mise that one almost begins to fear lest New
Orleans become too much enamored of her new-found materialism--lest the
easy-going, pleasure-loving, fascinating Creole belle be transformed
into the much-less-rare and much-less-desirable business type of woman:
a woman whose letters, instead of being written in a fine French hand
and scented with the faint fragrance of vertivert, are typewritten upon
commercial paper; whose lips, instead of causing one to think of kisses,
are laden with the deadly cant of commerce; whose skin, instead of
seeming to be made of milk and rose leaves, is dappled with industrial
soot.

Lord Chesterfield in one of his letters to his son, intimated that
beautiful women desire to be flattered upon their intelligence, while
intelligent women who are not altogether ugly like to be told that they
are beautiful. So with New Orleans. Speak of her individuality, her
picturesqueness, her gift of laughter, and she will listen with polite
ennui; but admire her commercial progress and she will hang upon your
words. Gaiety and charm are so much a part of her that she not only
takes them as a matter of course, but seems to doubt, sometimes, that
they are virtues. She is like some unusual and fascinating woman who,
instead of rejoicing because she is not like all other women, begins to
wonder if she ought not to be like them. Perhaps she is wrong to be gay?
Perhaps her carnival proves her frivolous? Perhaps she ought not to
continue to hold a carnival each year?

Far to the north of New Orleans the city of St. Paul was afflicted, some
years since, by a similar agitation. It will be remembered that St.
Paul used to build an ice palace each year. People used to go to see it
as they go to New Orleans for Mardi Gras. Then came some believer in the
standardization of cities, advancing the idea that ice palaces
advertised St. Paul as a cold place. As a result they ceased to be
built. St. Paul threw away something which drew attention to her and
which gave her character. Moreover, I am told this mania went so far
that when folders were issued for the purpose of advertising the region,
they were designed to suggest the warmth and brilliance of the tropics.
Had St. Paul a bad climate, instead of a peculiarly fine one, we might
feel sympathetic tolerance for these performances, but a city which
enjoys cool summers and dry, bracing winters has no apologies to make
upon the score of climate, and only need apologize if she