AS SEEN THROUGH WOMAN'S EYES.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXIV, Issue 16, 22 April 1905, Page 50

AS SEEN THROUGH WOMAN'S EYES.

The Society Editor,

SOME INTERESTING REVELATIONS

(By

Edith A. Brown.)

In society. wholesales don’t mix with retails; raw wool doesn’t speak to half penny balls of worsted; tallow in the cask looks down upon sixes to the pound; pig iron turns up its nose at tenpenny nails.’’

And this, coming from days past, serves as a text for days present, and being a text is merely apropos. In almost every field of newspaper work there is an opportunity for the study, at close range, of that elusive quality known as “human nature.’’ but —with all due credit to the police court reporter —for a collection of all kinds of “human natures,” under every condition. in every guise, through the evolutions of every ambition, the palm undoubtedly falls to the one who edits the society department. The woman in her negligee in the privacy of her own boudoir; the woman in her velvets and jewels at the ball or opera: the man in his business relations and the man in his social life—often one. but seldom the same—all kinds of natures, all kinds of peoples, all kinds of ambitions, and all kinds of hobbies and hobby-horses—a veritable human salad (one dare not say hash in referring to society) is served daily to the society editor of ,a weekly newspaper. I had just rushed the proofs and the last bit of copy for the society page to the printer one afternoon when a little woman came panting into my room. “You are the society editor!’’ she gasped as she descended upon me. Before I had time to make the confession. she had thrust before my eyes a ragged bit of white meat paper upon which was written a dim pencil scrawl. "I want you to print this notice in to-morrow's paper.” she declared. “I am sorry, madam.” 1 replied, “but the society page is closed.” "Closed!” she cried, much after the fashion she would have alluded to a tomato can; “closed! Can’t you open it!” "I am afraid not." “Why!” “Well.” I replied, endeavouring to remain cordial, “because that is never done except in the case of important news.” She drew herself indignantly. "Important!” she exclaimed. "But this is important; you must use it. Why. this woman came down and sang for us for nothing if we would promise to get a notice of it on your page. And we promised.” "My dear madam.” said I. "you did not consult us when you made this contract; you didn’t even invite us to the concert. lam sorry, but I cannot use your item." And the paper lost "a constant reader.” Ihe item ran fhus: "Madame Anna von Strausberg sang at last evening’s meeting of the Ladies’ Aid Society. Madame Strausberg has a voice of rare and liquid sweetness. Her high, notes rival the birds in their morn ing song. She is one of the best teachers in the eity. and has a studio in the Queen’s Arcade.” If the society editor does not possess tact —he or she grows tired of the very thought of the word—the “subscriber" who lives on Alley Avenue and keeps a laundry will stop the paper because she has failed to appease his wrath over the omission of his “personal." If she has not accuracy —well, it is astonishing how much thunder can follow a flash like the omission of a hyphen in a hyphenated name, and various other things of equal importance. Again, it is somewhat embarrassing to have the society editor chat pleasantly of the doings of a man who has been dead for some

little time, or to record the wanderings of ““Mr and Mrs Samuel Jones.” only to receive emphatic information the following morning that Mr and Mrs Jones had been divorced the week previous.

