Newspaper Page Text
THE TIMES, WASHINGTON. SUNDAY, AUGUST 14, 1S98.
17 Vr 5 t- i PW 4 AUGUST SHIRT MISTS Are Hand-Made and as Luxuri . ous as French Lingerie. 'WIS PINAFORE BLOUSE It-SImres Fnvor "With Hie Sew Sen orlta Jncki-t Ilcivltcliin;r Devices In Jewelry Prepared for tlie An tuinti Trade Hleli Key King; for Clintelulucx Artistic Hitlr Orna ment. New Tork, Aug. 13. Every r.ow and then the shirt waist executes a. masterly ma neuver, and thereby takes a fresh grip on that elusive force known as feminine pop ularity. Here we have in "the dog days an uaex pected novelty in wash blouses sprung' on us, and a tremendous fillip given the Au gust trade. If you wish to be in the very innermost heart of -things you must wear a white' shirt made of muslin, silky nain sook, equally silk batiste, cambric that is as crisp and bright as satin or cross barred muslin that is almost as fine as Swiss, -while it is vastly softer. Now the while blouse that acts the part of band master, captain or leader to all other of its -genus is band made. Howsoever neat- J ly your machine-made shirt may be, it strikes no envy or admiration to the heart of the girl who sks "behind you at an open-air musical or polo match; it may have its merits, "but It is an abomination in this age trained to artistic effect. Really the shirts of the moment might, in tfceir ornamentation, be twin sisters to uhe most luxurious lingerie and the love liest een were conspicuous for -the elabo rate and beautiful -stltchery displayed up on feem. They -havo oddly shaped revers and wide sailor collars made alternately of Insertion and strips of embroidered muslin, olse thread-like tucks run in clus ters between bands of lace. Lace edgings are whipped on everywhere and the re vers oftenest run back from a sailor's vast made wholly of transparent insert ing.,,. So much cobwebby loveliness must be worked over something stable, and in nearly all cases a tight-fitting silk slip is "the" foundation. Ttoe slip is sleeveless and. sometimes cut low in the neck. Many wemen only use a fanciful cosset cover of -white lawn under such shirt, waist, and . tihen over the blouse put on a short-tailed, "wide opened duck coat. These daintily made -garments are also in vogue for use with chHfc tailor dresses, their extreme fragility seemingly showing in coquettish contrast with The heavy woolen goods. Black and white, whether one Is in griof or not. is always a tempting combi nation, and about Summer hotels of a morning we see many women wearing liand-wrought shirts of black washing silk, having rather wide revers made of white lace insertion, whipped together and Tun through with narrow black rib bons; Since we have fallen on the discussion of blouses, it "Rill be as well to recom mend, to youngish women, the pinafore shirt, which really broke its shell early In the Spring, but is only now getting the patronage deserved. A pinafore shirt fastens up the back, in true child ish style, is composed of horizontal rows of tucks and inserting and finishes off at the neck with an ear-clipping collar and a stock of lace. Here and there we note that the shirt waisted woman makes modest excur sions into the realm of color, and hardly anything could be prettier than a pink or blue batiste blouse, topped with a large double Byron collar and lace fichu. These two parts are of white lawn, crested with lace, and every seam, in the waist Is put together with beading. Quite as attractive is the shirt cut on the night gown model. It has a round transparent yoke of lace, gathered in to the throat by a colored ribbon and deep lace cuffs to correspond. If anybody wants to know what to wear with such shirts, let her be advised to use her white duck, pique or muslin skirts in combination and rest assured she will be suitably costumed for a Summer wedding reception or a dance. There is no use authorizing any fash ion for the American woman as to wheth er the front of the dres waist is hooked or buttoned flat and Quaker like over the bust. Realizing that charm of dress lies chiefly in drapery and things that hang full and light she gently persists in lier own wise way of advocating a full ness. Latterly her seal of approval, which is practical adaptation, has been given a trifle called, for want of a bet ter name, a senorlta jacket. For even ing dresses they are made In light satin, embroidered thickly with a small floral jmttern worked first on chiffon and then laid on the satin. The jacket itself Is cut off square. Just above the bust, and below are three pleat ed lace frills, the lowest of which only comes to the waist line. Slim women ap pear to great advantage when thus ar rayed, and many are the gingham gowns, foulards and wash muslins made after this fashion. Occasionally, In place of cutting the jacket off square in front, it fits over the bust in the form of two large disks, each as big as a dinner plate, slop ing up and around from the arm hole. In place of the rich and expensive applique embroider' patterns In narrow gathered ribbons are outlined