Harper's Bazaar 1914-01: Vol 49 Iss 1

Page 1

Southern Fashion Number mee ge JANUARY 1914 Price 15 Cents

Page 2

WAN MT TT Ww ! [xr U ABU it! A j Hilih | | ie HI | eS IN EJ INN NN ORO OEE OPO OHNE HOO OR Se es Ue a Carrere ere eres eeere " i \ | \} } | wana y nai MTT. FUER POOF T EME OOO POE ETFO TOT T OIE (XEREARARARAREAIEAD AAA cl 944887 916 OLE DAatTOnNage the Kuleros dpi gio of the leadin nations of ihe world — me supertouty o facud calieated ndtamments PIANOLA Che WeberPianola “Upright $1000 and $1100 Che Steinwa 49 J ianole-Upeight Che ‘Weber Pianola ~ Grand 7800 Re Steinway tan ~Qrand 2000 to 3550 = ( comvesient TERMS ) wee THE AOLIAN COMPANY Aeolian Hal ~New York

Page 3

AD IN BG. re 4 OS 4: XM &- me tath The Oldest Woman’s Publication in America. > PP PP D SPAAAAAAAADAAAAIAAAAAAAAAIAAAAAIAAAIABIAIIAIIAIIAIIIAIIIAIIIABWIIAAyIassS - A clever woman, trained to business methods, who has kept herself clean and pure, meets a great temptation. The lure of ease and comfort and the thought of release from the sordid, com monplace conditions in her modest home are potent factors in inducing her to leave that home with a married man. He on PAUL POIRET writes exclusively for Harper’s Bazar. He repudiates certain misquotations of his words and gives new designs made espe- cially for Harper’s Bazar. (See Page 47) DRIAN The Frontispiece is his third drawing of “LES PARISIENNES.” (See Page 4) COSMO HAMILTON advocates “‘ TELLING THE TRUTH TO CHILDREN.” (See Page 26) CHARLES DANA GIBSON **SENATOR LAMBKIN’S DAUGH- TER MARY.” (See Page 24) LARRY EVANS “AMONG THOSE PRESENT,” a tale of thrilling suspense. (See Page 13) GLEN VISSCHER A storiette—an episode—“*LEST YE BE JUDGED.” (See Page 27) M. De Miss Marie Van Vorst. Ware? oa VS >A. Harper's Bazar FOR JANUARY, 1914 Published conseciitively for Forty-eight MISS MORELAND The new serial by Marie Van Vorst, begins in this‘issue. (SEE~PAGE Reet j LADY DUFF-GORDON Lucile tells how the Parisienne and the other women who “‘ know ”? wear the new fashions, and shows beautiful new models. (See Page 44) KATRINA STUYVESANT A New York woman of the world com- ments on the Fashion Parade at the Horse Show and the Opera. (See Page 8) FREDERICK TOWNSEND MARTIN “* THE SOCIAL HEAVEN AND THE CLIMBER.” (See Page 5) PORTRAITS of Mrs. Anthony Drexel, Jr-; Mrs. Francis B. Sayre: Mrs. Dewees Dilworth; Mrs. Harold F. McCormick; Miss Mary Cum- nocks and of Waldorf Astor, Third, with his mothers also of Miss Penelope Sears and Miss Ruth Sumner Draper. SHANE LESLIE “THE SINNACHS OF CONNE- MARA.” (See Page 20) interruption will occur in your receipt of The Bazar. = oe oN es o> it D3 ote eZ ' santagonism. \) ~ > 4% y Yr ; “ rt his part is driven to” this act by his wite’s , subtlety and veiled . ' ; ate takes a hand and precipitates new _ combinations of tem- perament sland cir- cumstance. The per- sonalities oft the, 'gitl, the man, and’ the man’s wife | ine, as might beldxpected, _ in'the*making of a Ex] plot of intense and absorbing ‘interest. Photograph by Campbell Studios. Fiction, Articles, “Drawings, Photographs, Society and Fashions THE FASHIONS All phases of the fashion question are touched upon—Paris novelties} beautiful gowns on the stage, and especially the advance styles for the SOUTHERN RESORTS. . LEON: BAKST Modern costume designs, with an article about the famous Russian artist. (See Page 56) THE COUNTESS OF WARWICK. for “‘ FACIAL eests safe treatm BLEMISHES.” (See Page 28) CHARLES BELMONT. DAVIS BEGS THE PARDON OF BROAD- WAY. : (See Page ro) ROSALIE STEWART “CELESTIAL SLEEVE DOGS.” An t of the Peking (See Page 34) LILLIE HAMIL TON FRENCH A little word picture, “THE TRI- UMPH.” (See Page 29) Harper’s Bazar is published monthly by Harper’s Bazar, Inc., George von Utassy, Preside a. a itt, Secretary, 119 West 40th Street, New York City. . toate When you receive notice that your subscription has ¢ Single Copies, 15 cents. Yearly subscriptions, $1.50. xpired it is best to renew at once, using the blank enclosed, so that no In requesting change of address please give the address to which The Bazar is now being sent, as well as the new one. Entered at the New York Post-office as second-class mail. EEEEGERKECKEKRERECECK KER KEKCERECKC ERK ECE ECC EKCKE CEE EC ECEEEEE Copyright, 1913, by Harper’s Bazar, Inc. Address all communications to HARPER’S BAZAR, 119 West 40th Street, New York City Years. | 4 Ure pet, OEEEECECCCEECCCKEKCEOKCCKRE ERE CCKECKCCECKEKCK ECE KE KEEEKCEEEFEKEEECEKREEKFEKERERKECCCEE Db A a! ‘al A OCREFECE 2. Ss =e

Page 4

82g WHERE TO ™ Do D ne ~pte =i ALLL 2 ra oe? } eee ~ SHOP Lf ZR 2. : A OK Ti OT TEE Auction Bridge “BRIDGE PARTY” SCORE PADS de luxe, — Nullo score. Made in 6 tinted papers, 25c apad. $2.50 a doz. postpaid. Circulars free. Stearns & Beale, 217-219 Centre St.. New York. AUCTION TABLETS, Covers & Tally Cards Charmingly Distinctive—Score Decoratively rinted on inside cover—Samples 10c. The Pen Ink Crafts Co., Berlin, Conn. Boas, Feathers, etc. MME. BLOCK, made into he andsome F renc or chic novelty. Paradise aigrettes cleaned, re- modeled. Mail orde r. “illed. 36 W. or Ostrich plumes h plumes, a collarette Willow 34th St., N.Y. H. METHOT, : French Fe. ather Dyer and Dresser. Originator | of she. Art of Re construction. Old feathers made into New. 29 West 34th Street, New York. Children’s Clothes CHILDREN’S WEAR from infancy to 12 yrs. Garments made to order, preee ked and exclusive models. Boys’ dresses, 6 yrs., _Spec ialty. Beebe & Shaddle, 38 W. 330° St. Tel. 7537 Mad. BABY GARMENTS. Attractively hand made. Infanis to two years. Assert ment sent for selection. Send for booklet. A. Me Millan, 119 Fuller Ave., Grand Rapids. Mich. China and Cut Glass MISS MARQUARD STUDIO—2255 B’ way near Sist Street. Have you seen my dresser sets? Orders taken. Class and private lessons, China decorating. Water color painting. Chiropody DR. E. N. COGSWELL, Expert Manicuring. Dr. insures foot comfort, $1. Toilet Powder, 25c. 418 Fifth Ave., Surgeon Chiropodist. ogswell's Foot Tonic Foot Ointment, pee New Yo Fesceemne average of twenty-five words. pe Se Se sesr Seep eee epee eek Rate for Classified Advertising Under This Heading One Year Thirty Dollars Payable quarterly in advance, five per cent cash discount. Payable yearly, in advance, ten per cent cash discount. Uniform type. preceding month. gee Pep eee pep epee ae ee ap GeESese Space limited to four agate lines, Forms close first of Ekectrolysis Treatment For Superfluous Hair SUPERFLUOUS HAIR, Moles and facial blemishes permanently removed by electricity. Painiess. Electrolysis Co., 104 E. 40th St., New York. Tel. Murray Hill 1844. S. P. Gilmore. HELEN BRIGGS, Electric Needle Expert, per- manently removes hairs, moles, warts, birth- marks. Eyebrows beautified. Broad way,now at 437 5thAvenue,corner39th St. Flesh Reduction E SCIENTIFICALLY REDUCE YOU. Reduction assured by applied exercise. Private instruction, both sexes. Booklet, 14 season. Berkeley Lyceum Gym., 21 West 44th Street, N. Y. Furs & Remodelling FUR REMODELING. ing Old Fur Garments. Prices as low as con- sistent with good workmanship A.H.Green & Son, 25 West 23rd St., N.Y. Phone 1162 Grmcy. REINER FUR SHOP 23 W. 38th St. It will pay you to call and in- spect our smart styles, coats, muffs, and scarfs, Remodeling a specialty. Specialty of Renovat- 12 years at 1133 | nN y | ARTISTIC DRESSES Gowns and Weaists Made to Order VICTORINE—REBUILDER OF GOWNS. Old gowns of every kind remodelled equal to new. Evening gowns a specialty. 160 W. 84th St., New York. MRS. ERIKSON, DRESSMAKING. Chic Gowns Made to Order at Short Notice. Evening Gowns a Specialty. 140 W. 95th St., . Tel. Riverside 1929. Made from your own material. Unusual remodeling. Reasonable Homer,11'4 W. 37th St., N.Y.,Tel. 5285 Greeley. THE HELPFULNESS of these little announcements cannot from their size. given with each and every one. MRS. CLARK, 182 Madison Ave., near 34th St., New York. Smart French and Domestic frocks, Blouses and lingerie, to order and stock sizes. MISS A. I. SLATER 70 W. ua! ‘St. Smart gowns for all occasions. Special designs to order. Estimates given. Own material taken. Phone 6678 Greeley. be judged THACHER, INC. Artistic, individual gowns designed for all fi 1 East 47th Street. Phone 1875 Murray y Hill, ART FUR SHOP — Everything in furs not found elsewhere. We have it—or make it at short notice. Old furs made like new. East 46th Street, New York. FURS. nears. ing, repairing style in old furs, equal to new. Siede Fur Co., 4 W. mht eed and re-dyeing garm ~ me, prises MRS. WILSON announces her removal from 26 East wa Street, to 444 York, between 56th and 57th Streets. designs—Smart mourning orders a spec BAZAR READERS will find many suggestions here from the leading shops of New York. Write the Bazar should you | THE MENDING SHOP. | er refitted. Gowns and Wéaists Ready to Wear Gowns remodeled. Suits cleaned and pressed. Shop Miss H. Redding PCougblin, 20 WV. 31st St.. N.Y. Phone 189 Madison Square. BAZAR READERS will find many suggestions here trom the leading shops of New York. Write the Bazar should you | require special information as to pure | MAISON D’ART, 46 W. 33rd St., N. ¥ The assurance of satisfaction is | EVENING GOWNS, afternoon frocks . and street dresses. Direct —— Log yo Lowest possible prices. Booklet G, free upon request. Royal Apparel Co., 35 Sixth Ave.,N. Y. just across the way from the Hotel Se lesautune fall gowns, dainty waists and to-the-minute dress novelties. Prices reasonable. ‘all on us today. MLLE. re. JMPORTER Dancing and strect ous on $18. 50. Beautiful negligees. Phone 7228 Murray Hill. Hair Goods & Hair Dressing. SIMON’S HAIR SHOP. Ladies’ Hair Dresser. The Originator of the latest creation the Pum Pum Coiffure, and also a large assortment of hair pieces. Send for catalogue. 24 E. 59 St., N. Y., Plaza 5646. Jewelry DIAMONDS, OLD GOLD AND SILVER Old gold, platinum, silver bought. Also diamonds, pearls. Difficult anti pee, ose repaired. Callmann, appraiser, 2 2 W ¥. BAZAR READERS will find many suggestions here from the leading shops of New York. Write the Bazar should you require special information as to purchases. Lace & Lingerie RITZ CARLTON LACE SHOP, 402 Medinen Ave., at 47th Mme. DeVoll. Rare and po ular iaces. Filet specialties, Limerick, Carric macross, Italian embroidered linens, Blouses. DR. J. T. WHELEN, Chiropodist. Facial Mas- gage, Manicuring, Hal r Dre ssing and Ses alp Fur trimmings. require special information as to purchases. ae eer — ne, wuetteret Treatment. Alveta Skin Food, 347 5th Ave. Bality for calemeognd tel reductions. L nP. Room 707, ‘Phone 7158 M urray Hill. + , 54 West 39th Street, New York. ° e _— e Cleaning and Dyeing | Ladies’ Tailors . , MME, PAULINE WHEELOCK-PELLERIN, | 11 West 46th Street, New York. Expert Cleaner, Dyer. etc., out-of-town orders. 34th St., 402 Mad. Ave., Gowns, Laces, Cute, 900 Sixth Ave. : 233 W. 14th St. Corsets “MY HUSBAND’S CORSET.”’ Whole back, no lacing to do, no clasp. From stock $10.00. To measure $18.00 upward. Mrs. Gene Wat- son, 17 East 48th St., N. Y. City. GOSSARD FRONT-LACED CORSETS, Bien Jolie Grecian Trico corsets fitted by ex- erienced corsetieres, $3.50 up. Corsets to en, 10. Olmstead Corset Co., 44 W. 22nd St., N. Y. T. THOMA, CORSETIERE. Astor Court Building, 25 W. 33d Street. phone 469 Murray Hill. Tele- THE GILLETTE CORSET designed in Paris for the American Woman—made to individual meas- ure. Exclusive representative wanted in leading cities. Retail establishment, 569 5th Ave., N.Y. ISIDOR BAER, CORSETIER, 55 W. 45th St. Patentee of ‘Corset Truss.’ French pattern, latest design. Corset can .. velop as well as reduce any figure. Dancing MODERN DANCES taught privately by Mr. G. Hepburn Wilson. Magnificent Studios. Expert instruction quly: tuition reasonable. Aeolian Hall, 33 W. 42d St 4923 Bryant. BROADWAY DANCING ACADEMY, 250 W. 87th St., Phone 6435 Riverside. Professor Saato announces his return from Europe with all latest Parisian Dances, Tango, Maxixe, etc. Decorating & Furnishing K. R. GERRY, 546 Fifth Ave., Decorations, Italian and French Furniture. Old Laces, Wood Carvings, Objets d'Art, Antique and Modern Paintings. Inquiries solicited. Phone 5984Bryant. Delicactes THE CAKE SHOP. Wherever the Cake Shop Cakes go, they carry with them the conviction of home. Absolutely nothing commercial about them. 362 Mad.Ave.,N.Y.,Tel. Murray Hill 5886. Dress Plaiting & SADLEIR— Accordion and side ing, buttons covered, hemetitohtn ng, dyeing of pets, chiffons, fringes, ete. Gloves cleaned. 38 W. 34th St. Mail orders promptly filled. Trimmings | laitings, pink- | the corner? on West 57th Street. ment.” proper way. “Isles of Safety” What matter that a great city surges round about,— what matter that a thousand motors go chugging past There is an “Isle of Safety,” a haven of rest and refresh- ment snuggled only a dozen steps from Fifth Avenue, right in the heart of the city’s hustle. A place of appeasement and enticement, where the tea is always tastiest and the toast is always crispest; where the cosiness and comfort add to the zest of craving. Known to all the wise women of the East, much fre- quented during shopping hours, the scene of many de- lightful luncheon parties, it is truly a spot well-named: “The Cosey Tea Shop,” one on East 33rd Street, another The proprietress writes the Bazar as follows: “T have never fully understood the value of advertising until now. Bazar brings results. both my shops carrying your magazine, and often I hear my patrons discussing things they have seen in the Bazar. pleased, indeed, to continue my advertise- Very sincerely, Mrs. Alma B. Conrey. Mrs. Conrey’s endorsement shows that it pays to make one’s business known,—and that the Bazar points the I know that the Ladies come into I am very | Comstock, 286 Suits to order, $65. Expert cleansing and dyeing. TAILORED GOWNS REMODELED prevailing styles. 19 years’ experience. J. H. Fifth Avenue, New York. Tail- ored suits from $65 up. Tel. 158 Madison Square. Gowns and rices. ork. . WEXLER Smart tailored suits to order. suits - all occasions at moderate 678 Madison Avenue, New THE HELPFULN of these oe announcements cannot be judged from their siz he assurance of satisfaction is given with each and every one. S. STRAUSS. Ladies’ Tailor and Furrier. excelled in perfect fitting. Also remodels. 158 East 83rd St., New York. Phone Lenox 4578. ONE FIFTH AVENUE TAILOR whose perfect fitting won the Paris Medal—will meet the times by making guaranteed suits $65. Constant Quella, 590 Fifth Ave. For many years has |THE REMODELING SHOP — out of style gowns and suits remodeled. Mme. Blair, 132 West 9lst Street, New York. Phone 4884 Riverside. CLEVER REMODELING OF fad Lg my jalty. Mail orders filled successful urwitz, 366 Madison Avenue, New ad phone, Murray Hill 1125 THE HELPFULNESS of these little announcements cannot be judged from their size. The assurance of satisfaction is given with each and every one. H. “'Tele- Miscellaneous ENGLISH MODEL RAINCOATS make, olive or tan to Reliable Raincoat Manufacturing Co., 51 W. 24th St., N. Y. THE LONG FELT WANT may be filled, perhaps, by consulting this page. If | es you require is not mentioned here, write MME. ays highest cash value for fine St or a ced y used Evening, street and dinner costumes, furs, diamonds; Jewelry. 69 West 45th St. Telephone 670 Bryant. Novelties SPOON-STRAW for lemonade, mailed $.25. Witch broom for hearth, 47 inches long, mailed $1.50. Imported novelties, “Studio Shop,’’ 96 Fifth Avenue, New Yo | LIKE A SHOW CASE " hn ly as cy store, this page is filled with qerthy placed where all may see and choose. ~~ te le

Page 5

an a eS x 9? a a Photography Shopping Commissions . THE LILIAN GEORGE STUDIOS. Home portraits at residences. Sepia Monotone enlarge- ments as | es mag my from photographs and films. 58th S Y. Tel. 4876 Plaza. JANET PORTER Shops for or with patrons. No nange: Prompt, careful attention. ne ar. Bank references. 253 W. 93rd St., Tel. Riverside 6177. Preserved Flowers MRS. F. N. DAVISON. Registered—experi- enced. Shops for and with customers. No charge. Personal attention given your order. Cir- cular. Tel. 1866 Bryant, 227 West 45th St., N.Y. GLEBEAS “‘PRESERVED”’ FLOWERS (from Bohemia). Have the real beauty and delicious odor too. Their beauty is uneanay (one lady said). Austro-Hungarian Co.,4 W.33d St., N.Y. HILDA M. GADE, 225 W. 80th St., New York. Every order filled personally. Ten yea rs’ ence. Children’s oma specialty. Orders 1 ied promptly. Correspondence solicited. TIP YOUR HEAD A BIT as you leave the Waldorf 33d St.side. Wearedirectly opposite on Thirty-Third St., or write for Fria booklet. Austro-Hungarian Co., 4 W. 33d St. i on ap- Send for bulletin of argains. 366 Fitth ‘Avenue, New York. GLEBEAS VIOLET NOSEGAY, $1.00, has all the delicious odor and beauty of the growing flow- ers (it’s the smart thing). The freshness is last- ing,too. Austro-Hungarian Co.,4W. 33d St.,N.Y. MRS. S. D. JOHNSON shops for and with customers without charge. ush oe orders and rugs a specialty. 34 opp. W aldorf-astoria, Tel. 2070 feeray Ane “Rooms & Apartments MRS. E. MARTIN, 120 East 31st St., N.Y. General shopping for and with customers. Personal interest taken in every order. No charge. 2602 Madison Square. Tea Rooms Unusual Gifts ALMA B. CONREY—Tea Shop, 150 W.. 57th St. Branch of Cosey Tea Shop, 19 E. 33rd St. Breakfast, Luncheon, Tea, Table d’ Hote Dinner, 75ce. Delicious home cooking. Tel. Col. 8568. CHILDREN’S SURPRISE-BOXES, for con- hing oapegees birthdays, or journeys. Each Prices from Elizabeth H. Pusey, 16 East 48th St., N. Y. C. A REAL DINNER for sixty-five cents at The Studio Tea Room in 26 West 40, N. Y. Our pa- trons are our best advertisements. Luncheon fifty cents. MISS STEVENSON’S SHOP, Sewickley, Pa. October to January Sale at 574 Fifth Ave., New York. MEXICAN ART SHOP & TEA ROOM isa delichtful place to shop and dine. After- noon concerts. 3 W. 39th Strect. THE HELPFULNESS of these little announcements cannot be judged from their size. The assurance of Satisfaction is given with each and every one. EXPOSITION DE LUXE, 176 Madison Ave. Old Fashioned English Cookery. Pork Pies, Bakewell Pudding, Children's Luncheon Play Room. Exquisite Handicraft Gift Novelties. CHINESE AFTERNOON TEA BOX Cretonne box containing dainty menu of delicious im- postee Chinese confections, tea bowls, etc., af , $2. Bertha Tanzer, 9 W. 20th St., N. Y BLUE BIRD TEA ROOM. Breakfast, lun- cheon, tea, dinner. Regular dinner 60c, 75c, 85c. Home cookery, smoking room formen. 64 W. 46th St..N. Y. Bryant 6168. LIKE A SHOW CASE in front of a store, this page is filled with worthy offerings, and placed where all may see and choose. Toilet Preparations THE ADRIENNE. 319 West 57th St., N. Y. Enlarged and improved — Annex added — new dining room and nine suites with private baths. Apply to Miss Proudfoot. MAC CLOUD Scotch Oat-meal Cream ° ae panees Massage and Cleansing Cre: A yin nursery. 50c the jar. rureile. ‘Lincoin Trust Bide. 72nd *Stceet, N.Y. Tel. Col. 9037. Shampooing AMAMI HENNA SHAMPOO contains just enough, Henna to give lustre without altering the shade. Price 60c. Bijou Box asstd, samples ee- Prichard & Constance, 49W.23d St., Dpt H.,N.Y Specialty Shops PROFESSIONAL WOMEN useHepner’s Toilet Preparations. Send 25c in stamps for sample Beauty Box containing massage cream, cold ooae. face powder and lip rouge. 1456 B'’way, ept. 29. HELPS FOR THE HOSTESS. Davis Quaiity Dinner oe sold at git Sueee. your Stationer’s or The A - Davis Co. FUN FOR YOUR GUESTS. Davis Quality Dinner Cards sold at Gift Shope. your Stationer’s or The A. M. Davis Co., Bosto: THE LONG FELT WANT may be filled, perhaps, by consulting this page. If bee phing | you require is not mentione here, write the VAN RENSSELAER CRAMER STUDIO— The Only Box Shopin N.Y. Boxes Covered to or- der. Art Novelties, Cardsfor dinner, every holi- day, valentines, etc. 10 E.48th St. M.H: 3737. MARY GREY’S TREATMENTS for toning the skin and firming the muscles. At salon or by appointment. Tel. 3014 Murray Hill, 2 E. doth: t., opposite The Ritz. GIFT SHOPS will do — to write Ernest Dudley Chase, 3% Ashburton Place, Boston, about his line of unusual gifts and greeting cards for every possible occasion. Skin & Scalp Treatment BRIGHT COLORED FARROTS automatically ism to get out of order. _batest im Me novelty. C.J. Dierckx. 34 W. 36 St.. N. Y. QUIN-SEC. ASTRINGENT for tightening Makes throat firm and rebuilds tissue, $1.50. Write for booklet. Treatments for face con scalp at my parlors, 166 Lexington Avenue. IVOREX PLAQUES are imported. ri A are hand-tinted. Look like real ivory. 200 subjects. Write for catalogue. The Newcombe Studios, 333 Fourth Ave..N. Y. SEVENTEEN YEARS’ EXPERIENCE made CECILIAN FIBRE FLOWER. 4 perfect imi- THE LONG FELT WANT BAZAR READERS perfect my —- of treatment for the face and scalp. My es are conveniently located at 45 West 34th St., New York. James B. Quinn. tation of a fresh flower unsu and corsage wear. Price list on request. Morgan, Distributor, 124 E. 41st St., New York. for decoration may be filled, perhaps, by consulting this page. If | will find many su; ~~ 4 here from the leading the thing you require is not mentioned here, write | shops of New Yor! te the Bazar should you the Bazar. require special = as to purchases. Specially commended to the thoughtful perusal of all readers and friends of Harper's Bazar Advertising A Constructive In all the windy ways of men, in and Corrective law and business, and politics and governmental affairs,— whenever and wherever unfailing, unfalter- ing justice is demanded the power of the printed word is evoked. Force Publicity is ever a power for good. If public or private wrongs are to be righted, if ways dark and devious are to be lighted, an appeal to the a is the court of last resort. So it happens naturally and logically that Advertising has become a tremendously constructive and corrective force in shaping the affairs of business and society. Constructive, inasmuch as advertising brings into being many modern utilities and conveniences that never might have been made or marketed without the aid of printed and pictured description and salesmanship. Corrective, inasmuch as advertising has introduced law and order, instead of misdemeanor and extortion, into your everyday dealings with the business world. EE AELEIEE SLA LEILA NLL TENT EO ELITE LIES DLL LLL LAAN AO DEDDDADE ELLE LATER LEVELS BRACE EB Chat—No. Time was when the price of goods you bought was just a figure marked arbitrarily at the discretion of the dealer. His price had no relation to value,—he asked what he thought he could get. It was a “game of tag”— guess the price on the tag and you lose! There were no great outside influences to interfere,— no world-wide standards of merit,— no well-known trade- marked goods by which a person might form an idea of competitive values. Now, by the saving grace of modern advertising methods, the woman knows what she should pay, and what she should get. Thus you are benefited by advertising,— even without your knowledge or consent. Be sure, you can make no mistake by selecting goods from our advertising pages. Advertising Manager

Page 6

ae * Be pe i P y Hl VW) ~ . Bt ad PAs NF - LES PARISIENNES III, by ‘‘DRIAN”’ At the opening night of the opera at the Théatre Champs Elysée, the women in the audience were clad brilliantly, if scantily. The jewels worn were of unusual size and of elaborate design. One of the new styles of necklaces showed a long string of tiny diamonds caught by a large solitaire, beneath which dangled a single diamond thread, supporting a great, flat pearshaped sapphire. While la Parisienne’s favourite crown of glory will always be the gorgeously jeweled tiara, she also adores fine feathers, and this season flaunted masses of osprey aigrettes or paradise fantasies instead of her crown of white fire. The beauty and marvelous brilliancy of a French opera audience can- mot be exaggerated. The scene presented at the Théatre Champs Elysée during the height of the Paris season is one to inspire an artist or a poet. The costumes worn may be sketchy, but they are the most artistically beautiful creations of the greatest fashion artists in the world. 4 , Harper’s Bazar

Page 7

Photograph by the Campbell Studio. MRS. LYTTLETON FOX, AND HER CHILDREN, GENEVIEVE, ROSE, LYTTLETON AND MORGAN Mrs. Fox was Genéviéve O’Brien, daughter of Morgan J. O’Brien, and a niece of John D. Crimmins. With her children she is interested in many philanthropies and especially in the Christmas Dinner at the Home for the Aged, given annually by Mr. Crimmins. All of the Crimmins family assist at this dinner, and last Christmas even little Morgan Fox helped in giving out the gifts to each of the four hundred residents of the Home. The Social Heaven and the Climber By Frederick Townsend Martin For years we have held up the social climber to scorn and ridicule. He claims that the climber’s passionate desire to rise is merely the But, he adds, the society of the future will be controlled of this ubiquitous person. quest of the human soul after happiness. Mr. Martin takes another view by saner standards, and real worth and service to humanity will be the open sesame. N one age it is a coat of arms, in another it I is power, and ina third it is wealth. The goal of the climber changes forever. Who would suspect the father of American democracy of getting .behind a coat of arms? Who would think of Thomas Jefferson at the age of twenty- eight offering to pay cash for an aid to respecta- bility? Here is the offer in his own words, to his agent in London: “One farther favour and I am done, to search the Herald’s office for the arms of my family. I have what I have been told were the family arms, but on what authority I know not. It is possible there may be none. If so, I would with your assist- ance become a purchaser, having Stern’s word for it that a coat of arms may be purchased as cheap as any other coat.” For January, 1914 How splendidly Jefferson rose above such petty considerations all the world knows. Seventeen years later Washington refused to allow William Barton to dedicate his book on her- aldry to him. In his letter of refusal he speaks of the climbers as “clamorously endeavoring to propagate an idea that those whom they wish invidiously to designate by the name ‘well born’ are meditating in the first instance to distinguish themselves from their compatriots, and wrest the dearest privileges from the bulk of the people.” The difficulties of climbing increased as the country grew. When the stroke of a pickaxe makes a miner a millionaire he leaves the gulch and moves into the city. He takes his family to a hotel where for the first time in their lives they come in contact with an orderly routine and refine- 5 ment. Other hands wield the pick and shovel. The newly-rich put on new clothes, move into a new house and in a short time create a new environ- ment, a new atmosphere. The Climber Enjoys the Climb If the case is that of a broker who arrives by a corner in some commodity or a business man who has spent some years in the counting house, the climb is less difficult than in the case of the miner. Each discovers, however, that millions are not tickets of admission to society. It is out of the ranks of the newly-rich that the climber comes—comes with a passion that burns and consumes. His ambition is not based on hope of material gain; nor is it based on the belief or assumption that the “set” into which he wishes

Page 8

MISS PENELOPE SEARS Daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Hamblen Sears, of New York and Oyster Bay, Long Island. Miss Sears was a December débutante. “The Other House,” as the Sears country place is called, is kept in readiness for week-end house parties even when the in-town season is at its height. Photograph by Marceau. Photograph by Mrs. J. C. Fairchild. MISS RUTH SUMNER DRAPER Who is a débutante of this season, is a daughter of Mr. and Mrs. J. Sumner Draper, of Boston, and niece of Eben Sumner Draper, who was governor of Massachusetts for three terms. Through her mother Miss Draper is connected with the interesting old Copeland family of Boston. rey a a Oo a a a a a Or a ee Oe to climb is composed of men and women of genius or of great talent or intellect. It is not of the same stuff as the desire of a young musician who yearns to meet in social intercourse a great master. That one easily understands. The younger set in the arts and sciences naturally desire contact with the masters. The social climber has no such motives. She (the climber is more often a woman than a man), if asked why she wages such a fight for so little, will probably answer that it isn’t being in that she cares so much about, as it is the excitement of getting in. The difficulties of access, the social impediments, ire well known. It’s a thorny pathway. But once headed in that direction, she believes no obstacles insurmountable. In New York we have “sets” within sets—circles within circles. Very often the climber achieves one set only to find that a high wall stands between her and a more exclusive set. The methods of the climber are amusing and some- times pathetic. The most common of them is a dinner. At such a function will be found the people who of all available material should have been left out. Such misfit gatherings have been called “social cocktails.” People of real power are usually absent. A few failures will put the climber on her guard. They will force her to make deeper plans for a campaign. The Methods of the Climber One of the most tactful social climbers I have ever known, after many rebuffs at amateur dinner performances, decided upon a plan of campaign by which she was to break into society. Selecting a popular young society woman she began the siege, showering upon her attentions, presents, flowers, candy, opera and choicely arranged tea and card parties. Occasionally a great literary light was thrown in as an added allurement. The scheme worked. She reached the desired heaven and when her position was secure and beyond question she became ultra-conservative and built behind her a_ higher wall than the one she herself had successfully scaled. When the climber attains even a partial success she oftens becomes not a mere stickler for forms, but a snob; and the snob is always on the fringe of society—never inside. The parvenu is easily distinguished. He knows everybody. The names of the rich and exclusive are on the tip of his tongue. They are to him Dick and Jack and Bill and their wives are Jenny and Kate and Ann. He not only knows everything but he has seen everything. The story of the Irish Alderman who, when the subject of gondolas for Central Park was being dis- cussed, declared that a pair of them should be pur- chased, put on the lake “and let nature take her course,” is equalled by the story of the parvenu who when asked if he had seen the Dardenelles said: “Ves, certainly; I dined with them several times!” The woman climber takes herself more seriously than the man does. He recognizes limits. There are no such things to her. She will play the game fair as long as there is a chance to win. When that chance fades away she will appeal to a court of last resort. She will try, as many others have tried, the power of her sex. That often succeeds when all else fails—although it is a determining factor at all times. The meanest point of attack or pathway of ap- proach, in my opinion, is through the door of a church. I have more respect for a poor widow who attends the house of God in order to get on the winter coal list than I have for the woman who at- tends in order to force an entrance into society. Yet more climbers reach their goal by way of the church than in any other way. The fellowship one finds in philanthropy and church work is more of a leveler of distinction than any other agency that I know. But the church approach is meanest because the theory of brotherhood is degraded and reduced to a means to an end in the selfish pursuit of an empty honour that is both false and hypocritical. Publicity and the Indirect Attack The campaign by means of the publicity agent is the most spectacular but probably the least effec- tive of the climber’s methods. Newspapers and newspaper writers specialize on social matters and the climber can buy publicity as she buys ribbon. It is more expensive, of course, but prominence on the social page is in itself a goal that thousands con- tinuously climb for and never attain. When the time comes for the ex-miner’s daughter to make her début a small army of dressmakers, photographers and writers is employed and the result of their efforts is spread out on a page of 6 a Sunday newspaper. A careful scrutiny of the names attending the reception will reveal how suc- cessful the introducer. the publicity agent and other promoters have been in securing the names of those whose social standing is unquestioned. To the outside world society is society. To those on the inside there are sets and circles that never mix nor mingle in any way. The miner’s daughter imagines she is in, but a few years later she will discover her position and begin to climb where her father left off and the procession will march on. Her success will depend upon her beauty, her money, her talent. If un- successful in the direct attack, she may enter New York or Philadelphia society by way of London, Paris or Berlin, as others have done. In recent years the efforts of the climbers have created a new profession: the social promoter. This person, usually a woman, undertakes for a consideration to open society’s doors to aspirants for social honours. -The promoter is usually a woman who has suffered reverses in financial mat- ters and uses her social prestige to keep alive. Often she goes farther than mere social functions, and takes in the work of matrimonial agent. Some of the European nobility have been known to engage in social promotion and some have even bartered their own titles for the money that came with a wife. The social climber who has money to spend finds that there is no end to the help she can command both inside and out of society. “The Same is a Thief and a Robber” It is not the function of society to hamper a legit- imate social intercourse. Everyone knows that society must have fresh life—new blood infused into it; otherwise it becomes moribund, archaic and useless. At the same time society has as much right as the individual to choose who shall and who shall not take part in affairs which after all are purely private. Not rights, but duties and privileges, are in question, and society has usually been fair. It has opened its doors to the persistent knocking of those who earn the right to enter. Society is jealous of its prerogative and often looks upon the social climber as the Scripture looks upon the false shep- herds: ‘He that climbeth in by another way, the same is a thief and a robber.” (Continued on page 88) Harper’s Bazar

Page 9

When Youth Comes Into Its Own is i is paramount. Photograph by This is the season when youth is para Walter Kayser Bachrach. From the time of the first débutante reception, eatly in the autumn, November, December and January are given over to the intro- duction of this younger generation, to en- gagement announcements, and to weddings. Miss Josephine Tunstall Smith of Baltimore Sob ot Orgs hice " tas Photograph by Aimé Dupont. Miss Virginia Scully The engagement of Miss Brown to Mr. Edmund Twining, Jun- for, was announced the latter part of November. And immedi- ately the young people were the centre of gaieties. Luncheons and dinners, followed by dancing, were given for them. In accord- ance with the present fashion, the future bride was deluged with presents. This giftgiving fad is increasing to such an extent that conservative women are wondering what the end will be. Miss Brown, as the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. G. Hunter Brown, is a granddaughter of the late James H. Brown, founder of the bank- ing firm of Brown Brothers. Her engagement to Mr. Twining has — — ha ee romance, for they have been next- neig! rs for several years. Mrs. Twining was Miss Geor- i n giana Stairs, of Halifax, daughter of a man edi hanes in Provin- Miss Ursula Brow cial affairs. The old wives’ tradition that the girl who serves three times as bridesmaid will never be married herself has been shattered by Miss Brown. She has attended at feast six of her friends as bridesmaid, the last having been Mrs. William de Forest Manice, a bride of last June. Débutante affairs are just as important in other cities as in New York; perhaps they assume greater importance in cities not so large nor so cosmopolitan as New York. In Baltimore, the débutante must make her formal bow at the first Monday German. Miss Josephine Tunstall Smith, daughter of the Ralph Tunstall Smiths, has been one of the most féted of the Baltimore belles (the Monument City stiff clings to this charming appellation for its pretty girls). While necessarily the entertaining is not on so large a scale as in New York and Philadelphia, Baltimore society is as gay and brilliant as that in most of the larger cities. . Photograph by Aimé Dupont. Miss Virginia Scully and Miss Dorothy Hollister are two New York débutantes who are being very delightfully entertained. Miss Scully, who is a niece of Doctor and Mrs. Alvah H. Doty and Miss Clementine 2 Rees, had a “coming-out” luncheon and dance at Sherry’s. There were seventy guests, others coming in late Miss Dorothy Hollister for the dancing. Miss Hollister’s reception late in December was given in her mother’s town house on Park Avenue, and that there was dancing goes without saying. For January, 1914 Photograph by Rochlits. 7

Page 10

eure —-3r* Mrs. Alfred Sketches by Elsie Deane Photographs by Interna- tional News Service UST at this time, when the in- town social season is nearing its height, New York is a vast moving clothes show. Up and down Fifth Avenue, in and out of the shops, in the swiftly-moving, luxuriously-fitted limousines, which mass the roadway from curb to curb, and in the smart restaurants and tea rooms, this clothes show is of ever-increasing interest. There is a sophistication about the present modes which, while adding to their interest, frequently detracts from their charm. This sophistication is most apparent at indoor gatherings, where the sur- roundings and atmosphere are naturally artificial. I wonder why it is that a gown which will look ultra-modern at a smart public gathering will so often lose much of this unpleasing characteristic Mrs. David Dows when seen at a home affair, no matter how elaborate the affair may be? Perhaps it is because we women are changeful creatures, and, like the chameleon, assume the colour of our surroundings. Although the National Horse Show is past history, it is, perhaps, not too late to comment on some of the cost .mes which I saw during that eight-day session. Many of them were worn for the first time, and, being the very last word of the fashion dictators, will be in evidence the rest of the season. Here were gowns of a sophistication which would have pleased Drian himself; others of a simplicity that might have been inspired by Kate Greenaway. There was little elaboration of detail, but much sumptuousness of fabric and design. Mrs. John A. Leishman, Jr. Mrs. William R. Hitt Colours, Furs and and on the By Katrina One of the simpler frocks was worn by Janetta Alexander, Mrs. Charlie Alexan- der’s second girl. She is the slender, picturesque type, and in her white chiffon frock and black velvet hat she was, in- deed, like a. picture. Her gown was quaintly simple in design and treatment. The softly-hung skirt: had no hem, and was seemingly worn over-a soft silk and net petticoat. Outlining the skirt, mid- way between waist line and feet, was a six-inch ruffle of the chiffon. The bodice was cut low in front and was distinguished by a deep sailor collar of the chiffon. This collar was edged with a deep ruffle, which was transformed on the top of the shoulders, into a double fichu that con- tinued down each side of the deep V neck. To disprove the idea that sleeves are long by day and gone by night, Miss Alexander’s were full-length, close-fitting affairs, finished at the wrist with deep double frills of the chiffon. A narrow wreath or band of flat pink rose buds formed the dividing line between the deep frill which fell over the hand and the narrower one which turned back on the arm. By the way, this slender débutante of last winter understands the value of green. Her evening cloak was a delicious shade of dark green velvet, just the Mrs. Payne Whitney tone to bring out the red-gold lights in her hair. Other green velvet wraps worn the same evening vied with Miss Alexander’s. While hers was absolutely, severely, plain, and, in shape, resembled a voluminous kimono, one worn by Mrs. Alfred Anson was an elaborate affair of sage green velvet and much gold lace, arranged much like a bishop’s stole. Mrs. Anson, who was formerly Mrs. John J. Emery of New Harper’s Bazar

Page 11

Jewels at the Opera Avenue Stuyvesant York was married in Bar Harbor a year ago last summer to the Honourable AIl- fred Anson of London. She was the so- called ‘‘tailor-made figure,’”’ but is able to wear the most pronounced of the pres- ent fashions with a distinguished grace. The gay colours of the autumn ‘and early winter are gradually giving place to more sombre tones. Dark browns and blues are forcing the brilliant roses and greens into the background. This is per- fectly logical; for fashion is always logical. While velvets are in high favour again, there is no doubt that the lovely new wool fabrics have won most warm recog- nition. Many of them will be with us .even for dressy costumes until late spring. I am never surprised when that old standby of the American and English woman, blue serge, leaps into the sartorial lime-light. Velvets may come and broad- cloths may go, but the blue serge stays with us,forever. A most attractive cos- tume created in a wide-waled serge, of an almost black blue, was worn by Mar- garet Andrews at one of the afternoon sessions of the show. There was some drapery on the skirt, and the smartest kind of a coat, cut so as to show a gray waistcoat. The skirt drapery formed a point on each side just above the knee. Miss Elsie Ladew Hanging from each point was a black silk tassel, about four inches long. The coat had one of the sailor collars which have been so warmly received this winter, by the débutantes and their older sisters. The majority of these collars are entirely of fur. Miss Andrews’ was of the serge, finished with a deep band of brown skunk. Oh, the prevalence of fur! A most cursory glance at any smart gathering makes one believe that always and ever, For January, 1914 Miss Janetta Alexander 3> NE Oa De Mrs. Richard Stevens when in doubt, the dressmaker says fur. Fur buttons, fur patch pockets, fur panels, fur every- where, even on underclothes. But that is another story, one that may be told later! A recently re- turned traveller, one who spent November in Paris, tells me that the first straw hats are being trimmed with fur and flowers, and that a filmy chiffon parasol, de- signed for use on the Riviera, had a deep band or hem of seal fur. Undoubtedly some of the Palm Beach wardrobes will include these novelties. There is no doubt in my mind as to the delightfulness of sealskin, over that of all other furs for coats. Russian sable is sumptuous, and : it looks most extravagantly ex- Mrs. Garrett B. Kip pensive. But becoming? Never. Coats of it add size to the slen- derest figure and make the plump woman look grotesque. Moleskin is more clinging, but its colour is rarely becoming. Sealskin, on the other hand, is becoming to every shade of complexion. It even gives a com- plexion to women supposedly lacking one, and it clings as lovingly to the figure as moleskin. It can be made up in the simplest designs or elaborated to the last degree. Every other fur blends with it. But I must return to my moutons and describe the coat which inspired this dissertation on the skin of the seal. This coat was worn by Mrs. Richard Stevens at the Horse Show, and also at the Opera one night early in December. It was (Continued on page 94)

Page 12

I beg your Far from the Great White Way, far from the greed of the Octopus, New York, the Tired Business Man finds “ a cleaner, greener land” where car conductors have time to be courteous, where the crowds do not jostle you and the policemen are not too busy to direct a stranger. Mr. Davis gives us a delightful word picture of New Orleans, of its old Creole families, its rose-covered galleries and its famous restaurants. stretched his tentacles and aroused him- self from his lethargic sleep. Throughout the hot, long summer, and the damp, dreary autumn, he had dozed while his victims had worked on unceasingly in the shadows of the skyscrapers, the stronger, as usual, strangling the weaker for the little money that was left in the big city. The moment of the Octopus was now at hand. Winter had come to New York. The opera season was well-launched and Farrar and Caruso were delighting the town with their golden voices, the devoted admirers of the former taking her slight attack of laryngitis as seriously as the Cabinet took the Mexican crisis; Madison Square Garden had blazed with the glories of the fashion show which welcomes the horses each autumn; Harvard had beaten Yale at football, and the whole country — represented by the most notable of its citizens—had spent its dollars and yelled itself hoarse at the Army’s unexpected victory over the Navy in the annual football game; the much-heralded “Little Café,” with its “sixty most beautiful chorus girls in the world,” had proved itself a success and settled down to take in the public’s cash. The hotels, big and little, were crowded to over- flowing with many Mr. Moneybags from the middle- West and many Mrs. Moneybags and an infinite number of little Miss Moneybags, very pretty, and ready and anxious to spend éverything “ Pop- per” had made or could possibly make during the remainder of his natural hard-working, poker- playing existence. The Salvation Army Santa Claus was ringing his bell by his corner chimney, taking in the pennies for Christmas dinners. The sidewalk venders were selling toys to every pass- erby. New York, the Octopus, was at his most omnivorous moment, with the spirit of mad buying and selling everywhere. But I know of another land, a land that is for- ever geared at first speed; a land of soft, pungent smells, and lazy, warm breezes: mysterious, moss- grown bayous, and spicy Creole cooking; a friendly kindly land, where the men and women have plenty of time to sit on the front gallery and rock and talk of something else than the Income Tax and the Currency Bill. land where adventure lurks about every corner and where every house with its grilled iron balcony seems to have been made for your own particular romance. Out of Reach of the Octopus Much disgruntled and thoroughly tired of the land of the Octopus, on a bleak, raw day in Decem- ber, with many other Tired Business Men, I was squirted through a tube under the North River and eventually landed on the New Jersey meadows. Somewhere in my flight through the ear-splitting tunnel noises, the albatross, which, as a sign of servitude, the big city ties about the necks of all of its victims, had evidently been cut from my neck, and I once more felt myself a free agent. I awoke at eight o’clock next morning well across the State of North Carolina. Through the window I looked out on a weather-beaten railroad station. A hot sun beat down on the narrow platform. Two coal-black negroes dozed at the doorway and the agent swung his legs from a truck, and, with much deliberation, expectorated at an already much besmirched pillar. It was quite evident that he had long given up the hope that any pas- senger might alight from the trains that stopped at this particular station. Eight o’clock in the morning! I could hear the alarm clocks in New York buzzing their warn- ings and summoning the over-worked, over-fed, over cabaretted victims of the Octopus to their daily grind. Every tube, every ferry-boat, every train, was crowded to over-flowing with tense, nerv- ous kf wmanity, hurrying to take up the unfinished task left from the night before. These were the privates in the war for wealth; an hour later, the generals, in their swift, silent limousines, would be racing down Fifth Avenue—worried, perplexed commanders these, hastily scanning the stock- market reports in the morning papers and eagerly looking for news from Huerta and the “school- \ \ J 1TH a yawn Mr. New York, the Octopus, teacher” at Washington. The same sun that shone on these would-be conquerors of a great city shone on the two coons dozing at the station door- way of the little North Carolina town. Who was Huerta and how could the erudite views of the gentleman at Washington possibly affect these gentlemen of splendid leisure who had been born into the purple of the simple life? “Away Down South to the Land of the Cotton” All of the morning, the train zig-zagged its way through high banks of red clay. Beyond were end- less gray fields of stubble and towering stacks of withered corn stalks. As, for some unaccountable reason, we stopped before one of the wayside stations, I looked at my watch and saw that it was one o’clock. In New York, I could imagine the traffic on Fifth Avenue at that hour; the jam of automobiles, the busses, and the taxicabs slowly fighting their way up and down the broad Avenue flanked with its massive buildings. I could see the crowds of pretty women. I knew that the palm- lined lobbies of Sherry’s and Delmonico’s and the Ritz were crowded with fair women and young girls; that the white-room of the Knickerbocker was filled with a noisy, chattering crowd of actors and theatrical managers and chorus girls. As the afternoon wore on, the gray fields and the red clay roads and the clumps of naked oak and chestnuts gave way to the brown and white cotton- fields of Georgia. The weather grew warmer, the air more soft and balmy, and we passed through wonderful woods of dark green pines, illuminated here and there with a maple of brilliant orange or of screaming scarlet. The fields were filled with coloured people picking the late cotton. One saw cotton everywhere. Hundreds of bales of it at the railway stations, and pathetic little bags of it on the porch or in the garden of every isolated farm house. One seldom saw a white man now; the fields were filled by blacks, men and women, young and old. During the late afternoon we stopped at a little town sufficiently thriving to have an evening paper of its own and as we again started on our way, I eagerly scanned the pages of the little paper for news from the seat of war. As a matter of fact, the leading news story on the first page was a violent attack on the amateur standing of a member of the football team of the next town. There was also an exciting description of a duel at Cordele, Georgia, and an article stating that, during the last ten days, one hundred and twenty-five moon- shine cases had been heard at Athens. But of Huerta or Carranza—not a word. At that same hour in New York, I could imagine Broadway alive with newsboys selling the latest editions, ablaze with war news in type six inches high. What cared the editor of my little Georgia paper for Huerta or the Currency Bill? He had covered the local news and covered it amply. With the consciousness of a day well spent, and that he was the proprietor and editor of the town’s only paper, he could well afford to knock off early. Where the Tired Business Man Slackens His Pace At the coming of night, we passed into Alabama, with its rolling fields and white sandy roads. The sun, a flaming scarlet ball, slowly dropped behind the heavily wooded hills and left a great band of pink stretched across a pearl-gray sky. The little station platforms were deserted entirely. Lamp lights twinkled from the little farm houses, far apart now, and built in clearings of dense pine-woods. At seven o’clock, it seemed as if the whole country- side had wisely put out its lamp, and gone to bed. Seven o’clock—the hour when New York lights its lamp and sallies forth bent on a night of pleasure. From the car window, I looked out on a broad lagoon, its unruffled waters lighted by the stars and a tiny crescent of a silver moon. And, after the lagoon, forests of trees now quite tropical in their dark green foliage; silent tilled fields; rich pasture lands; and all asleep and at peace with the world. And New Orleans only twelve hours away! To the tired eyes of the Tired Business Man, the whitest lights of the Great White Way Io faded and disappeared in the face of this “cleaner, greener land.” Of all the admirable traits and of all the lovable charms that New Orleans possesses for the Tired New York Business Man, I think the most lovable and the most admirable is that there is so little there to remind him of his own town. The business section bears a striking resemblance to Louisville, Kentucky, or any other city of the Southwestern part of the country. There are the same hetero- geneous rows of new marble office buildings, old brick warehouses, nickel shoe-blacking establish- ments, great department stores, soda-water drug stores and gaudily decorated moving-picture theatres. The general effect is always that of the Southwest and there is little or nothing of the East about it. On the other hand, if we desert “the city” and wander out St. Charles Avenue way, where the truly rich of New Orleans live, we find a district that is wholly reminiscent of Los Angeles or Pasadena—quite as admirable in the architec- ture of its homes and quite as lovely in its grassy and treelined sidewalks as either of these towns, or as a matter of fact as any other town in America. New Wine in the Old Bottles But, of course, the section that makes New Orleans unique among our cities and gives it its own especial charm is the old Creole Quarter. It lies just beyond Canal Street, and, by simply crossing this bustling, modern thoroughfare, we can step at once from the typical town of the Southwest to one that can remind us only of old Paris. Perhaps the most striking and surprising thing about the Quarter is this absolute line of demarcation. It would seem quite incredible that, in its modern progress, the new town should not have overflowed its banks and the waters of the younger civilization should not have found some sort of outlet in the streets of the older, but, happily, such is not the case. The Creole Quarter remains as unchanged to-day as if it were not a great town of itself, but rather an historic building, which had been taken over by the Federal Government, and preserved exactly in its original state. A few years ago, the local city government, no doubt with the idea of bringing the two towns into a closer proximity as well as of increasing property values, erected a splendid modern marble courthouse in the very centre of the old French town. But, if such were the idea, the well-meaning intentions went for little, for even the streets that immediately surround the new courthouse re- main absolutely unchanged, and I understand that the increase in the value of property is very slight. There are still the same curiosity shops, old book- stores, dilapidated boarding-houses, and quaint restaurants. On one side of the new park that surrounds the modern courthouse stands the de- serted historic Royal Hotel, which the tourist still visits, and where the younger generation still gazes with wonder and incredulity on the pens where the slaves were held and at the block on which they were sold. The old hotel is forlorn beyond words, grimy with the dust and dirt of ages, its windows broken, and in all ways it presents a picture of pitiful decay. Its walls continue to crumble away in the very face of the glistening, marble facade of the new court-house, and yet the “For Sale” sign still decorates its weather-beaten walls. Antoine’s Famous Restaurant It is much too late now to speak at any length of the Creole Quarter of New Orleans, because it has been more written about and more thoroughly photographed than any other single district in the United States, but it is a pleasure to report that it is still unchanged and shows not the slightest sign of ever being very different from the town it is to-day. The streets are just as they were when Le Blond de la Tour laid them out in the early part of the Eighteenth Century, fifty French feet wide— or rather fifty French feet narrow. The old Spanish and French homes, with their brown and gray tinted walls and their beautiful grilled iron balconies, stand just as they have stood for genera- tions. The narrowest gallery of the most dilapi- (Continued on page 12) Harper’s Bazar pardon Broadwaé=y By Charles Belmont Davis

