On the
appearance of a _debutante_, they say, the first question in Boston is,
"Is she clever?" In New York, "Is she wealthy?" In Philadelphia, "Is she
well-born?" In Baltimore, "Is she beautiful?" And, for many years past,
common report has conceded the Golden Apple to the Monumental city. I
think the distinction has been fairly won.
The small, delicate features, the long, liquid, iridescent eyes, the
sweet, indolent _morbidezza_, that make southern beauty so perilously
fascinating, are not uncommon here, and are often united to a clearness
and brilliancy of complexion scarcely to be found nearer the tropics.
The Upper Ten Thousand by no means monopolize these personal advantages.
At the hour of "dress parade" you cannot walk five steps without
encountering a face well worthy of a second look. Occasionally, too, you
catch a provokingly brief glimpse of a high, slender instep, and an
ankle modeled to match it. The fashion of Balmorals and kilted kirtles
prevails not here; and maids and matrons are absurdly reluctant to
submit their pedal perfections to the passing critic. Even on a day when
it is a question of Mud _v._ Modesty, you may escort an intimate
acquaintance for an hour, and depart, doubting as to the color of her
hosen. But, conceding the justice of Baltimore's claim, and the constant
recurrence of a more than _stata pulchritudo_--I am bound to confess
that, with a single exception, I saw nothing approaching _supreme_
perfection of form or feature.
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