on the Jacket. A black satin senorita jacket, prettily dec orated in jet or steel beading, is one of the wise woman's purchases. She wears it with her evening dresses to give them an air of novelty, or richness just as they may need touching up. One- of the Summer whims of woman kind are pretty chiffon hoods to wear of an evening, when driving in an open car riage to balls or dinners In the country. Crimped chiffon, in any favorite color. can 4e used, and the pattern is that of a Quaker bonnet or a Normandy bonnet. A wire frame, or one of whale bone, Is ' what the chiffon is mounted on and full kilted skis of the downy material are allowed to fall out all around on the shoulders. So ethereal Is this headgear that it places no undue weight on the most artistic chignon, the skirts fall cosily over bare shoulders, and with long chiffon strings the protecting cloud ties under the wearer's chin. Collars remain so absurdly high that the life of the short-necked woman is one "long mortification of the flesh at the altar of fashion, while a sleeve that ends rationally at the wrist is enjoyed only by the senFible house maid. In hot weather this ruling of the mode has something both absurd and cruel about It. but the woman who would haste to the divorce courts if her husband objected to cold coffee does not flinch at swathing her neck In the new 1S20 stock cravat when the mercury Is making dashes at the one hundredth degree. d3y the way, hls resmnrectlon ci a mode (from the other end of ie century nomlses to be one of the autumn fea tures. vU the moment only ?he most modish women are seen wearng them, but anyone -who has her grardfathcr's portrait to model from and a broad, soft piece of Duchess satin can twist a fetock 'to peWoction. iStout, lthick-neck women &ad better satisfy themselves with the more modest styles of throat trimming in -vogue, but slim, columnar throated girls surefly gain something by the ojse of rhese tall ils"ht nuck sah s Every now and then Che goldsmith walkYaSroad. communes awhile with na ture and.oomes tbaclc with a bitch of new schemes for attracting cu to-rers In sumroerofce -tolls tj set wTh a s'teing array of artistic enterprises bofore the home-coming woman In ithe early au tumn, in"n.he iface of which flo-ih. 'pirt ami pockeOboik can fcut capitulate. Lg'ht umbrel-as. for example, are all going to have mix handles. Some of ahem will be swans' hauls trf bluck sited with dia mond eyes. iMore interesting -frMll is an ebony umbrella stick itoppoJ at the han dle end with a pine cono of gold, well powdered with diamonds. A ha'if opened chestnut ibnrr, or a thistle b'-ossom In greca and lilac enamel are beautiful de signs soon to ibe in 'the shop windows. Many women have caught up the habit of carrying their keys about with them, since the artful jeweler has offered them tsuch lovely gold, silver and black .eel key Tings, sot at the point where the key slips on with a cat's eye. There -is also & hook on the ring iby which you can fasten the whole bunch to your belt, arid itQiose -who possess a Fortunatus purse have the steel keys of tfrplr desk, chiffonier drawers, etc., copied in gold or silver to slip on the luxurious rings. It was inevitable that the young un married American woman came sooner or later to the wearing of diamonds In her hair. Prom crowns, diadems and tiaras she Is still debarred, but now she wears a chaplet of jewels in her locks, and a pretty thing It is in spite of our prejudice against debutantes and dia monds. The chaplot Is In the. form of a small, a very -small wreath of olive leaves. The leaves are either of gold, edged with diamonds, or all of diamonds, set closely in silver. A running garland of convolvulus, or a chain of small dai sies in pearls, is another favorite head or nament with young ladles. Matrons as well as maids have all but cast away their shell side combs and for the Summer at least few heavy jeweled head decorations are seen. A tiara even at a Newport dinner party, unless an heir apparent to a throno is present, is voted ostentatious, and the wives of millionaires tuck into their high-piled tresses the finest platinum wires so strung with dia monds and gracefully twisted as to re semble the antennae of a butterfly. Some times the skeleton wings of a butterfiy form the base from which the glittering feelers spring, Jig jewels, rich and Im pressive soTLafrcs, it is remarkable, soem to be no longer set in the Inevitable wreath of diamonds. Such gems as large turquoise, opals, pearls, emeralds and tu bles are surrounded by a delicate band of lusterless " sold. In the case of tur quoise, a band of clear blood red enamel often encircles it. for by this means the jewelers say"1 the tone of tho stone Is deepened and clarified, just as jewelers in tho Turkish bazaars drop their tur quoises in sealing wax plugs on the ends of canes and- thus, by the contrast of color, attract the buyer. A deal of charming jewelry, such as brooches. chaplcts, sleeve links, scarf pins, etc., is being made of gold worked in fanciful