Chapter 24.
Miscellaneous Blemishes and Defects:
Flushing, Pallor, Scurfy Skin, Dry Skin,
Greasy Skin, and Excessive Perspiration.
Chapter 25.
The Shoulders, Arms, and Hands.
Chapter 26.
The Finger Nails.
Chapter 27.
The Lips, Teeth, and Breath.
Chapter 28.
The Eyes, Nose, and Ears.
Chapter 29.
The Hair: Its General Care.
Chapter 30.
The Hair, Continued.
Chapter 31.
The Hair, Continued:
Dyes, Bleaching, Liquids, Curling Fluids
and Mixtures, Pomades, and Depilatories.
Chapter 32.
Beards.
Chapter 33.
Proper Care of the Feet.
Chapter 34.
How to Reduce or Acquire Flesh.
Chapter 35.
Perfumes and Soaps.
Chapter 36.
Transient Blemishes.
Chapter 37.
My Lady's Toilet Table.
Chapter 38.
Dress: Colors, Textures, and Devices.
Chapter 39.
The Relationship Between Food and Beauty:
How and What to Eat.
Chapter 1.
Beauty Desirable and Obtainable.
"The most beautiful object in the world,
it will be allowed, is a beautiful woman." --Macaulay.
"It is a great plague to be too handsome a man." --Plautus.
She who has no ambition to be beautiful will never wield the scepter of womanly power. The chronicles of all ages record that beauty has ever influenced men and leaders of men, whether for good or evil, and until the end of time will they remain captives to its magnetic charm.
These facts may seem discouraging to the woman whose mirror tells her she is undeniably plain, while the silence of friends or their too frank remarks corroborate the tale; but she needs the stimulus which should be aroused by the statement of these truths, to induce her to bring to the aid of the poor inheritance Nature has bestowed upon her, all the arts of enhancement which may physically or mentally augment the dower, that she may become happier, wiser, more attractive, and, more than all, better satisfied with herself.
Let her remember that a beautiful woman is not always a lovely one, and that a lovely woman is often a very plain one; that a beautiful woman who is not lovely is like a rose without perfume whose charm is gone when its petals are faded; while a lovely woman is like a cluster of mignonette, which will rest on the breast of its wearer till drooping and withered, and afterward still be tenderly cherished for the sweetness of which Time cannot rob it.
George Eliot says, "The beauty of a lovely woman is like music." A woman of her expansive mind uttered no such sentiment in a narrow sense. Its comprehensiveness is proportionate to the grand breadth and depth of her magnificent intellect and means all it could mean. We cannot see music, but we grasp its sounds through the organs of hearing, and hold and feel its thrills through that inner sense on which our emotions are indelibly impressed or which remains indifferent, even though the eye and the ear acknowledge supreme satisfaction. The beauty of a simply beautiful woman is like brilliant music which enthralls our senses until ended; but when another as brilliant a selection is begun, our allegiance proves transitory. "The beauty of a *lovely* woman is like some sweet song whose cadences come back again and again, mentally mingling with the notes of sparkling fantasias, the madly rushing strains of which are almost lost upon the dreamy listener whose heartstrings Memory is lightly touching.
Loveliness is the sum total of beauty and may or may not include perfection of feature and form. Fortunate, indeed, is the woman to whom the gods have given the form of Venus, the beauty of Juno, and the heart of an angel. She cannot help winning universal love and admiration, nor do these offerings spoil her, since vanity lurks not in the kingdom of her mind. But now many women with all these gifts and the virtue of resistance to the wiles of adulation, can each of us number among our friends? In contradistinction can we not find many a woman upon whom the gods may not have smiled at birth, but who is so lovely in mind, manners, and heart, that her plainness of feature is virtually unnoticed, and the ranks of her admirers never thin out as Time moves along, but in full numbers pay court to her irresistible other charms?
There is no woman possessed of her reasoning faculties and a moderate amount of common sense who may not become lovely if she will, and in becoming lovely many a woman has grown beautiful. It rests with her whether she shall, as women are inclined to do, ever ardently admire beauty in other women and silently grieve because she is not as they are, or whether she shall gird on the armor of resolve and successfully encounter and overcome the foes that have kept imprisoned gifts of Nature, which, though they may be few, are in most cases sufficient for a solid foundation to most enviable loveliness. But she must prepare for a tedious onslaught and frequent overthrows of the new citadel, for those persistent foes—unlovely traits of disposition—will rise again and again and undo all that has been done to conquer them and gain the very first step to perpetual loveliness.
The beautiful woman can make herself more so by correcting deficiencies of disposition or mind and develop into a queen among women; while her plainer sister may become her rival in loveliness and a loved ruler in her own realm—and what greater happiness can she desire than that wealth of love which every womanly heart craves, and with which every *lovely* woman is satisfied? Is it not, then, worth the while of every woman, though she possess few personal charms, but whose heart hungers for the adoration which beauty inspires, to endeavor to become lovely, which she can, and beautiful, too, which she may?
The effort to become lovely should not necessarily be confined to womankind. There is a broad field for improvement in this direction among the opposite sex, and many a woman would be vastly helped in her endeavors to please, if "her lord and master," or whatever male relative or friend she may come in contact with, were to administer to his own irritable or otherwise diseased disposition, the wholesome correctives of repression and self-sacrifice and the genial tonics of cheerfulness, kindness, and courtesy. A man may be as lovely as a woman without being in the least effeminate; and while it might be "a great plague to be too handsome a man," no man has ever been so lovely in the eyes of the sex to whom he owes allegiance and protection, as to draw upon himself in consequence attentions that either distressed or displeased him. It should not be left for women to become lovely for unlovely men, and it cannot be gainsaid that the controlling influence of a woman's wish to be beautiful rests almost absolutely upon the natural desire to be pleasing in the sight of the ordained protectors of her sex.
No woman likes to think of a man as being beautiful. Manliness and such attractiveness of feature and physique as renders him acceptable to all eyes, constitute a woman's ideal; but if manliness and loveliness of disposition are combined, a womanly woman appreciates the man even though he bear no likeness whatever to Apollo the Beautiful. In this respect man is somewhat less generous than woman, and woman's actual and intuitive knowledge of this deficiency is what so often discourages her from making any effort to become more attractive. Harsh as it may sound, it is, however, mainly woman's own fault that she remains unlovely and unsought. It is her duty to herself, in the face of all discouragements, to endeavor to become attractive to everyone, not taking the male sex alone into consideration—for she may rest assured if she pleases her own sex she will not fail to attract the other; and the satisfaction of being beloved of all will add its beautifying radiance to a countenance from which already shines out purity, kindness, cheerfulness, hope, love, everything which makes a woman lovely even though she be not beautiful.
