Newspaper Page Text
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WOMAN’S WORLD
.. MARRYING A POOR MAN.
The managing mother as she exists
In European countries is not a com
mon figure in American life. Our na
tional matrimonial policy is "hands
off,” and for the most part a girl is
left free to make her own choice of a
husband without help or hinderance
from her mother. The spectacle of a
young and tender maiden being sold
for gold to a husband she hates, and
loathes, that forms the themes of so
many novels and plays is something
that we almost never see in real life
In this country.
Yet, although the American mother
does not arrange a good match for
her daughter openly, and as a matter
of course, as a French mother would,
or force her to marry the rich suitor
for whom the girl has only toleration,
instead of the poor one whom she
loves, she is not always the friend tc
Cupid that she is reputed to be, and
the road to the altar of the damsel
who elects to choose a life of bread
and cheese and kisses with an impe
cunious youth is not strewn with roses
by the maternal hand. The very rich
girl can marry whom she pleases or
the ground that she can afford it, ant
the very poor girl is equally untram
elled in the choice of a husband be
cause you can't make a bad matte
worse, but in the middle grade of so
ciety—among people who live in a per
petual struggle trying to keep up ap
pearances and to make the ends meet
—nobody but the girl herself knows
what pressure is brought to bear upon
her to induce her to marry what is
euphoniously known as “well.”
When a woman sees her daughter
marry a man. no matter how worthy
and charming he is, who still has his I
fortune to make, the most you can say
of her is that she is reconciled. She
isn’t triumphant and jubilant like she
is if the girl is marrying a rich man,
who may have a past, or who may be
dull and boorish, and lack every at
traction except that of being able to
provide automobiles and diamonds.
This doesn’t necessarily mean that the
mother is sordid and avaricious. Of
tener than not it is just a mistaken
mother love, a desire to protect her
daughter from the struggles and striv
ings that she has known.
With age there is apt to come to every
one, and especially to the woman who
has had a hard struggle with poverty,
a cynical disbelief in love. She h'as seen
the gilt wear off of her own ginger
bread. She has felt the poetry of love’s
young dream turn into deadly prose un
der the necessity of having to get up in
the morning and cook breakfast, and
patch Romeo’s trousers, and so when
she desires her daughter to make a rich
match she is honestly fostering what
she believes to be the girl’s happiness.
It is with the conviction that the sum
ming up of things the luxuries of life
cutweight its sentiments—a sort of feel
ing that you’ll be romatic a very little
■while anyway, but you can be comfort
able a long, long while.
Thus the mother who, "with her little
hoard of maxims, preaches down a
daughter’s heart," does it with the pur
est of motives. It isn’t the vulgar love
of money for money’s sake that makes
her want to see her daughter marry
a rich man. She wants to shield her
from work, from privation, from wor
ry and care, and she forgets how many
things money doesn’t buy. If the ave
rage woman could have her wav she
would put her daughter in a nice, satin
lined wedding cake box and say: “There
there, dear, you are so nice and com
fortable. You h’ave everything a rea
sonable woman could want. Now just
keep still and be good, and don't worry
about your husband not being just what
you prefer. Nobody’s husband is just
what they wanted after they got him.
You’d have been disappointed anywlay
and now you’ve got plenty of money
to console you. Believe me, marrying
for love is a terrible mistake. and
thank Heaven that it gave you a
mother that kept you from making the
mistake that she did.”
It may be said that no one can m'ake
a girl marry anyone but the man she
pierers, and that the good old days
are {fast when a refactory daughter
could be locked up In her room and
fed on bread and water until she was
in the proper frame of mind to accept
the suitor her parents had selected for
her. Nobody , would dream of doing
anything of th*at kind now, but there
are moral thumbscrews that are just
as agonizingly effective as the physical
ones ever were, and it takes a de&l
of courage, and a backbone like a
telephone post, to brace up a girl to
the point of defying her family, and
nfarrying the man she chooses when
he isn t the man that her mother se
looted.
Take the case of a girl who belongs
to a good family, but which Is not well
provided with this world’s goods They
have made sacrifices to educate her
and dress her so that she can go in so
ciety. She knows of all the pinching
economic* hidden from the public gaze
by which this has been accomplished
Bhe remembers how often her mother’s
standby black silk has been made over
In order that she may have fresh chif
fons to wear to parties. She knows
how many comforts her father has
done without to buy her satin dancing
Slipper*. It is the custom to speak of
society girls as heartless wretches who
without compunction, keep their fath
ers or. the rack to pay their bills but
this is not true.
Often, and often. It is none of the
girl s doings. She would far rather
live simpler, and not attempt to keep
the pace of the rich and fashionable
but her mother is ambitious. The girl
Is pretty, or clever, or has some charm
that makes her sought after, and a
rich man falls in love with her, and
•wants to marry her. Nobody puts it
Into words, but she knows as well as
she knows anything that she is ex
pected to marry him, and that only by
doing so can she repay her family for
what they have sacrificed for her.