It looks easy. But if you think it is as easy as it looks, just try reading and remembering all the divorces, deaths and marriage licenses yourself. As to the professional climber: An inoffensive personal wanders in. It wants to tell the public that "Dr. Richard Volk will sail for Europe on Saturday, where he will study in Berlin for one year.” Or, perhaps, it is the one stating that the doctor has returned and Will be glad to see all his old "friends” at his former address. There is an unwritten law in the medical profession. prohibiting the members from advertising in the regular way, but the good physicians who framed the law for got to make mention of the personal columns of the society paper. If the society editor is not careful she will find this same personal column reading like unto a leaf from a medical journal. The readers of one of our society organs read not many weeks ago: "A marriage of the month is that of Miss Agnes Jones to Dr. Samuel Smith. Both are well-known in the musical world.” What really came to the society editor, with a request for the publication of the entire contribution, was this — the names, of course, are changed: "Pleasant news for her numerous friends and admirers is the forthcoming marriage of the well-known violinist. Miss Agnes Jones, internationally famous, and to whom more than to any other musician America owes the renaissance of the instrument. Miss Jones will marry Dr. Samuel Smith, manager of the Johnson Medical Institute. “Both are people of uncommon culture, and both—which argues well for their future happiness—are really devoted to the spread of the gospel according to music, placing its educational value at the highest. Although the musical artists, as a rule, afl'eet other parts of the city as a residence. Miss Jones resides on Fashion Boulevard, where she has been a charm ing figure during the years of her exeeptonally fortunate career. She began the study of the violin at the age of seven years because it was her father’s favourite instrument, and she had exceptional advantages in her early schooling in the East, where she was born and received her early musical education. Later in life, when her parents died, the violin, which was her favourite companion in days of ease, became her mainstay when Fate showed her lonely face of discipline. From the first her choice of a career proved to be "action on the line of the least resistance,” for she has never faced struggle nor known defeat. "In addition to het- primary training she had the advantage of study under violinists to crowned heads, and she ranks, without question, as the best teacher of her day. Even more than her masterly style and sympathetic control of her instrument, she is fond of teaching. which is the secret of her success in imparting her own wisdom; while on the other hand, she lias never been able to overcome a nervous dread of the publicity of the concert world and the musical tour, for all her apparently serene strength when standing with this most cherished instrument before the sea of strange faces. Miss Jones will continue teaching in her official capacity after her marriage to Doctor Smith, but will not appear in public.” With due justice to the bride, this mild effusion came written in a man’s hand, presumably the work of the enthusiastic groom.

The weddings, of course, afford the greatest variety of all the notices sent in. The notice which gives such lengthy praise to the bride that the name of the groom is omitted entirely is not unusual, but the climax came in the following notice which was sent to mv desk not

many months ago: “The society circles are looking forward with enthusiastic interest to a wedding of next Wednesday evening which is giving great pleasure to all the

friends of the young couple most concerned. St. ’s Church will be the scene of the service, and the friends of this popular young couple will pack the church to the doors to witness the ceremony. The bride has been prominent in the church, society and charitable circles of the city. The bridegroom is a lawyer by profession, a younger member of the tirni of Johnson. Jackson, and Johnson, and is a brilliant young man. After their return from their wedding trip they will reside at 2345 Blank street.”

The writer had forgotten to mention the name of either bride or groom, and the only clue afforded the society editor was the name of the firm, to whom she appealed in order to secure the names of the “popular young couple.” Not so very many moons ago ?n envelope containing two cards of reception size, closely written on both sides, was sent by a bride. The cards announced htr coming wedding, with the details of the celebration. The opening sentence characterised the bride as ‘‘a wealthy college woman”; it said that she was “well known in the society circles of the East and West,” that she was the daughter of a wealthy broker, and that, in her quest for higher education, she had been a student at Vassar and a graduate student for some time at the University of Michigan: that she had been graduated from Boston University and also from her home State normal school. She had studied art in a well-known art institute and architecture in another wellknown institute of technology; she had studied music—voice and piano— at a New England conservatory, and she was versed in seven languages—Latin, Hebrew. Italian. Greek. Spanish. German, and French. She was also a member of one of the leading Greek-letter fraternities. With this smattering of know-

ledge, she bad managed to “become widely known as a proficient student in English literature,” and it was also added that she was “a wealthy society girl much beloved among her home people,” although the auuouucemeut failed to state at what period in her life she had been at home. The groom was a mere business man with ouly a normal school and college education of the ordinary kind attached to him. 1 looked at his name from its little corner on the card, and then 1 decided not to tell the public about her, after all. It seemed such an unfair advantage to take of a helpless man. Had the newspapers used this material in full, however, the chances are that a wail would have gone up from the family, who would have deplored the conditions in present-day journalism and gone into spasms of public wonder over “how those horrid reporters got all that material.’’