Page 13

ime San @ -— to er ae, ry «Bi, marron: Mekemia. of wo he ek) “ " 4 ooh $e —— 3B wo . | iif i] A | A yi ‘ie ¢ | Photograph by Underwood & Underwood. WILLIAM WALDORF ASTOR, THIRD. This oldest grandson of William Waldorf Astor is a typical American youth, although bred and brought up in England. On his arrival in New York a few weeks ago, he asked to be taken at once to a baseball game. He is spending the winter with his grandfather, Mr. Chiswell D. Langhorne, on the Langhorne plan- tation, near Richmond, Virginia. Mrs. Astor, who was Miss Nannie Langhorne, is a great favourite in English society. She is practically the chatelaine of “Cliveden,” the magnificent estate near Taplow Bucks, which her husband will inherit from his father and which will, in time, belong to Waldorf Third. In the picture Mrs. Astor is faci: ¢ the camera, while the young heir is holding the hand of his aunt, Mrs. Charles Dana Gibson, who was the eldest of the five pretty Langhorne sisters, former belles of old Virginia. For January, 1914 II

Page 14

I : ty edie Ye BOT tonto dated house is still adorned by numberless flower- pots and the stone-paved court-yards still bloom with roses and the same wonderful tropical palms. One can walk for miles through the quaint, narrow highways and byways, and find every kind of antiquated and picturesque building, from hovels of plaster to the splendid luxurious homes of the Creole families. A few of the richer of these old aristocrats have moved to the more modern and the more ostentatious St. Charles Avenue, but their old homes on Esplanade remain unchanged. If one is looking for a foreign atmosphere in our own country, surely here is the place to find it. The architecture is principally Spanish; practically everyone speaks French. It is only when the stroller occasionally comes face to face with a modern firehouse or the inevitable moving picture theatre that he is rudely reminded of the fact that he is still in these our United States. Where the New Orleans Atmosphere is Found If any American who had never visited New Orleans were asked what that particular town sug- gested to him, he would probably say, the Mardi- Gras Carnival, the Creole Quarter and Antoine’s res- taurant. Of the Quarter I have briefly spoken; the Carnival is a long story in itself. It has been written about from many angles, the angle depend- ing on just how far the writer was able to immerse himself in the Carnival spirit, but, at best, the Carni- val enters into the life of the city for a brief week only. Antoine’s restaurant goes on forever, and is an institution for twelve months in the year. There are two reasons, or, perhaps I should say rather two excuses, for writing at any length about Antoine’s. One is that it is probably the best known if not the best restaurant in the world, and the second is that it gives me the opportunity of in- troducing the subject of New Orleans restaurants in general and of Creole cooking in particular; and both of these play an important part in the life of the city and in the life of the visitor. For the tourist who is looking for ‘‘atmosphere’ I can imagine no better neighborhood than that which the original Antoine Alciatore selected for his restaurant. It is several blocks from Canal Street, and, to reach it, one must crowd one’s way along the narrowest of the narrow sidewalks of the French Quarter, pass by dark and-deserted alley- ways, cross streets of broken flagstones and climb over perilously deep gutters. But the thrill which every true gourmet must feel when he first sees the electric sign “Antoine’s”’ stretched across the sidewalk is only equalled by the shock he must suffer at his first sight of the restaurant itself. Nothing could be more commonplace, nothing could be more unimaginative. The room is just fifty feet square, contains seventeen tables, six rather untidy waiters and an old man with rimmed spec- tacles, who sits behind a desk and makes out the checks. The walls used to be pink, but they have recently been tinted yellow and gray. True to New Orleans interior decoration, mirrors glare at one from every side; at luncheon the floor is bare, but the dinner hour is given an air of formality by laying down strips of narrow red carpet along the two aisles. There is a great deal of electric light, no music, and, in every way, the room is deco- rated with as little taste as a second-class Sixth Avenue lobster palace. But, what Antoine’s lacks in these qualities is amply atoned for by the cooking and by its strange medley of guests. Of the latter, one-half are usually tourists, and the other half is divided be- tween members of the French Opera Company and the smarter class of New Orleans society. If one cares for Creole cooking (and I know of no town in the world, except Paris, where so much thought is given to the culinary art as in New Orleans), then anyone who dines at Antoine’s will dine well. It is essentially a house of specialties, and, if one is to dine or lunch there but a few times, it is best to depend on the specialties. From their oysters a la Rockefeller to their Café Brulot, the dishes are all good, delicious in fact, and guaranteed, in a short space of time, to ruin the best digestion ever pos- sessed by any living man or woman not born and bred in New Orleans. I will give the menu of the first lunch I ever ate at Antoine’s, because it is pretty sure to be the lunch that any waiter there will suggest to any tourist who enters the place for the first time: Oysters Rockefeller (or Canapé of Crab-meat) Gumbo Creole Pompano en Papillote Fillets de Canard Salad of Alligator Pear Café Brulot The “Best of Cooks”—and a Diplomat When I had become an habitué of Antoine’s and the waiters had gained some little regard for my knowledge of eating, and long after my digestion was entirely ruined, I was not only not asked to , order indefinitely, but was peremptorily demanded to confine my luncheon to one dish—usually a Spanish omelette or a brace of very small lamb chops. But this meagre fare does not suit the good people of New Orleans—that is, it does not seem to when they dine at Antoine’s. Year after year they go on eating the same rich old specialties, and to their credit I must admit that they seem to thrive on them. And their drinks are just as good to drink, and just as harmful to the digestion as their favourite dishes. The three best-known libations in this high-living old town are gin-fizzes, Sazerac cocktails, and dripped anisette absinthes. Every one of these concoctions, as brewed in New Orleans, is a delight to the taste. But, to return to Antoine’s. By far the best part of the restaurant to me is Jules Alciatore, the present proprietor, and the son of the original Antoine. Jules is not only the proprietor, but he is the maitre d’hétel and, so tradition says, the best of cooks. ““The next time you go to Antoine’s,” says the grande dame of New Orleans society, or says any gentleman you happen to meet at the club, “you must go with me. You see, when Jules knows that J am coming, he does the cooking himself.” If one grande dame, c_ one gentleman at the club told me that, at least twenty did. And, I am also sure that quite as many told me that Jules had had his walls changed from pink to yellow for their especial benefit. This fact, when linked with what I have seen of Jules while at work, makes me believe that he is something of a diplomat as well as a cook. One incident which came under my own observa- tion will show how clever he is when really inter- ested. I dined early one night at his place and saw him, surrounded by his family, finish a perfectly good meal. Shortly after the dishes had been re- moved, and he had reassumed his réle of maitre d@hétel, a party of men from Chicago, who, for some reason, seemed to loom big in the eyes of the proprietor, came into the restaurant and ordered dinner. Apparently Jules knew one of the men slightly; but, wishing to talk to all of them, and yet not wishing to intrude his presence too forcibly upon them, he promptly sat down at the next table, and ordered himself another large din- ner. This he proceeded to eat with evident gusto, meanwhile chatting with his distinguished guests at all available opportunities. Very Far From Broadway I have spoken of Antoine’s at length, because, to the tourist at least, it is the most widely known of all of the French restaurants; but, as a matter of fact, there are at least two others that stand equally high in the eyes of the people of New Or- leans. One of these is the Louisiane, run by another son of the old Antoine Alciatore, and the other is Galatoire’s. Personally, I could see little to choose between them. The cooking at all three is extremely good from the Creole standpoint; all have exactly the same specialties; all bear a striking and shocking resemblance to an all-night second-class New York lobster palace. From the French restaurants, it is but a step to the cabarets that lie on the other side of Canal Street. In these, it is only in their professional dancers that they fall short of such resorts in New York. In fact I know of no cabaret better lighted, better managed, or more charming in all its details than that at the Old Saint Charles Hotel. But perhaps the most interesting one I saw was that given every Saturday afternoon by two young women at the Grunewald Hotel. There were no professional dancers, and everyone had to pay a dollar for their tea or ice, and the pleasure of one- stepping or tangoing to a very good band. The young girls and matrons and very young men who crowd the room are the smartest of New Orleans smart society; the two young ladies who managed the affair for their own profit also are of the “oldest families,’ and, to all intents and purposes, act as hostesses. It is very pretty, very different from any public cabaret I have ever seen elsewhere, and, in all ways, very much likea private entertainment. One experience I enjoyed at the St. Charles cabaret made me believe that after all there is some feeling of kinship among New Yorkers; that they are not all as unsympathetic as they are painted. It was an off-night, and I was watching the little professional girl dancer slowly pirouetting about the room with her partner, when my thoughts were interrupted by the portly and proud headwaiter. “You seem to be lonely to-night,” he suggested. “Tt wasn’t like this in the old days at Martin’s, was it?” he sighed. “I never saw you at a table alone then, sir.” _ I protested that New Orleans was not without its attractions. “Oh, it’s a good town,” he wailed, “but I’m awfully lonely myself.” ‘‘Who is the girl dancer?” I asked, more by way of conversation than interest. “T don’t know her name,” he said gloomily, “but she’s a nice little thing. She’s from New York, too, and she skips around here and smiles 12 and tries to be gay. But, I know, sir, she’s just like the rest of us. She’s awful lonely, too.” In a general way, the social life of New Orleans is very much more like that of New York than of any other American town I have ever visited; certainly much more so than the big cities that lie much nearer the Metropolis, such as Baltimore and Washington. The reason for this is perhaps because the richer class of New Orleans people are very cosmopolitan and spend a great deal of their time in New York, while, on the other hand, many New Yorkers who know the place are prone to spend a great deal of their time, especially during the winter season, in New Orleans. The Aristocrats of Esplanade Avenue In society, as in pretty much everything else in this charming town, one is at once impressed by the unique and the all-pervading influence of the Creole. A few of the more affluent have moved to the newer residential quarter of the city, but the greater number still live on in their old homes on Esplanade Avenue, surrounded by their oak and palm-studded lawns and flower-gardens. For the most part the Creole families of to-day are no longer rich, and in this, as in their pride of birth, their social customs and their home life, they closely resemble the families of the Faubourg Saint Germain in Paris. Few of the men of the younger genera- tion of these families of aristocrats care to labour more than is necessary to acquire sufficient money for a few clothes and a great many cigarettes. I heard a story of a young Creole swell, which I was assured was quite typical. Meeting an acquaint- ance on the street, he beamed upon him and cried with genuine enthusiasm, “Jean, congratulate me. I have a wonderful job. Fifty dollars a month and nothing to do!” And, so, while the young men of the family are as a rule content to work in a bank or in a cotton-broker’s office for fifty dollars a month, and do very little for it, it devolves upon the women- folk to make enough money to eke out a bare existence. I was told that the most beautiful and exquisite lingerie and all kinds of needlework, sold in the New Orleans shops and guaranteed to come direct from Paris, was practically all made on Esplanade Avenue, and by the oldest of the Creole families. Many of the daughters work in depart- ment stores or at other honourable employment, but while the high-born Creole may be forced to sell a pair of stockings to the wife or daughter of a nouveau riche, neither she nor her mother would for a moment consider the idea of asking one of these newly-rich upstarts to their home. There is, no doubt, a very large element of society in New Orleans that finds its counterpart in the society of any large city. I refer to the class who devote their lives to giving and receiving purely formal hospitality; the class that still believes an eye is good for an eye and that a luncheon is equal to a seat at the opera or an invitation to dinner finds its equivalent in a bunch of orchids. A Kindly Land of Courtesy But there are other sets in New Orleans; and, it seemed to me that, more than in other big cities, there were sets who were hospitable just because they found their pleasure in hospitality. They give luncheons in little out-of-the-way French restau- rants; not the three well-known restaurants where the tourist goes, but quiet little places, where there is always a bar in front and a dining-room in the rear. In such places, and I went to a number of them, and, incidentally, found them all charming, the husband tends bar and serves the drinks, the wife remaining in the kitchen to cook the lunch, while the son or daughter of the family waits on the table. Throughout all New Orleans society, or, at least, all of it that it was my good fortune to see, I found a great deal of the kind of Southern hospitality that the Northerner likes to believe still exists, and I do not know that I have ever found a people so delight- fully simple or free from ostentation. If anyone of a party was fortunate enough to own an auto- mobile, he “picked up” the party and carried it to the meeting-place. If no one happened to have a car, then an ordinary street car was good enough. Taxicabs, although uncommonly cheap, are ap- parently regarded as an entirely unnecessary luxury. I remember an incident which, in a way, seemed to show the kindly, hospitable spirit that exists in New Orleans throughout every stratum of society. On the occasion of the first luncheon party to which I was asked, my hostess “picked me up” in her limousine. The following afternoon, I was taking a walk in the outskirts of the residential quarter when a very good-looking car drew up at the sidewalk. The driver touched his cap, said he was the chauffeur of Mrs. So and so, who had given the luncheon the day previous, and that he would be pleased to take me to my hotel. As the hotel was many miles distant, it seemed to me that the young man showed a true spirit of hospitality. In any case, I cannot recall that a similar experi- ence ever happened to me before. (Continued on page 96) Harper’s Bazar

Page 15

Photographic iilustration by Lejaren A. Hiller. A marvelous gem—a great pear-shaped emerald—-lay there under the searching glare. Among The author of this story has won distinction by the youthful virility of his fiction. TT Rh of 3-e By Larry Evans Yr re s.¢.1n:2t It is a tremendously good story that he gives us here—a story that will make your blood race through your veins and then stand still, that will make you hold your breath and wonder what’s going to happen next, just as you did years ago. It will bring to you that delightfully young feeling, that unsophistication that we all dread to lose. OMEBODY or other (his name _ is inconse- S quential so far as this story is concerned) once represented Destiny as a lean and not too alluring feminine figure attired in draperies of a scantiness sufficient to awaken in the casual beholder’s breast nothing so much as a vague sense of regret that shapeliness had been sacrificed almost entirely to allegorical accuracy; and topped off the whole figure with a visage of forbidding inscrutability which conveyed the in- stantaneous impression that any mere male trifler who contemplated lingering hopefully in her vicinity would be wasting his time. Part of which, as has been said, is more or less inconsequential. Yet had the slender, nervously alert young man who knocked thrice, a queerly accented, knuckle-dribbling tattoo, on the heavy door at the rear of Blind Abraham’s pawnshop known that such a statue even existed he would have smiled, at that particular moment, with sophisticated pity for the sculptor; smiled out of lazy eyes that were as clear and limpid and shallowly grey as the sheen of newly polished steel. For Destiny, a full-lipped, ripe-limbed jade of a Destiny, had just smiled upon him with delirious coquetry. The slender young man with the lazy eyes and wavy, boyish hair had good reason to believe that he was a competent critic. Standing there at the rear of Blind Abraham’s filthy little pawnshop, hidden from the street and the front of the house by a bit of dirty curtain, he made an incongruous picture in the immaculate serge that hung upon his lithe body in just the folds ordained at that moment by the fickle king’s jester known as Fashion. The fingers—his own— which had patted his cravat into its final shape, were the fingers of an artist. From the top of his head to the tips of his spotless, customed boots he was a figure that might have drawn more than a passing glance, even on the populous Avenue—and even at that critical hour. Back there in the recess at the rear of Blind Abraham’s pawnshop his presence was startling. He peered casually around the curtain edge, For January, 1914 scanning the shop, empty for the moment save for one pallid clerk; then, shifting his silver-banded stick to the crook of his other arm, he repeated with perfect mimicry, and a touch of asperity, his first queerly accented, dribbling knock. On the books of the Central Office the slender, immaculate young man’s record was written; not on the police blotters or any of the numberless systems for identification, but indelibly engraved upon the minds of more than one quiet-faced official who had good cause never to forget him—and who, it might be added in passing, would have failed to realize -how close his chance for fame had fluttered had he; at that very instant, met the immaculate young man face to face. On such mere mental records as these he was inscribed as Jimmy the Infant, Feather-finger, and Cotillion—all easily decipherable sobriquets. But the name with which the single occupant of the darkened room at the rear of Blind Abraham’s pawnshop—Blind Abraham himself — greeted him, when the door swung cautiously open in answer to his second knock was the name that met his entire approval. “Hah! Dancer!” the withered old man croaked. “Hah—goodt! I sendt for you. I haf been vaiting.” In Blind Abraham’s Back Room Even while he spoke Blind Abraham slipped like a shadow between the newcomer and the door— and with.no worse intent than to refasten with careful fingers the bolts which the Dancer had slid heedlessly into place. Yet the Dancer swung, too, casually apparently, but lightly and catlike on the balls of his feet, thus keeping his face always toward his host. There were vague stories current —bodiless rumors that lacked corroborative detail, but none the less vivid—of other lazy-eyed young men, almost as promising as the Dancer himself, who had dropped out of a most interesting career, always with mysterious suddenness and always directly following a particularly heavy haul such as that which the Dancer himself had made on the night previous. 13 The Dancer had private theories which he felt would have answered many such riddles and which, too, he kept religiously to himself. But he made it a point of conduct—perhaps because of these theories, perhaps merely in deference to the other’s far riper years—to see that Blind Abraham passed always in front of him. He was an astute and promising young man—the Dancer; and just at that moment the cup of life was bubbling with a wine of ever-changing: flavour far too delicious to risk sudden heedless shattering. Blind Abraham slipped the oil-filmed bolts into their sockets and smiled to himself behind his grey- streaked beard. He also was astute, and he had great need, for the immediate present at least, of a young man of the Dancer’s inspired social gifts. He was an evil old scoundrel, stoop-shouldered and yellow and thin almost to emaciation, with feverishly bright eyes that shifted and searched from cavernous sockets. But he was a keen judge of values. Nor was he blind—in the accepted sense of the word. Merely an habitual inability to recog- nize from minute description, even in the midst of the police hue and cry, a fatly stuffed jewel-box, for instance, or a rope of pearls—any fabulously invaluable trinket that dropped out of existence only to drift eventually to that darkened room, as if to a magnet—had earned him the name. In two con- tinents there was but one man whom he had to acknowledge his peer as a judge of precious gems —Sagendorph, the old Prussian—and Sagendorph was too honest to be a picturesque rival. From the rebolting of the door Blind Abraham swung with startling swiftness, his head stretched far forward upon his buzzard’s neck, face close under that of his immaculate visitor. One eye was hidden, cupped behind a jeweler’s glass, but the other burned with doubly malevolent intensity upon the Dancer’s smilingly inscrutable countenance. More than once in just such fashion Blind Abraham had caught off their guard other young men who had been extremely valuable to his business—and almost simultaneously their invaluability had ceased. But the Dancer’s smooth face smiled back at him in

Page 16

the dusk with mocking self-possession, and blind Abraham dismissed the failure with the customary shrug of his shoulders. “T sendt for you—I haf been vaiting!’’ he reiter- ated, and turning led the way to a little table that stood at the far end of the room. An electric bulb, the glow of which might be tempered from a soft radiance no brighter than that of a glow-worm to the fierce intensity of a search- light, hung pendant above its polished surface. A mirrored shade cunningly confined the rays to a little circle of illumination that fitted the round table-top to a nicety. The Circle of Light Blind Abraham turned the button, and the light, at the extreme strength of the current, beat with dazzling concen- tration upon the top of the table, throw- ing the rest of the room, by mere contrast, into utter blackness. For a second the Dancer was totally blinded by its bril- liance; then, when his eyes finally became accustomed to the glare and saw, he drew in his breath with an audible, sibilant hiss of sheer wonder and admiration. Blind Abraham, with another cut of the cards, might have been a miracle of a stage-manager. A marvelous gem—a great pear-shaped emerald—lay there under the searching glare, scintillating with a thousand points of light; pulsing and throbbing and seem- ing almost to beat with life itself against the dark red heart of the mahogany table. The instant he gasped, dumb with the wonder of the thing, the Dancer recog- nized it; or rather realized that it must be the object that had given weight toa certain small chamois bag which had come to rest in his own coat pocket the night before. He could scarcely claim to be on terms of intimacy with it. In the necessary haste of that moment he had viewed it as so much possibly marketable merchandise; and—and now, under the crafty stage-management of Blind Abra- ham, he realized that the splendour of the gem could fairly take a man by the throat. And while he stared the full glare of that shaded light, flipped upward. by Blind Abraham’s gnarled fingers, struck him fairly in the face. Like a shadow the Dancer’s hand slipped inside his im- maculate coat—and then stopped. The Dancer grinned with unruffled good nature into the black void from which he knew Blind Abraham’s eyes were burning upon his face, greedy of detail. He smiled lazily and spoke in amiable accents that would have puzzled his excellent uptown tailor. “Well, what’s the puzzle?” he de- manded. “Why not tell me the secret, too? You won’t catch me tripping.” The hand that had been directing the glare of the electric bulb full upon the Dancer’s face swung the spot of light back to its place over the round table-top, and the next instant the whole room leaped into brightness at the turning of a second switch. “So you didt nodt regognize idt? S-o-0?” Blind Abraham’s voice was tinged with relief. ‘You are ignorandt of what idt really iss?” Brockton—A Man About Town He leaned across the table, lifted the blazing stone, and stroked it with infinite, gloating tenderness. Watching him and noting the filthy fingers and broken, blackened nails, a wave of disgust swept the Dancer. He turned abruptly and drew a chair close to the table edge, hung his stick over its back, and sank into it. ““Of course I recognize it,” he contradicted. “It’s part of the stuff I brought away with me last night from the old cove’s rooms, after I’d helped him into a cab and home. Gad, it was luck—just blind luck—to find him there alone in front of his club, sitting on the curb and weeping his heart out because another day was gone forever! But, man, man, I didn’t know it was anything like that!” Blind Abraham nodded slowly, his lips working wordlessly for an instant behind his beard, as was his habit. “Undt der old cove’s name vass—?” he insinu- ated softly. “Brockton!” the Dancer finished for him. There was more than a hint of exasperation in the Dancer’s voice, for he was beginning to tire of the other’s in- satiable suspicion. Not only did he fail utterly to understand its cause, but he felt, too, that already it had passed the bounds set by a rigid etiquette in such affairs. “Emmet Brockton—and I seem to remember having informed you to that effect before. If you’d read the society yellows once in a while, instead of sticking everlastingly to the customs’ reports, you’d know for yourself that the name stood for man-about-town—dilettante, it’s often designated—and more or less well-known clubman. And if you had listened to the gossip of any green- room along the Big Lane you’d know that it meant the unadvertised backer of a _ half-dozen big Photographic illustrations by Lejaren A. Hiller. He sauntered lazily toward the ballroom. girl-shows in as many years—losing propositions. Also—he’s a bad egg. That you may have abso- lutely on my own say-so.” As he spoke the Dancer slipped off his heavy gloves with just the precise hint of impatience that would have graced the most inaccessible drawing-room in Manhattan. It paid, the Dancer had discovered long before, to rehearse constantly and assiduously. “So he backs thee-atre blays?”’ Blind Abraham murmured. ‘He backs blays—undt he is nodt a good egg. Hum-m-m. Dot egsblains much.” He turned to bend over the many-faceted gem upon the table, his back toward his visitor. ““To-night,” he went on with admirably controlled interest, “to-night iss the night of the huge O’Mara ball—no?” The Dancer smiled seraphically. “It is, Blind- man,” he said. “It is!” ““Undt you, withoudt a doubt, will be—busy?” 14 Again the Dancer’s white teeth showed through a pleased grin. ‘I had—ah—intended to be among those present,’’ he admitted with mocking facetious- ness. “This strictly between friends, of course. I dislike exceedingly undue publicity.” Blind Abraham again nodded thoughtfully as he turned, holding the madly glowing stone aloft between thumb and forefinger. Swiftly all trace of facetious mockery disappeared from the Dancer’s face at the old man’s non-committal reserve, and his voice bit deep with sinister, uncon- cealed scorn. ““What’s your riddle, Blindman?” he rasped. ‘“‘What’s your riddle? Let me help you guess it. For I tell you again you won’t catch me tripping—not this time!” “It Has Been Called the Sultana” Blind Abraham’s lips were werking . spasmodically behind his beard, his eyes glowing with almost pagan fervor. “Two dousand years ago,” he commenced fi- nally, almost dreamily, “‘so idt iss said, an Eastern podendate sold his favourite wife into slavery that he might bossess in return for her this jewel. Because of thadt tale idt hass been called the Sultana —hah, now you understandt a little? The Sultana! Undt idt hass been said to- carry that woman’s curse because she lofed him much. Twice hass idt’s owner died strangely—undt horribly too— which concerns us nodt at all. But idt iss the stone! Hours haf I studied idt— as if I would nodt regognize idt mit der naked eye! The Sultana—undt—undt to-night iss to be the big ball of the O’Mara’s. Hum-m-m. Idt wass a puz- zle, surely!” The Dancer was leaning forward now, eyes narrowed with interest, every fibre of him keenly alive to the old man’s story. ‘So that’s the Sultana, is it?’’ he murmured almost inawe. “The Sultanal Gad! And I lifted it and brought it away in my side pocket, like so much green glass. And what a howl there'll be in a day ortwo! Well, go on with the riddle.” “A riddle, surely,” Blind Abraham mused on. ‘“‘To-night is the huge ball of the O’Mara’s where, withoudt a doubt, you should be well employed. Undt chust one short year ago Stephen O’Mara, whose father treasured idt for twenty years undt then passed idt down to his son—chust one year ago he hung der Sultana aboudt the neck of his new bride, for der vedding gift. Undt—undt yedt you come undt tell me that you pick up der Sultana in the street, from the pocket of a too drunk man. The O’Maras do nodt sell family heirlooms. Hum-m-m.’” The Dancer’s head shot up, his hand striking the table-top with nervous em- phasis. ‘‘That’s the thought I was try- ing to run down,” he exclaimed. “I knew there was something I wanted to remember. Stephen O’Mara—and the big sensation that the engagement an- nouncement made a year or so ago—and —and the Sultana, too.” His voice droned off into silence. Crystal clear the whole thing came back to him; the picture of that night at the Imperial when Marie Villiers came out upon a stage ankle-deep from the storm of flowers, to say good-by toa public which had been, for her at least, an ever generous, ever loyal suitor. And the Dancer remembered, too, that his. throat had been dry and unaccountably choked because of the very radiance of her face when they—the whole auditor- ium—rose and thundered their love and good wishes and farewell across the foot- lights. That night he had permitted - himself a sentimental luxury — heartfelt satisfaction that Stephen O’Mara, for whom all these others were being deserted, was rated high as a man as well as a millionaire, even by decent men. The Dancer peered deep into Blind Abraham’s eyes. “Ah!” he said softly. “So you did think you had me tripping; you did think I’d pulled down some of the loot beforehand.” And again he finished with the monosyllabic interrogation, “Well?” “There Are Things That Stay Clean!” “Tdt iss much clearer now—no?” Blind Abra- ham rubbed his hands in perfect contentment. “Brockton—he hass der Sultana—undt he has been a backer of the thee-atre shows—undt he iss nodt a good egg. Hum-m-m. There will be no howl, as you call idt. For she—she hass been also a thee-atre actress,’ he shrugged his thin shoulders. Harper's Bazar

Page 17

at the incontrovertible evidence, “undt she also could be a bad egg, too. Am I nodt right?” The Dancer rose swiftly to his feet. He was not a particularly finicky young man, and yet the other’s sleek, grinning certainty awoke something within him that was close kin to nausea. The sudden summons to the little room behind the pawnshop was sufficiently explained without need of further loss of time; and he had work todo. Cross- ing to the door he drew on his gloves in absent- minded nonchalance. But the picture of Marie Villiers as he remembered her on that last night— the light in her eyes and the smile of her lips, the radiant happiness of her whole being — flashed before him in sudden contradiction; and, scarcely knowing why, he turned. “You lie, Blindman,” he said smoothly. “You lie! There are things that stay clean, even in this dirty borough. You have just failed to see them, that’s all.” He passed out into the late afternoon. Blind Abraham, troubled not at all with vivid mind pictures or the ethics of things in general, gloated long over the great jewel that lay pulsing in the heart of the mahogany table-top, shrugged his shoulders—and immediately forgot all else. “‘Tdt will bring a price,” he murmured, “a price— indeedt! Undt safely, too, ina year ortwo. Paris maybe, or—or Vien, or der St. Betersburg market.” And yet—strangely enough—when several hours later he had all but completed his preparations for the work in hand, the still vivid recollection of Marie O’Mara, who had been Marie Villiers, troubled the Dancer’s soul not at all. Standing before his glass, he swept with calculating eye his own reflection, nodded his head in sardonic satis- faction, and turned to look to the last detail of his already faultless toilet; a detail hardly common to the toilets of the other sleekly groomed young men with whom the evening promised to throw him into more or less close companionship. Even the Dancer’s own forehead was creased with mock annoyance as he snapped experimentally the ham- mer of the flat, black, vicious little automatic and slipped fresh cartridges into its magazine. It was a beautifully compact form of instant death; yet at that, flat as it was and snug as it lay n its place just below the left shoulder, it necessitated a little extra fulness of the dress coat which, in any event, was not an improvement. That, however, was the only fly in the ointment. Some men are born to evening dress just as others are condemned to carpet-slippers; and Fate, the Dancer often mused, must certainly have stacked the deck to have dealt him so many face cards. He tossed his Inverness over his shoulder, flashed a smile back at his own image in the mirror, and went down to the brougham awaiting him in the street—went blithely as befits one whose blood flows warm with the love of life. The Waning of the O'Mara Honeymoon It pleased the Dancer mightily, that brougham. It might have been easier to manage a limousine, but as his equipage drew up before the awning that tunneled up the steps of the old stone pile which had housed two generations of O’Maras, he felt that its deep-bellied sides and fat warm velvet cushions lent a note of distinct individuality, an air of unimpeachable respectability—in contrast with the unbroken strings of throbbing town cars—which came near being a stroke of genius. The lackeys upon the sidewalk shared that belief, for when the slimly muscular:young man alighted and ran lightly up the steps they gazed after him for a brief instant with more than a vague hint of expression colouring the monotonous sameness of their eyes. Which, after all, was the most flattering attention any man might ever hope to receive. It was well-timed, his arrival. In that crush—the sort of a crush that one would expect to grace the opening of the great house upon the return of its master and his pretty actress-bride—he was no more conspicuous than any other conventionally clad black - and - white atom upon a sea of viv- idly coloured chatter- ing hilarity. For no one felt that he—or she— could afford to be ab- sent. They knew that the girl was beautiful, and that the last year in Europe had been report- ed as just one contin- uous honeymoon; and— and yet evenin the few days since their return there had been rumours. Stephen O’Mara had been seen too often alone, too often thin faced and preoccupied. The final outcome - of other matches such as theirs had been anything but reassuring. Under the circumstances the Dancer felt that for him to waive presentation was pardonable, and so, although the cloakroom had been crowded when he entered it, it was deserted by all save himself and the attendants before he left. At the entrance of the long ballroom he paused for a moment, sweep- ing with dancing eyes the multi-coloured throng, his blood pulsing more and more swiftly with the throbbing accents of the first waltz. “Jimmy Danceforth” Nor was his gaze without objective, for the Dan- cer was choosing his first partner, and choosing not without due fastidiousness. He meant to dance once or twice at least and trust blindly to fate that some one else less fortunate would later pay the fiddlers. And destiny was kind. Even while he stood undecided, a hand touched his arm and a voice murmured an apology in his ear. He stood aside ‘to allow its owner, a tall old gentleman, white bearded and straight as a lance, to pass be- fore him. In that same instant the Dancer’s gaze shifted to the girl whose hand lay upon the old gentleman’s stiffly crooked elbow; his daughter, the Dancer knew, for the pride that touched the grim old face as the pair became immediately the centre of a group of importunate youngsters was unmistakable. She was slim, almost tall in her soft white satin gown, and she laughed with a low Photographic illustration by Lejaren A. Hiller. The woman whose fingers had turned the button stood flattened against the wall. For January, 1914 15

Page 18

age a “He threatened me; he was pressed for money, and he threatened to send them to my husband.” Photographic illustration by Lejaren A. Hiller. note of raillery as she waved aside the proffered dance-cards. The Dancer was never slow in recognizing smiling opportunity. Instantly, with half-impudent assur- ance, half-winning boyishness, he slipped through the wall of close-set shoulders and offered his bent arm to the girl. And just as swiftly her laughter hushed upon her lips. But the Dancer bowed and spoke with a laughing challenge in his voice straight at her grimly uncompromising old escort. “Monopoly, sir,” he bantered. “Flagrant mon- opoly!” And then, far more gently: “Do you mind very much, sir? It’s my dance, you know, and the orchestra has been performing now for hours.” [he old gentleman scowled ferociously while he gazed hard into the young man’s eyes. Then he bowed grandly in turn. “Youth undismayed,” he surrendered, and turned toward the white-clad girl with a question in his eyes. Fora barely perceptible instant she hesitated, a wicked defiance in her whole poise. Suddenly she laughed softly, piqued curiosity underrunning the mirth, made him a little mock curtsey, and placed her hand lightly upon the Dancer’s sleeve. As the chagrined circle of besiegers dissolved, the old gentleman put a detaining, not unkind hand upon the Dancer’s shoulder. ““[—ah—young man,”’ he fumed, pulling fiercely at the white goatee. “I suppose I have had the pleasure at some previous moment. It’s my beastly memory, my boy! But I would like to be able to address you by name, sir.” The Dancer’s smile was brilliant. ‘ Danceforth.”’ His voice had a little rising inflection. “Jimmy Danceforth. It is a beastly name to remember, isn’t it? I—I’m near to forgetting it myself, at times!” Yet it was some minutes after they had joined the circling crowd upon the floor before the Dancer found grace to lift his eyes to those of the. girl within the circle of his arm. Then he still spoke lightly. The Smile of Opportunity “Don’t ever,” he admonished, “don’t ever hesi- tate like that again! For a moment I suffered the tortures of the—of the eternally shamed. I almost thought you weren’t coming.” The girl’s eyes were very grave. “I didn’t know it myself,” she told him, ‘‘ but you seemed so certain that I thought perhaps I’d better leave the decision entirely with you.” Despite the veiled amusement of her words the smile did not reappear—not instantly. ‘Who are you?” she demanded. : “Jimmy Danceforth,” he recited tritely, and then he lifted his brows. ‘Surely—surely,” he chided, “you are not dancing the first number on your card with a gentleman who has never been properly presented, or—or whom, perhaps, you merely fail to recall?” Her eyes still clung gravely to his, but a slow pink tide of colour stained her face from neck to hair. “I suppose you wouldn’t be here,”’ she mused, “unless you belonged here; and—and yet you puzzle me. It is a new sensation, I find, to be swept off—shall I say by sheer nerve?” “You haven’t made the presentation complete,” the Dancer reminded her. “Your own name—?” Again she swept him the mocking curtsey, even as they revolved. “With a girl to whom you have never been formally introduced!” she railed, mimicking his lifted brows of the instant before. “T will tell you that the dear old man whom you hoodwinked so shamelessly is my father—you knew it already?—and concentrate my mind upon a fit punishment for your effrontery.”’ Small feet quickening, eyes laughing challeng- ingly, her weight a little heavier upon his arm, “‘Let’s dance!” she said. But she was as good as her word, for at the end of the dance she led the Dancer across the polished floor. ‘‘Lo—your penance!”’ she whispered, under her breath; and before the Dancer found time to protest he found himself bowing as the girl presented him. “Mrs. Blakely-Wells,”’ she laughed, “Mr.— Danceforth.” The Dancer caught just the barest trace of hesitation in her voice. “I’m going to leave him with you. Will you please bore him to death? He has dared be original enough to set me thinking.” The Dancer Toys with Destiny The Dancer bore the fat old dowager’s lorgnetted gaze with admirable grace, in view of the fact that the girl’s last half-enigmatic words had set him thinking, too. And his eyes, drinking in the glow of the ruby pendant at her breast, told him that again opportunity, willy-nilly, had come knocking at his door. The bejeweled, over-tinted old woman shook her glass at him reprovingly as she made a place for him beside her, for his smiling eyes held in their depths the quintessence of flattery. No matter how openly they fought shy of her, Mrs. Blakely- Wells still fatuously believed that young men found something irresistibly alluring in her slightly giddy chatter; and leaning close the Dancer fostered that belief, until finally when he did tear himself away and strolled off into the little den across the hall, a cigarette between his lips and one hand caress- ing tentatively the pleasant little bunch that the ruby made in the pocket against his hip, she sat 16 beaming upon the room before her in rosy, beatific joy. “What a perfectly dear boy!” she murmured to herself. ‘“‘How delightfully naive and unspoiled! And—and the quaint part of it is—I don’t seem to recollect him at all.” At that same moment the Dancer leaned luxuri- ously back in his deep chair and swung one slim pump-shod foot over the arm and smiled pensively. “Poor lonesome old dame,” he said. And then the Dancer did a foolhardy thing, a thing which instinct itself told him was foolhardy. He sat there blowing soft feathery smoke-rings, recalling the mocking challenge in the slim, white- clad girl’s eyes and reviewing the enigmatic phrasing of her last words, until a fleeting desire hardened into actual resolve to dance with her once more. A specious logic told him that it was safe, even while the instinct which had pulled him through more than once where cunning itself had failed argued the open street. For a period that covered two dances he sat idle; then rose and sauntered lazily toward the ballroom. The instant he entered that room—the same instant that he realized it was too late for him to turn back —his brain translated the scene that lay before him. The orchestra was still playing, but the dancers were huddled together in excited, chattering groups. Only a few men were wandering aimlessly about the open spaces, eyes searching the floor. Every nerve in the Dancer’s lithe body went taut, but for all that a gentle smile of amusement still played upon his lips as his eyes roved up and down the room. A moment he stood, his brain racing madly; then, without knowing why, he wheeled sud- denly and saw her. Her eyes were calling him, si- lently and insistently, from a far corner. As he crossed to her side with a lazy lack of haste he saw her dismiss her escort upon a suddenly important errand. And she gave him the chair in the corner, drawing her own, perhaps by strange coincidence, so that her body partly shielded him from the rest of the room. “Tsn’t it delightfully exciting?” she asked him. “This night seems fated to be replete with new sensations—new for me, at least.” The Dancer’s lips were tight. His eyes ceased to flit from point to point, and focused steadily upon her face. Behind its smooth loveliness he could read nothing but simulated animation; her grave eyes were only inscrutable. It was beginning to be decidedly warm, and yet the thing to do was to sit tight, for the time being, until the first puff of zeal had blown itself out, and then chance it.’ But he cursed fervidly to himself his own weak surrender to a whim which had made that chance necessary. (Continued on page 84) Harper’s Bazar

Page 19

Bbilit s:cczssaees H tet ; fuss 5 2t" AN “ROT aoe all a igs eat . ea EDT OX. UN pe eal Se) BNO ose GS ey BRR OG RRS egg * Shox a ~ . wf Sie a . i ae 4 yn: i eae on ~ 3 4 > as t “ ee feariasen } eer : . , a ot s ¢ eanadhatnaniaaiien conn whieh ; Photograph by Koehne, Chicago. Her interest in the opera season we O = ~ oO S) 1) = there has been a strong factor in its success. HAROLD F. MRS. The youngest daughter of John D. Rockefeller is an acknowledged leader in Chicago social and civic affairs. 1914 eMigsssscrsssteigiersseces's For January,

Page 20

i x - § r f t cera G Div echaeed E PIS er ss Te Pala A.—Dining Room B.—Drawing Room C. -- Hall D. Library Mr. Payne Whitney’s New York house on Fifth Avenue, overlooking Central Park, was one of the last achievements of the late Stanford White. Marvelously beautiful from the architectural viewpoint, its interior is adorned with structural fragments removed from old palaces in Spain, Italy, and France, and adapted by a master hand to adorn an American house of the twentieth century. There is in this Renaissance palace an atmosphere of home which many great houses lack. Instinctively one realizes that a family life is lived here; the gracious per- sonality of a charming gentlewoman makes itself felt even in the more formal rooms. Mrs. Whitney was Miss Helen as Hay, a daughter of the late John Hay, Secretary of State during the McKinley administration, and one time Ambas- sador to Great Britain. Mr. Whitney was the oldest son of the late William C. Whitney, President Cleveland's Secretary of the Navy, and one of the foremost financiers of his day. In developing their home, both Mr. and Mrs. Whitney felt the influence of traditions, and recognized the stand- ards to be attained. They wanted a house suited for en- tertaining on a large scale, and also a home with harmonious lines and fittings, which would always satisfy the needs of their family life. And most excellently have they succeeded. 18 H ome s of By Robert H. Van Court D The exterior is correct in line and balance, stately but simple. One enters through a beautifully carved marble door- way within which is set a bronze grill. Upon either side of the entrance is an antique sarcophagus of carved stone filled with growing evergreens. The doorway leads into a low, broad entrance hall, circular in form, with a cornice resting upon marble columns. A fountain, with goldfish’ swimming about in its glistening basin, rises in the centre of the marble-paved floor, and before it a statue of Italian marble stands amid growing ferns. At one side, the en- trance hall opens into a small reception room, where the Harper’s Bazar

Page 21

walls are lined with mirrors and old portraits set between mouldings of gilt. From an alcove in another part of the hall the stairway rises to the main floor. The arrangement of entrance and reception room upon the ground floor has made possible a magnificent series of formal rooms above. The staircase leads to a lofty and beautiful hall, the walls of which are faced with stone. Marble columns and pilasters are placed at stately dis- tances where the stairway comes up and at the side, where great windows flood the room with sunlight. Overhead is an antique ceiling, carved and painted, and from it hangs an old Italian altar lamp. For January, 1914 H Perhaps the most splendid of these rooms is the drawing room, which occupies the width of the house upon this floor, facing Fifth Avenue. Its walls are covered with glorious old Italian velvet, a deep crimson shade, well worn in many places, but still wonderfully colourful. This makes a set- ting for an antique mantel, and for the sumptuous furniture covered with old brocade and embroideries. The carved doorway was taken from an old Italian building. In the dining room, on the same floor, the walls are wainscoted with walnut, and richly coloured mediaeval tap- estry is used as a frieze. Much of the woodwork is old and has come from abroad; an old coffered ceiling has been T9 Photographs by Frances Benjamin Johnson. E.— Studio F.—Reception Room G.—Morning Room H.—Bed Room fitted into place, from which are suspended several small silver lamps, of the kind that are used in churches. Above the drawing room is the library, where the walls are covered with old leather. The ceiling, the mantel, and much of the other woodwork of this room, were designed by the great masters and wrought by patient craftsmen of centuries ago. The more intimate rooms in the house are charmingly informal, but have the same beauty as the larger apart- ments. Mrs. Whitney’s own rooms are delightful and homelike; and this is also true of the little breakfast room, with its simple white paint and French furniture.

