The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, January 10, 1904, Page 12

12 ! i | —3) a girl's nose is ders, ™ from the - flat int om the e and a of £ his own anc: at th cr the tip ve warned the curve w narrow fro: ¥ it. From = all her pickles at school is as broad nosed. ttle faulfs d him his pipe him to smoke ¥ poker with him ad of reading him of cards and sit ck in the morning to cup of coffee when he r the worse for wear. 1 the piquant profile, the sse nose that 10oks 50 cun- is perhaps the surprise in the matrimonial he is getting a bit of Dresden for his breakfast table is astounded when, after 'six months of matrimony, he finds himself being led around like a mb with a rope about its neck. Her rule is all the more absolute because it is subtle and the man in the case never fully realizes that he is being “bossed.” She walks over her hus- band with French heels instead of i common-sense boots and him about by the hand instead of puil- ing him around by the hair. She gets everything she wants in this world, from the time she begins wheadling sugar plums out of her nurse up to the time that she succeeds in coaxing a sealskin jacket out of her husband. But she is a comfortable, sort of little person, a good manas of household finances and at all times clever and sane. If you don't mind being bamboozled, she is about the most interesting type of wife you can find. There is one type of woman who goes leads THE SAN FRANCISCO SUNDAY CALL. 5 THE TEMPERAMENTAL IRREGQULAR NOSE the woman with the so-called Grecian nose. Usually she is large and ox- eyed, stupid and statuesque, but so im- ) OVGH LIFE 5\)‘()'_%.!53 EYLLY. % she goes, without doing tne least thing to merit it. She is made president of her club simply because she looks im- BY _HE . HE GRECTIAN-NOSEDS S WHO GOES a deference that is due—her Grecian nose. But the man who marries the woman with the Greek profile has to e ) ..A without energy, she sits quietly hack and allows somebody to make it'for her. In her quiet, cold way she is the personification of selfishness. Her egotism is unbounded. Yet she has her points of excellence. To the day of her death she is good to look upon. She does not fade or wither like her aqui- line or pugnosed sister; her beautiful, immobile face keeps its gontour long after her struggling husband has ceased to struggle. If you want a pretty picture warranted to wear well and to adorn your drawing-room, a wife who will always be a credit to you and make your neighbors’ wives ap- pear insignificant, marry the girl with the Grecian profile. The girl with the irregular nose is in a class all by herself. She is a fas- cinating creature, full of possibilities. She was never born to be married, and vet she possesses most of the charming attributes that a man demands in a wi Stupid she is never, she is seldom bad-tempered, clever she is always and strange and unaccountable thing—tem- perament. Three-fourths of the clever actresses have irregular noses. Temper- ament and in ct somehow mar the regularity of a woman's face. emotion and thought cut into it; they cut gracefully and give if a beauty that is {llusive and will never pall. The woman with the irregular nose, unitke any of her sisters, possesses a sense of humor. But she is as unreliable as the winds. To-day she is in love with a man and to-morrow with a book or a picture or a profession; to-day she is satisfled to sit at home by the domestic fireside, and to-morrow she is off for Japan or Australia. She is the kind of woman who keeps a man’s nerves in a constant state of tension and his heart fluctuating between zero and a hundred degrees. The average woman does not half value her profile. She will spend hours massaging her complexion, curling her hair and beautifying her eyes, and then will dismiss her nose with a dab of the powder puff. Elizabeth of German gar- den fame once said of one of her friends: “She has a good nose; but she doesn’t know how to carry it.” It is not the shape of the mnose but the way a woman carries it that makes or mars her profile. The homeliest nose may be carried with an air that will redeem half its sins and give it a Gibsonesque expression. Actresses study their noses with the utmost se- riousness and care. They know that while one person may look them full in the face, nine persons are getting merely a side or three-quarters view. It is possible to carry a perfect Gre- cian pose so badly that its grace and attraction will be completely lost. The woman with the Greek profile should carry her ¢hin erect, but not tiited up- ward. This simple statuesque pose will give her profile just sufficlent