Chapter 2. Moral and Mental Aids
To the Acquirement of Beauty.
"A cheerful temper joined with innocence,
will make beauty attractive, knowledge delightful,
and wit good-natured." --Addison
Beauty without spiritual fortifications is ephemeral. When its first bloom has faded and there remains no other charm to cover its evanescent attractions, then the woman who has been only beautiful to look upon is much more to be pitied than the plain woman who has never experienced the sweets of admiration, and who will therefore never feel the pangs of such a loss--a loss that wrings the hearts of some women with the keenest pain they ever suffer.
Who has not seen the face of a beautiful but fractious child change, in a spasm of anger, from the features of an angel to those of a veritable little fiend? Possibly the latter expression remains but a moment, which augers well, since it indicates only a quick temper that is as quickly subdued by an otherwise naturally sweet disposition. The tiny face is soon all smiles again, but the wise mother will not neglect to try, gently though firmly, to uproot this single weed in her little one's heart. Doubly difficult will be her task, and all the more earnest must be her endeavor, if, when the first hot burst of wrath is over, a frown remains, lips pout, eyes are averted, and attitudes are sullen. If these traits are not overcome, they will soon begin to grave lines upon the baby features, which, when manhood or womanhood is reached, stand as disfiguring tell-tales of a deformed disposition upon which the beauty of the fair face will sooner or later be wrecked.
The trite old saying, "just as the twig is bent the tree's inclined," applies as often to one result of youthful training as to another. A child with a naturally sweet disposition may grow up with it distorted out of every semblance of goodness by a mistaken management of its first young impulses; while a child of a stormy temperament may be so wisely guided that every gust of anger may be quelled at its first threatening breeze, every vicious tendency crushed, and the child finally enter the great field of life endowed with qualities that endear it to all and make its fairness beautiful, its beauty lovely.
At the threshold of maturity stand many, both with and without "a pleasing countenance," which Ovid considers "is no slight advantage"; and also with defects of character or disposition which are present from a lack of proper discipline in youth, or because the possessors belonged, during that period, to the class of incorrigibles whom only the wisdom of years can bring to a realizing sense of their deficiencies. These unfortunates, for unfortunates they are, should take a rigid inventory of such defects and immediately set about subduing, overcoming, totally eradicating these obstructions which prevent the beauty of the mind and heart from forming a permanent and luminous background for the fair seal Nature may have set upon the face.
Cheerfulness is the light of the countenance and, under ordinary circumstances, arises from a love free from jealousies, an enjoyment of one's possessions with no envy of another's happiness or success, and that kindness of heart which holds a charity for all who need it, which knows no selfishness, which has the moral courage to uphold by practice its own convictions of right, which shuts its doors to pride, vanity, and conceit, and bolts and bars them and its windows when vice, slander, and all kindred tempters come to lay their snares within its gates. It is a strong heart that can resist these assailants, but such a heart transforms even a plain face and glorifies it beyond all outer beauty.
The ethics of beauty and society are in some respects so closely allied, that one cannot be discussed without allusion to the other. She who is lovely must also be well bred, and she becomes the latter through the refining processes which make her the former. In her society one feels at ease; has no distrust born of a whispered hint that "she is deceitful"; does not fear that her words will be distorted from their proper meanings and repeated with the intention of wounding the unfortunate listener; is not fearful that some patronizing or insulting idea will be dipped into the honey of social politeness, and with a rudeness which the polish of conventionality cannot conceal, offered to her, and which unpleasant morsel she must, through the same politeness, take and show no distaste for; knows that she will meet with warm hospitality, sincere sympathy in her afflictions, generosity to her appeals, frankness in affairs of mutual interest, and universal kindness and sweetness in all the little encounters of wit or argument which brighten up otherwise dull and monotonous conversations.
A woman with all these virtues may be hard to find, but she can be found; and more, given a moderate amount of intelligence and common sense, a woman can, if she will, turn her undisciplined disposition and mind into these very channels and, though it may cost her time, take her place as one of the loveliest of her sex.
Having cleared out the dark corners of the heart and let in the sunshine of cheerfulness, thus chasing all shadows from the face, the wise woman who wishes for perpetual loveliness will then seek an attractive setting for the mind. The latter may be a gem in the rough but susceptible of high polish; or it may be a jewel which attracts not from its flashes, but through a steady glow, a refulgence that ever cheers, never wearies. Be it what it may, it should be developed to the highest degree made possible by circumstances, for when outward beauty has faded and age or other abuses have retired a woman from the general society in which her charms of disposition have made her beloved, she will still be able to hold in bondage, by the rich resources of her mind, those friends whose privilege it is to visit her within the seclusion of the home she has ever made happy by her loveliness of character and beauty of intellect.
If more women whose minds are really receptive but indolent and indifferent as well, would cultivate them by reading the beautiful thoughts of superior minds, their faces would unconsciously reflect the beauty of these thoughts and the new intelligence their absorption develops, the soul would begin to shine from their eyes, and an intellectual graciousness would take the place of that apathetic expression born of unawakened interest in aught save dress, which mars the otherwise perfect faces of numberless women. Cultivation of the mind and the study of art in its different branches cannot be too strongly urged upon the girl or woman who desires to be beautiful. It is true that often her acquirements in these respects will fall upon the barren ground of unappreciation from the person or persons she cares most to please; but the world is wide, and it is not one individual nor two or three who are to derive pleasure from her society, but hosts. Besides, many an instance is on record where an unmindful husband or family have awakened, and rubbed their eyes over the fact, that cultivated men and women had discovered great charms and attractions in an unappreciated wife or an "ugly duckling" of a daughter.
Let the readers of this book take heart, for with the help it is intended to give, there is no woman who may not, if she will, simultaneously increase her charms and her chances of earthly happiness.
Chapter 3. Essentials: Elegant Manners,
Graceful Bearing, and a Pleasing Voice.
In cultivating the mind, the development of a pleasing deportment must not be neglected, for grace and self-possession both in action and repose are indispensable to the tout ensemble of beauty. Men and women may possess rare attractions in every other respect, and yet by nervous or awkward movements cast upon themselves a doubt as to their being entitled to social intercourse with those "to the manner born." Even if this doubt does not arise, the self-possessed with whom they come in contact are distressed by their erratic movements, and their society, therefore, becomes an infliction rather than a pleasure. Defects in deportment usually result, as do those of disposition, from a lack of proper early training, or from little neglects in later life which have grown into habits. Either cause can be corrected under wise guidance and by a determination to conquer the many lapses which a sensitive or moderately keen self-observer becomes conscious of, when comparing her own deportment with that of the refined circle into which she has been fortunate enough to gain an entrance.