Page 22

lL he The AM well known and highly recommended in the scholastic world—though that is hardly what I have set out to say. I left the Board School with full certificates, and later the high- est honours of the Training College accompanied me on my mission as a teacher. My final diploma could not have been improved on. There was only one phrase which might be read in a derogatory sense—to the effect that my extreme commonsense had supplanted all trace of imagination. Heaven knows that no such deficiency can be laid to my credit now; I am even supposed to have imbibed a little madness—but to return. After several years spent in the normal curricu- lum, I began to experience the desire for change and excitement, to which the steadiest and least neurotic are liable. I felt I was indulging in nothing very adventurous or fantastic in applying to an agency for a post as governess in foreign parts. The agent’s report was that such positions were rare and could not always be commanded, but that if I cared to consider Ireland among exotics, he could offer me occupation in an old family settled on the eastern borders of Connemara. Though entirely (I am not sure whether to say blissfully) ignorant of Ireland, I felt that any change would relieve my mind which had become run down by the monotonous. The terms were generous and the work comparatively light. I was expected to “accompany three children in their leisure hours.” Later I discovered that their schooling was second- ary to their sports. My formal acceptance was forwarded, and a selection of diplomas. At the end of a week I received an answer in Early Victorian copperplate, with all the twists and flourishes of last century, written by some local schoolmaster. It conveyed the instructions of the family to whom I had applied in the stilted eloquence of the hedge school. Greek Kalends, May 188-, Gortnagealy School-house. REVEREND MADAM: I am instructed by my laudable and proficient patron, Mr. Sinnach, hereditary Squire of Gorteen and fundator of above seminary, to send word that your letter has by me been examined and found correct. We have made a fair trial of your enclosed diplomacies and pending special consideration by Mr. Hallowen the Curate, with whose sententious monogram on the Irish Round Towers you have been doubtless acquainted, and by Mr. Grath the Gombeen man down the road, we duly pronounce them creditable to yourself and printer: These ensigns of learning we duly return with our patron's salutations and a command to present yourself any day (next fairday pre- ferred) at Gorteen Station. four obedient and certificated frére, TIMOTHEUS O'HENSEY. Statement . 2. 2 = a of Miss Brown of London The weird thrill of the long ago, when we read Edgar Allen Poe, is recalled by this story of at the end she tells of her discovery of the meaning of the name Sinnach, a mystery, Postcription.—I may divulge that I have had the above children under mensal and manual instruction since last lambing. They are acquaint with Copying, Mathematics, and Dithyrambics. Quod erat demonstrandum. Into Foreign Parts I must say I felt a little puzzled, and quite failed to read the professional jealousy of the local sage be- tween the lines. I went to our Carnegie Library, and read up all I could find about Irish Round Tow- ers, including a Melody by Moore, which I learnt by heart. But Mr. Hallowen’s treatise was unknown. I also made a conscientious attempt to enter the line of studies familiar to my future charges. I began to suspect that the P. S. was a variation of the old joke which includes education under the three R’s—reading, ’riting and ’rithmetic. Mathematics was the last, Copying was writing, but Dithyrambics was Greek to me. I looked for it in the Dictionary and found it really was—in fact “an ancient Greek metre peculiar to Dionysian strains.” Even so, it was meaningless to my mind. Afterwards I discovered it must have been mean- ingless to the writer, whose only object had been to overawe me with knowledge unknown. Meantime I had sent a telegram and shipped myself to a southern port in Ireland. I shall always remember arriving in the early morning. It was mid-July and a gossamer of greyish pink trailed from the flanks of the mountains into the pearly bay. Behind the broken rocks the vivid green branches of trees pierced the mists here and there. As a picture it would have won a diploma at the Kensington Art School. As soon as it was day, it began to rain and drizzle, and whether the sun was shining or not, the drizzle continued. I had changed climates if not countries. The Irish climate is as tropical as its admirers say, but it remains at the rainy sea- son. Under Weeping Skies To my surprise I found after landing that not one of the inhabitants carried an umbrella. My sunshade was the only human contrivance, besides the slates, for baffling the elements. I passed down the unsheltered quays to a square, weather- beaten building labelled Temperance Hotel. A passing drayman kindly brought on my luggage behind two horses. At the door I asked my host how much I should pay the driver—“ Nothing,” he said quietly, “but come in and eat to the glory of God, for ye’re famished.”’ After a hearty break- 20 fast, I inquired if I could be driven to the nearest railway station later, and how much I should give. “Och, the old man will give ye a lift for nothing at all, he’s bound that way—”’ I could only stare for reply. “It’s a lone widdy-woman he takes ye for and it would be unlucky to take money off ye.” I felt indignant at his mistake and was assert- ing my real position, when he explained that in Ireland only a widow seeking solace would be traveling the country in black clothes alone. Once more I feebly expostulated as to my inten- tions, but he was thoroughly interested in my case and we chatted till my train was due and indeed long after, for he was sure no train could ever be so inconvenient as to leave for Gorteen at the right hour. When I drove off to the station I had learnt several lessons not taught in London Board Schools, the least of which was the lesson of Irish hospitality. I spent another hour at the station talking to the drayman. I could not help asking why nobody we had seen had an umbrella. “Ye lie,” he answered kindly; ‘every mother and daughter of them has them out on fairdays.” “Why on fairdays?”’ I queried. “To keep their flour and tea dry, of course”— and I spoke no more. Creeping Into the Unknown Land Then I boarded the train and after slow, endless tours and detours, during which I dreamt I had crossed the Alps and the Steppes, toward midnight I reached Gorteen. It was pitch dark, and the night was full of melting clouds. Not till I saw it in daylight did I realize that it was not a place at all, at least not to my London mind. It consisted of a few detached cabins surrounded by driving mists and stationary swamps as far as the eye could reach. It was loose space rather than any fixed locality. However, there was a deputation waiting for me in the station with oil-lamps in their hands. The Curate in his bulging silk hat, which I felt must be lined with the MS. on the Round Towers, two grooms in faded coats and top-boots and a weird personage whom I instantly recognized by the quill pen over each ear as my “certificated frére,” Timotheus O’Hensey. Their inquiries and anxiety for my welfare over- , whelmed me. The Curate patted me, the grooms confiscated my bag, pocketbook and handkerchief, and Timotheus blubbed a little Latin—“‘Salve Domina,” I heard him say. How I love the Irish Harper’s Bazar

Page 23

“* as transcribed by ( on fh @ Bar a Leslie Shane wild Ireland. From the beginning, when the little governess starts for her new post, until a sense of something beyond the reach of reason, holds the imagination. and yet I would rather go hellward than return to their country. When they discovered I had found food at the port of entry they were immensely surprised (it not being a fairday); but they insisted on my eating half a chicken in the signaling box and gulping some tea as black as coal dust. “Is it far?” I asked. “Not far in daylight, but a good step after mid- night,” was the mystifying reply—‘“getting on for ten miles.”” Then my heart shrank, for I had brought with me one certain piece of mathematical knowledge which was that seven English miles go to five Irish. I climbed wearily into the high- braced trap while the Curate made a sweet speech welcoming me into the arms of the family, who, as I was painfully aware, were still distant by fourteen miles. Then he stepped into the darkness. The two grooms threw my luggage into the rear, mounted, and held it down as if it were alive, while Timotheus lifted the reins, handling them as fantastically as the pen, and we started to rock and crash our way through the darkness. I felt terribly lonesome, but to my relief, one of the wheels creaked, seeming a last connection with the civilized world. “Welcome to Gorteen House” A little starlight began to struggle through the dripping cloud banks, dropping this way and that, like fine silver gauze, till I could discern endless stretches of wood and waste on either hand. I learned it was “the grandest corner in the world for finding a fox.” To the Irish mind everything infinite—heaven itself, is a corner. There were no fences; the road was lined by huge boulders, which I found were not there for purposes of repair but had actually been dragged out of the roadway itself. I began to wish I had taken a course in geology. I might have felt more at home. I was dead tired, but I pricked up my ears when I heard Timotheus enlarging on the pleasures and magnifi- cencies of the Big House and the royal descent of “his laudable patron” and his three children— “his bright-eyed Homerians’—he called them. With awe-inspiring gravity he gave me to know that they had been introduced to Greek Syntax. From his converse with the grooms over my head I gathered that Mr. Sinnach was a mighty hunts- man, and out all his days “driving and tearing the foxes out of the woods and mountains and ditches.” It was not that he enjoyed hunting so much as that he hated the foxes with the “‘illus- For January, 1914 trious hate of Lucifer,” as Timotheus assured me. And for two rough hours we jolted along through that primitive void, until the carriage lights were reflected on a white-washed portico, which shot out suddenly from the mist. “Welcome and a long welcome to Gorteen House,” said the softest voice I ever heard from aman. It was the Master, and I shall never for- get the first time I saw him standing in his bright hunting clothes with the lamplight pouring over him. He had been waiting since midnight in all his war paint. He was a real gentleman, though I often shuddered to hear him swearing. As he led me courteously into his stronghold, I looked round for my luggage. A groom was tossing it up to another at a first floor window. Timotheus, after a light panegyric in Latin, had disappeared. I looked back—the Mountains of the Moon ard a whole wet Sahara seemed to lie between me and civilization. Three Little Irish Savages We passed through an oak-lined hall, adorned with innumerable guns, skins and antlers, -up a rickety staircase. At the top he lit an old silver candlestick for me and motioned me down a passage. My room, at the far end, was where he left me possessed of a key that would have unlocked the Tower of London. It certainly did not fit the lock of that door. I walked to the window. A courtyard lay before me and beyond was the end of the world. I felt as tired as if I had been through examinations, and the next morning I awoke in my traveling dress. I changed and hurried down, but there was no sign of human life. I rang for a servant and discovered that the children had cele- brated my arrival by taking to the mountains on pony back, and that the Master always gave the clock a good start on a day when there was no hunt- ing. In fact, during all my stay at Gorteen I saw him but seldom, for his time was divided between his stable and kennel. But the children, two boys and a girl, proved to me more delightful company than a whole Board School of our London cockneys. They knew more queer things about natural history than a double course in biology could have taught them. They were out with grooms and poachers day and night, returning with every kind of bird and beast. They must have been running wild for years, and certainly they were not guilty of the slightest education. Though they may have passed 2I 7 rs ete Sa dt Drawing by Clara Elsene Peck. learned hours of an evening with Timotheus, study- ing Dithyrambics, I had to begin by teaching them to spell. I suppose they were real little Irish sav- ages, and I don’t know what the London Inspector would have said about them. But I grew to love them more than my own sisters, which is the way in Ireland. There is so little to be done, one way or another, except loving and hating, that nothing is tepid—except the rain. As soon as the children found that I could not fish or ride or shoot, they took pity on me and consented to appear on certain mornings and hear what I had to say for myself. Apparently it in- terested them, for I saw them rather frequently. In the evenings I read them interesting books on birds. This was my one means of winning their attention and affection. Punishment was out of the question and they did not care a whit for my praise. It was only out riding or shooting that success or failure counted in that household. Guarded by Day and by Night Their mornings were at the hazard of lessons, but the afternoons were always spent out on moor or mountain. I came to forget the feel of the pave- ment underfoot, and to lose my street-legs. Instead I learned to clamber over rocks and trot the bogs. But my strangest adventures were in the minds of the three children themselves. They had been reared without playmates, and they had become almost uncanny in their knowledge and companion- ship with birds and animals. The eldest boy could do what he liked with ani- mals. His eyes seemed to command them. As for his sister, she was a beautiful white Indian—I used to call her Pocahontas. Their minds had never been cramped, and the whispers of the wild had kindled their imagination to a wonderful intuition of nature. I noticed one thing which seemed very queer for such a devotee of sport as Mr. Sinnach, he never wandered off into the woods alone like the children. He was always accompanied by one of his confiden- tial grooms or by a half dozen of his black and tan hounds. He slept with one in his room at night. As I met him shuffling down stairs he re- minded me of some escaped hermit who had forgot- ten how to say his prayers. He had no occupation and no sense of rest, but he was as gentle and harm- less as a child. He lived like a man who was fol- lowed, but there was nothing that could follow him in those thickets and morasses of which he was

Page 24

squire and sovereign. He never made the least inquiry as to his children’s progress. I could see he was tenfold more interested in their sport. I believe the only thing for which he ever pun- ished them was not riding straight, or spoiling a pony’s mouth. I soon realized he must be one of the yeorld’s authorities on horses. I had no in- terests in that direction except a shelter for old *bus horses, to which I used to subscribe. I once made this horsey charity a subject of conversation but he only sniffed very fiercely and said: ‘‘ Dog’s meat, dog’s meat.’”’ I am afraid I guessed what he meant. The Wild Squire of the Hunt But he was a different character when the fox- hunting and county meets began. His step became smarter and his voice grew hoarse in the small hours before sunrise, giving orders out of window to his grooms. Hunting cronies dropped in uninvited for endless visits and every morning there was an hour’s pandemonium getting them all started for the dis- tant meet. How often I was awakened by their stamping horses and jingling spurs in the courtyard under my window, and lay listening to the yelping hounds as the huntsmen flicked them into a kind of seething order! The boys were only allowed to ride to hounds once a week, but the Master rode out every day that was not Sunday or too frosty. He used to come home wearied out in body and splashed from head to foot, but in his heart a raging lion. I could always tell whether success had attended him or not by the sound of his voice as he drew near. After a blank day he would be cursing the men and the hounds. But if Reynard was dead, he would ride up cheering like a schoolboy. His hatred for the fox was almost inhuman. He used to brandish its brush or pad or some gory relic through the house. Sometimes he used to stir wine with the pad for his friends to drink. I always stayed upstairs when they drank their success. At first I was excited enough at seeing what our Inspector used to call ‘a vent to the passions of Neolithic Man,” but it became monotonous. I lived and I worked, but I forgot time. Civiliza- tion I associated with the ticking of clocks. But at Gorteen time stood still, indeed there was only one motionless hand hanging to the old clock in the hall. The only use for clock work in that’ strange house was for timing the length of their runs after the wretched foxes. The minutes and hours were noted carefully upon some sheets that lay loose in the Family Bible. I was shocked when I first noticed this, and spent a wet afternoon pasting them into a copybook. But the Master was wild when he saw what I had done and for the first and only time he cursed me to my face. He questioned me very closely if I had read anything besides the sporting records and seemed hardly to believe my denial. Of course I had to go the next hunting day to see what he was so strange about, and of course I found the Bible locked. It was not for two weeks after that I saw it unclosed for some fresh entry, and opened it at the fly leaf. In the Family Bible There were the usual births and marriages, and at the end I came to a column headed “ Deaths in the family.”” On one side were rows of numbers with dates, but they were so large that I could not believe, for instance, that in the year 186- there had been a mortality of fifty in the eminent family I served. One column was clear enough—a list of ordinary entries. But two struck me with an odd thrill, because I could not grasp their meaning: “Edward Sinnach, 184—, killed by them. John Edward Sinnach, 187—, eaten.” It was all I had time to read and I suppose I spent half that night trying to think sense or pur- port into those few words. I went to sleep with the conviction that my employer was the degenerate descendant of a most remarkable missionary family, of whom one had been killed by the heathen in the forties and another not only killed a generation later but eaten, as the old rhyme hath it: “by a cassowary On the plains of Timbuctoo, Prayer and hymn book too." ’ I wept for nights over those uncanonized martyrs. I used to picture their travels and adventures, their lives and in more terrible moments the details of their deaths. And naturally my mind, which is a receptacle that craves facts, always returned to the one awful question: ‘“‘Was Edward eaten as well as John?” For a time it preyed upon my mind and I used to wake with that grim query starting from my own lips. It was not for another month that I gained a piece of information which made me sceptical. I had asked the elder boy if he had ever seen his grandfather John. He answered No, that he had died when he was quite a baby, but that his father would never allow his name to be mentioned because of his disgraceful death. I was about to expostulate, when he went on to say he had died upstairs in his bed instead of out hunting or in the battlefield like every true member of his family. Of course this revelation put an end to all my ro- mancing about a young and earnest missionary in the wilds of Africa, and I could only conclude that Family Bibles were used in Ireland as vehicles for practical jokes. My Last Sleep at Gorteen Well, the winter was fully and icily fledged, and snow made a variation for rain. The winds had swept the last leaves off the trees and ripped open the clouds that loaded the firmament, till they dropped in hail and flake. But the hunting had to go on between storms, for the Master lost his sleep after a day when he had failed to see a fox on the fangs of his hounds. One of these wild stormy evenings he returned in terrible humour. Though they had enjoyed a wonderful run, the fox had escaped, and alone of the hunters the Master returned railing and unsatisfied. I could hear him pacing up and down the long passage that even- ing snarling at himself and his hounds, but when I passed him he lowered his head. The boys crept away from him and were telling me stories in my own room—how the first time they had spurred their way in to the Death, he had been wild with pride and dabbled their faces over with the gore. He had said that they were not properly baptized till then, and he could afterwards reckon them his legitimate children. The next day there was a meet at the other end of the county and the Master was up and riding long before I came down to breakfast. I remem- ber hearing him cry to the hounds that morning, and their deep bellying in reply. I lay there in a drowsy stupor, for the sunrise was still two hours eastward. For a few minutes the house was full of stamping and clicketing. Once again the old staircase creaked and rattled to the heavy sound of feet and I heard the horses being led into the courtyard below. A few minutes later they rode away, and I fell back into a sound sleep—the last I ever had in that terrible place, which I can only think of as a kind of Bleak House on the borders of Nowhere. When I came down, the boys and the girl were waiting for me. They were as chivalrous as ever and listened with great condescension to all I had to say in defence of the awkward spelling rules which govern the English language. The Howling Horror in the Dark All that day the mist pressed against the panes and flushed the roof and choked the gutters, making tiny waterfalls and spurts and leakages in every direction. There was a sound of water running or dripping in every corner of the old house. It was one of those days that make one sympathize with Noah. I spent the afternoon blinking over a book before the fire in the hall, and the children sat round me in their queer silent way. Gradually they fell off to sleep and I alone was awake in the house, save the old cook. The whole household had left at vary- ing hours the previous night, preceded by the old lame gardener, who had hobbled to the meet with spade and terrier the day before. I remember that evening growing darker and darker, while the turf fire flickered brighter and brighter until it col- lapsed into white dust. It must have been five o’clock when I lost the thread in my book, shifted my position—and heard a long wailing howl. When one has lived so long in the country, hearing the same particular series of sounds, the wind, the leaves, the birds, and the rain, one becomes keenly sensitive to the suspicion of a new sound. [ lis- tened again and I heard the same curious howling, but it was not a dog’s howl. There was a wild note jn it, I could not say from what kind of animal. The Passing of Sinnach I glanced at the children. They were fast asleep among the cushions. I crept on tip-toe to the door and stared down the long passage of the ground floor. I had not gone half way when I heard a sound that sent the blood thrilling through my brain. It was not one howl but many—a horrible chorus that rose and fell, and that all the wind and rain could not drown. It died down and my courage with it. I began to shake like a reed and a gust of wind might have overturned me. I looked back to the one oil lamp flickering outside the hall. I re- membered the children were sleeping behind it and life became real again. I entered the kitchen. It was empty—only a wooden door stood between me and the yard. I had the great strength to go to the window and look out—the place was alive with wild animals, lithe slender creatures run- ning round and round in a coiling crowd. Then, one halted and all halted. He raised his slim snout into the air and screamed and every living creature screamed in echo. All the diplomas in London, all the certificates attesting my character of commonsense could not prevent my swooning. It must have been an hour later that I was brought to my senses again by a deluge of cold water. A sound of low voices hummed round me and I managed to sit up. “There’s no harm taken,” I 22 heard someone say; “she must have taken it to heart and grieved over full.” I was led slowly into the passage and upstairs to my own room, where I found the children, to my amazement, in an agony of grief. I strove to comfort them as well as I could. I pleaded and told stories, but it was all in vain. I tried to read aloud, but it was not for half an hour that I gathered enough wits to inquire the reason of their grief. I had a vague feeling it was for my disaster in the kitchen. I had forgotten all that preceded my swoon. They looked at me with fresh horror in their eyes—‘‘Dad is dead—dead—fell from his horse—late in the wood—in the dark.” Then my memory startled from its lair and I remembered all. I struggled to my bed and lay there one awful night, hearing what I heard. I could close my eyes but not my ears. I heard steps every hour over the stairs and saw figures cross my room to the window. They were the servants of the house and the men who had helped to bring the Master’s body home that afternoon. They were very agitated and they heard the howling as well as I, for they stood holding each other by the hand before they hurried out. I knew now I was not mad alone, or else it was a house of the mad. Then the outside wailing and screaming died down and I was left alone. But there was no peace in the house that night. I could hear men walking to and fro and when I came down in the morning the lights were still burning in every room. Strange men lay in the arm chairs just as they had ridden in from yester- day’s hunt. By dint of blazing fires and copious liquor they had kept grief or fear at bay. I looked out of the window for the first time since the after- noon before. The courtyard was empty. Weird Mourners at the Bier My nerves had been so strained that I wished to return to England immediately, in spite of my affection for the children. But their grief was pathetic and I stayed on for two more nights trying to calm them for the funeral and to fit their growing limbs into black clothes. But my sacrifice on their behalf only brought me into a climax of horror and mystery unexplained. During the next days it was impossible for me not to overhear a great deal of the general conversation of servants and friends, and to gather that I was far from being the only one to have seen the uncanny visitors of the fatal day. But what added to the mystery was that nobody spoke of the matter as the least untoward or sur- prising. They seemed to have expected what had come as naturally as the undertaker. Everybody who lived in the neighbourhood had seen or heard the same that I had, and yet nobody was going mad. Each night they waked the corpse, smoking round it and telling stories of past prowess in the hunting field till the dawn. I kept away from these orgies, which seemed beyond belief in a civilized age. It was only on the evening before the funeral that I could induce myself to look upon the poor Master’s face again before it was lowered in the grave. Old Timotheus had offered to take me down to the basement, where it was laid out in the sickly blaze of candlelight by day and night. It was after supper that we descended. There are no words terrible enough to describe what I saw. At first I thought they were mourners kneeling round the coffin, but I realized in a dead moment of time that they were furry animals, for they sprang up and dropped out of the open window into the night. They were as noiseless and beautiful as cats, but they were not cats. I could make nomistake what they were, for I had seen their mangled pieces brought home too often after a day’s hunting. They were wild live foxes! Another Record for the Sinnachs Timotheus dropped on his knees and began praying aloud before he ventured a step. The brutes had vanished utterly. Timotheus leaned over the face of the corpse and hung as though riveted. I did not look, thank God, but I heard what were the words he gasped. It was only one sentence, the last words I ever heard in that terrible house, but they are the last words I shall forget if I ever have the happiness to lose the vivider parts of my memory. For all that Timotheus let past his lips was: “Holy of Holy, but they have the face ate off him!” I have been in England since, recovering from the shock. I am well enough to teach in the Board School. Life is normal again and I am more or less certain that two and two make four. Only in deep depression do I ever feel such a calculation may be thwarted and give a result of five. I had some such ghastly feeling in the Carnegie Library lately. By some chance I opened an Irish dictionary and caught sight of a familiar word. I had not the moral strength to wrench my eyes away. I read: Sinnach—Gaelic for a fox. That’s all. I still try and make believe the whole story never happened. Harper’s Bazar

Page 25

Mrs. Anthony J. Drexel, Jr. Photograph by Oscar Pach. This is the most recent portrait of Mrs. Drexel, eldest daughter of Mr. and Mrs. George Jay Gould, of New York and Lakewood, and her little daughter Edith. The resemblance between Mrs. Drexel and her mother is extraordinary. Her marriage to Anthony Drexel, Jr., four years ago, was an event of much interest on both sides of the Atlantic. Lord Decies, who later married Miss Vivien Gould, was one of the ushers. Mr. Drexel belongs to the Philadelphia family of that name, although he was for many years identified with London society, as his parents joined the American colony there when he was quite young. Since their marriage, the Junior Drexels have divided their time between London and New York. The elder Mr. Drexel has recently leased an apartment in Paris, where he will entertain his son and daughter-in-law later in the season. For January, 1914

Page 26

Second of a newmies of ‘All ashore that’s going ashore. fom b A "SAU “Mr. Pippiipeared h; an men and women. Not since CHARLES. We The eminent illustrator of typical Americ SENATOR LAMBKIN s = Ss as o «— 8 r=! ) & 8 33 e & AQ 0 os os ~ = 5 55 c= & = * nN

Page 27

Vy AZ, / "yf Vil, VM

os na \ | N\\ Ne 44 ANS Ss \\{ 5 (TSS Za

— + > S

om bids good bye to the Senator ies of cartoons by A GIBSON peared has the artist produced anything more amusing than this series of drawings entitled AUGHTER MARY the Bazar during 1914 or January, 1914

Page 28

Sa Se ae a Telling the Truth to Children By Cosmo Hamilton The author of this article does not believe that the theories of present-day Eugenics will solve the problem of the purity and healthfulness of the race. He claims that it is necessary to go back of these—to use the ounce of prevention instead of the pound of cure on which he believes the Eugenists are depending. His theory is that the hope of the future is in giving children from their earliest childhood the knowledge that will save them from disease and dishonour. of momentary crazes. One has not got to be an octogenarian to remember how quickly intellectual people pass from one of them to another. At one moment we are led to believe that all the world is occupied with, for instance, Christian Science, and that it is to be the cure for every ill; at another and another there have been New Thought, Sociology, Political Economy, Buddism, et hoe genus omne. New religions have sprung up in the night only to grow unpalatable before the end of the season. New theories as to life and death and the Great Hereafter make their appearance with the regularity of clock-work, have their little hour in clubs and magazines, and fade into the limbo of forgotten things. Theories may come and theories may go, but the world goes on forever. It is as well that someone who has escaped from the chains of science, which, once clasped about the ankles, drag on through life, should make it clear, once and for all, precisely what is the difference, and the difference in value, between Eugenics and the teaching of children. These two things are as differ- ent as day and night. Eugenics professes to cover all the ways in which a new and perfect race shall be brought to life,—the stamping out of inherited dis- ease, the selection of parents, the certificate of health of the intending husbands and the weeding out of the unfit at the hour of birth. It does not con- descend to occupy itself in any way with the other question with which I am dealing in this article, and for that reason it must be placed, to my mind, in the large category of dreams and useless things. Eugenists are like those foolish courtiers who persuaded King Canute to sit upon the sea-shore and say ‘Back’ to the oncoming waves. There is no power on earth that can place a barrier between the sea and its purpose. There is no,Eugenist breathing who can play King Canute with Nature. Nature and the sea are both equally relentless and both must find their level against all the efforts of man. It is no more possible for Science to alter Nature, re-mold humanity, re-shape the strong tendencies of men and women, than it is to bail out the sea with a fish-slice. Those men,—oddly enough, mainly physicians,—who would eradicate love from daily life, in order that the future race shall be physically and mentally fit and perfect, are undertaking a task that is as futile as it is unnatural. «Let Us Not Discard Romance I put Eugenics among the long category of dreams and useless things because, long before one can hope for perfection, one is bound to deal with imperfection, —with, in fact, men, women and children. If we are to be practical and turn our endeavours to some sort of use, it is logically necessary to deal, first, with things as they are before we attempt to cope with things as they ought to be. Therefore it is obvious that we can, if we will, relegate Eugenics to the very distant future, or, if we turn our at- tention at once, without science, to those little people who must become the men and women of to-morrow, leave Eugenics coldly behind. I am optimist enough to believe that if we have the courage and the wisdom and the honesty to free ourselves from the shackles of science and adopt the very commonest of sense to the proper up- bringing of the younger generation we shall be able, not merely to relegate Eugenics to the distant future but to forget it altogether. This brings us, unham- pered, to the much and wrongly discussed question as to whether the truth in sex matters shall be taught to children, and, if so, in what way. Theories as to the manner of teaching the truth to children are rampant. The minds of doctors and teachers are filled with different views, different methods. Societies are in existence, and schemes in actual practice in the schools in the country for teaching boys and girls the facts of life-giving and life- bearing. I shall be accused of egoism if I say that much of the work of these societies and all the methods in these schools are useless. Very well, then I am an egoist, and I am perfectly prepared and very ready to bear the sneers of scientists and the jeers of teachers and to continue more keenly than ever, more eagerly and anxiously than ever, to force upon them views that are neither scientific nor professional. There is not, as a rule, much truth in the maxim. There is one, however, which does con- tain much that is true. It is that the onlooker Oo is marked by a long series sees most of the game. I see, as an onlooker, that to attempt to teach the elements of sex- truth to children by drawing analogies between human life and that of fish and animals is dishonest, misleading, abasing and cruel. I can conceive no method likelier to set children unromantically on the road of life than giving them to understand that they are to emulate the ways of animals. I know that the mere mention of the word romance in my indictment will bring a pitying smile to the lips of all scientific people—good! I am all for romance. To remove romance from the minds and teaching of the present generation is as foolish as never to give young ferns the benefit of water. Romance is the poetry of life. Romance is the truth of imagination and boyhood. Homer’s horses clear the world at a bound. A child’s eye needs no horizon to its prospect. The impossibili- ties of fifty years are the possibilities of five. A child is unconsciously more capable of teaching all the so-called difficulties of sex-hygiene to his mother than is the physician. Bring God Into the Nursery The teaching of sex truths to children is, indeed, simplicity itself. It must be begun almost as soon as a child is capable of asking intelligent questions. No lie, no half-truths must be dropped, like a seed, upon this most fertile of all soils, to spring up into rank weeds difficult, eventually, to remove. The mother,—and it is upon her shoulders that all responsibility rests,—must be honest and fearless. Her child is honest and fearless and demands as well as deserves to be treated fairly. God must be in the nursery of this little one, not as a bogy, to punish and to frighten, but as a good and loving friend, always watching over the home to inspire, protect, encourage; to help when feet are stumbling, to forgive when mistakes are made. And the be- ginning of the teaching of sex-truth, as well as the middle and the end of it, must spring from faith in God. It is not to animals and plants that the mother should turn for a sort of explanation to the early curiosity of the young inquiring mind. There must be no such feebleness on the lips of the enlightened and child-understanding mother. She must erect no such sham ambushes between the truth and the child’s questions. She must simply say that God placed men and women on earth and brought them together in love in order that they might use His beautiful and wonderful gift of creation to people the world. She must say, from the earliest moment of her quiet and dignified teach- ing, that a child is part of its father, brought into life by the mother by the grace of God; that such a wonderful and exquisite deed is the fulfilment of God’s intention, and is the very fruit of the love that he has placed in the hearts of his grown-up children, so that His earth shall be refreshed by new young life, constantly renewed and replenished. And not only to the little girl must these facts be taught in this way, but to the little boy also, because presently, when he shall have grown into a sturdy youth, he will have it in his power either to be useful or harmful; either to be a young man with clean brain and honest eyes who will look upon the girls of his own age with the respect that is due to them because they are like his sister, or lasciviously, unaware of the fact that his own children can only be healthy and splendid if he himself is both. Teach Boys and Girls Alike Taken early, when imagination, idealism and faith are glowing in the boy’s mind, he will be as eager and as easily inspired as his sister. He will gradually grow into the ineradicable belief not only that he is a person of great importance, as his father is, and one upon whose shoulders rests im- mense responsibility, but also that he must never by any chance, for any selfish reason or momentary gratification, so fall away from the trust placed in him by his mother as to debase the gift of God. He will, indeed, and without doubt, if taught in such a way, if permitted to grow up with an honest knowledge of his capacity and his future responsibility, become a man anxious and deter- mined to hold himself in trust for the girl he will eventually marry, and for his own children, born in love. He will not be obliged to peer at life “through a glass darkly,” since the mirror of Nature will always have been held in front of his eyes. 26 He will not be left to struggle blindly through the difficult years of his school-days, but he will be enabled to go through them fortified with knowl- edge, and cleanly, scorning everything that is low and unmanly. His relationship with his girl friends will be honest and charming. He will know, because he has been told, how and why there are unfortunate little children born blind, born crippled, born twisted. And, above all, he will be aware of the hitherto scoffed-at fact that he need not regard himself as unmanly because he holds himself under strict control. He will respect all girls for the reason that he respects his sister. And his sister will be modest because she does not know the meaning of false-modesty. She will be frank and charming and clear-eyed because she knows the truth, truth- fully. She will not enter into marriage blindly or hurriedly and without a sense of its meaning. She will demand that the man she marries shall be as clean as she is because she desires to emulate her mother and bring into the world little ones born as well and as beautifully as she was born. In order to get rid once for all of these semi- scientific ambushes, these timid and _ half-honest screens that have been placed by the teachers of to-day between sex-truth and its explanation, I ask, first, that God may be put back into the home and the school; and secondly beseech all the mothers of the younger generation, who do not desire care- fully to manufacture tragedies in their homes, to take up, without a moment’s delay, the vital duty which is theirs; to realize that there is nothing diffi- cult and certainly nothing immodest in teaching children how and why they came tobe born. I know from the large number of letters that I receive daily from all parts of the country that American mothers are for the most part with me in my anxiety. I know, also, that they are meeting with much an- tagonism from their husbands in their keen desire to cope with their maternal responsibilities. The attitude of men generally in this respect is amazing and unbelievable. How, in the light of the appalling statistics issued by the authorites of health as to that terrible disease that is undermining the present generation, they can continue to say that their boys must find things out for themselves, and that it is good for them to sow their wild-oats, I cannot, for the life of me, conceive. I hear these men say repeatedly that the boy who has run wild makes a better husband than he who has scrupulously preserved his virtue and with it his health. The only term that must be applied to the men who have such deplorable views is criminal. Thus the Future Is Safe As an optimist, and therefore as one who has an unconquerable belief in the fundamental excellence of men and women, I refuse absolutely to permit the pessimism of Eugenists to alter my way of thinking. Once the intelligence, the charity, the sympathy and the common-sense of present day parents have been stirred and set alight, the way to health and cleanliness, nobility, the patriotism and idealism for the younger generation is easy. If, however, the policy of /aisser-faire, that fatal habit of letting things alone and hoping for the best—is continued in, then it is inevitable that Eugenists must step in with all their far-reaching schemes. Things cannot be left as they are, because disease and degeneracy are working like rats beneath the apparently calm surface of our civilization. We confess ourselves not only helpless but hope- less if we are generally to submit to Eugenism. We confess ourselves unclean, irresponsible, with- out faith, without idealism, without the very rudi- ments of intelligence, if we are to say to Eugenists “Come into our homes.” Throw away false modesty as you fling away a moth-eaten garment. Take your children into your confidence, into your friendship, and you will be able to put Eugenics behind you. All the future is in the hand of the younger generation and the great and glorious duty of the men and women who have been blessed with children is to see that those little minds shall be clean and knowledgeful, and that the boys and girls who are eventually to take their places in the world shall never have to look back upon their childhood and youth with regret and shame and humiliation. “The curtains of yesterday drop down, the curtains of tomorrow roll up; but yester- day and tomorrow both are. Pierce into the time-element, glance into the Eternal.” Harper’s Bazar

Page 29

“You recognized truth in my acting?” for—after surmounting almost insuperable obstacles—she had “arrived.” Yes! the heartaches were over. The gods had been kind, and she was humbly grateful; but in her joy she forgot that when they open a door, they close a window. “Tt is wonderful,” she told herself, ‘‘ how good life really is to us, if we will only believe and keep going.” She had “kept going” with a courage wholly ad- mirable, in the struggle to obtain a place for herself in the world, and at the same time keep her self-re- spect; but it was worth it, for here was the reward. A great playwright and manager had sent for her that morning. She was thrilled at the moment with the memory of the interview. At the outset he had frankly admitted his interest in her, recalling several small parts in which he had seen her act. He had told her that he believed he could make her a great actress if she could come “ under his protect- ing wing,”’ as he phrased it. So it had come true at last—her dream! But it was not alone this opportunity so unex- pectedly presented that made the girl feel that her cup of happiness was “full to overflowing.” An- other and deeper joy filled her heart. The “one man’’—‘‘her man’’—had asked her to marry him. And so it was that the world seemed bright to Adrienne that morning, as she unpinned her little hat, and returned the smile in the mirror. Ar iornatte LINGARDE was very happy, It was the first night of the new play. The crit- ics and the curious, and “passers through” from the hotels had come to see what The Great Manager had done with the new star. The house buzzed with comment. In the third act came the climax, the test. Adri- enne thus far had held her own—steadily tightening For Janaary, 1914 Lest Ye Be Judged By Glen Visscher Drawings by Harry Townsend A remarkable story of the price that may be paid for success. Shakespeare said that mercy should season justice. When you reach the end of this clever tale, you will admit, without a doubt, that the judge should not only be merci- ful but that he should be possessed of an imagi- nation which will open his eyes to some things that are not dreamed of in his philosophy. her grasp on the friendly ones, and winning grudg- ing praise from the veteran first-nighters. But had she, they questioned, power to put over a sen- sation, to play in a higher key, to reach the pitch of emotion that the scene demanded? The tempo of the play quickened. The adagio passages gave place to prestissimo. It was a pitiful story—terrible in its pathos—the story of a woman (a “bad” wom- an) hemmed in by fate, fighting to hold the one thing precious to her. But it doesn’t matter about the story. The way Adrienne played her part was the thing of moment. The frenzied “last stand’”— the abandon—every phrase, every tone of her voice gripped. It seemed that she was that woman—the woman who fought so desperately to hold Love, and who was left, in the end, alone. Adrienne’s lips sagged; her eyes glazed; she became a picture of infinite hopelessness. Here was a woman’s heart laid bare, its wretched secrets dragged, blinking, into the light. The audience, fascinated, watched her agony. The curtain fell. For a moment, the house was very still. Then, applause, calls!—a triumph. The great manager came out, leading Adrienne. He made a speech. He said something about “this little girl” and a “name writ among the stars.” More applause approved his words. Tears rained down the actress’ cheeks, burrowing through the make-up. She was blind, dizzy, and half deaf. Gently the great man led her to the door of her dressing-room. “You did splendidly,” he said. “Just a bit timid, perhaps, but we will get a fuller intensity later on. Now go home and rest. You have earned it.” The next morning, Adrienne stood facing Richard—“her man.” His features were drawn in deep lines and sternly set. “T cannot understand it,” he said, continuing a discussion. “‘How a woman could so transform herself. You were years older—last night—world- weary, and that look of knowledge—” he was watch- ing her intently. “I cannot understand it,” he re- peated. “Then you think I did my part well?” the new star asked, as eagerly as a child. “I’m so glad, dear. As to my looks, that shows ‘what make-up will do.” “Yes, yes,” he cut in, impatiently. But it was too convincing—the way you:acted. How could you possibly know how that woman would feel?” Adrienne laughed. “I don’t—but it’s all in the part, of course! Just think of the training I’ve had, the weeks of study,—but most of all, the wonderful training ‘ “But that wouldn’t make you know,” Richard persisted. The light of enthusiasm faded from the girl’s eyes. For the first time she noticed something in the manner of this man that frightened her. He seemed for the moment a stranger. She was so tired from the excitement of the night before that she had been a trifle stupid when he began talking toher, but now! How paltry seemed the success she had achieved! She felt lonely and afraid. “T’m sure that I ought to feel greatly compli- mented that my acting made such an impression on you, dear,” she began tremulously. “But, I’m tired now, and if you don’t mind, I’d rather talk of something else. After all, acting is——” Again he cut her short. ‘Was it just acting?” > he demanded. ‘“That’s the question that’s been torturing me for all these hours. Is it possible for a woman——” 27 “Yes, my God, yes, it was the truth!” “What do you mean?” she cried sharply. “Ts it possible,” he repeated heavily, “for a woman to act that sort of thing unless she knows it?” “Richard!” Her voice broke. “Mary,” he continued, (he never called her “ Adrienne”) “I love you. I will probably never cease to love you—but I can’t—I will not—marry a woman that I don’t trust. I will not become the father of children whose mother I couldn’t defend!” His face had darkened. It was almost purple. “But Richard! Richard, what have I done?” “T think,” he answered slowly, picking his words carefully, “that you showed a little of your own soul last night. I will not come again.” His eyes dropped before Adrienne’s fixed gaze. “You recognized truth in my acting?” she asked. “Yes, my God, yes, it was the truth!” “How do you know?”’ she questioned calmly. “Every man knows, doesn’t he?” he replied evasively. “Every man knows. Yes, I am told so,” she re- peated slowly. ‘‘That’s the tragedy of it, the awful tragedy,” and her eyes searched his soul. Her heart had ceased fluttering; she felt quite impersonal toward him now. Richard’s caddish brutality had wounded her cruelly. She looked at him still more critically, and found that he was in- deed a stranger. “Suspicion is an ugly thing—” she continued coldly—“I find it contagious, for somehow I am beginning to feel as you do. I, too, shall demand purity in the man I marry. Good-bye!” and turning, she waited for the door to close after him. “‘Gone,’’ she whispered, “‘ Love is gone!” That night, the manager was quite satisfied.

Page 30

gee UA at The Countess Gives Facial some valuable advice the Blem on Warwick treatment of ‘shes To women who have suffered the painful mortification that a facial blemish causes, the Countess of Warwick holds out the hand of hope. N_ this day of ready-to-use com- plexion aids, of beauty shops and beauty doctors, the wonder is that all women do not become beauties over night! The desire to be beautiful, to be charming in ap- pearance, is as old as life itself. It grew on the Tree of Knowledge side by side with the desire for fig leaves and hats. The desire to be beauti- ful is so natural that no girl or woman should be blamed for mak- ing the most of herself. Rather should she be blamed if she does not improve on the supposedly finished work of nature. But there is a side to this beauti- fying of the feminine person which is not always appreciated—the dan- gers that lie in wait for the foolish; the use of the wrong kind of mas- sage or of unreliable concoctions on the skin, and taking the advice of one’s friends, who have heard of some one who has done the most remarkable things with her face! W : all have such friends. I make it arule never to advise my friends as to their physical ail- ments ; never to recommend a ser- vant ora dressmaker. If you are ill, if your complexion is mottled, your skin bad, go first to a physi- cian. Get your foundation laid soundly. It is as foolish to put things on your face to cure pim- ples that come from your stomach as it would be to build your house on a shaky foundation. Beware of Amateur Treatment It is as dangerous to tamper with some facial blemishes as with broken bones. The girl who bears a disfig- uring birthmark is greatly to be pitied. The old superstition that death will follow the destruction of such a mark is still believed in by the majority of people. It is sur- prising how firm a hold these old- wives’ tales have on otherwise intelligent people. The truth of the matter is that some of these marks are incurable, hence the superstition. Many of them are curable, but not by amateurs. Warts, moles, and even the much dreaded strawberry mark, yield to treatment when such treatment is under- taken by a specialist. Quackery has ruined more complexions, marred more faces (and thus lives) than I can tell you. I am often appalled at the terrible risks women will run in their desire to make themselves over. They will use creams that are deadly poison to the tender skin-fabric; they will tamper with pimples and run the danger of getting blood poison; they will carelessly massage their faces, leaving a trail of broken-down muscles in the wake of the cream. It is more than tragic, for in many instances the damage done is irreparable. Our skin is not like the green earth which renews its youth every spring. What we ruin once is ruined for all time. I cannot make this too clear. Better leave well enough alone than run the risk of disfigurements for life. There are specialists in Paris who claim that they practically make the face over; they open the face under and at the side of the eyes, draw up the muscles and smooth out the skin. This operation removes the sagging chin and pulls up the muscles at the side of the mouth. This is all very well when first done, but as time goes on the muscles sag worse than ever, and sud- denly the whole face literally slumps, and there is no cure. Women who have had this done at forty-five look seventy when they are barely fifty. Of superfluous hair I have written in another article. I do not touch upon it here, therefore, although it is in the removing of this most mortify- REGINA BADET The Premiére Danseuse at the Opera Comique, whose unusual beauty and enchanting grace have made her one of the most popular dancers on the Parisian stage today. ing of blemishes that women most often fall victims to quacks and their so-called remedies. By the way, the daily use of cold cream on a face given to a downy growth is a mistake. Moles and Warts may be Removed Moles are among the distressing disfigurements that are included in the list of birthmarks. Moles should never be irritated. They should not be treated with any lotion or salve. There is but one cure for small moles, and that is the electric needle in the hands of an expert. The larger moles, with the unpleasant hairy growth, clear up beautifully by the use of that mar- velous remedy, carbondioxide snow, which is fre- quently used in the curing of skin cancer. These moles, you know, only too often become cancer- ous, and for this reason, if not for beauty’s sake, they should be most expertly destroyed. The higher the mole the more readily it yields to the snow. Warts are not in themselves dangerous, although they are very unpleasant and spoil the appearance of the hands on which they appear. They should be quickly removed, and may be by the veriest ama- teur by the use of ordinary acetic acid applied fre- quently to the surface of the wart. This is a slow method, but a sure one and absolutely harmless. While it is indeed wrong to make women and girls live in constant dread of cancer, still it is wisest always to bear in mind that the presence of a lump 28 She advises remedies that may be safely used and tells when to let the disfigurement alone. on one’s skin should not be tolerated. It may lead to the development of this most dreaded of all diseases. The Treatment for Deeper lemishes The port wine birthmark, as the specialists call it, has never re- sponded satisfactorily to the use of the carbondioxide snow. There is also a deep-seated mark, cavern- ous angino it is called, which also resists treatment. This mark is very soft to pressure, is of a purplish hue, and is slightly raised. The snow should be used on both of these, as at times it will lighten the colouring somewhat. It is very clean, practically painless and en- tirely harmless. I think that if women generally understood the skin-texture and the muscles underlying it they would pause before experimenting as they so often do. If they would re- member that the skin is not like a painter’s canvas, which can be washed again and again and still be the same, but the most fragile of fabrics and easily marred, if not hopelessly ruined, they would stop, study and think before doing any- thing to it. Even Untaught Massage Dangerous AsI drove about New York on my recent visit, I noticed hundreds of masseuse signs. They hung in windows of the most unprepossess- ing types of shop and flathouse. How many faces are ruined yearly by these so-called masseuses? The usual facial massage, the usual face steaming, even the care- less use of cold cream as a cleanser, will invariably produce enlarged pores. There is nothing more ugly than pores so large that they show plainly on and at the sides of the nose. The smoothest skins may be coarsened in this way by the indis- criminate use of the steaming pro- cess, and the cold creams that are on every toilet table. But—we need something to feed the skin, we need something besides water to clean it with, is the cry of all my women friends. Nothing is so important as a good astringent—not one your chemist offers you over the counter, but one recommended by a good doctor. I know of nothing better than the following: Mix first 114 drachms of zinc sulphate with 2 ounces of rose water. Then mix, separately, 114 drachms of potass. sulphuret with 2 ounces of rose water. Then mix these two compounds together. These directions must be followed exactly, as the value of the prescription is in the separate mixing of the ingredients. Risks in the Use of X-Rays Much damage has been done in the past by the use of the X-ray in the treatment of birthmarks and lumps which appear on the face. These rays, in the hands of 2n inexperienced practitioner, and even in the hands of the most capable surgeons, have done incalculable harm. Frightful burns, leav- ing ugly scars, have resulted from this treatment. One of the unexplainable phases of the ray treatment is that while it may cure cancer and is of incalcula- ble help in other diseases, it also develops a cancer that has proved to be of a most malignant type. A French surgeon recently lightened port wine marks by the use of the X-rays, but it is a little early to determine just how successful his method will prove in the average case. He used the new shutter arrangement to avoid burning the skin. If this method proves a success aesthetically and surgically, some relief for this disfigurement is in sight for those who are afflicted with it. Harper’s Bazar

Page 31

He felt the swirling life of the streets encircling him. In this “.“Y little story, one feels the throb of a pulsati celibate. ATHER BERTRAND, his cassock clinging to his slim waist, his nose in his prayer book, passed out of the Tuileries gardens and up the rue de Rivoli. A penitential pallor dulled his young cheeks, and he walked, seeing nothing but the sacred emblem before him which, like an invisible hand, guided him through the labyrinth of hurrying figures, criss- crossing his path. He did not collide with any one!— French priests never do. ° Though he looked at nothing but his book, he felt the life of the streets beginning to stir and throb against him, encircling him with its pulsations, and there stole in upon his piety the primeval call of each “after its kind.” In that grim monastery where his penance was done, the cold brown monks at their orisons had seemed a forest of charred trees, with sap dried, and power to reblossom gone—he a sapling withering like the rest. Here men grew and flourished and women unfolded. Swift upon him played the forces. He shivered, For January, 1914 Drawing by André Castaigne. QO Triumph By Lillie Hamilton French has illustrated the French types with authority. and drew the sacred pages closer to his face as he walked. “That I may be wholly united to thee and may withdraw my heart from all created things,”’ trem- bled his lips in supplication. A pair of lovers, the youth in a workman’s blue blouse, the girl in a black apron, brushed by his skirts, cooing each to the other like pigeons, their cheeks touching as they strolled ahead. “Wholly united to thee,’’ prayed Father Ber- trand. A shimmer of satin and sables gieamed near a push-cart heaped with flowers. As she pinned one on her breast, a rose fell at his feet. “Withdraw my heart,” pleaded the priest. A dray, heavy with cement bags for the builder, crunched past, drawn by three Normandy stallions, the leader’s flanks corded with furred muscles, his iron-shod hoofs biting into the cobbles. “From all natural things,” he murmured. Suddenly above the tumult soared the voice of a child clear and pure as that of a mid-summer lark. 29 human heart beneath the sombre cassock of the he author indicates cleverly the sharp contrast of lights and shadows in Paris life. M. Castaigne “Oui, papa.” Father Bertrand lifted his head. A girl of six, her flying curls caught back by a ribbon, was running towards a broad-shouldered young officer. From a string in her hand floated a toy balloon, glowing like a pink pearl in the after- noon light. Father Bertrand’s book sank lower. His lips no longer moved. “Mon papa,” cried the child, her arms about the officer’s knees, her face upturned. The book of Father Bertrand, clasped now by one hand, sank to his side. The officer caught the child, held her high over- head, her merry face down-turned to his, and kissed her joyously. The toy-balloon floated heavenward. Father Bertrand’s book—that sacred emblem— was dropped into his open pocket. The pink balloon collapsed as it floated toward him. Father Bertrand, smiling, picked it up, held it reverentially for an instant, then slipping it also into his pocket, bowed low to the officer and passed on.

Page 32

No The Thousandth Woman By E. W. Hornung Even in his famous detective story, “Raffles,” Mr. Hornung did not give his readers the thrill one finds in this tale of the amateur detective work of Toye and the love and loyalty of the “thousandth woman.” the pieces of an intricate puzzle. “sport” and companion as a man could want. The working out of the plot is keenly interesting—like putting together And the woman is very sweet and very real—as good a The love interest is present always under the net of circumstantial evidence which is weaving itself around Cazalet. SYNOPSIS ,Cazalet, an Englishman going home after many years spent in Australia, returns to his ship at Genoa, having been left behind at Naples. He tells his cabin- mate Hilton Toye, an American, of a dream in which he has seen an old enemy, Henry Craven, lying de ad in his library at Kingston, a suburb of London. When they arrive at Southampton they discover that Craven has been murdered and all England is excited over the search for the murderer, to whom there is no clue. Only the old gardener at Craven’s home had seen the bearded man, who escaped bareheaded, though no hat nor cap was found. The butler had answered a telephone call from a stranger. Toye suspects Scruton, a business associate of C raven’s, who has just , finished a fourteen years’ term in jail for a crime really inspired by Cra- ven. Cazalet defends Scruton because the older man had been kind to him. Cazalet’s first thought is to renew acquaintance with Blanche Macnair, his childhood friend, with whom he has kept up a desultory correspondence. He runs out in a taxi and finds her in a new little home. She, too, is depressed by the murder of the old neighbour. He tells her that Toye has spoken of knowing her. Blanche’s old nurse, Martha, welcomes Cazalet and rejoices that he has removed the beard that she had disliked in a photograph sent to Blanche. After a happy, intimate hour of reminiscence of boy and girl days in Blanche’s old home, which is unlet and empty, they are joined by Toye, who tells them that Scruton has been arrested. Casalet is indignantly insistent that Scruton is innocent, and they discuss the value of the old gardener’s evidence of identity as compared with circumstantial evidence. Blanche and Cazalet go on to Uplands, his old home and the scene of the recent murder, and meet there Mr. Drinkwater, an inspector from Scotland Yard, who, when Cazalet offers to show him, in the library, what may prove a clue, tells him that “the man” has been four 4. Cazalet asks if they have searched for the missing cap in the cigar cupboard, which he shows to the in- spector, revealing a hidden passage which he had made as a boy. While Blanche makes friends with the neg- lected Craven dog, the Scotland Yard men disappear through the hole, led by Cazalet, and search the founda- tions. The fierce barking of the dog calls Blanche’s attention to a very grimy figure emerging from the cellar—Cazalet, dusty and disheveled. Toye visits Cazsalet while the latter is at breakfast and hears the story of the finding of the murdered man’s keys and watch in the foundations and the truncheon with which he was killed. Toye initiates Cazalet into the new science of finger prints, with the result that the menu card bearing the impression of Cazalet’s hand is mis- sing when Toye looks for it later. T was much more than a map of the metropolis that Toye carried in his able head. He knew the right places for the right things, from his tailor’s at one end of Jermyn Street to his hatter’s at the other, and from the man for collars and dress shirts, in another purlieu of St. James’, to the only man for soft shirts, on Piccadilly. Hilton Toye visited them all in turn this fine Sep- tember morning, and found the select team agree- ably disengaged, readier than ever to suit him. Then he gazed critically at his boots. He was not so dead sure that he had struck the only man for boots. There had been a young fellow aboard the Kaiser Fritz, quite a little bit of a military blood, who had come ashore in a pair of cloth tops which had rather unsettled Mr. Toye’s mind just on that one point. He thought of this young fellow when he was through with the soft-shirt man on Piccadilly. They had diced for a drink or two in the smoking- room, and Captain Aylmer had said he would like to have Toye see his club any time he was passing and cared to look in for lunch. He had said so as though he would like it a lot, and suddenly Toye had a mind to take him at his word right now. The idea began with those boots with cloth tops, but that was not all there was to it; there was something else that had been at the back of Toye’s mind all morning, and now took charge in front. Aylmer had talked some about a job in the War Office which enabled him to lunch daily at the Rag; but what his job had been aboard a German steamer Toye did not know and was not the man to inquire. It was no business of his, anyway. Reference to a card, traded for his own in Southampton Water, and duly filed in his cigarette-case, reminded him of the Rag’s proper style and title. And there he was eventually entertained to a sound, workman- like, rather expeditious meal. As to Genoa and Naples “Say, did you see the cemetery at Genoa?” suddenly inquired the visitor on their way back through the hall. A martial bust had been ad- mired extravagantly before the question. “‘Never want to see it again, or Genoa either,” said i aptain Aylmer. “The smoking-room’s this way. “ “T judge you didn’t care a lot about the city? pursued Toye as they found a corner. “Genoa? Oh, I liked it all right, but you get fed up in a couple of days neither ashore nor afloat. It’s a bit amphibious. Of course you can go to a hotel, if you like; but not if you’re only a poor British soldier.” “Did you say you were there two days?”’ Toye was cutting his cigar. “Two whole days, and we’d had a night in the Bay of Naples just before.” “Ts that so? I only came aboard at Genoa. I guess I was wise,’”’ added Toye, as though he was thinking of something else. There was no sort of feeling in his voice, but he was sucking his left thumb. “I say, you’ve cut yourself!” “T guess it’s nothing. Knife too sharp; please don’t worry, Captain Aylmer. I was going to say I only got on at Genoa, and they couldn’t give me a room to myself. I had to go in with Cazalet; that’s how I saw so much of him.” It was Toye’s third separate and independent attempt to introduce the name and fame of Cazalet as a natural topic of conversation. Twice his host had listened with adamantine politeness; this time he was enjoying quite the second-best liqueur brandy to be had at the Rag; and he leaned back in his chair. Speaking of Cazalet “You were rather impressed with him, weren’t you?” said Captain Aylmer. ‘Well, frankly, I wasn’t, but it may haye been my fault. It does rather warp one’s judgment to be shot: out to Aden on a potty job at this time o’ year.” So that was where he had been? Yes, and by Jove he had to see a man about it all at three o’clock. “One of the nuts,” explained Captain Aylmer, keeping his chair with fine restraint. Toye rose with finer alacrity. “I hope you won’t think me rude,” said the Captain, “but I’m afraid I really mustn’t keep him waiting.” Toye said the proper things all the way to the hat+stand,,amd there took frontal measures as a last resort. “T was only going to ask you one thing about Mr. Cazalet,”’ he said, ‘‘and I guess I’ve a reason for asking, though there’s no time to state it now. What did you think of him, Captain Aylmer, on the whole?” “Ah, there you have me. ‘On the whole’ is just the difficulty,” said Aylmer, answering the straight question readily enough. ‘I thought he was a very good chap as far as Naples, but after Genoa he was another being. I’ve sometimes wondered what happened in his three or four days ashore.” “Three or four, did you say?” And at the last moment Toye would have played Wedding Guest to Aylmer’s Ancient Mariner. After a Study of Time Tables “Yes; you see, he knew these German boats waste a couple of days at Genoa, so he landed at Naples and did his Italy overland. Rather a good idea, I thought, especially as he said he had friends in Rome; but we never heard of ’em beforehand, and I should have let the whole thing strike me a bit sooner if I’d been Cazalet. Soon enough to take a hand-bag and tooth-brush, eh? And I don’t think I should have run it quite so fine at Genoa, either. But there are rum birds in this world, and always will be!” Toye felt like one himself as he picked his way through St. James’s Square. Ifit had not been just after lunch, he would have gone straight and had a 30 cocktail, for of course he knew the only place forthem. What he did was to slue round out of the square, and to obtain for the asking, at another old haunt on Cockspur Street, the latest little time-table of continental trains. This he carried, not on foot but in a taxi, to the Savoy Hotel, where it kept him busy in his own room for the best part of another hour. By that time Hilton Toye looked far more than an hour older than on sitting down at his writing-table with pencil, paper, and the little book of trains; he looked horrified, he looked distressed, and yet he looked crafty, determined, and immensely alive. He proceeded, however, to take some of the life out of himself, and to add still more to his ap- parent age, by repairing to a Turkish bath for more inward light and leading. Now the only Turkish bath, according to Hilton Toye’s somewhat exclusive code, was not even a hundred yards from Cazalet’s hotel; and there the visitor of the morning again presented himself before the afternoon was out; now merely a little worn, as a man will look after losing a stone an hour on a warm day, and a bit blue again about the chin, which of course looked a little deeper and stronger on that account. Cazalet was not in; his friend would wait, and in fact waited over an hour in the little lounge. An evening paper was offered to him; he took it listlessly, scarcely looked at it at first, then tore it in his anxiety to find something he had quite for- newspaper end. But he was wait- ing as stoically as before when Cazalet arrived in tremendous spirits. Did He Hear It or Dream It? “Stop and dine!” he cried out at once “Sorry I can’t; got to go and see somebody,” said Hilton Toye. “Then you must have a drink.” “No, I thank you,” said Toye, with the decisive courtesy of a total abstainer. “You look as if you wanted one; you don’t look a bit fit,”’ said Cazalet, kindly. “Nor am I, sir!” exclaimed Toye. “I guess London’s no place for me in the fall. Just as well, too, I Judge, since I’ve got to light out again straight- way.’ “You haven’t!” “Yes, sir, this very night. That’s the worst of a business that takes you to all the capitals of Eu- rope in turn. It takes you so long to flit around that you never know when you’ve got to start in again.” “Which capital is it this time?’ said Cazalet. His exuberant geniality had been dashed very visibly for the moment. But already his high spirits were reasserting themselves; indeed, a cynic with an ear might have caught the note of sudden consola- tion in the question that Cazalet asked so briskly. “Got to go down to Rome,” said Toye, watching the effect of his words. “But you’ve just come back from there!” Cazalet looked no worse than puzzled. “No, sir, I missed Rome out; that was my mis- take, and here’s this situation been developing behind my back.” “What situation?” “Oh, why, it wouldn’t interest you! But I’ve got to go down to Rome, whether [I like it or not, and I don’t like it any, because I don’t happen to have any friends there. And that’s what I’m doing right here. I was wondering if you’d do something for me, Cazalet?” “Tf I can,” said Cazalet; But his smiles were gone. “T was wondering if you’d give me an introduc- tion to those friends of yours in Rome.” There was a little pause, and Cazalet’s tongue just showed between his lips, moistening them. It was at that moment the only touch of colour in his face. “Did I tell you I’d any friends there?” The sound of his voice was perhaps less hoarse than puzzled. Toye made himself chuckle as he sat looking up out of sombre eyes. “Well, if you didn’t,” said he, “I guess I must he have dreamed it! Why and When Did He Go? *: “Toye’s gone back to Italy,” said Cazalet. “He says he may only be away a week. Let’s make it the week of our lives!” “with pleasure.” Harper’s Bazar

Page 33

Drawing by A. B. Wenzell “Oh, Blanchie, is that all you have to tell me?” asked Martha. The scene was the little room it pleased Blanche to call her parlour, and the time a preposterously early hour of the following forenoon. Cazalet might have ’planed down from the skies into her sunny snuggery, though his brand-new Burberry rather suggested another extravagant taxicab. But Blanche saw only his worn, excited face; and her own was not at its best in her sheer amazement. “Ttaly!”’ she had ejaculated meanwhile. “When did he go?” “Nine o’clock last night.” For January, 1914 “But”—-she checked herselfi—‘“I simply can’t understand it, that’s all!” “Why? Have you seen him since the afternoon?” His manner might have explained those other two remarks, now bothering her when it was too late to notice them; but she was by no means sure that it did. He might simply dislike Toye, and that again might explain his extraordinary heat over the argument at Littleford. Blanche began to feel the air somewhat heavily charged with explanations, neither demanded 31 other nor desired; they were things she hated, and she de- termined not to add to them if she could help it. “T haven’t set eyes on him again,” she said. “But he’s been seen here—in a taxi.” “Who saw him?” “Martha—if she’s not mistaken.” Toye the Mysterious This was a little disingenuous, as will appear; but that impetuous Sweep was in a merciful hurry to know something else.

