The Golden Age Reached in New York's Scramble

Fashion has its silver ago and its age of gold. This spring of 1893 gold, yellow, shining, heartless metal, mother of murders and temptress to terrible privations, the yellow root of red evil holds sway. In the silver ago we had combs and brushes, buckles, toilet cases, picture frames and other stuff gleaming with the paler metal. It wasn't rich enough for the blood of New York. Gold has not displaced it, but triumphantly flaunts itself above it.

A little time ago the satin slipper with silver flagree toe and heel tip was quite good enough for any one. But it only cost from $20 to $40, and the reckless gamblers of society quadruple the ante by calling for gold, gold, gold! For a time they rest satisfied as they poke their gold tipped toes from beneath Worth "creations" of afternoons.

The gold tipped shoes are only for house wear. You don't see 'em on Broadway. Their use is to make poor callers envious, than which there can be no greater happiness.

This is but an instance. The men are as bad, or worse; for a pair of gold tipped shoes at $150 are at least visible, and a pair of $75 gold suspender buckles haven't even that merit. The only use for them is to show that one can stand the pace. Ostentation is like the childish game of "dare."

"I'll stump you to wear gold suspender buckles," says the king of the dudes.

"I'll see your gold buckles" (to change the figure), says a pretender to the title, "and I'll raise you a brilliant in each."

And the bunker is the devil himself....

Won't some public benefactor ever call for a show down and stop "raising?" The extravagance of wealthy people in small personal expenditures has grown out of all proportion. Trifles and trinkets cost fortunes; good pictures by American artists go begging, and authors of good books trim their cuffs. It is not a high ideal of culture which the butterflies cherish.

But truth compels me to add that I have not yet seen a baby's bath tub in solid gold. It's reasonably common in silver. I shall be on the lookout.

The Country Editor

Mr. Willis B. Hawkins, who pubisheth that unique manual for newspaper workers and advertisers, "Brains," thus bewaileth the joys of the country editor in the hearing of the interviewer:

"for seven years I had no use for money. My paper was published in a small town in Illinois. Everybody in town owed the paper, the paper owed everybody, and no one ever thought of setting an account on either side. If I went anywhere on the railroad I had a pass. If I wanted a suit of clothes or a ham I went into a store and got it. I don't know whether it was charged or not, and it didn't make much difference. Probably the dealer's advertising and subscription bill was enough to cover the cost; if not, no matter. The barber shared on account, and on account the grocer sold potatoes. Into that Eden of delight came the serpent when our feeble imitator across the way got the telegraph place service away from us. His circulation doubled right away; ours, alas! didn't.

"The economies of the office were entertaining. My partner didn't believe in spending money, even if we had it to spend, which would have been a monstrous and unreasonable assumption. I remember once we had to print a pamphlet out of some articles which had appeared in the paper. Instead of resetting the matter we fitted it in sidewise, two columns to a page, and when we came to a cut that wouldn't go in right side up, turning it round sidewise. It was a beautiful book."

If the truth were told some such experiences as these have gone to the development of more than half the best editors and publishers in New York.

Arnold's New Venture

I hear from England that Sir Edwin Arnold's purchase of the English illustrated Magazine from the Macmillan's is construed as meaning that all is not well with him in his rather uncomfortable position as editor of the Daily Telegraph. The thrifty Lawson, proprietor of that great paper, is said to refer to Sir Edwin with pardonable pride and rather in the tone of one who should say: "We keeps a poet in the 'ouse, sir." As for the magazine it would have been a magnificent opportunity three years ago for men of Arnold's ability. Within that time the British publishers have apparently waked from their lethargy to a realization of the achievements of Brother Jonathan. American publishers were beating them on their own ground, and the principal American magazines have an enormous sale. Probably they have no less now, but the new cheap English magazines have had a tremendous success, and the new weekly, the Sketch, is actually better than anything of its kind in America. It is fortunate for the lotus eating Sir Edwin that he has had long experience in the literary field. He will need it.

What a curious fact it is, by the way, the English magazines are read so much less here than ours are there. I remember when I was last in England, Mr. and Mrs. Pennell's truthful sketches of the Highlands were just appearing in Harper's. Everybody had read them, and everybody was indignant. Who in America reads a British popular magazine.

Etc. Bonaparte

The American people are not noted for reverence. Prince Roland Lucien Pierre Napoleon Bonaparte is known in New York as "Etc." Bonaparte, or simply "Etc."

Mr. Bonaparte feels almost at home here. His family has always been closely associated with the new world. The first Napoleon's empress came from the West Indies. He himself was friendly to this country and sold it Louisiana. Younger members of the family have lived at Baltimore and Trenton, and relatives are plenty in the former city now.

Young Napoleon is a handsome fellow, at least six inches taller than his most illustrious grand uncle, "the Corsican upstart." He made a much better impression in New York than the rather pompous Veragun, though, of course, Columbus' descendant got all the official glory.

Chicago will impress all its famous visitors much more favorably than did New York. Their reception here has been bungled.

The Marriage of Actresses.

The persistent gossip about Mrs. Potter's intention of retiring from the stage, marrying a rich New Yorker and settling down again to a quiet domestic life has been the cause of some quiet canvassing to ascertain who the rich business many may be. Perhaps there "ain't no such a person." The marriages of actresses are a fruitful topic. They turn out sometimes so well and sometimes so badly that it is pretty difficult to say how Mrs. Potter would fare if she were really to try a domestic role again. She would be following many illustrious examples. Mrs. George J. Gould is the first that would occur to any one. Mary Anderson Navarro next, perhaps. These, with that of Mrs. John Hoey, are marriages that turned out happily. Emma Abbott had and Clara Morris has a husband unknown upon the stage, but devoted and kind. You don't hear much said of Mr. Cecil Clay, Rosina Vokes' husband, but he is one of the old fashioned sort. Most actresses marry actors, however, and it is probably the wisest choice they can make. Robert L. Cutting's marriage to Minnie Seligman was an exception to all rules. It is said, by the way, that one reason for Father Cutting's "cutting up nasty" about the matter was that he had been rather attentive to the fair Minnie himself.

Mrs. Potter's professional career has been a strange one. Going to it as the most successful amateur in New York, she has outdone the old hands by the daring way in which she has acted risky plays. When she first played Cleopatra and very literally bared her bosom to the property asp, New York, even blasé New York was shocked. During her entire foreign tour she employed a newspaper man here to secure the insertion of items about her in the papers and then quarreled with him about the pay.

On the whole, if she wants to regain a place in New York society. Mrs. Potter will need to marry very well indeed. I'd like to know who the happy man is. I do know who he isn't and that is James Brown Potter.

David Wechsler