Evening Star Newspaper, April 7, 1894, Page 18

bE THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, APRIL 7, 1894—TWENTY PAGES. THEY LIKE STYLE What the Average Woman Wants in a New Gown. LIGHT COSTUMES WCRN ON THE STREET Some Helpful Suggestions for the Young, Old and Angular. LACE WILL BE THE THING Hritten Exclusively for The Evening Star. FASHION WRITER said the other day that “women were now giving more at- tention to the ma- terials of which their dresses were made “than they were to the style in which they would ultimately ap- Now any well- sed woman knows that such en idea is the sheerest nonsense. There never vas a time when women were as particu- lar about the style of their dresses as they a@re now. The great fad of the day Is to gown one’s self so as to hide defects and Feveal all good points. A woman of today is a mystery and no mistake. She can be almost handsome, no matter how poorly endowed bv nature, if she only has time and taste; of course a full pocketbook helps out a great deal. She will not be a lot of false things either, as women used to be, padded ani done up in steel; weariag a Jot of somebody else’s hair, and all that sort of thing. if she is thin she wears a kind of pan-| gier over the hips; if flat chested, she fills up her waist with a lot of frills and rib- bons, and puts three or four ruffles on the} A woman not think- | Why, she | Bottom of her dress. ing about the style of her gown! does nothing else when she begins to plan her spring campaign of sewing. The ma- sures at all, no further in than to see whether it adapts itself to light or heavy treatment in making up. She will study a half day on how to com-/ t bine two old gowns so t dearest friend will su and when she has ach not even her ect her economy, ed it to her en- tire satisfaction she straightway does ex-| actly like the woman in the Bible did when she found her lost piece of silver, she goes right off and tells all her friends what a lucky find she has made. There is nothing @ woman more enjoys than telling her friend how to make over old sowns be- semingly. A modiste told me not long ago that she was often able to make a more stylish gown out of materials that had been worn one season, because, rich materials were brought her for ing, women objected to having t up, and selected less elaborate styles so that the goods would cut over to advantage for a second season’s wear. So I say the material is next to nothing; a woman wants her gown to fit and be adapted to her figure, if it is nothing but six cent print; and she will grumble at having to wear a $2 silk if the modiste fails in either particular. Light Street Costumes. It fs not a hard matter to ake over gowns for spring wear, for last season's materials and effects are by no means passe. As in former seasons, light ma- terials will be the rule for Washington. It iz not possible to wear these beautiful spring shai: in the smoky, dirty cities of other sections of the country; if they were to appear on one of the promenades in New York city, for instance, they wouid make the v the for all street gamins in the ¥ A lady who eame here from New York last spring just are> the as the new dresses n to appear Said that at she thought that the city Tmust be given over to an invasion of coun- try brides, it being the for rural visi- tors of that kind to don bridal colors on visiting New York, much to the street delight of rab, but she soon saw that the fit and fin were something that could not be accomplished by rural modis woman that would walk down 5 in New York in a thin white dimity or muslin would be watched by the police, but in Washington a woman ay wear any color on the street that she pleases, and most of them choose to wear light colors, @nd white. smooth choice « and wooi ngeable ef- desira Bw. k effects, al fabrics are w » & fs for pin spots or « alternating, dias fects. There are s tor serve for 2 cool . for though light appearance being uter wear. One of ing dresses for a = been turned out this sea- id favorite landsdown, in a 4 with darke- gray sat- rocade for the gon is of the soft gra Oceans of Material. It makes a lovely gown, the long billow- img lines of the plaiting seeming to suit | perfectly the slow undulating motions of | the pretty elderly matron. “Accordion plaiting does take such oceans of material,” she said plaintively, as she was showing me the gown. “I wanted an accordion plait- ed dress when they were worn before, and I positively could not afford it. But I said Rich Black Net. then that if I ever got another chance to | have one I would get behind the door where no one could see how extravagintly I was slashing into the material, and for once in my life I would have as much accord- |ion plaiting as I wanted. Now I have got it and I'm happy—at least until some other extravagant iad comes along.” This lady | Wears a queer little affair with this dress that by courtesy is called a bonnet. There is a band of jet lined with a band of gray | velvet, a perky little bow right in front of | black velvet bound with gray, and a tiny | Tay rosette at each side. That is ali there is of it; but that is enough to be pretty. A girl that I know needed a new spring walking dress the worst way, but she had not money to spare for one of the fifty |cent cheviots even; but she contrived a very pretty one at ‘small cost. She had a white serge which was no longer fit to wear, and she ripped it up and colored tt black. Did it herself, and did not hurt her | hands one bit either. She had some widths | of black silk, some good black iace, and a lot of black velvet ribbon that had’ figured on another dress. She made the skirt plain with a wide tlare, and at the foot put a ruf- fle and a band of the veivet to hide where jit was pieced down, as the coloring had | made the widths draw up. The bodice was made with a tight lining; over the lower | part, coming to the bust line, she adjusted | the black silk very full, coming