He leads the way, all wreathed in smiles, And wonderful in spotless spats That flitter like twin butterflies Along an avenue of hats, Each one displaying on its brim A husband--fashion’s latest whim. Clorinda tries them each in turn Before the glass; some are too small, And some too cold, and some too stern, And some are slightly soiled, and all, When punctured by the hat-pin’s steel, Betray by squirms how bored they feel. At last Clorinda came to one Marked “_Dobbs_,” that scarce seemed worth her while; But when she tried it on for fun, It met the hat-pin with a smile, As if to say, “Oh, beauteous miss, Even a stab from you is bliss!” “The very thing! but thrown away Upon a _hat_!” Clorinda cried. “’T would make a sweet corsage bouquet.” The shoppers stared quite stupefied To see Clorinda Dobbs depart Wearing a husband next her heart. [Illustration: Drawing by F. R. Gruger] A TRIUMPH FOR THE FRESH-AIR FUND _Charity Note._ “Owing to the enterprise and generosity of the United Welfare League, a gentleman, widely known in New York as Happy Harry, was recently ‘rescued’ on the Bowery, washed, shaved, shod, and sent to Sunnyside, in Sullivan County, New York. “We are glad to learn, from recent advices from Sunnyside, that the stranger is wholeheartedly entering into the life and spirit of the place.” THE SENIOR WRANGLER _SNOBBERY--AMERICA VS. ENGLAND_ “How the Americans _do_ love a Duke!” is a frequent comment of the British journals, and they then proceed to the sober generalization that “the United States is a nation of flunkies and of snobs.” Whoever will be at the pains to follow British weekly journalism will find this sentiment repeated every little while. Good old British Podsnap! No half-way course for him. He is not the man to shilly-shally with a nation, and he will speak the plain truth to any hemisphere, no matter how it hurts the hemisphere’s feelings. Vulgarity is a matter of geography. It is reckoned from Pall Mall as time is from Greenwich. But as to snobs. New York’s streets are of course often choked with them. A duke, an elephant, a base-ball pitcher on Fifth Avenue, may at any time be the center of a disproportionate and servile attention from both the American people and the press. Yet the cult of the egregious and the greatly advertised has never the deep devotion of sound snobbery. It is not for an upstart and volatile people to dispute the calm supremacy of British snobbery. Your true snob is not inquisitive at all. He has no sense of any social values not his own. It is among the tightly closed minds of the tight little island that he is seen at his best. What other nation could produce, in journalism, such inimitable snobs as the Lord Alfred Douglases and the Saturday Reviewers?