forms and borrowing no splen dor frorn 'the aid of jewels. The workers in the precious metal have gone back for suggestions to tho ancient Italian orna ments of gold, and some of the most love ly brooches seen of late are tiny figures of flying Loves. Psyches and Prosperines, done all in the solid metal. Studies Inshlrt waists are offered this week io showhow the warm weather has developed them into the very comforta blest garment going. All these are hand made blouses, enhanced with lace and em broidery ancLtucks. The first figure dis plays a waist of whito nainsook, having revers of valenciennes lace and narrow toands of the goods whipped in alternating j stripes. The sailor's vest Is of nainsook i in bars of tucks and lace. Number two is a pinafore shirt in white, with a high black satin stock as its lead ing feature. Two points of white lawn do duty as a collar over the edge of the tight black satin swatting, and tho cuffs are soft finished, as is the rule with all these shirts. VIien the Spinster In Old. The pitiful stories of gently nurtured women who support themselves while young and strong, and, then, when past work, have to end their days in misera ble poverty or by living on charity, make one wonder what can be done to remedy this unhappy state of things. Speculation naturally follows, says a writer In the Philadelphia Report, as to whether it would not in many cases be possible for them to make more provision for old age themselves. To many young girls starting a happy, helpful career, full of the health and high spirits of youth, old age is such a distant, far-off dream it hardly seems worth troubling themselves about It. If questioned on the subject, they, of course, own they are aware that they cannot sup port themselves by teaching, or wnat ever they have taken up, forever, and perhaps they frankly acknowledge they have not "prospects" of any kind and do not know in the least what will "be come of them," and then they will laugh and turn the subject to some thing of more immediate interest. Besides, most young women, though perhaps they would hardly own it, even to their most inti mate friends, have a comfortable inner conviction that they will some day be le lieved by earning their own living by marrying. They know statistics prove that all women cannot and do not marry, but they do not fear that they themselves vill be left husbandless. Statistics also prove that many marriages do not take place until middle life, so that there is no particular age at which they seem compelled to give up this natural expec tation, and it Is often not -until well on in tyears that they suddenly realize their position. CAXVE AS A BACHELOB MAID. EntcrtninH Charmingly nt Her Lit tle Hotel in Pnrix. Paris, Aug. 1. Calve, the adorable Car men Calvo with the voice of a nightin gale Calve, tho impassioned. actress Calve, the great artist as such wo all know and admire her. But Calve, In another role Calve, directing her house holdCalve, as a bachelor-maid Calve, at home, is a person about which the world at large knows but little. And I admit, It was with all tho Interest which hovers as a halo about tho every-day life of great people, with all the friendly curi osity one woman i. feel about another, I accepted Mme. Calve's invitation to pay her my first visit. Her little hotel occupies a suny corner on Place des Etats-Unls, in the 'heart center of the American quarter the pri vate, American, not the student quarter of Paris. Thus we may know and believe that Mme. Calvo has allied herself to America and Americans by ties of friend ship and love with which the American eagle on tho dollar has nothing to do. Her very windows, broad, low Venetian ones, with a multitude of little cathedral panes, look out onto the statute of Wash ington and Lafayette. And tier In springtime February 22 when Ameri cans come and lay wreaths and garlands at the feet of tho dead heroes, Calve peeping from behind her blinds can see and know that Americans where they havo worshipped once are constant al ways. It was "buttons" who opened the door. It was an English looking butler, too. with "mutton-chops," who showed the guests where to dispose of their wraps. So far, this might have been an Eng lish household or ono of the "four hun dred." It was Calve's regular at homo day Sunday afternoon. "Quelle chaleur," remarked a French man standing near me, apropos of the heat. And then some ono answered back In good old American: "Yes; didn't you know it? Calve has an American fur nace, had it put In last AVlnCer, and keeps It going full blast all the time." I turned round and there stood Clarence "Whitehall, evidently enjoying tho un happy Frenchman's discomfort. This young. American singer, who made his first bow to a Parisian audience last Summer in the Trocadero, and who has not yet sung in America, seems to be making his way among the French, al ready accepted by the artists themselves as one of them, and a coming success. "I might ha'e known it was American heat," growled tho Frenchman, moppt