Page 34

eee = “When was this, Blanche?”’ “Just about dark—say seven or so. Martha owns it was about dark,” said Blanche, though she felt ashamed of herself. “Well, it’s just possible. He left me about six; said he had to see some one, too, now I think of it. But I’d give a bit to know what he was doing, messing about down here at the last moment!” Blanche liked this as little as anything that Cazalet had said yet, and he had said nothing that she did like this morning. But there were allow- ances to be made for him, she knew. And yet to strengthen her knowledge, or rather to let him con- firm it for her, either by word or by his silence, she stated a certain case for him aloud. “Poor old Sweep!” she laughed. “It’s a shame that you should have come home to be worried like this.” “T am worried,” he said simply. “T think it’s just splendid, all you’re doing for thi at man, but especially the way you're doing it.” “T wish to God you wouldn’t say that, Blanche!” He paid her the compliment of speaking exactly as he would have spoken to a man; or rather, she happened to be the woman to take it as a compliment. “But I do say it, Sweep! I’ve heard all about it from Charlie. He rang me up last night. - “You're on the telephone, are you?” “Everybody is in these days. Where have you lived? Oh, I forgot!” And she laughed. Anything to lift this duet of theirs out of the minor key! “But what does old Charlie really think of the case? That’s more to the point,’”’ said Cazalet uneasily. The Week of Their Lives “Well, he seemed to fear there was no chance of bail before the adjourned hearing. But I rather gi ithe red he was not going to be in it himself.’ “No. We decided on one of those sportsmen who love rushing in where a family lawyer like Charlie owns to looking down his nose. I’ve seen the chap, and primed him up about old Savage and our find in the foundations. He says he’ll make an example of Drinkwater—Charlie says they call him the Bobby’s Bugbear!”’ “But surely he’ll have to tell his client who’s behind him?” “No. He’s just the type who would have rushed in anyhow. And it’ll be time enough to put Scruton under obligations when I’ve got him off.” Blanche looked at the troubled eyes avoiding hers, and thought that she had never heard of a fine thing being done so finely. This very shamefaced- ness appealed to her intensely, and yet last night Charlie had said that old Sweep was in such tre- mendous spirits about it all! Why was he so down this morning? She had to guard against an equiv ocally sympa- thetic voice or manner, as she asked: “How long did they remand him for?” “Eight days.” “Well, then, you'll know the best or the worst to-day week.” “Yes!” he said eagerly, almost himself again. “But whichever way it goes, I’m afraid it means trouble for me, Blanche; some time or other I’ll tell you why; but that’s why I want this to be the week of our lives.” So he really meant what he had said before. The phrase had been no careless misuse of words; neither did the prospect it expressed necessarily depend on Mr. Toye. That was something. It made it easier for Blanche not to ask questions. She could wait. A Small Confession Cazalet had gone out into the balcony; now he called to her; and there was no taxi, but a smart open car, waiting in the road, its brasses blazing in the sun, an immaculate chauffeur at the wheel. “Whose is that, Sweep?” “Mine, for the week I’m talking about! I mean ours, if you’d only buck up and get ready to come out! A week doesn’t last forever, you know!” Blanche ran off to Martha, who fussed and hindered her with the best intentions. It would have been difficult to say which was the more ex- cited of the two. But the old nurse would waste time in perfectly fatuous reminiscences of the very earliest expeditions in which Mr. Cazalet had led and Blanche had followed, and what-a bonny pair they had made even then, etc. Severely snubbed on that subject, she took to peering at her mistress, once her bairn, with furtive eagerness and impa- tience; for Blanche, on her side, looked as though she had something on her mind, and indeed had made one or two attempts to get it off. She had to force it even in the end. “*There’s just one thing I want to say before I go, Martha.” “Yes, dearie, yes?” “You know when Mr. Toye called yesterday, and I was out?” “Oh! Mr. Toye; yes, I remember, Miss Blanche.” “Well, I don’t want you to say that he came in and waited half an hour in vain; in fact, not that he came in at all, or that you’re even sure you saw him, unless of course you’re asked.” ““Who should ask me, I wonder?” “Well, I don’t know, but there seems to me to be a little bad blood between Mr. Toye and Mr. Cazalet.” Martha looked for a moment as though she were about to weep, and then for another moment as though she would die of laughing. But a third moment she celebrated by making an utter old_fool of herself, as she would have been told to her face by anybody but Blanche, whose yellow hair was being ‘disarranged by the very hands which had helped to imprison it under that motor-hat and veil. “Oh, Blanchie, is that all you have to tell me?” asked Martha. And then the week of their lives began. Not Making Love The weather was true to them, and this was a larger matter than it might have been. They were not making love. They were ‘“‘not out for that,” as Blanche herself actually told Martha, with anni- hilating scorn, when the old dear looked both know- ing and longing-! 9-know at the end of the first day’s run. They were out to enjoy themselves, and that seemed shocking to Martha “unless something was coming of it.”” She had just sense enough to keep her conditional clause to herself. But, there, to see and hear the child after the first day! She looked so bonny that for a time Martha really believed that Mr. Cazalet had “spoken,” and allowed herself to admire him also as he drove off later with his wicked lamps alight. But Blanche would only go on about her day, the glories of the Ripley Road and the grandeur of Hindhead. She had brought back heaps of heather and bunches of leaves just beginning to turn; they were all over the little house before Cazalet had been gone ten minutes. But Blanche hadn’t for- gotten her poor old Martha; she was not one to forget people, especially when she loved and yet had to snub them. Martha’s portion was picture postcards of the ( Gibbet and other landmarks. ‘And if you’re good,” said Blanche, ‘you shall have some every day, and an album to keep them in for ever and ever. And won’t that be nice when it’s all over, and Mr. Cazalet’s gone back to Australia?” High Speed Crueller anti-climax was never planned, but Martha’s face had brought it on her; and now it remained to make her see for herself what an in- comparably good time they were having so far. “Tt was a simply splendid lunch at the Beacon, and such a tea at Byfleet, coming back another way, explained Blanche, who was notoriously indifferent about her food, but also as a rule much hungrier than she seemed to-night. “It must be that tea, my dear. It was too much. To-morrow I’m to take the Sirram, and I want Walter to see if he can’t get a billy and show me how they make tea in the bush; but he says it simply couldn’t be done with methylated.” The next day they went over the Hog’s Back, and the next day right through London into Hert- fordshire. This was a tremendous experience. The car was a good one from a good firm, and the chauffeur drove like an angel through the traffic, so that the teeming city opened before them from end to end. Then the Hertfordshire hedges and mea- dows and timber were the very things after the Hog’s Back and Hindhead; not so wonderful, of course, but more like old England and less like the bush; and before the day was out they had seen, through dodging London on the way back, the Harrow boys like a lot of young butlers who had changed hats with the maids, and Eton boys as closely resembling a convocation of curates. Then there was their Buckinghamshire day— Chalfont, St. Giles, and Hughenden—and almost detached experiences such as the churchyard at Stoke Poges—where Cazalet repeated astound- ing chunks of its Elegy, learned as long ago as his preparatory schooldiys—and the disillusion of Hounslow Heath and its murderous trams. Two Unsophisticated Chums Then there was the wood they found where gypsies had been camping, where they resolved that moment to do the same, just exactly in every de- tail as Cazalet had so often done it in the bush. Cazalet sat on his heels and in about a minute turned into mutton and damper the flesh and flour that the chauffeur fetched from the village. And after that a real camp-fire till long after dark, and a shadowy chauffeur smoking his pipe some- where in the other shadows, and thinking them, of course, quite mad. The cricket on the hearth at home thought even worse-of them than that. But Blanche only told the truth when she declared that the whole thing had been her idea; and she might have added, a bitter disappointment to her, because Walter simply would not talk about the bush itself, 32 and never had since that first hour in the old empty schoolroom at Littleford. (By the way, she had taken to calling him Walter to his face.) Of other conversation, however, there was not and never had been the slightest dearth, between them; but it was, perhaps, a sad case of: quantity. These were two outdoor'souls, and the one with the interesting life no longer spoke about it. Neither was a great reader, even of the papers, though Blanche liked poetry as she liked going to church; but each had the mind that could batten quite amiably on other .people. So there was a deal of talk about neighbours down the river, and some of it was scandal, and all was gossip; and there was a great deal about what Blanche called their stone- age days, but again far less about themselves when young than there had been at Littleford that first day. And so much for their conversation, once for all; it was frankly that of two very ordinary persons, placed in an extraordinary position to which they had shut their eyes for a week. They must have had between them, ho -ver, some rudimentary sense of construction; foi heir final fling, if not just the most inspiring, was at least untike all the rest. It was almost as new to Blanche, and now much more so to Cazalet; it appealed as strongly to their common stock of freshness and simplicity. Yet cause and effect were alike undeniably lacking in distinction. It began with cartloads of new clothes from Cazalet’s old tailor, and it ended in a theatre and the Carlton. Martha Anxious About Many Things Martha surpassed herself, of course; she had gone about for days (or rather mornings and evenings) in an aggressive silence, her lips provocatively pursed; but now the time had come for her to speak out, and that she did. If Miss Blanche had no respect for herself, there were those who had some for her, just as there were others who seemed to have for- gotten the meaning of the word. The euphemistic plural disappeared at the first syllable from Blanche. It was nothing to Martha that she had been offered a place in the car (beside that forward young man) more days than one; well did Mr. Cazalet know her feelings about motors before he made her the offer. But she was not saying anything about what was past. This was the limit: an expression which only sullied Martha’s lips because Blanche had just applied it to her interference. It was not behaving as a gentleman; it was enough to work unpleasant miracles in her poor parents’ graves; and though Martha herself would die sooner than inform Mr. Charlie or the married sisters, other people were beginning to talk, and when this came out she knew who would get the blame. So Blanche seemed rather flushed and very spir- ited, at the short and early dinner at Dieudonné’s; but it was a fact that the motoring had affected her skin, besides making her eyes look as though she had been doing what she simply never did. It had also toned up the lower part of Cazalet’s face to match the rest; otherwise he was more like a meer- schaum pipe than ever, with the white frieze across his forehead (but now nothing else) to stamp him from the wilds. And soon nobody was laughing louder at Mr. Payne and Mr. Grossmith; nobody looked better qualified for his Gaiety stall, nobody less like a figure in an impending melodrama. Their Final Fling So also at the Carlton later; more champagne, of course, and the jokes of the evening to replenish a dwindling store, and the people at the other tables to give a fresh fillip to the game of gossip. Blanche looked as well as any of them in a fresher way than most, and Cazalet a noble creature in all his brand- new glory; and she winced with pride at the huge tip she saw him give the waiter; for an old friend may be proud of an old friend, surely! Then they got a good place for watching more people in the lounge; and the fiddling conductor proved the best worth watching of the lot, and was pronounced the very best performer that Cazalet had ever heard in all his life. Many other items were praised in the same fervent formula, which Blanche confirmed about everything except his brandy and cigar. Above all was it delightful to feel that their beloved car was waiting for them outside, to whirl them out of all this racket just as late as they liked; for quite early in the week (and this was a glaring aggravation in Martha’s eyes) Cazalet had taken lodgings for himself and driver in those very Nell Gwynne Cot- . tages where Hilton Toye had stayed before him. All the evening nothing had been better of its kind than this music at the very end; and of course it was the kind for Blanche and Cazalet, who for his part liked anything with a tune, but could never remember one. Yet when they played an aged waltz, actually in its second decade, just upon half- past twelve, even Cazalet cocked his head and frowned, as though he had heard the thing before. “Now that’s the end. They’re beginning to put the lights out, Walter. Don’t you think we’d better go?” (Continued next month) Harper’s Bazar

Page 35

Photograph by Davis & Sanford. Copyrighted by Underwood & Underwood. MRS. FRANCIS BOWES SAYRE The Thirteenth White House Bride For January, 1914 33

Page 36

Celestial Sleeve-dogs By Rosalie Stewart The favourite of the moment, the tiny Pekingese dog, seems to be supplanting the Pomeranian in the affections of society women. The Plaza Prize Show of these pets was the last word in artistic dog-luxury. An entire Pekingese family; Mrs. Morris Mandy’s Champion Tsang, his mate Mi Hu, and their babies, two sons and a daughter. barbaric jewels and harem dances, the women of the day have developed a fad for The fancy is for Pekingese— A LONG with minaret modes, bizarre fashions, grotesque pet dogs. Mrs. Michael M. Van Beuren, of Newport, daugh- ter of John D. Archbold, with two of her Peking- ese, one a puppy of her own breeding. Mrs. Van Beuren recently succeeded Mrs. Benjamin Guinness as President of the Pekingese Club of America. Celestial sleeve-dogs, children of the Dragon and the Spirit of jade,—for centuries exclusively privi- leged to the heaven-born members of China’s Impe- o> Mrs. A. M. Hunter's fifteen-hundred-dollar mite, Chin Toy of Arden, a most lovely, quaint- expressioned specimen of the Pekingese. rial dynasties. The royal Manchu’s flowing kimono sleeve,—(of the left arm, nearest his stcical heart) ,— was the cosy corner of the Peking Palace pet. In the dark days of modern war, Lord John Hay, the English commander, looted a few of these palace treasures and brought them home in an army cap to his sovereign, Queen Victoria, and his cousin, the Duchess of Richmond. Little dogs, often more efficient mothers than great ladies, multiplied and plenished the land. To-day the aristocracy of the English, a dog-loving nation, have succumbed to what is literally a Pekingese craze. American wealth and fashion, beauty and brains, as usual are emulating and surpassing the British nobility. Recently a dog show de luxe, planned by Mr. Charles G. Hopton, an international fancier and sportsman, was given by the Pekingese Club of America, at the Hotel Plaza, New York, where a hundred and s.xty of these almost priceless Peking- ese were displayed. Mrs. W. H. Herbert, a re- nowned London connoisseur of the breed, awarded ornate silver and gold, ivory and enamel trophies worth hundreds of dollars to the most typical speci- mens. Many of the prizes were captured by American-bred dogs, notably those of Mrs. Arthur L. Holland and Mrs. Morris Mandy. Importations owned by Mrs. Michael M. Van Beuren, by Mrs. M. E. Harby, exhibitor of three successive champions; by Mrs. Henry D. Harper; and by Mrs. Arthur M. Hunter with five superb im- ported Pekingese, were the most successful winners. Mrs. J. T. Mallory, Miss Elsie de Wolfe, Mrs. Alfred Goodson, Mrs. Louis de Lancy Ward, Mrs. Arnold Lawson, Mrs. Carl Elhermann, Jr., Mrs. Alison W. Lederer, Mrs. A. McClure Halley, Dr. 34 Mary Cotton, Mrs. Joseph Pulitzer, Mrs. R. E. Knight, Miss Theodora Wilbour, Miss Isabel Benjamin, Miss Muriel Reed, Miss Mildred M. K. Rogers, Miss Margaret Van Beuren Mason and | Mrs. Arthur L. Holland with Champion Vi Sin, imported, and his two American-bred prize- winning progeny. Miss Burden, were others who exhibited lovely Pekingese prize-winners. It seemed as if all society and prominent women of the stage thronged the show, paying homage to the Pekingese. The judging was done on a spacious dais, covered with green cloth to simulate a lawn and framed with palms. The Pekingese were displayed in cases around the walls on satin cushions with back- grounds of gorgeously gold-embroidered Chinese tapestries. It was all very elegant, very luxu- rious, very exotic,—and very smart! Harper’s Bazar

Page 37

Mw 4 @ 8 Mor By Marie Van Vorst ec i + aa Author of “The Successful Wife,” “The Girls from His Town,” and “Amanda of the Mill.” This cry of a man’s hungry heart for sympathy, with the story of how and where he found it when his wife failed him, is intensely dramatic, holding the interest from the opening sentence. Miss Moreland, the faithful little secretary, after years of association in business with the man she loves, is sorely tried when brought face to face with the problem of inclination versus principle. ISS MORELAND judged the moods of her M employer by the way he took off his gloves. If he tore them off recklessly, he was in a business humour and would begin work immediately, dictating even before he divested himself of his hat and coat. If he didn’t take off his gloves, but thrust his hands into his pockets and walked over to the window and stood there, she knew that something had gone wrong “up at the house.” If he slowly drew his gloves off, finger by finger, and rolled them up into a little ball, that meant something important in the wind; and when he stood directly in front of her and looked down at her Miss Moreland knew that she was to hear all about it. Maughm had made a practice for several years of going directly to his stenographer’s room when he came down-town. He went there before he saw his clerks and before he undertook the business of the day. _ It had become a habit. All habits are either pleasant or disagreeable. The pleasant ones need no excuse for being, though they often need excuse for continuance. The unpleasant habits are usually duties. Miss Moreland’s room, or cage, was the most inviting corner of the offices of Thomas Maughm. It was small and sunny, and overlooked miles of city and bay. Ships could be seen coming in and going out, and the white banners of the city’s stainless smoke floated before her eyes against the sky. The little room was comfortably furnished. Maughm spent so much time in it that he had an easy chair there, and things for smoking; and he could and did sometimes mix for himself a cocktail. On this morning, when he had slowly drawn off his grey suéde gloves, laid them together, and made alittle ball of them, which he ‘dropped into the pocket of his coat, he began to dictate. With the first words he lifted his hat and took off his coat. The man had not passed far beyond his youth, and its flush was still apparent. He was a well-looking, vigourous American business man, and though he never exercised, except on: Sundays and holidays, he kept his splendid muscles and his vivid colour. -Miss Moreland knew his clothes by heart, ad- mired his neckties and thought him the “best dressed man in Wall Street.” The Little Demon of Trouble If Thomas Maughm knew that he went into that little room each morning just to hear his name spoken by an agreeable voice and to be greeted by a radiant smile, he never told anyone. No matter what went on “up at the house” (and things did go on), this habit never altered. That he was. Master of the establishment here there was no doubt; and without entering into the subtleties of the question. féministe, it might be just because the only obligations were financial. On this morning Miss Moreland greeted him with- out the smile. It was the first time in the history of their mutual relations, but Mr. Maughm did not notice it! ] She had the day before tasted of the bitterness of lending money which you cannot afford to lend to people who never intend to pay it back. By virtue of this transaction, she was short just one hundred dollars. The loss of a hundred dollars is a little thing to a person of means; but in Miss Moreland’s life it was a catastrophe. She heard Maughm’s familiar: ‘ Will you kindly take this letter, Miss Moreland?” and opened her book. On the page before her appeared, as though written there, the following problems, which she had worried over for the preceding twenty-four hours. “Miss Doane will never pay back the money; the rent is due; I ought to have twenty dollars for mother’s doctor’s bill,—it’s a new doctor, a special- ist; we don’t know him and he won’t wait, and I would be ashamed to ask him anyway. I haven’t paid for my tailor-suit (that’s forty dollars).”’ Maughm began to dictate. “Henry Ayms, Somerset Club, Boston. Dear old man,—I write to you first. God knows, there is nobody else, and if I don’t write someone, I will go mad. I would like to come over to-day, but I am tied up with things people think important. Be- lieve me, nothing is of importance but the senti- mental part of life. Everything else hustles a man hither and thither, but it’s only his damned emotions For January, 1914 Drawing by Will Foster. Miss Moreland judged the moods of her employer by the way he took off his gloves. that can take him promptly either to heaven or to hell.” . Maughm’s emotions impelled him to take out a cigar. Miss Moreland had written his letters, private and business, for ten years. If she had been an analyst, she would have said that he was uncon- trolled regarding questions of the heart. As it was, she thought Mr. Maughm “one of the nicest men in New York—just too kind-hearted for anything.” The Man’s Bigger Trouble It suddenly occurred to her, as she wrote, that the butcher’s bill too had been running for three months and was uncomfortably large. The dicta- tion went on: “You know I am a close-moutlied chap. I have not said a word to you or to anyone all these years. I could say a lot, by gad! I shall probably regret this letter—perhaps I won’t send it. Anyhow, it’s got to be written. To make a long story short, I am going to leave my wife.” These words, in their frank importance, obliter- 35 ated “‘butcher’s bill.””. They were sufficiently out of the ordinary to blot out for a moment even the whole financial tragedy; but she gave no sign of this fact and the dictation went on: “You always told me that Daisy and I were absolutely unsuited. No man can ever judge this for another, but by Jove! I wish that you. had judged of it for me. You can’t say we are un- suited; let’s say Fdon’t suit.” Maughm continued: “I don’t know if this is the experience of every man who marries his first love. I am not interested in other people’s experience I married because I loved and thought of nothing else. I begin to think that an American business man should marry no one but an American business woman. “My wife wants a companion to do with her the things she has time to do. J want a companion who will understand my struggle for existence. In order to live at the pace I am living, I have to work like a dog. When I get home in the evening, I run into a party at bridge; usually a dinner on after- wards, at which I am considered a bore. The

Page 38

women talk across me to each other, and I don’t wonder; I have nothing to say, for, half the time, we have had some unpleasant discussion just before, and that knocks all the spirit out of me. “T think that Daisy ceased to love me the first year of our marriage. At any rate, I count for nothing in the household except the moneybag. There is no companionship; it is a sort of unex- pressed enmity. Daisy never wanted children.” Here Miss Moreland gave a little cough. It was a signal that her employer was going a little too fast for her speed, and he stopped. Then continued: “T am just crazy about kids! Daisy is vain, a coquette, extravagant. I don’t believe she has any heart at all. When I left her this morning I did not feel that I ever wanted to see her again. Totell the truth, I am sick and tired of modern women; they haven’t the slightest conception of a man’s needs. They are neither wives, sweethearts, nor friends; and a fellow wants all of these things in a wife.” “I am determined to get out!” Maughm was dictating so fast and excitedly that he had approached still nearer his secretary. She coughed again. “Oh,” he said, coming back to the fact that he had before him a human being; “I think perhaps I ought not to say quite all that.” He spoke slowly, and as he was looking straight at her with his handsome, angry eyes, he evidently wanted some kind of a response. If he turned to her at this moment for human sym- pathy, she gave him none. He resumed the dictation: “Don’t hand me any preaching or advice; I’ve had enough of it. A chap doesn’t come to this de- cision lightly. My home is hell and I am going to get out of it. I mean nothing to Daisy; she means nothing to me. We haven’t spoken to each other for three days. I will let her get a divorce, but Iam determined to get out.” Maughm wound up his letter. His cigar had burned down; he snuffed it out on the ash receiver. Miss Moreland finished her notes and sat waiting. Her employer looked at her. In her close-fitting dark skirt, her immaculate white waist, her arms bare from the elbow down, she was one of the pret- tiest little figures imaginable; trim and neat, round and charming. The head, bent over her book, was gloriously furnished with red-gold ‘hair, beautifully kept and tastefully arranged. The lobe of her ear, the curve of her neck, her prettily modelled chin, the outline of her cheek, and her long eyelashes hiding the eyes as she sat there with pencil poised, made a picture which might have attracted a less lonely man than Mr. Thomas Maughm. The Other Woman Moreover, it was a familiar picture. As he looked at her now, Maughm was conscious that he knew by heart these attractive details and that he had always thought her an unusually pretty girl. He wouldn’t have come in to her the first thing every morning if she hadn’t attracted him. The memory of Miss Moreland’s lovely smiles now came to him, and warmed his heart. Before this he had taken them for granted as one’s daily bread, for- getting to make thanksgiving. “Put up your book,” he said. Miss Moreland did so. Maughm took a chair, drew it up beside her and sat down. “Don’t be frightened,” he said gently, and Mary Moreland, who had no idea of being frightened, never having been in the least alarmed by him, smiled and looked up trustfully. “You have just taken the most important letter I have ever written,’’ he said. Miss Moreland made no response. “What I said there destroys my domestic happi- ness; you realize it?” “T think you were just a little hard,” she said quietly. Maughm looked at her in surprise, threw back his head and laughed. “Hard!” he exclaimed, “don’t you think a woman owes a man anything except to wear the clothes he buys for her and to sit like a statue of ice in his house?” As soon as he had said the words, he realized that they were out of proportion, and. that he was a cad to ask his secretary any such question. ““Never mind,” he said quickly; “don’t think about it. I want you to think about something else.” To Miss Moreland’s surprise, her employer leaned over and took her hand. ! “| want you to go with me.” ‘“‘T am in great trouble, little girl,” he said, “and you are the only person in the world who can pull me out. I want you to do something for me. Will you?” It is a psychological fact that no woman can tell how she feels toward any man until a certain combination of circumstances brings before her that man’s special need, whatever that need may be. Miss Moreland’s cheeks paled. “T am going to leave my wife,” he said, and waited. The secretary made no reply. “My man is bringing down my things to the club. I am going to leave New York tomorrow. Now,” he said after a pause, “J don’t want to leave alone. I want you to go with me.” If any of her girl friends had told her of a similar case Miss Moreland would have said with dignity: “Heavens! J would have slapped his face.” Now she did nothing of the kind. On his part, Maughm would have classed as a hound any man who could have made such a propo- sition to a defenceless girl. But Maughm was swimming in a stormy sea of sentiment; he was drowning in it, and he caught at this human life- preserver as many a better man has done. He went on, his plan shaping itself as he spoke: “T want you to go home,” he said, “‘and tell your people that I have given you a vacation—you have needed one for some time. Tell them you are going to take a rest-cure at some place that we can arrange for, where their letters can go to you. Then I want you to meet me at the Grand Central Station and go with me to Chicago. . . . I don’t want to make any protestations to you,” said her employer; ‘‘you must see what a state of mind I am in. You have known me for ten years, and I don’t think you have ever heard of my doing a thing you would call mean. I am going to give you a thousand dollars,” he said. ‘You can put it in the bank to your credit. I know you have plenty of uses for it.” Then he paused, watching as he spoke the changes of expression on Miss Moreland’s face. The man had no idea what these changes meant, nor had the woman. From the moment that Maughm had seated him- self beside her and taken her hands in his, lowered his voice and begun to speak to her, not as an employer to a stenographer but as a man to a woman, something new and strange had come to life in the stenographer’s breast. She had been in daily contact with this warm-hearted, big-natured man, who had invariably been kind and considerate to her. From the first she had been attracted by his personality. She liked the tones of his voice, and appreciated his generous gifts. In short, as the man sat before her, she discovered in a flash something that for years she had ignored. For the moment the equation of wrecking a life and solving a financial problem did not appear hideous. The Awakening of Miss Moreland Her face, as Maughm looked at it, was charming. The first expression indicated fright; then came appeal; but the look of indecision was perhaps the most attractive of all. He pressed her hand; he followed a second impulse and lifted it to his lips. That touch completed the work. She rose from her chair. It seemed to her in that second as though it did not matter if all the big buildings in New York fell to ruin. Nothing mattered. Maughm still held her hands. But he did not kiss her; he looked at her intently and said: “Then you will come?” And her voice which sounded very far away replied: “‘ Anywhere.” Atherside the telephone rang insistently: Maughm answered it and the business of the day began. At noon, when she was putting on her hat to go out for luncheon, Maughm came into her office again, and shut the door, holding its handle behind him. He extended one hand to her, into which, without hesitation, Miss Moreland put both of hers. “Little girl,” he said; “don’t, for Ged’s sake, go back on me! I’ve thought of nothing else since I left you this morning. I have nearly forgotten my troubles; you must make me forget them entirely. Don’t go back on me.” She knew so little of men that she was not sur- prised that he did not kiss her. It would have terri- fied her if he had. In a low tone he gave her a series of instructions, opened the door for her and let her pass out to go to the restaurant where she lunched on a piece of pie, and a glass of milk. She did not think he was selfish, she did not think about Maughm’s part at all, simply because her feelings for the first time in her life were thoroughly aroused She did not wonder what he was going to do with her—not because Miss Moreland lacked practicality, for she was a practical business woman. It was a glorious day in April. Miss Moreland had been thoroughly in tune with the hopefulness of springtime. She had seen a hat in one of the shops on the Avenue and intended to buy the materials to copy it the day she received the curt note from Miss Doane stating that owing to a sudden call from the city it would be inconvenient for her to return the loan of one hundred dollars. That had upset all her calculations. But her cheeks glowed as she realized that notwithstanding the disappointment, her whole being was pulsating with a new joy. The part of the world which Miss Moreland designated in her mind as “out home” was alittle 36 house in East Orange, where she supported a mother and a little brother and sister. As she sat and mused in the train on her way home that afternoon, several hours earlier than usual, she knew that she had been fond of Mr. Maughm for a long time. Yes, she loved him now—he needed her—what did anything else matter—she would go to him—- proud in the conviction that she could make him happy. She had supposed that she had principles. She was achurch member, although often too tired on Sundays to go to church. Her life had been ab- sorbed in the fulfilment of her duties as a bread- winner; she had never formulated any philosophy; her principles were simply part of an upright and unselfish character. The development of the heart differs in dif- ferent natures. In some it requires a lifetime; in others the grande passion can lift a human being in an incredibly short period of time to the most sublime emotional heights. Miss Moreland wanted to cry; but it was hardly possible in the train, and with an effort she thrust Thomas Maughm out of her mind and turned her thoughts to the necessity of the moment. In her bag was the money Maughm had placed there in spite of her protests. The Great Decision When the train stopped at East Orange she got out and took the familiar road home. She had left the house that morning only an anxious little bread-winner; she was going back to it now a woman confronted by the most perplexing problem of her life. She had not taken off her hat when her mother commenced the daily story of physical ills. She heard the clatter of dishes, she smelled the all- pervading fumes of cooking. The shrill voices of boisterous children playing under the window irri- tated her sensitive nerves and she had a headache. She went directly to her bedroom, and spent an hour in going over her slender wardrobe. She was the possessor of two pairs of silk stockings —a black pair and a pair of lighter colour which she had worn to parties. She got out a suit case which she kept in the bottom of her closet, and with burning cheeks packed it for the great adventure. Articles which had been of little sig- nificance before became singularly important now. They were not good enough— Nothing she had was fit to be seen by . . . but she did not dare to let her thoughts wander. They terrified her. The hundred dollar bills in her purse troubled her tremendously—more than her debts had ever done She put the money first in her bureau drawer, then on a shelf in the closet, finally stowed it away under her clothes in the suit case. She could not use it or bring herself even to think of it, no matter what should happen. She passed a sleepless night and in the morning was back again on the train bound for New York, her suit case in her hand. She took it up to the Grand Central Station, checked it at the parcel office, and went down to the office as she had been directed to do, in order to take the mail and the telegrams that might be waiting for her employer. The office boy told her that Mr. Maughm had not been in. She had not expected him and received the news tranquilly, but on her pile of letters was one for her in her employer’s writing. It was notably the only epistle she had ever received from him. Her First Love Letter “Dear little girl,” it ran, “Mr. Ayms—you know whom I mean—is desperately ill. They have sent for me, and I am going on. Will you come to me at the Touraine in Boston? Take the train at five o’clock this afternoon; I will be at the station. Don’t go back on me. Yours, T. M.” The letter, in a way, was a momentary reprieve. She had expected to meet him at one o’clock at the Grand Central Station—instead, she would meet him late in the evening in Boston. She folded the letter very small and placed it in the belt of her dress. It was Miss Moreland’s first love letter. She gathered up the rest of the mail, answered the letters that needed immediate attention, and put away in her little handbag those she considered nec- essary to take to Mr. Maughm. While she was writing, a boy came in with a white box. She read her name on the florist’s label. In selecting the flowers, Maughm had thought of spring—they were lilies-of-the-valley and mignonette. As she opened the box, the delicate, appealing perfume filled the room. But if Maughm could have foreseen the effect that his gift produced he would have chosen some- thing quite different. Miss Moreland had lost, a few years before, an invalid sister. She had loved the child; and all that was maternal in her had gone out to the little ailing thing. At the funeral—the expensive funeral that had taken months to pay for—there had been lilies-of-the-valley, quantities of them; and she never associated these flowers with anything but death. It was strange that they should have come Harper’s Bazar

Page 39

Drawing by Will Foster. “There is no companionship; it is a sort of unexpressed enmity.” For January, 1914 37

Page 40

9 > ee b&b 4 i A, to her now. As she bent over them, it seemed al- most that with them came the odour of the ground as it had smelled that rainy day in the cemetery, over the small grave. She covered the box—her hand tightened at her breast. But Miss Moreland was a healthy young woman— in love, and apparently loved. She dried her eyes— she sighed, adjusted her hair before the glass, and was glad to see that it was soft and pretty, that her hands looked white as they touched it. She could not but approve of her figure, for—Goodness knows— she had been told often enough that she was pretty. The telephone rang and she picked up the receiver to reply. “Is that Mr. Thomas Maughm’s office?” “Yes. Who is it?” Miss Moreland asked. And the voice answered: “This is Mrs. Thomas Maughm speaking.” There was a moment’s pause. Miss Moreland— after years of habit, fell into the rut: ‘Mr. Maughm has not been in today—I will see if he left any word.” The Appeal of His Wife “Stop a moment,” Mrs. Maughm answered. “That is not necessary. Don’t bother about it, Miss Moreland—I really wanted to speak to you. My secretary is ill. Will you come up for an hour?” Under ordinary circumstances there would have been no reason in the world why the stenographer should refuse to go to the wife of heremployer. The hesitation was brief, the pause between the two voices infinitesimal; and although Miss Moreland’s heart was beating wildly she cheerfully answered: “Yes, Mrs. Maughm, Ef will be right up.” The few times that’ Miss Moreland had been sent for by Mrs. Maughm stood out in her memory as she climbed the steps of-the big house. Once she had revised the lady’s visiting list, spending hours trans- cribing names into an address book. Once she had taken a few perfunctory letters. Another time she had written some checks. Mrs. Maughm was sitting before the open fire in her boudoir, her elbows on her knees, her head in her hands—an attitude inconsistent with the sten- ographer’s idea of the great Mrs. Maughm. ““That’s you, Miss Moreland, isn’t it? I am so glad. Come in, won’t you? And sit down.” Miss Moreland felt a sudden certainty that her employer’s wife knew something+-had heard some- thing. She hesitated before coming over to the chair indicated. ‘“*Sit down, Miss Moreland,” repeated Mrs. Maughm. “TI sent for you—I haven’t any work for you to do. It’s not that.” The stenographer saw that Mrs. Maughm had been crying and that she did not seem ashamed to reveal the fact to her husband’s stenographer. “Because You Are a Woman” “You don’t want me to do any work?” Miss Moreland began. “No,” said the lady; “but I do want very much to see you—very much indeed.” Mary Moreland waited. Mrs. Maughm took her in, as a woman does, with one comprehensive glance. In her plain tailor skirt, her neatly-fitting shirt-waist, her spotless collar, her tidy jacket, her becoming, small hat, and her fresh nicely- adjusted veil, Miss Moreland was an attractive figure. But there was about her something better than beauty—repose. She had an eminently peace- ful presence. ““Miss Moreland,” (Mrs. Maughm’s voice still bore a trace of tears) “I don’t know what you'll think of me, sending for you like this. I can’t un- derstand how I came to do so. But don’t you know,’’—she half appealed—‘ that we all of us do perfectly extraordinary things now and then, in spite of ourselves—things we never, never could imagine ourselves capable of doing, and which in another we would censure? Do you know what I mean?” Miss Moreland did know what she meant. “T really think,” said Mrs. Maughm, “that we women cannot judge each other too harshly—or ourselves, for that matter. We are so dreadfully impulsive. Don’t you think so?” She did not wait for Miss Moreland to reply. “We are almost irresponsible, aren’t we, sometimes? Such differ- ent things influence us. We feel so safe and so se- cure, and all of a sudden something happens to change everything, and we find ourselves acting in an utterly irresponsible manner. Do you under- stand? ”” and she looked at the stenographer. sah guess we are all rather nervous,” she said quietly; “but I don’t know but that we can be counted upon in a crisis quite as well as men can be.’ “‘Oh,” exclaimed Mrs. Maughm, “how wonderful of you to think that! But of course you would.” Miss Moreland did not have time to reply. “T have always thought,” said Mrs. Maughm, “that we were far superior to men in everything, until perhaps”—she hesitated—‘this last week. Oh, Miss Moreland, I haven’t sent for you on any business matter. I had no right to send for you at all, but I did because—you are a woman.” Miss Moreland stiffened. She was on guard in- stantly. She reflected that Mrs. Maughm must have known—judging from the address-book— quite a number of people for whom she could have sent “‘just because they were women.” The Unhappy Woman and the Happy One Mrs. Maughm went on: “‘Now and then I have thought of you, working down there as you do—as you have—day after day, for ten years, by my husband’s side—I mean to say, near him. I have been glad to think he had such a splendid woman—such a fine woman—in his employ. And I feel, Miss Moreland, that you must know Tom awfully well. Of course you do know him, in a way that perhaps I don’t—have seen him in a way I haven’t seen him—have grown near to him in a way that I haven’t been able to.” Mrs. Maughm was holding her handkerchief tightly. She threw back her head, as though she defied the emotion that was evidently struggling to express itself, and looking into the glowing coals said: “T can’thelpit. Ijust had to send foryou. Iam terribly unhappy,” she finished; “terribly, terribly unhappy.” If Mary Moreland had spoken as frankly as Mrs. Maughm, she would have said: “I am terribly, terribly happy, for I am going away tonight with the man I love.” She remembered the letter she had written to Henry Ayms the day before—and the things that Mr. Maughm had uttered about his wife, and her thoughts sprang to his defence as she looked at the woman before her—she thought, “‘Well, you are not the only one that’s terribly, ter- ribly unhappy.” “Where is My Husband 2” ‘“Miss Moreland,’”’ Mrs. Maugham continued, “T don’t know where my husband is. He went away from here yesterday. I know he went down to the office; but he did not come home, and I haven’t any idea where he has gone. I wouldn’t take any means to find out—that i is, no means but this. I thought perhaps you knew.’ The colour came slowly into Mary Moreland’s cheeks, but her business training enabled her to say tranquilly: “If Mr. Maughm went away without telling you where he was going, I guess he must have wanted to be. alone.’ “Then you do know where my husband is?” Mrs. Maughm asked sharply. “‘He didn’t leave any word at the office.” “‘T don’t ask you to tell me where my husband is unless you care to, Miss Moreland. I could have him followed. It isn’t that. I don’t want to spy on Tom; but, as I told you, I am terribly unhappy. I think he is going to leave me.” Mrs. Maughm paused after this statement—not as though she wished to have it refuted, or com- mented upon, but as though she wished to follow out its tragic suggestion; she bit her lip; tears over- flowed and rolled down her cheeks; she stared straight before her, and the stenographer believed she now saw the reverse of the picture presented to her the day before. She began to feel like a robber entertained as a guest in the house that was to be plundered. She was dazed. In the buttonhole of her jacket she had put a spray of the lily-of-the-valley. It recalled the smell of the earth. What the Man Wants Mrs. Maughm went on: ‘Things have been rather bad here, Miss More- land, for some time. If my husband has seemed nervous, it’s because he hasn’t been happy at home. New York is perfectly awful for married people, especially if you are not poor.” She stopped a moment, while Miss Moreland di- gested the idea that things could be worse if one were rich. ““We haven’t made common cause,” continued Mrs. Maughm. “I have been restless, carried away by outside interests, and”—she leaned for- ward and put her hand on the secretary’s knee, look- ing her full in the eyes,—‘‘I’ve nearly lost my hus- band.” Miss Moreland did not shrink. Her eyes were as beautiful as Mrs. Maughm’s. But she had grown, in the interval, quite pale. Here and there on her flawless skin was a little brown freckle. These golden points stood out, making her complexion more transparent than ever. The other woman went on, “I don’t want to lose him, Miss Moreland; I don’t intend to lose him if I can help it. I don’t need to tell you, do I, after this, that I love him very much indeed ? ” Mrs. Maughm’s hands closed upon those of the stenographer; and for a moment the two women sat thus in perfect silence; then the wife released her grasp and sank back in her chair. Mary vaguely wondered: “‘What does Mrs. Maughm know— what does she think? Does she suspect anything? Is she trying to find out?” 38 o ” Mrs. Maughm had apparently regained her self- possession. “‘I wanted to ask you several ques- tions quite frankly,”’ she was saying. ‘‘Somehow, I don’t feel like asking them now. It doesn’t make so much difference where my husband has gone. I believe he will come back; and if you knew, Miss Moreland, you would feel yourself in honour bound —I know how discreet you are—not to tell me. As I said before, I am not trying to spy on my husband through you. So that’s one of the questions I don’t ask. . . . I thought somewhat of asking you what I had better do. But how could you tell me? No one can tell me that. Perhaps, when he comes back, I shall know what to do. I must take my chance. . . . I wanted to ask you if there was any- thing you could say, knowing some of the circum- stances, as I think you do—was there anything you could suggest, anything . . .” Mrs. Maughm paused. Miss Moreland’s voice was thin now when she spoke: “When you called me on the telephone I thought you wanted me to take some letters .. .” “Of course you did,”’ said Mrs. Maughm; “but you see how much more serious it was.’ “Yes,” said the stenographer and she put on her gray gloves and got up from the chair, wondering if her legs would give way before she could get out of the room and downstairs and out of the house. “You said,” she managed to get out, “a minute ago, could I suggest anything.” “Yes,” said Mrs. Maughm eagerly. “T think,” she said in her strained little voice, “that a man likes a woman to be there when he comes home—where he expects her to be. She paused. The beautiful rich colour that the years of confining occupation had not quenched, rose to her cheeks, filled her face now. Mrs. Maughm thought with a tightening of her heart: “She is lovely after all.” “T think,” Miss Moreland finished, “that Mr. Maughm is fond of children.” On Sober Reflection Thomas Maughm walked back and forth before the gates in the South station, waiting for the ar- rival of the train from New York. His hands were behind his back, his head was bent. He was a soi- disant lover, waiting the arrival of a pretty woman who, at his suggestion, was to throw over respecta- bility for him. His mind scarcely touched the ob- ject of his waiting. He had passed through one of the saddest days of his life. The man to whose deathbed he had been summoned was his oldest and dearest friend. He had arrived too late. He had spent the afternoon at the Somerset Club, talking with men who had, with him, loved and admired the dead man. He had not been able to put his friend for long out of his mind, and whenever he did so his own affairs were so complicated and so painful that to return to his grief was a relief. When the thought of his secretary crossed his mind, it came to him with a sudden shock that made his nerves quiver and his heart contract. There had been time for reflection since he left New York, and Maughm criticized himself in his self-examination. He began instinctively to put himself right with his environment. Walking to and fro on the platform, he continued his musings. No doubt he had been very selfish, as far as his wife was concerned. He was too much a business man and too little of a lover. Women complained that this was an American failing. He had been too wrapped up in the Street, to have leisure for her. At all events, there was no such thing as one side to a story, and with the American man’s chivalry he began to take himself to task—to court the blame. The Force of Reminiscence Then there came back to him, in spite of himself, scenes with his wife—scenes of disturbance, rup- tures that could only be healed by love, by caresses, by assurances of devotion, and by tender- ness. It was long, long since Maughm could re- member any touch of endearment. He wanted to remember them: but they refused to come at his call. He tossed his head. ““What’s the use? She doesn’t love me. She hasn’t loved me foralongtime. I’m a sentimental fool! I’m only doing what any other chap in my place would do—has done.” The train came in; the passengers filed out through the gates, and Maughm took his position to wait for Miss Moreland. She was in one of the last cars. He had thought of her so little during the day that her appearance was a surprise, and 2s he looked at her she gave him the feeling that she always did in the office—one of refreshment and helpfulness. And his heart went out to her in gratitude. She had not failed him. She was com- ing quietly toward him now, in her trim dress, her, pretty hat and veil. The coloured man beside them carried a suit case, and they went out through the gate together. In the next insta!lment will be told what happened to Mr. Maughm and Miss Moreland. Harper’s Bazar

Page 41

Photograph by Dudley Hoyt. MRS. DEWEES W. DILWORTH The wedding of Miss Edith Logan and Mr. Dilworth, the first to be cele- brated in the new St. Thomas’s Church, was one of the most interesting wed- dings of the New York season. The bride was a daughter of Major John A. Logan, who died several years ago while on duty in the Philippines, and a grand-daughter of the late General John A. Logan of Civil War fame. The General's widow who came from Washington for the ceremony was the most interesting personage in the large gathering which filled the beautiful Gothic edifice. The bridegroom is a son of Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Dilworth, formerly of Pittsburgh but recently of New York. The bride’s gown of ivory-white satin was very beautiful. Her veil of ex- quisite old Honiton lace had been worn by her mother when, as Edith Andrews, of Youngstown, Ohio, she married the handsome young Army officer, John A. Logan, second. The superstition that violet is an unlucky colour for a bride to use evidently held no terrors for this bride, who carried a shower bouquet of For January, 1914 39 lilies of the valley and lovely violet orchids. The matron of honour, Mme. Henri de Sincay, of Paris, who was Marie Logan, wore a trailing gown of shell- pink taffeta, with a cutaway coat of gold lace. Falling from her shoulders was a filmy scarf of brown chiffon. Her hat was also made of the chiffon and edged with skunk. Standing stiffly at the right side was one large pink rose. She carried a marvelously frilled muff of the chiffon, ornamented with the small golden orchids and pink roses. A glimpse of the pink satin lining of the muff completed the colour scheme. The four bridemaids, Miss Vouletti Proctor, Miss Mercedes de Acosta, Miss Audrey Osborn and Miss Eleanor Lamson also wore brown and pink cos- tumes. Their gowns of pink taffeta had short tunics of the chiffon edged with brown fur. Floating from their shoulders were scarfs of the chiffon, and their muffs matched that carried by the matron of honour. Their hats were of gold lace.

