Newspaper Page Text
14
WOMAN KA 1 /
GOSSIP OF THE
LENTEN SEASON
Bab Declares That the Proper
Study of Womankind Is
Man.
(Copywright, 1898.)
The one Lenten class that has had a reg
ular and full attendance is that one where
the teacher instructed her scholars in the
art of being charmed. At least it isn’t
put Uhls way—l believe there is some sort
of a health title given to it—but the gen
eral idea is that you pay $lO for twenty
lessons, and learn how to be lovely forever
over and a day after.
The teacher is, first of all, a woman of
sense. She began by saying that the av
erage woman did not know how to wash
her face, and I covered myself with dis
honor by calling out: “Hear!” Hear!”
Aly dearest enemy said it sounded as if I
didn’t understand the noble art of bathing
my countenance, but that is anotlher story.
The average woman, so said the speaker,
In washing her face, takes the end of a
towel, dips it in a little tepid water,
smears around under her eyes, about the
lip of her nose and the edges of her chin,
and then she carefully goes over her face
with a damask towel to absorb any stray
drops of water that may incidentally cling
to her. Then s/he fiddles with the powdeu
dabbles on a little rouge, and goes out un
der the impresison that she has bathed her
face. Now, the woman who knows it all
says that the right way to wash your face
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Is, in the very beginning, to have the big
igests kind of a basin, and to fill it almost
to the top with hot water. Then take in
one of those animated washcloths—your
hands—a cake of delicate soap, lather well,
and go all over your face with both hands’
rubbing, scrubbing, rinsing and bathing
until there is an exquisite sense of cleanli
ness. Now’ it is time to empty that basin
and to fill it with tepid water going all over
your face so that not a particle of soap
■clings to you, and after throwing it away
give your face its third bath of water
water that is cold enough to make your
skin conscious of a sensation of life. That
is the sort of bath that keeps the skin
fine and delicate, clear, firm and exquis
itely beautiful. It is not necessary to rub
your face so hard that your nose is red
and your eyes are full of soap. There is a
right and wrong way to wash the face, and
the right way is the way that we are be
ing taught this Lent.
By the bye, if you are an American, you
have what the doctors call a sensitive skin,
and as soon as March winds began to fan
your cheeks, and the March sun began to
smile upon you. there was an impression
left—it is an impression—that you don't
fancy, and you use every remedy you can
think of to make the golden spots go away.
Be wise in your generation, and, with the •
exception of taking care of your skin, let '
the freckles alone. You may be induced to j
do this when you are told, as a grand- i
mother told a party of young girls, that
they ought to be proud of rather than wor
ried about their freckles, because it was a
well known fact that a girl that was I
freckled was invariably loveable. The wo
man who is giving us points on being
charming says that lemon juice dappled on
the skin will cause the freckles to disap
pear. A remedy which was known before
the days of Cleopatra, and which is called
“virginal milk,” is said to be destruction
to them. You make it today just as did
the gentle Charmian when her mistress
thought she noticed one amber colored spot
upon her cheek near her left eye. The re
cipe has nor varied: “To a quart of rose- !
water add. drop by drop, an ounce of tine- |
ture of bezoine, stirring it constantly.” I
When you want to use it, throw enough in |
the hand basin to make the water the col
or of skim milk, and then bathe your face
thoroughly with it. dabbing it with a soft
towel. Just remember to remember that
it is tincture of benzoine that you need,
and not bezine, which would be about as
good for your face as kerosene oil.
The lady lecturer said that the average
woman treated her face as if it were made
of buckram, and not of the most tender
material in the world.
Away back in the days of Charles 11.,
when to be a beauty meant to be a success,
there was a bath in vogue which was sup
posed to give special tone to the skin, and ,
to keep it in proper condition. It was a j
very simple bath, consisting merely of tep
id water in which there was thrown a pint
of perfectly pure vinegar. The ladies of
the olden days thought much of their own
books on cosmetics, and each generation
of lovely women wrote in the family book
that which tended to make her most at
tractive, caused the curl to stay in her
hair and made her eyes brightest, so that
the coming beauties could see, learn and
inwardly digest. It has been said that
Cleopatra herself wrote a book on the art
of the toilet, and I have sometimes been
frivilous enough to wonder if the Sphinx
knew where that book was hidden, and
wouldn’t tell. Tne lecture who was lec
turing has great respect for the 15-minute
nap. She says that if you and I and the
other women would throw ourselves down
on a comfy lounge and become lost to the
world for about 15 minutes each day, we
would grow younger with marvelous speed.