g his brow. "Mme. Calve will havo noth ing now that is not American. Eh volla, ecoutez," he said, suddenly lifting his finger. Everybody listened as ordered; and there came surely tinkling down the broad steps the sound of an American outoharp. And then there came In full flood tho rich melody of a woman's voice, singing some southern lullabye. There could be but one voice like that. Yes, It was her voice. That voice which makes you tremble and burn and sigh by turns. Only here. It seemed Infinitely sweeter, too, more of the woman in it, less of the passionate Impetuosity. The sight which met our eyes was ono not to be forgotten in a lifetime. Calvo sat on a low stool beside the fire, the autoharp in her lap, the firelight full on her face. Perched on two high chairs In front of her were two little girls; their bright eyes large with wonder, their tiny feet dangling unconsciously, their hands folded mutely over their little plaid dresse3. Calve was all in white, only' a bunch of red roses tucked In at her belt. The firelight shone on tho glossy folds of her dark hair and lit up her wondrous eyes, until she looked more, much more, the goddess than I had ever seen her in any stage setting. She was singing for those two little girls. Tho few who had already arrived sat In tho background. The song must have been something re membered from her own sunny infancy in the Midi the south of France. I have never heard It In any opera or anywhere. You could almost see, hanging about her heavy eyelids, the sub-conscious memories of half-forgotten childhood, as she gazefl half at her small listeners and half into the fireplace. The song finished suddenly and amid a patter of applause which came from our hidden vantage ground. Calve came run- PINAFOBE AND SAILOB BLOUSE. ning to meet us. She held the autoharp behind her with one hand as it -'half ashamed of her performance. But the' Frenchman soon relieved her of it a.nd took it over near the light, where he gaye full sway to his curiosity. "Quel dlable de chose d' Amerique." he chuckled with a pleased smile. "You like it," said Calve. "Ah, I am so giaa. j Tno jittie gins came up to say good night, as It was getting .time for all good Children to say their prayers and go to to bed. Calve took each small .face be tween her white hands in turn and kissed the plump, rosy cheeks. What recollec tions for two little women-to-be, by and 1 ibye. What dreams of the beautiful fairy wOio sang to them wonderful music to lull their heavy eyelids into peaceful slumbers this night. People began arriving in groups now and Calve was everywhere. There seem ed but one attraction in ithe rooms, for all. And each one clung to her as long as possiblft, until she laughingly pulled i her hands away and went to welcome ft :... '"' - ' pit) V'Siv-vV-ivv' . " If CALVE AS A somo ono else. It was plain from snatch es of conversation dropped hero and there the guests were artists, musicians and lit terateurs. This man spoke in quite a matter-of-fact way of his two now plays which would be coming out in two of tho Paris theaters soon. To a young artist Mme. Calve talked of tier portrait as Car men which Benjamin-Constant Is now do ing for the ceiling of the Opera Comique. A group in ono corner are at the samo time examining another portrait of hor Carmen which hangs in a gilt frame oi'er a little sofa. The Carmen of the whito teeth It was, with -bold laughing eyes, a bright 'kwchief knotted about the' neck, a lroad-"brimmed gipsy hat on Iho well poised heat, a bunch of ?ed poppjes at tho belt. ' 'J What a picture Calvo looked reclining there among the cushions! Her white dress of Spanish lace trailing on the floor! Only her lips $ere red, redder than tho roses at her belt. Sho was sur- i t- rounded by men and women, all laugh ing at her gestures and mimicries. This little salon looked like It might have been furnished by a syndicate, and the syndicate is the thousands of -friends and admirers which Mme. Calve has all over the world. On-" the walls were sketches by artist friends, in pastels, In black and white, 4and -Jn oils. A balus trade of a bridge across the Seine, a cor ner of Notre Dame, two soldiers ex changing the counter sign, two street ur chins, Calve herself sitting on a sofa laughing, just as she jis now. On the mantels and shelves, are trinkets and precious things from ill ages and all climes, little statuesn bjonze, queer Tur kish lamps, odd enameled "bonbon boxes, miniatures, a treasure house, a. doll's house It was where everything was kept because it is beloved for the giver, and with it all an imperious touch here and there which 'made ''it seem the abiding plactj of some cherjeji infanta rather, than a feal wpmah' home. In the music roonvcbey.ond stood a mas sive grand -piano, the snnsr: substantial looking thlngto beeeeti. In there were 5lt I! - BACHELOB MAID. also white bookshelves lined with books in whito and gold bindings. Music was littered about everywhere, the sheets scattered on the piano and on the floor, as If their mistress