It Isn’t easy for a girl like that to
marry a poor man, no matter how
much she loves him. She sees her
mother's face with the tired worn look
that struggling and striving has placed
there. She looks at her father's bent
shoulders, stooped with the weight of
the load he has borne so long. Per
haps. she has a younger sister that
would benefit by her making a brilliant
match. Sympathy, affection, gratitude,
her duty to others, are all urged on
her. openly or tacitly, and she knows
that if she goes her own way, and
makes her own choice, that she is add
ing another sorrow to burdens that
were already crushing before. She is
called on us much as any martyr to
walk to the stake. And the strange
part of all this is that It Is nothing
nut llljiidged love that makes the moth
er willing to saerifiee the girl. She
would die for her. but the more she
has struggled and been dented, the
more she Is determined that her daugh
ter shall have all the physical com
forts that money can buy. If there is
anything beyond, or above that, she
shuts her t-yes and will, not see It.
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I One could better understand a
mother’s desire for her daughter to
marry rich, if rich people were inva
riably happy, or to make a brilliant
match, if brilliant matches always
turned out brilliantly. But they don’t.
We have all known of brilliant mar
riages, the splendor of whose details
were telegraphed all over the country,
but whose sequel was a broken-heart
ed woman coming back to her own
people after a few years of intolera
ble misery. We have seen young girls
arrayed in bridal white walk up the
church aisle with men old enough to
be their fathers, and heard the whis
pered comments of how lucky Lucy
Poorgirl was to catch that rich rail
road president, and later on we have
sat in judgment on the poor girl when
her heart, Yebelling against its fate,
strayed across the border land of con
ventionality, and found the mate her
mother denied her.
No one will advocate a girl being
perfectly free and unguided in mak
ing her selection of a husband, and a
mother is justified in doing anything
she can to prevent her daughter from
throw r herself away on a man who is
Idle, or dissipated, or worthless. Any
girl with a grain of sense in her head
knows that the man who has never
supported himself isn’t going to be
able to support her, and matrimony
with him will be the kind of grinding
poverty that would kill the most ro
bust case of sentiment that ever lived,
That is the poverty and hard times
that has no hope to gild its horizon,
and no respect to make its present
endurable, and the mother should use
just as much effort to keep her
daughter from marrying that type of
a man as she would to prevent her
committing suicide in any other way.
But, there is another kind of mar
riage to a poor man—the man who has
youth, and health, and ability, and
who has already gotten a foothold in
the world. His wife may have to work
and struggle, and do without luxuries
for a few years, but he is worth it.
She will find nothing but sweetness,
and happiness, in fighting the battle
of life by his side, and any mother
ought to think a long time before she
raises a finger to prevent her daugh
ter from sharing in the joy and the
privilege of helping the man she loves.
For there are no other, marriages so
happy and so complete as those in
which a young couple labor, and plan,
and achieve together. Dorothy Dix.
WHEN A BRIDE IS NOT A BRIDE.
Some London papers have been dis
cussing the subject of honeymoons and
have decided that a bride ceases to be
a “bride’’ and becomes a “wife” after
six weeks of matrimony.
This is absurd, says the New York
Evening Mail, because there are some
wise vcomen who are brides all the
days of their lives, and there are some
foolish women who cease to be brides
or even wives twenty-four hours after
the wedding. No time limit can be set
upon the honeymoon. It may go down
with a dull, sickening thud after a
week of married life, or it may shine
on merrily to the golden wedding. A
woman may know that she has ceased
to be a bride only:
When she finds herself saying un
complimentary things to her husband.
The first time her husband criticises
her frocks.
When she discovers that she is jeal
ous.
When he grows economical with his
kisses.
When she begins to nag.
When he becomes sarcastic about the
food.
When she does not mind coming to
breakfast in curl papers.
When he tells her how pretty some
other woman looks.
When she begins to remember the
virtues of the man she didn’t marry.
When he begins to eulogize his
mother.
When a meal becomes so quiet that
she can plan a whole frock between
the courses.
When he begins to go out to his
club.
When she begins to hunt up her old
friends and enjoy calling on them.
When he comes in late for dinner.
When she forgets to come home from
the matinee in time to greet him be
fore dinner.
When the days while he Is away be
gin to seem too short instead of too
long.
As none of these things need ever
happen if two people are bent upon
prolonging their happiness, there isn’t
a scientist living who could set an ex
act date for the waning of the honey
moon.
MR. GETfiTERPSPROPOSAL.
They were talking about their love
affairs, as women will when they get
in a confidential mood, says the New
York Press. Every one present, ex
cept Mrs. Getthere, had told of her ex
perience when t'he important question
was “popped.” When Mrs. G. hesi
tated her companions urged her harder
than ever.
•‘Well,’’ she confessed, "if I must tell
the truth, I never had a proposal.”
"Did the Job yourself in leap year,
eh?" asked Mrs. Sharp.