under a belt of the plaited silk. The upper part of | the waist was of the plain serge, and the | Mutton-leg sleeves were of the silk with a ruffie of lace at the band. For the cape-like bretelles she got a yard and a half of | changeable silk, red and blue; on this she put a fell rule of the black lace headed | With a band of the black vel he result is a dainty walking dress that cost her less a —of course she made it h Her hat is a stylish and cost L The lace and mignon- ette that trim it were worn all last sum- mer, but this young lady knows how to take care of h. clothes, and they were quite good enough to wear another season. For Thin Women. This is to be a lace summer, and lace gowns were especially meant for angular women. You can pile folds and ruffles up around your ears, and let it fall over your hands, and hang around your feet in multi- tudinous folds and gather it up in bunches about the waist, until you look to weigh fifty pounds more than the scales say. This black Brussels net has a full skirt with five rumies bound with biack moire ribbon, and a Marie Antoinette nchu of net with full rufiles trimmed with three rows of nar- row black ribbon on each. The under dress is of black satine with a ruffle of silk at the foot, and is made up entirely separate from the net, which may be made to serve as an entirely new dress by having different col- ored underskirts and a different adjustment of bodice garniture. In fact the possibili- ties of a gi black lace are iliimitable. Combinations of two or three materials er more popular than sity when styles are row. is a n continually changing. On a good dress lasted for three or four years as “best” and then three or four more as second best; but A Comvination. a dress that 1s stylish today 1s out of date next month and if it cannot be made over in combination with something else, it is a dead loss, and that can’t be thought of for a moment these hard times. A pretty “combination” is hunter’s green cloth and black satin. Black satin makes a pretty combination for most any color, and this style is peculiarly adapted to “making over” old gowns. It can be pieced under the bands on the skirt and the way the bodice is designed will admit of using small pieces. The hat is one of the pretty new straws woven of green and black with satin bows, and grass flowers in front. I.W.B. A Boy’s Pockets. From Harper's Bazar. My little girl has one pocket in her frock and two pockets in her little jacket. My boy has two pockets in his trousers, three in his jacket, two in his overcoat, every one of them crammed to bursting with odds and ends of every description. My husband ha: by actual count, fourteen available pockets in the costume in which he daily faces the world. I frequently am minus even one. Not long ago I wore a gown out to the last shred of respecta- useful in another gown, an entirely unworn eunnin, hidden away that it r been of the leas| pockets are his certificate of em- In virtue of his pockets he belongs ressive sex. the minia- d with the pire. to the stronger and more a) anding with hands in pocket ture man surveys his little wo: port of a conqueror. All will carry the sceptre of dominion by right ¢ hi oh, whatever his de- f war. ce, of worry, . occasioned to women *k of pockets is almost tragic. No place for her keys, for her pencils, for her purse.for her handkerchief, poor wretch, she must carry them all in one little strug- gling, encumbered hand. She wishes to use a fountain pen, and her desire is thwarted by her limitations, for the pen must be carried in an upright position, as in her good man’s vest pocket it readily can be accommodate but she in vain strives to perpen ilarize her pen. In her locate loosely in the gown . it wobbles about, head down- ward, the ink oozes out and ruins her hand- kerchief, and the result is disastrous to pen and to pocket alike. _—___. A Spring Rhyme. | From Harper's Bazar. Now doth the springtime showers gaily soak us, And so enhance the beauty of the crocus; And, while the lie doth welinigh wholly joke us, We tell our’ wives that last spring bonnet | hroke us, bility, and discovered, when ripping it up | to the end that a part of it might be made | through life hej ‘HANDSOME HANDS. Senora Sara’s Girls Chat About Hands and Their Care. MEN LIKE T0 HAVE NICE FINGER NAILS A Cure for the Bad Habit of Biting One's Nails. THE CARE OF GLOVES Written Exclusively for The Evening Star. ¥ PATIENCE, Rose-in-Bloom, what | unsightly nails!” ex- claimed Elaine, as/ she was tying up a cut finger for the ehild. ‘Whatever | have you been doing to them?” “She bites them,” observed Dorothy, se- verely. I have labor- ed over her since she was a baby to make her stop it, but she is so stubborn—’ “Oh, now, Dorothy, you know I wouldn't bite them if I could help it," remonstrated Rose-in-Bloom, tearfully. “I just hate to see ugly nails, but the minute that I get , bothered I bite mine and don’t know it| | till they are broken back to the quick.” Just then the girls came bustling in. I | wonder if there is anything in the world as pure and pretty as a girl just blushing into womanhood? Of course, there are girls | I | and girls, but I mean the real “girly” gir | who can be prim and precise as prunes and prisms if it is necessary, but who are yet children enough to like to cuddle down at ‘your knee in the twilight before the grate and tell you of the day's triumphs and trials. Girls with womanly ways, but the hearts ‘of children, and an abiding faith in every- thing human. Girls to whom life has not been an Eden Musee exposition from the high chair up, and who know that there are | things in life that they do not know, and yet are not desirous of drinking at the fountain of knowledge. My girls are like | that, and that is why they are such charm- ing company, and for the same reason | everybody else likes them. They are a little ariful, perhaps. They “know how much to know and when not to know too