Page 42

M a +4 By Elinor Glyn age The divorce problem has been discussed by press and pulpit for a generation, and no solution has been found. It is no longer the fashion to be afraid of a question of this kind. We face it boldly in these days, and discuss it openly. By this frank statement of her point of view as to some of the contributory causes of estrangement and divorce Mrs. Glyn will startle, perhaps, some super-sensitive women who have inherited, from generations of Puritanical ancestors, the theory of never mentioning these things. But we venture to predict that most of these women, even the ultra-conservatives, will admit that what she says is true. tastes and desires and the almost total want of personal discipline which prevails in the present day, it is really remarkable that the legal marriage goes oneven as well asit does! But that the married state could be much happier is patent to any understanding, and it may be interesting to look at one or two aspects of it, and see from whence comes the discord. A woman enters into matrimony for various rea- sons, but, inthe majority of cases, in England at least, it is because she is, or fancies she is, in love with the man at thetime. He therefore, if this is so, starts with an enormous power over her, which, if he chooses to keep it, will enable him to turn their future life in any way he will; because the greatest desire of even the most strong-minded and domineer- ing woman when in love is to please the man. A woman only becomes indifferent as to whether or not she is doing this when she no longer cares. Therefore, it is the man’s business to keep her in this state if he wants his home to be happy. The first thing for him to realize is that she cannot remain in love with him by her own will, any more than she can cease to love him by her own will—these states are pro- duced in her by something in himself. And, if he discontinues using the arts and attractions which awakened her love, he cannot expect it to continue. Unfortunately, when the man is sure of her he often ceases to make the effort to attract'the woman. And then one of two things happens; either she grows to love him more for a time because of that contrariness in human beings which always puts abnormal value upon the thing which is slipping out of reach—or she herself becomes indifferent; and it is a mere chance, depending on whether they both, or either of them, possess character and a sense of duty, as to how the marriage goes along. We will take the case of a union when both par- ties are in love at the start, and really desire that their marriage should remain happy. Each ought to decide that he or she will do his or her uttermost to continue to put forth those charms which allured and enchanted the mate before the ceremony. No one would expect the bloom to remain upon grapes if he carelessly rubbed it off, but both men and women are extraordinarily surprised and disgusted when they find their partners are no longer in love with them, and at once blame them for fickleness, instead of examining themselves to see what caused this ceasing to care—what they did—or omitted to do—which made them no longer able to call forth love from their mates. And until it can be grasped that all emotion of love is produced by something consciously or unconsciously possessed by the other person—and that it is not in the power of the indi- vidual to order himself to feel it, or not to feel it, but that only the demonstration of the state is in his power—unions will go on with mutual recrimina- tions.and hitting of heads against a stone wall. Love Cannot be Forced to Live Some natures are naturally fickle and unstable— and no matter how good and sweet the partner may be, they break away. These cases are misfortunes, but in analyzing the facts the actual responsibility cannot be laid at the doors of such people, since they could not by will have kept the sensation of love for their partners, any more than by will they could have ceased to care for them. They could only by will have been able to control the expression of their feel- ings. I seem to be reiterating this point to the verge of tiresomeness, but it is vitally important to understand, because its non-comprehension pro- duces much injustice. If John by his will were able to make himself remain in love with Mary, and failed to do so, then she might have a right to blame him because he had sworn at the altar that he would. But, alas! Mary very seldom realizes that he can- not command his actual emotions, and she re- proaches John for ceasing to feel loving towards her! which is as sensible on her part as to reproach him for the skies pouring rain. John, on his side, in like case does the same thing, because he also has not understood the truth. A valuable point for both to keep in remembrance is that sex attraction is the basis of all “‘ being in love.” rere the instability of all our This, I know, will horrify many people who do not investigate cause, but are occupied only with effect. But if commonsense be used in thinking about the matter, it will be seen that if this was not the foundation of “being in love” the emotion would be calm, and like that of brother and sister. So, admitting that this is the foundation, it can be understood how important a part it plays in the happiness of two people bound together by law for life, and how important it is to the woman to endeavour to continue to make herself desirable in the eyes of the man—and vice versa—it is of su- preme importance to whichever of them cares the most. When the thing starts equally, the man nearly al- ways cools the soonest. He then probably goes on liking his wife. Perhaps he admires and respects her intellect, but the thrill which used to come when her hand even touched his hand is no longer there, and he only feels emotion towards her when he is in the mood, which would make him feel it towards any woman. And just in the measure that he was passionate towards his wife, so he will be the easy or difficult prey of a new emotion. If he was a very fond lover, his senses will very soon re- quire fresh stimulation. And if this aspect of the case distresses the woman, she must look to her guns—so to speak—and use the whole of her intelli- gence to regain her hold over his affection. She will not improve matters by lamenting or re- proaching the man. Man Nature and Mother Instinct A woman must face the fact that man is a totally different creature to herseli—governed by other in- stincts—which can be clearly explained by a rather bald statement. A male dog will tear down any fence that is within his physical strength to enable him to get to his mate, and a female dog will do the same thing to reach her puppies. Here is a plain illustration of the different ruling original instincts in animals, and human beings are only the highest form of animal, given by God a more developed soul and a choice of action, but still influenced abso- lutely by fundamental nature instincts. If only all women would bravely face these facts of nature instincts in themselves and in men, they would ap- proach marriage with much broader-minded views, and would have a much greater chance of happiness. And if man realized these instincts, he would enter marriage knowing he must make a fight with na- ture to keep the vows he has sworn, and so he would be on his guard against the first inclination to stray, instead of being an easy prey to it. As it is, there is a recognized unwritten law among men that honour must always be kept with “the other woman,” but is not necessary with a wife. A man’s honour towards woman is only certain of holding with his inclination,—that is: A. married to B. will be unfaithful to her with C.—which is tech- nically dishonour. He will not consider that, but will tell any lie to protect C. and stick to her, be- cause his sense of honour has gone with his inclina- tion. He feels he must “never give away C. to B.” although he experiences no qualm in having already “given away” B. to C., who is also a woman, but only his wife! He has not been the least aware of it, but his sense of honour has followed his inclination in a way it would never do over a business arrange- ment with another man. The Sense of Honour To give a parallel case in a business arrangement: A. makes a bargain with B. that he will deal with him alone. He then finds he likes the goods of C. better than those of B.—but no honest tradesman would think of breaking his contract even secretly with B. and dealing with C., for, if he did, he would know himself that he was dishonest and that all his fellows who knew he had done this thing would despise and ostracize him. But a man when de- ceiving his wife not only generally feels no shame himself, but knows his male friends will only smile and think him a more or less clever fellow. There is not the slightest use in arguing about these facts, any more than there is in arguing about fundamental instincts, and it would be well for women to realize this elastic, unwritten law of hon- 40 our in men towards them, and so not expect, at the present state of man’s evolution, that they will re- ceive anything different. They must never forget that this adjustable sense of honour springs from the same fundamental instinct we spoke of, and there- fore cannot be turned round by women and applied to their own cases, because the same instincts do not come into force with them. I must reiterate again that it is wiser to remember that it is civiliza- tion alone (civilization embracing development of moral sense, and religious sense, and the force of custom) which keeps man from straying whenever he feels inclined, and that all she can do to prevent it is to redouble her own attractions. The wife and mother has one great duty—to help the women of the future by instilling into her sons’ minds the idea that, as marriage is an ideal and not a natural state, the man who enters into it must be prepared to school himself to live up toan ideal and control his vagrant emotions. To teach the boys a new and higher sense of honour is the only possible way to alter matters, as a grown man is seldom changed. A Vow Cannot Change Nature In marriage, both partners must understand that they are undertaking to do a most difficult thing in . vowing to live together and love forever! Which- ever cares the most will have to use art to keep the other; and if it is the woman who is unfortunate enough to occupy this position, she generally abso- lutely sacrifices herself to gratify the man’s smallest wish, and so makes herself cheap. Selfishness is another fundamental instinct of man, caused because he was originally and unques- tionably Lord of Creation, and only in those coun- tries where men are in the majority are the greater number of them unselfish even now to woman. In England, where women are in the majority, selfish- ness in every male child is fostered from his cradle. So women must not indiscriminately condemn every man as being selfish, as though it was his per- sonal fault; they must look to the cause, and try to eradicate it in the future by influencing their own sons to be chivalrous and unselfish to the women of the next generation. The most selfish man is not often selfish to the woman with whom he is in love. While she excites these emotions, however much he shows his cloven hoofs to the rest of the household, he will not show them to her. And even when he ceases to be in love, if his wife has filled him with respect and ad- miration for her, he will hardly exhibit his bad qualities. You will see a man with the most odious character showing only the nicest ways to some particular person, with whom he wishes to stand well. Therefore, to deal successfully with a selfish man, a woman ought to seek to create in his mind the desire to please her. Nearly all love marriages begin with too much emotion and too little self- control, and so become shipwrecked upon the rocks of satiety and indifference. And Chains Will Not Hold Love It must be understood that all these arguments are used from the standpoint of supposing the mar- ried pair start with love. When they do not, their minds are generally calm; they have no illusions, and are therefore free to use that judgment which they would employ over any business affair of their lives, and often, therefore, they get along very well. But these cannot be considered as ideal marriages or likely to produce highly endowed children. Broadly speaking, to make any marriage happy, each partner ought deliberately to use every atom of intelligence to think out the best method to influence the mate, and should not simply be set upon expressing his or her own personality, regard- less of the other. Chain any two animals together and watch the result! But human beings are above animals in this, that they have wills and talents and aspirations, and can judge of good and evil, so that their happiness or misery is practically in their own hands; and to quote an immortal remark of a French writer—‘“If as much thought were put into making a success of marriage as is put into the mixing of a salad, there would be no unhappy unions!” Harper’s Bazar

Page 43

Photograph by Aimé Dupont. MISS MARY CUTTING CUMNOCK The daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Arthur J. Cumnock, was presented to society at a dinner dance on December nineteenth. Sherry’s ballroom suite, taken for the event, was elaborately decorated with flowers, many of which, in accordance with the present delightful fashion, had been sent to the débutante in recognition of her “‘coming- out.” Miss Cumnock, through her mother, who was Miss Mary Cutting, is a descendant of the William Bayard who settled on the New Jersey side of the Hudson River in Colonial days. She is, therefore, related to the Robert Fulton Cuttings, Mrs. William Bayard Cutting, and the Walter Cuttings. For January, 1914 41

Page 44

Photographs by Talbot, Paris. A DEBSQIE NN E of the Théatre Palais Royale, Paris There is a new favourite at the Theatre Palais Royal, the dainty, capricious Mile. Debienne. The men who crowd the theatre every evening are fascinated by her piquant charm, the women by her original and chic clothes. Her indi- viduality is expressed in the way she wears her frocks, in the quaint manner in which she coifs her hair, and in the gtace with which she twines her pearls around her lithe little body. B A.—Under her stunning broadtail coat, this popular young actress delights in wear- ing an unusual frock of black meteor over which hangs a tunic of plaid mousseline de soie. A deep fringe finishes the bottom of this tunic, and bands of satin, matching the ceinture, finish the edges of the bodice, which are crossed in surplice fashion. B.—Only a lithe, youthful figure like Mile. Debienne’s could wear successfully this black velvet house gown. Almost un- trimmed, it hangs in long, graceful lines, with the fulness only slightly restrained by the loose belt drawn through a round jade buckle. The raglan sleeves, as a substitute for the popular kimono, are interesting. C.—A curious empiécement of jet and paillettes makes this bright serpent-green tulle tango frock a startling creation. A sash of satin is twisted around the waist and crosses in the back, attaching the jetted wings. The corsage is a mere incident, a slight veil- ing of the tulle, with contrasting bands of jet. Harper's Bazar

Page 45

PAQUIN There is no couturiére in Paris who has enjoyed for years a more enviable reputation than Madame Paquin. Though not as daring as some of her associates, she is always one of the leaders in. launching new modes, and favours the styles of Louis XV and the Second Empire against those inspired by the Orient. Taffeta, the favourite fabric of Paquin, is combined with tulle in an effective and youthful frock worn by Madame Gasc. For Madame de Cisneros to wear in New York Paquin has fashioned a gown of black satin with lace tunic. Mile. Le Priel is wearing one of the most elaborate of Madame Paquin’s evening gowns. Over a four- reau of white velvet she has draped a tunic of lace tinted as if with age and has weighted the corners with very long tassels of seed pearls. An ornament of pearls gives a very showy appearance to the front of the corsage. The angel sleeves are a pet fancy of this couturiére and her latest development of them as shown here is interesting if not practical. The tunic as a version of the pannier is favoured by Paquin. On this old gold satin frock she has inter- preted it in terms of royal blue mousseline de soie. Pearl garnitures are used with a lavish hand on the corsage which is cut modestly low though the sleeves are entirely omitted. The gourah coiffure ornament is an originality of Paquin. Paquin’s version of the black evening gown which is enjoying a revival of favour this winter in Paris is made very wearable by the soft tulle drapings rip- pling in pannier effect at the sides, and the effective pailletted embroidery that glistens on the skirt and corsage. Photographs by Talbot, Paris For January, 1914 43

Page 46

TR a The Last Word in Fashions By Lady Duff Gordon (Lucile) a In a frank, confidential letter Lady Duff Gordon tells us why the gown that looked so chic when worn by the Parisienne has be- come grotesque on the English or American.woman. And she oe \ AXo\\\\ f , \\ to) | \ ; , lets her readers into the secrets whereby the Parisienne creates the ro ee tol &\ atmosphere that “makes” the frock. ( * saya wN 2 \ Q ie’ % \ Y ¥| e : \h . . 4 | | _. bi _ ¢ 4 l\ | ? \ \ fof ’ iy - oT : 7" » MM» } t , 4 { ' ' aii Pet . \ } | j { ; / ea’ PP * “3 i j { s = , 9 \ } / \ | 7 [ee \\\ | | ‘ \\\ J | P i] Q\ \ / To the coquettish Parisienne, the new veils are a powerful weapon. This one is of gray net over the eyes and a heavy black lace over the nose and mouth, and is worn with a jaunty little hat in two shades of gray. The dress and coat are of otter-coloured velvet and Lucile has used the golden otter as trimming. Just to reverse the usual methods of trimming, she has adapteo a very narrow strip of the fur as an edge to the minaret tunic and has used a wide band for the girdle and cuffs. Paris, November, 1913 Dear Mr. Editor, O you know how I spell “my idea D of an earthly Heaven” in five letters? Well, just look at the heading of this letter—that’s all you need do—and you have the secret re- vealed. I have never felt the subtle mystery of Paris so intensely as now on getting back here after two months’ ban- ishment in English country houses and a week in dear dirty old London, where I studied the English adaptation of Paris fashions and saw how terrible it can make people look. Misquoting Kipling, I say, “What can one know of Paris fashion who only Paris fashion knows?” Why, nothing! One must go away to England or else- where, as I have done at our dull time of year, and then come back here, to really appreciate the daring chic of the Parisienne. No other woman can hold a candle to When Chic Borders on the Grotesque Last week, in London, I saw women wearing what they think are Paris fashions, and looking quite terrible in some of the modes and strikingly pretty (Englishwomen are certainly lovely creatures) in others. But never, never was there the slightest approach to real Parisienne chic. And the fashions now are really so eccentric that, unless worn with great style and assurance, they are apt to be only grotesque. It’s a dangerous moment for a woman who does not live in Paris and perhaps never even gets the chance to come here, to wear a copy of some model that her dressmaker bought in August and which she will assure the customer is the very latest Parisian model. So it may be; but these styles are so diffi- cult to wear that unless she can also show just how to put the dress on and the right tilt to give the hat, the unfortunate woman, believing that she is the exponent of the last word of fashions, can really often look only a figure of fun. And therein lies the danger. I’m telling you this because I have seen so many sad examples during the last week, and on coming back here have scarcely recognized these as the same models when worn by the Parisiennes. They have looked lovely and not at all grotesque, just because the Parisiennes know how to put them on with a geste all their own. Then, quantities of models that I saw being worn everywhere in London (and I dare say the same There is an interesting contrast in these two evening gowns. he is sitting in the chair is wearing a faded scarlet chiffon dress and a blue wig, er. while her friend has powdered her hair with her purple gauze frock and its gold sash reen powder. thing happens in New York) as “Paris fashions,” I have never seen on any living soul here. But that is what often happens. The “buyers” of the new season’s models can never with any certainty tell their clients just which model may become the actual mode of the late autumn. Even in these two months that I—alas—have been absent from this city of light and inspiration, La Mode has changed her outline in many little details, and several new styles which have been launched are steadily increasing in favour. Even the Coat has a Flare now This is notable in the shape of the coat. People have already got tired of the straight coat belted below the waist line, as it is on every little street girl. In its latest form the coat stands right out at the bottom of its three-quarter length and is stif- fened at the edge to make it do so. The contrast with its tiny narrow skirt underneath is really startling, but perfectly adorable. These coats are made of every conceivable ma- terial, from chiffon to velvet and taffeta, and of any of the very short haired furs, as ermine, mole-skin or broadtail. I am sending you a sketch of the very latest. I saw it at one of the ever-increasing tango teas, worn by a lady who is well known as one who launches a mode. So you can be very sure that this one will be worn by all who can afford to copy her. 44 The girl who The effect with acile thinks is really good. This st g coat of 1 ina bluish tint was launched at one of the Tango Teas by a social leader. The flare at the bottom of the gar- ment was accomplished by the very wide band of fox dyed to a matching shade. The narrow strip of fur at the neck cont-asted oddly with the extremely deep cuffs for which an entire fox skin had been used. ie hat— one of the latest shapes—is of a dull, soft, faded blue velvet poised with the daring for which the Parisienne is note The coat was made of mole-skin of a bluish shade, and round the edge it had a deep band of fox skins dyed to match the mole-skin. On each cuff one fox had been used. The top of the sleeve was quite narrow and tight, but it widened out at the cuff. Round the neck was a narrow little bit of fur which contrasted well with the generous width of the fur on the cuffs and the hem of the coat. At least twelve foxes must have gone to make up the garniture of that coat. If you look at the sketch you can see for yourself just how it goes far better than I can tell you. Notice the hat also. It is of the latest shape and put on ex- actly at the right angle. Ears Are “en évidence” Observe also how this lady has ar- ranged her hair, in the very newest style, brushed straight off the forehead and leav- ing the_ears uncovered. A great change from the “Cléo de Mérode” “ventre affamé” geste of the last three years. But I must say that I doubt very much this style ever being a favourite one, as it is really most trying, and unbecoming even to the youngest and freshest face. I can only say that it is ‘“‘rudement chic” on ac- count of its daring simplicity. It recalls to me the moment of my early morning bath. The newest veils are of thick lace over the nose and mouth, but quite a clear net over the eyes— most becoming. Gloves are not worn in the evening at all. I suppose the tango is responsible for this. Even the steps and style of the tango have changed. The motion is more perpetual and gliding and quiet; the pause of the third and fourth beat less evident. But it is more bewitching and difficult than ever, and the manner of the dancers in holding each other and the position of the hands are also a great improvement on those of last year. Two ladies I know went to the first night of the new play at the Renaissance wearing coloured wigs to tone in with their frocks, one purple, the other blue. I hear that everyone greatly admired the wigs; and they had a grand success, so the courage of their wearers was amply rewarded. You will see that soon it will become the rage to match your hair to your gown. I recommend strongly a dull saxe blue; it is intensely becoming and shows up all the tints in the face, and then—it’s:such a nice change from the eternal yellows and browns and reds of the past hundreds of years. Yours sincerely, Looe Bray tnclor Harper’s Bazar

Page 47

The costume in which Lucile would dress the wife of a millionaire is of broadtail. The dress is of black chiffon combined with the costly peltry. The deep flounce, drawn in close around the feet, is of the broadtail, and when the long full cloak of the same fur is worn the effect is that of an entire fur costume. The cloak is lined with gray velvet which just matches in colouring the chinchilla fur collar. As the waist is of the chiffon it is comfortable, even for tangoing. Even the saucy little toque is of broadtail with a very tall, spread- ing feathery mount perched exactly in front. For January, 1914 For a restaurant gown, Lucile takes velvet—in this instance a deep rich dahlia- coloured velvet—and drapes it around the figure. And it is in this drapery from the hands of a sartorial genius that the charm of this frock lies. Even in the bodice there is no relieving contrast of colour, nor trim- ming of any kind. Over this is worn a cloak of velvet in two shades of dull blue, with large bushy collar of fox, also dyed in two shades of blue, and deep generous cuffs. Of blue, likewise, is the velvet hat with feathery fantasies shooting out at rakish angles. 45 Lucile is particularly pleased with this tango frock, which she says has been adopted by several of the professional ex- perts. The drapery of the charmeuse skirt is wound around the figure and hitched up in the front to give the neces- sary fulness for dancing. As Lucile does not wire her lampshade tunics, they may be added to the tango frock. The band of ermine gives the bolero lines to the striped satin bodice. The sleeves are long and edged with an ermine band to match the col- lar. This combination of striped and plain material promises to be good for spring. For the “Thé Dansant ” Lucile is show- ing a costume of white velvet. The drap- ings of the skirt are drawn tightly to the back and bordered by deep bands of skunk. The coat is one of the loose, boxy garments in which this couturiére delights, buttoning down the front from the skunk collar to the bottom, and hanging straight and square in the back. The velvet on the white velours hat matches exactly the brown tints of the fur and the paradise feather is in the same soft tones of brown. When the pretty little dancer removes her coat to tango a blouse of silver lace is displayed.

Page 48

a ae The Striped and plain material have been cleverly combined in this trot-about suit. The cloth tunic, with draped panel in the back, and the curiously shaped peplum, are of the cloth, matching in colour the darker stripe in the skirt and jacket. The braid trimming is likewise arranged in a novel way. Patterns may be obtained, cut to individual measurement, for any costume in this magazine. 46 Morning Promenade in the Bois | 7 The velvet gown at the top of the page calls forth the query—*Are trained skirts to be fashionable this spring?” The development is a logical one following the bustle-like draperies which Premet launched fast fall and which he is developing further for spring. Though this lovely Parisienne has defied the weather by not wearing a wrap, she has given us an opportunity to see a fetching luncheon frock in petrol velvet. Ali the hallmarks of the winter season are present, the hitched-up skirt, the minaret tunic weighted with a band of fur, the softly-draped creamy chiffon vest, the baggy kimono sleeves with an outer seam, and the turned back revers at the girdle. Photographs by Paul Thompson and Where are the severe, straight lines, usually associated with a cloth jacket, in this baggy, loose garment draped around the figure like a blouse? Even the raglan sleeve is more sugges- tive of a waist sleeve than that of a coat. The muff—in reality a deep bag of the cloth edged with putois to match the fur trimmings on the jacket—is a new fancy. If there is not actually more material in the new skirts, the idea of additional fulness is given by the trimming. Certainly the effect of a straight, narrow silhouette is broken by five bands of fur headed by box-plaited taffeta ruches. As the spring advances the bolero jacket opening over a sheer blouse will become the popular model. Underwood & Underwood, Harper's Bazar

Page 49

“There are Paul Poiret Says as Many Styles of Dress as there are Women” —S In his second article, Monsieur Paul Poiret has availed himself of this—his only oppor- tunity—to refute the sensational statements credited to him in the interviews published during his visit to America. It would be impossible to read this practical, common- sense presentment of fashions without realizing that Monsieur Poiret, though the high priest of fashion, is a bitter enemy of its narrow, exacting system of rules. HE articles written about my trip to America have been shown me, now, upon my return to Paris, and Iam quite aghast at what I am sup- posed to have said! Happily for me, I hope that the public will judge by my work and not by my words, for the latter have, in most cases, been singularly distorted. The only statement in all these articles which I wish to repeat—and again and again—is that all styles are admissible, provided they suit the women who wear them. Eclectisme is my watchword. But: I never said that trousers or trouserettes should be generally adopted. I never said that slit skirts were the correct skirts to wear. I never said that women should dress in loud colours. I never advocated the use of heavy perfumes. I never said that small hats were more attractive than large ones. Those who understood me to make such state- ments mistook my meaning entirely. I said that a woman should wear whatever is becoming to her and nothing that is not becoming. That is my first, last and only principle. It may be enlarged, of course, and developed. But it is the fundamental principle of good dressing. For good dressing, as I have said, does not lie in following the fashions, but in wearing whatever is suitable. And since I so firmly maintain the principle I could not possibly have said that women should dress in this, that or another fashion. The Tailor-Made, the most Feminine of Costumes _ Iam not opposed to trouserettes. I think that in many cases they would be convenient, preserving the slim line around the ankles, of which the modern woman seems so fond, while, at the same time, they would give ease in walking. And they would not make a woman look masculine, as has been averred. Far from it. I have always found that the more masculine the attire a woman wears the more fem- inine she really looks. Take the tailor-made suit, For January, 1914 for instance. When it was first /ancé, hands were raised in horror at it. And yet, to-day, who would say that it is an unwomanly style? Isn’t it, on the contrary, not only the most practical but the most becoming of feminine fashions? And the sailor hat—surely that is a masculine style of head gear. But did it ever make a woman look mascu- line? I always think there is nothing so feminine as a crop of dainty curls showing beneath the brim of a jaunty sailor hat. But while I am not opposed to trouserettes, I would not advise a woman to wear them unless she is so situated that she can, in the beginning at least, brave conventions. The world is slow to adopt innovations, and the woman who dares to launch the trouserettes must be prepared to take the con- sequences which the wearing of these garments would undoubtedly bring upon her. If she does not fear criticism then I think it is the right fashion for her. Not the Apostle of Slit Skirts or Gaudy Colours As to the slit skirt, I have this to say. The slit skirt is the only form in which the extremely tight skirt can be worn. Many women like the ex- tremely tight skirt. I can understand this in a measure. If a woman has a beautiful figure, the tight skirt gives her a very graceful line. I would not advise other women to wear the extremely tight skirt. If it is brought so tightly around the lower part of the limbs as almost to reveal them, then of course the skirt must be slit to permit the wearer to move about. And as I have said above, if a woman desires to dress in this fashion and if it is becoming to her, I advocate the slit skirt. But I should not dream of asking all women to adopt it. For the majority I should advocate a skirt of medium width—wide enough to walk in. I think, however, that it is not necessary to take very long strides. They are most ungraceful. I consider a skirt about a yard and a half to two yards wide suitable to most women, and in skirts of that width a woman can learn to walk gracefully. If the two yard skirt hampers the feet to the degree of awkwardness, a wider one should be worn. 47 I cannot imagine why I am hailed as the apostle of the gaudy colour. True, I like colours that have life in them, but not all women should wear them. The woman who has no touch of exotisme in her should not try them. They will clash with her personality and appear out of harmony. Many women who would look well in bright colours do not dare to adopt them. It was to these women I was speaking when I recommended brilliant tones. TothemI would say: Dare to be individual, dare to be yourselves. If you feel at home in a bright colour, wear it! Dare to have the courage of your attractiveness. Why is it that you do not hesitate to give up your individuality just to wear what “they are wearing’”’ when it is a matter of fol- lowing a freakish fad, whereas you scarcely ever dare to be individual in selecting colours suited to you? If a bright colour is not becoming to you, how- ever, let no tendency of fashion induce you to wear it. A strong colour demands a strong personality. I intend to write an article about the correct use of perfumes, so I will not take up that point at present. Nor the hats. That also will be the subject of an article by itself. Hats seem less understood in America than gowns. The average American woman dresses admirably, but does not always know how to wear her hats. At least so it seemed to me during my stay in America, which, I am very sorry to say, was all too short. I would have liked to remain longer and study still more the American women, who, undoubtedly, are the most interesting to dress. The designs illustrating this article are some of the gowns I have planned since I returned to Paris from your country. You will notice that they are all different, and it will be very hard to point to a dominant idea. It is my theory that there should be as many styles of dress as there are women. Although I am con- sidered the high-priest of fashion, its system of rules has no more bitter enemy than myself. Merely a Covering for a Graceful Body In these illustrations, at the left hand is a woman wearing a gown of light lemon-coloured crépe de chine. The dress is quite plain, tucked like a lingerie gown. _ Its characteristic touch is the little fichu with a flounced edge covering the shoulders. This is gathered at the waist. The fichu effect is also repeated on the skirt and draped across the hips. Next to this dress is one in white and black, which has been designed for Mademoiselle Eve Lavalliére, the favourite Parisian actress. The foundation is a fourreau of satin and over it falls a white chiffon tunique embroidered with jet. A little band of black fur marks the waist line and appears again at the bottom of ‘the tunic. The waist is composed of a sort of black and white striped scarf which falls smoothly over the shoulders and is finished by two pendants. The third is what I would term a majestic gown for opera or large receptions. It is composed of a heavy brocade drapery caught in a wide diamond- studded belt. It isan adaptation of the gowns worn by the grandes dames of Venice, in the days of its splendour, and it brings to mind the sumptuous glories of the Renaissance. It is of old rose and sil- ver and was worn by Madame la Comtesse de Béarn. The gown of black velvet has a circular basque effect and on it is fastened a crinoline of white chiffon embroidered with heavy black dots. The train is formed ‘by three long points. These four dresses are quite different in design. But they are, after all, built on the same principle, — that of being suited to the woman who is to wear them. In general, however, in carrying out this style of dress, it is well to remember that the looser a dress around the waist the more slender will the wearer look.. There is nothing which re- veals thinness or stoutness as much as tight-fitting garments. Only the woman with a perfect figure can wear a very tight-fitting dress or suit. Secondly I find that in the one-piece garments, the straight line is imperative. Dressmakers invariably try to fit the kimono style a little to the figure and this is a great mistake. A kimono garment should never be gored. The lines under the arm should be absolutely straight. With dresses of this type underskirts must not be worn, of course, nor tight corsets. The latter will ruin almost any gown. And first, last, and always, dresses should suit the different types of the different women. The four gowns I have described are suited to four differ- ent characters. This does not mean, however, that one woman could not wear them all. Indeed not. One might say that they are suited to one woman, for generally every woman worthy of the name has more than four different characters.

Page 50

This black-and-white checked gown was de- signed by Monsieur Poiret to serve as a com- fortable little dress under the fur coat. The square lines are typical of the designer who de- lights in straight, semi-fitted frocks of this type, believing them to be becoming to all figures. The yoke and sleeves are of black velvet with a high military collar braided in yellow, the top edged with a band of otter. The square effect is continued by the broad, straight belt fastening with a yellow ornament. There is a broad box-plait in the back held down by rows of buttons and patent-leather straps. “The American women attach much im- portance to the practical side of their clothes,” explains Monsieur Poiret, “and I have, there- fore, designed for them a very practical and simple tailored suit or sports costume.” The material is a brown and white mixture and care has been taken to have both the skirt and jacket comfortable. Extra width may be gained in the skirt by the four box-plaits fast- ened at the foot with cord and buttons. The hip-length jacket has a square yoke which is continued in a line to form the upper part of the sleeves. The pockets, a special dispensation to the American woman, are huge affairs with buttoned flaps. “You will notice how quiet the colour is,” Monsieur Poiret adds in describing this reception frock, “and you may wonder whether my trip to America has changed my habits and my character.” The col- our is a green—a rich, soulful green known as the Russian green— a particularly beautiful shade in satin. Over the satin fourreau, a side- plaited chiffon tunic is hung, the skirt showing the unmistakable minaret influence. The wide band of skunk aided by another of gold embroidery seems to weight this tunic. The sleeves of self- colour panne velvet are inset to give the raglan effect, and the drapings of the front of the bodice are arranged to form revers. 48 Courtesy of John Wanamaker Monsieur Poiret claims that he was thinking of the comfort of the Amer- ican women when he added these large sleeves to his tailored suit of duvetyn. “Surely one may feel at ease in these sleeves,” he adds by way of explanation. Though he calls at- tention to the discreet colours he has used, there are discernible traces of the colour artist in the pipings of ce- rise, the painted white satin collar, and the Roman-stripe girdle drawn from the right side across the front. The skirt is sure to appeal to even the conservative American women, for it is simplicity itself, the front lapping over on the left side seam, with one side rounded off at the bottom. Harper’s Bazar

Page 51

Gowns from John Wanamaker Monsieur Poiret intended that this striking evening gown should be worn to the opera or to a similar social function where the dazzling lights would throw into relief the dull gold metal embroidery from its background of yellow brocade. This cuirass was finished by a ballet skirt of white tulle which was mounted over a foundation skirt of white satin caught at intervals around the hem by three small folds. For January, 1014 Monsieur Poiret was thinking of the theatre or a recep- tion when he designed this handsome gown of red velvet. The bodice and tunic of lace are embroidered with silver threads and the drapings looped up with chains of pearls caught with oblong buckles of jet and rhinestones. The draping of the velvet skirt is particularly clever, being shirred in the back just below the waist and falling in graceful lines to the end of the pointed train. 410 Photographs by Feder. Because Monsieur Poiret believes that the American women walk gracefully and are dignified in appearance he wanted to make for them a noble evening gown, one with stately style, but rich and glittering because it is meant to be worn on brilliant occasions. These ideas he has expressed in a biscuit-coloured satin gown rich with metal lace, and has added the glitter by adapting a wide girdle of rhinestones.

Page 52

eee te i encetotiee eS Among the new parasol handles at Stern Brothers there are bird and animal heads carved from wood and long shafts of tortoise shell and baculite. he Minaret parasol shows a puffed flounce of black chiffon satin combined with an upper part of white chiffon. At Stern Brothers. Shirrings and puffings give the fashionable bouffant effect to some of the new parasols in chiffon satin shown at Stern Brothers. To complete the lingerie frock there is a fetching parasol of white chiffon shirred over a foundation of taffeta silk. Glancing upward the eye is attracted to the hand-painted a and poppies combined with appliquéd motifs of shadow lace. At Stern rothers. Photographs by Feder. This model has the extra number of ribs shown in the Japanese shades, a square ferrule like the Oriental models, and a cover of messaline with a Japanese design in typi- cal Eastern colourings. At Stern Brothers. e A gay little parasol is of white taffeta with alternating bands of black and white silk and Pompadour ribbons. ny of the new parasols are distinguished by the fancy linings. The cover may be of satin in any of the plain colours, but the lining is gay with a printed design carried out in the Futurist colourings. At Stern Brothers. B. Altman . is showing for motoring a parasolette of silk in various colourings. This fits into a compact leather case of the same shade. Harper’s Bazar

Page 53

The Afternoon Gowns for the South Show a Development of Tunic and Flounces A Schneider-Anderson has adapted the popular jacket- dress to a soft, rose-coloured linen. A scanty ounce has been introduced on the lower part of the skirt and is sur- mounted by a tunic which is richly embroidered in an openwork design. The same embroidery is shown on the peplum of the jacket-like waist and on the fronts and cuffs. The waist is open in the front to display a vest of net, which is outlined by a collar of tucked net edged with lace, and blouses loosely over a black velvet belt drawn through a gold buckle. For January, 1914 Drawing by M. G. Sieinmeiz. The popularity of the tunic has developed a demand for bordered materials. Schneider-Anderson has recognized this in a gown of white novelty crepe with the border in blue and white flowers. The border is arranged to form the trimming on the underskirt and on the tunic, which is shaped to give the minaret flare. The border again ap- pears as trimming on the fronts of the bolero and on the cuffs. This bolero opens over a vest of white net with Pompadour silk buttons and falls in points over a wide black velvet girdle. The new serges are so supple and soft that Stein & Blaine have not hesitated to drape the skirt of a white serge three-piece suit as they would one in silk. The draping of the lower part of the skirt is brought to the front and over it falls the tunic in soft puffings. The blouse-like form of the jacket suggests a waist rather than an outer garment, an illusion which is accentuated by the wide girdle of black satin. Black satin is used for the revers and high military collar, also for the bands from which depend long black silk tassels.

Page 54

Show Towels for a “ °s ty y = SEE STE t \ | The very fine German huckaback towels sold by 1 il: the Grande Maison de Blanc are enhanced by } ; hand-embroidery and drawnwork medallions. i } Hand-embroidery and eyelet-work surrounding a medallion of lace distinguish this huckaback } towel from James McCutcheon & Co. Ascher Le Vin is featuring a handsome towel : which is embroidered for a third of its length and Ro inset with hand-made filet antique. A very fine edging of the filet lace borders the ends. James McCutcheon & Co. is showing a hand- some towel with lace insets outlined by hand- embroidery, the edges trimmed with hand- made lace. The punched work embroidery has been cleverly adapted to this huckaback towel sold by the Grande Maison de Blanc. t mn the Bathroom De Luxe Photographs by Feder. Very fine hand towels shown at Ascher Le Vin have monograms embroidered to match the ends. Two of the new guest towels at Walpole Brothers. The upper one is embroidered with Shamrocks and the lower one is of huckaback with an Em- ‘ pire design carried out in Madeira embroidery. This specimen of Alsatian art embroidery is de- veloped upon a background of “ajour.” Itis import- ed by Ascher Le Vin and is of unusual size, a yard and a half long and three-quarters of a yard wide. Harper’s Bazar

Page 55

A formal tea gown in canary satin from John Wanamaker. The fashionable transparent effect is given to the corsage by the shadow lace kimono waist, and a band of skunk enhances the ribbon frill. The Tango devotee will feel perfectly comfortable if she A novelty has been introduced into this white crépe de Wears mousquetaire knickers. B. Altman & Co. sell them chine combination knicker suit from B. Altman & Co. by in white crépe de chine with trimmings of Valenciennes _ the elastic which holds the garment close to the knees. lace and silk rosebuds. Valenciennes lace adds to the dainty appearance. For January, 1914 53 An Initiation into the Mysteries of the Boudoir Even though one does not indulge in an occasional cigarette there is a certain fascination in this red satin smoking costume from Franklin Simon & Co. The Oriental idea is emphasized by the trimmings of gold braid. Fhotographs by feaer. It seems a pity to hide behind the closed doors of the boudoir this fascinating robe of rose-coloured charmeuse and shadow lace from Franklin Simon & Co. The dra ings are caught with a chain of vari-coloured silk motifs.

Page 56

dancing class frocks for her girls. The butterfly sash of chiffon adds a dash of colour to this dainty party frock of chiffon enhanced with lacey flounces. A cleverly-draped hood, which may be thrown over the head, is a practical addition to the draped cloak of a pastel-coloured cloth or a heavy silk. Frocks for the Dancing Class To find a gown that is dressy, yet simple and girlish; that is modish with- out being fussy, is the aim of every fastidious mother in selecting the A tunic of gay-coloured chiffon, hung over a lace or flowered chiffon foun- dation, and held in by a black velvet sash, makes a simple yet original party dress. Theslenderfigure of youth can wear successfully this unique girdle. The drap- eries of the lace-hemmed skirt are charmingly ad- justed, graceful and con- servative without a sug- gestion of vulgarity. ings of the net, or of lace, and a wide sash | i — The wee lassie is irre- he sistible in a dress of aes Ay white net with plait- id | at PE ag 4 Plissé chiffon and a little flowered ribbon can be fashioned into a simple and pretty dancing frock with very little trouble. ' >. i x i} | CP peghed re a 5 Ma 8 Patterns at $1.50 each may be obtained, cut to indi- vidual measurement, for any costume on this page. marking the low waist lin-. There is the suggestion of an eastern tunic even in the party frocks for the little girls, which are fashioned from bright-coloured silks embroidered in worsteds. Harper's Bazar

Page 57

A suit in dark olive-green chiffon broadcloth is more apt to be becoming to the young mother than one in black, yet the desired effect of making the figure appear smaller is the same. The skirt is full in the back and mounted on a concealed elastic belt. The back of the jacket is seamless to the waist-line, where a gathered skirt portion is at- tached. The collar and buttonholes are of French green and blue plaid éponge. For January, 1914 The Young Mother’s Costumes from Lane Bryant Drawing by H. G. Brookhuyzen A sapphire blue crépe de Chine makes an ideal after- noon frock. The apron-like tunic is draped across the skirt in the front to the right side of the back. The waist- line in the back is lost under a peplum of the écru shadow lace which curves upward in the front, giving the sugges- tion of a bolero to the shadow lace blouse. 55 Wardrobe For the informal entertainments in which the young mother may join, a gown of black crépe de Chine is very de- sirable. The drapery of the black chiffon is skillfully ar- ranged to cross in the back near the bottom of the skirt and, after forming soft folds at the sides, is carried to the waist- line in the front and edged with a band of skunk. Touches of the fur appear on the écru net collar and on the black chiffon sleeves.

Page 58

marae 2 EPPS PCE Ee ¢ = os ae Even blocks of colour are handled in an artistic manner by Bakst. Cubes of green, the deep rich green that now bears his name, are combined in a conventional design on the white tunic of this evening gown and appear again, in a very different way, on the draped fichu and apron-like panel. The sleeveless mantle was heralded by Bakst in this draped garment of a soft tan satin. By strapping back the fronts, the waistcoat, high girdle, P apron of white broadcloth are revealed. There is a familiar air to the draping of the brown chiffon velvet skirt, which is raised to cisclose a lace petticoat. @), XY - Léon Bakst Bakst’s conception of the cuirass is quite different from that of the other designers. /¢ introduction of the yoke, outlined by a curiously shaped linen collar, is particularly interesting, also the mere suggestion of draping. The touches of black, which a French designer believes so im- portant, are brought in in the belt and sleeves. Six examples of Léon Bakst’s modern costume designs, which have been redrawn to conform to the ideas of a practical dressmaker 7YROM the moment that Bakst arrived in Paris, seven years ago, his intluence as a decorative artist has been felt. The story is an interesting one of how an obscure young Russian portrait painter has developed into the most-quoted authority of to-day on colour and design. Paris, so quick to appropriate whatever speaks to her vive imagination and to profit thereby in ways all her own, and as quick, alas, to brutally condemn, or ignore, all that does not make an im- mediate appeal to her jeslous self, has taken Bakst to her heart. Where but in Paris could one hear as I actually did, in the early days of Bakst’s career, a little midinette—a dressmaker’s errand girl—announce, that the design on her apron, a combination of big and little dots, was “la rose de Schéhérézade”’ her own title for it—*‘ copied from the superb carpet of Monsieur Bakst at the Opera”? one of the foremost in America. gestions to the American woman of fashion. Call the reason by any name—imagination, crea- tive ability, what you will—the commercial su- premacy of France in all that pertains to the arts will be hers so long as this characteristic prevails; this atmosphere from which springs the courage that in- spired Madame Paquin, just for the love of art, to persuade this famous artist to sketch a dress pattern; that brought a delegation of weavers from Lyons to see a play staged by this master of design. Léon Bakst was as inevitable to his age as the optimistic Bergson, or the robust Richepin. He be- longs to “‘ l’age de sport,” as he puts it. He sets his palette for the colour-expression of an athletic generation and considers his ‘‘scheme” as necessary to buoyant health as any form of exercise and hygiene. ‘‘ Par example,” he says, “look at Greek Art in its perfection with its forceful combination of colour in wall decoration and in the tunics of the people.” 56 These are offered as sug- Bakst considers the treatment of colour and line as of equal importance. Remembering that the tradi- tions of two distinct Russian schools of artistic expression are merged in the work of Bakst, it becomes apparent why “The Russians” have come to typify unity in decoration. With Bakst details do not “just happen,” al- though, at first glance, they may appear to. It is pre- cisely this impression that he aims to convey to the observer. With Bakst personality is the spark which vitalizes all his work. A gesture conventionalized is often his theme, for movement is his inspiration. In these gowns recently designed by Bakst for, Madame Paquin, he follows the same sequence of line and colour that he does in his important paint- ings, the decoration of rooms, or in stage settings. The joie de vivre in the work of Bakst and his confréres which appeals to the French nature and which has brought success to these men from the Harper’s Bazar

Page 59

The redingote in black velvet as conceived by Bakst is a thoroughly modern garment. uch details as the omission of the sleeves, the flare of the skirt, and the shaped side pockets are just now receiving the attention of the coutu- tiers. It complements a frock of beaded chiffon with the draped skirt and minaret tunic. popular standpoint makes it hard for one to realize how these artists must have toiled away in their remote little colony of camaraderie, thinking with the European half of their brains and dreaming with the Oriental side, because it takes work, and hard work, to produce an artistic upheaval, such as the raising of a banal craft into a fine art. The first thing that this coterie of Russian artists under- took was to revolutionize the designing of scenery and costumes for the stage. It was by way of the theatre that the word which they have spoken in the renaissance of decoration swept over the world. The Virile Power of the Man These men who stand behind the movement rep- resent a mature culture. Scarcely one of the group speaks less than four or five languages. They know the literature and music of every land as well as they know their own; and when you realize that Russians are born colourists and decorators it is not difficult to understand the power of their influence. It is characteristic of Bakst that while saying— ever jealous of his art—that he considers the colours of a room in which one lives as the strongest material influence on life, these colours must be subservient to a main principle. Principle in the home means, For January, 1or4 There is such a regal air in the combination of radiant green velvet and ermine in this evening wrap that it is not surprising to find the design labeled the “ Prima- Donna.” The deep cape is lined with quilted satin in a soft, old-rose tone which is displayed every time the arms are raised. as in the theatre, the fitting of the setting to the dominant figure, in this case the mistress. The woman in her home he likens to the actor upon the stage; attention should be focused upon her if artistic sentiment is to prevail. She must learn to see herself as others see her in the environ- ment, and choose garments which best fit her type and in the colours suitable to the general scheme, above and beyond the prevailing mode—note partic- ularly, above the mode. ‘How often,” he cites,“‘since the Oriental influence has been dominant have we seen blonde women in Egyptian paraphernalia and settings? Could anything be worse? On the other hand, what could be finer than that compliment, when it is paid with sincerity, ‘her home fits her’?” The Mistress’s Personality Never forget that the attention should be di- rected to the mistress of the house—not its walls. And so the counsel: Employ, for the wall, colours that are fresh and clean. For these no rule can be laid down because all colours are relative, depending upon combination and illumination for their sig- nificance. Whether colours be pale or deep, a uniform intensity of tone is safest. They should never produce a broken effect. A number of designs in wall papers have been a4 The back drapery, which the alarmists fear will bring the bustle into vogue, is suggested by Bakst in this white satin evening gown. As a colour contrast he drapes green velvet across the corsage, allowing it to continue in tunic form on the skirt. Spots of scarlet are used in the block design of the trimming and in the tassels. offered as ‘‘Baskt’s.” White backgrounds speckled all over with vivid spots. They are the very last things that he would put on the walls of a room in this day of coloured clothing. Another example is the embossed leather hangings—an abomination with our style of dress, yet perfect as a background to the Moor in his robe of spotless white. “Discretion” Says Bakst Colour we must have—we have learned to demand it upon the figure and upon the wall; but the only way to treat the two successfully is to differentiate. There is a preference for placing the colour accent in the woman’s dress. But colour upon the figure is necessarily more or less broken, so, in order to maintain the continuity of line in the whole decora- tive scheme, care must be taken to retain generous proportions—not broken patches—on the walls, for the fabrics and in the furniture. Bakst knows the colours that will dazzle behind the footlights, and he also knows which are best to live with. A room with walls of Russian blue above, with stencilled panels of bluish grey beneath, broken at intervals by armoires of yellow satin- wood, and seats covered with figured blue cotton, with an occasional cushion of vivid green, is the studio of Léon Bakst.

Page 60

A “Grand Slam” in Bridge Frocks Mood has used peacock blue satin so skill- fully that the gown is striking without being garish. Over the draped skirt falls a tunic of peacock blue chiffon with the raised velvet figure developed in a soft silvery blue and outlined with silver thread. This brocaded fabric extends in pointed bib effect onto the baggy kimono blouse of the chiffon. White tulle is crossed to form the vest, which is out- lined with a very fine white lace frill. The wide girdle is of cloth of silver, and is fastened in the back with a large Japanese bow. A soft Quaker tone of gray has been combined with mouse-coloured panne velvet and a delicate tinted ecru lace in this gown shown by Alice Maynard. The skirt—a modification of the popular peg-top—is of gray broadcloth with large panne velvet buttons. The long line in the front is ac- centuated by the gray chiffon sash ending in chenille balls. A curious boxy peplum of the panne velvet gives a distinctive finish to the waist of shadow lace veiled with chiffon. The ecru colouring appears in the net vest and the deep lace frill. 58 The American version of the minaret tunic is shown on this frock of wine-col- oured ribbed panne velvet from Estelle Mer- shon. The spirit of the French creation has been reproduced without the exagger- ated outline. The surplice draping of the kimono waist is continued to form the girdle, ending in a saucy bow in the back. Skunk fur serves as an effective background for the creamy lace frill, which softens the V-shaped neck and finishes the elbow sleeves, from which depend frills of the lace. Harper's Bazar

Page 61

Gowns from Gimbel Brothers There is a Moorish motif in the heavy beaded chains which loop up the draperies of this ciel-blue brocaded velvet skirt. The drapings of the girdle, which broadly swathes the hips, and the extremely bouffant effect of the waist, are equally eastern in origin. The plain chiffon used for the yoke and the hem of the sleeve throws into bold relief the exquisite embroidery in gold thread of the rest of the waist. A row of beads marks the line of the yoke. For January, 1914 When Lovely Woman Stoops to Tango The ballet girl of yesteryear and the tango dancer of to- day have in common the flaring skirts of net. On the frock for the tango dancer the net skirt takes the form of a tunic. There are two of these tunics on this black char- meuse frock, both of which are so bouffant that the edges do not require boning or wiring. The surplice draping lends the charm to the simple little waist. 59 Drawing by the Fitzwater Studio. When the Minaret tunic is not wired it can be adjusted to the tango frock, as this tunic of black and white Spanish lace has been used on a gown of black brocaded velvet. The drapery of the skirt is drawn up in the front to disclose a petticoat of the white Spanish lace, the back forming a long fish train which can be looped up to the waist during the dance. The one spot of colour is a jade buckle from which emanates a fan-like arrangement of black tulle.

Page 62

PMT MEE SAN Lev ad a Charming Frocks tor The flat, smooth-fitting upper part of this waist combined with the blousey lower section makes it becoming to many types of figure. Striking contrasts in colour may be intro- duced in the embroidery on the lower section, the rolling collar, and the sleeves. In order to prove to our readers that the title of this page is justified we will cut patterns of these gowns in the stock sizes, 34 to 40 bust meas- ure, for the special price of $3.50 for the complete costume, or $3.00 for waist, skirt or jacket. A.—A silky material lends itself easily to the new side draperies of the peg-top skirt. The kimono waist may be of lace mounted over chiffon or of a fancy silk, the queer Egyptian and Persian silks being particularly effective. The frills of the waist extend in peplum fashion below the pointed girdle, which may be of the skirt material or of a contrasting material and colour. A modestie of flesh- coloured chiffon fills in the V-shaped opening. The colour scheme may be developed further by the large rose thrust in the girdle. B.—The Russian blouse models deserve the popularity which they have obtained, for they are exceedingly becom- ing to the tall, lithe American girl. The design is particu- larly well adapted to the heavy, rough-surface fabrics, now so well-liked. The very deep yoke, both in front and in back, is a new modification of the Russian coat, making it more generally becoming. The arrangement of the belt, in a contrasting material, is simple and novel. The slight draping of the skirt at the side near the bottom makes it a good model for a heavy fabric. C.—A tea gown, more than any other garment, should express the individuality and personality of the wearer both in colour and design. There is an opportunity for wonder- ful colour combinations in this exquisitely draped creation, the lining of chiffon contrasting with the deeper, richer tones of the velvet or silk exterior. The upper drapery is skilfully arranged to suggest a bolero in the front, the iat T Drawings hy Elsie Deane. Little Money A plain little blouse is a necessity in every wardrobe, whether it be fashioned from silk or chiffon. This waist is implicity itself, but in the novel standing collar and general drapings at the sides forming long, p sleeves weighted with beaded tassels. In the Japanese collar and cuffs another opportunity for colour is afforded. 60 make-up there is the chic that immediately stamps it as a French creation. Harper's Bazar

Page 63

Correct Drawings by Lansdell. Even in the first deep mourning the widow may wear a gown of black cashmere de soie fashioned in a mode that is up-to-date and yet conservative. The skirt is draped to give the box-plait in the front, and over it hangs a tunic which is given a novel touch by turning the ends up in the back and bringing them to the waist-line, where they are crossed. Plaited black net fills in the V-shaped opening in the front of the waist. The girdle is of dull silk, finishing with a rosette in the front. As the bonnet is only worn at the funeral, a hat is substituted, with a very long veil reach- ing almost to the bottom of the skirt. For January, 1914 Mourning From B. Altman & Co. The all-white cost is id ed to-day as deep mourning as the black, especially if the material be dull in finish. For this reason a silk crepon has been selected for this afternoon frock. The draping of the skirt is particular- ly clever, the fulness in the front being taken care of by tucks and “hitched up” in the back under a broad box- plait. The desired bouffant effect at the hips is given by two minaret tunics of net bordered with narrow bands of white crape. on the blouse and the girdle. d’esprit finishes the neck. 61 The crape is also used for the rolling collar A wired collar of pointe f Lh For second mourning, the all-black gown may be re- lieved by touches of white. On this frock of black cash- mere de soie the white spots are introduced in the curious looped-up sash of white crape and in the vest and frill of white pointe d’esprit. The draping of the skirt reverses the effect shown in the other gown, the “hitched-up” effect appearing in the front and the inverted plaits in the back. The irregular outline makes the tunic particularly interest- ing. Motifs of soutache braiding, permissible even in deep mourning, trim the front of the very blousey waist and finish the elbow. sleeves.

