
derness. Maybe it would be In the shadow
of some great pine on an upland knoll
where the grass was oropped short by the
browsing, horne-ooming cows aud whare
the lazy lizard stole from his covert of
brown leavos to bask in the suu; or it would
be beneath a low beeoh tree, with its great
wide top shading the deep white sands at
Its feet and where the retibird proened his
brilliant dress in the sun beans that stole
through the thlok bamboo vines overhead.
This was bliss, ecstasy, paradise on earth.
The dark, bad cloud was only hovering be
hind the horizon of our young vision, and
it burst all too soon. It was angry, dark
and awful looking, and fell upon us as
though we had already drunk too deep of
the oup of happiness.
It roxred, it thundered, stormed and
hailed, and all was over. The clearing
away of the once bright sky fpund a fresh
mound in the old graveyard on the hill, aud
beside it lay my heart.
* * * * * a *
After the deep frosts of many winters had
fallen upon my shoulders, obance, the same
guide that led me a rover, a rambler and a
hopeless, uncheered soul, over all the world,
brought me back again to the little mound.
It, like my hair, was whiter than when I
left it. A small cedar grew beside it and a
rosebush shorn of leaves and buds by tho
winter’s blasts, hovered over the sacred
spot. A sunbeam, it seemed in mockery,
quivered upon the low headstone. All
around had gone to waste and a shivering
oricket chirped dismally in the
withered sedge at my feet. All was cold
and silent. The rotting boards of the old
fence looked ghostly white in the pale light
of the winter stars, and the old hill had lost
some of its redness in the tramp of time.
Not a twig quivored in the frosty air, all so
still and quiet, and no sign of life, save the
cedar bush and a bunch of mistletoe nest
ling in the bare arms of a giant oak near
by.
I shed a tear, the first for years, and
passed on in my ceaseless roaming.
Henhy Webb Kolsun.
DECOLLETE DRESS
As Seea at Some Dinner and Evening
Parties.
Brooklyn, N. Y., Nov. 14.—Two south
ern correspondents, one a lady the other a
gentleman, asked me to say something
about the present style of decollete dress for
dinner and evening parties. They think
that all women writers who believe in good
morals, not to say common decenoy, should
lift up their voices and scratch with their
pens until a change is effected.
Notwithstanding the gravity of the sub
jeot, this is funny, because the vanity of
woman is the last thing tbat can be touched
by argument. Let us take a woman with
a plain face, perhaps, and not a particularly
good figure. If her neck is pretty and her
head light, she will show more of the
former than the judicious care to see. I
doubt if such an one would hearken to the
voice of an angel, or heed the words of the
inspired.
Our masculine correspondent declares
that “every woman who thus publicly
degrades herself is a bad woman at heart
and not to be trusted.” The feminine pro
tester is sure that the majority of those who
dress in this indelicate manner are good
and noble ladies, who simply bow to the
decrees of fashion. I do not thing that
either conclusion is correct, for I know
some women who are most lovely and most
discreet who are absolutely—according to
my standards—indecent at dinner parties.
On the other hand, I have seen tnauy
women, who were not in the least like
“Caesar’s wife,” array themselves in the
same fashion. Again, I have known very
bad women, indeed, to be extremely fas
tidious and critical cn the subject of decol
lete gowns.
Personally I despise such a fashion, and
while always urging women to independ
ence of thought and action and believing
that they should have the right to mold
their lives according to the diotates of their
consciences, 1 will say that I never see a
wife with an indelicately exposed neck that
Ido not wonder what under heaven her
husband can be thinking of to
allow her to do such a thing.
Of course I immediately take
myself to jtask for even thinking “allow,"
but if I were a man with a wife who favored
such a style she would hear from me m a
way that would pretty soon build up her
bodice. If she preferred to publicly adver
tise her charms, she could do it and take the
coosequences. I solemnly declare that I
never would live with such a woman a
sirgle day who was so lacking in delicacy of
feeling.
My observation has led me to the conclu
sion that every woman who thus exhibits
herself, no matter how rich, how exclusive,
how near the top of the first rank of “The
Four Hundred,” sl,o may be is always
slightingly regarded and slightingly
spoken of.
“W ho is that woman?”a gentleman asked
me one evening not long ago at a full dress
reception. The inquirer nas a mau of af
fairs, a umn who had see j the wor.d, but I
doubt if ever in bis whole career as a diplo
matist he ever had occasion to elevate his
nose to quite such an angle.
The woman in question was not far from
60 years of age, bad been married five
times, and because of her money and the
smart ne-s of her vulgar career had kept a
corner of society, which made it impossible
not to meet her on certain occasions. She
was painted and powdered to the last de
gree of facial embellishment, but this fres
coing had only served to eaiphasize her
wrinkles and the other marks of age. She
wore a white silk gown—a Worih, or a
Felix, I do not know which—wtlh
laca that waa priceless, and jewels that were
fahuloua. Her husband, a sensible and fine
looking man, accompanied her. aud ap
peared to he quite proud of the effect of the
most awiul decollete gown that I ever saw
in alt my life, and I have looked upon a
good many.
“Why, that is Mrs, ,” I renlied. "Is
it possible that you do not know her? Bhall
I ask one of the reoeptiou committee to in
troduce you?"
“God forbid," said my companion. “And
may I a-k,” he added, "what you ladies can
be thinking of to have such a creature on
your list of acquaintances?”