Diffidence or bashfulness often proves the most prolific soil for perpetual awkwardness, the unfortunate perpetrators of which deserve genuine sympathy. The latter should be proved by an earnest effort on the part of those who extend it to put at their ease this very numerous class of social suffers. As serious illness must be treated by nauseous doses, so must bashfulness be overcome by what will be heroic measures on the part of the suffer in going as often as possible into the company of affable people and taking an active interest in the conversation or amusements of the hour. In this way self-consciousness will be lost, limbs will begin to move gracefully, hands will forget to fidget, and ever recurring flush will remain in abeyance, sitting and standing positions will become unconstrained, and in fact, the shackles of a mortifying timidity will gradually disappear, until bashfulness and diffidence will remain only as amusing memories of a period of unnecessary mental distress.
It is not certain that self-consciousness is not one of the worst types of self-conceit; for to imagine that everyone is thinking of what you do and say, and how you look and appear, even if you fancy it is done in an adversely critical way, can scarcely be called other than conceit. A moment's reflection should assure a sensible reasoner that everyone has himself or herself to think of in addition to all else that goes to make up a busy life, and that in all probability the poor victim who imagines himself the center of derisive observation and comment receives nothing more from anyone than a passing thought, and that a kindly one. This view, generally conceded to be correct, should soothe the bashful one into a state of serenity; and this, in its turn, will happily influence awkward movements an little by little develop that refined confidence of manner which is the real foundation of grace.
A graceful walk is natural to many, especially those who are not self-conscious; others acquire it by long and patient practice. Theories with regard to its accomplishment are numerous and varying. Naturally they are also somewhat contradictory, since the movements of the graceful women of all countries differ as widely as do their types of beauty; and every author and artist has his favorite type, which he pronounces the only perfect one. A composite type results in the recommendation of a gliding walk, with most of the action dependent upon the thighs, the feed swinging from the relaxed knees into natural and graceful positions. Delsarte, the popular promoter of a System of Expression, says: "There are almost as many walks as there are individuals. It is temperamental, as much an indicator of the habits, character and emotions as the voice." He also says: "The perfect walk must be straight, each step a foot apart (your own foot, not the ordinary foot measure). Bobbing up and down, pitching, rolling, strutting must be avoided as gymnastic crimes. The great work of the movement falls to the lot of the thigh, the vital division of the leg. This is the strongest portion of the frame." The foot should be lifted but slightly, and although in its natural state it "is fashioned to grasp the ground," yet when clothed in the coverings invented by men, the heel must perforce first touch the earth; but let it be as lightly as possible, since heavily striking the heel in walking is not only detrimental to health from the succession of shocks given the system and brain, but is considered a noisy vulgarity and is, as well, productive of extreme ungracefulness.
A flexibility at the waistline is also one of the necessities of a graceful carriage, and these muscles should be regularly exercised by forward, backward, and rotary bendings, in order to make them subject to the will of the walker and to render the swaying movements of the body harmonious with the action of the lower limbs. Perfect poise, artists say, is found only among those of the lower classes who bear the burdens of their daily avocations upon their heads. Those who teach grace of bearing make their pupils apply the same principle, and give them a daily exercise in walking erect with some easily balanced article upon their heads. Delsarte in his teachings says: "Practice the walk with a book on your head, walking straight on a chalked tape, the marks two feed apart (your own feet). Put this tape in front of the mirror, and step on the marks as you see them reflected."
The presence of greatness overawes many people who unconsciously fall into cringing attitudes when directly addressed by or speaking to the person considered a superior. Do not so insult your own self-respect nor lessen that of others for you; for such an attitude strikes all beholders most unpleasantly and enables them to immediately mark with a red letter a most deplorable characteristic—that of servility. Deference to a superior may be gracefully expressed by a respectful inclination of the head and body, but no one would call graceful or noble in bearing, the man or woman who sidles up to an important personage and incorporates into his or her own listening attitude the squirming "'umbleness" of the immortal Uriah Heep.
Emerson stuck for the whole world the key-note to gracefulness, when he said: "Give me a thought and my hands and legs and voice and face will all go right. And we are awakened for want of thought." Direct your thoughts from yourself and dwell upon the worthy ones of others. You will then forget awkward limbs, which will soon prove, as the same writer says, that "Nature is the best posture maker." Do not follow fashionable "fads" in locomotion, for none of them ever has been or ever will be an exponent of grace. Let lofty thoughts inspire the pose, and Nature will take care of the action.
A graceful salutation carries with it a most pleasing impression. A bow, under some circumstances, is as expressive as words, and can convey a compliment which the tongue may not utter. Its gradations indicate respect, admiration, friendship or love for, slight acquaintance with and civility towards, or a desire to keep at a distance, its recipient. A careless not or a jerky inclination is provocative of criticism, both from a possible lack of respect that may not be intended but is certainly conveyed, and also from an artistic point of view. Let the inclination of the head and body and their return to a normal position be gradual, and allow circumstances to govern the profundity of the inclination. The result will be a bow gracefully accomplished and typical of good breeding.
Grace in repose is more difficult of attainment than grace in action. In the latter there are necessarily varying attitudes. A person who constantly changes her position while sitting, loses all that dignity of repose which is so closely allied with grace. She makes a hopeless striving after the latter, and renders uncomfortable all observers. A rigid, upright position, as if one were momentarily expecting to encounter a calamity, is one of the frequent sitting postures in which every possible tendency to grace is totally obliterated. It is strained, uncomfortable, unnatural, and should be avoided. Its opposite, however, when the edge of a chair seat is made the balancing point for extended limbs and reclining shoulders, is not only indicative of bad breeding, but is reprehensible beyond question, no matter how comfortable the sitter, who is usually a man, may be. Occupy the whole seat of an ordinary chair and lean upon its back so far as you may without detracting from an easy, refined, and graceful position.
It must be admitted that modern furniture is not universally comfortable, and curves that would be conducive to ease are often sacrificed for lines pleasing to the eye; but as yet, every article has at least one or two redeeming features of which every sitter may take advantage in maintaining a graceful pose.
Do not fidget with your hands or any article you may be holding. Think of what you are listening to or saying, and forget the restless members, and they will seek the desirable repose without any mental or other assistance.