"Not a bit of it. You know what a
diffident man Bob is. I could not help
seeing that he loved me devotedly, and
I knew I loved him. I was as sure of
him as sin is sure of punishment. 1
let two other good chances go by be
fore they reached the proposal stage
during the seven months of Bob's
courtship. One afternoon he sent me
a box of chocolates with a beautiful
diamond ring inside. Our initials were
engraved on one side of the shaft and
a chain-link on the other. It was
quite a shock to my girlhood’s dreams
of the sort of proposal I wanted. I
cried a bit, and I really believe now
they were tears of Joy. Anyway, I
had the ring on my engagement finger
when Bob called that evening. In a
few moments we were chatting away
about the plans for our wedding as
naturally as though we had been en
gaged for weeks.”
SHE BECAME COMPANIONABLE.
I knew a man. says a writer In the
New York Evening Post, who chose
for his wife one of the most guileless
and faultless of women, yet to his
grief he realized that after uli he was
companionless, and that he was often
weary of her sweet and docile pres
ence.
A strong man he was, virile in body
snd In brain, lie had traveled far and
wide, he knew the world and men. He
had keen perceptions and a vivid im
agination; he was at home with the
groat thinkers and the poets; when he
looked at the heavens he called the
SAVANNAH MORNING NEWS: SUNDAY. DECEMBER IS. 1904.
stars by their names, and when he en
tered a garden or a wood the flowers
and trees were his friends. Yet he had
been lonely, for all this knowledge, all
this power, was within himself and no
one shared what he possessed except
that too large audience, the world,
which could not respond to him. What
he longed for was comprehending com
panionship; a heart and mind and
spirit, all uniting in one lovely person
ality, to whom he could turn, sure
of response, and to whom he could say,
"We and ours and us,” and know that
all his thoughts were understood by
her.
She whom he had chosen was a dear,
inexperienced, beautiful, pure-hearted
young girl, blushing like a delicate
rose at his words of admiration, glad
to rest her fair head against his strong
shoulder while he read to her from
“the poet of his choice.” Content to
listen while he spoke, to whatever he
might say, but as unmoved Jby the so
norous music of the verse as if it were
written in an unknown tongue. Look
ing down at her to catch an answering
gleam to the fire kindled within him,
he always met a smile—the same un
varying smile of pure content, and the
nestling of her cheek against his arm
expressed what a happy kitten ex
presses when it purrs with delighted
satisfaction at a warm corner and a
caressing touch.
Lovely indeed she was to look upon,
noiseless and graceful as she moved
about in her home, or worked among
her flowers. "True as the needle to
the pole” all her thoughts were to
ward him, and she was restless unless
she could sit near him. She sat in
'he deep window of his study, cau
tious to the last degree not to disturb
him by sounds or needless motion.
Quietly she sewed on delicate fabrics
which he did not examine, and became,
after a few months, like a charming
adornment to his book-walled, rather
gloomy looking room. As the sunlight
shone in upon her and the vine-drap
ed window framed the pretty picture
that she made, it was pleasant to raise
his eyes and find her there, but he had
soon ceased to try to talk to her about
the work he strove to perfect. He was
yet companionless, nor had he found
any place of rest when his brain was
baffled and weary. He had not craved
adoration, yet that was what he re
ceived from those dove-like eyes and
the smile, which expressed perpetual
acquiescence.
Just when the earth was at its
darkest time, and shivering in the ab
sence of the blessed sun; when the
outer world yielded the least joy,
there came a night of agony and
struggle, and after that a little cry—
(how strangely that cry seems to re
monstrate against the hardness of life)
—and there was a responsive thrill in
the man's heart which pledged protec
tion to the appealing feebleness of his
first-born child.
Tribute of intellectual comradeship,
or spiritual suggestion, or helpful in
spiration to his deep-thoughted work
she whom he had called to his aid
could not pay, but her love, her deep,
self-obliterating love had given him—
what? New indeed was this over
mastering glow of happy pride; new,
this spring of faithfulness pledging it
self even in the moment of its birth
to tender protection and support;
new, this unspeakable flood of grate
ful love which kept him kneeling
speechless beside the bed, where his
young wife lay exhausted with her
battle, but radiant with victory and a
sense of triumph that only mothers
know.
"It is your Christmas gift, my
dearest,” she said softly. “It Is so
sweet to have him born to-day.”
The strong man was weak, the elo
quent man was silent, and "there was
no speech nor language” In which he
could just then tell her what was in
his heart.
“Dear love,” at last he said. “I am
so glad and thankful!” She found a
new emotion enriching his familiar
voice, and looking at him, she saw a
new light in his eyes.