much,"’ and that is considerably more than a good many older women can say. I am an old-fashioned woman in my ideas about girls. I like them to know books—good ones, of course—and be accomplished as their talents will permit, and they ought to know how to sew and to cook and keep hous: but there is a whole wide world of knowl- edge that they would be happier if they did not acquire until their dimples turn to | wrinkles, and their heads bi n to silver. | “She is so worldly wise is not the nicest | | | thing that can be said of a young girl. | Grapes without the bloom show too much handling; when the down is brushed from | | the peach it begins to decay. While I was | meralizing the girls were disposing them- | | Selves for an hour's visit before the | | nee, Nice to Smuggle Down. “What in the world is the matter, Rose- in-bloom,” called Nora from among the cushions, I make a fad of cushions. I will have lots of pillows on my couches; that is one of the pretty features of Mrs. Hoke Smith's parlors. The wide seat around the bay window in her back parlor is positively the most delightful place in the whole house because of the invitingness of the cushions | strung around it; they are of all sizes and shapes and colors,and they are all soft. You jean make yourself so comfortable when you come in tired from a roual of calls if you can slip into a house gown and snuggle down among the pillows on a couch, with ja downy one under your head,another one under your shoulders and a third at the |small of your back, and—well, is isn’t bad to have one under your ieels if no one is around to comment unfavorably on it, and | some way there is a great deal of comfort | in putting one’s feet up sometimes. Men think so, certainly, else there yould be fewer desks in the House and Senate dec- | orated with unvarnished boots during the | tiresome debates. When Nora spoke Rose- | in-bloom held her hands up with a rueful grimace which spoke volumes. “Has Elaine been at it again?” asked | Louise, with a laughing challenge in her direction. “Hammer and tongs!” Rose-in-bloom sald jainuvely. Well, you have plenty of company,” turned Louise, as she held up her own | plump hands. “Just look at them, will you? if I had been breaking stone they could Mardly look worse. What shall I do for Tre- them, Elaine? “You might take some care ofgthem, to begin with,” was the suggestion tat young y serenely made, as she readjusted the rs on her hat. “Why, I do take care of them,” asserted Louise, a little indignantly. “I go to a man- icure once a month, and—" “And then you do not touch them till you go again.” “Well, why should I? I trim them with the scissors—when I don’t bite them off— and that ought to keep them in shape, but it doesn’t. I have a manicure set—every- body has one of the useless things, 1 think— but it is too much trouble to bother with all that machinery. I don't care, or wouldn't, rather, if my nails didn’t break and hurt me, for all the other girls, nearly, have the same trouble.” “That is true,” said Flaine as she lald the hat aside. “I noticed the hands of the wife of the government official whose tea we attended last week. If she launlered her own clothes, her hands could look no roucher, and against the light fabric of her gown they were painfully contrasted with | those of the little foreign lady, whose tiny hands are remarkably well kept. I think _the men are more particular about their hands here than the women are.” Men's Finger Nails. “Dick says that he would rather go with | his shoes unvarnished than his nails un- trimmed and in ‘mourning,’ as some of the men do,” observed Dorothy. “I bave been surprised to see that though some of the members of Congress are any- thing but neat in their dress, they are, as a general thing, v: careful of their hands and have well-kept rails, even those men who pose as horny-harded farmers have hands that a ‘lady’s man’ might env: said Elaine. “Oh, it is not for Icve of the beautiful that they groom their hards,” interjected Nora. “It is a last refuge from the prosy speeches that sets them to manicuring their nails, just like a street loafer whittles a stick. They can’t whittle sticks, so they de the next best thing. Don’t you know T think it ts lots of fun to watch them primp? Just for all the world ike a woman, too. After they have trimmed their nalls to the | limit they go back to the cloak room and stand before the mirror in full view of the occupants of the members’ gallery and brush at their hair to get it over the bald spot till |I should think their heads would be blis- | tered. Then they pull at their ties and twist them into strings, trying different ef- ects.” like to see a nice hand on a man as well as on a woman,” said Louise, reflec- tively. “Now, there is Mr. Reed, he has good hands.” “Gcod bigs ones, do you mean?” suggest- | ed Jennie. “Dear me, no,” He has a small hand for a man as big as he is, and it is white and well kept. He never wears a ring, either; but he ties strings around his fin- gers to make him remember things. He had a red yarn string around the little fin- ger of his right hand the day he got Mr. Crisp so ‘rattled’ that he forgot and de- clined to entertain dilatory motions, just as Mr. Reed used to. It pleased Mr. Reed, of course, and he kept twisting the red string around his finger when he was laughing over it. Papa says that a democrat can’t be a consistent Christian and serve in the same House with Mr. Reed. I wonder why?” ~ They Cut Friendship. “Ask us something easy, Louise,” sug- gested Elaine. “We have tabooed politics, you know. There are two objects that friends who differ upon should never dis- cuss; they are politica and religion. Life- long ruptures are often caused by them—” “—And we must not quarrel,” interjected Jennie. “I was wondering if any of you had ,; Poticed the hands of the new member from New York who is going to defeat the hydra headed Wilson bill alone and single handed? | a mended glove.’ He must have more ‘grip’ than those deli- cate white hands of his display. They lcok, with their pink, shining nails, as though the heaviest work they had ever done was spooning bonbons at a 5 o'clock lea. He wears a dark seal ring on the third finger of one hand and a slender plain gold one on the other hand, that makes them look whiter yet from the gallery.” “Mr, Bland’s hand isn’t a bit pretty,” said Mary, as though just reminded that she had not done her duty by the subject under discussion. “His nails look as though they were worn off Instead of ever being trim- r at for a time,-at least,” murmured Sotto voce, but the others, for- tunately, failed to hear her. “Mr. ry of Arkansas has as small a hand as mine,” exclaimed Jennie, holding up her widespread fingers. “I think he knows that it is smaller and whiter than a man of his stature usually has because he uses it just as I would if I had a hand to be proud of, and he wears a gold ring on the third finger of the right one which is ever so much too big. Then there is Mr. Coombs of New York. I have not decided yet which I think the most striking thing about him—whether it is that wonderful red necktie, his silvery hair or his exqul- sitely manicured hands. You don’t catch him smashing any of the rules of etiquette by cleaning his nails with his tooth pick, as I saw Mr. Simpson of Kansas doing one cay. Gen, Bingham of Pennsylvania is another gentleman who never offends the canons of good taste by cleaning his nails in public; I'm pretty sure his are attended to by a professional. Mr. Baily of Texas is as careful of his nails as he is of that im- maculate shirt front and the smoothness of his foot ball hair.” Your Mr, Duburow has beautifully kept hands, Elaine,” observed Bobbie, suddenly, which remark about paralyzed Elaine. “My Mr. Duburow! Why, I never spoke to the man in my life!” she remonstrated. “Well, he represents your ‘deestrict,’ she retorted, gleefully. “LT rise to a question of the highest privi lege,” interposed Louise. “Everybody is out of order. { asked a simple question about-what to do to keep my hands from | looking as though I scrubbed floors for a living, and you all are discussing the mer- its and demerits of men who make part of their toilets in public. It isn’t nice of them, must admit, but goodness knows they need some distraction, or they would go crazy in the midst of all that turmoil. I wonder if Mr. Crisp doesn’t wish that the governor of Georgia had appointed Mr. Reed to the Senate instead of himself. It wouldn’t be halt interesting in the Ho though, with Mr. Reed out of it. I think Biting the Nails Care. “Is that germane to the subject?” asked Dorothy, mischievously. Of course the girls all laughed, for they know that Louise would rather talk politics than eat. “I yield fifteen minutes of my time to the lady from Chicago,” she said in true con- gressional style, as she dropped among the cushions by 's side, “Then it will be time to adjouri “1 don't think that I have any sovereign remedy for the hands, except it be to give them the same care that one does the other Of one’s toilet,” began “the lady from however, that with 1 do know, proper care you can break yourself of bit- ing your nails, and at the same time soften and smooth your hands till you would hard- ly know them yourselves. Mothers are to blame when children grow up with a pro- pensity to bite their nails. 1f the skin is kept pushed cleanly back at the root from infancy up no child will feel an inclination } to bite its nails. If this is neglected the skin adher. out it pulls the skin and breaks it, forming those painful things called hangnails. ‘he disagreeable sensation this causes makes the child put its fingers in its mouth, and the first thing you know the nails are nib- bled back to the quick. You can't see the half moon on Rose-in-bloom’s nails at all, and consequently they would look stubby even if they were not bitten off. If she wiil soak them well in warm, soapy water and Press all that dead skin back, and keep that up for a month, she will never think of bit- ing her nails again, unless she neglects to attend to them. The nails should be mani- cured, by that I mean trimmed, the skin shoved back from the roots and then pol- ished well at least once a week. I like to polish mine a little every morning. “If you can aff it, a professional can fix up your nails once a month, but it 1s not necessary; you can do it as well as most of them and a great deal better than the average. Always use the best of soap. Cheap soap is sure to make your skin rough. Wash your hands well with the nail brush, and then rinse the soapy water off and dry thoroughly. A mixture of bay rum and glycerine or of glycerine and rose water in equal parts is one of the cheapest and simplest remedies that I know for rourh hands. Put it on at night after wash- | ing the hands, as I have suggested. I have been told that men are quite fastidious about the appearance of a woman's hand, and that they are inclined to think that a woman who is careless in attention to her nails will not make an economical wife. It is an odd idea, but I am not sure that there is not ground for such an opinion. A wo- man who is untidy in her person would not make a good housekeeper, and a woman who is tidy would keep her nails in good shape. Then there is the matter of protect- ing one’s hands when out of doors. The Use of Gloves. “There is no more reprehensible breech of good manners than that of appearing in public ungloved. Some women outrage all rules of good taste by going barehanded for the express purpose of displaying their handsome rings. I once saw a woman who compromised matters by wearing her rings on the outside of her gloves. If the ring must be displayed I think I prefer this method. When gloves first came into favor they were themselves jeweled, and tater | they had holes left in ‘the lower part of the finger for the enormous rings that were worn