St. Paul daily globe., 1886-04-17
HER LAURELS STOLEN.
Clara Belle Refuses to Disclose Her Iden-
titv, and OOndems the Filching of
Her Nom de Plume.
fashionable and Dainty Garments Which
Are Worn, But Not to be Seen
by Man.
Value of Coquetish Costumes OF Des-
habilie in Extracting from Hus-
bands Their Requests.
Typical English Swells Whom Snob-
bish New Workers Delight 10
Honor.

New York Letter: The funniest reading
ever seen in print is your own obituary
when you are still alive. OF course, it was
startling for an instant when l saw in big
head lines CLARA Belle Dead" Ny first
thought was that had gone with such
easy wafture into another world that 1
hadn't been aware OF the trip; for, mark
you, generally believe what see in the
newspapers, because / find that printed
gossip is thousand TO one likelier TO be
true than words of mouth in fashionable
society. So involuntarily felt for wings.
but found my shoulders as smooth as
usual, and then L knew for certain that
wasn't an angel. l was sure that hadn't
got to the place of torment. either.
Firstly, because / don't deserve to,
and, secondly, because felt as happy
as a seraph. Perhaps some of my
jollity arose from a perusal of such
displayed headings as ''Gifted Correspond
ent," The Versatile Pen; Belle will be
Missed" ''How a Girl Got Fame as
Writer" and so on. But my pride was
wounded when, in one of the circumstan-
tial dispatches. read that my name was
Thompson, with p; that was married;
and horror. Oh, horror! that l was forty
one years old. am grateful, awfully. for
the nice things that the editors have said of
me, and l shall make scrap-bOok of the
obituary articles that are pouring in to me
through the mails; but one page Of that
volume will have a deep, black border,
with skull and crosS-bones at the corners,
surrounding that frightful eXaggeration of
my age. And there will be a space left for
sticking in an account of the murder of the
man who told that
wHoPPER.
He's got to die. L shall find him out,
perhaps not before am as old as he de-
clares me TO be. but sooner or later l will
identify him. Then my personality will be
revealed, no doubt, for 1 suppose they'll
hang me. But don't care. There are
wrongs which one is bound to revenge. re-
gardless of boomerang consequences. Until
then mean TO sustain my mcOgnito, in
spite of all temptations to reveal myself.
i may say in all candor that no guess has
yet come anywhere near the truth. / don't
know who was the Mrs. Thompson whose
death has been so widely described. / do
know that / have come across dozens of
claimants of my nom de plume. Why,
only this week at the Academy of Design
picture show. L was observing a beau and a
belle, with whom was slightly acquainted.
She was handsome, fashionable girl, rich
and cultured. 1 was getting near her in or
der to surreptitiously note the material and
cut of brand new spring garment-a rather
curious thing, with loose, wrappish sort
of sleeves allied to tight fitting corsage-
a combination of dress and wrap that is a
novelty of the season, when the dialogue
diverted me from her clothes.
''Beastly poor lot Of paintings, don't you
think?" said the swell, with an insane
drawl.
''Oh, yes" the girl replied languidly,
''they bore me awfully, and L only come to
see them as kind of duty" and she gazed
critically at picture through pair of eye
glasses affixed to the end of a stick. which
is new idiocy. by the way. 81 do some
writing for publication, you know. You
didn't? Well, il is a secret, but am Clara
Bell. You mustn't mention it."
Well, could stand that theft of my
laurels, considering that the fair thief was
comely and bright. 1t was harder when a
demented woman held a sort of levee in my
presence and under my title. You may
have lately read about Mrs. Jennings who