But as a fitting anodyne to this regrettable case of soul malnutrition,
let me append a description of a robuster female, taken verbatim from a
manuscript (penned by masculine hand) which became a by-word in one
publisher's office.

She was a beautiful young lady. She was a medium, sized, elegant
figure, wearing a neatly-fitted travelling dress of black alpaca.
Her raven-black hair, copious both in length and volume and figured
like a deep river, rippled by the wind, was parted in the centre and
combed smoothly down, ornamenting her pink temples with a flowing
tracery that passed round to its modillion windings on a graceful
crown. Her mouth was set with pearls adorned with elastic rubies and
tuned with minstrel lays, while her nose gracefully concealed its
own umbrage, and her eyes imparted a radiant glow to the azure of
the sky. Jewels of plain gold were about her ears and her tapering
strawberry hands, and a golden chain, attached to a time-keeper of
the same material, sparkled on an elegantly-rounded bosom that was
destined to be pushed forward by sighs.

Let it not be thought that only the gracious sex can inspire such
plenitude of meticulous portraiture! Here is a description of the hero
in a novel by a man which appeared on my desk recently:

For some time past there had been appearing at the home of Sarah
Ellenton, a man not over fifty years of age, well groomed and of the
appearances of being on good terms with prosperity in many phases.
His complexion was reddish. His hazel eyes deepset and close
together were small and shifting. His nose ran down to a point in
many lines, and from the point back to where it joined above his