promi- nence. To tilt her chin either ' way would detract from the regular carved perfection of her features: and the surest path to beauty lles in the ac- centuating of ome’s most noticeable good points. The girl with the aquiline nose looks best when she is meekest; that is, when her chin is held slightly downward and in close to the throat. The sneering, disdainful expression so unconsciously assumed by most aquiline nosed women is thus avoided. The length of the nose is not accentuated and it is given an appearance of breadth. The girl with the retrousse nose, on the other hand, cannot tiit her chin upwagg too much. She needs dignit to carry her chin do and in gives her a stupid, weak expression Her natural pose is the saucy pose of piquancy. The tiit to her insignificant nose is its only excuse for being. Like- wise the girl with the broad, f!at nose must carry her head high and at an angle of forty-five degrees. The flat- test mose will attain some semblance of beauty if it is properly held. Even a broken nose ig respected, if the own- er know how to carry it jauntily. There is no limit to the improvement a woman may produce in her appearance, if she will carefully study her profile. What women need to do is to use the cream jar less and the handglass more, to stop studying home-made recipes for complexion washes and begin studying the effect of their noses from the most popular point of view—the point of view of every man or woman who sits beside them In a street car or passes — ttery. She is so dainty and doll-like through the world successfully solely posing in appearance that she manages pressive in the chair of honor. Her work for his honors. She requ a she er carried away by personal st ehaageibaet b the great big fellow who fancies on the stremgth of her profile. She is to hold an important position wherever husband adores her and treats her with handsome setting and invariably being vanit But she is the possessor of that the 4 L pe - s = =8 - ' | S M v, e i BITTERSWEET'S PROPOSAL RIAGE-MADE MEN. of the ‘valie of true tricndship made ) . him the more able and willing to ex- 3 o <. creise it himself toward others, and es- .k = - D i - pecially toward those of his own house- . s 3 & W to, like fun, but"— (All Rights Reserved.) TB’ Rev.E.J.Hardy | do something absurd, she will find hold. How blessed is the son Who can EPPERS and pumpkins! A wia- | DY H. W. Durbin. Uite pusiicn afteracen Wil il i (¢ ] FAD = friend” This was the . 3 4 'Means to prevent him doing so. If Dr. speak of his father as did Kingsley's ow moved in right next door, and & - sitting, In an unusually mmm answer which was given by * Johnson's wife had lived there would eidest son. * ‘Perfect love casteth out this leap year.” ol i ae bk iy upon Mrs. Bittersweet's parch, the wid- “candid friends,” they lled them- have bee h i £ " ” g your nose at so recklessly. ow's heart suddenly prompted her to a Charles Kingsiey when asked to ends, - as Y calle _Eh ave been no hogrding up of orange fear,” was the motto,” he says, *“on Mr. Alonzo Larkins stared ap- Mr. Lark finally grew decidedly | = explain his success in life, and truly his experience is much commoner in this respect than cynics would ad- mit. A good friend brings out our best and makes us do what we can. He does not lead us into temptation, but tries to guard us from it. He is never jealous, but is ever ready to rejoice im our prosperity and condole with cur sor- rows. Nor is he afraid to pull us up when we are going wrong. He has courgge to act as did the Duke of Wel- lington in the following anecdote: When Sir Charles Napier was brooding over ill-treatment, which he thought he had received from the Lords of the Indian House, he called upon the Duke of Wellington. He spoke of his griev- ances and sald that he had been writ- ing a letter to the directors. “Got the letter?” asked the Duke, and held out his hand for it. “Here it is.” Welling- ton took it and read it through. “Got & copy?’ “No.” “Sure you haven't ot & copy?” “That is the only copy. “Foolish letter—very foolish letter,” and the document fell from ghe Duke's hand into the fire. History of Paley’s Christianity. When the celebrated theological writer, Archdeacon Paley, was an un- dergraduate at Oxford, he associated with a fast set and wasted his time. One night after a “wine” the wildest e companions came to his bed- and said, “Paley, I have been thinking that you are wasting your opportunities by your idlencss. We have not brains, and could not do much d, but it !s different d if you do mot work I €ive up your society.” Such words ch a source made Paley think. awzke all night arrang- ing hours and plans for work, und from that night was an altered man. He 2y be sald to have written hiz “Evi- @ences of Christianity” and his other we because he had a friend who wi X afraid of giving offense than of aliowing him to throw himseif away. It is of course very gifficult, how- ever, to get a friend who is as faithful &s this. We may have suffered from selves, but as they were without sym- pathy and cared more to inflict pain than to morally improve us, their fault- finding did no good. An old man once quaintly remarked that though his ac- quaintances would fill a church, his real friends could be packed in a pui- pit. Too many so-called friends are like the London omnibuses, halling us in fine weather, and shunning us in wet. When, however, we have got a friend who is always the same, who knows the best and the worst of us, and who loyes us in spite of our faults —then we have a fortune indeed. In one respect friendship is above blood-relationship. I cannot ‘help hav- ing relations, but I choose my friends. If my chosen friend is great, I am great; for to make a friend of one truly great we must be able to appre- clate greatness. Nothing dignifies and soothes the ordinary affairs of life so much as friendship. When it exists be- tween mistress and maid the servant difficulty disappears. If a parent ahd child are not ‘riends, the parent is a despot, and the child a slave. What can we call married life without a friendship, but joint-stock housekeep- ing or worse? Passion is not love; and when the respect which is implied in friendship ceases, indifference, con- tempt and quarreling begin. Make a Friend of Your Wife. On the other hand, iIf a man has a good wife he has the best friend it is possible to have. “A man’s best friend,” says Bulwer Lytton, “is a wife of good sense and good heart, whom he loves and who loves him. In woman there is at once a subtle delicacy of tact, and a-plain soundness of judgment, which are rarely combined to an equal de- gree in a man. A woman, if she be really your friend, will have a sensitive regard for your character, honor, re- pute. She will seldom counsel you to do a shabby thing, for a woman always desires to be proud of you. At the same time her constitutional timidity makes her more cautious than your male friend. She, therefore, seldom counsels you to do an imprudent deed.” A wife best shows her friendliness by clipping from her husband’s moral nature little twigs that are grow- ing in the wrong direction. If he say anything silly she will affectionately tell him so. If he declares that he will peel, no touching all the posts in walk- ing along the streets, no eating and drinking with disgusting voracity. If Goldsmith had been married he would never have worn that ridiculous and memorable coat. A wife's a man's best plece, marries, Wants making up, Wives of Great Men. Not a few great men have confessed that they were marriage-made to a very considerable extent. “It is often the case when you see a great man, like a ship, sailing proudly along the current of renown, that there is a little tug—his wife—whom you cannot see, but who is dirécting his movements and supplying the motive power.” Could any one have had a better friend than Sir James Macintosh had in his wife? He says that by tender management of his weaknesses she gradually corrected the most pernicious of them. ‘When a man is unpopular, and the world frowns -upon him, then the friendship of a good wife is as faith- ful as it is valuable. Lady Rachel Russell sat beside her husband day aft- er day during his public trial, taking notes and doing everything to help him. ‘When Baxter was conflned in Clerken- well jail for holding a conventicle he said of his wife: ‘‘She was never so cheerful a companion to me as in pris- on, and was very much agalnst me seeking to be released.” When Kingsley attributed his success as a writer and a clergyman to the fact that he had a friend he was probably thinking of his wife. Indeed he used often to say that but for her sympathy and influence he never would have be- come a writer. He met the girl who was to be his wife when he was only 20 years f age. He was at the time full of doubts about religion and his face, with its unsatisfied, hungering look, bore witness to the state of his mind. He told her of his doubts and she told him her faith, and the former was dispelled by the latter. Writing to Mrs. Kingsley from the seaside, where he had gone in search of heaith, he said: “This place is perfect; but it seems a dream and imperfeét without you. Absence quickens love into con- sciousness. I never before felt the lone- liness of being