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For Woman’s Work.
FALSE FRIENDSHIP.
Thou craven thing
That creepest to my door to sit and sun
Thyself, because my deeds have won
A meed of praise!
Where didst thou sit and sing
When dark my days ?
O lesson, bitter-sweet,
Adversity hath made me grand,
It teaches me to understand
The crowd’s defeat.
To know there is a mighty horde
Os human things that have no life
Save stolen from a fuller board,—
These prey on Joy,
Deserting Grief and full of blame
For human woe and human shame!
Elizabeth Cherry Haire.
Unwritten Histery.
For Woman’s Work.
IN A VILLAGE CEMETERY.
WAS a November day when I visited
AI it last; a warm day, when the sun shone
V" brightly and it was hard to believe
that in a little while winter would
cover all the green mounds with snow. I
went with swift footsteps to the spot where
my own loved ones rest, the longing for
their presence—the “longing that comes
like a flood,” sometimes—had been upon
me. How hard to be content with graves,
when our hearts cry out for the eight of
dear faces and the sound of loved voices!
Before I turned homeward I wandered
over the enclosure, reading the names of
kindred, friends, and many strangers.
Many of the old headstones bear dates long
previous to my own birth. A favorite in
scription in those old days seems to have
been the following, which is repeated again
and again:
“A loving wife,
A mother dear,
A faithful friend,
Lies buried here.”
On one stone, marking the graves of two
children, were Longfellow’s lines:
“Day after day we think what they are doing
In those bright realms of air;
Year after year their tender steps pursuing,
Behold them grown more fair.”
Grass-grown these graves have been for
many a year, and the mother who chose
the inscription sleeps beside her children
now. On one side of a monument, in
memory of a child, a hand points upward
to the single word “Jewel;” on the other
side a hand points downward to the word
“Casket.”
On a stone which bore the date 1832, I
read the name of a great-aunt whom I had
never known, and recalled the story of her
flight from home in a town where
cholera was raging, to her childhood’s
home, only to fall a victim to the scourge
and be buried here. The excitement over
the onward march of cholera last sum
mer, and the danger that it may visit our
land next summer, gave a new interest to
this bit of family history.
A little further on I paused beside a
stone whereon was carved an open Bible.
I remembered hearing—as children hear
and remember many things which they
scarcely understand—someone say long
ago: “What a mockery,” and it had been
added: “He drank himself to death.”
What if, on the pages of the marble book,
had been carved: “No drunkard shall
inherit the kingdom of God.”
Leaving the older part of the grounds, I
went to where the flowers used at the
funerals yet remained on two new-made
graves—those of a mother and daughter.
Not long ago the young lady had recited
at the Decoration Day services here, that
most beautiful of all Memorial Day !poems,
Will Carleton’s “Cover Them Over.”
I was quite alone that autumn day, so
far as the living were concerned, but there
were tokens of the visits of others in the
fading flowers on several graves. On one
a cluster of golden rod had whitened in the
sun and frost until it was a flufly pompon.
On another the stems of the wild rose and
the berries of the native shrub, wahoo,
gleamed red in the yet green grass. The
lots around some of the more costly monu
ments did not show such evidences of care
as did others where no stone marked the
graves, but where every weed and brier
had been kept away. Upon one grave, ap
parently that of a child about ten years
old, was spelled by broken bits of marble
laid in the erase, the name “Lillie.” What
a story of love and poverty was revealed by
this touching device!
There were not wanting evidences of
neglect in portions of the grounds, and as
I noted them with regret, I recalled the old
sexton’s words to Little Nell in Old Curi
osity Shop : “It speaks well for the happi
ness of the living to see the graves of the
dead neglected.” I know that time changes
the bitterness of grief into a sad sweetness,
but who among us wishes to be happy
enough to forget or neglect the graves of
our dear ones? Sara Clabe.
For Woman’s Work.
A JEWEL OF THE SOUTH.
BY CAROLINE S. VALENTINE.
FFAIItS went smoothly as long as
the old colonel lived, for his annuity
kept up the establishment; not as it
had been maintained in the glori-
ous days before the war, but in sufficient
state to satisfy even the fastidious colonel.