had suddenly been interrupted while searching for some thing, and left them so. In one corner also was another American production, an Edifcon phonograph. Here Calve may amuse herself by listening to the repro duction of her own beautiful voice, or render criticism where she sees a flaw. The dining-room doors were drawn back, revealing a long, low room In dark walnut, and red panels. In the center of a long table on which was spread a white cloth strewn with daisies stood a smok ing tea urn, circled with old-fashioned chfna cups. It was Mme. Calve herself who brought me a cup of tea, in both her hands. That Is a Calveism. She does her hospitalities with both hands, because she has a warm heart bubbling over with good will for everybody. She gives you both her hands when you enter and It was with both hands she held out for me the cup of fragrant tea, making believe she was afraid of dropping It. Mme. Calve smiled when I asked her If she planned to joint the victims of tho Wagner craze and begin to study German roles. "Oh, perhaps I may; I cannot tell. But It will not be this year. I am not sure," she said, showing all her even teeth, "that my mouth is made for Ger man opera." She declared, in apparently good faith, that tihe is fond of her new role In Sapho. But there are other stories current than the one Calve -tells. She does not deny herself It is one of the hardest roles she siirgs. The role of Sapho Is about the only one ba ithe opera, and besides the orchestra plays orCy accompanim2nt music throusfhou't the piece almost. This makes the strain-something gigantic up on Sapho. Mme. Calvo lies in bed all the day (before she sings it. preparing for the ordeal-ome one says she cries all day and she lies in bed all the next day after to rest. She thas ibeen b'i!rFri t o-s,. .. once and go down to Beaulieu "on the Mediterranean for res. But out of personal friendjihjn for lfflwinv( a because she Is too loyal rto fcreak her con tract with the Opera Comique. Calve will sing Sapho on to the bitter end. But Calve in Sapho. Calve in long trail ing rcbes Cif sombre velvet! I am afra'd the American public will oidt take klndly to thecn and will demand again Calve 'n hoyden to51dts of short skirts and peasant rags. Always amiable. Calve was just start ing up tne stairs with me to search for her latest photograph, in that same long black velvet robe which she wears in the first act of "Sapho," when, some one called I heard the name of Jean de Rszke Calve excused herself and left me to mount to tho sacred precincts, her boudoir, with an American girl, a friend of hers and her constant companion in Paris. The first thing I saw when I entered the private quarters of this bachelor-diva's abode was the bed. It Is the biggest thing in the room, at least once and a half as big as any I had ever seen before. And It was all white and soft and downy like a baby's bed at tnat, all lace and ruffles and frills. A real Spanish lace counterpane over white satin covered up everything except the brass posts. A high canopy all silk-lined and from which depended more Spanish lace, reached al most to the ceiling. And what wonder, a woman who has to lie in her bed whole days at a time to garner up her strength for the tremen dous strain of grand opera nights, who receives her Intimates, propped up among 3ier cushions, has need of a commodious and lujrurlous couch. It is a case of when p. bedvJs not a bed, ibut a whole boudoir in Itself. On a.littfe carved table de nuit, close to the 'head, stood a student lamp with a pretty rose shade. OBeslde it on the table was the score at an opera, a book of verse and a prayer book. Here was also a bottle of smelling salts and a little jewel casket for finger rings. Just over this table, haneinsr ncalnst ifho wnll o fine etching of-Rachel in her famoustteath scene, suspended from "beneath it was a crucifix and a rosary. An artistic rosewood dresser of an tique build stood over in one corner, its broad beveled glass half concealed by a fichu of Spanish lace, and spread out on the top was all sorts of toilet articles In ivory and old silver, too numerous to mention or describe. There were brushes and combs, hand-mirrors, scent-bottles, manicure outfits, shoe horns, pin trays and what not. Easy chairs with Russian fur toet strewn nfliniit woro -nlno! tmT(- jfngly In cozy, corners and. upholstered noons. . ,. -'"The bathroom door stood ajar. I could see a generous bathtub in porcelain and brass, with a white Polar bear rug spread alongside, on tho mosaic floor. Across one end of the bathroom stood a long, low dressing talblo draped in white dot ted muslin. And on the top was a verita ble dtibaucho of eau da rose, cologne, sachet powders, flesh brushes and bottles whose contents could only be conject ured. All things in flno which go to make up the requirements of a woman of refined -taste were there. But they in dicated even more, the care and work which this woman whom we see always so radiantly beautiful, so fresh, so rong and so 'buoyant, must oestow