HOW WOMEN JOURNALISTS WORK.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume VII, Issue 3, 17 January 1891, Page 15

HOW WOMEN JOURNALISTS WORK.

It is a mystery to the profession of women journalists how Mrs Frank Leslie ever manages to get through her work dressed as she always is in her office. When a man has a special piece of writing on hand he throws his coat off, runs his feet in a pair of old shoes or loose slippers, opens his vest, and buckles down to his task with bis arms spread over half the desk room. Ella Wheeler Wilcox puts on a Recamier gown that goes over a jersey and belts under the arms, does her feet up in cork sandals, lies back in a big willowrocker, and writes with her copy paper thumscrewed to a 32-inch blotting pad. Mis John Sherwood goes to the top of her house, where her study is located, wraps herself in a blanket robe of blue and custard wool, and seated before a gas log she dictates to her stenographer a syndicate letter in an hour. Mary Mapes Dodge, of the St. Nicholas Magazine, wears a loose suit planned after a Brighton bathing suit that fits like an old habit, and in which she confesses to accomplish an ocean of work. Even Hattie Hibbard Ayer has her long half-fitting princess, with a fedora that permits an absence of corsets or reeds, ami thus robed she gets through as much work as any ten women of ordinary industry in the field of labour. But Mrs Leslie prefers to sit at her desk from nine until three o’clock dressed in French costume that is stayed and stiffened till it fits without a wrinkle or crease. Her sleeves are poems, her back is a study, and her waist could be spanned by a necklace. All her gowns are black silk, in grosgrain or moire, and she has an assortment of little black aprons made of surah, net, or gauze, and ruffled with white lace. She never wears a collar or a ruche of any sort, the finish for all her high-neck dresses consisting of a band of cream white, inch wide, fancy edged ribbon, which she ties in a little bow at the right side. And her feet ! In the name of the canonised Crispin 1 don’t know how she stands in them, for they are shod in No. 1 boots, and I would wager my pet feather fan she does not weigh less than 140 pounds, in her bath robe. These little shoes are often the Spanish, made of black kid and laced, tipped, and stiiped with silver. Running under her white oak desk is a steam pipe which coils for a foot-rest, and here Mrs Leslie sits toasting her feet as she writes letters, poems, or serials for out-of-town papers. A fan of painted feathers is always within reach, and when an inspiration is wanted the raven quills are put in motion.

A lady who is famous among her acquaintances for her splendid courage, one night thought she heard burglars in an adjoining room. Reflecting that it was no use to call her brother, she threw on a wrapper, took a lamp and a poker, and boldly entered the chamber to investigate. No burglar was to lie seen, but with a confiding ‘Miaul’ a large cat jumped down from the table, his eyes gleaming like lire in the partial darkness. With one bound the lady had mounted a chair, and holding her dress about her ankles, shrieked frantically : ‘ Henry ! Henry ! Come quick !‘ She was not afraid cf a regiment of burglars, but one cat was sufficient to put her to flight.