She is also a great believer in the advan
tages of not worrying, and she thinks that
women grow more lovely by being told of
their charms. Here I agree with her. A
few words of praise have made many an
ordinary woman a delight, and a daily dose
of praise from the right man has made wo
men absolutely beautiful.
Who is the right man? Poor Mrs. Car
lyle thought she had got him. and yet a
friend who met the genius on the door
step one day when he looked a little ex
cited, passed him by with a civil bow’, only
to be ushered into a darkened room, where
the debris of the tea was on the floor,
and the figure of Mrs. Carlyle on the sofa.
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-nia D agitated voice the wife inquired
Did you meet Thomas?”
nn T ?hV? Dd res Ponded: “Yes, I met him
is the mauer?” 5 g Very Sad ' What
“The matter!” came the answer. “I
have been two days on this sofa with a
sick headache, and he has onlv just this
instant inquired what ailed me, and I—
well, I have thrown my teacup at him.”
And these two people thought that thev
loved each other! But take Disraeli and
his wife. After thirty-two years of mar
ried life he spoke of her as “the most se
vere critic and the most perfect wife.”
These people did love each other. Did you
er read that life of Lady Dufferin writ
ten by her son? Read it, my friend. There
is the story of the woman who was never
so old that men did not fund her charm
ing. It is true that she was one of the
beautiful Sheridans, and such women come
only once in a century, but when you read ;
about these women does it not seem worth •
while to make yourself charming, even if
the process involves much thought and
much use of water and soap?
I read a little story the other dav that
delighted my soul. The wife of the fa
mous Sir Bartie Freer had driven to the
station to meet her husband. She told the
footman to go and find the general. The
servant, a new one. had been engaged in
his master's absence, so he asked: “How
shall I know him?” “Oh.” answered Lady
Frere. “look for a tall gentleman who is
helping somebody. Sure enough he
found the hero of a hundred battles help
ing an old lady out of the railway car.
The loveliest thing that General Bobs
ever did was to dedicate his book. “Forty-
One Years In India.” “To my wife, without
whose help my 41 years in India couid not
be the happy retrospect it is.” I grow
very proud of being a woman when I real
ize what splendid wives some of them
have made, what good companions they
have been, and what veritable joys for
ever. It makes the little care taking very
well worth while. I know the woman’s
rights women think that being a com
panion to a man does not amount to much.
But it does, my friend, it does. And if
there is anything good in a man, if there
is anything gentle in a man, anything al
together delightful in a man you can
generally trace it to his mother. Oh, I
know what I am talking about! I have
always maintained that the proper study
MACON NEWS SATURDAY EVENING, APRIL 2 1898
of womankind was man. It is is an inter
esting study that makes it worth while to
garb one's seif in one’s best gown, to b -
as attractive as possible, and then to read
as distinctly as possible. Man is an in
teresting book, and you can be pretty cer
tain that when you finish reading one edi
tion that a sequel will follow. For what
woman possessed of any wit was ever sat
isfied with the first volume of a story?
She keeps on reading and reading until the
entire story is hers, and then she learns
that by heart. Has this been your expe
rience? No? Well, it has been the expe
rience of many of the women I hav,
known, and in truth it has been the expe
rience of that omniverous reader,
The early Christians did not observe
Easter, and it was not until the fifth or
sixth century of the Christian era that the
observance of the day became general. The
council of Nice, in 352 A. D., ruled that
the day must be observed on the first
Sunday of the first full moon after March
21st.
You can talk to 10.000 every day throuab
th« nolnmn» of Th»
■ KOwt
♦
STYLISH STATIONERY.
Fashionable Paper for Those Who Regard
the Elegances of Lije.