upor her self daily to preserve and guard her phys ical strength and Tier voice at the same time. "You know Mme.Calve has built a home for little orphan girls down on her farm In the south of France," remarked the young American, "where she spends her Summers, This is her castle," said the young lady, showing me a photograph of an ancient building of the eleventh cen tury. It Is called "Cabriers," and It Is here up among tho mountains in the south of France where tho great singer spends hor months of recreation. Tho castle has been all remodeled In side. In one part of the building tho two floors havo been removed, making a high music room with a vaulted roof reaching to the celling. Tills is near Mme. Calve's childhood home. Her father and mother live on an estate near here. Her father has been a railroad contractor. Under his direction some of the best railroads of Franco have been built and also in Spain. It was in this way much of Calve's childhood was spent in Spain. She speaks Spanish as her own tongue. The home for little orphan girls is on one -corner of Mme. Calve's wild moun tain farm. This she sustains herself wholly. It has room at present for about sixty, but it has only just been opened this Spring, and Mme. Calve has many plans for Its future. This Is the only placo at which she sings during her months of rest. But every Sunday morn ing Mme. Calve goes as regularly as if she were being paid $1,500 a performance and sings for her little friends. Mme. Calve came out to say au revoir. Sho sent her greeting to America and said, "Only until November." PHIL MAY. Punch's Famous Artist I)IstiiiHe American and English Illustrations. London, July 7. The airy and epigram matic author of "The Gentle Art of Mak ing Enemies" has written that "Black and V hlte In Enlmd Means Phil May," and the artisric world has fully indorsed Mr. Whistler's opinion, which was given before the young artist had taken his present position among the greatest comic artists of tho age. ranking him self with Crulkshank, Leech, Keene, Ten nlel and Du Maurler. Born at Leeds thirty-two years Mr. May began life as office boy taa. lawyer, with, however, scant satisfaction to his employer, for the lad passed most of his time decorating the margins of the dull legal documents which it was his duty to transcribe with witty sketches and caricatures of the clients. Sir Frank Lockwood, the celebrated advocate, him self no mean ar 1st, was one of the first to discover young May's talent. During tho Leeds assizes, he glanced over the lad's shoulder and at once perceived that he was a genius. A little time ago. in speaking of tho death of Sir Frank, Mr. May told me that the kindly manner In which his early patron had praised thee drawings had illumined his heart with the first rays of ambitious hope. Having abandoned his legal aspirations young May became attached to a thea trical company at the stipend of twelve shillings and six pence, in return for which he designed posters and made him self generally useful. But tiring of this mode of life, and feeling .hat there great er posslbllltes within his reach, at the age of seventeen he set forth to seek his fortunes in London and was often with out money to buy bed or breakfast. In ISil Mr. May married and in 1SS3 went to Australia to take a place on the staff of the Sydney Bulletin. He re turned from the antipodes about seven years ago, and residing for two years in Paris, where, by the way, he lived next door but one to Sara Bernhardt, he final ly settled down In London, and from that time his career has been one of uninter rupted success. "yhen Phil May first came from Aus tralia, where his work had been some what buried, and began to break into the English papers, every Illustrator who saw his sketches perceived at once that a new force had appeared in the field. His style was unique and his ideas original. He had reduced the art of line drawing to tho mathematical problem of using as few strokes of the pen as possible. So apparent was this that the untrained ob server was inclined to characterize his work as "unfinished." whereas1 it has ab solute finish, in that it represents the highest development of any art telling something without superfluity. This is the art of the story teller; it should be equally that of the artist, and Mr. May possesses it in the highest pos sible degree. His ability to catch a type and put it on paper Is little short of mar velous. Whether he depicts a cavalry man, long-legged and overcoated; a cos termonger In buttons, with a beery leer on his face; a gin-sodden woman of the East End, or the wrinkled and aged "chil dren of Whitechapel, he places the com plete picture before the eyes of his aud ience with the minimum of strokes. In fact, ho suggests as much as he draws. For example, the Dally Graphic once re produced a sketch of tho wharf of Yar mouth during the morning fish sale, and this, a half-page affair, was so full of life, types, and even of -values that It was practically a photograph in ink strokes. As to