The Woman Beautiful Part 11

It has often occurred to me that there are a vast number of plucky little bread-winning girls and women to whom even a tiny jar of creme marquise is a hopeless impossibility. For them is this chapter written.

In the first place, we all feel pretty sure that--in the great, wonderful beginning of things--it was never meant that women should work. We can't help knowing this when we look about us every night at six o'clock and see the weary, patient, brave little faces that line either side of the elevated trains or the crowded street cars. Women are not given to the solving of problems, so we won't go into the great "whys" or the "wherefores." That's a loss of time anyhow. But we will do heaps better than that. We will try to be hopeful and cheery, and learn how to make the best of the little happinesses that do come our way.

The working girl--and we all take off our hats to her pluck--needs more than any other cla.s.s of womankind to take care of her health. She is out in all kinds of weather, she works hard, and ofttimes struggles through a daily routine that is harrowing beyond everything. After hours there is mending to be done, or a thousand and one little duties to keep her busy until, tired out and nerve-weary, she goes to bed to gain rest and strength for the struggles of the morrow. She cannot afford the little luxuries of the toilet that are so dear and near to the heart of womankind the world over. The joys of having her hair "done" or her pretty cheeks ma.s.saged are not hers--and the pity of it is that often enough the fault lies not within herself, but in the unhappy circ.u.mstances of fate that have placed her among the less fortunate sisterhood.

Let a large bar of castile soap be the working girl's first investment.

I say a "large" bar for the reason that it is much cheaper when bought that way. A good-sized piece of the pure white castile can be bought at some of the drug stores for fifteen or twenty cents. This should be cut into small cakes and put on a high shelf, where it will become dry and hard and so it will be more lasting. With plenty of warm water, a few good wash-rags and this pure soap you will have a beauty outfit that will be more beneficial than all the rouges and eyebrow pencils that were ever put into the windows of beauty shops.

The bath should be daily. Now do not say that you have not the time, for the sponge bath--which will make the blood tingle and the flesh glow--can be got through with in almost no time. It is most imperative that the secretions of the skin and the dust gathered during the day should be removed. When the body is not kept scrupulously clean the complexion is sure to suffer, for there the pores of the skin are most susceptible, and eruptions and blackheads come from very slight causes.

When the hands become rough and tender, and will not stand soap, prepare a little almond meal. This, too, is very inexpensive, for, instead of the powdered almonds, you can use the pressed almond cake, which is nearly as good and very cheap, and in place of the orris root wheat flour can be used. Take three ounces of the first and seven of the latter. If you can afford it, add a little powdered talc.u.m. A cream for the face and hands, and one which can be used with perfect safety, is benzoinated mutton tallow. This is simply the best mutton tallow to which benzoin has been added, and both ingredients kept at a steady heat until the alcohol of the benzoin has been completely evaporated.

About the hair: The greatest secret of luxuriant locks is absolute cleanliness. There are many women who vainly fancy that they keep their pretty locks perfectly clean, when they really do not at all. Only plenty of running water can thoroughly rinse the soap or shampoo out.

If the hair is at all sticky, or if a slight oily substance adheres to the comb, then the hair is not clean. (And let me say right here, combs and brushes too must be kept as scrupulously clean as the hair itself.) Castile soap makes the best shampoo in the world, especially when a little piece is dissolved in warm water and a tiny bit of ammonia or alcohol added, although for dry hair neither the alcohol nor ammonia is at all necessary. If a tonic is needed, then use the sage tea, which, however, must not be put on light, blond tresses. Common kerosene, if one can endure the odor, is an unsurpa.s.sed remedy for falling hair.

Rubbing the scalp every night with the finger tips until the flesh tingles and glows is a most inexpensive way of stimulating the circulation, and frequently makes the hair grow long and nice and fine.

What one eats plays such a leading part in the beauty-getting efforts--but I have but little s.p.a.ce left now to tell about that.

Summed up in a nutsh.e.l.l, it is this: Eat very little pastry, and shun greasy foods or fat meats, like pork or bacon. Pin your faith to vegetables and fruit. A luncheon of two apples is of greater nourishment, and more, real value to good looks, than a repast of mince pie and coffee--two unspeakable horrors to any one who regards health and beauty as worth the having or the striving for.

