olor, and I have had so many
blue dresses. I can't decide this time whether to get blue or gray.
Sometimes I think gray is more becoming to me than blue. I think gray
looks well on fair-haired people--I don't know whether you would call my
hair fair or not? I am certainly not dark, and yet fair hair suggests a
sort of straw color. Maybe I might be called medium fair. Do you think I
am light enough to wear gray? Maybe blue would be more serviceable. Gray
certainly looks pretty in the spring, it is so clean and fresh looking.
There is a lovely French model at Benson's in gray, but I can have it
copied for less in blue. Maybe it won't be as pretty though as the gray,"
etc., etc. By the above method of cud-chewing, any subject, clothes,
painting the house, children's school, planting a garden, or even the
weather, need be limited only by the supply of paper and ink.

=THE LETTER OF THE "CAPITAL I"=

The letter of the "capital I" is a pompous effusion which strives through
pretentiousness to impress its reader with its writer's wealth, position,
ability, or whatever possession or attribute is thought to be rated most
highly. None but unfortunate dependents or the cringing in spirit would
subject themselves to a second letter of this kind by answering the first.
The letter which hints at hoped-for benefits is no worse!

=THE LETTER OF CHRONIC APOLOGY=

The letter written by a person with an apologetic habit of mind, is
different totally from the sometimes necessary letter of genuine apology.
The former is as senseless as it is irritating:

"It was so good of you to come to my horrid little shanty. [The house and
the food she served were both probably better than that of the person she
is writing to.] I know you had nothing fit to eat, and I know that
everything was just all wrong! Of course, everything is always so
beautifully done at everything you give, I wonder I have the courage to
ask you to dine with me."

=THE DANGEROUS LETTER=

A pitfall that those of sharp wit have to guard against is the thoughtless
tendency toward writing ill-natured things. Ridicule is a much more
amusing medium for the display of a subject than praise, which is always
rather bromidic. The amusing person catches foibles and exploits them, and
it is easy to forget that wit flashes all too irresistibly at the expense
of other people's feelings, and the brilliant tongue is all too often
sharpened to rapier point. Admiration for the quick