originality of Ideas, apart from the stylo he started, there has been no better example than his series of "On the Brain," showing the fads and foibles of prominent men coming out through the tops of their heads, after the "lids" of tho skulls had been lifted off. That series, too, gave an inkling of his mar velous ability to catch a likeness. After doing occasional sketches for Punch for about three years, he was taken on the staff of the paper, at an unusually large salary, and his sketches for this famous publication now consti tute almost his exclusive journalistic work. Recently. I had ithree hours' talk with Mr. May, followed Toy a pleasant lunch with "him and his charming wife, at his ihouse, "Rowsley," in Holland Park road. Of this road, wh'ch Is tiott 1ne artitt'c center of London, Lord L'ighton said to me bwenty-five years ago: "Come and see mo at Holland Park road. Val Princep and I have ""made ! Xor ourselves." A lane, which 1s etiH standing, was then the only apyrcacth ito It, cnrl when L Tl Leighton and Van Prlncep 'built there, their houses were practically the on'y ones of wh'ch Jt (boosted, so that they looked upon it as their own. Surrounded Tiv green meadows arid pleasant orch ards, both mansion? backed uion the famous park and residence of Lord Hol land, a place still garlanded with all the 'airest flowers of poetry, -romance, Hter aiure, and art, for, with few exceptions. very great man of that period, so rich !n talent, had met at Holland house in the "salon" of Us ambitious, if not al ways amiable (mistress. Lady Holland. When Lord Le'ghton built his be uti- ful studio house, so often d-scrlbed, st'i Tts oriental splendor; its m-rWe floors tad fountains, its Moorish lattice work and priceless collection of pictures and bric-a-brao, -Holland park stlH consisted of many broad acres, Jonig since bul't over, and ifchere were (persons then living who remembered the time when bloodhound wero lot loose in the park every night to guard It. a gun being fired to jrH warn tag thai the leashes baa been sMpped Next to the Piinceps dwelling stands 'Rowsley, a two-storied, red brick house, now famous as the home of Phil May. There Is In all London no more deceiv ing residence than this. From the out side it beguiles one Into the belief thatrit is very spacious, whereas save for "tho noblo studio and a dining room of fair proportions, there are but three or four living rooms. In the square entrance hall, oozy with, Oriental rugs and curtains, hang sketches by Dudley Hardy, Phil May, E. H. Ab bey, an American, citizen, and with a family of snowy kittens nestled cozily on the rug before a bright dre. But the stu dio was the bourne of my pilgrimage, and thither I followed a smart maid ser--vant. up a narrow staircase, guarded at the top by a -full suit of Japanese ar mor, after which I found -myself In the quaintest and most beautiful of "work shops." The well-vaulted roof is crossed by heavy toeams of dark oak. and a gallery destined for an organ runs across one end of tho room. Numerous posters by the great French artist. Cherit, of whom Mr. May is a warm admirer; an abundance of Indian tapestry, several fine skins. In ono corner a carved wood screen of rarg? workmanship, all placed with artistic eft feet and perfect taste, render the studio a picture in itself, and one which lingers X pleasantly In the memory. The artist's wife, also born in Leeds, six months later than her husband, is a gracious and exceedingly pretty woman of medium height, dainty figure, regular features, a delicately clear complexion, a sensitive, perfectly formed -mouth, and that rare charm, a sweat smile; the idol of her husband, and, as ho himself de clares, his "right hand." A clear-headed business woman, to her he intrusts the entire management of hl3 affairs. "It t do anything behind her back." laughed her husbafia", "it always turns out badly, so you see I have come to consult ner la ail things." I had a fixed purpose in making my call. I wanted Mr. May's opinion, on. va rious subjects pertaining to his rat, as well as some sketches drawn by himself, to Illustrate the article. But I had a big contract on hand, so far as the sketches were concerned. "Sketches for an interview by Phil May himself!" exclaimed a mutual friend to whom I mentioned my desire. "Do you know what you are asking? Are you aware that the merest touch of Phil May's pencil Is worth at least 10 In the market?" But I made the plunge after a little skirmishing, and out came my audacious request. To say that Phil May smlfed Is merely to say that Phil May was there, for he smiles all the time, but his face assumed an intensely comical expression. "Do you know," he said. " that I can get almost any sum I choose to ask for my work, and especially for illustrations for American papers? I am obliged to decline their tempting offers every day. -This principally because of my agree ment with Punch, as I am bound by con tract not to do illustrations for any Jour nal except the Graphic without Mr. Punch's permission. At