As for the dress, I could write a seven volume treatise on that. It sounds prosy, I know, and very stupid, but let me tell you that it is the wise girl who buys for comfort, utility and wear, instead of style and elaborateness. A plain little fedora, if well brushed, makes a trimmer, neater appearance than a cheap velvet hat ornamented with feathers that have straightened out and flowers that have long since lost their glory in the rains and storms of autumn time. It is the same way with shoes and gloves. If one can possibly afford it, calfskin boots and heavy gloves should always be purchased. They will not only outwear two or three pairs of the lighter, less durable kind, but they will give warmth and comfort and a well-groomed look as well.

THE NERVOUS ONE

"The beautiful seems right by force of beauty; and the feeble wrong because of weakness."--_Elizabeth Barrett Browning._

Of all the unfortunates on the face of the globe there is none so worthy of real all-wool pity and yard-wide sympathy as the woman of nerves. Yes, and her family needs a dash of consolation, too. One nervous woman can create more nervousness among other women than could a cageful of mice or a colony of cows suddenly let loose. It is not for herself that the fuss-budget should mend her ways, but for the great good of humanity at large.

We are all of us more or less nervous, and it is really interesting to observe what strange outlets woman's natural nervousness chooses.

"I'd walk from Hyde Park to the city hall at midnight and never be a bit scared. But let me stay in the flat alone after dark and I'm in a state of terror that would make you weep were you to behold me,"

confesses nervous lady No. 1.

"I have nerves of iron," pipes up nervous lady No. 2. "Except when there is a thunderstorm. Then I wish I were as dead as Julius Caesar."

"Well!" drawls nervous lady No. 3. "I don't believe in ghosts at all, but I'm scared to death of 'em. Sometimes I not only keep the gas burning all night, but I sit up in bed so as to be right ready to run away from 'em."

Some people have contempt for the nervous ones. I have only pity. Any one who has gone through the tortures of hearing imaginary burglars three nights in the week for ten or twelve years on an endless stretch needs consolation and then a good, straight talk on the beautiful convenience of horse sense. Most women are always hearing burglars.

Probably one in a thousand turns out to be a real, live housebreaker.

Whenever the wise woman hears one fussing with the lock on the front door or trying to squeeze into the pantry window, she just says: "Same old burglar. He'll be gone in the morning," and he always is. That's a heap better plan than arousing the household and suffering the unmerciful torture that a family given to ridicule can inflict.

I heard a woman say the other day that she never knew what it was to be nervous until a certain ragman began to take pedestrian exercises up and down the alley back of her house. He carries a canvas bag over his shoulder, and he yells "Eny ol' racks" until that woman locks herself in a closet and stuffs sofa cus.h.i.+ons into her ears. His "Eny ol' racks"

has got on her nerves so that she is simply beside herself until that man takes himself and his yell out of hearing distance. To be sure, he yells through his nose, but why in the world that woman should make herself miserable about something she can't possibly help is a double-turreted mystery to me. The thing for her to do is to sit down placidly on the back porch and make up her mind that the ragman is not going to upset the tranquillity of her existence; that he hasn't any right to interfere with her happiness, and that she isn't going to be fool enough to let him. I'll wager a peseta against a gum drop that she could do it, too, and without half an effort, if she would only once be consistent and determined.

There is no use in beating about the bush. I feel sorry for the nervous woman at all times and every day in the week, but there's no chance of a doubt that the nervous woman is mentally unbalanced for want of courage and lack of will power. Some place, way back in the far corners of her intellect, there are numerous little sore spots that need the healing tonic of level-headedness and the bravery of belief in her own strength. Those wise gentlemen of pellets and pills tell us that when there is a defect in the structure of the nervous system, some certain region of cells not well flushed with blood is usually at the bottom of the infirmity. The cure, they say, is discipline and training, good food, exercise and plenty of sleep and good fresh air.

[Ill.u.s.tration: MRS. J. R. DE LAMAR]

Sunlight is a glorious medicine for the woman of nerves. If I had a nervous fuss-budget under my care, the first thing I would do would be to feed her well. I'd give her nouris.h.i.+ng broths and daintily-served vegetables, and little steaks and chops and plenty of fattening cereals and drinks. I would bundle her off to the parks every morning with sealed orders not to come back until she was dead tired and as hungry as a small girl at a boarding school. I would impress upon her mind the great need of throwing worry to the winds and taking in good, long breaths of G.o.d's blessed fresh air. Then, after feeding her some more, I'd make her take a nice, refres.h.i.+ng sponge bath and tumble early into bed. After several days of such treatment I'd corner her where she couldn't get away and lay down the laws.