without the beloved be- ing whose every look and word and mo- tion are the keynotes of my life,” who, till he shich my father based his theory of ringing up children. From this and from the interest he took in their pur- suits, their pleasures, trials and even the petty details of their everyday life, there sprang up a friendship between father and children that increased in Intensity and denth with years. To speak for myself, he was the best friend—the only true friend T ever had. At once he was the most fatherly and the most unfatherly of fathers—father- ly in that he was our most intimate friend, and our seif-constituted advis- er; unfatherly in that our feeling for him lacked that fear and restraint that make boys call their father ‘the gov- ernor.’ ” How miserable it must be for hus- band and wife, a8 they sit opposite to each other, day by day, not to be able to say, “I have a friend” in him or her. Perhaps they are not upon speaking terms, in which case the tete-a-tete meals which they take together must be sad and awkward indeed. Often, too, painfully ludicrous consequences result when the master and mistress of a house are not friends. Reynolds in s “Life and Times" tells of a free- and-easy actor who passed three fes- tive days at the seat of the Marquis and Marchioness of — without any invitation, convinced (as proved to be the case) that, my lord and lady not being on speaking terms, each would suppose that the other had asked him. “According to Milton, Eve kept silent in Eden to hear her husband talk,” said a gentleman to a lady friend, and then added, in a melancholy tone, “Alas, there have been no Eves since.” “Because,” retorted the lady, “there have been no husbands worth listening to.” Certainly there are too few men Wwho exert themselves to be as agreeable to their wives (their best friends) as they are to the comparative strangers or secret enemies hom they meet at clubs and other places of resort. It is a great thing for husband and wife to be able to say after years of married life that each has in the other a true friend. This the happiness of James Nas- myth, of the steam ham- mer, and his wife. The former sald: “Forty-two of married life finds us the same devoted cronies that we were at the beginning.” This was bet- ter than the mere gunpowder passion that barely survives the honeymoon. prehensively out of his window, as. if he expected to see his newly arrived neighbor flitting up his porch steps in search of him with a lasso. Ingtead he really did see a small, ineffensive looking woman walking se- renely from her doorway toward her own frent lawn, bearing a pot of pan- sles and a trowel. “‘Oh, of course,” he contipued caus- tically, “wants to make a good impres- sion first before she lets out at me. Well, ma'am, my heart is tough. But you are a neat little bundle,” he added with a slight change of tone; “trim as a sassairas whistle. fhat's right—let that rufiied up pink contraption slide oit your head. Gum, what shiny brown bair! And iook at the little curl bob- bing over her off ear!” Little Mrs. Bittersweet did not seem at all troubied by the orb Mr. Larkins deemed it expedient to keep focused upon her. She trotted around about her own business, paying little heed to the doirgs of her bachelor neighbor. ‘The first time she met him plump and square she gave him a sweet, indiffer- ent little nelghborly “Good morning,” which somehow excited his discontent and fire. "“Took about as much notice of me as she would of a brindle dog,” he com- plained to himself; “in fact, not as much. She pets up all the old stray dogs and gives 'em bones. What's the matter with me, I'd like to know ?" He looked anxiously Into the mirror as he brushed his hair. He saw therein a good looking and fairly good natured face, the chief defect of which was an expression tending toward self-conceit. “Now, ma'am,” he observed decisive- ly, addressing the absent widow, “you've got to see me and appreciate me; then if you choose to take advan- tage of leap year privileges, I don't really know as I'll run away.” Meantime Mrs. Bittersweet's atten- tion had been directed to Mr. Larkins by her friend, Miss Podderly. “He’s the smartest man in Bibbville,” said she, “and got everything in his house a woman's heart could wish, from gas ranges to teaspooms, not to mention scuds of blue and white ware saucepans. But seems like he's afraid some woman'll marry him in spite of himself. 1 guess he's too bashful to ask any one. But I believe in my heart you could overcome the difficulty, Polly, if you'd set your cap good and strong.” “Set a fiddlestick,” Bittersweet, scornfully. my cap for any 4 “Well,” sald Miss Podderly, “T wish I had the opportunities you' turn up discontented d a little puzzled. 