Huge envelopes that contain onlv one
simple unfolded sheet are'to be
the mediums of ceremonious corresnon
uence among people who have a true re
gard for the elegancies of life savs a
writer tn the New York Mail and’Express
Its vprv sty e n 9 ther ? rett y nor sensible,
air abour aD H IVeReSS has an
half \ h makes one think onlv
half sheets can be used. The ext-a ex
travagance in the way of the wide extent
or enA elope does not destroj’ this feeling
Enterprising stationers may work their
',\ eadae st will and ingenuity as to new
styles in paper and envelopes, but one
must wonder who and what are the people
wno are attracted by their glaring novel
ties. Tnere ought to be but one legitimate
rule for the writing materials of well bred
men and women, and that is to have it as
good and plain and as perfectly fresh as
possible. Nothing is prettier than a
square sheet of ivory white, parchment
like paper, with the address neatly stamp
ed at the top, and. perhaps, if ornamenta
tion is particularly desired, a small mono
gram in the same color to match in the
opposite corner. All the awful designs that
are displayed by stationers, however,
should be spurned by everybody who has
any idea of good taste. There’ is scarlet
writing paper and brown writing paper,
and a dreadful purple writing paper, and
who does not know of that “delicately per
fumed, roseate sheet” of which lady novel
ists are so fond? But, to be correct, paper
can only be white, either ivory or cream,
pale gray, that curious shade of parch
ment blue, or possibly a delicate tone of
lavender. All other tints should be
shunned like a plague.
ROniHNGE CF
EB6TER SUNDRY
The Story of a Bachelor, a
Pretty Girl and Their
Love Affair.
(Copyright, 1598.) '
When a man is 45 he begins to speak of
himself as an old fellow ialbeit he resents
I the public acquiescence in his statement),
. jests about b s growing tendency towards
stoutness, and watches it with anxiety in
■ the seclusion of his den, where the mir
i ror reflects without speaking on the crys
l tallized fact of bis embonpoint, puts off
1 the date of his probable death from 70 till
i 90, and begins to look up and remember
' the records concerning the longevity of his
( forefathers. These unpleasant tendencies
I are emphasized in the case of a bachelor,
for he has no patient wife to conceal the
thinness of the hair on his temples, or
children to keep him young by travels into
s J
.oat land where fancy masquerades as
fact and fact as fancy.
David Spring was of this semi-objec
tionable class. He had allowed the good
things of life to slip by him unnetted
while he had busied himself in chasing
what seemed to him of paramount import
ance until secured, when he discovered it
was but a glossy apple with a dusty inte
rior. At 45 he was rich, good looking, a
desirable parti for those who were con
tented with the has, instead of the possi
bilities of the may be, was angled after by
many anxious mammas, and met three
quarters of the way by dutiful daughters
who had inherited tendencies toward lux
ury and well kept homes. But he seemed
to have lost the faculty for matrimony
which is born in some, achieved by others,
and thrust upon a full third of the mas
culine portion of the globe. He appeared
to lack the strength to make that leap
into the abyss of dual companionship
which men younger and less successful
than himself thought as nothing, taking it
as an adjunct to club, sporting and mer
cantile life. He admitted to others that
ti,e young women of his acquaintance were
chaiming, companionable, fascinating, per
plexing, and provocative of further anal
ysis in fact, all that the society journals
denominated them —and acknowledged to
himself that he was an old fogy, “out of
it, a back number, and deserved his fate,
which he pictured as a gradual descent
from day to day into a crabbed and lonely
old age, passed over by his friends for
younger men who were more leniently dis
posed toward the marriageble portion of
the female population, exacting to his ser
vants, rheumatic and careless in dress.
If he had been poetic he would have said
that hope had fled, and illusion was shat
tered, two necessary ingredients for a fu
ture with with daily companionship, but
he was not poetic. It was a long time
since he had sat on a green bank and read
“Tears, Idle Tears,” to a charming young
woman in a white gown, with auburn hair
and violet eyes, and a still longer time
since he had wandered into the paths of
versifying without the proper inspiration
of said feminine prompter.