Page 64

ea: nD Ft on. oe yet conceived. Madame Mood advocates a corset fashioned from a thin fabric, with just a few flexible bones, so that the figure e may assume its natural grace and charm. Her corsets are cut low in the bust, but long over the hips, freedom of motion being given by the elastic gussets at the sides. Hh 3 Ny ~ SIT In a new French corset imported by John Wana- maker the front and back of coutil or a broché material are boned, the insets of tricot at the sides giving the desired flexibility. The brassiére of chiffon is in- tended to be worn with décolleté gowns. It is cleverly shaped, the seams being concealed by face entre deux through which white ribbon is drawn. It marrows to about three inches in the back, where it fastens. '! Gordon In the evolution of the corset the soft, supple, sparsely boned garment worn with the brassiere is the most rational and hygienic arrangement Only a very few figures are so perfectly moulded by nature that the corset can be dis- carded with successful results, but the flexibility of the new, low-bust corsets permits freedom of move- ment, as unhampered as if no corset were worn. The Props of Good Dressing Drawings by Ne The silk elastic slip-on corset designed by Madame Binner might be described as another skin, so per- fectly does it mould the flesh. Though there are two bones down the centre front, there is no open- ing. An elastic band encircles the inner part of the leg, just above the knee, fastening with two snappers. For the woman who feels the need of some support in a corset John Wanamaker is showing a tricot model with flexible boning over the hips. The new curve is also given across the front to allow the abdomen to pro- ject slightly. A Model bras- siére is shown with this corset. It is made from embroidered linen and a lacy Hamburg edging, and is so very well cut that it lends the necessary support to the bust without the aid of bones. 62 Many women prefer the brassiéres without bones, depending upon the shape of the garment for th= necessary support. John Wanamaker has recently imported a new brassiére of this type fashioned from heavy eyelet-embroid- ered linen and Cluny lace. The ribbon bows may be untied if the brassiére is to be worn with a décolleté gown. Harper’s Bazar

Page 65

“ ] 2 F\ #1 a ae

~< 24

Drawing by Misses Avery and Delahanty. The Modern Interpretation of the Original Saxon Garment Developed in Fabrics Made by the Wiener Werkstaette of Vienna and Imported by the Modernist Studios A special price of $1.00 per pattern is made for the “Saxons” shown on this page. The simplest type of a house gown shows off to the best advantage this coarse white linen fabric with block figures in blue, orange and black. The quaint Dutch cap is also of linen embroidered in the same bright colourings and the black cothurnes are laced with orange ribbons. For January, 1914 In this “intime” costume the figured linen is used for the skirt and girdle. The effect is black and white with touches of gray. The jacket of black satin is worn over a chemisette of soft muslin or net, showing the surplice draping in the front, edged with a frifl. This “saxon” is of black and white figured silk lined with pale yellow, ‘the points weighted with long yellow silk tas- sels, and is worn with a Prussian blue velvet skirt. The black velvet and amber beaded cap is weighted on either side with long tassels of jet beads. One of the most striking designs is car- ried out in mustard and white on a black background. The “ saxon” is lined with white silk and is worn with a white silk skirt. The slippers are fashioned from the Austrian material, and the white silk cap has mustard ribbon trimmings.

Page 66

Fannie Miss Ward is a St. Louis girl, who has had ex- cellent success on the London stage. “Madam President,” in which she starred at the Garrick | Theatre in New York, is her greatest Ameri- can success. Pearls and diamonds are Miss Ward’s favourite jewels. Her collection includes some very rare and valuable stones, and some with very interesting histories. The collection as shown here does not include her remarkable diamond tiara or turquoise coronet, which she left in London, knowing that she would not wear them here. She has designed many of the settings for her jewels. Instead of the gold band, she has circlets of tiny diamonds, set in platinum, in which the major jewel also is set. One of her rings has a large pendant pearl hanging from it, on a slender platinum chain. Another has an “Old Mine’’ diamond attached in the same way. This stone was originally as large as a hazelnut, but some of its size was sacrificed in the cutting, as Miss Ward wanted it to be as nearly oval as possible. Her rings are very unusual. ardés Jewels ne gee teed y 22 2 es po Photographs by Feder. ul ak The tiny watch, crusted with diamonds, hanging from a pearl chain, was once the property of the late Empress of Austria. It was given to Miss Ward by the Archduke Ferdinand. The gold bag set with diamonds and emeralds was a wedding gift from Barney Barnato. The diamond serpent bracelet is her mascot. She never plays without it. Frequently it is the only Necklaces are a passion with this piquant little actress. She has an almost barbaric love for chains of jewels. One of cabochon turquoise, is set in diamonds, and another, entirely of diamonds, has a curious clasp, with a large ruby as the centre of the three Of pearl necklaces, her jewel box holds half a dozen, which may be combined under a round diamond clasp, as the three are shown in this picture. bit of jewelry she wears. stones. 04 Harper’s Bazar

Page 67

THE BEAUTY OF THE WOMEN, THE SPLEN- DOUROFTHE GOWNS AND THE GLITTER OF THE JEWELS ON THE OPENING NIGHT OF THE OPERA MADE THE “DIAMOND HORSESHOE” AT THE METROPOLITAN DESERVING OF ITS TITLE For January, 1914 There were vestiges of the East in the deep flame-coloured gown and Oriental headdress worn by Mrs. Ernest Iselin. The overskirt, starting from a point at the belt in the back, dropped low on both sides into a rippling drapery, leaving the front of the skirt unadorned except for the band of gold embroidery. Exceedingly simple was the drap- ery of the corsage caught with oval ornaments of gold set with garnets. The pelerine of lace falling in soft folds from the wired Medici collar gave an unusual twist to the gown of clover velvet. Over the draped skirt with its snakey train a tunic of tulle in the same clover colouring hung full and flaring, held in mid- way with a band of blue ribbon which broke forth into butterfly bows at intervals. The corsage— little more than a deep girdle—was of lace and blue satin. It is difficult to decide which was the more in- teresting feature of this opera frock, the sash which trailed its scarlet way over the shoulder and across the hips, meeting in a large bow with ends at one side of the skirt, or the material itself, a gorgeous brocaded fabric in vivid tones of scarlet and purple. The draping of the skirt in the back, a revival of the old-time polonaise, is a refreshing change from the “ hitched-up ” front draperies. Drawings by Mercedes Carles and Elsie Deane.

Page 68

Under Southern Skies Spring Hats Bloom in January B A.—The sailor hat is sure to be becoming. C.M. Phipps makes it of blue satin braid and trims it with a blue and white braid band. B.A. D. Burgesser & Co. is featuring the under-brim trimming on a hat of purple hemp by the arrangement of the brown quill speckled in black, green and orange. The crown is of purple moire taffeta. C.—The taffeta hat is an ideal “between seasons” one. A. D. Burgesser & Co. has produced an unusual effect by braiding strips of black taffeta and using feather butterflies as trimming. 66 G Photographs by Feder. D.—Linen printed in the gay Poiret colourings has been combined effectively with blue satin braid in a hat from C. M. Phipps. E.—For a dressy hat to wear with lingerie frocks, C. M. Phipps has veiled pink mule with shadow lace and has twined white ostrich flues and roses around the crown. F.—The sailor shape is made dressy by A. D. Burgesser & Co. with a shirred trimming of white satin, ribbon flowers and foliage. G.—A linen with the tapestry design in blue and red has been used by C. M. Phipps for the crown of this jaunty little hat of peacock blue satin braid. Harper's Bazar

Page 69

A.—Jet has been used by Cora Marson to stiffen the brim of her black tulle hat and two natural paradise feathers shoot out from above and below the brim at the left side. B.—Lewis has further developed his draped turbans by fashioning them from moire and arranging paradise feathers to spring forth from the peak. C.—When Lewis uses two aigrettes he mounts one to stand erect in the front and the other to shoot forth at a right angle from the side. D.—The newest models from Hennard are drawn down on the right side and show not only the hair, but the ear, on the left side. This clever hat of moire shows a novel arrange- ment of ostrich tips. For January, 1914 The Between- Seasons Hats for the Riviera Photographs by Henri Manuel and Talbot, Paris. E.—Blue ribbon has been twisted into an effective mount by Eliane as trimming for a blue straw hat. In order that the model may not be too summery in appearance a draped crown of the blue ribbon has been added. F.—A new model in black straw by Marguerite et Léonie has the flaring brim at the left side bound with satin and a feather mount arranged to continue the line. G.—Eliane is demonstrating the beauty of ribbon mounts and has used an effective twist of ribbon and quills as trimming for a brick-coloured straw hat. The under brim facing of brick red taffeta throws a becoming soft glow over the face. The shape is particularly good for the South, where protection to the eyes is required.

Page 70

Garden-Party Frocks in Chiffons and Silky Fabrics for the Southern Exodus Flounces, not scanty and restricted as of old, but decidedly frilly and fluffy, have been adapted to this lavender char- meuse frock, and strike the new note on the familiar draped skirt. Narrower ruffles appear on the loose, blouse-like waist where the new note is given by the sleeves, curious drooping falls of white net. Rhinestone clasps through which the bows of net are drawn lend the fashionable glitter. A frill of gold lace studded with blue, pink and red roses makes the straw hat delightfully dressy. A butterfly in gold lace has alighted on the front. From J. M. Gidding & Co. There is a summery air given by the green and white colour scheme to this hock of white crépe de Chine. The line of green is produced by the tulle edge which is hem- stitched to the chiffon tunics and waist. The pannier movement of the tunic obliterates any suggestion of a waist line, the folds of the chiffon blouse fairly melting into the draperies of the tunic. The kimono sleeve takes on the lines of the graceful ‘‘angel"’ sleeve as it falls away from the arm. ‘urple moire ribbon and plaited lace are twined around the crown of the pink Milan straw hat. 68 Drawing by Harry Linnell. The touch of fur is permissible at all times and in all climes, and it is not surprising, therefore, to see it on this white charmeuse frock intended for the hern invasion. A band of the skunk catches up the pannier-like drapings of the white net tunic, and a similar band outlines the surplice drapings of the bodice. A quaint touch is given to the kimono sleeve by turning back the corners so that two net frills may peep out, tiny editions of the flaring net frills which form the Medici collar. red rose serves as meeting point for the pink moire ribbon drape. Harper’s Bazar

Page 71

Would A-Motoring Go _ 1.—The new motoring veils shown by L. P. Hollander & Co. are of silk and net and in black, blue or purple. 2.—Abercrombie & Fitch sell, for cold weather driving, ened Mocha gloves with Angora lining. 3.—A wind and waterproof coat sold by Saks & Co. is of gray whipcord vicuna which has been cravenetted and lined with leather. The collar and cuffs are of opossum. 4.—To defy the cold blasts of wind when riding in the country, Saks Co. sells a raccoon coat lined with flannel and satin. With this a hood of the same fur is se _5.—The auto ulster featured by Abercrombie & Fitch is fashioned from English ngledine, a snow-proof material, which comes in the brilliant colourings. The coat is cut double-breasted, and an inverted plait in the back to give the desired fulness. 6.—The head is well protected from the wind and dust in this green, brown and gray soft wool motor bonnet lined with taffeta, from Abercrombie & Fitch. 7.—One of the most practical models sold by Abercrombie & Fitch is reversible. In the photograph, the waterproof For January, 1914 69 3 Photographs by A. B. Conkwright. A photograph of the reverse side in soft Swedish English garberdine side is shown. dogskin is shown in the lower righthand corner. 8.—The fulness in the back of this green lush velours coat from L. P. Hollander & Co. marks it as one of the latest models. rimmings of patent leather give a “ sporty ” air to the soft duvetyn cap. 9.—A black grain leather toilet and manicure case, which may be attached to the limousine is sold by Abercrombie & Fitch for $30.00. 10.—The comfort of the motorist has been considered in this dustproof and waterproof case at Abercrombie & Fitch. Made of rubber and water- proof green leather, it is lined with heavy felt and fitted in nickel and unbreakable china. i1.—Abercrombie & Fitch are showing novel gauntlet gloves of dogskin lined with fleece. 12.—Enthusiastic motorists like the Army cloth coats with attached hoods, sold by Abercrombie & Fitch, because they are cut so full that they can be wrapped around the figure when seated in the car.

Page 72

a TG SAR FOE Soe EK v VERYTHING comes to “him as waits,”’ they say, and so I made my very first and belated appearance in the star’s dressing room of a typically Parisian theatre. Little Lavalliére was on the stage when I arrived. Presently she came in. I was going to say she floated in, but she didn’t. She didn’t even glide. Nor did she frou-frou. Before I realized it, she was shaking hands with me—both hands—as though I were a long-lost brother. “T am learning English,” she said, “yet I fear I shall never be able to speak. I have been invited to America, to play the part of a Parisian in a play. But I am afraid, because, though I learn English, I may never, never, be able to speak American.” I wanted to laugh, but little Eve wasinearnest. I told her emphatically that English was but a varia- tion of American. “You see,” quoth little Lavalliére, “I am a typical Parisian. I belong to this little typically Parisian theatre, the Variétés. _ I have been here all my life.” “How long?” It was a rude question, but busi- ness is business. How Old is Eve? ‘“* All my life,” she repeated sternly. ‘‘ You can say a hundred years if you like, because I refuse to tell you how old Iam. Surely, you need not know that! “In America,’’ said she, “‘ you want pretty women. Beauty counts for a lot on the American stage. Not soin Paris. In Paris, a woman is not beautiful, and she is not ugly. She is chic. Look at me!” I did. I had been looking! understood what she meant. «Just now,” babbled little Lavalliére, — “little women are all the rage in Paris, I don’t say that because I’m little, for I can make myself look tall. Paris demands small women, and just now they are all small. How they do it I don’t know (of course, we are very clever in Paris) but novices, who I would have sworn were tall, are now little women. There is no interest in big women. They are not selected by managers. The fashion may not last. When it changes, we shall all be tall, I suppose, for we really do know how to adjust ourselves to suit the public taste. I quite © By Alan Dale “You couldn’t call the Variétés a beautiful thea- tre, could you?” She looked at me rather cynically, I thought. “I call it a horrid looking old place,” I said bravely, but I felt that was what she wanted me to say, and I love to please! “Well,” said Lavalliére, “in Paris they won’t Paris likes a dirty old stand for beautiful theatres. ad Paris is accus- place, mildewed, and ramshackle. 7oO Lewvaeltrere The little French comédienne, though she says she dances only “as an episode in comedy,” was chosen recently to give an exposition of the dancing of the Tango before the dignified Académie Frangaise. Her dancing was an illustration of Jean Richepin’s comedy in verse, “Le Tango,” read by him for the enlightenment of the Academicians and as a defense of the new dance. tomed to that sort of thing, and it is very con- servative. Look at the beautiful Réjane Théatre! Well, Paris doesn’t like it. I’m not joking. I’m as serious as I can be, and I tell you that a suc- cessful theatre in Paris must be old and tumble- down, like the famous Comédie Frangaise. “T hope to come to America,” she said, “but not as a dancer. I only dance as an episode in comedy.” Harper’s Bazar

Page 73

The Stage as the Though one may argue at length whether Alexandra Carlisle is a bona-fide adventuress in “ The Marriage Game” at the Comedy Theatre, her clothes are those of a refined, cultivated woman of social position. Her gown of beige-coloured satin with trim- mings of blue brocade is certainly conserva- tive in cut, and there is nothing ultra in the white plush cloak with black velvet collar and belt. The shape of the white plush hat is sufficiently dashing without superfluous trimming. Cecil Cunningham has brightened the black taffeta and chiffon frock she wears in the amusing musical comedy, “ Oh, I Say,” at the Casino Theatre, with touches of bright orange. Like tongues of flame, the narrow orange moire ribbon licks the edges of the black chiffon tunics, and shimmers through the black chiffon drap- ings of the bodice. A brilliant streak of the flame colour is reflected from the velvet rosette and long streamer hanging from the sleeves. Mirror of Fashion Madame Paquin made the gowns which the Princess Bariatinsky is wearing in the play, “I Love You” at the Ambassador’s Theatre in London. The draping of the femon-coloured brocaded velvet on this frock of fine ivory dotted net has been very much admired. A charming colour scheme has been developed by adding a twist of violet satin around the raised waist line, A fine net frill, which softens the neck and finishes the elbow sleeves, is in keeping with the simplicity of the frock. A remarkable colour combination is de- veloped in this stunning tea gown worn by Elsie Ferguson by mounting mustard- coloured chiffon over flesh-tinted crépe de Chine. The flesh-coloured crepe is com- bined with antique gold lace on the bodice and is finished with a wide girdle of moire in the rich dregs-of wine-shade. A collar of chiffon, slightly wired, is particularly be- coming to this pretty actress. Over this frock Miss Ferguson wears a wrap of mustard chiffon draped to give a coat effect. Patterns may be obtained, cut to individual measurement, for any costume in this magazine. For January, 1914 71

Page 74

A Ri eras { 4 e In order to appreciate the gowns Ethel Barrymore wears in “ Tante ” at the Empire Theatre, it should be remem- bered that they were chosen to express the personality of a clever woman of the world. The most becoming is a rose-coloured velvet with trimmings of creamy lace and skunk fur. The skirt is draped to give the slender line at the feet and the waist is a simple kimono affair lightened in the front with the lace vest and revers. Natalie Alt in “Adele” wears an en- chanting wedding frock of white satin and tulle, the tulle forming the billowy draperies of the tunic and the soft, pretty bébé bodice. A lacey petticoat peeps out from beneath the drapings of the skirt, and a frill of the same lace serves as a collar. Though never bizarre, the clothes worn by Elsie Fergu- son are always noted for their chic. One of her most suc- cessful costumes is a taupe duvetyn skirt with a simple little blouse of chiffon in the same shade mounted over a flesh-coloured chiffon lining. The black moire ribbon belt is drawn through a curious Egyptian brass buckle arrange- ment inthe back. The crowning sartorial feature, however, is the scarf of chiffon with broad bands of the duvetyn. ~ is} A broad ribbon band in a brilliant blue tone glimmers through the creamy chiffon and lace blouse designed by Grace George. The same tones are reflected from the large silk and velvet rose. Two minaret tunics of black maline give the desired bouffant silhouette to the black charmeuse skirt. A drapery of burnt orange plush, which trails its way across the front of the black charmeuse skirt and along the back to the train, is a suggestion from Elsie Ferguson which makes this dinner gown particularly interesting. The white embroidered chiffon cloth is cleverly draped to show to best advantage the fine hand work. The sleeves are unus- ually becoming, the flesh tones showing through the slash- ing, whichis held together by an embroidered strap. Harper’s Bazar

Page 75

Patterns may be obtained, cut to individual measurement, for any costume in this magazine In “ At Bay,” one of the successes of the winter, playing at the Thirty-Ninth Street Theatre, Crystal Herne wears several bewitching costumes. On and off the stage this clever young actress is peculiarly fastidi in her choice of colours and designs. She likes only one-colour costumes. Almost never will she wear a sharp contrasting colour note. The trotteur costume shown here is developed in a rich tobacco brown broadcloth. The skirt, which is the present most approved length, although longer than for- merly, is draped or “ hitched-up” in the back. Added fulness is given by the inserted pleats. The coat has the back panel embroidered, which is very smart. The waist- coat is of brown and dull gold brocade. To carry out the colour idea, Miss Herne’s small hat of brown velvet has a crown of the brown and gold brocade and For January, 1914 is banded with skunk fur. The collar and muff are also of the skunk. The latter is lined with brown crepe de Chine, which extends as frills. A most deceiving impression of simplicity is given by the delightful little morning frock of autumn leaf charmeuse, with its rounded neck of shirred net. This is the simplicity that costs and that can be achieved only by a master-hand. The entire costume, even the girdle with its long pleated end, is of the charmeuse. The tiny undersleeves and the yoke are of white net. The skirt is draped toward the back. It touches the floor all round. An arrangement more be- coming on a draped skirt than the ankle length. Equally charming is the afternoon frock of taupe char- meuse, with its high girdle and low pointed neck. This shade of taupe changes to an orchid shade under the 73 electric rays. The skirt is draped in the front in a manner that suggests scupltured folds. Miss Herne believes that a knowledge of sculpture would help all women in their costuming. There is a slight standing collar at the sides and back of the bodice. The sumptuous evening coat is of French blue velvet, banded with brown fur and trimmed with a band of superb gold lace and fringe. There are gold tassels on the sleeves. A costume that inspires envious thoughts is the white lace and charmeuse affair which Miss Herne wears in the third act. The double lace tunic, pointed in the back, each tier edged with ermine bands, covers the girdle of dull blue velvet. The butterfly bow with long sash ends is of white satin ribbon.

Page 76

a i Bod \ wt a 4. Hy UNG ay Worth has evolved an effective bridge frock by trimming Nattier blue crépe de Chine with sil- verlace,thelace enhanc- ing the self-tone mous- seline de soie tunic and veiling the inset piece at the bottom of the skirt. This is just the frock to ap- peal to the American girl—a 4 ting bination of sal- mon taffeta with steel-gray taffeta in the sash, girdle, and empiecement. Martial et Armand are showing it as one of their most successful “tango” frocks. Parry has fairly show- ered this white net danc- ing frock with rhine- stones; they sparkle from the embroidery, glitter along the edges of the les, and out- line the decolletage. By filling in the front slash- ing with plisse mousse- line de soie he has made the skirt most con- servative. Patterns may be obtained, cut to individual measurement, of any costume in this magazine. Mid-Winter By Mlle. Chaquin in Paris The gowns the well-dressed American women are wearing in Paris, the frocks and hats they are planning to take with them to the Riviera, the new fads and fancies—all make up the absorbing panorama of fashionable Paris as it is in mid-winter. HRISTMAS over, with one accord all Paris migrates to the Riviera. One has no sooner become accustomed to seeing velvets and furs, than suddenly muslins and chiffons, straw hats and parasols, blossom forth in full summer array. This curtciling of the winter, as it were, accounts in great measure for the alacrity with which the Parisienne dons her furs and sables in August, Deauville replacing what Monte Carlo steals. Various Americans have been passing through Paris on their way to warmer climes, or at all events to more sunshiny weather. The Ritz as usual has been their rendezvous. In fact so many Americans gather there at all seasons of the year that it might with perfect truth be called little America. Lunch- ing there recently I saw Mrs. Craig Biddle, Mrs. Cecil Bingham, Mrs. William Leeds, Mrs. Perry Belmont, and Anthony Drexel. The latter, by the way, is to join the resident American circle of Paris, having taken a large apartment on the Avenue du Bois, with a “sous-sol” ball room, vast enough to be the topic of conversation at the various teas and 74 luncheons. ‘Have you heard of Tony Drexel’s new ball room?” is the question heard on all sides. Jewels are “Great” in Size as in Price To refer again to the Ritz and its inhabitants, however, a few days later while taking tea there I chanced to see the Duchess of Marlborough, who had run over from London for a few days. With her was Mrs. W. K. Vanderbilt. The Duchess was dressed in black velvet and wore her beautiful pearls with earrings and rings to match. Here in Paris the Harper’s Bazar

Page 77

afternoon fashione

Without the touches of black shown in the sash and in the pipings of satin on the sleeves and girdle, this tango frock of yellow moire designed by Beer uel lack character. A bodice of —- embroidered chiffon makes it ideally comfortable. The smartest frocks, whether for bridge or the tango, are from of such simple trim- mings as cream and hemstitching.

colour

ing the

<< It was a daring stroke for Redfern to draw at- tention to the corsage of this evening gown by outlin- fetage with white ostrich flues. and the silver lace trim- mings are in with the sumptuousness of the costume. <

flesh-

Drawings by Tighe. Patterns may be obtained, cut to individual measurement, of any cosiume in this magazine. earring made from a single pearl, attached to a tiny diamond, is enjoying a renewal of favour. For a time this style was discarded for the pendant or tassel form, but lately every other person one sees wears a great, lustrous bulb, tightly screwed just be- low the tip end of the lobe of the ear. Its return to popularity is perhaps due to the vogue for wearing stones of enormous size—a vogue which, ever since the sale of the Abdul Hamid jewels in Paris, some two years ago, at which diamonds, emeralds, and sapphires as large as pigeon eggs were the rule, has been noticeably on the increase. The Height of the Theatre Season The theatre season is now at its height. Madame Réjane is again to the fore, acting in “L’Irrégu- lire,” by Monsieur Edmond Sée, a play which pos- sesses more literary value than dramatic interest. Charmingly gowned by Chéruit, Réjane was as fascinating as ever. In one of the acts she wore a black velvet costume with long tunic of cream lace and black velvet slippers with silver buckles and silver heels. Very stunning was a gown, noticed in the audi- ence, of green satin and green and gold brocade For January, 1914 shadowed with rose. Green was heralded at the very commencement of the season as the coming colour, but so slow has it been in making its appear- ance that faith in the prophets of the mode had been all but lost. At last, however, they stand vindi- cated. This particular gown was interesting and distinctive for the silhouette as well as for its colour scheme, for from shoulder to foot it fell in loose, straight lines, with an absolute elimination of the waist curve. The sheath foundation was of the brocade and over this hung a Watteau mantle of grass-green satin, caught together at the knees in front. From the low round of the neck hung a deep cape bertha of heavy gold lace, and the long tightly- fitted sleeves were of the same. “On with the Dance” is the Social Edict Paris is still tango-mad. One may be tired of writing this, but the fact is so obvious that it domi- nates everything. Tango tea rooms have sprung up as though by magic, and straightway have become so popular that tables must be engaged a week in advance. Jean Richepin, the famous Academician, lectured upon this all-important subject before his confréres of the Institute. André de Fouquiére gave 75 a “conférence” at the “‘Samedis de la Parisienne” at the Renaissance, illustrated in a most enlightening manner by several of the prominent tango dancers and professors, while tango afternoon “at homes” have been adopted as the mode of entertainment by the greater part of the ultra-mondaines. Even the Americans who have stayed in Paris for a short time have fallen victims to its spell, and Mrs. William Leeds gave a tango tea in her apartments in the Ritz for a small circle of her friends. Hence it follows that a tango gown is a necessity for every wardrobe. Gossamer Fabrics for the Riviera The first of these tango frocks for the Riviera have fluttered forth in filmy masses of lace and chiffon, light, piquant creations, made by Premet, with con- veniently slashed skirts, and a corsage as cobwebby as ever. These slashed skirts and the cothurne- shod foot have produced a new piece of jewelry. Just what to call it isa question. It is a buckle and a pin, and is made in diamonds to fasten the ribbon lacings of the slipper to the stocking, a bit—just a wee bit—below the knee. So far, the chief fabrics in use for the Riviera models are satins, chiffons, India silks, and sheer,

Page 78

sette. Redfern's is blue and black, and he has adapted it to this charmeuse costume, adding lightening touches in the creamy net frills and chemi- A favourite colour combination of i Taffeta, spring, for this suit. have minaret the fa- voured material for s been used by rtial et Amand They weighted the tunic with velvet and have her- alded the spring in the tulle chemisette and undersleeves. ’Tis the day— the hour rather—of combinations, and Premet has recog- nized it by combin- ing charmeuse and taffeta, the former appearing in the tunic and bodice and the latter in the skirt and sleeves. Patterns may be obtained, cut to individual measurement, of any costume in this magazine thin, white muslins, with white serge and white duvetyn for the tailor-mades. There is little change in the general style of cut. The tunic coat is much in evidence, also the godet basques, possibly longer behind and shorter in front, and there is a tendency to do away with the double-tiered effect. The short jackets are box-backed, slightly cutaway in front, and fasten with single or double-breasted openings without waistcoats. Waistcoats are now at the height of their popularity, but there seems a good chance that with the spring they will vanish from the arena. In any case none of the Riviera models seen thus far has been made with a waistcoat attachment. The combination of serge and satin is smart. and promises to continue so. One of the newest models in dark blue serge, which is to be copied in white, was made with a plain black satin skirt, and a long, bell-shaped tunic coat of the cloth. This reached to the hips in front, rippled out into exaggerated fulness at the sides, and sloped quite to the bottom of the skirt in the back. The upper part was cut kimono, with bishop sleeves. It was girdled by a wide piece of black satin, unseamed and unplaited, but loosely cut. Fastening the girdle at the side was a large dahlia in old rose velvet, to which was attached a long tassel of black silk with heavily carved silver top. A similar flower and tassel trim- ming was posed at the bottom of the girdle at the side of the back. The rounded neck, finished with a wide turn-over collar of white linen, was closed by a lacing and bow of black surah tied at the side. These wide linen collars are making more and more headway. One had become so accustomed to frills, ruches and Medicis that at first this simple neck fixing seemed most woefully prim. Now, on the contrary, particularly for morning wear, they look quite swagger, and there is a rumour to the effect that they are but the forerunners of the high, stiff choker collar. Whether or not this is the case it is as yet hard to say; but certain it is that Drécoll, in one of his latest models, showed a one-piece blue 76 serge gown trimmed with plaid, the bodice opening over a chemisette of white lawn, with the high collar fastened with the demurest of black gros-grain ribbon bows. The French Version of a Tennis Dress Two other gowns shown by Drécoll as models for the South were a simple little tennis frock of white muslin, worn with a long, loose Norfolk jacket of heavy wide-ribbed silk, and an afternoon frock of cherry-coloured India silk. The tennis frock was charming. Made of the sheerest white linen lawn, the skirt was full, with a slight upward movement of the drapery in the front. The V-shaped neck of the kimono waist was trimmed with a turn-over sailor collar of Irish lace; and similar lace formed the cuffs on the full bishop sleeves. The waist was girdled just above the normal height by a belt of white silk crochet, and below this hung a full puffed panier basque, caught to the skirt and sloping from the front towards the back. Har per’s Bazar

Page 79

—— . (f = a a Only an artist like ge pte eae to drape duvetyn in t bouffant folds of this Sage-green costume, and then accentuate the to jacket. The straight little jacket, belted across the back and_ sides, o- the youthful air ‘or which Parry is noted. Add to the cut, the fact that the material is a bright red duvetyn with touches of ie, ani the suit becomes an ideal one for the débu- tante. A woolen plaid fabric as trimming for a blue charmeuse gown is, in- deed, an innovation, and from the master hand of Drécoll. A line of embroidery ap- Pears on the green satin revers. = Patterns may be obtained, cut to individual measurement, of any costume in this magazine. In a trig little tennis costume from Parry the skirt was of blue-and-white striped linen and the blouse of plain white piped with the blue. This had a fitted basque with cutaway front corners, and was provided with smart little tailor-made pockets, such as Parry loves to make, cut slantwise and piped with the blue. Lacings of blue silk cord fastened the pointed neck, tying at the line of a low yoke, and the bishop sleeves, which ruffled out into full- ness over the hands, were snugly laced at the wrist with a similar cord. Will Polka Dots be Fashionable? Polka dot silks may be with us once again. Lately they have fallen somewhat into disrepute, and stripes and checks have taken their place, but one of the newest and choicest afternoon frocks for the South made by Parry was of white satin charmeuse dotted with black, the dots the size of a ten-cent piece. This was trimmed with wide, full box- plaited ruchings of white, was girdled with scarlet moire ribbon, and made with a quaint, plain jumper Waist worn over a full chemisette of the net with three-quarter-length sleeves. The newest Parry tailor suit is modeled after a man’s dinner coat, if a man’s dinner coat can be For January, 1014 imagined as made with full kimono sleeves, very baggy through the shoulder, and a loose back, belted in from the under arm seams. With these short coats are worn skirts plaited at the waist line or above, tapering towards the feet, but not a vestige of a tunic, practically the famous peg-topped form but wider at the foot and fuller at the top. For sporting use or to wear with light gowns, Redfern is making three-quarters length coats in bright-coloured, light-weight cloths, with loose backs, loose fronts, and a generally comfortable, unfitted look. Wraps and even coats for three-piece suits cut on the old box driving coat model, with the flare at the bottom accentuated, have taken a tremendous hold. They made their appearance at Deauville last summer under the imposing title of the Royante coat, and have been in use all the season. Little Novelty in the Between Seasons Hats The summer hat season opens with a combination of straw, satin, and lace—quite according to rule. An attractive little mid-season hat from Esther Meyer was of white satin, with high, flat-topped crown encircled at the base by a band of white cloth. The brim, narrow and rolled, was caught back at one side by a tall fluff of white cocks’ feathers. 77 Toques of white lace, gold lace, and spangled net, are being made by Carlier for wear at the Casino. These fit snugly to the head, have draped crowns and a great bouche of the net pulled up into a high trimming with backward movement at the side. Flowers, Madame Carlier says, are to be used to some extent. This, however, is but a repetition of an old story. Last winter Monte Carlo saw the arrival of the long-stemmed American beauty rose, wired to soar to untold heights, perched at the front of the small, low-crowned walking hats of straw. This year, the first models show the use of single flowers, roses and so on, but laid flat on the brim against the crown. A pretty little Camille Roger model for a young girl was of pink chip, with rounded crown and drooping brim faced with pink mousseline. A shirred band of the mousseline ran round the crown and was bowed in a soft puff at the side, just above a small rose. The flower- trimmed sailor shape in white satin, the brim slightly rolled, must be numbered amongst the first of the smart models. Mrs. Cecil Bingham and Mrs. Craig Biddle were both wearing this shape in black velvet, trimmed with a wreath of slender vel- vet leaves, and Carlier is making practically the same models in white satin with flower trimmings.

Page 80

Jewelry that Good Taste Permits in the Afternoon 1.—Pickslay & Co. is showin diamond appliqué. It is attache 7.—The intricate workmanship shown at the sides o from Pickslay & Co. makes it particularly interesting. makes it appropriate as a little-finger ring. kept in the compartments of this silver vanity case from Reed & Barton. & Co. is showing as a pendant an engraved crystal suspended and encircled by a black HERE is a movement in the direction of I greater simplicity for afternoon jewelry. Not that handsome ornaments, more or less costly, are not seen at social functions of importance and that diamonds and platinum are not the me- diums, par excellence, for the expression of the artistic conceptions decreed by Fashion for that period of the day,—but the lines are more severe, the stones are fewer, the themes less involved, illus- trating richness rather than display, and offering wide opportunity for the exercise of that illusive factor—individual taste. as an afternoon ornament a watch in blue enamel with to a platinum chain set with pearls. ribbon sautoirs with slides of soft blue Wedgwood are having a wide vogue. pearls are used as embellishments for the narrow black velvet neck-bands. 4. . is showing a curious diamond bracelet of round stones in graceful bar pin shown by Pickslay & Co. may be worn in the ring which is unusual in design, yet sufficiently simple to be worn during the day. this cane and sapphire ring 8.—. from a plaque of Wedgwood mounted in gold and set with pearls. 9.—A new effect is given to the diamond brooch from Pickslay & Co. by breaking the line of calibre diamonds with four large stones and outlining it with millgrained platinum rings. barette of openwork platinum set with diamonds and pearls. 12.—Four sizes of beauty patches may By Lillian Purdy Goldsborough silk cord. 2.—In London, the 3.—Seed Pickslay ware settings. 5.—This ytime. 6.—A diamond of the mesh bag. unique brooch is ma lines of calibre onyx. 10.—A new 11.—The shape of this ring lorgnons at Pickslay & 13.—Pickslay monds. If it is conceded that there is no accessory of dress more potently indicative of a woman’s under- standing of correctness in costuming than is the jewelry with which she adorns herself, there is em- phatic reason for the scrupulous attention paid to the pieces intended for day wear. For, while the elaborateness and splendour of evening costumes give almost unrestricted leeway to the selection of accompanying jewels—becomingness, fashion and harmony with the gown being preserved—the choice of adornments for afternoon is a sort of crucial test of one’s ability to select wisely and well. There 78 14.—A pearl and diamond brooch from Pickslay & Co. which is a ha; between the bar and oval shapes. ribbon attachment which lifts the cards into a convenient position. simplicity of line in this diamond and pearl necklace from Pickslay & Co. makes it appropriate to wear in the afternoon to formal social functions. purse shown by Reed & Barton has the square edges and should be attached to the chain 18.—Rubies in the square setting are combin simple yet effective pendant shown by Pickslay & Co. silver shown by Reed & Barton have compartments for cigarettes and matches. 20.—One of the bow brooches at Pickslay & Co. 21.—The new drops moun display a dainty lace-work of diamonds. At Pickslay & Co. showing graceful concave lines of calibre onyx from Pickslay & Co. Co. have handles of medium length set with square-cut dia- They may be suspended from a slen ribbon sautoir on which is usually placed a diamond buckle. y medium 15.—This silver card case from Reed & Barton has a 16.—The extreme 17.—The small coin monds in a 19.—The new vanity cases in ed with . has the eyelet embroidery in tiny diamonds with ted on v narrow black velvet ribbon —Another diamond h 23.—The newest platinum chain or swing from a is a sharp line between the appropriate and the inappropriate, and yet it often requires the judg- ment of a connoisseur to distinguish the richly suitable fromthe overdone. The observance of the code of good form in this particular is a nicety that every well-gowned woman takes pride in main- taining. The woman of taste restricts her choice of after- noon jewelry primarily to articles of utility, de- manding that they shall be of a quiet, unobtrusive character. For the street, she will select one of (Continued on page 95) Harper's Bazar

Page 81

s im GS] '* wy) a uv {t’ .") AM % et; x + = No. 1.—Maurice is showing a pretty little frock to wear under the fur coat or later on the street without furs. Crépe de Chine in black, blue or lavender is combined with plaid silk in harmonizing colours. The plain material appears in the vest, the plaited peplum, the plaited pockets on either side, and in the collar, plaited white net forming the yoke. Price $15.50. No. 2.—A dressy blouse of écru net is sold by Bonwit, Teller & Co. for $23.50. Flesh- coloured net is softly draped in the front to form the vest and a pink satin ribbon band glimmers through the lace. ; —™ effective tango frock in crépe de Chine of various colours is sold by Maurice or 50. The skirt is cleverly draped on the écru shadow lace waist in loops in the Bazar Personal Shopping Service front and in a Watteau panel in the back. Garlands of tiny pink chiffon roses decorate the waist and blend with the pale pink lining. No. 4.—A white chiffon fichu, loosely knotted in the front and caught on either side by roses, adds a novel touch to this all-over lace blouse sold by Bonwit-Telier & Co. The undersleeves and vest of white net are finished with a pointed lace edging. The colour is introduced on the folded girdle. Price $19.75. No 5.—A simple and attractive bridge frock in purple, gray or green crépe de Chine is sold by Maurice for $18.50. The plaits in the front of the skirt fall from below the fold, a charming version of the fashionable “hitched up” front drapery. The vest of chiffon, matching in colour the crépe de Chine, has points of Persian silk trimming. THE BAZAR’S SHOPPING SERVICE Why not fet the HARPER’S BAZAR PERSONAL SHOPPING SERVICE do your shopping for you? Expert shoppers, women of good taste and discrimination, are always ready to buy for you any desired article, whether mentioned in the magazine or not, without any charge to you. Names of the shops where articles may be purchased will be furnished on request. Kindly enclose either cheque or money order for the approximate amount of purchase. A prospectus explaining the PERSONAL SHOPPING SERVICE will be sent on receipt of a self-addressed letter to HARPER’S BAZAR PERSONAL SHOPPING SERVICE, 119 West 40th Street, New York City. For January, 1or4

Page 82

Photographs by Feder and The Fashion Camera. No. 1.—Ast ing opera or | cloak in matched skins of chinchilla squirrel is sold by A. Jaeckel & Co. for $850.00. The garment is wrapped luxuriously around the figure and has the new features in the high military collar and raglan sleeves. No. 2.—Stern Brothers is selling for $7.75 a particularly fine French fichu with ex- quisite hand-embroidery. No. 3.—A boudoir cap in gold net, lace and flowers for $7.00 at Maja Kunoltz. No. 4.—This fichu of fine shadow lace is cleverly draped in the front and has the Medici collar. Price at Stern Brothers $5.75. No. 5.—Schneider-Anderson & Co. has imported this model in black and white checked velvet for $150.00. The bolero jacket in black satin is a particularly good model for spring. No. 6.—A hand-embroidered net guimpe tri d with Valenci lace and pearl buttons may be bought at Stern Brothers for $3.50. No. 7.—The Tango garters sold by James McCreery & Co. for $5.95 have the accordion- plaited chiffon ruffles falling from the lace-trimmed ribbon casing of the elastic. 80 No. 8.— A dainty set of écru collar and cuffs with hand-embroidered dots and plaited edging costs at Stern Brothers $2.50. o. 9.—Bonwit, Teller & Co. sells the white chamois gloves with yellow stitching and nagetes for $1.50 a No. 10.—Heavy white gauntlet gloves with elastic wrists are sold by Bonwit, Teller & Co. +t. $2.50 a pair. Bo. 11.—One of the most successful Tango frocks imported by Schneider-Anderson & Co. is the “ Cupid "model in white charmeuse with minaret tunics of beaded and em- broidered net combined with the plain net and pearl garnitures. Price, $185.00. o. 12.—Shoulder collars in Princess appliqué lace for $1.25 at Stern Brothers. No. 13.—A deep collar in fine Lierre lace sells for $1.45 at Stern Brothers. No. 14.—A bouquet of the Cécilian Fibre violets, which look, smell and feel like the real flowers, — ~ a to $3.00 in a fancy box. lo. 18.— utiful as any of nature’s blossoms is sold in a sweet grass basket for $2.00 at - at the Ceellinn Fibre Flower Co. Harper’s Bazar

Page 83

No. 1.—A very handsome blouse of Chantilly lace is sold by John Wanamaker. This has a draped vest of pink taffeta and sapphire blue buttons. No. 2.—James McCreery & Co. is selling a vest belt of dark-green brocaded velvet with large buttons of the material and line-looking pockets for $4.75. No. 3.—Wonderfully natural-looking carnations in various pink and red tones are sold by the Cecilian Fibre Flower Co. for $2.00 a dozen. The silver vase, standing 15 inches high, is sold by Reed & Barton for $44.00. No. 4.—A wide band of Russian filet lace makes this écru lace blouse at John Wana- maker’s a particularly dressy model. The sash and ladder-like panel are developed in blue taffeta. No. 5.—The bridge enthusi table is included in the kit. the Gorham Co. for $11.00. No. 6.—The bedroom mules in Zanana cloth, with a binding and bow in satin, can be bought at Bonwit-Teller & Co. for $3.00. t may ti the game while traveling if a collapsible These tables fold into a compact case of khaki and sell at For January, 1914 Photographs by Feder. 1] No.7—Cosey little eiderdown mules with a narrow ribbon bow sell at Bonwit-Teller & Co. for $1.50. No.8.—The shopper will never leave her umbrella behind at the counter if she carries one with the bracelet handle in leather or sterling silver. These sell at B. Altman & Co. for $15.00. No.9.—Another aid to the shopper is the umbrella with baculite knob in which is inset alead-pencil. Price at B. Altman & Co., $10.50. No. 10.—A pletely fitted dicine case for the traveler is sold in morocco leather by the Gorham Co. for $14.00. No. 11.—The black velvet streamers tied in a coquettish bow under the chin add a new note to this boudoir cap of net, Valenciennes lace and pink rosebuds which John Wanamaker sells for $5.00. No. 12.—All the articles for the toilet, including scissors, glove stretcher and button hook, in gold plate, are snugly packed into this morocco leather case sold by Mark Cross & Co. for $21.00 up.

Page 84

I saw men who had come out of the night dis- carding their outer coats and revealing the well- appointed man. Men who do not follow set laws of fashion necessarily, but in whom it is innate to dress becomingly. YEAR ago people prominent in society were A not uncommonly seen in the Broadway dance halls during the afternoon or late evening. This winter they have realized the error of fre- quenting these places, and few women of social standing are found at the halls in the “‘ Tenderloin” district. They have changed their habits to avoid publicity—and for other reasons. A natural re- vulsion has taken place. Society is tired of rubbing shoulders with the unclassed. It now dances in the Fifth Avenue dis- trict north of Forty-second Street in the private rooms of the best restaurants, and in tea rooms that are conducted by ladies of social position. For a slight fee, one may attend these dances; but, of course, cards of admission can be purchased only by those who have passed the keen eye of the office clerk. The same rules govern the new dance centre opened by Miss Marbury, a short time ago, in the building called “Castle House,” formerly occu- pied by Mrs. Osborne’s dressmaking establishment. Here the thé dansant is found in its most attractive form, and is liberally patronized. Society is even more enthusiastic over dancing than it was last year—but not dancing in the “Tenderloin.” Between Afternoon and Night Night comes on, and we dine late, here in town, and even if the dinner be hurried we arrive at the play, often, towards the end of the first act or in the midst of the second. In nine cases out of ten we find the first act has little more value than the part we are polite enough to sit through. The exception The Ob ser Vv e7 “ The Observer ” laments the fact that in New York we have no theatres or music halls with the boxes arranged as in Europe—closed in to give a certain measure of privacy. He comments on the clothes that men of fash- ion are wearing ; on the interesting little touches of old-time picturesqueness. comes and we are unfortunate in what we have missed, but we may take places for another night and see what our kind host’s dinner made us tardy for—and listen again to one of the ten plays that hold. Thus I went again with eagerness to see Frances Starr and the capable people supporting her in David Belasco’s production of “The Secret,” by Henri Bernstein, which was produced with tremendous success in Paris last season with Mme. Simone in the leading r6le—and which is now being revived there. The evening of Tuesday, December twenty-third, saw the premiére of the Belasco productions in New York at the Belasco Theatre. Briefly, the play is a masterly character study of a woman who, through a vicious, enigmatic streak in her nature, without motive, without reason, betrays the confidence of her closest friend and with almost fiendish mach- The single spreading evening scarf tied properly, with the very high poke collar. inations ruins the lives and happiness of all who come in contact with her. The gradual discov- ery of her evil nature—the cumulative enormity of her vicious deeds which finally confronts her—in a second act which is terrific in its intensity, in its powerful grip upon the audience—crush and break the creator of all this tragedy and ruin. In the last act, her confession to her husband of her per- verted nature; her heart-broken plea for help to strengthen her to become more like him—whose nature she loves and admires—continue the power and intensity of the play to the very last word. The character of the woman, motiveless and vicious although apparently sincere and genuine, is not untrue to human nature. An Interesting New Play The first act shows the Paris apartment of Con- stant Jannelot and his devoted wife. Her closest friend, Mme. Henriette Durand, is about to be mar- ried to Denis Le Gueru, who is assured in an inter- view with Gabrielle Jannelot that the spectre of his jealous nature, a former love affair, has never ex- isted; that the object of his affection is the most immaculate woman of her, Gabrielle’s, acquaint- ance. After banishing his doubts and fears, and making him supremely happy, Gabrielle advises her friend Henriette to confess the love affair which has in reality existed between Henriette and Char- ley Ponta-Tulli. This, however, Henriette is not strong enough to do. The second act finds them three months married, at a house party in Deauville, given by Mme. de Lavageat, the aunt of Gabrielle, 82 to which has been invited Henriette’s former lover. Gabrielle is inciting Le Gueru to jealousy by refer- ences to Ponta’s attentions, etc. In one of the most intense scenes of the play it is told how Ponta- Tulli’s life has been ruined; that Gabrielle had stopped his letters and telegrams, returning these un- opened, and had lied and poisoned Henriette’s mind against him. Henriette’s husband, egged on by jealousy, discovers his wife and Ponta in the midst of explanations and, left alone with her, is finally told of her previous love affair. It is all brought home to the source of deception—the betrayer of the secret—and her final confession to her husband before referred to is the climax of the scene. The part of Gabrielle Jannelot is a great test of an actress’s ability and discloses Miss Starr as a very fine artist. Her conception of this willful, motive- less, mentally distorted woman—her gradual ‘un- folding of the woman’s dual nature to its pitiful culmination—is superb: and the supporting’ cast is of the usual excellent Belasco calibre. Robert Warwick in the intense réle of Ponta-Tulli does fine work, the best I have ever seen him do. He dresses his part well, too. There is a'decided illus- The other man, in everything that he had on that I could see, was illustrative of the latest fashions for men. Harper's Bazar

Page 85

tration of the class of Latin who adopts the modes of the well dressed English gentleman. Twenty years ago,in West Thirty-fourth Street, there was a vaudeville house built on the idea of those in London. The boxes were so arranged that those occupying them had some privacy. There was a promenade in back and it all reflected the idea of what one found in various cities of Europe. It was not asuccess. The patronizing public were not sufficiently cosmopolitan. It was tried again on Broadway in one small house where were players whom everyone seemed intimate with—and that the public approved was shown by the difficulty one had in obtaining either the stalls or boxes, many days in advance. The proprietors of this house decided to disagree, the quality of the performances deterior- ated and New York lost the little gem in which she layed and watched the players, and she would not e comforted with what Mr. Hammerstein en- deavoured to provide further up Broadway. Maybe she missed the pretty faces so well known on the stage of the house which had been closed. I will even concede that she was still too primitive to accept an essentially foreign idea. American and English Playhouses But to-day it is difficult to understand why, in this great city, there is not some place of amusement where part of the public may sit in comfortable orchestra seats and others in correctly arranged, private boxes, with the accommodations, liberties and courtesies of Europe given them—and enjoy a performance which may begin at nine o’clock and stop at twelve. There should be loge boxes as there I have pictured one of these youths as | saw him and the details of his dress might be copied by many who are fearful of displaying their ignor- ance by asking questions. January, 1914 were in those old theatres, and not a tier of seats sep- arated only by a rail from the rest of the house—or a number of elevated chairs placed in a most con- spicuous position, which make the occupants the centre of all eyes and the term private box ridicu- lous. There is a demand for such a place and it would be a success, under proper management, ex- cluding the prohibitive prices that were attempted at the recent Folies Bergéres. I have heard ex- pressed during the last year many times after late dinners the regret that we have no amusement hall where we might go for an hour or so, and when cer- tain houses were suggested the lack of privacy in the boxes made them impossible for women dressed for a dance later in the night. And there are others who want this privacy in public places. I have listened to groups from the South and West, even to voices from over the seas, wondering if, outside the great Opera House, there was not some resort where society might be seen. We are quite suffi- ciently cosmopolitan to-day for a London Music Hail, with its accommodations, liberties and cour- tesies. Who would patronize it? Those whom I have mentioned, the lilies of the “Tenderloin” and the public at large would—and would enjoy it, es- pecially with the privacy of proper boxes. The Man in Evening Dress I have touched lightly, in a past issue, upon men’s evening clothes. I have mentioned the touches of long ago that are to be found to-day and some of the extravagances that are not paraded for the public eye. Let us take what is on parade, the man as we see him at various hotels in the evening, and see if we cannot find that reflection of conti- nental dress expressed as accurately at night as it may be seen in the apparel of noticeable men about town during the day. I wandered recently, before Pink evening coat, coloured silk facings on lapels, engraved gilt buttons on coat, waistcoat of plain white linen. Black silk stockings. dining, through the corridors of a great hostelry at Fifty-ninth Street and Fifth Avenue. The large corridors were comfortably filled and there was evident an air of dignity and good breeding. I saw men who had come out of the night discarding their outer coats and revealing the well-appointed man— men who do not follow the set laws of fashion nec- essarily, but with whom it is innate to dress becom- ingly—and others who looked remarkably well in their more pronounced perfection of attire. In the dress of these two classes of men there were details that have always been essentials and both classes observed them. But there was a difference between the two. Let me take two of these men and describe what they wore and my word picture and drawing may shcw more explicitly what I mean. One had removed his overcoat; the other had not. The first was in a suit of black. The coat was not exaggerated in closeness nor in any line, and the trousers hung with a slight crease above the var- nished boots. The four-button white waistcoat did not expose any late vogue of men’s fashions, and the pearl studs and cuff buttons were unchanged from what he has worn with evening clothes within my memory. The other man, in everything as far as I could see, was illustrative of the latest fashions for men. The perfectly-setting evening overcoat ’ with satin collar and low rolling fronts that exposed the single jewel stud, the shape of the collar, the tying of the cravat, could not be touched—in fact from hat to boots he looked to me a very fair example of the Guardsmen that one seesin London. Further down the Avenue I dined and saw perhaps not the same exactness in many instances, but there were men who had every appearance of copying in their dress the gentlemen of England whom I have just mentioned. At the theatre this theme was car- 83 Satin breeches, three cut steel buttons and cut stee] buckle below knee. Patent leather pumps. ried out by younger men. I have pictured one of these youths as I saw him and the ensemble might be copied to advantage by many who are fearful of displaying their ignorance by asking questions. The single stud is a calibre sapphire surrounded with rose diamonds. In the cuffs the same jewels form the links and dull crystal ovals with sapphire centres button the waistcoat. The tilt of the hat —it is seemingly a fashion—it has a reason—we will let it pass. Later, after the play I was in a man’s room while he dressed for a dance—a costume dance. He went in the evening dress of the Hunt Club of which he is a member. The coat was pink with facings—we will say of pale blue. The gilt buttons on the coat and white waistcoat showed three en- graved, block letters. The black satin breeches buttoned down from the right of the knee bone with three cut steel buttons and below, on the strap, was a buckle of cut steel—then brilliant silk stockings and pumps. I feel that everyone interested in polo will regret Mr. Whitney’s decision not to be one of the four de- fenders of the International Cup next summer. His place as captain will be taken, I am told, by Mr. J. M. Waterbury; and there is a general feeling that no better man could be chosen. The other members of the team will probably be Mr. Lawrence Water- bury, Mr. Devereaux Milburn, and, I sincerely trust, Mr. Malcolm Stevenson. My desire to see Mr. Stevenson in the play will be shared, no doubt, by most unprejudiced enthusiasts; and I feel sure that those who are to choose from the sportsmen’s standpoint will agree with me that we could not pro- duce a stronger four than the Messrs. Waterbury playing one and two, witk Messrs Stevenson and Milburn to back them up.