As time wore on she never seemed
alone to him: he always thought of her
as with the little one in her arms, and
never wearied of comparing her with
Old World pictures of the happiest, ho
liest of women and of mothers. At
one time she seemed to him to bring to
life one and then at another a different
glowing canvas, on which genius and
devotion had striven together to paint
perfect womanhood glorified by di
vine maternity. Was she like Muril
lo’s beautiful, happy mother in the
Louvre? No, that mother’s pride and
joy was too human. One after another
they would rise before him as he sat
and looked at his own sweet young
wife w'ith his son in her arms. Near
est of all to what she seemed to him
came Correggio’s radiant worshipping
Madonna, kneeling before her smiling
son, lying in happy infancy before her.
More and more was he glad that his
boy was born on Christmas day, for
he would always link the child in his
inind with that wondrous Nativity,
and it seemed to bless the boy and
his mother.
Not having comprehended in what
her early married days had been defi
cient, she yet had felt that something
intangible, invisible, existed between
the grave student whom she loved and
her perfect satisfaction In their unity.
Now she no longer lacked anything;
she had but to hold up the baby in
her arms and his father would smile
brightly in unmistakably sympathy
with her own happiness. Comradeship
of the heart had supplanted intellectual
sympathy.
We have neither to live long nor yet
to be among those who watch with
thoughtful eyes the mutations of hu
man lives about us, before we learn
that it is not alone as the continuers
of our race that children are necessary
upon earth; they have the most bless
ed mission to fulfill as they come into
the world with their appealing, help
less innocence. The, heart is brutal
ized beyond redemption which does not
soften into fostering tenderness while
babyhood claims love and protection.
Even the hardened wretch who will
expose an Infant In order to awaken
pity, never falls to reap a harvest
which would not fall to her own peti
tion for alms. She need not speak if
she will only stand at the street corner
with a suffering infant in her arms.
Something for which we have no
name comes to us through all the
centuries from that dear night when
the Incarnate Jesus lay enthroned in
blessed Mary's arms down to this our
modern Christmas-tide, Into which the
world has entered without power to
destroy the vitality of the germ of
love for childhood, which is rooted in
Him.
HIS RESOLUTION.
If you’re waking, call me early, call
me early, wifle dear.
For the holidays are coming, and 1
would not tarry here;
I know too well the nervous strain
that I shall have to hear.
If I linger till the Christmas bells are
Jingling in the air.
If you're waking, call me early, for I
fain would get me hence
To some far off heathen country that
Is modest of expense;
I would hie me to some island in un
navigable seas
Where no breath of Christinas custom*
ever stirs the wandering brecse.
I am loath to leave you, wifle, but I
haven't got the price,
Mo you’ll wake and call me early, I
must skip out In a trice;
I have no Insane Intention to remain
with vou until
I am swamped, undone, snowed under,
by a Christmas present bill.
—lAirana W, Huiiilun, in tbs New York
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A CREED.
I believe in cleanliness of body,
mind and soul.
I believe in kidness to man, woman,
child and animal.
I believe in truth because it makes
me free.
I believe in the charity that begins
at home, but does not end there.
I believe in mercy as I hope for
mercy.
I believe In moral courage because I
am more than a brute.
I believe in righteousness because it
is the shortest and best line between
two eternities.
I believe in patience because it is
the swiftest way to secure results.
I believe in that kind of industry
that takes an occasional vacation.
I believe in that sort of economy that
spends money for a good purpose.
I believe in honesty, not for policy’s
sake, but for principle’s sake.
I believe in hospitality because it
puts a roof over every man’s head.
I believe in obedience because it is
the only way to learn how to com
mand.
I believe in self-control because I
want to influence others.
I believe in suffering because it chas
tens and purifies.
I believe in justice because I believe
in God. —Omaha News.
aprettygTrl.
She’s not particularly bright,
At school they called her dull,
A boy in such case would bemoan .
The thickness of his skull.
But now, when young men look at'
her,
Their brains are in a whirl.
She’s no Minerva—what of that?
She’s such a pretty girl!
She hasn’t very much to say,
And doesn’t say it well.
And yet, men readily admit,
She weaves a wondrous spell.
No man denies her facile charm,
Unless he is a churl.
She's slow and stupid—what of that?
She’s such a pretty girl!
—Somerville Journal.
WHY HE WEPT.
At the time of Mrs. Cleveland's res
idence in Washington, says the New
York Times, Leo Wheat was her pet
pianist. She rarely gave an entertain
ment at which he did not play.
One day she met him on the street,
and saw that he looked very sad.
‘‘What is it, Mr. Wheat?” she asked,
in accents of concern.
Leo drew his hand across his eyes.
“I am sad, Mrs. Cleveland,” he re
plied. "Very, very sad. Asa matter
of fact, I have lost my wife.”
“I am sorry,” said Mrs. Cleveland,
somewhat surprised that he was not
in mourning. “When did it happen?”
Mr. Wheat sighed heavily.
"My wife got a divorce a year ago
from me.” he explained, "and I have
only just heard of It.”
A WONDERFUL WOMAN.