He was going up town in the cable car
one afternoon from Wall street, when he
was suddenly reminded of the auburn
haired girl. He thought of her occasion
ally when he saw a picture with suggestive
curves in a shop window, when he heard
deep notes of passion thrilling in an actress’
I voice, or when, as sometimes happened,
he met the original at dinner with her
portly husoand. A. such mormats he
would think grimly of the might have
been, of his foolish ambitions and near
sightedness. Tais day it was the scent of
some flowers that recalled her, and the
dainty face of a young girl who sat oppo
site to him at first and later compelled
him to rise by an indefinably expectant
glance and give his seat to a stout la i,’
who was burdened with bundles an 1 trod
on his toes. They rode a long way togeth
er. he stealing glances at her now and
then, reflecting on the past and possible
future, she slightly embarrassed when she
nitt them, and deliciously cognizant when
she did not. He followed her mechanically
when she alighted from the car. Perhaps
he would not have done so if she had not
stopped at the street next his own. but one
block is a considerable of a concession for
a man of 45 to make to some blue eyes, a
dainty profile, a few withered flowers and
the power of a dead past. He was glad
that she lived so near to him. although
he was half ashamed to confess it. He
might see her sometimes, an 1 it was pleas
ant to know that a young, bright soul lived
benind those dull bricks and brown stones.
It made the street look less dingy. He
caught fleeting glimpses of her now and
again, partly due to chance, partly to tne
fact that he acquired the habit of stepping
off the cars below his usual stopping place,
anotaer concession to the blue and the
past. She always recognized him. He
could see the color come into her face and
the faint smile into the ey s He v ondere i
if she was really glad. Could it be —such
an old fogy, and she so young; 45 and a:.-
i.r.l oi it at tht edges? No, it
could not, but it was pleasant to walk by
her aouse and g.-t a glimpse of her at the
window. VThat a fool an old fool is to be
sure, a thought that obtruded itself unin
vited, and interfered with his business, the
first thing that ever had.
One day he was just m time. Flattered
by the knowledge that she was watched,
she hesitated a second too long, and he
caught her arm and dragged her back from
the clanging car, one of those constnatly
occurring metropolitan experiences which
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accounts for the facial expression of nine
tenths of the people on* 3 meets in the city.
He walked with her a little way while she
r e herself, and uttered a few words
of thanks. She had often apparently been
saved before, for her words were not em
phatic, rather as if it were a matter of
course to be dragged from Juggernaut
wheels. He could not blame her for that.
She was perhaps impulsive, and there were
so many cars, and he thought with a ting p
of resentment of the other men who had
perhaps saved her life and received grate
ful words.
He didn’t know what was the matter
with him. He didn’t sleep, and be felt an
impatient desire for exercise, especially in
one locality, and the absence of a certain
girlish figure in his horizon had the most
astonishing effect upon him. He thought
he must have the spring fever—or some
thing. He had never thought so before
except the spring when the auburn haired
girl—well, that was past, and she was wed
and the mother of children. What tricks
fate could play! Well, he’d be all over
it soon. It was a temporary madness, just
the faint flicker before the youthful feel
in? died completely; that was all.
The next time he saw her she was on her
way to church with a bunch of lilies on her
fawn colored gown, and safely sheltered by
mamma and papa, the latter of whom wel
comed him gladly. They "were old school
mates, and the incongruity of the situa
tion caused a sardonic smile to leap to his
lips.
He turned and joined them, accept
ing the mute invitation of her eyes, which
accompanied the verbal one of her pa
rents. He sat next her in the pew, and
arranged her footstool, inhaled the fra
grance of the lilies, and called himself a
fool again and again.
Never had a sermon seemed so appro
priately fitted to the occasion. Never had
his spiritual attitude harmonized so per
fectly with the preacher’s words. If the
flowers were symbols of a resurrection, if
the spring and summer came again, if
there were no death —only resurrection—
why not? Why not?
They walked back demurely, discussing
the great theme of the day.
“Do you believe it?” he querried. “All
that the preacher said?”
“Os course,” and she looked shocked at
the question.
“That the flowers rise again and the sea
sons return, and the stone was rolled away
from the door of the tomb?”
“Yes, yes, of course.” She spoke a little
impatiently. Was she a child to be so cat
echised?
“And the heart?” He spoke more quickly
ly, bending toward her, nearer the white
lilies and the blue eyes.
