New Orleans daily crescent. [volume] ([New Orleans, La.]) 1851-1866, 1857-02-16
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when i am weary +; it arnuses me when am sad.
Sometimes it sad6ens me when am gay but OF that
hereafter, perhaps. M 100 54f<f
Nv observation is more whimsical than profound.
begin with determination to observe men and man
ners closely but before am aware OF it, am guess
ing the number Of letters in the signs or admring
new pattern of vase in the china shops. When come
to myself smile sarcastically at my inrmity Of pur
pose and begin anew. Five minutes after, am on
the other side of the street. in front Of bookstore
scrutinzing the new books. Ny vivid imagination
pictures the distant day when too shall have arrived
at the dignity Of print and binding, and strut on
proudly, wrapping my cloak around me like royal
mantle. Many are my backslidings from the path Of
knowledge, but many are the flowers that gather by
lie roadside see more than dream Of at the time;
gimpses Of faces nger and ripen in my memory, and
beautiful and bizarre dresses sss
Ws eHang cut their hammers it's outer walls''
When my great aesthetic work, in three quarto vol
umes, Y The PHILOSOPHY OF DRESS IN AMERICA
appears the world will be amazed at my power Of OBJ
seryati0n. {sS
have a warm interest in some of the men and
women that meet in Broadway. Their faces are as
scribe the color Of their hair and eyes initiate the
pecuarities Of their gait and draw up pretty cor
rect inventory of their wardrobe know when they
need new garments, "a few, it grieves me to say,
need them sadly at presently and when they have
new garments, rejoice.
Five Of six weeks ago noticed gentleman, whom
have since seen daily. 1t was the dusk of raw
November evening, one Of those nights when the
no business to keep them out Of doors hurry home
as fast they was summing myself in tropi-
cal picture at Goupils window, when he passed,
brushing my elbow l turned suddenly, and caught
his proale as he glided noselessly away. There was
something in his face that made me look at him
again. It was a pale face, manly but iTesoute; a
littleo bloom fingered in the cheek, like tint of
summer in fading autumn leaf. The lips were thin
and compressed but more, it seemed, from habit than
7irmness of character. His coat was buttoned up
tight to the chin and his hat was pushed down firmly
over his brow i followed in his wake as far as the
st. Nicholas, where I lost him. he must have i'm
pressed deeply, forI remember counting but three
signs, and crossing the street twice in the whole
time. S61
H I sauntered slowly homeward and wondering who
he was, associated him in my mind with the late
Edgar A. Poe. It was a freak Of fancy on a slight
base Of fact Nine ten years ago, when first put
pen TO paper, had passage Of arms with MI. Poe.
sent him in bis editorial capacity He said the verses
were good Il fear he fattered me) but that was not
their author This produced a reply from me, which
reply produced another difference Of opinion. After
no more. felt bitterly toward the lover Of 7 the
lost Lenore until L saw him again., on a rainy
autumn night, standing under rugged and dripping
awning, IN forlorn and beggarly neghborhood. |
was to 80 up to him and offer him half of mine but
fearing repulse, passed on leaving him there in
the rain. have never forgiven myself for it. see
his sallow face and his dark haunting eyes whenever
bows-out at elbows in the soul!
j met my new street-frie1d again the next morning
He was on his way down town, with crowd of clerks
and bookkeepers. saw that he was gentleman by |
Not because his clothes were shabby for they were
better than my OWL, butt OWNED it. Some men
are'always well dressed matter how poor and old
their garments may be; others are always addressed,
though clothed in purple and fine linen. true gen
tleman is always well dressed, unless his boots are
bad. The boots of my street friend were old but
they fitted his foot neatly, and were freshly polished.
rs III warrant he blacks them himself was my
thought, and WAS right. Mark Wilmots only SER
want is-Mark Wilmot. Il assa
When began this paper Imeant to describe Mr.. !