then to come through. Queen zabeth had gloves like that, but it is vulgar love of display that leads to the adoption of such a fashion.” “Gloves cost such an awful lot of money, Elaine, complained Nora. ‘Nearly the half of my allowance goes for gloves, I think.” “I can easily believe that,” was the smiling reply. “Mine would ‘cost me a fortune if I used them as you do, and most girls are quite as careless. Gloves are not made of cast iron nor of rhinoceros hide. They are made of a delicate skin that re- quires careful treatment; you handle them as though they were indestructible India rubber. I always buy good gloves, and then I know that they will hold their shape to the very last. I shun ‘glove sales,’ for there is always a good reason for selling gloves at a ‘loss,’ and the shopkeeper is not the one who is going to do the losing. Cheap gloves are not made of kid, but of inferior skins, and those that are not ruin- ed in the cutting and making are spoiled in the dyeing; add to this sewing with bad thread and you have a poor show to get your money’s worth at any price. I buy reliable makes of gloves that are war- ranted, and I always have them fitted. If the thread starts at a single seam or if they pull a litle crooked anywhere I will not have them, for they are not selected, and the shopkeeper is simply palming off poor gloves on you. I am _as careful to have my gloves fit easily as I am my shoes, for a tight glove will make one supremely miserable. I always use glove powder, and I put my gloves on as carefully after they are mended as before. As to Mended Gloves, “I take them off by turning them wrong side out; it is only on the stage that ‘so- ciety’ people tug their gloves off as though they were skinning a fish. After my gloves are off, I pull the fingers in shape and blow in the hend; that niis the glove out, and I leave it to dry for a few momenis, then I pull the fingers flat and lay them away in the long glove box, or sachet. I never fold or roll a glove up. If my gloves are solled when I remove them I put them away till I can clean them. I never wear a soiled glove, nor a glove with a rip in it, but I wear it as long as I cau patch or mend ft. I think it was in one of those remarkable literary productions of Mr. Ward McAllis- ter that I read that ‘no lady would w He evidently knows only those women who love to displiy their | weelth ip clothes that smell of the shop | anl from which ihe new never has a chance to wear. A sensible woman never wastes anything, be she rich or poor; and if the chamberlain of the four hundred did but know it, a woman naturally hates a bran new glove, hates it as much as she does a new shoe. I like to keep my gloves in a perfumed box; but there fs nothing | that will give them a lasting perfume. The Italians understand perfuming gloves, but | it is done only to a limited extent even by them, and is a costly process.” “The hour of 2 o'clock having arrived the special order for the day, which fs the mat- inee, will now be taken up,” said Jenni as Elaine paused for breath. “Come, gi we will have to hurry,” and off they went like a small cyclone. I never have found anything yet that would interest a girl it there was a matinee in prospect. SENORA SARA. Chollie—“I was so angry this mawnin’ that I kicked him. Chappie—‘Deah me! How could you do such a thing?” Chollie—“Why, what do you do when you get angwy at youah man?” Chappie—“I make him kick himself. Harper's Bazar. my man sto the root, and as it grows | THE WAY TO POP Not Corn, but the Important Ques- tion to Your Best Girl. ONE OF LIFES PAINFUL EMERGENCIES Every Man Must Go It Alone and Try His Fate. ADVICE IS ABUNDANT Written Exclusively for The Evening Star. HE YOUNG FEL- low was strolling out beyond the boundary 4 ter the other, his eyes ‘| fixed upon the ground, {\ his head hung low, in fact, a very picture of ; unhappiness. There came trotting merrily along the road be- hing him = another young fellow on horseback. He car- ried his head in the air, was looking briskly around at the scenery, and was a personified definition of @ man temporarily, at least, happy. As he | came nearer to the dejected man he recog- rized him and smiled, and when he reached his side he reined in his horse and lightly touched the pedestrian on the shoulder with , his riding stick. “Why, old fellow, how are you?” he said. “Far from weil,” replied the dejected man. “What's the matter?” “Nothing, I suppose,” and he heaved a | sigh that would have melted a heart of granite. “Ah, I know what it is,” said the man on horseback, “it’s the same old story. Poor | fellow!” He patted him on the back, spoke | to his horse, and went up the road at a rapid trot. After he had ridden a quarter of a mile or so, he met another equestrian go- | ing in the opposite direction. They saluted. | “What's the news?” said the new man. | reat news,” replied the other, “just | keep on down the road and in a few min- | utes you will meet Charlie Gaybird walking | with his head down like a foundered horse, | and sighing lke a thousand furnace: | “Why, I met him on this very road at this | | very time of year in precisely the same con- dition one year ago.” “Yes,” was the answer. “that’s just it. | He gets rejected every spring and walks ‘in precisely the same place after each re- | jection.”