The appearaned of a woman competi
tor in a ploughing match in Derby
shire reminds the Sheffield Telegraph
of one Phoebe Brown, who died just
half a century ago, aged 80. This ex
traordinary woman, who lived with her
mother in a cottage nearly opposite the
High Tor, at Matlock Bath, could walk
nearly forty mile a day when young,
could lift a hundredweight in each
hand, and carry fourteen score. She
undertook any kind of manual labor,
as holding the plough, driving the
team, threshing wheat with the flail,
and thatching the stacks. Her chief
avocation was breaking horses at a
guinea a week. She always rode with
out saddles, and was considered the
best judge of horses and cows in the
Peak.
But Phoebe had also a liking for'
sport and for art. She was a good
shot, and carried her gun on her shoul
der. She was fond of Milton. Pope
and Shakespeare, and performed on
several Instruments, including the
flute, violin and harplsehord, and play
ed the bass viol in Matlock Church.
She was a carpenter, mason and smith,
and mainly by her own hand labor
built another room to the cottage for
the reception of a hardpischord which
a lady presented to her. At her own
request a local clegyman wrote her epi
taph, and here it is:
Here lies romantic Phoebe,
Half Ganymede, halt Hebe;
A maid of mutable condition,
A Jockey, cowherd and musician.
SWALLOWED HIS OWN BAIT.
The man who told this yarn Is promi
nent In railway circles in Atlanta, says
the New Orleans Tlmes-Democrat.
They were standing in front of the
Capital City Club, Atlanta. Gardner
was a typical Southern man; Brl< kll
an up-to-date-do-as-you-plcase citizen
of Gotham. wcll-varaed In street flir
tations and eager to receive an In
troduotlon to every good-looking piece
of femininity that he saw. He was
telling Gardner he had found out street
flirtations didn’t go In the Mouth, in
Ihe mldal of a sentence abruptly he
exclaimed: "My Jove, Gardner look!
Tliere. across the straet, by George,
fellow, she’s bowing to you. Do you
know her f"
"yea,” Crawled Gardner.
“Know her well, eh?” asked Brickell.
“Well, slightly,” replied Gardner.
“Gad! man, she steps like a thorough
bred. Phew! but she’s stunning.
What a striking figure. See the poise
of that head, and the arch of her
instep. You say you know her?”
”Yes,” again drawled Gardner.
“Say!” excitedly exclaimed the New
Yorker, “do you know her well enough
to Introduce me to her?”
“’Spose so,” indifferently answered
Gardner.
“By thunder!” blurted out the world
ly Easterner, "if you will introduce me
to her I’ll give you the dandlest
champagne supper ever a fellow sat
down to in the Gate City. What say
you?”
“All right,” said Gardner, “come to
the At’agon at 6 o’clock and dine with
me.”
“What about her?” asked Brickell.
"Oh, well,” answered Grandner, "I
will ask her to dine with us, and we
will have the champagne supper later.”
Brickell: “Thanks, aw’fully obliged.
How kind of you. Remember, It’s on
me.”
“Very well,” said G’ardner, as he
turned in the direction of the Ara
gon.
Promptly at 6 o’clock Brickell strode
nervously into the hotel lobby and
asked for Gardner.
“In his room,” was the clerk’s re
ply.
“What! Please send up this card at
once.”
The bellboy returned with a mes
sage that G'ardner awaited him in his
private parlor. In a second he was off,
bounding up the stairs forgetful of
the elevator. Breathlessly he rushed
to Gardner’s door and rapped.
Gardner opened the door and usher
ed him into the presence of “the
thoroughbred,” who w*as more strik
ingly beautiful thhn ever, in a superb
imported dinner gown.
Brickell was so dazed by being sud
denly thrust into the presence of such
a vision of loveliness he almost lost
his breath and forgot to remove his
silk hat.
Gardner not noticing his look of
amazement over meeting the lovely
aparition in his private parlor, drawled
out: “Mr. Brickell, permit me to in
troduce you to Mrs. Gardner."
Brickell’s countenance lost its ex
pression of elation. Rather weakly he
took the proffered hand of Mrs. Gard
ner and awkardly bowed his pleasure,
etc., at the honor of meeting her.
As he meekly followed the couple
Into the dining room he muttered to
himself: “By Jove! ‘it’s on me! Gard
ner’s a lucky fellow, while I—well, d—d
if I did not swallow my own bait.”
IF A GIRLISNTTALL ENOUGH.
The Little Ladies’ Club, says the
New York Sun, meets every Wednes
day and Saturday at 3 p. m. The
members are young women, and some
older women, too, who are trying to
grow taller.
"We are tired of being short,” said a
member of the club. “Hearing that
one’s hight could be increased, we
formed the club to try to grow taller.
Applicants for membership in this club
must be wealthy. No other need ap
ply. And this is true for several rea
sons.
“In the first place, the tuition is ex
pensive. The instructor gets $25 every
afternoon. Then the apparatus ts
dear, and new apparatus must be con
stantly bought or provided. This, with
the change of costume required, the
rental of the hall and the refresh
ments, which are a part of the regime,
make the course an expensive one.