"Now it's just with yourself," the lecture would begin with, "whether you are to be a jolly-hearted, wholesome-looking woman or a tailor-made gown with a bundle of nerves inside of it. No matter what comes, don't make yourself wretched by fretting. Every one has troubles. You can't escape them. Sometimes they come with a sweep-like tornadoes gone mad, and you'll say to yourself: 'My heavens! I wonder if I'll live through it all?' But you will, and between you and me, my dear, it's just as well to come out of the battle with a smiling face as with eight additional crow's feet and a new scolding lock of gray hair. Just say to yourself: 'I will not grind my teeth because the man next to me in the street car is chewing a toothpick. I am not responsible for his lack of manners. I positively refuse to have fits because the woman in the flat next to mine plays the flute eight hours a day. If it's convenient I'll move; if it isn't I'll not make existence a daylight nightmare.'

"School yourself!" I will continue. "Get lots of starch in you and a backbone that is a backbone! Don't fall down in a heap and mope over things you can't help. The agreeable things in life are as rare as sage-brush growing in Gotham, while the disagreeable is bobbing up eternally. So brace up, my friend, and make the best of it. Discipline yourself. Keep your mind fresh and bright, and your body strong and healthy. If you have hard work to do then do it with the least possible expenditure of worry and nerve-force. Be in the open air as much as you can, and above everything else dwell not on the unhealthy state of your nerves. Let self-mastery be your s.h.i.+bboleth and 'no nerves' your prayer."

PERFUMES

"Oh, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem, By that sweet ornament which truth doth give!

The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem, For that sweet odor which doth in it live."

--_Shakespeare._

Women love delicate perfumes as they do silk stockings and violets.

It's just "born in 'em," like their deep-rooted horror of mice and bills and burglars. From the time when the baby girl sniffs the sweetness of the powder puff as it fluffs about her soft, pretty neck until the white-haired lady lovingly fondles the lavender sachets that lie between the folds of her time-yellowed wedding gown, she loves sweet odors.

The true gentlewoman never uses strong perfumes, yet her hats and clothing and handkerchiefs always send forth a faint scent of fragrant flowers. The odor is so very slight that it does not suggest the das.h.i.+ng on of perfume, but, instead, bespeaks scrupulous cleanliness of body and garments, with perhaps an added suggestion of the soft winds that blow over a clover field. No perfume at all is far better than too much, for who does not look with suspicious eyes upon the woman who, when pa.s.sing one on the street, seems to be in an invisible vapor of white rose or jockey club--strong enough to work on the streets?

There is a secret about it all, and such a simple one! It is merely choosing one particular odor and using it in every possible way. There is nothing sweeter than violet perfume, so suppose I ill.u.s.trate with that? Begin by using orris root for your teeth, combined, of course, with the other necessary ingredients. Then, if you can afford it, get the expensive imported violet soaps, although as a matter of beautifying there is nothing better than the pure white castile. The odor of this, disliked by some, can be entirely done away with by using a little violet toilet water in the bath and touching the ear lobes with it afterward.

Then, between the folds of your gowns and in the crowns of your hats lay little violet sachets, always removing them before the gown or hat is worn, as the perfume must be faint and delicate. A few drops of essence of violet will scent your face powder, if it is not already perfumed, and bath bags of orris--and other good things--will add to your galaxy of sweet odors. If you use creme marquise or any of the other delightful cosmetics told about in our beauty book, add a little essence of violets to them while they are being mixed. Putting it all in a nutsh.e.l.l: Simply choose your favorite perfume and carry it out in every detail. For those who are fond of violet I will give the following recipes:

Creme de la Violettes: Place in a porcelain kettle one ounce each of white wax and spermaceti, cut in fine shavings. When melted add to this five ounces oil of sweet almonds and heat, but do not let boil. Remove from fire and pour in quickly one and one-half ounces of rose-water in which ten grains of borax has been dissolved. Beat briskly. When beginning to thicken, add one-half teaspoonful essence of violets. When nearly cold put in little jars. Use as cold cream or any general face cosmetic. It is more effective when applied at night, just after the face is bathed in warm water and while the flesh is pink and moist.

Perfume--Violettes de Bois:

Essence of violets, five ounces.

Essence of acacia, one ounce.

Essence of rose, one ounce.

Extract of iris root, one ounce.

Oil of bitter almonds, five drops.

Violet Lotion:

Alcohol, four ounces.

Ammonia, one ounce.

Essence of violets, one dram.

Add one teaspoonful of this to a bowl of water when bathing the face, neck and arms. Hard water is the cause of many bad complexions, and this will remedy that particular trouble of the beauty-seeker.