As to the disposal of the feet and limbs, the privileges accorded to ladies and gentlemen differ to a material extent, and while a gentleman may sit in a graceful attitude with crossed limbs, the ethic of refined society forbid that a lady should assume this pose. There are, however, infringements upon this rule as well as infractions of it, and though the effect may not be ungraceful, the attitude is one which, for obvious reasons, should be avoided.
A voice, sweet, resonant, expressive, is one of the greatest charms that may fall to the lot of or be acquired by any one. A voice which has not been disciplined or cultivated is like an untutored savage on whose tranquility no reliance can be placed. It follows every mood and often belies the intensity of the latter, becoming harsh and loud when its possessor is only slightly irritated, or strident and boisterous when she is only ordinarily merry. When she has learned to subdue its tendencies in this direction, then let her begin the development of its attractive qualities. If she is not so situated as to be able to benefit from scientific cultivation, she may, aided by a few hints, train her voice to a pleasing modulation without professional assistance.
Speech is as musical as song, and its compass is normally the same. The dominant note is always near the middle of the compass and is one on which the person can "speak and sing with the best effect, with the greatest ease, and for the greatest length of time." The first step, therefore, is to aim at control over the dominant note. But this must not be developed to an unpleasing resonance. Delsarte says: "There are two kinds of loud voices: the vocally loud, which is the vulgar voice, and the dynamically loud, which is the powerful voice. A voice, however powerful it may be, should be inferior to the power which animates it." He also says: "Accent is the modulation of the soul"; and, "If you would move others, put your heart in the place of your larynx; let your voice become a mysterious hand to caress the hearer." In those quotations may be found the whole theory which, if followed, will render a voice pleasing long after youth has passed and the years are crowding along with all their ravaging inroads.
Chapter 4.
Emotions Destructive to Beauty.
The possessor of a valuable article of vertu, a gem, a fine engraving, or some priceless painting, guards and protects his treasure with zealous care from the rough touches of Time or vandals. She who would preserve her beauty, the most prized of all the endowments of Nature, must be even more vigilant still, so many and insidious are the attacks made upon it by Time, conditions of mind, circumstances, and the tendencies of the disposition.
Time is relentless and grave are lines upon fair faces as well as plain ones. The wiles of beauty do not tempt him into a forgetfulness of his mission, and as the years roll by he adds for each a little touch here, a hint there, to remind all that he is eternal and merciless. It rests with a beauty whether or not she will assist in the line making or by a rational management of the emotional part of her nature, hold some of the evidences of his inroads in check.
A sculptor sometimes moulds plastic clay into the semblance of a face, and then, as the subject requires or his mood inspires him, he treats the lips with smiles, puts a mischievous dimple in the cheek, and arches the brows in merry laughter; or he fashions the lips into the drooping curve of grief, or distends the nostril in mimic anger and corrugates the brow with frowns. The clay hardens, the lines remain, the expression is fixed. All the ages cannot change it. Yet, before time had irrevocably set these lines upon that plastic face, the sculptor could have changed them all. The face itself is powerless for it belongs to a lump of soulless clay. It is passive. What a lesson may be learned from this illustration! Does it not signify that a woman may be but passive clay when she fails to respond to that soul within her which enables her to so mould her own life and nature that Time will fail to establish on her face aught but his own unavoidable traces? If then she remains passive and allows an undisciplined and perverted nature to become the sculptor who shall work and in hand with Time, is she not more deserving of censure than pity when she meets the scowling reflection of her own face with a tirade against the misfortunes or griefs that have made her look hideous to herself and unattractive to her friends?
It would be folly to assert that she could have avoided all of her misfortunes or that some of her griefs were not real.
"Into each life some rain must fall,"
but when rain falls upon the earth, the clouds do not ever after hang as a pall over it. They disperse, scud away before the gentle breezes, and melt in the glow of the sun whose rays have made for them a golden lining. It is true that into some lives there come storms whose traces cannot be wholly obliterated, but they need not be left as they were when the tempest first subsided. It is one's duty to one's friends and to one's self to respond to the sympathy offered by showing that the sunshine of cheerfulness is not all spent, but can and will shine through that gloom of countenance which is such an enemy to the charm of a pretty face.
A pensive expression, indicative only of noble and tranquil thoughts, beautifies a face and leaves upon it no traces to be deplored. But when meditation becomes brooding, and the subject thought arouses all the viciousness of an undisciplined mind, the face becomes the plastic clay on which every emotion is faithfully pictured, and if the brooding resolves into a habit, its results also become fixed.
To an observer in this direction a sea of faces is simply a panorama of indelibly portrayed emotions. Look at the drooping corners of that woman's lips! She either has a sullen or a revengeful disposition, and indulges too much in retrospection over injuries received or possibly only fancied, or she incorporates into her introspections plans for retaliation which contain all the concealed venom of a cruel disposition. Here is another who cannot or will not lay aside her griefs, and her face is being forced into dolorous lines which depress all who see her and sometimes subject her to the scathing criticism that she tries to "work upon your sympathy." Look at that mouth yonder! Surely in infancy no such compression of the lips appeared. It was only as the child grew older, and a strong will, with a determination to maintain it, asserted itself, that the lips began to draw tightly over the teeth on every provocation, until now that is their constant position--one which fully discloses the defect in the disposition which was not properly weeded out in youth. Often on the foreheads of young faces will be seen vertical lines. These deepen as youth advances. They may result from concentration of thought or possibly from a sour or perverted disposition, and as a rule the lines about the mouth will infallibly settle the doubt; for if these latter are the drooping lines belonging to a morbid disposition, it is safe to conclude that the lines of the forehead are in close kinship. In either event they should not be permitted to come. A scowling face which results from temper can and should be smoothed into cheerfulness by the will; while the habit of unconsciously frowning while intent upon books or work, should be broken before it becomes fixed, or corrected as far as possible when it has stolen itself into permanency.
Superciliousness and self-satisfaction are generally acquired traits, as disagreeable as they are foolish; and if manner does not betray their presence, the face will. They stamp themselves on the features and are red signals to all close observers, to keep at a distance or run the risk of being crushed. Superciliousness sometimes gives to the brows almost the same curve as does the delight or wonder of people of weak intellect. Both have a tendency to raise the brows and corrugate in corresponding curves the surface of the forehead. There also appears sabout the mouth something which cannot be described, but is a disfiguring expression that is both seen and felt, and comes from certain "lofty" thoughts which cannot be called noble since they are simply the precipitations of self-conceit. Crush the latter, the face will fall into normal and pleasing lines; foster it, and the features will become marked with repellant lines which nullify all their other charms.