“If the heart is withered, dead, walled
up with the rock of materialism, selfish
ness, is there a resurrection for that? C.
one be born again? Is there an Easter for
the living as -.veil as for the dead?, for
love, for hope?”
Sre was innocent, yes, else she had n :
won -where others had failed, but it was
not the innocence of ignorance, and she
understood what the question implied, and
what her answer meant.
When he walked away he had one of her ?
lilies in his hand, and he held his head
strangely erect.
GERTRUDE F. LYNCH.
PUNCH ROBERTSON
At the Academy All Next Week, Beginning
Tuesday. *
Perhaps no player has ever visited Ma
con who has so many friends as that whole
souled little fellow. Punch Robinson.
Punch begins his five nights’ engagement
at the Opera House Tuesday night, when
be will present that great comedy. “The
Parisian Princess.” This season Punch
carnes a car load of scenery and electrical
effects. His repertoire is as follows: “Too
Parisian Princess." "The World." “Fogg’s
Ferry,” “The Girl I Love,” “Cinderella, ’
A
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“Always on Time. Punch’s company is
practically the same as last season. On
the opening night Frank Fahey has the
best comedy role he ever attempted, and
that Frank makes a go of it is a sure
thing. Frank has new songs to chunk at
the birds this season. On Tuesday night
every gentleman buying a 30 Cent ticket
before 6 p. m. of that day will be allowed
to take a lady free.
SATURDAY
ONE BAD BREAK.
The Folly of Advertising Through Circu
lars.
On the whole I consider advertising
through circulars a very poor method, and, ,
therefore, a very expensive one. As part '
of an advertising campaign a well vritten
circular, sent out period! ally, has its uses
the same as have other links in the long i
chain of modern advertising methods. Its I
strongest point is that its issue can be
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customers, and, bearing a 2-cent stamp, I
it is not always without benefit. But the fl
idea has been so awfully overdone. Thous- fl
ands upon thousands or houses use circu- fl
lars and the daily mail is burdened. The fl
sight of one has become an eyesore to the fl
recipient. The mail-carrier seems to b*
afflicted in the same way, for he tosses. *
it on the table like a thing he hates —and ,
have you not often completed his intent j
by sweeping it pellmell into the waste
basket?
They cost S2O a thousand to mail and
20,000 times more time to prepare than
you have time to waste. When you com
pile them you think fondly of their merit
and wholly fail to remember that you
tossed aside nine in ten of those received
yesterday without so much as looking at
them. Will your circular meet with a bet
ter reception? You say “yes” because you
intend getting up an attractive one —good
paper, good type, elegant halftones —a sort
of souvenir that will be preserved. No
doubt you yourself have in your time re
ceived some pretty ones. Now, candidly,
how large is your collection of souvenirs
and where are they? Do you brush your
elbows against them every time you plunge
into your ink locked away in your bottom,
drawer serving out a penance of oblivion
worse than that of the cheap and nasty
ones you consigned without ceremony to
the ragman’s heap?
At one time, under protest, I prepared
an expensive circular for a business man I
who thought that if gotten up in supreme 1
taste it would be preserved and do a great
deal of good. The next noon after they A
were mailed the head of the house visited fl
a friend to whom one had been directed and fl
found the recipient’s infant son, who hd”
been left in the inner office while ‘
made a hurried call, contentedly sitting on
the floor tearing it to tatters. It was a
pretty pamphlet, you know, full of pic
tures, and given to amuse the lad.
No matter how attractively prepared the I
result of the best observation is -that they
remain unappreciated. Let the litho
grapher tax his ingenuity, the compositor
unfold' the secrets of his craft, make lite- I
rary bouquets of them, scent them with
violet, bind them in blue ribbons if you
will —with monotonous regularity vastly
the major part of them seem to go one
way, generally not read, often not even
opened.
And how expensive. The hundred dol
lars invested compiling and floating them
—I like the term “float” with reference to
circulars —might be spent to better advan
tage in a steady advertisement, even
though a small one, in a good paper. Com
pared with the best circular ever written
a good advertisement is so cheap as to dis- fl
rance it in every way.—National Industrial fl
Review. fl
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