Page 86

“I’ve been sulking,”’ he laughed genially, trying to lift his voice to a plane of easy facetiousness, “and smoking. What, may I ask, is the very evident excitement? * “T thought you knew,” she exclaimed ingenu- ously. “I thought of course you knew! Mrs. Blakely-Wells has lost her ruby pendant, and—and they’re searching the room for it.’ “They're Closing the Doors!” Not a tremor in the Dancer’s lazily comfortable body betrayed him. As if in preoccupation, “ Poor lonesome old dame,” he repeated his words of an hour before. “Why, what shocking irreverence!’ she reproved him, but a sparkle of dawning admiration glinted in her eyes. A new commotion in the front of the room caught her attention. “Mr. O’Mara telephoned for detectives,” she explained to the man beside her. ‘He apparently believes in action first and search afterward. They’re here—why—oh! They’re closing the doors!” The Dancer half rose to his feet, but the girl’s hand leaped out to stay him. His face had shed its mask of debonair youth; it was hard now—hard and a little white and tensely cruel. Because there was nothing else to do he sank slowly back into his chair at the pressure of her fingers, his eyes, cold as frosted steel, swinging to her face. Behind the hor- ror of her own eyes he saw another light, and for all that he had never before read it in any woman’s face he realized vaguely that it was the light of quick compassion. The girl swallowed hard. “I—I don’t quite know why I do this,” she murmured, “but you— you might bring me an ice. The lower door is right behind us. It—it is still unwatched.” She rose unsteadily to her feet, and the Dancer bowed his head and rose with her. Her eyes were too honest, too grave for him to doubt her—and there was no time now to question. As he opened the door, steeling himself against a clamouring im- pulse for haste, she touched his sleeve with her fingers, the barest ghost of a contact. “There is a trellis—the third room on the left, above,” she directed and smiled a little. ‘“I—I shall not mind, very much, if—if you forget to re- turn with my ice.” She drew the door shut behind her. After one swift survey of the hall the Dancer ran lightly up the wide stairway. Intuitively he se- lected the door. It opened noiselessly and closed as noiselessly behind him; and the Dancer stood immobile, breathing rapidly, while he waited for his eyes to grow accustomed to the dark. After objects began to loom in shadowy outline before him he crossed to the window on the opposite side of the room and silently lifted the sash. There was a trellis close under it, relic of the old- fashioned decade that had gone before, and still sound enough to take his weight. She had spoken truly—the girl in the clinging white satin. The Dancer wondered why, and wondered again; and realized that it was not the moment for a solution of the puzzle. He leaned out into the night air and noted that a break in the wall conveniently shielded the trellis from the front, an item not to be lightly valued, for above all else the Dancer hated the in- dignity of a hue and cry. It savoured of amateur- ishness. He had already set foot upon the sill, about to descend, shamed not at all by the panicky haste of his exit, when something else checked him. Here was a way out—an unwatched burrow—and he was leaving behind him a room for the moment entirely at his mercy; a room, too, that promised to yield richly, for even the delicate perfume of it spoke elo- quently of a feminine occupant. A Flash of Light The Dancer set his foot back inside the room; and then, as he half turned, he felt it—felt with a sudden grating shock on his strained nerves the nearness of some other flesh-and-blood presence beside his own therein the blackness. He crouched low away from the window that offered a too perfect background for a shot—and slipped his hand within his coat. With the click of the button that set the light streaming through the room the hand flashed out again. The stubby black pistol covered the spot on the far side of the room, finding it automatically by sound alone, until the crouching man’s eyes caught the light. And the woman whose fingers had turned the button stood flattened against the wall, her head bowed forward, one bare arm thrown up across her face as if to shield it from the Dancer’s threat of death. “Please!” she pleaded breathlessly, “please!” And at her voice the Dancer straightened slowly. The gun muzzle slowly dropped, but the man’s body remained poised, tense-and waiting. Among Those Present (Continued from page 16) “You should not have done that,” the Dancer heard himself saying gravely. ‘You should not have flashed on that light, before speaking. It was —dangerous.”’ Her bare arm fell slowly away from her face. The Dancer had thought to recognize that voice; now he knew her without the shadow of adoubt. Since that last night at the Imperial he knew he would never forget the witchery of her face, or the glowing high-piled hair, or her body’s appealing girlishness. Yet, at that instant, no thought save one of deadly menace moved in the Dancer’s machine-like brain. Among Those Present She was staring at him—staring out of painfully wide eyes—and, searching her face in return, the Dancer realized subconsciously that it was no longer radiantly girlish. It was older, a woman’s face; as beautiful as before and perhaps even lovelier. But it was worn-looking and strained and wistfully tired. “T am afraid,” she faltered, barely above a whis- per. ‘I—I suppose I shouldn’t be, according to fiction precedent, and—yet I’m deadly, horribly afraid of you. If I told you that you were safe would you,” she pointed to his weapon, “would you—put that away? Would you believe me?” The Dancer had not moved a muscle. Liberty is no stake to wager on the outcome of a fantastic adventure. “T might,” his voice came cold and restrained. ‘And if I told you that you would be just as safe— with that door closed—would you believe me?” “T do,” she told him simply, and noiselessly she pushed it shut. The Dancer stared at her for a long moment, then his hand went slowly inside his coat and came away empty. But his ears were straining to the least sound now, for whatever the game was he did not understand it, and when the time for action did come it would have need to be lightning-like in its rapidity. “May I sit down?” she quavered. “T’m sorry, Mrs. O’Mara,”’ he answered, “but does that request insinuate that you expect me to remain also?” She sank into a chair. “Oh,” she murmured. “T—I thought I had told you—I’m not thinking very clearly yet. You startled me. There—there is something I wished to ask you.” The Dancer flashed one glance out the open win- dow. The burrow was still unwatched. The woman caught the significance of the glance in- stantly. “They are not watching any longer,” she ex- plained in her small voice. ‘The doors were closed merely that it might be ascertained if—if any un- bidden guests were among those present. No one was found, and Mr. O’Mara would not tolerate the searching of any of his bidden guests. ” Not a flicker of an eyelash showed that the Dancer might have heard. “You do not believe me?”’ she asked. “T have never yet known any woman whose word was—infallible,” he replied. ‘I’m sorry.” His last words carried no more meaning than any other well-bred stereotyped phrase of regret. “I’m sorry, too, for you,” she murmured quietly. The Dancer smiled. ‘“‘Yet you believed Priscilla when—when she bade you go quickly,” she finished. “Oh, I Need Help Greatly!” For the first time the Dancer moved. He moved swiftly forward a step, for he knew that it was the name of the girl who had despatched him for a ficti- tious ice—and freedom. He waited for her to go on. “She came to me and told me of your presence,” Mrs. O’Mara explained, “just before the loss of the ruby was discovered, for you had piqued her cu- riosity. Many times I had heard of the—the gentleman adventurer whom men called the Dancer, and I—I have been troubled—deeply. It came to me then, all in an instant, that you must be that woe that you must have been sent,to help me a ittle.” The Dancer smiled ironically. It was more than a little amusing to picture himself as an instrument of Providence. “T am her debtor—and yours,” he admitted. “I suppose in return you expect Mrs. Blakely-Wells’ ruby? I’m sorry—— “Are you the Dancer?” She ignored his sarcasm. “Ts it material?” he countered, beginning to tire of the riddle. “To me it is: to me it matters greatly.” Her voice was coming unsteadily now. She was fast going to pieces under the strain. “I hoped—I almost prayed, I think—that you. might be he, when I followed you, a moment ago, from the ball- room. It was I who sent Priscilla to give you your chance. Can’t you, just once, believe—have faith a little? I—oh, I need help greatly!” She was a great actress and a marvelous woman. The Dancer knew that. And yet, when she dropped 84 her small head upon her arms, in spite of that knowledge and the faith he had never had, he believed her. “T should be pleased to be of service to you,” he said. The utter conventionality of his words, the sheer flat formality of the statement, was in itself a saving reassurance for her. She lifted her head swiftly and stared at him, and for the first time since she had flashed on the light and chanced the smash- ing impact of the Dancer’s bullet she smiled— smiled wanly. “Tt is not easy to ask—or to explain,” she faltered. His answer was impersonal. “It is not necessary to explain, I assure you,” he said. “But I—I think a little explanation is necessary.” She was talking rapidly now. “You recognized me instantly, a moment ago. Perhaps—perhaps you knew too of my profession, before my marriage to Mr. O’Mara?” “T was at your farewell night,” the Dancer gravely explained. “I hoped then, with the others, that you might be very happy. And you may not realize it, Mrs. O’Mara, but such allowances are luxuries to a man in—in my position.” Her fingers locked and opened nervously. “TI was happy,” she explained vehemently. “I never knew that a woman could be as happy as I was. And then—and then, oh, I'll give you ail I have— all the jewels that are mine to give, if that is what you want—if you'll only help me get that happiness back!’ “He Lied to Me” The Dancer was a fatalist. He had diced with Destiny and danced with her; many, many times he had wooed her, and been as often flouted in turn, till, no matter what her changing masquerade, he recognized her face. And this he knew was Desti- tiny. The thing was fantastic, incongruous in its development, yet not a detail since his afternoon in the darkened room with Blind Abraham marred its amazing perfection. In kaleidoscopic flashes of inspired comprehension phrase after phrase shot through the Dancer’s brain. Jewels! Blind Abra- ham! The Sultana! And, “Brockton!” he ejaculated aloud. Her face went white. ‘“You—know?” lips barely breathed the words. The Dancer smiled gravely, and his voice was gentler than any woman had ever heard it before. “Only that he has—or had—your emerald, and— and that he is a man whom no good woman should know.” She moistened her dry lips. “I gave him the Sultana,” she said. ‘Two months ago I gave it to him in—in return for some letters. And—and the letters have not come.” Her voice trailed off into a whisper. “‘He—he lied to me.” “And you want them back?” The Dancer asked the question in the same tone with which he might have discussed the weather; but he watched her with a queer tightening in his throat at the radiant hope that flooded her face. She started to her feet and came toward him with hands outstretched. “T do not know how you knew,” she told him softly. “I only know, as I knew an hour ago, that you must have been sent to help me. Will you get them—oh, will you bring them—seven there are —to the little dining-room, when the guests are gone? You can find it at the end of the hall?” The Dancer rose. His eyes swung toward the open window: above the trellis. “T do not choose, please,” Mrs. O’Mara said, “that any guest of mine should depart in such fash- ion. Norisit necessary.” She put a feather-light hand uponhisarm. “M’sieur,” her voice trembled, “M’sieur,” she said, “shall we go down?” Fate—the Irresponsible Jade A closed car stood at the curb in place of the fatly respectable brougham when the Dancer, a moment later, ran down the steps. ‘Hotel Cos- mopolite,” he directed the driver, “‘and no particular hu Inside, he placed his hat upon the seat beside him and brushed back his boyishly wavy hair. A flare of sheer deviltry burned behind the pain that stood in his eyes, for not in many days had work so entirely to his liking come so strangely to hand. He drew Mrs. Blakely-Wells’ ruby from his pocket and balanced it lightly upon one outstretched , and stared at it for a long time. “Fate,” he murmured at last, “Fate, you surely are one irresy onsible jade.” The elevator boy in the up-town apartment hotel rec almost immediately when the Dancer crossed the lobby; and the boy’s eyes twinkled “What floor?” he asked; and then added, “TI can guess.” Her Harper’s Bazar

Page 87

The Dancer nodded and grinned in turn, and the elevator climbed swiftly to the eighth. “‘He’s just come to,” the boy went on. “From the way he’s been ringing up ice-water it must’ve been a lulu! And say, judgin’ from what the bell- hop says, he’ll be just overjoyed to see you again, too ” The Dancer stared thoughtfully into the boy’s shrewd eyes. “He'll be tickled to death,” he ad- mitted. But the boy caught the harsh rasping note be- hind the levity. He was silent a moment, deep in thought. “If you say so,” he offered finally, with apparent indifference, “T’ll hold this car here for a while. It’s nicer than the stairs. A little quicker, too, I guess.’’ . The Dancer slipped a bill into his hand. He recognized and respected initiative wherever he met it. m8 Brockton’s rooms were only a few doors from the shaft, and the Dancer omitted the formality of knocking as he slipped inside. He even stopped to turn the key that stood in the lock before he turned to bow ironically to the single occupant of the suite. When he did turn and his eyes took in the scene, the Dancer chuckled, for all that his lips were drawn into a thin line and his narrowed eyes blazing. Emmet Brockton made a garish picture in his baggy, striped silk pajamas, his face pasty white and mottled and loose jowled. The Dancer saw immediately that he had not been too long awake. A Quite Informal Call Brockton’s puffy eyes scarcely followed the flashing swiftness of the Dancer’s fingers as he locked the door. For a long interval he stood and stared stupidly at the silk-hatted young intruder. And then recognition came like a blow. He bounded clumsily forward, one fat forefinger out- stretched in ludicrous wrath. “You—you dirty scoundrel you!” he stuttered. “You damnable, thieving scoundrel! I—I’ll have you up for it. I'll railroad you up the river for fifteen years.” The Dancer’s eyes were flitting swiftly about the room. Clothes were tossed in rumpled heaps in every corner, drawers thrown wide open, their contents scattered upon the floor in inconceivable disorder. Everywhere he could search, Brockton had searched for the jewel, until the cold sweat of dawning realization was breaking out upon his forehead. The sudden appearance of the Dancer had been the answer to his mystery. With writhing, con- gested lips he stood and heaped vituperation upon the man who had samaritaned him the night before. The Dancer’s eyes finally turned from their inspec- tion of the room to the man’s bloated face. For a moment he listened: then he lifted one exquisitely gloved finger. “Tut, tut!”? he admonished. Brockton exploded into foul-lipped incoherence. He wheeled ponderously and seized the telephone which stood upon a table beside him. “ You— you'll get yours right now,” he shouted thickly— and then the Dancer’s hand slipped over his shoul- der and took the instrument from his thick fingers as he would have taken it from an infant. And Brockton, meeting the Dancer’s eyes, threw up his arms and gurgled and furtively licked his lips. “I Want Her Letters, You Dog!” “Sit down!”’ the Dancer ordered. ‘Sit down. I want to talk.” Brockton obeyed him, but his tongue still chat- tered mechanically. “Tl have it back, I will!” Then he choked with terror at the Danc2r’s face. “So you have missed something?” the Dancer asked, too gently. ‘“‘And suspect that I assisted in its disappearance? May I ask what it might have been?”’ Brockton recoiled before him, his mottled face green now about the lips. The muzzle of the Dancer’s conveniently flat little gun bit a deep circle in his fat neck. “T want her letters,” the Dancer gritted. ‘Get up, you dog!” Emmet Brockton tottered to his feet and opened a blind drawer in his desk. He drew out a little square, red-taped packet and urged it upon his im- maculate visitor with a haste that was almost horrible. The Dancer’s fingers ran through them as he counted, and then ran through again. “There were seven,” he said. Brockton gulped. “Go on,” the Dancer commanded. “T sent two of them to—to her husband,” he whispered hoarsely. The Dancer stood like a man turned to stone. “T ought to kill you,” he murmured. “TI surely ought todo that.” He slipped his gun into its place. “Turn round!” he prompted. Brockton faced him and cowered. “This—this is for Lily Allison,” the Dancer said, “and for her—the other one—who chose the river instead.” For January, 1914 And the Dancer swung his fist into the puffy face. Brockton went down with a rending crash, carrying the chair with him. He screamed as no man should scream and tottered to his feet. Again the Dancer swung, death in his face. This time—for he had learned wisdom—Brockton lay where he had fallen.” Swift Avenging Justice “‘That’s better,”’ the Dancer commented, ‘‘ much better!’ His lips twisted in a mirthless grin. “And when you try to explain that missing tooth in the morning you would do well to keep one hand over your eye or — or somebody is liable to remark that you ran into a mighty hard-hitting, scientific door.” He unlocked the door and slipped through and closed it after him. The elevator boy was waiting, the grating open. “‘Local—or express?” he asked, his eyes dancing. “Tmmaterial,” the Dancer laughed softly. “Stop at all the points of interest along the route.” The boy let the car fall slowly. “TI liked it,” he stated candidly. ‘I liked it fine!” The Dancer wheeled. ‘You heard?” he de- manded. “Not to any damagin’ extent,” the boy reassured him and winked wisely. ‘Just the one last big act. I couldn’t help it, you know. You'll have to admit yourself that it wasn’t any pantomime affair.” The car ran smoothly into the lighted lobby. “Night,” the boy said to his passenger. “TI en- joyed it fine. And if you don’t mind my saying it, sir, he’s had it coming to him for a long time.” The Dancer nodded back over his shoulder as he passed out to the street. He dismissed the car and its driver. It was still too early, he knew, for the breaking up of the O’Mara ball; and, besides, he wanted to think. He knew that Brockton had not lied to him about the two missing letters. Kingdom-come had been too vividly near for that fat craven to equivocate; and yet there were things which the Dancer did not understand. “‘He’s a man,” he thought to himself, meaning Stephen O’Mara. ‘“He’s not just a rotten shell like some of the others. And why didn’t she send him to Brockton?” There seemed to be no immediate answer to the question. After a time Blind Abraham’s sleek ex- planation began to reoccur to the Dancer more and more persistently. At any other time his lips would have curled in cynical conviction; instead, lifted face furrowed, he set his brain against the thought and quickened his pace. The Dancer was, of neces- sity, a fatalist; and without reasoning it out he knew that the thing was not played to a finish. In the House of O'Mara The big house, as he had hoped, was dark when he halted opposite it. The Dancer stood for a long moment motionless upon the pavement, peering into the shadows that enveloped the old walls; then he went swiftly across and up the steps. There was a latch-key in the door. As he turned it the Dancer was totally unable to analyze the sensation which its very respectable touch awoke in him. But he did understand that the sensation, whatever it was, was only intensified when he had slipped down the long hall and, closing behind him the heavy, noiseless door, felt for and found and turned up the light. He stared longer than he knew at the two chairs set opposite each other across the intimately little round table. Like Blind Abraham, the Dancer, with another cut of the cards, might have been more than a borrower of other men’s chattels. Instinct for the dramatic was as hot a flame within him as was his love for ceaseless action, and at the call of that instinct he placed a chair half out from the table, back almost to the door through which he had entered, and drew nearer his elbow a glass and a half- filled decanter. Almost unwittingly he was setting the stage for the last act which he knew still lacked its climax and big curtain. Mrs. O’Mara, swing- ing the door silently open, would have surprised him save for the fact that her coming was mirrored in the long panel glass at the opposite side of the room. He did not lift his head, or even turn, until she stood almost in frent of him. “M’sieur,” she murmured, “M/’sieur?” And at the questicn in her voice he lifted his head slowly. : She was still wearing the gown that left her arms and throat bare. The black circles berieath her too bright eyes told the man that she was very near the end of her endurance, and he wondered how he was going bs tell her, gently, that his success had been failure. The Listening Third Even while he groped for words to begin, another reflection in the mirror caught his eye. In entering she had left the door unclosed. Down the reflected darkness of the long hall the Dancer’s gaze caught and clung to a little patch of white which had started forward from the foot of the stairs, and then halted. Then he knew—knew instantly—what 85 that climax had to be. The white patch in the blackness was his cue—and the Dancer did an inspired thing. Slowly he drew out the little packet of notes. “These, Mrs. O’Mara,” he stated gravely, “are‘ the letters that were in Emmet Brockton’s desk a few hours ago. Without the slightest doubt, al- though I have not examined them, they are the let- ters which you wished. And—and yet I must ask you to satisfy me first; I must ask for some sort of assurance that they should come back to you in—in this unusual fashion.” ““You—you mean an explanation?” she quavered. “You are not amusing yourself? Men have often said that the man called the Dancer is as cruel as he is clever. If—if that is true, I do not wish to believe it, now.” The Dancer’s face changed a trifle. “Madam,” he admitted, ‘Iam the Dancer. Perhaps men have spoken the truth. I do not care to discuss it. And yet, I must ask again: Why should you choose to send, instead of your own husband, a—a thief who came in the night, for these?” He touched the packet of letters lightly. “He Threatened Me” She straightened slowly; she was not tall, and she was very, very tired. “Sir,” she answered him with the quaint dignity that had always been half her charm, “you are right, ii—if you are not generous.” Then she leaned toward him in sudden vehemence, her fists tight. “They are nothing—the notes,” she swept on. “Read them, if you care to! I—TI was only a little fool when I wrote them to him five years ago. We —were engaged; and then, when I found out the sort . of man he was, I broke it off myself. He refused to send me back my pitiful little letters, and I forgot them until one day I met him face to face in Paris and he reminded me of them. “He threatened me; he was pressed for money, and he threatened to:send them to my husband. They were undated and—and could I prove when they were written? I was frightened—I cannot tell you how badly frightened I was! M’sieur, no one knows the many little things I have had to learn, quickly, that I might not be a disappointment to the man I—I cared for; nor the sensation of feeling, eternally, the eyes of a continent upon me, waiting to wag its head and sneer. I did tell him I would send my husband for them, and he laughed— laughed in my face. He—he said he would ‘raise a stench that would smell around the world.’ j “T made a mistake then—oh, a very grave mis- take, for I gave him the Sultana. He needed money, and I never wore it. It—it seemed a little price, after all, to pay for happiness; and he lied to me. He did not send the letters. He said that the Sultana was a confession of guilt, and to me—I—” Her voice broke. Exit the Dancer The Dancer scarcely heard. His eyes were straining upon the white patch mirrored in the glass. It started—and wavered—and stopped again. ““M’sieur,” she said brokenly, “they were only foolish, pitifully foolish, undated notes, written be- fore I knew. Is it—do you think it is too late for me to explain them—now? I—I am very tired of it all.” The patch of white was swinging forward swiftly now. The Dancer rose to his feet and bowed. “T believe no further explanation will be neces- sary,” he told her—and then Stephen O’Mara entered the lighted room. The man’s thin, worn face was working strangely. From an inner pocket he drew two crumpled, creased notes and flung them away from him upon the table beside the others. “I—I heard you come down, Marie, and I—followed you. Can you for- give me that?” he cried. And then, pointing to the letters, “I’ve carried them about with me for weeks—for years, it seems—waiting for an explana- tion, until—God, they’ve eaten into my very bones!’’ He held out his hands to her. “Marie, Marie girl!” he called softly, and she sobbed as he took her in his arms. The Dancer understood then the sensation which had baffled him. He knew it for loneliness, a loneliness that he had never known before, and his face grew hard and white, for he realized that he walked on the far side of the wall. But he turned, nevertheless, and poured full the glass beside him on the table with debonair grace, to play his part through to the end. Lightly he raised it to the level of his eyes, laughing and limpid and shallowly grey as the sheen of newly polished steel. P “Kismet,” he said, and touched the rim to his ips. Put when he passed out into the night that was already giving way to early dawn, the Dancer hesitated ior a moment on the s and then, laughing harshly and mirthlessly, slipped’ the latch- key from its place into his own pocket. The Dancer was a far-seeing, astute young man.

Page 88

Children on Shipboard By Walter S. Hiatt Photographs by Brown & Dawson It used to be thought that an ocean-going ship was a bad place for children, and parents made their voyages without the little ones when it was possible. But in these days, everything is done for the comfort and entertainment of the children and even a long sea voyage may be of great educational value. N the modern ship every arrangement is made for the comfort and pleasure of children. Boys and girls have not only dining rooms of their own, a special food and milk supply, but they have their own play rooms and deck games. A stewardess is engaged to look after the little girls and an old salt, kind and gentle and resourceful like Masterman In the Children’s Dining-room Ready, is detailed from the sailor crew to watch over the boys. Both stewardess and sailor arrange games for the children in the play rooms, when the weather is rough on deck, or when they tire of roam- ing about the ship. The Little Rich Boy Who Got Lost So well are children cared for on such liners as the Olympic, the Mauretania, the Imperator, the George Washington, including the ships to the Mediterra- nean and South American ports, that fathers and mothers no longer object to taking them along. In- deed, a better education can be gotten this way than from school books. Sometimes youngsters give parents terrible frights by getting lost on the big ships, but they are usually found in some unfrequented spot, busily engaged in asking questions of some member of the crew. It was so with one little boy who persuaded his mates to play at being pirates and got himself elected chief pirate. The crew was supposed to be shipwrecked and, as chief, he went in search of another ship. ' cae The Social Director on the “Imperator” Telling Stories When he did not come back, the other children quit playing. An hour passed and he did not appear. By ten o’clock at night the whole ship was astir. It was feared he had fallen overboard. His mother be- came hysterical. She besought the captain to help find her boy. Though cheerily reassuring, even he was gravely disturbed. At eight bells (midnight) the new watch was sent to look for the - boy. Aftera time the fog lifted and in the moonlight the lookout saw, nestling under the forward side of the high steel break- water, the boy fast asleep. The bubbling, irresist- ible spirit of childhood is seldom marred by sea- sickness. During an early Spring tour to the Mediterranean a young dandy, occupied in a des- perate flirtation, lost the good will of the group of boys and girls on board. He was wont to seek the quiet, shadowy corners of the ship with the girl and more than once scolded the children for getting in the way. He dubbed the frolicking children a bande noire. So the children, wise in their way, spied on the couple. One afternoon, while tea was being served, some dozen youngsters brokein upon a group of grown-ups. “Mama, Johnny saw something dreadful last night,” began a little girl impressively. “What dear?” asked the unsuspecting mother. “You tell,” said the little girl, pushing Johnny to the front. Johnny, all primed, pointed an ac- cusing finger at the dandy. “He kissed Miss Elizabeth. We saw him.” After passing a mortified day in their cabins, the flirtatious pair made friends with the children, and indeed used their games as an excuse to be together. Another group of youngsters, the little brothers and sisters of a big sister, thought to correct her affectation of superiority. They crept out of bed early one mornin~, went to the promenade deck, and se- cured possession of the canvas bucket which the quartermaster used to dip into the sea to take its temperature. Filling it with the ice-cold sea water, they carefully counted the ports until they came to that of the big sister’s cabin. With a swift swing, the bucket was sent into the cabin, its contents spilled and quickly with- drawn. Then they fled back to bed. Max, Who Entertains the Children Directly a half-shaved, half-dressed and very wet man, noted for his courtly manners, ran upon deck demanding to know what sailor had dared to throw water into his cabin. A deck steward came; then the chief steward. The man was so angry, the deck officer came and tried to explain that a stray wave had doubtless splashed him. “But I saw the bucket!” cried the irate man. The investigation that followed yielded no informa- tion. But the children knew. They had counted the ports correctly, but on the wrong side of the ship. It is on the long cruises, perhaps, that the children see most and have the most fun. the ship and settle into ship ways. They get used to The trips to The Sand-pile on an Ocean Liner Central and South America in winter are particu- larly interesting, not only because of the queer ports and luxuriant tropic vegetation, but because of the strange animals that are to be seen. Sometimes on these cruises the children become so infatuated with ship-board life that they let their elders do all the shore tramping. One boy fell so in love at Havana with the steam launch of the Victoria Luise, used for towing the row-boats full of passengers to and fro, that he spent all of his waking hours therein. Not once could he be persuaded to go ashore himself. The Rivals A truly pleasing side to these sea voyages, whether to South America, around the world, on the swift liners or the slower boats across the Atlantic, lies in the sturdy friendships that now and then spring up between the children and the ship’s officers. There is Captain Le Vedher of the Caroline, a quaint, sprightly bachelor who loves children with all his heart. On one voyage, I remember, both he and his dear friend the ship’s doctor, also a bachelor, took such a fancy to a merry little boy that they became jealous of each other. The captain had his impos- ing uniform and his bridge machinery to interest the boy; but, again, the doctor had a tempting kind of bonbon in his medicine chest that he gave the boy in guise of medicine. One day when the doctor seemed to be gaining ground he discovered that his store of bonbons was missing. He went to report to the captain that some one had dared to steal from him. He found Captain LeVedher walking up and down with the By one hand, the boy hung on to one of the captain’s huge fingers; in his other were clasped the missing bonbons. The captain had purloined them. “Look at him,” complained the defeated doctor to. the mother, ‘‘ making your boy sick with candy!” Harper’s Bazar

Page 89

To keep the skin in its natural soft, clear, fresh condition apply just enough Hinds Cream to moisten it; repeat morning and night. If the face and hands roughen and chap easily, rub on a small quantity of Hinds | HONEY AND ALMOND Creal before and after exposure to the frosty air,—it prevents chapping. The com- plexion will improve all winter by this daily use of Hinds Cream. It’s absolutely harmless and guaranteed not to grow hair. Read the booklet of directions—-Men use Hinds Cream

A after shaving to heal the tender skin. * It relieves baby’s skin troubles also. Selli erywhere, or postpaid b i Do not take a substitute; insist upon HINDS. Samples will be sent if you enclose 2c stamp to pay postage. i A. S. HINDS | 251 WestSt. Portland,Me. i”: | weniieg HINDS Honey and Almond | Cream SOAP; highly refined, delightfully fra . Aj £2, ‘5c stp | losan I ce

Add a Little Liebig 7 to your Child’s Milk It makes the milk palatable, perfectly digestible and en- hances its food value. Chil- dren like it and Doctors re- commend 4 to 4 tea- spoonful in 14 pint of warm milk. Get LIEBIG COMPANY’S EXTRACT OF BEEF with blue signature across the label Beautiful Spoons d Practically Free Send us the metal cap from Liebig jar and 10 cts. for a bouillon spoon or a tea spoon. Send one cap with 20 cts. for a table spoon, Address Dept. A CORNEILLE DAVID&CO. 9N. Moore St., New on.

Complete Alphabet for initialing. Or for 30c. we give Beautiful Guest Towel De-

For January, 1914 From Best & Co.

The sugg of a istcoat, which has been given by the cut in the front of this white broché satin waist, is a new feature that makes the blouse particularly appropriate as a comple- ment to the tailored suit. The collar, cuffs, and belt are of black and white duvetyn, and a frill of white net lace adds a feminine touch at the V-shaped neck. For the practical blouse to wear with a tai- lored skirt, crépe de Chine fashioned in a simple mode is sure to be correct. The newest of these tailored waists are generously box- plaited. A refreshing change from the kimono sleeve is shown in a modification of the raglan in which the ycke is continued to form the upper part of the sleeve. The fulness below is held in by three plaits which extend to the dainty | tittle cuff of écru batiste, matching the collar. 87 Drawing by H. G. Brcokhuyzen. A dressy little blouse will often make the tailored suit correct for luncheons and bridge. Shadow lace and net have been combined to make this waist soft and dainty, with touches of colour introduced in the girdle of Alice blue satin and in the narrow bands at the neck and on-the sleeves. A bow of black tulle gives a certain character note to the waist. One of the hallmarks of this season’s blouses is the bolero, which on this waist of wine coloured chiffon is of ecru lace. The sleeves are cut in one piece with the bolero, and the suggestion of the raglan shoulder is lent by the epaulettes of white lacet net. As trimming, bands of skunk are always satisfactory, though fitch is being used quite as extensively this winter. A frill of écru lace is wired to stand erect in the manner of the Medici collar.

Robust Health Is built principally upon the sturdy foundation of Right Food Purity first- then nutri- tion to meet the law of daily waste and repair of body, brain and nerve cells. But,—the food must con- tain all the essential ele- ments, or there cannot be robust health.

Injurious preservatives are not permitted by the pure food laws; but the law does not prohibit millers from leaving out of some kinds of flour certain parts of the wheat berry which contain vital mineral salts —grown in the grains by Nature—and necessary for the normal balance of body, brain and nerves. This lack in daily food is responsible for many ‘common ailments. Grape-Nuts FOOD made of whole wheat and malted barley meets every requirement. It has de- licious taste and retains in perfect balance all the nutrition of the grains, in- cluding the mineral salts— thus admirably supplying what many foods lack. For robust health try Grape Nuts. “There’s a Reason”

Page 90

Lilas de Rigaud The Perfume of Old-Fashioned Gardens and Tender Memories Over in Japan—that quaint little world of. quaint little people—they have a faith which they call ‘‘The Religion of Cherry Blossoms and Tender Memories.” In America our love for our childhood’s home with its old-fashioned garden, is almost a religion—and willing homage is accorded whatever influence recalls it to our memory. So—we open the gate to a world of pleasure for you in Lilas de Rigaud, “‘The Perfume of Old-Fashioned Gardens and Tender Memories.”’ One whiff—you close your city-tired eyes and drift backward to a long-gone day. A rambling old house with fascinat- ing nooks and crannies to explore. An old garden drowsing in the sun. A turn in the gravel path, and a clump of swaying green greets your eyes, topped by great purple plumes that nod and dip. A stray wind comes up from the south, blowing soft as a caress—the purple plumes drip dew and sweetness on the air. Tender memories crowd fast— you are back in the old home—— No—it was just a dainty woman who brushed past you, leaving an elusive trail of Lilas de Rigaud—delicately teasing your yearning senses with its breath from the long ago—‘‘its odor from Dream- land sent.” Try Lilas de Rigaud—‘‘The Perfume of Old-Fashioned Gardens and Tender Memories.”’ It has a message for you. The package is a gem of artistic beauty—slender—refined—aris- tocratic. The price is but $3.50 the bottle. Toilet Water, $3.50. Talcum Powder of finest quality in glass jar with patented sifter top, but 50 cents. Bath salt $1.00. Cold cream 50 cents. Sachet Powder, $1.50. For sale in all high-class toilet goods departments. Send 15 cents in stamps to Dept. L, Riker-Hegeman Co., 450 West Fourth St., New York City, for generous sample of Lilas de Rigaud Perfume. V. Rigaud 16 Rue de la Paix Paris Mrs. Pankhurst’s Story of Her Life should be read by every woman—“‘pro” or “anti” HIS is an intimate, personal story of the fight for the rights of women told by the intense, human, misunderstood Mrs. Pank- hurst herself. If she has not your sympathy, it is because you do not know the conditions she con- tends with. She believes woman’s position in England demands mili- tancy. She thinks democratic America will grant the suffrage. Mrs. Pankhurst has written her story for Good Housekeeping. It is a general’s story, penned while the conflict is still raging. A dramatic, dynamic account of the uprising of women. Millions will read it. You will read it— for in- spiration, for light, for fair play. Send a quarter for a three months’ trial subscription today to Good Housekeeping Magazine Publisher’s Building New York City The Social Heaven and the Climber (Continued from page 6) Many climbers who have failed here go abroad and succeed. Sometimes, having succeeded here, they seek new worlds to conquer—go abroad and fail. These questions are not always decided by the highest ethical codes. Indeed they often are decided by the subtle power of sex or the equally subtle power of gold. Both of these are mighty factors in all social adjustments and readjustments. The Climbers and the Snobs There is much that is good in the social climber and in social climbing. There are aspects of the process that are humiliating but on the whole it’s the quest of the hu- man soul after happiness. The prize offered is small and out of all proportion | to the amount of energy expended, but we cannot condemn in wholesale and un- qualified manner people who imitate our weaknesses in order to get some of our strength. Furthermore, if all who climbed in should suddenly climb out only the shell of society would remain. After all, it’s a matter of chronology; everybody climbed in at one time or another. Personally, I do not agree with Baudelaire that “it’s the small number saved that gives Para- dise its charm.” That has too long been the unwritten law of our exclusive people. It would be infinitely better to be overrun than to be socially mildewed and smitten with dry rot. If overcrowded we still have left the imperial prerogative of choice, and one application of it would be sufficient to restore to us balance and equilibrium. The society of the future, I think, will not leave this matter to. whim and caprice. There will be social requirements as defi- nite as a civil service examination. There will be coteries of refined people striving to serve each other and the world—in art, science, literature and the humanities. To these coteries will be admitted men and women of character who by talent or service have earned admission. I see signs of its coming. The democratic ideal of the twentieth century has reached every nook and corner of our most exclu- sive social demesne. There are very few who do not welcome the new régime but amongst those who prefer the old order with its glitter and pomp are the people who have recently climbed in. Tango Teas and the Old Fireside Chat Amid the various social changes that are rapidly overtaking us in this transition period, I am sure that nothing impresses one more than the contrast between the afternoon tea of to-day and what it was in the days of our ancestors. Then one called to have a quiet chat with a friend over a dish of tea by the fireside, and passed a delightful hour discussing the topics of the day. The rush of life has utterly transformed the tea hour. I dropped in the other day at the home of Lady Garvagh, opposite Marble Arch. Lady Garvagh, by the way, is a very beautiful woman and one of the leaders in London society. On her card of invitation I had read “‘ Do drop in for a cup of tea.” The door was flung open by the butler, who repeated, like an automaton: “Bridge is in the library; the tango up in the ball-room.” “You will find her ladyship at the bridge table in the library,” he added, in answer to my query. As I entered, I could see that the play- ers were much more filled with interest in the stakes than with the joy of the game. Indeed, one could almost tell, by the de- gree of the strained, anxious look on the face of each guest whether she was on the winning or the losing side. As I was not playing bridge I followed the strains of the charming music which I heard in the distance, mounted the stairs, and reached the ball-room. Here the floor was filled with dancers, whose faces were bright and happy. When I went to get my cup of. tea,— how different from the picture with which I began my article, of the cup of tea en- Maternity Corset 4.75 = Lane Bryant’s Maternity Corsets Our maternity corsets are designed in accordance with hygienic require- ments and afford proper support without pressure on sensitive parts. No. 350 made with outlets of fine Jean, correct lines. . 4.75 For the young mother that is to be we offer many attractive models in the very height of fashion ready for immediate wear. With expanding »aist, yet not resembling maternity dresses. We are the largest makers in the world of maternity attire and boast a thorough knowledge of the figure and its needs at this time Send for “EXPECTATIONS and STYLES.” Edition ‘‘LM"’ shows over one hundred models at very moderate price, also COMPLETE LAYETTES and REQUISITES Lane Bryant 25 W. 38th St. New York (Continued on page 89) 88 ; Bonbons ..#¢ Chocolates The Excellence of Maillard ea GOES FUME excellence ia of all the good things pro- duced by Maillard re- flects the purity and quality of every ingre- dient used, and the skill, care and atten- tion bestowed in the Bonbons making. This excel- — lence, too, is the secret samc 9 of Maillard’s world- wide reputation— French Pastries maintained for over ae j rs. IceCreams sixty yeu Maillard candies packed in French Bonbonnieres (Ex- clusive Importation) or Fancy Boxes to order, and, when requested, made ready for safe delivery to all parts of the world. Fifth Avenue, New York, at 35th Street ESTABLISHED 1848 Harper's Bazar : 3 ' z 4

Page 91

ity THe OS 6h «© Cau GORLIER 3 Francs in Paris, 75c in New York Not a cold Cream— Nor a massage Cream— But, an Emollient Water that is better than both. Eau Gorlier gives to the skin incomparable softness— But, it is not greasy nor does it clog the pores. Eau Gorlier cleanses the com- plexion— But, it is applied gently with a cloth instead of being rubbed in and then out as with a Mas- sage Cream. Harsh Massaging coarsens and callouses the tissues. French ladies have used Eau Gorlier in place of Creams for over fifty years. Now you can too, for Eau Gorlier at 75c a bottle, Eau Gorlier Face Powder at 75c a box and Eau Gorlier Com- plexion Soap at 6oc a cake can now be bought at all good Drug and Department Stores. 12c sent to our New York office will bring you samples Hy. J. Roussel, Inc. 1263 Broadway, New York 2 and 4 Place des Vosges, Paris WOOL is na- ture’s own fabric for retaining warmth, | repelling cold and i equalizing tempera- ture. It takes up § cerspiration, permits circulation and \ecuards the body WPagainst sudden ig changes. Thousands havelearned the bene- fits of wearing Jaeger Made Woolen under- wear, sweaters, stock- ings, coats, caps, etc. Famous for 33 years. Write for booklet of facts about wool. f ia io = Dr. Jaeger’s S. W. S. Co.’s Own Stores New York: 306 Fifth Ave., 22 Maiden Lane Brooklyn: 504 Fulton St. Boston: 324 Boylston St. Phila.: 1516 Chestnut St. Chicago: 126 N. State St. Agents in all Principal Cities This Dress Form carries all the latest improvements. Neck, Shoulders, Bust, Waist, Hips and Skirt may be auto- matieally and independently adjusted to reproduee any woman's figure. Easy Payment Terms Remit to us $3.00 and we will send our (iuaranteed $15.00 Venus Form, with the ‘ ep op me are to pay the bal- TH ance e rate of $2.00 ith than 50c a week. eS i Ten Days Trial im 'f it does not prove satisfactory In every wm “espect after ten days trial you may return he form and we will refund your money. i, Write for our illustrated book,ex- Mi} plaining the VenusPorm in detail ACME SALES CO. Dept. J., Bristol Bldg. New York Brings this Dress Form to You For January, 1914 | The Social Heaven and the Climber (Continued from page 88) | joyed quietly with one’s old friends around the fireside! In place of it, here was a long table stretching across the ball- room. Towards this tea table everyone jammed and fought his way, and such was the crush and scramble that, after suc- | ceeding in getting a cup, one was obliged to pour the burning liquid down one’s throat to prevent its being poured over one’s clothes. As I left the house I en- countered an old friend, Lady Diana St. Clare. She glared at me so angrily that I thought she would devour me, so I said to her, as softly as I could: ‘Why so un- happy, my dear lady?” “Oh! my bad luck!” she exclaimed, “my bad luck at bridge. People say that money talks! It talks well enough to me; but it always says ‘Good-bye!’” Standardizing the Tango The tango is just now so much the fashion in London that everyone is going to professional teachers. Yet a confusion arises at the present time owing to the dif- ferent steps taught. One professor will teach the tango in from twelve to twenty steps; others say they can’t learn the real tango in less than forty or fifty steps; and I heard only the other day that Anthony Drexel was getting a wonderful professor from New York who says he can outdo them all, but they must learn seventy steps. As the result of all this confusion, Mr. William Gillett, the Ward McAllister of | London, tells me he is making a great effort to have the dance “ Standardized ” | by choosing six of the most charming steps, and adopting these universally. When the six steps are decided upon, it is believed that many of the young men, who are appalled with the idea of learning so many steps, will learn the six, and that this standardized six-step tango will then be introduced into the programme of all the balls given next season. . } In the meantime, those who have learnt a number of steps are using them from time to time when dancing the one-step, and this adds a pleasant variety. I hold that the tango, if danced in a proper way, can have only a good effect, for it tends to take the younger men and women away from the auction bridge and poker parties, where the love of gold is the thought uppermost in their minds, and allows them to dance in a refined way to the strains of beautiful music—which is far more elevating and improving than sitting around the bridge table, playing for a stake. The Medical Criminal By Dr. Leonard Keene Hirsh- berg, A.B., M.A., M.D. (Johns Hopkins) HERE are more broken spirits, chronic diseases and deaths to be credited to drugs such as pare- goric, opium, morphine, laudanum, as- perin, salicylate of soda, acetanilid, co- caine, alcohol, and medicines similar to these, than to the pains of headache, back- ache, rheumatic fever, stomach ache, and all the other cricks and aches put togeth- er. The most brutal doctor, the one who will refuse to give habit-forming drugs to relieve pain, is the most tender-hearted, whereas the best-natured and most sym- pathetic physician is the most cowardly and most dangerous one tothe community- Truth is often unpleasant and the sting leaves a more lasting impression than does kind and complacent tenderness. Perhaps a few concrete instances will be more effectual, however, in sending home the lesson that it is far, better to be tor- mented with pains—even were there no non-medicinal remedies—than to have those same pains relieved with habit-form- ing drugs. Sympathy versus Firmness Mr. W and Mrs. B were taken ill at the same time with acute rheumatic fever, (Continued on page go) 89 ZG California, tinction at || expressing Gowns Blouses > 5 Fifth Abenue, at 46th Paris W asbington SEEWEST ideas in - Fashions for The Riviera, Palm Beach, Southern Florida, Panama and other climes. Gidding Apparel carries dis- home or abroad, individual develop- ment of the reigning modes. Dresses Wraps Tailleur and Demi -tailleur Suits Separate Skirts Millinery Gidding &Co. Mew Mork Cincinnati Fur Headquarters: Duluth, Minn. The Right School. of its own age from all parts of the country? Going away to school is one of the most im- portant epochs in a young child’s life. Send it to a good i and approximate tuition you are willng to pay. We can put you in giving location, touch with schools with tuition from $500 up. COSMOPOLITAN EDUCATIONAL CLUB, 1225 Publishers’ Bldg., New York City an excellent school to French Lingerie Child’s Dress—Hand Drawn—$ 15.00 Beautiful Filet Tiré Linens from Porto Rico Never!—have you seen more ex- quisite bits of hand drawn filet work. All imported materials of finest fabric and finish,—such as cannot be compared with domestic linens. Exquisite dress and waist pat- terns; also handkerchiefs and collar Lingerie Baby Cap— All Sizes - $3.00 Hand Drawn Spanish Linen Child’s Dress—$5.50 sets—all with the Filet Tiré worked in the material. The drawn work is patiently elab- orated under the nimble fingers of native Porto Ricans, where needle- craft is an art anda passion. Our goods and prices cannot be equaled. Write for Illustrated Leaflets of Imported Novelties THE PORTO RICO STOR 501 Fifth Avenue, New York City, ‘Opp. New Public Library Why not send your boy or girl to broad- ened where it will meet children one. Write us for information | | |

Page 92

At Officers’ “Mess” in INDIA where native Prince meets the alien officer as brother, they do have one taste in common—acquired “at home” LEA « PERRINS’ SAUCE THE ORIGINAL WORCESTERSHIRE Preferred and demanded by gentlemen ’round the world Sold by Grocers in every clime

Booth Tarkington with his inimitable humor has pictured’a real boy. The author’s sympathetic understanding of the juvenile mind has enabled him to catch the spirit, the exuber- ance, the bubbling-over enthusi- asm of boyhood. We say it with deep appreciation of the place that Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry ra EI Ee ee a ee ee a oe This Coupon and Only a Quarter will bring you the next three num- rs of CosMOPOLITAN. This is a very special short time offer open to new subscribers only. Write your name below, tear off this coupon and mail today. a Ga < -

The Best Stories of a Boy You Ever Read Finn have earned in the regard of the American public, but these tales are without a doubt the most delectable stories ever writ- ten about a boy. Worth Brehm is just the artist to illustrate a series like this. His snub-nosed urchins and wistful puppy dogs have tickled the risibles of thous- ands of people everywhere. If you want a good laugh read these stories. They are running now in the Cosmopolitan. Sign the coupon right away before you lay this aside. osmopolitan 119 West 40th St., New York City

(Continued from page 89) an ailment that lasts from six weeks to several months and is accompanied by agonizing pains and tenderness in the knees, elbows, ankles, and joints | generally. Fever, sweats, heart-aches, | and other soul-trying torments rack the victim’s body, and he cries out for relief. The doctor needs the firm resistance almost of an executioner to refuse this appeal for morphine, the drug that assuages the pain more quickly than all others, but which is itself worse than the disease. Mr. W had one of the brutal doctors who gently but firmly lifted his mother | from her knees when she besought him to give her son more relief and even told her bluntly to get another doctor, if she wished to do so. Mrs. B had a doctor who sympathized fervidly with every ill- ness any of his patients suffered. The upshot of these two examples may be quickly told. Mr. W— suffered the high fever with its accompanying tor- ments for ten weeks, and thereafter re- mained perfectly sound and hearty. While he was ill, his whole family con- demned the doctor who “tried” to take the edge from his pains with ice bags, cold water, fly plasters, purgatives, blisters, liniments, oils, and other external applica- tions to the local points of pain. Mrs. B, whose infection continued about the same length of time, has become a confirmed laudanum habitué. Although more than a year has elapsed since her illness—and she has twice been put into an institution to wean her from the opiate, each time she relapses into its use. Her husband and son are unable to give her enough money to buy the drug; so she now works as a seamstress in order to pay for the laudanum. She had a gentle, kindly family doctor, who cried in sym- pathy with her pains. And she worships him and advertises him everywhere as the greatest of great healers. Not Extreme Cases These are extreme cases, you say? Not at all. The ease with which non- combative persons are able to obtain all of the various pain-relieving, yet habit- forming drugs is a reflection upon the The Medical Criminal |

morals of a community, and any druggist or physician who encourages this royal road to the relief of pains should be ostra- cized and held up to public contempt. Most necessary of all, however, is the spread of a knowledge with which to fight pains. If not another good word could be said of the Christian Scientists, the | Spartans, the Stoics, and the Sioux In- | dians, it would be enough to say that they all made it a cardinal principle to mini- mize and ignore pain. Not that pain should be entirely ig- nored; it isas dangerous for man to neg- lect pain as it would be for a railroad engineer to disregard a red light. For pain is the notice of nature that a body mechanic should be summoned, not so much to relieve pain, as to find out what gives rise to the accompanying disturbance. When the true origin of the pain has been definitely determined; when every- body is satisfied that the cricks and kinks, “rheumatism” and “colds,” “neuritis” and “lumbago” are due to a certain malady, then measures for relief may be taken; but never with morphine, pare- goric, laudanum, opium, cocaine, alcohol, or any of the numerous other habit- forming, morality-destroying drugs. True enough, one or possibly two doses of these medicines may not establish a habit, but not the strongest man or woman in the world, no matter what your boast, can resist the third and fourth dose. They are in this respect equal to, if not worse than nicotine. Pain, however, may be relieved a little by ice, by heat, by mustard, pepper, and other irritating substances. Pastes, p ters, oils, and putties, made of baking soda, wintergreen, and similar things, have a tendency to make the patient fight the pain. Not only is there a modi- cum of relief, but a pleasurable glow be- cause at least something is being done. They have the same moral effect that a handful of reinforcements have on a large, but discouraged army. Everybody begins to fight again and endure the pain—which never kills anyone—with patience.

go

A Well Made Practical Pad

poe at : — The STAR Asbestos Table Pad will protect your table from dam- age by hot dishes or moisture. Made round, square or oval, of spe- cially prepared asbestos, covered with heavy double faced cotton flannel. Folds conveniently. Special sizes to order. Doily, Chafing-dish and Platter Mats 5 to 18 inches—round, square or oval. Look for Trade Mark “‘Star” Booklet on request KERNEY MANUFACTURING CO. 154 W. 62nd St., Chicago, Ill.