Self-satisfaction, another form of conceit, comes to the surface in a smirk, which says more plainly than the tongue would dare to utter, "See how pleasing I am in the sight of all beholders. Everything I have is finer than theirs, much nicer than yours, superior to anything else that might be obtained. These are my houses and lands, and none are so broad and grand as they." That smirk acts upon a sensitive person much as would a dose of nauseating medicine or a dash of icy water and by and but it aggravates all who encounter it into a mental blindness to any good quality that may exist behind it.
Envy and jealousy, unless trampled into subjection will also set their seal upon the countenance. The eyes are the indicators of their existence within the mind, and through these "windows of the soul" the world peers in and makes a public note of these failings to which the heart is prone. The tactless, not satisfied with the glimpse, must needs stir the smoldering fire till it leaps forth and temporarily transforms a human being into a demon; and sometimes great mischief results. Every time the ideal lines of the face are distorted, and at each recurrence of passion, the traces grow more difficult to remove, until finally they remain, and the face becomes a map of the dominant emotions of the heart.
Is it not worth the while of every woman who reads this with earnestness equal to that with which it is written, to analyze without mercy to herself the governing traits of her disposition; and if they are those which will sooner or later reveal themselves on her face, as they are sure to do, is it not more than worth her while to keep them under subjection, even though it is impossible for her to uproot them? Such a course may be a species of deceit, but it is of a character to be commended, since by it no one will suffer and every one will benefit—most of all she who as to struggle for mastery with all these foes of beauty.
Incidentally, grimacing may here be mentioned as productive of displeasing effects, both temporary and permanent. Just why it should seem necessary to some people to accentuate what they are saying by a pursing up of the lips, an elevating of the eyebrows, an indescribable motion of the nose, a squinting of the eyes, or a total distortion of every feature possible, cannot be explained. It does not make more expressive a pertinent or humorous remark, but to a certain extent places the feature contortionist of private life on a level, in principle, with the clown who grimaces for money and the amusement of the public. Just as ennobling occupations idealize the features, so do those inane contortions lessen their intellectuality, so that in time "clown" is stamped on them as surely as if the face were clay and the sculptor had formed it so.
It is a well-known fact that vocations long continued become indexed upon the face. Noble thoughts and sentiments also leave their impress. The arts, especially music, are most powerful agents in refining and ennobling the countenance. Music arouses such a variety of emotions, each one of which is depicted by the features, that a face molded under its influences becomes an embodiment of ideality in and mobility of expression, even though Nature may have so fashioned it that to a casual observer it is exceedingly plain.
Keep the gates to the avenues of thought closed to all transgressors like melancholy or moodiness—each a disease of the mind based upon ego, and to be cured by the interruption which leads one to forget his own troubles in helping others bear their burdens, or by mingling in the society of people of merry hearts and high morals. Convivial society with an absence of sound morals will simply aggravate the disease and make its attacks all the more frequent and acute, and each relapse only the more deeply graves the lines which show a perturbed and brooding mind, and makes the presence of such a sufferer a nightmare to his friends. Cheerfulness and a merry heart do more than any medicines in toning up a face, because both stimulate to action and interest, and life with an object brings an animated expression which is all that some countenances need to make them beautiful. We frequently hear the words, "How her face lights up when she speaks or becomes interested!" Therefore it is well to seek noble objects in which one can feel a deep interest, and let them gain a permanent hold on the thoughts, that their irradiating effect may be ever present.
Love and affection soften the facial expression and are or should be natural outcomes of the heart, though they often take root in unpromising soil and spring up unawares, so that beholders wonder how it is that plain Mary or Agnes is "getting to be almost pretty." The little blind god can hide everywhere except behind the face of his victim.
A writer upon the subject of beauty has advised thinking of some pleasing occurrence or calling up a happy memory just before falling asleep for the night. He claims that the face in sleep is passive, and that if the sleep be dreamless, the features will remain for the period of its duration just as they were when animated by the sweet or pleasing thought and so settle gradually into a perpetually happy waking expression. The theory is a very pretty one, and it is to be inferred that the slumberer will lie upon her side instead of her back, as in the latter position she might sonorously announce to listeners that her slumbers, though deep and dreamless, have disturbed the repose of her features just as they have the repose of the other occupants of the domicile wherein she dwells. Of course, this is only one possible case. The habit of thinking, however, of something agreeable, is one to be commended whether it is just before sleeping or after waking, since it always brings a happy look to the face and a sparkling light to the eye.
Where the surroundings of one's life antagonize the suggestions given in this chapter, it only remains for the unhappy one to follow, as far as possible, the hints conveyed. To "make the best of everything" is advice often given and as rarely followed, but it is the only advice to offer in such a case. Try to forget what is unpleasant in your life; if you cannot do so, endeavor to find something pleasant outside of it to think of or do, as often as possible. Struggle earnestly with the unlovely traits in your own disposition when they are aroused by those which you find established in the hearts of your comrades in this workaday world. Be wise in this respect, be amiable, be cheerful, and thus be lovely.
Chapter 5.
Growing Old Gracefully.
"To resist with success the frigidity of old age,
one must combine the body, the mind, and the heart;
to keep these in parallel vigor one must exercise, study, and love." --Bonstetten
The quotation given above succinctly delineates a method of growing old, the admirable rules of which must be accepted, however, with the proverbial grain of allowance. To grow old gracefully is a condition of circumstances not always attained, but frequently we meet a man or woman who has passed from the warm, sunny days of youth to the wintry ones of age, while the world has been unconscious of the transition, so gradual, so happy, so beautiful has it been. Such voyagers through life are adored by those around them, and long after the frosts of years rest on their locks, the world acknowledges that "he is a most charming man," or "she is a lovely woman," thus paying a double compliment by the omission of the generally used adjective "old." Everyone forgets the age of these fortunate pilgrims until its presence makes the steps feeble and clouds the lucid depths of the mind; and even then we are reluctant to admit that such inroads have been made where we had ever enthroned youth, unmindful that the latter has, in the matter of years, long since abdicated.
She would not be a woman who failed to note the few and then rapidly increasing traces of age which put their firs faint lines upon her brow and temples for the coming years to bring out in bold strokes. Nor would he be a manly man who, when he first discovers that his limbs are a trifle stiff or his breath a little short, would admit it to his comrades in the athletic sports in which he has always indulged. But both man and woman should be reasoning as well as reasonable beings when these discoveries are made, and instead of expending extra effort to appear youthful at the cost of shortening their lives, should husband their stock of youth and strength that their coming years may be fresher and longer thereby. Two wrinkles will come for every one worried over, and a premature crop of them will appear, if a woman sits down to grieve and mourn over the fact that she has reached that point in life where she must bid adieu to youth and stand in the ranks with age. Let her console herself that in the latter class she is but an infant, figuratively speaking, and that many years will come and go before she reaches that old age which she is going to make, according to her own disposition and will power, sweet and mellow or crabbed and sour.
