The Women Of The Better Class

“The artists and writers were the first Americans to make themselves at home in this amusing Parisian resort. (The Old Café Martin.) And it was here, too, that women of the better class first tasted the delights of café life. It was considered quite a daring thing in the late eighties for be-cloaked and be-diamonded women of Fifth Avenue to sit here and sip their after-dinner coffee.” Vanity Fair.

One of those queer, artistic dives, Where funny people had their fling. Artists, and writers, and their wives-- Poets, and all that sort of thing. Here, too, to view the vulgar herd And sip the daring demi-tasse-- Be-cloaked, be-diamonded, be-furred-- Came women of the better class.

With its Parisian atmosphere, It had a Latin Quarter ring. Painters and journalists came here-- Actors, and all that sort of thing. Here, too, to watch the Great Ungroomed And sip the dangerous demi-tasse, Be-furred, be-feathered and be-plumed, Came women of the better class.

Here Howells dined--Saint Gaudens, Nast, Kipling, Mark Twain and Peter Dunne, Nell Terry, and not least though last One Robert Louis Stevenson. And mingling with that underworld, To sip the devilish demi-tasse, Be-cloaked, be-diamonded, be-pearled, Came women of the better class.

Like geese to see the lions fed, They came--be-jewelled and be-laced, Only to find the lions fled. “My Word!” cried they, “What wretched taste!” Ermined and minked and Persian-lambed, Be-puffed (be-painted, too, alas!) Be-decked, be-diamonded--be-damned! The women of the better class.