"Besides these things there must
be maids and rubbers, and there must
be a fine supply of the best massage
oils, cold creams and all things that
will plump out the body.
“The idea is that to increase the
hight even a wee bit the body must
be provided with the necessary fuel.
This includes massage oils containing
all the elements which are provided
for a growing child.
"Then girls who want to grow taller
must take a great deal of moist food,
moisture makes the body grow. An ex
periment to prove this was recently
made upon two growing girls in Vi
enna.
“One was fed on dry food and was
allowed to eat without drinking If she
chose to do so. The other girl nte
moist cereals and creams and sauces
and all kinds of moist viands. The re
sult was that the alrl fed on moist
foods grew much taller than the other.
"In the Little Ladies’ Club nothing
is neglected that might make Its mem
ben grow. AU are eligible up to the
age of 50. Over 50 they may still Join,
hut they are told that they will grow
no taller.
“On the contrary every effort must
be made to keep the woman of 50 from
growing shorter. She must constantly
take the stretching exercises.
"It is a fact that women begin to
grow shorter after the age of 60. The
muscles grow softer, the flesh get* flab
by and the body shrinks. To make
It worse the carriage is less erect and
the short woman by the tims she
reaches 60 wilt be a full inch shorter
than she was at 40 or at 30,
"In the club there Is a special die.
tary and a net of exercises for the
woman who has begun to get shorter.
Hut It Is the women who want to be a
little taller who are compelled to do
the hardest work.
"The club call# Its members together
at 3 o'clock, when a light luncheon of
predlgested food Is served. The mem
bers then put on bloomers and jacket*
snd gel to work.
“For half an hour they stretch them
selves. fine of their favorite stunts is
upon a step ladder or an apparatus
which greatly resembles a step lad
der, save that H Is auvhvisd flrtuJy
and is heavier and less liable to break
down that a ladder.
“The members stand in line In front
of the ladders, then at the signal they
endeavor to crawl up the ladder back
ward, working by the hands. They
pull themselves up hand over hand,
working backward, until they are at
the top -step. It is fine exercise and
brings all the muscles into active play.
It is hard work and at first there are
few who can do it.
“Then there follow many stretching
exercises, such as crawling through
the ladder, hanging from the top with
the feet not quite touching the ground,
suspending oneself from the inside by
the feet and hanging from the rungs.
“These are difficult exercises, but
they certainly increase the hight. They
stretch the muscles and make the fig
ure firmer.
“There is fifteen minutes of vigorous
exercise. Then the hard work is over
for the day. The remainder is devoted
to strengthening the muscles. But the
members have daily exercises to prac
tice at home.
“One is to reach upward as far as
possible with the right hand and then
with the left hand. This strengthens
the spine. Little women are often
weak in the spine. And if the back
were stronger they would carry them
selves better and would be taller.
“Next comes a rest exercise. The
members are required to lie flat upon
a couch and to stretch themselves out
as much as possible. There are iron
rings into which the feet are slipped
and at the head there are other rings.
The woman who is exercising catches
hold of these rings with her feet and
her hands and pulls so as to stretch
the body.
“In order to increase one’s hight it is
necessary to feed the body on the right
foods, both externally and internally.
“The short woman always eats too
little and she eats the wrong kind of
food. When we organized our class
there was one little woman of exact
ly five feet. Her daily diet was rare
roast beef.
“Our inspector put her upon the
chocolate diet. He had her drink a
glass of hot chocolate every day at II
and 3. The chocolate was whipped
into a foam with cream and white of
egg. It was to be eaten with a very
small biscuit liberally buttered.
"He put her also upon the sweet but
ter diet. She was instructed to spread
unsalted butter liberally upon her
bread and upon all other foods that
would permit. She was told to eat
hot breads, buttered, and never to go
to bed without taking a light meal.
“Our instructor will never allow his
little woman pupils to exercise with
out drinking something before: and
when they stop to rest, and while be
mg massaged, they must again take a
little food.
’’Massage, with cocoa butter is very
good for the short woman. She should
be rubbed from head to foot with it
every day. Or, if she prefers, she
can use a good home made skin food.
“Mutton tallow, thinned with almond
oil, makes a very fine skin food. If
mutton tallow cannot be obtained, there
is a substitute. Take a lump of white
wax as big as an egg. Heat it over hot
water and pour in almond oil to the ex
tent of an ounce. Let it cool. If too stiff
heat again and thin with more oil It
should be a little thicker than cream
or milk.
‘‘ Th . e , oils are good for rubbing into
the skin, and once upon a time people
strengthened and plumped themselves
with cocoanut oil. But in these days
there are very good skin foods which
do the work.
“Take exercise first and massage aft
erward. That is the rule for the fat
woman.