“Why. we oan’t help it," I replied
“Those who do not wish to know her are
more or less in touoh with those who see
much to admire in her character, and those
who are under obligations to her for favors
received, aud as these women are among the
best we have, what can we do? lam not
sure that her style of dress is more pro
nounced than that of many of the wives of
our most distinguished men at home aud
abroad. At a Loudon, or a Washington
dinner party there will be ten women to
this one In a similar condition.”
“Perhaps,” was the contemptuous an
swer, “but this woman is vulgar to the
marrow of her bone. She is not, she can
not be, possessed of a single womanly
quality. I loathe the fashion under all cir
cumstances, but it remains for a New York
woman to furnish the crowning instant e of
deoollete depravity. I wouldn’t have had
my daughter here to-ntght for *5,000.”
Could he have said more of the worst
place in the land, and this was one of the
most brilliant and high-toned receptions. I
respected that man. Five minutes later I
saw him taking leave. His spiritual
stomach had been turned, not only on ac
count of this exponent of vulgarity, but be
cause decent women would be seen in her
company. I belonged to the oim
pany, but not to her coterie,
and yet I was under the ban. I
could not help recalling a story 1 onoe heard
told of Daniel Webster, who had a deep
rooted aversion to the deoollete. A lady
who was very “stylish," and who always
appeared whenever she could consistently
do so, in a very low neck and bodice and
short sleeves, onoe appealed to Mr. Webster
for help in some suffrage scheme for
women. The distinguished lawyer treated
her with such scant oivility that she asked a
friend—a gentleman—to try and find out
what was the matter.
"Enough’s the matter,” said Mr. Webster,
“when a woman who hasn't brains enough
to cover her nakedness comes whimpering
to me about the ballot for her eex. Mrs.
was a most unfortunate representa
tive." Eleanor Kirk.
MR. INGERSOLL IS FREE.
End of a Romance which Began In a
Three-out Restaurant In Boston.
From the Nett) York Sun.
The breach of promise suit for *50,000
brought by Miss Annie M. Bausch of this
city against Charleß D. Ingenoll of Boston
has been settled out of court. Justioe Law
rence yesterday granted an order discon
tinuing the action at the request of the de
fendant’s counsel, J. Edward Weld, of 100
Broadway.
Mr. lugersoll is a bachelor of wealth, liv
ing at Chester square, Houth Boston. He ia
more than 50 years old. Miss Dausch is a
bright girl of 101 Barrow street. They met
in Boston in 1885. Of this meeting Mr. In
gersoll wrote:
“ I cannot help thinking, my pet, that
our first meeting was not merely the result
of acoident. I believe it was the action of
those subtle and mysterious forces of men
tal magnetism, the magnetic action of
mind upon mind, by which kindred and
congenial spirits are drawn together, even
though they may be miles apart. I passed
by tlie Great Centinery (a Boston restau
rant) for the first time one evening * * *
feeling somehow or other that I should
there find something very superior of its
kind. * * * While musing and sipping
lightly of the fraudulent coffee my eyes
suddenly fell on you, my darling, as you
were talking with the officiating ogress.
“Like a flash my mind at once became
oblivious to everything except tbe visiou of
radiant beauty which had burst so suddenly
on my astonished and delighted vision. The
secret was outl I knew now what strange
and mysterious influence had urged me to
that place. I knew now what the some
thing was that I wished to discover. It was
a pearl of priceless value literally cast
among swine.
“I took in at the first glance all the traits
of your heavenly character, as well as your
angello loveliness of face and feature, your
beautiful counteuance radiant with cheerful
smiles, the delicious music of sweet voice,
which fell like heavenly melody on my
greedy ear, and tho gentle, loving, sweet
expression of your dear face, beaming with
kindnoss and a desire to do good to your
fellow creatures. I envied the old cata
mount her privilege of talking to you.
Presently I was gratified by seeing you
were acting as cashier. 1 was glad of this,
as I concluded it would give me a chance of
starting a conversation with you when I
paid up my check, and I made up my mind
I would protract it long enough for you to
remember me on my next visit. I did so,
and made some remark about the neatness
of the place aud the excellence of the fare.
I knew I was lying all the time wheu I said
so, but it occurred to me as the best thing I
could say under the circumstances. * * *
“A nice picture that, isn’t it, pet? Our
letters to each other are communion of
kindred souls. * * * Tbat is better than
such scenes and conversations as the above,
isn’t it, you dear, darling, gentle, loving,
bewitching little puss? It ia, isn't it, my
pet?"
Here Mr. lugersoll asks for kisses, and
regrets the fact that there is no telephone
hot ween Annie’s room and bis. He con
tinues:
“You are really happier in your humble
home, darli ig, than you would be among
the conceited snobs of both sexes, the dudes
and dudettes of—Fifth avenue, such as I
have described to you in my last letter.
* * * Let me see. pet, I promised in
my last letter to toll you bow
I happened to be among that
crowd!' •VrdfV, dear, the reason was—ha!
ha! ha! ha! Really, I can hardly
mustef (courage to tell you, my little pearl."
And he didn’f. There were a dozen more
pages of this letter, on one of which the
writer asks if Annie ever saw an infatuated
fool. Most of Ms. Ingersoll’s leetters were
voluminous
Miss Bausch claims that Mr. (ngersoll
proposed marriage on August 21, 1880, and
again on March 20,1890. He came to New
York in Juiy, 1890, and the girl asked him
when they were to be married. He replied:
“Never." Then the suit was begun. Miss
Bausch yesterday declined to giv<* details of
the settlement, but admitted that a payment
was made to her. This Dayment, it is said,
was not far from f 15,00(3.
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