* Then He Recovers. Here was a funny state of affairs. A young man goes and falls in love every year; proposes soon after Easier, gets re- jected; walks out into the country to be alone with his woe; wrestles with himself; doubtless contemplates suicide—there is no harm in contemplating it at a safe distance |—comes home, and eats very little dinner. | He sleeps very little that night; is wretched all the next day; goes to bed tired out and | sleeps soundly. The third day his appetite returns; he laughs at jokes sadly, but he | drinks a bottle of beer in the evening. The |fourth day he finds himself at work in a | tolerably normal state; is surprised that he begins to take an interest in his fellow man, |and jokes a little himself in a feeble way. The fifth day, while a certain subdued sad- ness pervades him, he is quite like himself and the sixth day the sky fs clear of all clouds. The fact that less than a week be- | fore he passed through a storm of emotions jis hardly to be realized. It seems as though he had proposed and been rejected several |decades ago. He does not forget it, how- lever, but he firmly declares that it’ is his jast—positively his last—love affair. He honestly believes it. Perhaps the girl who rejected him be- lieves it too, and bemoans the sad neces- sity she was under of casting a shadow ‘upon his bright career. But it transpires , that in the course of a year, when the balmy days of spring are upon us, he gces and does it all over again with some cther girl. It is then, perhaps, that the girl who rejected him the year before begins to lose respect for him, and to wish that he had maintained his grief a little longer, but she ought really not to object. When a girl rejects a man there her connection with his good or evil fortune should cease, and he should be free to pull himself to- | gether In the way most convenient to him, and if he finds a solace for one rejection by putting himself In the way of getting another it is certainly no one's business but his own. She had a chance to take the most vital concern in him, but she declined it. It is unfair for her to main- tain any power in a corporation in which she holds no stock. There is One Right Wi It may be that the reason why the par- ticular man mentioned above fails in all his matrimonial proposals is because he does not know how to ask the question, yet, if practice makes perfect, he ought by this time to be approaching a very con- siderable degree of proficiency. There are a thousand ways of proposing to a woman. Thus, one old bachelor, who had been a merchant all his life and who had seen very little society outside of his store, wrote to the object of his devotion and said: “Dear Madam: Wishing a consignment always on hand of such goods as you are, would wish to be considered a permanent and exclusive agent therefor. Speedy re- ply uld much oblige yours, &c. This epistle, it is reported, brought the lady to terms at once, and they lived hap- pily ever afterward. Another unique proposal is reported to have emanated from an artist. He was desperately In love and she knew it. He was sitting in her parlor, and this is how it went: He—“I would like to paint your portrait.” She—“Well, I'll think about it.” He—“But please say I may.” She—“You may.” He—“I may take some time to do it.” She—“There is no hurry.” He—“I-I_ wai to take my whole life- time to do it in. She—“‘How often must I sit?” He—“Every day.” She—“How long every day?” He—“Twenty-fonr bonrs!”’ The curtain had better be rung down at this point, for her answer made the play a comedy or tragedy. All the same, notwith- standing that there are probably in the En- \elish language at least a miilion printed accounts of proposals, it is doubtful if any man or woman ever truly told the story of that scene where no one was present and the fatcful words were spoken. No man ought to tcll. Everyone must fill in the de- tails of these matters to suit himself, or rather to suit the lady in the case, if he knows how to do it. Owen Meredith wrote “Lucile” here in Washington, and, if ever a book was full of love making, it is this one, but does anyone really believe that the proposals in it are | faithful chronicles of things Lord Lytton did and said himself? Yet, if they were not, then hew on earth did he find out about them? hy, he simply made them up out of his imagination, and wrote them in beau- tiful verce. But there may be some useful hints and general directions about propos- ing that can be thrown out, always with the understanding that all the details must | be supplied by the person in interest. A Matrimanial Baedeker. In passing, it must be remarked that it is almost beyond comprehension that any woman should care a penny how a man proposes to her, or that her answer should have any reference to the way in which the question is asked. Does she not expect him to propose? Why, she knows what is in his mind almost before he knows it him- self. She can, if she is clever, tell precise- ly what he ts going to do. Then what dif- ference does it make how he does it? If she has not got the answer ready to the question that she knows is coming, she ought to have it ready, and if she ts taken by surprise it is her own fault. | “Miss,” a lever might very well say, after | a certain stage of the proceedings has been | passed, ‘the time has arrived when you expect me to propose and when I am pre- pared to do so. What is your answer?” Would not this be far better than it is for him to recite a form of proposal that he has learned by heart, which she replies to with broken sentences, that must be pain- fully like those she has read in novels, which are the only sources of any informa- tion she may have en the subject? It would be an ideal state of affairs to have things thus, but it is utterly impossible. If you want to propose to a girl you must brace yourself and make up your mind to go through with a scene. Take Vienty of Room, A general recommendation of value is, Propose out of doors, in the country, if you can manage it. Get in the middle of a place as big and empty as the desert of Sahara— never mind the scenery—and have it out. You ought to be out of sight and out of hearing. To do the thing with true comfort | you must have plenty of space—must be able | to bellow with rage or shout with delight, or ery with grief—must have room to jump, or dance, or kneel pleadingly. None of these things car you comfortably do when you think there is a chance of your being seen or overheard. There is a story told of a person at a summer hotel whose room opened on the balcony, and who