Wilmots personal appearance; but on reading over
what have written find have not done So / have
given him pale cheeks compressed lips, and coat
bu.toned up to the chin These be indeed faint out
lines, but they must stand. cannot fill them up
properly. tatter myself that am skilled in char
thrilling novel, The Greathearted News-boy z but
Mark Wilmot battles me. have often tried to catch
the expression Of his face, and define it on paper.
Many an idle moment has it occupied my mind, and
many sheet of foolscap have wasted, to no pnr
pose. He is my ideal Man in the Iron Mask.
soon found that expected to see him daily; for
when by any chance missed him, was lonesome
sum total of the signs, the new vases that saw in
the windows, yet frightening prospect of seeing
myself the booksellers shelves-to say nothing Of
pair of black eyes which now and then beamed upon
these things quite satisfied me, unless saw Mark
.Wimot in the course of my walk 5
Time flew, if may use SO bold an expression. Au-
tumn died into winter and the old year passed away
me, to the house Of Mrs Leo Hunter, who sat all day
in state in her front parlor, under the lighted chande
ler, waiting to receive the homage OF her numerous
admirers. She gave us feast of reason, thinking |
that most Of us needed nothing more which was true
of myself, for had nibbed nineteen pieces Of plum
cake and drank fabulous quantity Of lemonade, be-
fore reaching the shrine of genius.
As Ipassed into the hall a gentleman passed out.
It was Mark Wimot. We met face to face, bowed
exchanged look Of recognition and separated, he
to continue his calls elsewhere, and to whisper those
gded nothings, "the compliments of the season" to
Mrs. Leo Hunter.
Bythe-way, said I, after the customary greeting,
swho was the gentleman that met in the hall just
nov? often pass him in the street.
Marie, child, Y said Mrs. Leo Hunter toia young
lady in the corner fwho was he forget his name.
Hell one Of your friends"
It was Mr.. Wilmot, ma am. Y
Y" All true; Mr.. Mark Wilmot. remember his
wife; charming person. She dresses elegantly You
q l dare say" i replied. Mrs. Leo Hunter has
the faculty Of drawing charming people about her.
| see scores of them at her receptions. Have not
seen the celebrated authors of 1.-THE long, long, Hea
yens," and Shillings and Sixpenses the sweet but
mournful poetess, Carrie Caulifower, whose Spirit
Sigh is blown abroad on all the wings of fame; the
talented but strong .minded author of The Merciful
Magdalen;" and Mrs. L. H. herself. the modern
SapphoI"
The modern Sappho tapped my cheek with her fan,
and called me sarcastic wretch was on the point
Of replying, but was prevented by a batch of new
arrivals, among whom was fiery young author, who
had vowed vengeance against me for speaking my
mind about his book in The Literary Mohawk Il am
the book reviewer of that independent ionrnai) sol
departed, burning to know More of Mark Wilmot.
My wish was soon gratified For spending one
cold January night or what little remained of it-say
from ten to twelye-at The Century Cht6, had the
pleasure of an introduction to him. The Centuyis
our best New York club. 1t might not impress an
Englishman accustomed to the crack clubs of Lon
don those fashionable clubs in the neighborhood Of
st. James the resort Of young gentlemen of fortune,
who may be seen at the windows Or lounging about
the steps, eying the ladies through their quiz
zing glasses, and now tapping their military boots
with small riding whps it might not suit John Bull,
but then John is hard to suit especially when the
rolls between him and the sound Of his beloved bells.
Doubtess,Major PendenIis and similar old tuft-hunt
ers would sheer at The Century; but the Majors spr-
itual creator, genial Makepeace ThackeFay delights
in it, AT least think sundry of his admirers, mem
bers OF the club. | am not myself member of the
club, for have neither time to attend its meetings
nor but this is between ourselves) money to pay its
fees. But have friend who is, and occasionally /
spend an hour with him in the club.rooms.
On the night in question my friend and l were in
dulging in small talk, and discussing couple of
cigars, when the American Thackeray the accom-
pshed author of Sc The Noodle at Newport entered
the room we were in, accompanied by Mr. Wimot.
We nodded q welcome rpmoyinc nm, laoc Frnq,