The Indiana State sentinel. [volume] (Indianapolis) 1868-1895, 1889-09-18
SOME LAKE GEORGE GOSSIP
WHAT THE PRETTY GIRLS ARE DOING.
A Place to Eat and Rest-Lake GirIs-Gos-
sip From Boucoir-Those Who
Dress For Men-Gossip! Cos
sipi How They Gossip.


sky and the water seem to be rivals as TO
which shall be the bluest, and the air is
more health-giving than drug shop full
OF tonics or any of the nuch-taIked-about,
much-quarreled-over elixir. Stretched
out in boat with an umbrella at proper
angle good book or merely loaf, one
will sail around and take no trouble unto
ones self
1t is about the only place where you feel
as if you need not toll or spin, and where
absolute rest may be gained. Rest is
word that covers multitude of joys. It
means being left in solitude when that is
desired, and yet finding fun among ones
friends when comparionship is sought
for. Then, too, the eating here is good,
and while that sounds very material, the
modern maiden as keenly appreciates the
way the fish caught by her cavalier is
broiled as she does his gallantry in max
ing the fish under the water bow down to
her desires. She knows that to be beauti-
full she must be bit of gormet, and so
she eats fish for her brain, rare, we'll
cooked beef for her blood and fresh fruit
Tor her skin. When l say well-cooked
beef, l don't mean baked beef; mean
roast-that is 10 say, beef that is basted in
Its own gravy, and not merely showed in
an oven and allowed to grow dry there.
The modern maiden OF Lake George is
nothing ii not nautical She sails off on
the bosom Of the lake attired as if she ex-
pected to meet huge icebergs or great
waves such as wash over the decks of an
ocean steamer; to be sure she takes with
her the twanking ban 10 and she can sing
no end of nautical songs. She has learned
to splice the main brace. she knows how
to put the ship in stays, and she often
wonders where in the world that term
ever originated. She has a supreme con-
tempt for any man vino doesn't know how
TO supply his boat with suitable 'eatins
and drinkin's," and still more contempt
for him il he doesn't know how to fish.
Does she fish? Did you ever know
woman to fish with any success? A
woman may fish, but when she lands
great big monsters of the deep, when she
can watch line for hours, when she can
sit there as mute as the Sphinx, when she
does not need a novel. or a chat to break
up the mOnotony, she is more than
woman and less than a man-she's a
heather goddess. Fishing and women
are as incompatible as ice cream and
clans
You come here, If you are a man, with
your mind intent on sport-you breathe
the air, you feel ten years younger; you
eat your dinner and give thanks that you
are not ten years younger else YOU would
not have appreciated il as il deserves. You
get boat, your fishing implements are all
ready, you are properly arrayed in your
flannes and your man is carrying a mys-
ferrous basketful OF bait On your way
out You see such a nice girl-she looks not
bit fiirty-she is very much interested in
your scheme for fishing. and although YOU
have made up your mind TO steer clear of
petticOats, still you are convinced that
this is such a chummy girl, one who re-
ally doesn't care for flirting, and who has
fished up in Canada with her brothers
and who knows all about the charms OF
it, and so you ask her to 90 with you.
All, Mr. Harvard, it isn't your bait that's
any use, the fish has been landed and the
worm, so innocent looking, is direct de-
scendant OF the serpent in the Garden of
Eden.
Out in the boat there are some cushions,
and so because a fellow would do that to
any woman, you arrange mademOiselle
comfortably on them. Her line is fixed and
you are both as quiet as Cleopatra's
needle. Suddenly you are asked if YOU
will think any the less of her if she opens
her parasol- For, it is confessed, with
half beseechlng smile, that she does not
like freckles. The parasol is opened, and
from that moment your line doesn't seem
TO interest you much. 1t is pretty para
sol-the inside is the palest sort OF a rose,
and the outside is all white frills and
white ribbons-it makes q charming back
ground for the energetic fisherwoman in
white hannels and a white sailor hat, and
you wonder how she can sit there placidly
and so consistently watch for the little
fish to nibble. You can't keep your eyes
off that parasol, and the consequence is
the lines get mixed up and you conclude,
as it is bit of dirty work, to let your man
uDtwist those wet lines; then you think
that mademoiselle would be more COM
Portable in the end of the boat-you fix
the cushions and she gets down in them
as If they were a nest. Then it dawns
on you what pretty face she has, and
then you notice how slender and white
the hand is holding the parasol.
You wonder how you ever could have
been interested in fishing-you remember
that lzaak Walton is always spoken of as
old, and you think that while there are
pretty women in the world, there is no
reason why a man should want to hunt
for a cold, clammy fish. You talk; you
say all the lovely things you ever heard
about the water and the sky, and then you
feel a bit drowsy, and mademoiselle, rest
ing so comfortably at the end of the boat,
lets the eyelids fall as if in maiden medi-
:stion, and you sit there and watch her,
and think how good 1t is to be alive. After
a while the boat turns toward home; you
help out your companion in fishing, you
thank her for the most delightful after
noon you ever had, you see her white
skirts Whisk in the door, you have a
glimpse of tiny white shoe, and YOU
wonder what she is thinking about. And
you hope very family that it's you. Ii is.
She is thinking that there never was a
fisherman who couldn't be caught bv a
woman who knew how to adapt herself to
circumstances and TO his mood. And she
is wondering if a small mermaid wouldn't
be good bait for sea serpent.
She goes 10 her room and two or three
Of her chums come in 70 see her, and they
gossip. Here's the gossip as / heard it:
did you see in the paper that Mrs.
Blaine had the rheumatism %
cob, yes; and don't it seem queer to
think OF anybody who is young having
such a thing, and yet. DO you know, girls,
it's quite ousted neuralgia, and is the fash
ionable complaint. know woman who
gloats over her rheumatism as she might
over a peach-blOw vase or Worth frock.
The queen has it, though | hardly think
that would make it fashionable here STILL