Every Car on the Market is Shown in These Issues

“\ aan are nearly four hundred active manufacturers of motor cars in this country, building an average of three or four models each. A wide assortment indeed—and it is yours to pick from if you have MoToR Magazine. Whether you want a little runabout, a big limousine, a French touring car or a torpedo roadster, you will find it described with photographs and com- plete specifications in the January and February issues of MoToR. These big numbers cover every detail of the Chicago and New York shows. They are the final reference book for the man who owns a motor car, or expects to. They will be sold on the newsstands for 50c each. Buy them separately and they will cost you $1.00. Mail the coupon below immediately and you can get the January and February mumbers and the four succeeding months of MoToR for the special bar- gain price of $1.00 for the 6 months Mail the coupon today. -MOIOR— This Coupon is Worth $1.00 MoToR Magazine 119 West 40th Street New York City Gentlemen : In accordance with your special offer, I enclose herewith $1. This entitles me to a six months’ trial subscription to MoToR including the two 50c show numbers and four regular issues. Name. ...ccccccccce cvcccse socccecceess Street ..ceceeessee acccccccccccesccecoss

Clty. cccccccccccccccccccccs oes oH. B 214

Harper's Bazar

= hn io. a? oe eee

Page 93

——}

London Gaiety famous has in many instances married into the British nobility. The young women at the Gaiety and Daly’s in London can neither sing nor act nor dance; but they can wear clothes and cross a ball-room floor as no American chorus girl that I have yet seen can pos- sibly do. In addition to this they remain for years at the same theatre, where they become known and an integral part of the institution. Their position is in every way a better one than that of their American sisters, and they have oppor- tunities, educational and social, with which our chorus girls seldom if ever eet. ie English stage-director was recently imported to produce a musical comedy which had had a great vogue in London and he was rehearsing the American chorus in a scene which represented a lawn-féte on a great estate somewhere on the Thames. ‘‘And what do I do now?” asked one of the chorus girls. “Do? What do you do?” repeated the English stage manager. “You do, my dear, exactly what you always do when you go to tea at a smart garden rty.” At which unconscious witticism the chorus girl laughed merrily. A Wide Variety of Taste The greatest hardship to which our chorus girls are subjected is the necessity for keeping irregular hours for eating and sleeping. When other people are enjoying themselves they are at work supplying the enjoyment, or are compelled to be at rehearsals. A girl I knew was forced through a loss of the family fortunes to take a small part in a musical comedy. She was most anxious to show her true democracy to her fellow-workers and just before the company reached New York for an extended run she asked a number of the girls to visit her at her mother’s apartment. One afternoon, about four o’clock, a young man called by appointment to take her to tea, and just as they were to start on their jaunt one of the chorus girls came to pay her respects. My friend insisted that she join them and the three set forth. When they were comfortably seated at a table in the Holland House, the young man, turning to the chorus girl, said “ Miss So-and-So usually has English breakfast tea and buttered toast. What are you going to have?” The chorus girl shot a glance at her host, and, then, as if quite satisfied with his financial responsibility, remarked: “T would like a nice double beefsteak and a large cup of coffee.” I recall another instance of a chorus girl who was somewhat more sophisti- cated in her knowledge of good eating and of fine wines. A youth who was much given to entertaining young ladies of the chorus had asked this particular girl to supper for the first time. When it came time to give the order to the waiter he turned to his guest and, using a phrase which was a sort of habit with him, said: “‘Do you like anything better than champagne?” “T do,” said the girl promptly; “I like Berncastler Doctor-1884.” The young man insists that on this occasion he cheerfully paid the check for this most expensive of vintage wines, but never again used his set phrase. Not the Butterfly She Seems It has long been the custom of our comic writers, in a spirit of cynicism, no doubt, to refer to the chorus girl as “laughter-loving” and as “hard-work- ing.” As a matter of fact she is both. She is “laughter-loving” because she has youth and health and high spirits. If she did not have these qualifications she would not be a chorus girl, for such traits are necessary to her profession. Asto the hard work, she has plenty of it. Dur- Ing every performance she has to change her costume from five to ten times, and of- ten to do this she is forced to climb several flights of stairs to her dressing-room. I think it is true that to-day a very great majority of the chorus girls in this country are not only the main For January, 1914 Tu type of girl that has made the Society and the Chorus Girl (Continued from the December issue) support of their families, but that they do most of the housework. It is, there- fore, not to be wondered at that after a day’s work spent over the kitchen- range or at scrubbing floors, followed by three hours of dancing and singing, and a constant changing of costumes in a hot, stuffy theatre, the chorus girl is glad to accept the hospitality of young men who give her good things to eat and drink. I| | do not refer to the class of chorus girland | SJ show girl who lives far removed from her | family in a cozy flat with her own maid and surrounded by all of the luxuries of life; she represents a very small percent- age of her profession. It is this type of chorus girl who marries the rich man’s son only with the object of demanding a large cash settlement from father-in- law or living luxuriously for the rest of her days on alimony. It is this girl whose story is flaunted in the public prints and who has brought discredit on a calling of which the name is infinitely worse than the game. The Chorus Girl Here and Abroad As to the marriage question, very few American chorus girls emulate their British cousins by marrying what is known as “well”—I mean by marrying young men of exceptional financial and social position. If one eliminates several of the blackmail variety, I know of only two marriages in recent years of chorus girls with men of standing that have not already hung out signals of distress. In one of the cases the family of the man recognized the girl. As the chorus girl occupies a position so much more important in England than in America it is only natural that over there she should be more seriously con- sidered, and, that she zs more seriously considered there can be no doubt what- ever. Sir Arthur Pinero has seen fit, in his “ Mind-the-Paint-Girl,” to write a sermon about her—the sum and sub- stance of which is that she is ‘“‘a menace to society.” And although the great playwright insisted that the Gaiety girl was virtuous, but still a grafter, the first- night audience in London refuted this slight aspersion and literally cheered for their chorus girls in a manner that left no doubt as to their loyalty. The Truth About the Girl Surely no one would contend that the American chorus girl is a menace to our society. Anonymously she gives pleas- ure to thousands of theatre-goers every night of the year and off the stage she is a delightful companion for college boys and old men who are old enough and wise enough to have returned to the follies of their youth. Mercenary in a small way, sometimes, perhaps. The telephone bill must be paid or how can the young men call her up to ask her todine? And then dear mother, who is sufficiently generous to give her daughter a latch-key, must be repaid by a bonnet or a great coat for the winter. There is one chorus girl in New York who always takes mother home a bottle of wine, and still another who insists that her presence at a supper is worth a dozen pairs of stockings or gloves or a hat—and she rates her hats at forty dollars each. But to apply to these really hard-work- ing, really amusing, underpaid, gregarious children of nature the name of grafter, is as foolish as it is to contend that they could possibly be a menace to any society. The great trouble with the chorus girl is that she is a contradiction and therefore misun- derstood. There are a great many people who cannot comprehend a girl who washes the dishes by day, eats ham and eggs, if she is lucky, and often walks to the theatre to save a nickel and who, on the other hand, sups by night on caviare and cham- pagne and returns in a taxicab to her home where once more she becomes the family drudge. But, after all, if one stops to consider, this type of chorus girl (and she is the type which is by far the most numerous) is not so different from Cinderella of the story books. And, surely, there is not one amongst us who did not love Cinderella whole-heartedly and feel exceeding glad when she caught the Fairy Prince. Wedding

would be greatly helped in making the arrangements for her Wedding,the Wedding Breakfast,the Entertain- ment of the Bridal Party etc., by receiving our Wedding Suggestions which will be sent free on Tequest..~ ~~

628 Fifth Ave. New York Established 1n 1839

Rn SAP oa Q IQ9OSsIs Bee, 6 o~ Osa ly Y S . oe es sells te =<Pe DIP AARC

aS 4 SS oo) wipe)

eta 235 F2ROM out the Northland on a cold, blus- SEW] : fev tery day, from far away Nova Scotia came a courier post haste to the metropolis on missions of great import. Fearlessly he faced his duty, bravely he tackled the tasks imposed upon him. Not the least of these was —he had to do his wife’s shopping! And right nobly did he accomplish it. Straightway came he to the Bazar office and gave his instructions:

1 sports coat, 1 French nightrobe, 2 pairs silk stockings, 1 silk jersey petticoat, 4 pairs silk socks, 3 maid’s dresses and 2 maid’s aprons —mostly as shown in the Bazar. The deed was done! The goods were delivered to the gentleman’s hotel, together with cheque for un- expended balance. The “Personal Shopping Service” had saved him much time and considerable money—and he went his way rejoicing. All who will may benefit bv this service, in person or by mail. Address: Jane Jarvis, Director HARPER’S BAZAR “Personal Shopping Service’’ 1100 Publishers’ Building New York

Page 94

In fabric, trimming and design, the brassiere has un- dergone a transformation. _ Fashion’s insistance on relaxed lines and the diaphanous upper portion of the gowns calling for a decorative as well as a sub- stantial foundation — have @ A P Brassiere -f. Directoire A ; The f§ : Tango H | ys B : f /. a fh i s ' s a . LW) ! 1 Ni | e a } * } r ‘ \ie &f Style 1 4 1 No. 26 | 1 " Price XA — n $1.50 iis brought about this innovation. The designer and maker of the A. P. Brassiere Directoire Gabrielle M. Poix, shows in the entire line a thorough compre- hension of every figure and fabric requirement. On sale at all the best shops Ask for 1914 Style Booklet Illus- trating new and attractive models. G. M. POIX, inc. Originators of the Open Front Brassiere 50-52-54 Columbia Heights, Dept. C, Brooklyn, N.Y. Tel. Main 3700 New York Salesroom, 200 Fifth Avenye A-P. Bressiere-7 A. ° LA.P. Bressisrs | ~e vag A ampli =\ Like a Baby's! \ Pink-white, transpar- jj ent and soft; achieve it with Dr. Dys’ *?) Creme De i’lnfante This will keep the skin of your face smooth, unspotted, wonderful! A Jar for $1.50. $1.60 by mail. If You Want Your Eyebrows Soft and silky—your eyes more beautiful, —- a Flacon of LOTION DU DR. DYS, for ($2.65 by mail). Dr. Dys’ own book, from the French, free on request. V. DARSY, Dept. B, 14 West 47th St., New York Genuine French Preparations Only Also for sale at STERN BROS., N. ¥. BLACH p Face Powper | | | | | 2 PPP SSS SSS SSS SSS SSS SSS SSS OSS SEP SSS SESS EDP: Pee Se Se > ee eS SP! PP ESS ES SS SEP SPSS SSP SSP SHES SSE POS SPSPIP STH 2SS YO SS SEBS SS >>> SD [aA WHEN NORTH WINDS BLOW users of LABLACHE fear not for the complexion. This dainty, invisible pow- der safeguards the most tender skin and induces a velvety smoothness. Delicately fragrant, it makes a lasting appeal to the refined. Refuse Substitutes They may be dangerous. Flesh, White, Pink or Cream,50 cents a box of druggists or by mail. Overtwomillion boxes sold annually, Send 10c. for asamplebox. BEN. LEVY CO. “* | French Perfumers, Dept. ¥ | 125 Kingston Se. Boston, Mass. NoKnifeor Plaster Necessary to Cure Your Corns or Bunions — Our ** Pedicure”? is a device that absolutely re- lieves and prevents Corns, Bunions, and Callouses; it transfers its operations to the shoe ; it makes the shoe fit perfectly an«i does not malitreat the foot. Place kneb where shoe p. » mo more corns or aching feet. w Oy todav for free booklet giving full particulars, h list of every THE PEDICU ing for feot comfort. E CO.., Dept. T, Buffalo, N. ¥. jone-button evening overcoat, AYBE the English women are becoming masculine, what with this running about the island burning down houses, smashing windows and throwing red pepper at the unfortu- nate Home Secretary, Mr. McKenna. But to counterbalance the effect, there seems to be a wave of feminism creeping in among the men, at least among those callow youths whom French people call the jeunesse dorée. The other day, one of those Byronic, rolling collars was actually seen on Piccadilly and, accom- |panied by its wearer, walked right into the Ritz at teatime. Men have already braved ridicule in Vienna and Paris by wearing these V- shaped collars, but this is the first time in decades that any man has bared |his neck to the yellow fogs of this grim icity. This is not the only tendency to- | wards feminism, though, for the evening |shirts are frillier than ever and are said |to blouse out at the sides and in the back in the sweetest sort of fashion. Trousers ere worn hanging about two inches north |of the ankle in order to display the highly- coloured socks, on many of which one sees startling Highland plaids. All Eng- lishmen wear socks as thick as an Ameri- can athlete’s sweater, and the only chance for one who wishes to find the thin, silky socks so popular “out in the States” is in a store that advertises “American specialities.” Queries from the Outlander Published in the “Thunderer” All these eccentricities, however, are largely the taste of the individual wearer, and the best-dressed men in the clubs and theatres and on the streets are wear- ing just about what they have always worn. Most of the pioneers in sartorial |lands are young men who are considered absolutely daring, or perhaps those who do not know—something like the “Ant - podean” who advertised in The Times the other day, asking whether “one versed in social etiquette will tell me whether riding in the Row is still de rigueur and a part of the social round.”’ This little query, by the way, roused a flock of letter-writers from their fire- side stupors, and “The Thunderer” was almost flooded with missives fired at its own advertisement. Some took it seriously, others laughed. The consensus of opinion seemed to be that “slight im- petus was given to riding in the Row a year or so ago by the regular appearance of the King on horseback, but it has never been absolutely necessary to ride there unless one wished to. ‘An- tipodean’ wants to know what is de rigueur. Well, chiefly good manners and no snobbishness. Let him do what the King does if he is so precise. The King is the only arbiter of fashion.” King George is Wearing Last Year's Coat But the King has not yet set the fashion in overcoats, for he has been wearing some of his last year’s effects, and the tailors are terribly worried over this still unsettled matter. If the King would just throw away those old clothes— it’s well-known that many of his clothes, after the tags and labels have been cut off, are sold instead of being given away— the nuts would know what to wear. So far the tailors have been stabbingin the dark. Aside from the big ulsters, which look about the same as usual (straight, long, with a belt), the only thing they have settled on at all is a with silk lapels rolling right down to the bottom of the coat. But the good old Inverness jis still seen everywhere in London, and it will be many a day before this really ever goes out of fashion. Some blue evening suits have been seen—not so blue that they are startling, but still blue. Most of them are on actors’ backs, or else in the American bar of a well-known West-end hotel, the The Englishman and his Clothes | By George Golding 92 Afew remarks, not too serious, on the newest fads in men’s clothes as they are seen in the fashionable districts of London. same hostelry that’s so queerly populated that you could stage a comic opera, a South American revolution, a faro bank or a detectives’ congress in its lobby in ten minutes. Americans call it Times Square, because it seems so like one of the hotels near that windswept spot. Where the “Bloods” and “Nuts” are in Evidence Its supper roomsare packed at midnight with showgirls sitting at tables opposite “bloods” and “nuts”—and let it be here clearly understood that there is all the difference between those two that there is between a racehorse and ragman’s nag. George Grossmith, the musical comedy star, says “‘It’s like the difference between the true humourist and the so-called funny man, between the sportsman and the sport’”—which explains the whole thing. The winter nut is wearing dark choco- late-brown or slatey-blue, just as I said last month he would. His lounge suit is single-breasted, with a roll collar and two buttons, not too long and not too full in the skirt, and the back is slitless. There is quite a waist, which makes the army men rejoice and the fat men rush away to purchase the stiff little waist-| corsets, now shown openly and without shame in some haberdashers’ windows. Double-breasted coats of blue serge, with a waist and a certain amount of “spring”’ about the bottom, are returning to favour, and certainly are becoming to men who are tall and thin enough to stand them. The men who dislike overcoats are par- ticularly partial to this style of coat for| the morning. What the London Man Panel for His Clothes Men’s clothes are cheap in London— everybody knows that as an axiom. The prices have a singularly insinuating appeal to Americans. The best Sackville and Albermarle Street tailors make the smart- est sort of lounge suits for six guineas— $31.50; suits that could not be duplicated by a New York tailor of the same standing for twenty dollars more. Even the morning Suits, including the trousers, cost no more than $40, and splendidly tailored evening clothes cost $55 to $60. These prices are not cheap, however, in London; they seem cheap only to Americans in comparison with those at home in New York. Most of the young nuts pay $25 for their lounge suits, and have their morning suits and evening clothes made by good tailors at the prices quoted, the theory being that while the lounge suits should fit well, it’s not necessary that they cling to the figure like a glove. The Tailors are Rediscovering the Waistline As to the morning coat and evening coat—well, every man is a trifle vain over his figure. And these London tailors can find waist lines that have disappeared for years, and if the waist is buried too far down for discovery, they’ll make a new one for you. The rediscovery of the waist line is liable to lead to a revival of interest in flesh-reducing medicines and exercises. That odd style of wearing the hat down over the ears is somehow going out of fashion. Not half as many men un- consciously demonstrate the Darwinian theory as to. Hats are begin- ning to be worn where they should be. Most of them are “bowlers,” of course— not flat-brimmed, but with a well-curled brim and a lower, larger crown. The silk hats are more bell-shaped and the crown not deep. The brim is broad and curly—quite like the John Bull cartoon.| & English hats lead the fashion for the world. Last year, over 9,000,000 of them were exported to foreign heads—| ff an amusing offset to the increasing im- portation from America of shoes, which | I mentioned last month. FACIAL BEAUTY CULTURE Will make you look Younger and More Beau- tiful than all the external treatments you might use for a lifetime. My System removes aon lines, draws up sagging muscles, eradicates signs - age, and makes complexion as in girl- —without massage, vibration, plasters, or any drugs or appliances whatever—Just Nature’s Way. Iteach you a method for life. I have taught this method for fourteen years and have women international gremiargce among my pupil Young Fa aces Too can be beautiully round- ed and hollows in the neck can be positively filled in, while the skin becomes clearer, and exquisite coloring is brought to the cheek and lips Without etics. Write today for my New Booklet on “* Facial Beauty Culture, Body Culture and New Beauty Suggestions’ "—Free. KATHRYN MURRAY, Dept. Hi, 209 State st., CHICAGO The First Woman to Teach Scientific Facial Exercise. Relief For Those Enlarged Pores Never can the skin texture of the face be- come truly refined until the large coarse pores about the nose and mouth, which easily clog with for- eign matter, are purged of all dirt and allowed to close to their normal proportions. Pore Cream for Open Pores a thick, creamy paste, takes from the pores all the dirt and grime which escape the ordinary ablutions. By its thorough cleansing it elim- inates blackheads, blotches, and eruptions of all kinds, REFINING the skin texture until the surface is of a delicate, velvety nature. Send $1.00 for a Jar Today Other VENETIAN Preparations described in the treatise-book “*The Quest of the Beautiful," Write for a free copy. Facial Treat ment at the Salon, $2.00 Elizabeth Arden, Dept.B, 509 Fifth Ave., New York feSes 2 SPSESESEe Se Se Sesesese School and College Information Free There are over 500 schools and col- leges advertised. No wonder you are confused. Would you not — expert ing a residential school or alee Our Complete Information is at Your Disposal. e can put you in touch with the educational institution best suited to your requirements. In this we are spe- cialists, keeping constantly posted on over schools and colleges opering residential courses only, ey price all the way from $250 to yearly, including Girls’ Preparatory Foreign Boys’ Preparatory Medical Co-Educational Travel Universities Dental Elementary w Physical Education Technical Schools Dramatic Art Domestic Science SuSE SEEEEESEET Kindergarten Conservatories Agriculture Business “i Convents Forestry, etc., etc. We have no information on Sebciarenips, Free Schools, Corr those offering advantages to work one’s way | a, We have no free lists of any kinds of This service is entirely free from expense, now or later. As we receive no fees from the schools, you may count on our ju ment being unbi The only requi- site is your agreement to advise the name of the school selected. Whether —_ decision is favorable or otherwise t us know just the same. In order that our knowledge may y of the greatest real service to you essential to state the kind of Fa and for which sex; the approximate tocation and _ the yearly rate you desire to pay. Cosmopolitan Educational Club 1231 Publishers’ ceaees, New York Rates ~~ orc thee me eee reo. st

Page 95

HICAGO society has entered upon a new era—a period where youth and novelty have replaced experi- ence and convention in leadership. The change has been coming gradually—ever since Mrs. Potter Palmer laid aside the sceptre some half dozen years or so ago, and the women who represented her age of power gave place to their daughters and their daughters’ friends. Mrs. Palmer has been the only acknowl- edged leader Chicago society has known. Her.reign began with the World’s Fair, when she was appointed president to its Woman’s Board. From that time Mrs. Palmer’s dinners became state events; her Monday afternoons at home were recep- tions where all Chicago people who “‘be- longed” gathered weekly; no one in the city ever dreamed of pre-empting New Year’s eve for an entertainment, for the evening was Mrs. Palmer’s for her annual “watch” party, the biggest and gayest event of the year. But a few years ago Mrs. Palmer tired of the round of festivities and she has elected since then to divide her year be- tween Europe and her big estate in Florida where, in truth, she is a “lady farmer.” The house on the Lake Shore Drive in Chi- cago is dark nowadays except for the short time twice a year when it is opened for its mistress in her flittings between Europe and Florida. For many years no recep- tion has been held in its great white and gold drawing room where was formerly displayed one of America’s finest collec- tions of jade; and the art gallery, where many of the largest cotillions and the his- toric gatherings of the city have been held, is closed even to society. Without a Leader All of this reminiscence leads to the dis- tinct change which divides the present from the past of the society history of Chicago. Today there is no individual leader of Chicago society and none is wanted. The mantle might have fallen upon the shoulders of Mrs. Hobart Chat- field-Taylor had that lady cared to take general society more seriously. As Rose Farwell, daughter of the late United States Senator Charles Farwell, she was a Chi- cago belle and a noted beauty; as Mrs. Chatfield-Taylor she became one of the most widely-sought young matrons. But she is far too independent in her manner and in her choice of friends, and possesses too keen a sense of humour to bother with the trifles which make up a career of social leadership. Now that her one daughter is married—she is Mrs. Hendericks Whit- man of New York—and her sons are in school, Mrs. Chatfield-Taylor spends most of her winters traveling with her husband, who devotes his time to gather- ing materials and writing the biographies for which he has made an international reputation. This winter they are in Egypt, wandering along the Nile with Wallace Rice. This means probably, that Mr. Chatfield-Taylor will soon give to the world a novel with an Egyptian setting. One of his books won him the decoration of the Legion of Honour. After all, the annual charity event is to be given. There was some doubt for a time, for Mrs. Potter Palmer was not here to superintend. But Mrs. Kellogg Fair- bank came forward and announced that the charity entertainment would take place and would be an “ Artists’ Féte”’ for the benefit of the Lying-In Hospital. The “Féte,” which is expected to make new social history in Chicago, will take place at the First Regiment Armory on January oth. The Amateur Stage ‘ Chicago has taken to suffrage with sur- prising vim and earnestness. Early in December two plays were given at the Fine Arts Theatre by women of promi- nence for the benefit of the Equal Suf- frage Association. One of these plays, Strindberg’s “The Stronger,” marked the temporary return to the stage of Mrs. Samuel Insull, whose husband has just been made head of the vast corporation formed by the consolidation of the gas and electric interests of the Western metropo- lis. The other play was “Mrs. Pat and the Law,” written by Mrs. Arthur Aldis, who also appeared in the cast. Mrs. For January, 1914 The Chicago Season at Its Height Aldis, besides being a writer and one of the most active charity workers in the | city, is a stage manager of considerable | ability. Quite a few performances have been given by her in the Aldis Theatre in her Lake Forest home. Her company is known as the Lake Forest Players and its fame has spread to other cities. Mrs. Harold Fowler McCormick (Edith Rockefeller), combining as she does the names and fortunes of two great American houses, was another Chicago woman upon whom rumour determined to drop the leader’s mantle. Mrs. McCormick is a leader, but not the leader, although through the value of her influence she more nearly reaches leadership than any other Chicago matron. She is a woman of great civic pride and a lover of the fine arts to such an extent that rarely any movement which may mean the promo- tion of music, art or literature in Chicago finds her unresponsive, as to personal as- sistance or financial aid. It is to Mrs. McCormick that Chicago owes much of the success of its grand opera seasons. She delights in entertaining people whose names stand for accomplishment, and in this she plays no favourite field— art, letters, music, diplomacy, invention or mechanics sharing alike in her favour. She is a linguist of exceptional talent, also, and foreigners find her a ready and charm- ing hostess and sponsor. She is the pos- sessor of two great homes, one on the Lake Shore Drive and the other in Lake Forest, where many splendid entertainments are given when the mistress is at home. Mrs. J. Ogden Armour, as the repre- sentative of the other family of famed riches in Chicago, also owns a Chicago town house and a great Lake Forest es- tate, but Mrs. Armour takes little in- terest in things social; and in reality lays no claim to being a social leader in the accepted sense of the word. In this Mrs. Armour accedes to the wishes of Mr. Ar- | mour, who, like his father, the late P. D. Armour, dislikes formal entertaining. Ruche Support A: white that supports gracefully the Medici effects in collars or any give > 4x Gu heig Q ‘ N) \ Ny N \ N) \ \ \ \ N \ \ —— W,lbizeynem LAL LALL PLLA LALA AL ALLLAL LAS OSA) SLDADLLSDLLAL ALAA AL ALD DLAI ALO * ( [ | or black, silk covered, thread-like wire the shape you a few stitches attach it of the new standing ruches. It keeps oe Gtelils Mel Me Valelt) Milol dele) At your dealer. a yard — enough for one ruche, 10x ushion Eve- HE only neckwear supporter with hand made crocheted that are thru and protect .the neck 4 aranteed washable Made in all ends easily sewn Three on a card, 10« zhts, white or black At your dealer Paris JOSEPH W. SCHLOSS CO New York The “Blue Bird” With these famous Chicago names set aside, what leadership now exists rests ina clique, and a gay, happy-go-lucky clique it is, too. It is composed of men and women, maids and youths, who delight in the unusual. Most of them “do things” and they are an interesting company. Recently, not being able to think of any- thing more exciting to do, they organized a café-club built upon a French model, which is to have ninety members only and where dancing and other gayeties may mark the afternoon or evening calendar. The club is to be called the “Blue Bird” because that songster is symbolic of the search for happiness, and it is to be built from two small stores adjoining up in the exclusive north side. It is modeled on the Cafés Chantants of Paris. One of these rooms at one time was the studio of Hazel Martyn, the Chicago beauty and artist, now Mrs. John Lavery, wife of one of the court painters of Europe. The president is to be Mrs. Joseph G. Coleman, noted for her ability as manager of charity fétes and big costume entertainments wherein the unusual finds sway. Robert McGann is another officer. Mrs. McGann (Grace Farwell) who recently won some atten- tion as a portrait painter, is a member. Mr. and Mrs. John Alden Carpenter (Rue Winterbotham), the former known on both sides of the water as a composer, and the latter as an illustrator and writer of children’s songs which Mr. Carpenter sets to music; Mrs. Kellogg Fairbank (Janet Ayer) who writes a bit but who has been active in woman’s politics of late; Mrs. Cecil Clark Davis, another artist; Mr. Frederic C. Bartlett, a noted artist, and Mrs. Bartlett; Abram Poole, Junior, still another artist; David Adler, a rising young architect; Mr. and Mrs. Kenneth Sawyer Goodman, the former known as a writer and the latter as one of the city’s beautiful young women; Mrs. Edward S. | Adams, Miss Elizabeth Cramer, more art- | ists; the Countess Gizycka, a talented ac- | tress; Miss Lucy Blair, Mrs. Laird Lee, dancer, as is also Miss Anita Blair; Miss Helen Birch, who is a composer and musi- cian of talent; John T. McCutcheon, the cartoonist; Eames MacVeagh, and others who are gifted, are in this group. 93 {AULUANETAUUAULEULAU ELUTE = Ih y= m4 Se SS oa all MMMM EDS SSS In sixty years no Sale like this at ‘The Linen Store’”’ At our Annual January Sales heretofore it has been our custom to select certain lines on which we made im- portant reductions. In addition to these important reductions this year we will allow an extra 10% on every article in our entire range of Housekeeping Goods. = This means that in many cases the reductions will amount to as much as 30%. Because of this every one of our 400 patterns in Table Linen is reduced at least 10% And “reduced prices” at “The Linen Store” means re- duced prices. Every one knows that! A price of “$4.00 reduced «om $5.00” means that the price is really reduced from $5.00 and that $5.00 is our regular price and fair value anywhere. We are as careful regarding the integrity of our ad- vertising as we are about the reliability of our linens. The sale includes Table Linens, Bed Linens, Towels, Bed Coverings, Lingerie, Underwear, Women’s Outer Garments, etc. illustrated Booklet quoting prices in detail, free on request. James McCutcheon & Co. 5th Ave., 33d and 34th Sts. New York ATE =

Page 96

Don't Bea Slave to Dirt! Use the “Wizard” _ The Perfect Suction Cleaner With Rotary-Brush Sweeper Attachment (Approved by Good Housekeeping Istitue Why have dirt in your carpets and rugs; dust on your furniture and in your lungs? Why keep bending over to pick up threads and scraps? Why this unsani- tary work and telling strain when the “WIZARD” makes both absolutely un- necessary ? The “ WIZARD” has brought joy and comfort to thousands of women. Why not you? It is a necessity in your home. Send for it now. Does What You Expect Tried and approv ed by thousands of women in every part of the country, the “Wizard” is just what we say it is—the perfect vacuum sweeper. It does what others ought to do—what you expect the perfect sweeper to do. In the first place it absorbs every particle of dust and dirt in your carpets and rugs, keeping the air in your rooms free from those invisible particles that may carry disease. In the second place its rotary brush (which is used only when needed) picks up pins, crumbs, threads, scraps, etc. This makes bending over—the bane of woman’s life— unnecessary. The “Wizard” is constructed of the best material and will last many years. Free Demonstration in Your Home We have such confidence in the “‘Wizard” and the work it does, we consider it so good, so truly practical, that we will send you one for free trial in your own home. NO MONEY IN AD. VANCE. Write us to-day for our special offer, using coupon below. Western Merchandise & Supply Co. 326 W. Madison Street, Chicago, Ill. Western Merchandise & Supply Co. 326 W. Madison Street, Chicago, IIl. Please send free trial offer of your “‘Wizard”’ Cleaner. Colours, Furs and Jewels (Continued from Page 9) pronouncedly full in the back under the arms and beneath the shoulder blades. In fact this odd fulness stuck out from the body of the coat in wing-like fashion. Sleeves and coat were ostensibly cut from one piece. The sleeves, very full at the shoulders, were shaped in sharply below the elbow and for six inches above the wrist were really close-fitting. The lin- ing of this coat was a gorgeously brilliant orange and black brocade Mrs. Stevens is a Drian type, tall, slender, vivacious, | She wears ex- | piquant to the extreme. aggerated fashions with the grace and dash of a Drian etching come to life. Incidentally, Mrs. Stevens understands how to dress her débutante daughter as typically as she does herself. Miss Stevens is charmingly girlish. Her tailor- made street costumes are usually rather brilliant in colour, but plain in outline. Rose and peacock green are her favourite colours. With her chestnut hair fluffed about her face, her blue eyes peeping forth from a fur-trimmed toque, and her neck swathed with fur to match that of her toque, she typifies the spirit of youth. The three-tiered effect in tailored cos- tumes would seem to be the thing most to be desired by the young women, ex- pecially those whose’ figures have the slenderness of the flagpole. This effect is achieved by having the skirt made with a plain tunic, which should be shorter across the front than in the back, and the jacket cut away in front, but extending well below the hips in the back. Such a costume developed in tobacco brown vel- ours de laine was worn by Mrs. Robert Goelet at the Bagby musical morning the first of December. Mrs. Goelet’s wide stole of ermine was lined with ermine. When Ruth Twombly left Newport last August for a trip around the world she intended to remain away a year, but the lure of New York was evidently too strong. She returned with her mother, Mrs. H. McKay Twombly, a few weeks ago, much to every one’s surprise. And, of course, she returned from Japan by way of Paris, and, equally of course, she brought some of the loveliest examples of the late fashions. At the opera the other evening, Miss Twombly, who is a very decided brunette, (a really, truly Vander- bilt in colouring and feature is this great- granddaughter of the old Commodore) wore a flame-coloured, embroidered or hand-painted chiffon, which was dazzlingly beautiful. While the background was flame-coloured, the costume presented an effect of shimmery golden butterflies, for nearly every inch of chiffon seemed to quiver under a flight of the golden- winged papillions. Oddly enough, Miss Twombly wore this butterfly gown the night that Geraldine Farrar sang Madame Butterfly. Hurrying from one of the Fifth Avenue shops one morning just before Christmas I met Mrs. Alexander Bache Pratt, ra- diantly happy, to judge from her expres- sion, in the possession of a new black Pomeranian. This “daughter of the gods, divinely tall and most divinely” slender, was a clever study in black and white. Her gown was a swirling drapery of black crépe. Her V neck was outlined with a fragile ruffling of white net. In- stead of a coat she wore in a most novel manner a broad scarf of baby lamb. This scarf was laid across her shoulders, drawn to the front over the upper part of her arms, the ends crossed well down at the waist line and carried to the back below the hips, where the upper corners were fastened. The upper part of the scarf was thus arranged in surplice fashion and the broad ends formed a sort of glorified coachman’s apron. Mrs. Robert Goelet is wearing various shades of blue this winter, morning, noon and night. It is acolour that is emi- nently becoming to her. brilliancy of her blue eyes, and, if the shade is her favourite old blue, it increases | One | night, recently, she wore a curious head- | the beauty of her complexion. dress of blue beads—not sapphires, but really beads. The decoration might have been lifted in its entirety from the head | of an Egyptian princess. g4 It enhances the | For Good Hair And Lots Of It The Duchess of Marlborough Recommends This is the Hair Tonic used by Kate Seaton Mason, the noted English Hair Specialist in treating the hair of the Van. derbilt wae. Duchess of Marlborough, Mme. Melba and the leadi ciety women of New York, Loe. don - “ag a . he sui for thin, wea rittle, 5 and dead-looking, lusterless hair. — Mrs. Mason’s Old English HAMPOO CREAM Makes Hair Look Twice as Thick as It Really Is— Soft, Fluffy, Lustrous. pure antiseptic shampoo made from tonic, herbs is unequalled to cleanse and invigorate the hair and scalp, remove dandruff, dust, excess oil, irritation, together a the Hair Tonic makes a complete treatment that insures perfect hair and scalp Hair Tonic, bow 00. Shampoo Cream, 25c. a tube— h for several Shampoos. At ieee and Dept. Stores, or sent postpaid, THE PAXTON TOILET CO., BOSTON, MASS, A i, ‘s. 00 box for ocean voyage. The One Dependable Preventati : of Nausea. B, of Mothersill’s Travel Book sent request, without charge. a Mothersill Remedy Co., Detroit, Mic Also at 19 St. Bride Street, London; Montreal, New York, Paris, Milan, Hamburg. : A co STRAIGHTEN YOUR TOES , BANISH THAT BUNION by using ACHFELDT'S PERFECTION TOE SPRING. § Worn at night, with auxiliary appliance for day use. Removes the Actual Cause of the enlarged joint and bun ion. Senton val. Money back if not as represented. Send outline of foot. Use my Im- Instep Support for weak arches. Full particulars and advice free in plain envelope- M. ACHFELDT, Foot Specialist 3 W. 23d St., New Yor Har per’s Bazit | sae Room No. 145, 163

Page 97

Fat Rolled Away YOUR CHIN You can be forever rid of your disfiguring double chin! Remove it by scientific massage and you will look years younger and feel a thou- sand times happier! You have but to secure the MAC-SAGE CHIN REDUCER (Patented) which provides a complete treatment at home. It will positively eradicate the most pro- nounced double chin. Pull the cords gently and the 30 balls of York Ivory revolve against the fatty tissues. No irritation; only a pleasant kneading of the fleshy folds. It clears the com- plexion and restores baggy cheeks toa natural contour. Sent on Trial. My Free Book on Scientific Massage and Chin Reduction Explains. Write for it Today EUGENE MACK 507 Fifth Avenue, Suite 1004-A, New York Aged Prematurely So many women are prematurely aged. Their faces marked with wrinkles and crows-feet— just bad habits and only skin deep B. & P. Wrinkle Eradicators in the face. Either in 25c, 50c and §! 00 boxes at ome and department stores—co: by mail Postpaid on receipt of price. B.&P. CO. (Two Women), 1790 E. 68th St., Cleveland, 0. THE RELIABLE CHIN STRAP Reduces double chin. eeks firm. Price $1. Money Order Send measurements from ear top to ear top, measuring uncer chin. THE RELIABLE Co. Dept. H, 523 Longacre Bldg. Keeps ian’s specific has stood the test 38 electricity, son, in. BIG ENTERTAINER 303 P=?or Tricks and Games, 810 Jokes and Riddles, 78 Toasts, 15 Card Tricks, 4 Comic F Recitati 3M 1 Check- . ers, Chess, Dominoes, Fox and Geese, 9Men Mourns. All 10c POST PAID. 4. 0. DORN, 709 Se. Dearborn St., Dept. 28, Chicago, Ill. OME-MAKING xe PROFESSION A 100-pp. illustrated hand-book- FRzZZ. Home =f hers, at co - ’ os" cola, an or well-rTa@ po ons. Am. School of Home Economics, 509 W. 69th St., Chicago, lll. W edding INVITATIONS ANNOUNCEMENTS Visiting Cards and Stamped Stationery. Correct Style: from an Elegant Shop &t Moderate Prices. Samples upon reouest. L , 817 N. Charles Street, BALTIMORE, MD. Ss WILL SHOP FOR YOU WITHOUT CHARGE All women are invited to make use of the Bazar'’s Personal Shopping Service. Here are trained shoppers ready at a moment's notice to buy anything and everything you require from the great New York stores and specialty shops. Simply write me, d ing what you wish, and enclosing remit- tance. There is no extra charge for this service. JANE JARVIS " Director “ Personal Shopping Service” ER’S B 119 W. 40th St. New York For January, 1914 Jewelry (Continued from page 78) the newly-treated circle brooches or a modified bar pin, whichever is more be- coming, since this style is well-adapted to the tailored costume and is essential at the throat or as a means of holding in place the lace of the waist. A bracelet watch is a convenience she can not omit, and the plain platinum or sparsely-jeweled one, possibly of the new long shape that is so fetching upon the wrist, mounted upon the black moire strap, will be her preference. She may, however, decide upon the pendant watch, when a tiny one of French blue enamel, with an inconspicuous but exquisite de- sign in diamonds appliqued upon it, will ‘be found acceptable, swinging from its simple chain of platinum which is strung at intervals with small diamonds. Equally indispensable is the platinum lorgnon, with its slender handle of me- dium length, decorated in severe design with the fashionable square-cut stones. Depending from the slenderest of plati- num chains or from the narrow grosgrain ribbon soutoir, a new design of which bears the simplest floral motif on the lett side—a happy departure from the slabs of onyx of last year—this accessory be- comes both decorative and useful for street, bridge, matinée or luncheon. Necessities for The Street Bag The gold mesh bag claims its place of importance, also, for street use, its nec- essary accompaniments, such as the coin purse and card case finding novel appli- cations that digress from the chate- laine. The former, square, small and with engine-turned decoration, is at- tached to the chain of the bag, suffi- ciently high above the bar to be conven- ient and out of the way. The latter, a novel form of which opens by raising a flap at the end, is contrived with a ribbon that lifts the cards upward by the slightest downward pressure of a metal attachment. It is carried in the bag. A vanity case is quite as imperative, and those of engraved or engine-turned sur- face, of the thin model, are new in de- signs only, the latest innovation being compartments for cigarettes and matches. There is a vanity case of smaller propor- tions that is deemed exceedingly smart. It is upon such occasions as_ bridges, luncheons and teas that one sees a de- |; gree of latitude added to the usually pro- |! scribed forms of jewelry for afternoon that are suitably worn on the street. The compromise brooch may then take the place of the circle or bar pin. More elaborate in the display of stones, either as a bow of diamond eyelet embroidery with groundwork of tiny diamonds, set en pavé, or suggesting Persian themes, it pos- sesses a certain impressive simplicity. Or a pendant of pearls and diamonds, or one of engraved crystal hanging from a black silken cord, may strike a happier harmony with the gown and yet preserve that daintiness of effect combined with decorum that is the desired consummation. Again, the eighth-inch black velvet band, with its graceful, fascinating drop of fine diamond work, or of fringed pearls, may often be successfully substituted for brooch or pendant, as may the dainty tracery of seed pearls extending the en- tire length of the velvet that is a trifle wider. Stones That Are Fashionable in the Afternoon Of course, a ring or two may be de- sirable when gloves are to be removed, the sapphire being the favoured day stone, onyx or the oblong diamond solitaire con- stituting a close second in preference. A bracelet, also, that is not too ornate, is desirable when the bracelet watch is not worn. One of a single row of square- cut diamonds flexible throughout, is con- sidered smart and tasteful. As for ear-rings, it is rumoured that they are to wend their way back into popular- ity with the more elevated styles of coif- fure. But whatever their place in fash- ion, nothing more satisfactory for day wear can be devised than the pearl stud combined with the small diamond. When the drop is more adapted to the features, it should by all means be chosen, but it should be most simple in every detail. 95 UL=JLM 4 By S. S. Cleveland (17,000 tons) from NEW YORK, January 15th, 1914. Through the Mediterranian, Suez Canal, Red Sea and Indian Ocean, to Bombay and Colombo. Side trips through India, Holy Land and Egypt, stopping at points in Europe, Asia and Africa. Duration 93 Days. Cost $700 up, including shore excursions and necessary expenses. Excellent accommodations available at special rates for passage to Madeira, Italy and Egypt. WEST INDIES ZF ano PANAMA CANAL | ed 00) ae 7 re JAN. FEB. MAR, APR 16 TO 27 DAYS $145-$175 UP SS.VICTORIA LUISE ~ The Victoria Luise has been built especially for cruising in the West Indies. During January, February, March and April. Duration 16 to 27 days. Cost $145 to $175 and up. Also two 15-day cruises from New Orleans February 28th and March 17th by S. S. Kronprinzessin Cecile. $125 and up. 135 DAY CRUISE PSE SESE Ss Sear Seseaese SeSe oe Se Se fe SESE Se SEES SESe BOARDING SCHOOL What these two words mean to your girl or boy! Are you having difficulty in finding your wants amply supplied? | ould you like to know of a school which will meet the requirements of your boy or girl? y not write us? We can aid you in the selection of the right school. We neither ask nor except fees. This service is free of expense to applicant and school alike. fl In writing it is essential to give—age of pupil, location, tnition and kind of school desired hn 2 ‘| COSMOPOLITAN EDUCATIONAL CLUB, 119 w. aoth S20"NEW YORK CITY This slipper was originated by I. ) iller and can be purchased at his two stores - nowhere else. It is made of imported patent calf with white calf tongue and white calf inlay in the vamp. YOU CAN SAFELY BUY THEM BY MAIL Because they are warranted to fit absolutely or money refunded. They are sent Parcels Post Prepaid. Send for Catalog (edition No. 5). I. MILLER 1 West 42nd St. (at Fifth Avenue) 1554 Broadway (at 46th Street) CUNARD “ 2 STORES: Unsurpassed Luxury and Comfort Cruises MADEIRA, GIBRALTAR, ALGIERS MONACO, NAPLES, ALEXANDRIA ~ e” “FRANCONIA” Jan. 8, Feb. 24* q ® “LACONIA” Jan. 22 a aY “CARONIA” Jan. 31, March 17 ~\ * Does not call at Alexandria 2 A La Carte without charge. Stopovers permitted. For Particulars apply to THE CUNARD 5S. S. CO., LTD. 22 State Street, New York OR LOCAL AGENTS AY £ & Ss es

Page 98

an Was YEAR ago we announced our renowned Rembrandt Hat, which won first prize in the Ladies’ Home Journal Prize contest. Its wonderful success has encouraged us to new designs after these famous masters:

VAN DYCK REYNOLDS DEL SARTO JACQUET LE BRUN You will find these new Millinery Master- pieces on display at leading stores everywhere together with other exclusive and distinctive Phipps models. C. M. PHIPPS, Inc. 25-33 West 38th Street NEW YORK

I Beg Your Pardon| | Broadway | (Continued from page 12) | Indeed, throughout New Orleans, I} found only a kindly and gentle spirit. | The crowds in the streets do not jostle} you, the policemen have time to direct} you when you lose your way, and if you! fail to “‘pay as you enter,” the conductor} does not use you roughly and beat you up or swear at you, but reminds you civilly of the oversight. At the Old French Opera House | It would not seem quite possible to | write an article about New Orleans, | however short, and neglect to say some- | thing of the opera, because the old French |Opera House is not only the hub around | which society revolves, but is the de- jlight, the pride, and the meeting-place |of the entire city. For this there are two |perfectly good reasons. One is that |the town has very few places of legiti- |mate public amusement—only one first- class theatre and several second-class vaudeville houses. The second reason is that the people of New Orleans are at |heart real lovers of music. As a matter |of fact, one lady did ask me to her box and, as an added inducement, said that I could “talk if I liked.” But, on the few occasions that I visited the opera, there was very little chattering and the audience took it very seriously, both as jopera and as a distinct social event— |much more seriously, at least so it seemed |to me, than the performance deserved. | In times gone by some very great artists | have appeared at the New Orleans Opera | House and afterwards gained international |fame; but I do not believe that anyone |I heard is likely to develop into a Melba |or a Scotti. | Yet, as a spectacle, I know of few |prettier sights than a gala night in this same old opera house. The theatre itself jis quite beautiful, both in its lines and in |its soft colouring, and added to this is |the mellow beauty of age, that only |many years can bring. On Sunday nights there is always an opera bouffe |and the theatre is practically given over |to the old Creole families. Three gen- lerations will frequently sit in one box, | |and the amount of pleasure grandmother, |mother and daughter, not to mention the |male members of the family, takein the extremely gay comedy scenes, is as ex- traordinary as it is surprising to anyone who has been brought up to believe that Ziegfeld’s Follies is a risqué type of entertainment. The Charm of the Real New | . Orleans There are so many angles from which one may see New Orleans, so many {charming things to do and to see, that it is quite impossible to even touch upon them in a brief article such as this. One may regard the town purely from the standpoint of the tourist and devote days to the graveyards, antiquity-shops, the monuments, and as many historical points of interest as one can find in most of |the foreign cities that lie far beyond the

seas. Again, if one is gastronomically

MAURICE 398 FIFTH AVENUE Opposite Tiffany NEW YORK CITY

H200. Real baby Irish square medallion, $0.05 H201. Real baby Irish Square medallions, picot edging. $0.10

H206. Baby Irish picot edging of finest thread. January special, $0.15 Send for complete —& Catalogue 1204. edging.

H202. Real baby Irish inserting. about 1 }4 by Irish edging, rose design, picot inches wide, January special, $0.75 of z J anuarv special, $0.45 Wraps, Blouses and Real H205. Baby Irish inserting, rose and sham- Laces rock design, about 14 inches wide. January special, $0.65

H203. Real baby Irish edging, rose and shamrock design, about 134 inches wicle. January special, $0.75 inclined, there are the French restau- rants and the Old Absinthe House, and the Sazerac Bar, and the Stag, where one drinks gin-fizzes such as never were made outside of New Orleans. Or, if one craves society, surely one can find here men and youths as kindly and as brilliant, and women and girls—at least I found them so—more lovely and joyous than in any other of our American cities. And, if there be those who care little for these more worldly pleasures, there are always the streets. St. Charles Avenue, mile after mile of beautiful homes, surrounded by cypress trees, and great oaks and towering palmettos. But, the streets I like best are the little streets, any street away from St. Charles Avenue. Never could I tire of the restful, old, gray houses of stucco and the old clapboard houses, painted brown and dull red, and every one of them with its lawn, its lovely rose-garden, its broad galleries, its romance, and, back of it and above it all, the tropical foliage, the turquoise) sky, and the hot sun of this kindly, gentle, | lazy land of plenty.

96

**Good- Bye, Old Hook and Eye’’ UST consider these advantages of the Koh-i-noor Dress Fas- tener. Can’t come unfastened. You button yourself up. Adds to fit and appearance and makes a flat, smooth seam. No points to catch lace or hair. Can’t rust or pull off in wringer. Can't tear the finest fabric.

Look for the letters K:1:N:—none other contains the Waldespring, the patented part necessary for security. On all up to-date garments. At the notion counter— 10c for a card of 12. 13 sizes, black and white. Write us name of your dealer and we'll send you our Premium Book, showing gifts redeem- able for the coupons on each card. Waldes & Co., Makers, 137A Fifth Ave., N.Y. Prague Dresden Paris Warsaw Tondon . A “SS Ay > , . f Corte COME , % Pi linfasléntd >

L>. — MALLU

4

Be a ob > ee TR > + ae <

Light-Weight Draperies You really cannot know the beautiful drapery effects possible in your own home, with economy, until you have seen “AURORA “Aurora” is a mercerized light-weight fabric with the finish of silk, yet is mexpen- sive. It is remarkably durable and retains its lustre. Imita- tions lack this sheen, and become dull ard “straggly.” A wide range of patterns and colors affords great variety in treat- ments. Dealers gladly furnish samples. The name “Aurora” is woven at top of Curtains and end of Yard Goods. “MOSS ROSE” misters |He <r xy sy ty iy ir ir ir it Ww Pe eM aR A aE eo a es es ee

Harper’s Bazar

Page 99

- NOW thy business” is the modern law of nature. i This is the age of efficiency—the day of the iz specialist. Buying is our business. We give our undivided atten- tion to it. We do not attempt to keep house, and do the marketing, and govern the servants, and mind the babies, at the same time. = on bx ee ee ron a Te The professional shopper has a tremendous advantage over the casual buyer. She is not restricted in her choice; she has no local leanings; she is not bound to any one “favorite store.” es Se CV; Res Instead—we ransack the markets, we study the styles, we haunt the stores and the shops, we anticipate offerings and ae al prepare for sales events even before they are announced. Ms 7 | Thus we are enabled to amaze and to delight a great host of Bazar \ : A = readers and Shopping Service patrons with such splendid buying AE Z = chances as other women dream of but seldom realize. $: ——— Entrust your shopping orders to specialists. Get the benefit of our knowledge and experience. Let the Bazar buyers do your buying because we are specialists in our line. But, we make no charge this service is free. The January market has two notable tendencies: sumptuous displays , =] of modes and styles for Southern Resort wear, and annua! clearance a sales in household goods and underdress appareling. All manner of white goods, including linens, are offered at very special reductions. === -° Begin now to use this service, and you will get a new idea of the = helpfulness of the Bazar. When ordering from advertisements in 7 i the Bazar, mention date and page. Enclose cheque or money order = Mf to cover cost. If you will send your orders from New York cata- logues through us, they will have my personal attention. JANE JARVIS, Director ii fi PHATE PHT TEATT LUE HT HW : HARPER’S BAZAR 35 “Personal Shopping Service” 2 1100 Publishers’ Building, New York City P ' tiieetie tT ,T yeh TITTTTTryTrn ee TTT TINT hy PALIEST SER ERT EB aLs pian rT r TTT Wry Bail ! H i i \ w a seeersennees i ii) HI

Page 100

Ri: q 4 —— bs ab ee f. Tee ES Sa ane aa Intoxicated On Coffee About 15 centuries ago an Arab herder of goats driving the flock through some new country was alarmed at the antics of the animals and thought they were “possessed of evil spirits.” Fach day the same thing occurred after the goats had eaten of a certain kind of berry. The goatherd thought he would eat a few to try the effect. That was the discovery of coffee. Arabs learned to brown the berries and boil them, drinking the liquor, which was then and now recognized to have a direct action on the heart, and of course the reaction and depression later on. Coffee sets up a partial congestion of the liver; dulls the brain; wrecks the nerves, and interferes with digestion. Anyone can easily prove whether it be coffee that causes the periodical headaches, sick stomach; bow troubles, weak heart, kidney complaint, weak eyes, neuralgia, rheumatism or nervous prostration. Simply leave it off entirely for ten days and have a rich, piping hot cup of Postum. If you find, in a day or two, that you are getting better, that’s your cue, follow it straight back to healt comfort and the power to do things. Postum now comes in two forms: Regular Postum — must be well boiled. Instant Postum is a soluble powder. A spoonful dissolves in a cup of hot water, and with sugar cream makes a delicious beverage instantly. ‘‘There’s a Reason”? for POSTUM

Page 101