“The little woman who is trying to
increase her hight must eat the right
foods. She must eat mashed turnips
she must eat squash; she must take
hashes and all kinds of creamed vege
tables.
dr j nk wlth her weals; she
must drmk between meals; she must
take something whenever she feels
faint, and, at the table, she must try
tO . fS* as mucb as her stout sister
,„n DeeP T breathin S makes a woman
taller. Learn to hold up your head
practice throwing out your chest, don’t
y ° Ur chin low ’ These things
will help you very much.
Throwing the shoulders 'back ■will
raise your hight a little, and walking
exercises will raise it still more. Throw
l k shoulders, lift up your chin,
ta .ii e , the Bt retchlng lessons, and you
will increase your hight.
"These are the stunts of the Little
Ladies’ Club. And it can be said that
the members who have ta' en them
ZrXXnlr?* tW °
DINNER WITH
AUSTRIAN EMPEROR.
The Emperor Francis Joseph, says
the London Chronicle, has a rule of
life which greatly perturbs some
members of his court. He dines every
thJ k 1 5:30, ! and he has done this since
the beginning of his reign. As that
hour does not suit everybody, it fol
lows that the personages who are
honored with invitations to dine with
the Emperor find it very difficult to
muster an appetite for dinner at tea
time. They suffer In silence for the
most part but it is said that a certaffi
lady resolved to act.
She was invited to dine with the
Emperor, but she sat at table and ate
nothing. The kindly sovereign feared
Sh n Indisposed. No. she was quite
” y s d H id Ben<l •very®
away. hire, she answered, “I never
eat between meals." The repartee had
had a success at Vienna. But the Em
peror still dines at 5:30, without the
society of that great lady. tn
A CASE OF SYMPATHY.
“I never knew until to-day,” said
Mrs. Empson, “what a lot of suffer
ing there is in the world.”
“What brought It home to you then?”
asked 'Willie Empson.
“A woman. I never saw anybody in
dlßtreßa ’ Poor *oul, I can’t
think of her even now without crying
She called here this afternoon
“ ‘Mrs. Empson,’ she said—l don’t
Bhß found out m y "ante, but
she did—‘l want to ask a favor of you
May I come in?’
“The poor creature’s eyes were swim
ming with tears, and I guess mine
were. too-I pitied her so.
“ ‘CertHlnly.’ I said, ’come right In
T ‘ h :r P K lB * n J th,n * 1 can do for you
I shall be glad to do It,’
" There is something you Clin do .
she said. ‘I used to live In this flat
It was. let me see, three, four five
yes, it was five years ago. I occupied
the side room that looks out over the
yard and that picturesque church
There is still such a room. Is there
not? It hasn't been spoiled by ad
ditions and improvements, I hope?”
Yes, said I, 'there is such a room.
It Is now occupied by my eldest son •
‘Then she asked If she might see
the room.
”’I hope you will not think me
crazy.’ she said, ’but I believe I should
feel better If I could just sit In that
room for a few minutes. It is the
dearest spot on earth to me. The
greatest Joy slid the greateat sorrow
of my life were experienced In that
room, !x>vs rame to me there, and
hope and death. I want to see th<*
place again. 1 have beep away from
New York for aeveral years. | lea vs
again this evening, and I simply tau t
hear Ui go without a look st that
room,*"
Mra. Empson wiped her eyes.
“it was awfully pitiful" (ha said
"Of (DUN, I shows* bsr the loom
She sat down on the edge of the bed
and sobbed and cried as if her heart
would break. I never felt so sorry for
anybody In my life. I couldn’t stand
it to witness such grief. I went out
and shut the door and left her there
to fight it out alone."
Mr. Empson’s own voice was husky
when he spoke.
“Poor woman.” he said, “that is
tough. How long did she stay?”
“About fifteen minutes. I think. I
only saw her a moment when she came
out. She had to hurry to catch a train.
She just stopped to thank me and say
good-bye."
“Had to catch a train?” said Willie
Empson. "Oh I say!”
Then he made a dash for his own
romantic den. The rest of the family
followed in haste and helped him to
figure out the extent of his loss.
“She got away with that silver comb
and brush, the opera glasses, a pair
of cuff buttons and $lO in cash,” said
Willie. "Oh, mother!”
Mrs. Empson was indignant, but still
sympathetic. 'T don’t care if she was
a thief.” she said, “she certainly knew
how to cry the most beautifully of
anybody I ever saw.”
IMPOSSIBLE IN HER DAY.
In one room, says the New York
Tribune, were half a dozen green card
tables lit up by softly shaded lamps
and wax candles, around which men
and women were sitting in evening
dress. AU the men were smoking and
—one or two of the women. Every
thing was quiet, intense. The occa
sional remarks about the play and the
discussion about certain points of the
game while the cards were being dealt
served only to emphasize the general
absorption in the great game of bridge.
The adjoining room was gayer, more
noisy, more brilliantly lighted. Around
the one long table in the center were
seated more men and women in even
ing dress. Here, too. men were smok
ing, and all were playing cards. This
was the poker room, and here was
much talking and laughter.