overheard, in consequence, a man making a proposal, which was accepted; but it was not an hon- est thing for this person to have listened, and she ought, as soon as she realized whi was going on, to have left her room, or, at any rate, to have coughed or sneezed and made a noise to prevent the progress of a performance that was not intended for her ears. How would you who read this like to think that some one overheard you when you proposed to the girl you once wished to marry? You would object, naturally. This is the | great trouble about proposing within doors; | but, unfortunately, the desert of Sahara, or places of similar solitude and ample dimen- sions, are not available often, and it is nec- | essary, usually, to make your declaration of j love in a parlor. Such being the case, for heavens sake, and for your own as well, do it softly, and disturb no one. The next piece of advice is to take whatever answer is given you decorously, and don’t go and give the thing away if you are rejected. If you are accepted it will soon be known, but it is just as well to remember in this case that the rest of the human race are not quite as vitally interested in yourself and your fiancee as you are. There is, therefore, no neces- sity of burdening your friends with long | conversations on the subject of your mutual happiness. ¢ The final admenition which all lovers should pay attention to is not to propose until you are reasonably certain that you will be accepted, and above all things never to propose unless you want to be accepted, for, in this latter case, the unexpected may happen and you will be in a terrible dilem- ma, — A WOMAN'S WOMAN. The Pleasure She Gives to Others in Her Broad Fiel From Harper's Bazar. What are the chief characteristics of the woman’s woman?—a woman who is beloved by her own sex, who finds her greatest en- | joyment in their company, who is what the Italians call sjmpatico—reaching out her gentle hand alike to the grandmother in her easy chair, to the girl just balancing on the threshold of life,to the young mother with her little ones about her, and to the } cook in the kitchen among her pots and | pans? Certainly the woman’s woman is not pure- ly domestic, for the merely domestic wo- man is inevitably narrow. Her bread may be excellent, her house free from dust, her table up to the mark; but her range is lim- ited, and many doors of her heart are shut to all except her own family. The woman’s woman cannot narrow her- self thus. She must care for a great many people and a great many things and touch life at a hundred points. Whether she ts married or single makes little difference. She is alive to whatever interests her sex but she is not slightly insane on the sub- ject of her sex, nor does she spell “woman” invariably with a capital “W.” She feels herself a human being, not a blending of spirit and angel. A woman's man can penetrate under the surface. With a certain witch-hazel wand she discovers people who have heart- aches, who are carrying burdens too great for them, who cannot sleep at night for cares and troubles, and somehow her touch | of the hand, her smile and her gentle word bring them ease and relief. The woman’s woman makes allowances. She sees that life is hard for some people, or that they have not had a chance—she is w ling to help them. She enjoys herself que as weil, perhaps better, with a crowd of girls who are chattering gayly, or in a company of ture women who are talk- ing over their affairs, as she does in mixed society. She does not always appear at her best in the drawing room, nor can she talk, as @ usual thing, very 1 to a throng. At a dinner table she may be rather silent, ex- cept to her neighbor, but if you get her in a corner where she has a congenial com- panion you will hear the ripple of low voices, and sometimes a bright little break- ing laugh, and you will know that the wo- man’s woman is enjoying herself and giv- ing pleasure. She is always the most delightful of guests, for she has a faculty of amusing herself, and she does not require the pres- ence of men, either singly or in num- bers, to show her at her best. In the coun- try, at a summer hotel, she {is invaluable. She can entertain the children, talk pleas- antly to the old lady who is rather deaf, and therefore left out of much that is go- ing on, listen patiently to the complaints of the rheumatic, or the recitals of those whose tales are often told, never show- ing by a look or the quiver of a muscle that she has heard the bright story many times before. All her life the woman’s wo- man is apt to live for others. Her greatcst charm is perhaps her unselfishness. She is altruistic not on principle, but simply be- cause she cannot help herself—she is born 80. The woman’s woman ts old-fashioned in many of her notions, and opens wide eyes of horror at flirtations carried on by those who should have left such frivolities behind them when the streak of silver came into their dark hair. As fair and sweet, as true and restful, as dear and lovable as our mothers and their mothers before them, the woman’s weman holds our hearts in her hand, and men. albeit this is an apparent contradiction, like her well, and accord her deference and respectful homage. . —-e+—_____ = His Ignorance. Reali: From Truth. Pilgarlic—“Wonder what's come over Flipjack. He used to be fearfuily con- celted. Thought he knew everything. But he’s quite different lately.” Binkerton—“Yes; his youngsters have be- gun taking lessons in grammar and study it at home evenings.” —-2+—_____. On a Windy Day. From Life. OUR DAILY LIFE Some Little Things That Help to Smooth the Pathway. WHY SOME ARE NO? GOOD COOKS A Great Achievement to Be Suc cessful as a Home Maker, WHEN TO WEAR A VEIL —_—_——___ Written Exclusively for The Evening Stan, the coffee is the tea bolle, and the beer steak fried, you can be pretty sure that napkins are strangers, and the knife is used as a shovel to assist in hoisting food to