WOMEN IN CONGRESS
SHALL WOMEN PROPOSE?
FROCKS AND THE STAGE
ALTRUISM
SOCIAL CLEARING-HOUSE
DINNER-TABLE TALK
NATURALIZATION
ART OF GOVERNING
LOVE OF DISPLAY
VALUE OF THE COMMONPLACE
THE BURDEN OF CHRISTMAS
THE RESPONSIBILITY OF WRITERS
THE CAP AND GOWN
A TENDENCY OF THE AGE
A LOCOED NOVELIST

ROSE AND CHRYSANTHEMUM

The Drawer will still bet on the rose. This is not a wager, but only a
strong expression of opinion. The rose will win. It does not look so now.
To all appearances, this is the age of the chrysanthemum. What this gaudy
flower will be, daily expanding and varying to suit the whim of fashion,
no one can tell. It may be made to bloom like the cabbage; it may spread
out like an umbrella--it can never be large enough nor showy enough to
suit us. Undeniably it is very effective, especially in masses of
gorgeous color. In its innumerable shades and enlarging proportions, it
is a triumph of the gardener. It is a rival to the analine dyes and to
the marabout feathers. It goes along with all the conceits and fantastic
unrest of the decorative art. Indeed, but for the discovery of the
capacities of the chrysanthemum, modern life would have experienced a
fatal hitch in its development. It helps out our age of plush with a
flame of color. There is nothing shamefaced or retiring about it, and it
already takes all provinces for its own. One would be only
half-married--civilly, and not fashionably--without a chrysanthemum
wedding; and it lights the way to the tomb. The maiden wears a bunch of
it in her corsage in token of her blooming expectations, and the young
man flaunts it on his coat lapel in an effort to be at once effective and
in the mode. Young love that used to express its timid desire with the
violet, or, in its ardor, with the carnation, now seeks to bring its
emotions to light by the help of the chrysanthemum. And it can express
every shade of feeling, from the rich yellow of prosperous wooing to the
brick-colored weariness of life that is hardly distinguishable from the
liver complaint. It is a little stringy for a boutonniere, but it fills
the modern-trained eye as no other flower can fill it. We used to say
that a girl was as sweet as a rose; we have forgotten that language. We
used to call those tender additions to society, on the eve of their event
into that world which is always so eager to receive fresh young life,
"rose-buds"; we say now simply "buds," but we mean chrysanthemum buds.