To the sterner sex is sometimes attributed the reason for the tenacity with which women cling to the shadow of youth long after the substance has fled. This may be true in some cases, but in most aging hearts there dwells an anguished thought that life and love and happiness have nothing more in store for them; that they must "move on" and give up to the youthful all the pleasures which to them were so precious. The woman who lets this thought keep tugging at her heart grows old twice as rapidly as she who says, "I have done with all this, but beyond there are pleasures youth does not appreciate and cares not for. To me, they are just beginning to disclose a charm. They shall solace my declining years. In these shall I find happiness, peace, pleasure, everything to comfort me for my lost youth. I will not waste my time in idle repinings, but will take up this new walk quickly, lest I lost some of its delights." This woman will be young long after she has concluded she is old, and also far readier to acknowledge her age, since on that point her friends will be pleasingly incredulous.
Longfellow says that
Age is opportunity no less
Than youth itself, though in another dress,
And as the evening twilight fades away
The sky is filled with stars, invisible by day.
And so, when the twilight of youth comes, they who will may look out into the night of earthly futurity and find that age will not decrease their joys unless all hope is repudiated, since repudiated it must be if it does not exist, for the human heart has lived on hope from "in the beginning," and hope is its life; but closing the heart to hope is the suicide of happiness.
As exercise invigorates youth in its early days, so it sustains it when the descent of the shady side of life begins; but while the young may take an almost unlimited amount of exercise, the middle-aged must be moderate, since to attempt to keep up the amount they indulged in during their earlier years, would simply be entrenching upon their capital of vitality and thus depleting instead of building up the system. At this stage of life vigor is oftener sustained than increased, for as the years roll on, and lighter food and less exercise and sleep are required, the bodily functions debilitate according to all the established laws of Nature, and heavy drafts upon the store of strength weaken its foundations, with no avenue through which to permanently replenish it. The possibility of doing so is as hopeless as the case of a man who has given all his strength to the accumulation of a competence, which, later on, his wants compel him to use, a little at a time, and his broken health prevents him from adding to. He must husband the treasure he has that it may sustain him until the inevitable arrives. The argument applies to both sexes, and a word to the wise should be sufficient. It is this: Take as much exercise as your system calls for, and refrain when it rebels. Do not attempt the feats of your more youthful days, but follow them as far as is reasonable.
If you are in doubt, or worse still, if you think your particular human machinery will never break down, no matter what strain you put upon it, seek the counsel of some wise and honest physician, who will tell you all the risks you incur in overtaxing the weakening system, and will do it far more successfully than the pages of any book. Follow the advice he gives generally, but particularly what refers to your individual case, and then growing old will be robbed of half its terrors, since you will successfully resist its advances instead of courting them by straining the system in the endeavor to show you are "just as young as ever."
Study and reading are or should be made necessities of the transitory period; but only a portion of time should be given up to them. When the body is weary and the brain fresh, good books are the blessings which come to take from our minds our aches and pains, lead us into communion with the great of the past and the famous of the present, and fill our souls with sweet content—that elixir which bids defiance to age and softens his footprints by its permeating glow. But indulge in study only as a rest, a pastime, a temporary pleasure, if age holds terrors for you. Studious habits are grave and sedate, and often an old man is younger in appearance than his scholarly son. Constant application of the mind to abstruse matters cannot but set the lines of intense thought and possibly of perplexity upon a face whose graveness becomes apparent coldness, and develop a reticence which may not be intended reserve, though often thus construed, or an absence of mind or a disinclination to be disturbed that in this cycle is called "crankiness."
Undoubtedly crankiness receives a synonymous distinction in all countries, since old age is generally supposed to be more or less crabbed. It must be confessed, however, that this form of irritability is quite as frequently developed from other causes, and in either event must be overcome, since it is, and justly too, denominated as one of the first indications that the hey-day of life has passed and the winter of age and discontent has appeared. What could be more fortunate than to fully impress, with a beneficial effect, this certain and bitter truth upon the minds of those who "hate to grow old," but in spite of all other efforts to resist, let the fact be most unpleasantly forced upon their associates by a growing and disagreeable crankiness of deportment?
Bonstetten makes love the last and an important factor in his method of growing old. It should belong to everybody's method, though this advice must be discriminately taken. Love may make a man or woman sublime, or it may make them ridiculous, according to the manner in which they meet the little blind deity's attacks. Common sense is too apt to vanish when love appears and takes possession of a middle-aged or still older victim; and while the mischievous rascal leads his prisoner many a humiliating dance, the world looks on and laughs, though immediate friends suffer keen pangs of mortification. It seems as if men and women, sane and reasoning enough in other matters, become utterly "daft"—as the Scottish people would describe an irresponsible mental condition—unconscious of the ridicule they are exciting and insensible to all remonstrance. This is the only time they really forget they are old, and it is also the period when everyone else remembers and sarcastically alludes to their age. But it is only under certain circumstances, where future matrimony is the actuating motive, that love leads an elderly person, who should have the sense to discipline its attack, from serenity and a properly sedate deportment into an assumption of juvenility that deceives no one and renders him or her a conspicuous object of ridicule. Love loses that sweet sentiment which surrounds it when its victims are youths and maidens, or that makes it beautiful between those who have been husband and wife for many years, when it becomes a dominant emotion in the hearts of those grown old enough to temper its impulses with the wisdom of years, but who throw to the winds reason and every other controlling thought and let the one desideratum erratically assert itself in a series of foolish exhibitions that would put to the blush a younger person.
Love sanctified by years of wedded life is one of the most beautifying emotions Heaven ever gave to mortals. Not long since the writer witnessed a home scene where husband and wife, each more than fourscore years of age, were as devoted and lover-like as though just wedded. The husband, tall and straight, with a pink and white complexion and snowy hair and beard, looked no more than the number of years allotted to man. The wife, a dainty little creature on whose face shone love for everyone, but most for her lover husband, clung to the latter's arm as when a bride, and her fond, upward glance always met the proud, loving one he sent down into her eyes, just the same as long ago when the twain were made one. He who could look upon such constant, unwavering, mutual devotion, and not feel that he was better for the lesson it taught, or not become conscious of a little tightening of the throat and a dimness of the eye, such as comes when the heart is deeply touched, must indeed have a soul encased in icy walls. A common bond also held these two in sweet and sorrowful love, for children had been taken from them, and their tender hearts were still sore, though each comforted the other with the divine thought that it was only a separation, soon to end. Who thought of these two as old people, when their hearts were still young and beamed forth from their faces just as day after day the sun shines out on this grand old world whose face is thus kept as fresh and green as ever? Hosts of friends surround them, and their names and home lives are household words at the firesides of all these friends who pay them loving and almost worshipful tribute. Love for all humanity fills that little mother's heart, along with that for her husband, and to him as to all others she is a lovely, sweet woman whose charms Time could not destroy; for within her heart and mind she keeps trimmed and burning a lamp of beauty that only death will extinguish. This is the kind of love meant in the quotation at the beginning of this chapter. The love that hath charity for all and is unselfish is the love which, next to that for husband and children, beautifies the life, the soul, and the face.
