Memories grave and gay

by Florence Howe Hall

At school all the girls in my class were older than I, except my friend, Louise Darling. Sister Julia and I were so nearly of the same age that in our school-girl days, as in those of our childhood, we went to parties together. Hence, when she began to go into society it was rather hard for me to stay behind, although I was only seventeen and still at school. By this time the unwisdom of exaggerating your age had appealed to my Boston soul, which was greatly torn during that winter. The older set, a number of whose members had been classmates at school, were now in society. As by a flash of light, I saw the dangers of my position, and drew back before it was too late. I joined the dancing-class of the younger set—the girls not yet out—although at school there had been little commerce between us.

When a dance was given at our house, sister Julia should really have had all the honors. But she cared little for dancing, while I was very fond of it. One of my special friends, Charlie Longfellow, the poet’s eldest son, was my partner for the german. I carried a large bouquet and altogether had a royal time. Julia danced with Mr. Braggiotti, a Greek gentleman, and no doubt their conversation was less frivolous than ours. Charlie Longfellow ran away to the war not long afterward.

When the time for my real entrance into society came, in the following year, there were only three other débutantes, namely, the Misses Sara P. Lowell, Cora Crowninshield, and Clara Gardner. Obviously no sewing-circle could be formed for us, so I joined that of the older set. Instead of the handsome lunch now customary at the meetings of these societies, we enjoyed a modest repast, consisting exclusively of bread and butter in endless variety—crumpets, brown bread, biscuits, etc., with tea or chocolate. It was served at eleven or twelve o’clock in the forenoon, dinner being at half past two.

With gold going always higher, the price of everything soared in the ’Sixties, as in the present war. The sad part of it was that they did not come down until years afterward. The highest point reached by gold was three hundred, but, although it dropped later, prices did not. They were so sensitive as to respond instantly to any rise, but were entirely unaffected by a fall of the precious metal. This seemed to me very unfair. With occasional help from my mother, I had bought my own clothes after reaching the age of fifteen, when I was given an allowance for dress.

It was indeed a problem for the girls of those days to dress suitably, when everything was so dear. Some of my friends bought braid and made their own straw hats. The price of kid gloves—even the short ones then usually worn—was so high that certain girls with skilful fingers made their own. We also made our own undersleeves and even a few linen collars. The enormous hoops of this period required a large amount of material for the skirts of gowns, especially as these were not gored, the entire fullness being gathered or plaited at the waist-line. When certain girls first appeared at the Assemblies, it was said that their skirts were six yards in circumference! Our hoops were not quite so large as this, but they were terrific in size, especially for evening dress. For a lady to enter an omnibus at that time was no easy matter. Fortunately, our wire cages were very light and elastic. You had to be very careful, however, when you sat down in a crowded car, to pull up the hoop behind, as otherwise it would stick straight out in front! At one time these great bird-cages were arranged so that they teetered back and forth as you moved along. The skirts, which were long, were then looped up gracefully in scallops, when you walked abroad, showing your balmoral, or ornamental petticoat of woolen cloth. The balmorals were often pretty, and did prevent our skirts from trailing in the gutter. They were much more economical, also, than the starched white skirts which preceded them.

But, oh, how sad it was when each succeeding year brought an expansion in the circumference of our gowns, obliging us to discard these before they were half worn out! It is my firm belief that the persons who set the fashions purposely change them in such a way as to promote as much as possible the casting away of half-worn garments and the purchase of new ones.

Fortunately, there were ingenious dressmakers in the ’Sixties who could do wonders in the way of combination, a fine new dress coming out of two old ones. The fashion of making evening dresses of tarlatan and similar diaphanous materials enabled young girls to have a number of gowns for a relatively small price. True, many layers of the stuff were necessary—but the construction, with a little help from the dressmaker, was easy, thus lessening the expense of labor. You can take grand large stitches in tarlatan and they will not show!

We made many of our own bonnets, also, some clever girls actually quilting the silk in diamonds instead of buying it ready made. It must have been a hideous material, but we admired it when it was in fashion. This reminds me that among my early memories are those of certain very old gentlemen in Boston wearing high hats and overcoats of quilted silk!

Our ball dresses were made with bodice cut moderately low, a long point in front and at the back and full sleeves reaching half-way to the elbow. The effect of these pointed waists over the full skirts was certainly elegant. Somebody had to lace you up behind, for obviously you could not do this yourself. If you were clever, you could undo the lacing on your return home from the ball. The Assemblies, usually held in Papanti’s Hall, were the backbone of the winter’s entertainments for the young set, although there were always private dances also.

In that primitive day a book was sent around to the families who were considered eligible as subscribers for the Assemblies. Boston was then extremely stern in its construction of who should and who should not have the privilege of entering their names on this sacred scroll.