1 don’t understand you, ma'am,” he admitied, In one of his mental apos- trophes to the widow, “I have so far medified my, views as to give you every ignify your wish to be- ins, and yet you're as cool and calm as a bale of snow. I'm not ed to it, ma'am, and I won't stand it. T'll give you three weeks more to get interested in me, and then I'll take and propose to you—that's about what I'll do. When the allotted three weeks of grace had expired Mr. Larkins, in des- peration, executed his threat and re- ceived a plump “No!"—the result of Miss Podderly’s championship and a streak of contrariness in the widow’'s disposition. He accepted the sentence with visi- ble disappointment, but bore it with manly fortitude. “I'm sorry, ma’'am,” he said, Irankly, “tearing sorry. I've taken more of a shine to you, somehow, than 1 ever did to any one, and I'd be good to you, you can bank on that. But If you can’t like me you can’t. There now, ma‘am, don't go and ery—don't. I wouldn't hurt your feelings for forty farms,” for the widow's heart all at once had smitten her sharply, and some subtle pathos in Mr. Larkins’ simple accept- ance of defeat caused her eyes to brim with misty tears. “I'm s0-00-0 sorry,” she faltered, hing and sobbing, * e “Don’t mention it,” implored Mr. Larkins, “don’'t you be miserable or blue about it. But if you should—kind of change your mind, you know, ma’am, Just let me know; won't you?" Mr. Larkins dove headlong into his garden patch and hoed vigerously to distract his thoughts, and the widow sat down on the edge of her porch and swung her neat little foot dejectedly. “I do believe I'm half-witted,” said she under her breath. “I dare say I've lost as good a man as I'll ever meet, and all because Henrietta Podderly told me to run after him. I needn't have run after him, but I could have thrown him away, and I ain’t half as smart as I thought I was. I'm lonely and mis- erable, woo—00—o00.” Mrs. Bittersweet ran into her sitting-room and cried as heartily as Mr. Larkins hoed. After that she smiled sugnily when- ever she met him. He ed genially. The widow daintily became more lone- some and more convinced that she had discarded a congenial spirit. “He won't prepose again in a hun- years,” she bemoaned herself, 3 1o wonder he don't want to risk another snub. He did tell me to let him know if I changed my mind: I hate opportunity to come Mrs. Lar bl she said, softly, “de you ever change your mind?™ “No,” returned Mr. Larkins plumply, “not_without solid reason.” “We-ell,” she continued, holding her breath at her own boldness, “would you still like me to—er—er—be—be"— Her meaning rushed through Mr. Larkins like a streak of electricity. He sprang out of his lolling attitude at a bounce. “Polly, if you're asking me if I'd like you to be my wife, 1 say yes—yes— yes. I didn’t dare to ask you agaim, but you've a perfect right to ask m even if I hadn't told you to. for it's leap—why, Polly love, what's the mat- ter? You'ra as pale as ashes. What s it, darling?" “Why, I've actually as good as asked you to marry me,” gasped Polly, “Just what I've always declared I'd dle rather than do! Oh, well,” as Alonzo’'s arm stole protectingly around her waist, “I guess I was excusable this time. But, Alonzo. listen. Don't you ever, the longest day you live, let Henrletta Pod- derly know I did it—will you?" “Never, d Alonzo, kissing her. —— e Keep Touch With Your Friends. A man whose wife had died, being asked how he felt replied, “It's very peaceful but it is very dull” In the same way, though our friends, when with us, may often inconvenisnce and annoy us, yet when death or changes and chances of lifs remove them, we are very dull and full of re- morse, because when it was in our power we did not better appreciate them. Youth is the time for forming friendships, after this we only make acquaintances. As we get on in life then we should hold hard to the friends we have, we should keep our friend- ships in repair. The way to do this is to go and see friends frequently, but not too zently, when near them: to write tters regularly when nd « ionally to send i1l let them see that of them. Prasents en- dear absent id do not forget it! It we are not careful to keep our friend- ships in repair we may find ourselves we are thin entering u old age without one genuine ily friend. How bitter then will be the reflection, “I had a friend or many of them, but I have none now, nothing better than nodding acquaintances, who wourd read the an- nouncement of my death with horrible cheerfulness!"”