But when the dear old man died the an
nuity of course was stopped, and there was
scarcely any visible means of support.
There was the old family mansion, but
there were the taxes to be kept up, repairs
to be made, and besides, one has also to
pay for the privilege of living. Mrs.
Gaylord, to be sure, did not want that priv
ilege, after her beloved life companion was
taken away. Hehadaways pe’ted and pam
pered her,and she was such an invalid that
no one, not even Nell, could All his place.
And now a heavy burden had fallen on
Nell Gaylord in addition to the crushing
one of her father’s death. She must do
something to support herself and her moth
er, and the invalid must never know how
greatly they were reduced.
But what could she do ?
Like so many girls of her class, she
could play and sing fairly well, and could
dance gracefully, but these accomplish
ments, even if she were thorough in any
one of them, could not be turned to ac
count in the little southern village where
she lived. She could not teach, had the
lessons she had once learned remained
fixed in her mind, for her mother would
miss her, would find out why she taught,
and the knowledge would certainly kill her.
In the meantime, while studying over
the problem, Nell was not idle. Her moth
er was such a great stickler for appear
ances that she would not consent to Nell’s
not donning mourning, although the girl
herself did not believe the colonel would
have wished it, and she knew she would
grieve as deeply for him in a blue dress as
in a black one. So, as there was nothing
to spare to purchase new mourning, she
was obliged to make new out of old. She
had once watched the housekeeper at the old
college dyeing some goods, and wondered
if she could not do the same. She had a
quantity of light dresses, and there was a
voluminous rusty crape veil in one of her
mother’s trunks, that had done duty many
years before.
Nell had nimble fingers, much taste, and
liked to sew; so she knew it would be an
easy matter to make herself a wardrobe
that would please even her exacting mother,
if she only had the materials.
Calling old Jane, she said: “Jane, go
down to the store and get me three pack
ages of good black dye. Old Jane
was the one faithful servant who had
stayed with the family all through the
dark days of the war, when all the other
slaves had fled—nothing could ever tempt
her to leave them. When she had gone
on her errand, Nell found the crape, and
selected two dresses, a sofa grey, and a
white wool, which she partially ripped.
After carefully studying the directions,
with Jane’s help she had dyed all the
goods before night, and Jane had washed
them and hung them to dry. A more
beautiful black could not have been found,
and they had been dyed so carefully that
the goods looked like new.
Nell was soon at work remodeling one
of the dresses, the crape being put on in
bands, and as she worked, the problem
which seemed so hard was gradually un
raveled. She could dye successfully for
herself, why not for others ? There was
no dye house in the village, of course, and
the nearest one was in the city almost
two hundred miles away.
It was true there still existed a preju
dice in the little town against ladies work
ing, but now it was imperative; how else
could the dear invalid have her medicines,
her wines, and nourishing soups ?
Nell had plenty of pride, some false
pride no doubt mingling with the wor
thy sort, but this she plucked out, root
and branch, when she printed the sign
that was put in the front drawing room
window:
Dyeing Done Here.
Yes, it was the only thing she could do,
and she waited with an anxious heart for
the first customer, who came in the person
of Miss Sally Furness,a good-natured spin
ster, addicted to bright clothing.
“Mercy, child, who’d thought of you do
ing such a thing ? But it is all right, and
I honor you for it. I’ve brought my light
blue cashmere, and I’d like it dyed a royal
purple. Take your time, child, no hurry
about it, and be sure to charge regular
rates,” wd kind hearted Miss Sally squeezed
Nell’s hand,and bustled away, leaving her
delighted and eager to begin on her first
commission.