It is only justice to say tnat in the world of society there are a few who are as earnest in their endeavours to keep out of public print as are the many in their efforts to get into public print. They form one of the four classes with which the society editor deals, and of which the other three are the people who clamour for mention; those who are just as anxious for notice, but who pretend abhorrence of the thought, and those who give the news which they think the public has a right to know with a frankness and business-like manner which is a source of constant delighf to the newspaper world. Xo one is more ready than a reporter to grasp and appreciate the fact that in the lives of every self-respecting man and woman—and there are many in society of whom the public learns but little—there are things of which the public has no right to know or ask even if the name’ is

made public property through prominence; and self-respecting newspaper reporters and editors need only be assured of the sincerity of the others’ attitude in a manner that is at once business-like and frank to be willing to meet a "story’’ half-way. No one is inclined to think or speak kindly of the man or woman who uses prominence of name or position as a sort of bludgeon over the heads of those who come on business or professional errands, and a reporter is a human being with these same inclinations. The meeting with Prominence, too. is an old story to the reporter, and particularly in the case of tjie American society world, where the "rise’’ has been made from the common level, the report-er-student of all classes is less impressed by the one who has struggled to the top than by the ragged newsgirl on the corner who has the greater effort yet to make. Of course, there are scamps in the newspaper world as there are in the society world, but, unfortunately for both sides, they do not always come in contact with each other.

It is this division and variety of attitudes. however, which places the society editor always on the defensive. She must ever be separating the genuine from the false, the sincere from the pretenders. “My dear,’’ says Mrs. Smart Set over the telephone. “I’ve had some photographs taken. They are beautiful, if I do say so myself. I will give you one for publication. but I will swear that one of your reporters stole it.” Perhaps it is the little woman who brings the notice of her tea into the office. Then she writes a letter about it. telephones the society editor the day before the tea and three times on the day of the tea. verily deluging the office with minutest detail, always adding the assertion: "I don’t like this sort of thing myself, but all my friends do it.” Mayhap it is the woman who gives the society editor her latest picture “because I think so much of you, my dear—but not for publication, oh, no!” And then she adds: “Oh, well! I don’t know that I mind so very much. If you do use it, though, give the photographer credit, will you? Now there’s a dear” —and the whole story of the free photograph is out at once. It even may be the leader who returns from a long trip. She wishes to be interviewed, but her pride will not let her say so. She telephones the newspaper office, or has her maid do so.

“Some one from your office telephoned for an appointment for an interview with Mrs Blank” is told the editor. “I believe it was the society editor. Will you tell her that Mrs Blank will be ready to receive her at two o’clock?” The society editor keeps the appointment, and inquiry at the office later develops that no one asked for the interview in the first place. The nest day Mrs Blank tells some friends that “it is very annoying never to be able to move without a reporter at one’s heels.” On the other hand, I shall never forget the day when, as a young society reporter. I announced to other young women on the staff my intention of calling upon a well known elderly matron who, it was announced, would give a dinner to some young people on the following evening. “Well, you are brave,” said one.

“Do you know her?” asked another. “No, I have never seen her,” I replied. They looked at each other and laughed. “Why ?” I questioned. “Well, because she not only will treat you with decided incivility, but the chances are the maid will refuse to let you in.” I was at the “rushing in” period of my newspaper career, and 1 decided to try. It was a cold, wintry day—the kind of cold that follows a hard snowstorm. 1 went to the home of the "crank,” as she had been catalogued. When the maid came to the door I asked for her mistress, was told she was In and hand ed my eard to be taken to her. The maid glanced at me, and asked me to come into the drawing-room. Of course, this was the usual proceeding, but hardly according to the programme arranged. 1 sat down and waited for the refusal to be seen, but in a moment there was a rustle of silk, and a lady of the old school stood smiling before me. ‘•I do not believe I have met you before?” she half questioned. "No, you have not,” I replied. "Have you been in the city long?” she asked. “But a few weeks,” I answered. She asked my mission and I stated it. Then she looked at me for a moment and said: “My dear, I am all alone in the world. My husband is dead; I have no children. I am fond of company, particularly of the company of young people, and, to have them about me, I entertain frequently with small affairs for the brides and debutantes. In my lonely position, however, I think it much better to k>?ep out of public notice. I have tried for many years, but I have not succeeded. Will you do me the favour of never mentioning my name?” I studied for a moment, and then 1 asked frankly: “You are sincere in that desire?” "Perfectly,” she answered. "Then I will do it,” I answered. “You understand, where large and important affairs are concerned this promise will not apply, but except in those cases your name will never appear in my so ciety column.” She thanked me, and we drifted out into conversation on other topics. When I arose to go she accompanied me to the door, and noticing my overshoes in the vestibule, she snatched them up, turned them over the drawing-room register, insisted upon my returning until they were thoroughly warmed, and sat down again to talk. She was essentially the woman of warm hospitality. I never saw her again and I never mentioned her name, for she avoided the large affairs, but sh ■ was sincere in her wish to lead her own life quietly.