If love based on sentiment takes possession of the unmarried in middle life or after, they should keep appearances in mind, even if every other atom of common sense beats a retreat. Age should not be accentuated by an aping of juvenility. Too often, even when love is not the stimulus, men and women refuse to adopt the garb suitable to their own years, but cling to that of youth; and thus, give ridicule, sarcasm, rudeness, and maliciousness another avenue through which to send their spiteful shafts, arouse all your sensitiveness, possibly your anger, and so take away from you half your power of growing old gracefully. Some woman has said, "Dress five years older than you are, and you will look years younger and constantly remind those around you that you are not nearly as old as you seem." Reverse the advice, and you are sure to hear unkind remarks about "trying to make people think you are younger than you are."
The man who at forty-five smoothly shaves his face because it was so at twenty, does not deceive anyone into thinking him still a young man. Then all the lines about the mouth, and chin, and throat which disclose years are bared; when before they were hidden by beard and mustache. Nature has here given man an advantage over woman, who cannot hide the tell-tale traces on her face; and her attempts to do so by injudiciously and inartistically applied cosmetics only result in a stronger emphasis on the fact that Time has robbed her of what she hopes art will supply. Still, Nature is kind, and it is possible that as consolation for the advantage just named, she has so arranged that the wig with which a man sometimes endeavors to conceal his baldness is as easy to detect as the wearing of false hair by women is difficult. Sweet consolation it must be since it makes one strangely forgetful of similar self-defects. The writer has experienced the most intense amusement in hearing a woman, the hirsute deficiencies of whose poll were most artistically concealed by a covering of false locks, describe an old beau who was "at least seventy and always wears a rose in his button-hole, and a curly brown wig on his head on which there isn't a hair of his own." In spite of her ridicule, she was right when she said, "You cannot imagine how that glossy brown wig, where there should have been lovely white hair, brought out every wrinkle in his sallow old face. If he must wear a wig, I wonder why he doesn't get one that has at least begun to grow gray and so make him *seem* younger by its softening effect on his wrinkles." Dyeing the hair, beard, or mustache has just the same effect and often makes a man look hideous, since Nature arranges that the hair and complexion shall harmonize from the cradle to the grave; and to punish those who resist her plans in this respect, she makes the face that is surrounded by dyed hair look older than it is, because the contrast artificially brought about is not of a harmonizing character. The rule applies to both sexes where due is used with a view to concealing the traces of time. It fails, and not only fails but more fully exposes the fact, in addition to arousing within the beholder a peculiar sense of repugnance which is never present when age shows the wisdom of years in dress and mind, the sunniness of youth in the disposition, the sweetness of love in the heart, and above all, a content in the present over the pleasures of the past and the hopes of the future. With all these conditions, each of which may be attained by a thorough disciplining of the mind and disposition, the winter of life need not be a crabbed, cheerless, stormy period of waiting for the inevitable,
But an old age, serene and bright,
And lovely as a Lapland night,
Shall lead thee to thy grave.
Chapter 6.
The Benefits of Sleep.
"Man's rich restorative! his balmy bath,
That supplies, lubricates, and keeps in play,
The various movements of this nice machine,
Which asks such frequent periods of repair.
When tired with vain rotations of the day,
Sleep winds us up for the succeeding dawn;
Fresh we spin on, till sickness clogs our wheels,
Or death quite breaks the spring, and motion ends."
--Young
Sleep! Nature's most potent medicine! How it revives the weary, brings oblivion to the heartsore, peace to the troubled; calls back the bloom to paling faces, litheness to tired limbs, and hope to fainting hearts! But to do all this, it must be the dreamless, unbroken sleep brought by its aides-de-camp—exercise and proper diet, and the power to lay aside the cares of the day until the morrow. Care is a most malicious bedfellow and plants more lines and furrows in the faces of those who lie down with him, thus to fruitlessly woo sleep, than do all the pangs of a remorseless stomach or the restless tossings of untired limbs. When hours of the night go hand in hand with wakeful care, the dawn may bring fitful slumbers, but on the face there is left a weary, worried expression which soon becomes fixed, and the shrewd observer suspects that all is not well with his friend or neighbor.
Masculine nature seems abler to bid care good night than the feminine, though the anxieties of men are generally conceded to be of more importance and greater magnitude than those which infest woman's life. Possibly their ability to lay aside their worries when about to court "Nature's sweet restorer" accounts for the greater proportion of faces that are less harassed, and physiques that are more robust, seen among men than women. Said a broker's wife, "My husband will lose thousands of dollars in a day, and come home and sleep soundly; but if my dressmaker ruins a costume for me that has not cost a hundredth part of my husband's loss, it keeps me awake all night." Nine women out of ten would make a similar confession, if the point were discussed; but a woman who can overcome such a conquerable folly and fails to do so, does not deserve to be beautiful, nor will she long; for such idle cares will as surely leave fretful traces as those which torment the heart instead of the vanity.
It may be that some of our readers will not endorse the suggestions found in this chapter; but they are based upon personal experience, close and long observation, and a careful study of authentic opinions on the subject, all of which seem proof enough to the writer that sleep is a promoter of longevity and a preserver of health and beauty.
Just as a medicinal tonic arrests wasting tissue and creates an appetite which is the foundation of recuperation for a system that needs nourishment, so sleep brings back temporarily exhausted strength and endows us with vigor for future exertions. Unfortunately, all cannot sleep when they ought to; unfortunately also, some have too much time for sleep, and, as if often the case where a powerful medicine is too frequently given, excessive indulgence in it befogs the brain, makes the sleeper stupid, and robs the expression of every atom of animation—that necessary adjunct of perfect beauty or even pleasing comeliness. A healthy system calls for sleep and acknowledges an adequate quantity just as the stomach demands food and indicates sufficiency; though it is a sorry fact that there are gluttons in both respects, and that the word is written upon their faces as plainly as though printed upon a placard.