the same time I am free to produce my own Annual. I also Illustrate books, and when I obtain permission I do a certain amount of mag azine work. At present I am engaged on sketches for a souvenir of The. Little Minister" at the Haymarket Theater. However. I do not mind doing you a rep resentation of my own classie head." Ho thereupon took up pen and paper, arid ' whilst he talked drew the picture which accompanies this article. It is a sketch" not in any sens a caricature, despite the alight exaggeration of feature, but a por trait full of expression and character. - When we talked about comic art par ticularly. Mr. May said: "I want to know just what you call comic art. I presume you mean that which is identified with John Leech Keene and Du Maurler in England, and wlth Frost in America. I call that comic art pure and simple. Frost is more purely comical than we are, I think, and he and Zimmerman are the best purely comic artists In the world. I do not consider myself purely comie: I have another side. "I should say," he continued, "that the humor In American sketches is more ex aggerated than ours. At any rate, they make me laugh more. I think, however, that American comic artists are elaborate ' in their execution too elaborate, perhaps, for my taste, but it Is really difficult to l compare the two countries in that re spect, both being Just about as good as they can be. I am dead against color In ' cotnic art. and do net like it. because it tends to elaboration. A comic sketch ought not to be elaborated any more than. . a joke. That Is the reason I so much pre fer black and white for all my huniorous work." On the subject of English and Ameri can cartoons, Mr. May is reticent. Ac-' cording to his Idea, 'it Is not an easy mat ter to make a comparison, but he said: . "I am certain that no one ever has beaten Tennlel as a cartoonist, and I do not believe anyone ever will. The bst American cartoonist I ever knew was Livingstone Hopkins, now a resident of - Australia, and on the staff of my old pa per, the Sydney Bulletin. "As to the apparent technical knowl-.- edge of their subject possessed by the ar tists of the two countries, I think It is almost equal." Mr. May does not hesitate to condemn' the picture which has little or no appli cation to the reading matter, and upholds the ogue of the sketch which, by It3 action, tells all the story without mar ginal explanation. In a word, the Joke in the drawing Is his ideal. We discussed at .length the idea which is somewhat prevalent in ports at the United States that caricaturing a public man should be made by iaw a misdemean or, punishable by fine or imprisonment, as Is UbeL "I should resent any interference with the liberty of the people in that respect." he said. "Such a measure has never bean talked of in England. It is not libel nor slander to make a comic picture of a public man. Exaggerating "his physical peculiarities is not the same as putting the story of his foibles or sins into print. The former is never done with the object of attacking the man; it is his principles which are under fire " Mr. "May had never heard of the meas ure recently brought before the New York . legislature relating to caricatures, and was astonished that such a law had ever been contemplated. He stands firmly for the liberty of the press, and trusts to the -t -artistic sense of proportion to prevent anything like picture llbeL The accompanying portrait speaks part ly of the personality of the man. He is . spare and pale, with dark hair-cut vary close and combed straight across his fore head. Neither tall nor short, he is well built, the limbs are trim and sinewy, the ' hands and feet small and finely formed," the head well pplsed, and the expression of the strongly marked features frank and open. A bright smile lights up the interesting and boyish face as he looks his listener full In the face whilst he con verses. Generous and kindly, unassuming In manner, unspoilt by his rapid success"-'-and constant adulation, it is not difficult to understand why Phil May is a univer sal favorlte. As I said farewell and watched the art ist mount his beautiful little horse. Punch, I though of the dreary law office, the . theatrical engagement at 12 and ff pence' a week, tho adventure of the cart and I -said to myself: "Who shall dare say that genius will, , not come to the front, and that, too, im the old country, by its own Inherent -force?" Sir Thomas. fFrom the New Yo-k Conracrcial .drertler.) Sir TliTia Upton tV latest challenger for" the America's enp, goes in f.w philanthropy on a largs scale. Ten daya aco 1 went to Marllmrough House and cave to the PMnces3 of Wales a check fnr S5O0.0C0. which trill he med to- establish ? cheap restaurants in London, where a posd mcalit. mar be had for from 4 to 1G cents. The fund j , will be called the Alexandra Trust. . , , ,' The E-veeptlon. (Krcm the Indianap 1U Journal.) She I don't believe tSicre was a. bat in church tods) lLat 1 didn't fee. II(! Except the one that was passed fer ta coll tt-cri. A