The Louisiana Democrat

Fashionable Mourning

A writer in Once a Week gives the following capital article on "fashionable mourning" :

This writer is supposed to live in London, and to receive a commission from a relative in the country asking him to obtain the proper articles needed by the widow of a friend, just died, for the approaching funeral, designating the articles. He immediately proceeded to a shop where the sable garments were on sale, or intended to be so considered, and found in it the sad habiliments of mourning. "No vulgar colors glared from the shop windows. No gilt annoyed with its festive glare" the name of the firm was scarcely readable in letters of gray on a black ground-here and there heads of white set off the general gloom like the crape piping of a widow's cap. On pushing the plate glass door, it gave way with a hushed and muffled sound, and I was met by a gentleman of sad expression who, in the most sympathetic tone of voice inquired the nature of my want, and, on my reply, directed me to the inconsolable grief department. The inside of the establishment I found to answer exactly to the appearance without. The long passage I traveled was in white and black borderings like so many mourning cards placed on end; and I was becoming impressed with the deep solemnity of the place, when I caught sight of a little figure rolling up some ribbon, and on inquiring if I had arrived at the inconsolable grief department, she replied in a gentle voice slightly shaded with gayety, that that was the half mourning counter, and that I must proceed until I had passed the repository for widow's silk. Following her directions, I at last reached my destination, a room draped with black with a hushed atmosphere about it, as though a body was invisibly lying there in state.

An attendant in sable habiliments, picked but with the inevitable white tie, and with an undertakerish eye and manner awaited my commands. I accordingly produced my list. Scanning it critically, he said:

"Permit me to inquire, sir, if it is a deceased partner?"

I nodded assent.

"We take the liberty of asking this distressing question," he replied, "as we are extremely anxious to keep the character of this establishment by matching at once the exact shade of affliction. Our paramattas and crapes in this department give satisfaction to the deepest woe. Permit me to show you a new texture, which we term the inconsolable."

With that he placed a pasteboard box before me, full of mourning fabrics.

"Is this it?" I inquired, lifting a lugubrious piece of drapery.

"Oh no!" he replied; "the one you have in your hand was manufactured for last year's afflictions and was termed 'the stunning blow serge; it makes up well, however, with our sudden bereavement silk -a leading article--and our distraction trimmings."

"I am afraid," I said, "my commission says nothing about these novelties."

"Ladies in the country," he blandly replied, "are possibly not aware of the perfection to which the art of mourning genteelly is now brought. But I will see that your commission is attended to, to the letter." Giving another glance over my list "Oh! a widow's cap is mentioned. I see. I must trouble you, sir, to proceed to the weeds department for that article--the first turning to the left."

Proceeding as I was directed, I came to a recess fitted up with a solid phalanx of widows' caps. I perceived, at a glance, that they exhausted the whole gamut of grief, from its deepest shade to that tone which is expressive of a pleasing melancholy. The foremost row confronted me with all the severity of crape folds, in the midst of which my mind's eye could see the set features of many a Mrs. Clennad, whilst those behind gradually faded off into the most jaunty tarlatan; and one or two of the outsiders even breaking out into worldly feathers and the most flaunty weepers.

Forgetting the proprieties of the moment, I inquired of the grave attendant if any of the latter would be suitable?

"Oh, no, sir," she replied, with a slight shade of severity in her voice; "you may gradually work up to it in a year or two; but any of these," pointing to the front row of weeds, "are indispensable for the first burst of grief."

Acquiescing in the propriety of this sliding scale of sorrow, I selected some weeds expressive of the deepest dejection I could find; and, having completed my commission, I inquired whether I could procure for myself some lavender gloves.

"Oh, sir, for those things," she said, in the voice of Tragedy speaking to Comedy "you must turn to your right, and you will come to the Complimentary Mourning counter," I replied, "for some gloves, but I fear I'm wrong."

"You are quite right sir," she said, "this is it."

She saw me eye glance at the cheerful silks, and with the instinctive tact of a woman, guessed my thoughts in a moment.

"Haute, sir, is very appropriate for the lighter sorrows."

But absolute red," I retorted, pointing to some velvet of that color.

"Is quite admissible when you mourn the departure of a distant relative; but may I show you some gloves?" and suiting the action to the word, she lifted the cover from the glove box and displayed a perfect picture of the delicate half-tones, indicative of a struggle between the cheerful and the sad.

"There is a pleasing melancholy in the shade of gray," she said, indenting slightly each outer knuckle with the elastic, as she measured my hand.

"Can you find a lavender?"

"Oh, yes; the sorrow tint is very slight in that and it wears admirably."

Thus, by degrees, growing beautifully less, the grief of the establishment died out in the tenderest lavender, and I left, profoundly impressed with the charming improvements which Parisian taste has made in the old original style of mourning.