The Wadsworth dispatch. [volume] (Wadsworth, Nev.) 1892-1899, 1894-09-29
COSMOPOLITAN WASHINGTON.

1t Is Different In ITS Social Aspect From
Most Other Cities.
It 10 natural that III its social aspect
Washington should differ from most 9TH
er cities. 1t is strangely cosmopolitan.
There is in the ranks Of society the
greatest variety of race, with the great
est variety of interest, or at least i'll the
object of interest. There is i'll things
social the greatest diversity, together
with a singular uniformity of principle.
There is notable simplicity existing side
by side with something very like real
magnificence of display and IL remark
able absence of that socially servile
opinion which accepts display alone a.
an outward and visible sign of inward
and social grace. The ubiquitous diplo-
nat leavens the whole and lends it Il
slightly European savor. The curious
English traveller comes, sees and takes
away an impression, but leaves none;
the German of solid requirements puts
on an air of levity the better to observe,
to note and mentally to digest; the
Frenchman, generally new at wander
ing, sparkles in conversation, whether he
be understood or not, and generalizes
within himself, as all Frenchmen do,
for the French mind d~ifferentiates keen
ly, but integrates by II rule only,
which is the Partisan.
You may see almost every type at q
big afternoon tea in Washington, espe-
cially at one given, according to a pretty
custom, to bring Quito present to
society-a daughter of the house There
she stands, the young girl whose social
eyes are to be opened, a type of the
American maiden of today, unlike any
other in the world, for we are the only
one among the great nations Of whom
it must be said that we are q distinct
result rather than n distinct race, and
this result is q type indefinitely varied
by divers race characteristics. The re
suit" stands by her mothers side near
the door of the first drawing room
through which guests pass-tall, sIen-
der, probably clad in white, probabl,
having rather dark hair and a com
plexion to whichthe national irritable
heart, F" as the doctors call it, gives a
brilliancy rarely seen abroad.
Almost beyond a doubt, too, she has
eyes which would seem unusual in Eu-
rope, with strong. fringing lashes. but
rather too boldly bright and restlessly
though innocently curious. The mouth
is very mobile. The hands are rarely
quiet for q moment-slender hands, very
narrow at the base, very closely webbed
between the thumb and forefinger, very
exquisitely kept under her long gloves,
hands with which none bnt those of
Frenchwomen can compare for the wise
pains bestowed upon them.
By her side, upon a broad table, are
endless flowers, chiefly, if not altogeth-
er, white. In her left hand are roses,
white, too, and as fresh as herself. Her
friend alike, as her mother, splendid
with historic jewels and maternal pride,
introduces lem all to her ono after the
other. A word or two, not more, to
each, and each passes on. 1t is a pretty
custom-unlike any other in the world.
They all pass on and join the interna-
tional throng in the other rooms-sen-
ators, officials, diplomats, grave men,
who seize the quick opportunity to OK
change words Of moment, and other
grave men, gray haired, but not old in
heart, who whisper the pleasant moth
ings they learned long ago to young
ears that have perhaps not heard them
yet. The air smells Of tea and flowers.
the rooms are crowded, the heat is
great, the good will greater still toward
the tall young girl by the door, who has
shaken the hand of each and looked in
to the face of each, wondering perhaps
whether any face of them all is ever to
be the one face of all the world for her.
We Americans are a wonderfully sem
timental people, and the lily white
maiden who makes her entrance into
society on this day is as eager for senti-
ment as all the rest Of us. Now, senti-
ment is good when 1t is found and is
real, and there is little enough to care
for in life without it. Why, then, should
the pursuit of it be ridiculous? 1t is,
and it is strange that it should be. Per-
haps the heart is ashamed when the
head knows what it is doing. Marion
Crawford in Century.