 | Saratoga in 1901 |  |
SPRINKLED.—NEW SPRING.—JESSIE CRANE.
Congress Hall, July 23.
Grown people have a good many white days in their lives to
look back upon,—the first doll, first love, engagement, college
triumphs, a peep at Naples, and a thousand and one great
surprises; but one of the whitest days of little Jessie Crane's life
was last Thursday, at the Grand Union. Jessie Crane is a very
little girl, not more than forty inches high, with Saragossan
blonde hair, rosy cheeks, and eyes with long, drooping lashes,
and she lives at No. 31 West Twenty-first street. On Thursday
Miss Jessie held a reception—a grand drawing-room reception.
Everybody came, and a bevy of misses went into ecstacies over
Jessie's beautiful wardrobe. Her dress was scarlet satin, trimmed
with real lace, and her parasol, with a little six inch handle, was
trimmed to match. Her golden ringlets curled all around her
head. Her jewelry was rich and costly, and so great was the
curiosity to see her nice things, that her mother made a display
of them in the grand parlors. The tiny trunk was opened, and
four inches square; three bonnets, about the size of your hand;
diamond rings, point lace jackets, camel's hair shawls, twenty
inches square; little envelopes, about an inch long; visiting
cards, a half-inch square; and even a little thimble about as
large as a pea. Jessie's trousseau was imported from Paris.
Among the guests present were Miss Ellen Kellogg, of Chicago;
Miss Bella Seligman, of Thirty-fourth street; Miss Ida Leland,
Miss Englehart, Miss Petus, of
Madison Avenue, and many
others. After the reception,
Miss Mamie Crane locked her
daughter up in a trunk, and the
servant carried her away, Jessie was a—a—d-o-l-l!
SPRINKLED!
Yes, for the first time, Lake Avenue is sprinkled, from the
village to the lake. For unremembered years point laces have
been turned yellow by the débris of this highway, and camel's
hair shawls and rich pongee dresses have been frosted with the
sacred soil of Saratoga. But now pure air takes the place of the
wonted simoon, and a Central Park phæton is a delightful
luxury.
NEW INDIAN SPRING.
Another new spring! When they shoved the Indians away
from their old camping ground above the Park, they (Mr. Jessie
Button, of Ballston) commenced boring for water. Mr. Button
is the man who found the Geyser spring. After boring two
hundred feet Mr. Button struck the mineral water strata, and
FIZZ!
went a stream of carbonic acid gas forty feet into the air! The
spring has been “doing so some more” to-day. Tubing will
soon be put down when it is expected that this spring will spurt
like the Geyser. The water tastes like Congress spring—only
not so much so. The spring is a mystery. The laborers are as
mysterious as a masonic lodge about its depth, amount of rock
excavated, &c.
They go around with their fingers to their lips, and sh—! is the
only ominous answer given to the thousand
and one questions asked. My Statician
says they bored 95 feet, excavated no rock,
and that the spring will not run after the
excess of gas is exhausted. He was right—for it has stopped
sprouting already.
WALKING STICKS.
Dr. Fred. Anderson says “walking sticks at Saratoga—articles
of use and ornament to the view—are
abominations in the hands of the many.
Every male at this summer resort considers
it the correct thing to “wear” a
stick, and, moreover, that it is essential
to keep it in constant agitation; when
the tyro is not tripping himself with his
awkward little cane, after the fashion of a
green adjutant on trainin' day, he is hazarding
the vision of his neighbors, or
punching the short ribs of the nervous
classes. This fashion should be regulated
by an Act of Congress. It calls for legislation
loudly. It should be the privilege
of the halt, blind, and infirm to carry canes, and of dexterous
swells to wear sticks only. Every afternoon, while the band
performs, those who are not hammering in consonance with the
leader's baton, are twirling their sticks like Fourth of July pinwheels,
and attempting to appear composed. The danger of
these weapons is understood at art galleries alone, and ignored
totally at Saratoga.”
| Saratoga in 1901 | |