A New Sensation. Albert Ross

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      "Hide, oh, hide those hills of snow

       That thy frozen bosom bears,

       On whose tops the pinks that grow

       Are of those that April wears."

      Venus rose from the sea, with all the appearance of absolute nudity. The glorious curves of the tempter of Tannhauser were revealed in their fullness to cultured audiences. The North Star came down that men might admire her shapeliness, while the three Graces proved Byron's words:—

      "There is more beauty in the ripe and real

       Than all the nonsense of their stone ideal."

      And then a daring manager went all this one better. He posed his women as bronze figures, with nothing between them and the gaze of the audience but bronze powder. The sensation lasted but a short time, spectators not caring for mulatoes when there were white forms to be seen at the same price. Next came the "Wedding Night," which I saw in Paris, and which still seems to me comparatively sweet and innocent—and it was suppressed, perhaps for that very reason. And now we have "Charmion"—meat for strong minds, but not, I fear, for the average young man.

      What will come next? I would not dare predict, but really within ten years we may expect anything. "The leaves are falling—even the fig leaves," says George Meredith. They have fallen long ago from most of the male statues in European galleries, and there at least I am in accord with the sculptors. Perfect nudity never stirred the beast in any sane man. Why should we not have afternoon or evening receptions by professional models in their native undress? It would be better for morality than the ingenious titillation of the senses induced by your Edwinas and your Charmions!

      Confound Charmion, any way! She spoiled a night for me that I needed for refreshing sleep. In my brief snatches of slumber I was with those silly fellows in the front rows, clutching wildly in the air for the garters she flung from her perch above our heads.

CHAPTER IV.

       Table of Contents

      YOU ARE A HOPELESS SCAMP.

      Without even waiting for letters at the Herald office, in answer to my advertisement, I went on Saturday morning to Cook & Son's, on Broadway, and engaged two staterooms on the steamship "Madiana," of the Quebec SS. Company's line, to sail January 12. I found that I could secure both rooms, and, if it proved that I needed but one, the amount of passage money paid in advance—one hundred dollars—could be applied to mine alone. This pleased the remnant of Scotch blood left in my veins, for my relations have always said I "favored" my mother's side of the family, and she was a native of France. Though careless enough with money, I did not wish to pay for a stateroom that nobody would occupy, and there was a possibility that I would go alone, after all. The clerk, an affable fellow, promised to hold the extra room until the 5th of January, and to write me when it became necessary to put up the balance of the price or surrender the rights I had in it. I thought, on the whole, it was a sensible business transaction.

      "What name shall I register for the lady's room?" he asked, taking up a pen.

      "I am uncertain," I said, hesitating. "There are several of the family, and I don't know which it will be finally."

      "I will call it 'Miss Camran,' then," he said.

      There seemed no objection to this, and he wrote the name in his book.

      Arming myself with a handful of literature about the Islands, that he gave me, and which contained little information I was not already possessed of, I went back to my rooms and took a look at my wardrobe. I decided that I should want one or two new suits, of the very coolest texture, besides thin underclothing, some outing shirts, a couple of pairs of light shoes, etc. On Monday I began a search for these things, and found them with more difficulty than I anticipated. In midwinter few New York tradesmen are able to furnish thin clothing with celerity, and my time was growing short. I visited half a dozen shops before I could get fitted with shoes of the right weight, for instance. There were long hunts for underflannels and hose. The tailors offered me anything but thin weights, until I persisted and would not be put off, and then I had to select the goods by sample. With some extra light pajamas, a gauzy bathrobe, a lot of new collars and cuffs, and an extra dozen of colored bosom shirts, I thought myself at last nearly ready. I urged upon each dealer the necessity of sending his articles at the earliest possible moment, thinking it wisest to deceive him a little about the day I was to sail. The event proved this the only way I succeeded in getting them all delivered in season.

      It was with more excitement than was good for me that I took a hansom on Tuesday morning, at an early hour, and drove to the up-town office of the Herald. I expected a number of answers to my advertisement and wanted to take them home as expeditiously as possible. Nor was I disappointed. The clerk handed me out not less than a hundred and fifty envelopes, when I presented the card that had been given me, and he was kind enough to tie them in bundles at my request. Twenty minutes later I was in my sitting room, the door locked for fear of intrusion, and tearing open one after another with the hunger of curiosity.

      The first five or six were not at all satisfactory. They contained little beside requests for "further particulars," and had a business-like air that did not suit my mood. Then came one that was interesting enough to be put in the reserve pile from which the final decision was to be made. Perhaps I may as well give it now in its entirety:

      Dear Mr. 107—[that was the number the Herald had assigned me]—Although your announcement does not state your sex, I feel justified in assuming that you are a Man. "Lady" Typewriter! Well, as far as I know I answer that description, and now for the situation. "To travel in the Tropics?" I certainly have no objection to doing that, provided—! You say the "duties are light." Certainly that sounds encouraging. What do they consist of—actual typewriting or keeping dull care from drawing wrinkles on your manly brow? Typewriters are called upon to do such strange things in these days. The individual whose bread I now earn seems to consider that he has a right (in consideration of twelve dollars per week) to kiss me whenever he takes a fancy, which is the reason why I am seeking another employer, who, if he has the same tastes, may have a more attractive mouth for the purpose. How long is your journey to last and what pay do you intend to offer?

      I am twenty-six years of age, not specially ill looking, and have a good temper unless angered. I won't say much about my ability on the machine, for I presume that is a secondary consideration. Send your reply—if you think me worth it—to No. — East Sixteenth Street, but don't call in person unless you wish to have an interview with a gouty uncle or a frightfully jealous cousin.

      Ever Yours,

      ALICE BRAZIER.

      N.B. If you take me off with you, I shall let neither of them know where I have gone.

      This was bright and breezy, at least. The next one that I laid aside was as follows:

      Dear Sir:—I am a Southern girl, if one who has reached the age of 22 may so call herself. I have a good education and am refined in manner. I have no doubt I can fill all the requirements of the position you offer, and would be pleased to have you call, Wednesday afternoon, between two and four, at my lodgings, or on any other afternoon you may name. Please grant me at least an interview.

      Very Truly,

      MARJORIE MAY.

      No. — W. 45th Street.

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