No one could have found fault with Miss
Sally’s gown when it was done; the color
was even and beautiful, and bright enough
WOMAN’S WORK.
to suit its owner. It takes but a short time
for news to travel in a little place, and
soon everybody in Linnew knew that Nell
Gaylord had opened a dyeing establish
ment, and people began to ransack chests
and drawers for materials that would
make over, if only dyed. Soon she had all
that she, with Jane’s valuable help, could
do, and the fear that her mother—who was
kept in ignorance of the business ven
ture—should feel any want, began to sub
side. But, although nourished by all the
luxuries her devoted daughter could pro
cure, she gradually pined away, finding
life not worth the living without that dear
companion to live it with her. One morn
ing she quietly passed away, serene in the
thought that the estate—of whose dimin
ished proportions she never knew—would
support Nell comfortably.
After her mother had been laid to rest
Nell sadly returned to her work; orders
were coming in from neighboring towns,
and she took in a young woman to help
her. One day, when dyeing a dress a
bright red, her thoughts went back to a
time, three years before, when she had
worn one similar in color, to a lawn/«/e in
a neighboring county. And there,
among the roses in the big, old fashioned
garden, a distant relative of hers, a young
man of small fortune, but otherwise all
that could be desired, had told her
he loved her and begged her love in re
turn. She had given it to him, but the
old colonel’s wrath was great when he was
consulted. No penniless youngster, kin or
no kin, should aspire to his darling’s hand!
Harley Gasgoine had been peremptorily
dismissed, but he had told Nell as he left
the house with head proudly erect, that he
would yet win a fortune and return for
her. Wouldshe wait? Yes, she promised
she would wait, but three years had passed
with all its changes, and Harley had not re
turned. Perhaps he was dead, she thought,
or had forgotten her.
For several days she thought of him con
stantly, and yet when he really came, soon
after, she was faint with surprise and could
hardly answer his greetings. But he took
her hand and drew her to him until her
head rested upon his breast, told her that he
had won his fortune and had come for her to
share it with him, and a wave of joy swept
over her heart. But it was checked when
she thought of her work. Harley had such
an exalted opinion of a woman; perhaps he
would despise her for it. Determined to
have no concealments, she led him into
her work room and showed him the rows
of goods hanging around, waiting to be
finished. With a fond pressure of the
hand, he told hor that he had heard of her
business enterprise, and respected her the
more for it, though regretting the necessi
ty that compelled it.
As the impatient lover would wait no lon
ger, the clergyman was called in, they were
wedded that night, and happiness was
henceforth the lot of the brave little “dyer.”
For Woman’s Work.
CARE OF THE HAIR.
Keep the scalp clean. A shampoo of
Castile soap and white of egg used once a
week will answer in ordinary cases, and
the yolk of an egg beaten up in warm wa
ter is a most nutritious application to the
scalp. German women use this wash ha
bitually, and among no other people is
found more beautiful hair than among the
women of Germany.
Though an over-oiled head of hair is es
sentially vulgar, yet it is well to apply a
little oil to the roots of the hair for them
to feed and grow upon. This is specially
important if the hair seems dry. Pure,
unscented Lucca salad oil, or genuine
bear’s grease, will answer ; but the best
for this purpose is lanolin, which is an oil
derived from wool that has been thorough
ly cleansed from all dust, and is closely
akin to the oil deposits that should be
found upon all scalps. A substitute for
lanolin may be made by steeping wool in
alcohol, but as the oil thus obtained is of a
most penetrating nature, it should be used
sparingly by rubbing a very little into the
scalp at partings made here and there in
the hair until the entire surface has been
anointed in the lightest possible manner.
If necessary, this may be done once a
week, as a scanty allowance used at proper
intervals is much more beneficial than in
frequent, excessive applications. The oil
may be applied with the hand, or with a
soft brush kept for that purpose; it is well
also to keep a piece of flannel with which
to rub the hair at night, before brushing
it, so that all the oil used in the day may
be removed.
But if the hair has an excess of oil?
Then it may be cleansed by washing the
scalp in weak borax water and afterwards
rinsing both scalp and hair well in luke
warm water—for either hot or excessively
cold water is injurious to the roots of the
hair, the sudden shock occasioned by the
use of either, often weakening or destroy
ing the roots entirely.