be bolted. The doctor is that family's best frien. Pe * 8 If the baby ts fretful an4 can't fo to sleep as it ovght to, wet a cloth in cola water and bind around its head, covering | its eyes if possible. Sometimes the child's | head gets hot just as that of a grown per- son will, and the cool cloth soothes it. o 6 + * & The rooms that we live in are cnly the backgrounds of our ves and they should be unobtrusive, but always harmonious. A room filled with fripperies always seems to be the reflex of the mind that fashioned it, and one is inclined to think that the mind is as full of vagaries as the room. . * . . The heart and the stomach are the Da- mon and Pythias of life. And when the heart grows weary and sick of life, the stomach will be in sympathy with it; they always console each other. S 6 Ss & A woman who is famed for her brotied tesk gives the recipe in rhyme: “Pound well your meat until the fibers break; Be sure that next you have to broil the steak, Good coal in plenty; nor a moment leave, But turn it over, this way, and then that; The lean should be quite rare, not so the fat; Heat well the platter now, and then the juice receive; Warm your butter—place Salt and pepper, turn tt it cr ae or water to make more cookies o: and put just half sweetening enough in cranberries. Of course the things dishes up are unpalatable. A never does anything on time and is burned to a cinder, or so rare i ite eg By feel like a cannibal for eating it. the eggs too long or not long eno: hurries the bread, and puts the cold — gives you cold warm mi in fact, she man: life a burden to the whole family. . .. Eg 5 . i E —. and pi 3 the silk is very dirty,fix a tub of and borax for it, but if it is poten to sponge it, take a bowl of soft, warm water, and use two tablespoonfuls cf pow- dered borax to a quart of water, Lay the widths of silk flat on a table—one that is perfectly clean and free from varnish--or ee bread board and use @ perfectly clean cloth and il borax Water and rub the silk wins a the moisture possible. If the brigh put the silk out on the rt A, ie not, lay on pieces of newspaper dry in the house. You will find that if have been careful to rub out all the wrinkles, and rub no new ones in, that your silk will be as fresh as new. It must not be i and honor of making a home. it would only understand “much skill and power is requisite; what'a gh Skill succeed become eminent as a home maker, there. "would be fewer boarding houses, fewer miserable, dissipated husbands, fewer children and fewer ‘worthless EG ee tow The way to cook a Potato to very best nutriment from it is oo heke — rx een = all! Horrible? Not a o the potato rubbing them well ere mee eee h a coarse cloth; the potatoes should all be of one size ~y~4 to bake in a given time. When ready serve, take each one in a cloth and press till the skin bursts; this will cause the steam to escape, & . Pt Is cheap and harm: hurt to try it. They The gypsies have tism, and as it less it will not @ good-sized piece brimstone . cure for rheuma- pocket, and warrant it to cure the cases, eo 8 If you wear a bonnet or sure that you must wear may be independent of a . never. > 6 6 The combination of black is to be @ favorite one for elegant toilets. ae : called monkey,” for the reason, probably, that — would be a monkey who did not : @ cup of stale bread crumbs and soak them for ten minutes in a cup of cream. Put a tabi ful of butter in a pan and let it get hot, then stir in a half cup of grated cheese and let that melt. To the bread crumbs add one egg, well beaten, and some salt and a dust of cay- enne pepper, then stir the whole of it inte the melted cheese and let it all cook slow- ly for five minutes, stirring to keep it from burning. Serve & hot on hot toast. The chatelaine bags will be worn more this summer than ever before. They come fastened to belts to be worn with the blo: waists, and very handsome ones are in shops, with thin, flat hooks, that will under the tight waist and fasten on the skirt belt without making the belt buige out through the waist, . You know surah and summer silk bodices wear out quickly under the arms, get shi in the back and shabby about the sleeves long before the skirt of the gown ready & is to make a bolero jacket of lace, which will cover the whole thing up; but a nicer and newer way is to make a bolero jacket just for the bottom of the waist, instead of for the top, as usual. Get three yards of lace, twelve inches wide; it should be of @ fairly heavy pattern, and have a good edge— either pointed or scalloped will do. Take half the quantity for the waist; adjust the middie of the lace to the middle of the back, taking care that a figure comes exactly over the back seam. Lay it in fine plaits at the bottom of the bodice, and fasten with in- visible stitches to the waist. Fasten the scallops neatly to the waist at the top, and turn the lace under where ft rounds the arm size. Let the lace come well up cver the bust In front, and fasten as in the back, Finish the edge of the bodice with a fold of silk, or you can turn your lace under the edge of it, so that no edging is n 4 The lace should be plain over the hips, and be gathered in fine plaits in the front, and should be adjusted on the wearer before fastening at all. For the sleeves, make @ puff of the remaining lace, leaving a little ryMe at the bottom to fall over the elbow, rt the sleeve is worn out all along, cover the lower part with the lace smoothly, or put a deep ruffie of the lace to fall from the puff. In that case it will take a yard and a half more lace. In this way you can have a nice fresh waist that will wear the whole summer through, and not a sign of the breaks in the silk will show through the lace. taste will it the adjust. ment of the lace to suit individual taste and requirements. * 2 You can mend the torn pages of your books oe Paper and Lgl, EN egg, and not make them unsightly, or you from reading right through the paper”?