ove that she had no claim upon
gentility. Evan used to go so far as to say that the only people who
display their fine clothes in hotels are those who have no homes in which
to wear them.

Dear, innocent provincials, the Whirlpoolers have changed all that, and
given the custom their hall mark that stamps it vogue. In fact, in
glancing at the papers, by the light of our Bluff Colony, which, after
all, is but a single current of the pool that whirls in the shape of the
letter S, it seems to me that a new field has been opened for the society
journalist--the reporting of the gowns worn at the restaurants in the
"between seasons."

One evening, a few weeks ago, Evan and I went, by request, to one of the
most celebrated of these resorts to call upon some friends of his, a
bride and groom, then passing through the city. We were directed where to
find them in the corridor--midway would have been a better term. We found
them, and many others beside!

"Where do these people come from?" I whispered to Evan, looking down the
row of women of all ages and, if expression may indicate, all grades,
who, dressed and undressed in lavish opulence, were lolling about, much
as if expecting a call to go upon the stage and take part in some
spectacle, but that the clothes and jewels were too magnificent to be
stage properties.

"Brewers' wives from the west, and unknown quantities; people who come to
New York to see and be seen," he answered carelessly; but almost as he
spoke his words were checked by the entrance of an equally gorgeous
group, composed of those who Lavinia Dorman had assured us were among the
most conservative of our new neighbours, all talking aloud, as if to an
audience, as they literally swept into the dining room, where Mrs. Center
was already seated. To be sure, the clothes, in their cases, were worn
with a difference,--the ease of habit,--but to all outward appearance the
distinction began and ended there. Ah me! to think of having such things
cross the horizon in May, when, unless one is forced to be miserable, one
must be inexpressibly happy.

I have been working all the month in my garden, as of old, or trying to,
at least, but upon the principle that no member of a community can either
live or die wholly to, or by, himself, I here missed the untrammelled
liberty of yore. Not that I care if I am detected collarless, in a brown
holland apron, with earthy fingers, and sometimes even a smutty nose, but
the Whirlpo