Dandruff, if allowed to collect on the
scalp, eventually destroys the hair folli
cles and causes premature baldness. Great
care should be taken in its removal, how
ever, since any rough touch is injurious to
the roots of the hair; and the use of a comb,
or sharp, stiff brush for this purpose is
highly objectionable; instead, moisten the
scalp with a little glycerine diluted with
rosewater, and wash the dandruff off with
soft water, to which, if the scales are ex
cessive, a little mild soap—tar or Castile—
has been added. Lemon juice,, substituted
for the glycerine and rosewater, is another
excellent remedy for dandruff, but care
should be taken in washing it off after
using, as the acid is injurious to the hair.
A scalp massage (performed by gently
rubbing the entire scalp with the balls of
the finger tips until it is in a healthful,
pinkish glow from the friction) is benefi
cial to the hair, as is also the electricity
generated by simply threading the fingers
in and out through the loosened tresses.
Any woman can do this for herself, though
it is pleasanter—and perhaps more effica
cious—to receive such treatment at the
hands of another; but in all cases care
should be taken not to scratch the scalp
with the finger nails, as the roots of the
hair may become injured, or even perma
nently destroyed, by so doing.
THE HAIR.
The treatment of the hair differs some
what from that of the scalp, as the train
ing of a vine differs from the care and
cultivation of its roots.
In all cases, judicious brushing is rec
ommended as essential to the growth and
preservation of the hair. Two brushes are
necessary—one for cleansing and the other
for smoothing or polishing the hair. For
the first purpose, use a brush with moder
ately stiff bristles set far apart in an air
cushion that prevents injury to the scalp
when the brush is unintentionally used
with too great pressure; for the latter, one
with close-set, soft bristles is desirable.
Fifteen minutes twice a day for brush
ing the hair is recommended by best au
thorities, the preference being given to the
morning brushing because the hair is then
more supple, and as friction stimulates the
scalp and makes the brain more active, it
is inclined to promote wakefulness at
night.
The hair should be trimmed evenly at
the endsand then singed about once every
six weeks. The woman who neglects this
will be told by her hair dresser that “the
life is drippingout of Madam’s hair”—for
each hair is a tubular fiber with the color
ing fluid flowing through it, and if singed,
it is kept from splitting at the end—a lit
tle knot, instead, being formed there
which prevents the escape of the coloring
matter.
Sunlight is good for the hair—also a
free circulation of air about the roots for
at least one hour in the twenty-four.
Tightly pinned coiffures are detrimental,
as are also close coverings worn for any
length of time over the hair. The latter
engender baldness and occasion the early
appearance of gray hairs. People living
an out-of-door life have a much more vig
orous growth of hair, as a rule, than those
whose occupation confines them during
working hours to dimly or artificially
lighted rooms.
When the nourishing ducts of the hair
have become weakened or inactive, thus
causing the hair to fall out, it is well to
stimulate them into renewed life and vigor
by the use of some simple tonic. Gin is
highly recommended for this purpose, as
are also whiskey and quinine—used in the
proportion of an ounce of quinine to a pint
of whiskey. It should be well shaken be
fore using, and applied only to the roots
of the hair.
The following recipe has proven satis
factory in many cases for strengthening
the hair, and preventing it from falling
out:
“Vinegar ofcantharides, half ounce;
eau-de-cologne, one ounce; rose-water,
one ounce.”
The hair annually falls out to some ex
tent, so no anxiety need be felt about such
a loss unless the quantity is great; in that
case, the simplest—and perhaps best
remedy is the old-fashioned one that our
grandmothers used: sage tea, prepared
from either the green or dried leaves, and
of such a degree of strength that it will be
possible to see to the bottom of an ordinary
teacupful; add to this quantity a table
spoomul nf bay rum; wet the scalp every
morning for a fortnight or so with the
mixture, and follow this treatment by a
scalp massage at night, when both scalp
and hair are perfectly dry.
Bodily health is, of course, of the first
importance in considering the treatment
of the hair, and all mental worry and anx
iety should be carefully avoided. Sleep,
too, is extremely beneficial, as is also
wholesome, nutritious food, plenty of out
door exercise, serenity of mind, and a
cheerful,happy disposition.
Genevieve Hayb.
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