"It is certainly very queer.” said the
bewildered mistress of the house, who
had allowed her farfiily to give a “card
party,” and who sat with her knitting
and a friend who was visiting her, by
the fire, looking in at the unwonted
scene. “1 feel that Ido not recognize
my own rooms. Why, they are all
gambling!” she added suddenly, as if
just realizing the fact. “It looks as
if it was one of those French salons
that one reads about in novels, and
yet they are all our own quiet friends,
and neighbors, who lead sensible, good
lives and do their duty creditably in
that state of life in which it has
pleased Providence to place them. How
things have changed!” she concluded,
resignedly: "such a scene as this In
one of our houses would not have
been possible fifteen years ago. Now,
would it. Matilda!”
“It certainly would not,” answered
Miss Matilda, sharply, and, as her hos
tess felt, wholly disapprovingly.
WOMEN^s”STRANGE PETS.
The prevailing craze for unusual pets
was exemplified at the opera at Covent
Garden the other night, says the Lon
don Daily Mail, when a well known
lady brought with her a chameleon
with a delicate chain around its neck,
which enabled it to run up and down
the curtains of the box.
This love of animals of an eccentric
description is by no means a modem
•innovation; it may be traced back
as far as the time of the Pharaohs.
Quaint interest doubtless attaches to
the juxtaposition of a beautiful woman
and a wild beast. Mme. Bernhardt
and her tame leopard were the sensa
tion of a couple of decades ago. Mrs.
Arthur Cadogan, Lord Cadogan’s sis
ter-in-law, had a fancy for poisonous
snakes. One small snake she fre
quently wore on her arm as a brace
let, but to the relief of her friends
these strange pets died off one by one
and have not been replaced.
More pleasant as a companion was
the tame otter which used to follow
Lord Linlithgow's sisters, Lady Doro
thea and Lady Estella Hope, like a
dog. This was a really intelligent and
lovable creature, which has since been
replaced by a tame hare, whose fam
ily name is “Mr. Juggins.” This in
teresting little animal is much in re
quest at country house parties, to
which it is often taken by its mis
tresses, for whom it has a great affec
tion.
A mongoose or a monkey is quite an
ordinary domestic animal just now,
and of the latter a pretty specimen
is often to be seen coiled round the
neck of Its owner. A well known West
End tradesman received a terrible
shock one morning when this lady ex
tended her patronage to his shop.
While settling for her purchase some
thing looking like a fur boa suddenly
snatched up the change and examined
It with two bright little eyes, chatter
ing volubly the while. The poor man
was heard appealing to the assistants
as to whether it was real.
A specimen of the green Egyptian
beetle, which really seemed to know
its owner, and never took flight when
let loose to crawl about her hand, was
selected as a pet by another well known
lady. The history of the creature
reached the court, and an appointment
was made for the beetle and its owner
to have audience of the Queen, but
a brutal friend, ignorant or thought
less, flicked the poor beastie off its
mistress’ hand, where it was taking a
quiet walk, and thereby administered
a death blow alike to the beetle and
the high hopes of the lady.
Lady Anglesey possesses a marmoset
no bigger than a mouse, which she
used to carry about with her, but It
has not been seen of late, so some evil
has doubtless befallen It. Lady Con
stance Stuart-Richardson has given
up her snakes. Another lady kept a
hedgehog, which followed her about
with great Intelligence, hut it had Us
drawbacks as a companion.
The Rothschild goat was part of the
decoration of Piccadilly at one time,
but has never been replaced, more's
the pity, as such touches add to the
gayety of our London streets.
The African meercat came much Into
favor during the war, and the little
creatures ar? even now sometimes to
be encountered in the park, led about
like a dog by a string. They are pret
ty, Intelligent little beasts, and very
affectionate.
It seems hard to get up a friendly
interest In a lizard or a chameleon,
but each has Its lover In the London
world. Gen. Kt. Leger's daughter, Mrs.
Hollftnd, ha* several chameleon*,
which spring about like crickets and
know her voice quite well, coming at
her call. A lame green lizard, lied up
with bright hued ribbons, loves to
creep to its mistress’ shoulder, where
It clings for hours in perfect content
ment.
A NOTRE DAME LADY.
I will •end free, with full Inttruc
tlona. Home of thla altnpln preparation
for the cure of Leueorrhoe*.
(lon. DlapUcement*. Falling of the
Womb, Bounty or Painful Period*. Tu
mor* or (irowtha, Hot riaalie*. Dealr*
to fry. Creeping feeling up the Mplne,
Pain In the liark, and all Female
Trouble*, to all *#ndlrig addreaa. To
mother* of Buffering daughter* I will
eiplaln a Hucceaaful Home Treatment.
If you decide to continue It will only
■oat about 11 cent* a Meek to guaran
tee a cure. Tell other eufferera of It,
that la all I aak. If you are lutereaied
write dow and tell your Buffering
friend* of It, Addreaa Mia ||. •-
***•*■*. * <•, Kou# Owtue. lad. •