Reasons Why Some Girls Become Unpopular.

LITTLE POINTS THEY SHOULD KEEP IN MIND.

A girl should really never be unpopular. yet many are. more’s the pity, and in the great majority of eases they have themselves to blame; they adopt a wrong attitude toward their sisters, and toward men also. Perhaps some of them are misunderstood, but at any rate, unpopular they are, and many of them cannot tell why.

The fact of being unpopular is a sad thing for a girl; it not only gets her disliked by her own sex. but detested by the young men, and this latter is almost a calamity. How does a girl drift into this most undesirable position? To begin with, she is the type of girl who must always be to the fore; her own personality must never by any chance be lost sight of: she is an egotist, more or less; she is lacking in sympathy and sincerity; she cannot feel for others. If a girl friend is feeling unwell, and says so. oh. but it’s nothing to what she fthe unpopular girl) is feeling; she is far worse than her friend.

Again, a new dress is exhibited to her; yes, it’s very nice indeed, but not like the one she has just got home from the dressmaker; why. it is perfect. Then she begins to find fault with the cut of the dress, etc. As a matter of fact, she won’t give in that she can possibly be beaten in anything. A girl

like this never can hope to be popular; she goes right in the teeth of her own sex, so to speak. There is no better way for a girl to endear herself to other women than by. at a time, cordially acknowledging that they have the advantage over her. it may be so far as jewellery is concerned, or clothing, or what not; so long as she just admits their superiority occasional ly she is all right; they will like her. and she can make hosts of friends. The unpopular girl, too, is an adept at sneering; indeed, she often raises this to a tine art. She thinks nothing, for instance, of saying to a girl friend who happens to be engaged, "Whatever did you see in Mr So-and-So? Why, he isn't even good-looking, you know; he would hardly have done for me, dear, but then, you’re so contented and easily pleased that way,” etcWhat can she expect ? Well, she may never give the matter consiSeration, yet that engaged girl will almost certainly class her as a kind of enemy. But the unpopular girl goes a step farther than this; she will, without hesista’ion. if talking to another girl's lover, deliberately run her down before his very- face, and go on her way rejoicing, heedless as to any harm she may have done, and the peculiar thing is this, she may really not mean to cause harm at all; she just has the knack of doing the very things calculated to make her shunned and disliked. It may be argued that such a girl should be paid small heed to; that her actions are the outcome of jealousy, more or less; but still she may be the means of breaking off a good match easily enough, and it is just because sweethearts readily understand this that makes her so unpopular. If she meddles with one girl’s love

affairs it stands to reason that that girl will warn other girls against her, and if a young man finds out that she, likely without reason, says things against the girl of his choice, he will most certainly have nothing good to say of her to male friends. Thus girls and youths in her circle get to know of her character, and being suspicious of how s)ie may treat them, avoid her as far as possible. Does the unpopular girl ever fall in love? It is very doubtful: she may have an affair of the heart in a way. but she is so insincere that to call it by the name of love would be ridiculous. Does she ever marry? She may. but one may take it for granted that the man she weds will not have to hunt far for trouble, for this kind of girl is just the one who develops into the ter ror of a neighbourhood, by reason of her gossiping ways and slanderous tongue.