No woman who is a continuous invalid is considered beautiful; and yet many women would not be invalids, if in response to her calls they took the necessary draughts of "Nature's rich restorative." A few wise society women know the value of applying the remedy when needed, and at regular intervals take to themselves periods for rest and sleep, denying audience to even their best friends. After an uninterrupted strain of social duties for ten or twelve days, a rest of forty-eight hours brings them out fresh and blooming, with no trace of the exhaustion which sent them into this temporary retirement. The foolish "have no time" for rest, and the end of the season finds them worn, pale, enervated, with every indication of premature age upon their wearied faces. Someone laughs at the idea of a society woman, who "has nothing to do but enjoy herself," needing rest and sleep. Dear reader, the average society woman works harder to "enjoy herself" and gets far less rest, than the busiest farmer's wife who "does her own work" and is up with the dawn. The society woman who "does not get up until all hours" goes to bed on the same principle, and her slumbers do not extend over any greater, and even a less, period, than do those of our farmers' wives who retire at nine o'clock at night and arise at four or five in the morning. But the society woman has the advantage of luxuries in the way of food, baths, and general surroundings, of which the working woman is deprived, and but for this she would age far faster than her less fortunate sister; for the drain upon her nervous system is far in excess of that endured by the woman who has only her household cares, and can "lie down to pleasant dreams" during the hours intended by Nature for the sovereign remedy, sleep. It is well known that the natural time for sleep is night, and that repose at that time is productive of the greatest benefits. Day slumber, unless with invalids, is usually fitful, uneasy, and unsatisfactory. But, as before suggested, it is only deep, unbroken sleep, such as comes at night to the tired who are at peace with the world, that brings the rose to the cheek, vigor to the limbs, and brightness to the mind, drives away lassitude, and defies age. Sleep is a necessity, a preserver, and if it woos not you, you must court its embraces, even though you speed your wooing by heroic or simple methods.
Beauty sleep! How many references to it one hears, and yet how few of the believers in its efficacy put the theory into practice. "To bed at ten if you do not wish to lose your beauty sleep," is the substance of the edict which some wise old philosopher invented to coax into regular habits, through vanity, the lassies of succeeding generations. The two hours before midnight are worth as much as four after that time, because they yield the sound sleep of exhaustion, the "... balmy bath, that supplies, lubricates and keeps in play, the various movements of this nice machine"—the human system.
Different people require varying amounts of sleep just as they require more or less food. No one should do with less than five hours' sleep out of every twenty-four. The general rule is—for men, seven hours; for women, from eight to nine hours; for children, as much as they want and will take. Women, children, and invalids, who can, should remain in bed in the morning until the whole system willingly responds to the call, "time to get up." Many prefer early rising and practice it, feeling all the better for it; but there are women so constituted that early rising completely unfits them for the duties of the day. If Nature decides that their rest is not complete at an early hour of the morning, and there is no necessity for their rising, it hardly seems reasonable to compel compliance with a custom against which in these particular cases, Nature offers a genuine protest that should be heeded. The physician, when called upon for assistance, will say to a patient: "Here's a simple tonic; take it, and at the same time do not defy any of Nature's edicts." Now if Nature indicates that a delicate woman or child needs the tonic of late sleep in the morning, man's wisdom should display itself by a yielding to these demands and not by compelling a regimen which perhaps perfectly suits his system, but is in every way depleting to the constitutions of his more delicate companions. Of course, there are circumstances where this idea cannot be put into practice, but where it should be, and the result will be an increase of health, high spirits, amiability, and happiness, all of which contribute most generously as components of beauty in all its perfection.
There is a diversity of opinion regarding after-dinner naps, where that meal is at midday. There are many who do not want such a nap, more who cannot take it, and thousands who can and do. A tired child has his daily nap and wakes refreshed and rosy. Why, therefore, should not tired men or women, who feel that a short rest of this kind would better enable them to endure the cares and fatigues of the after part of the day, indulge in it? Will they not be husbanding that strength which must now be sustained since it cannot be added to, and in that way prolonging their lives and holding their youth? this particularly applies to people who are nearing or have reached middle life, and especially to women, every one of whom, after she has arrived at thirty years of age, should take at least "forty winks" or a little nap, even if it is not more than five minutes long, whenever the drowsy god lays his somnolent touch upon her tired eyelids. Just those few moments of sleep often prove magical in their results, and it is not time lost but gained; for age then creeps on at a slower pace, and the ambition of youth comes back to the blood and its flush to the face. Women resort to the use of drugs to brighten their eyes when fatigue has dulled their luster. The effect is transient so far as their desideratum is concerned, and the system suffers from the drug, which eventually loses its potency and leaves a physical wreck to mark its use. No drug can so brighten and beautify the eye and give it so dewy a luster as sleep; and sleep, unless its duration be abnormal from some physical or artificial cause, never ruined a constitution or made conscience indifferent to moral degradation, as narcotic or stimulating drugs ever have done and ever will do.
When insomnia attacks, consult a physician after all the simple remedies generally known have failed; for continued loss of sleep will undermine the constitution, ruin the disposition, blanch and wrinkle the cheek, and give age such an impetus that it will outstrip time, and make a man or woman old in everything except years, often long before the apex between the two childhoods is reached. When sleep seems impossible, endeavor to overthrow the brain power that is compelling the thoughts which drive it away. Methods that seem trivial and often ridiculous frequently accomplish this. Counting the tickings of a clock; mentally repeating the alphabet backward; counting, beginning each time at the unit after repeating the next highest number, thus; one; one, two; one, two, three, etc.; counting a visionary flock of sheep jumping a fence, one after another; rolling the eyeballs under the closed lids from side to side in a rotary motion; are methods often resorted to. When all these fail, try the hygienic method of sponging the body with cold water, and then briskly rubbing with a coarse towel; or if the water be too cold, try the friction of dry rubbing with flesh gloves or a rough towel. A brisk walk of half an hour or so just before retiring will often induce sleep, as the exercise quiets the nerves and tires the system. Sleep is ofttimes exceptionally capricious and can only be wooed by novel methods.
One case, though almost incredible, can be vouched for. A gentleman of a very nervous temperament being troubled with insomnia, found that he could only sleep upon coming in from a walk. The slumber would last scarcely more than an hour, when the poor fellow would wake and toss from side to side, unable again to sleep. Every artifice known or suggested was tried in vain. The sufferer finally hit upon a novel expedient. he determined to deceive the fickle god of sleep; and one night after his first nap, he deliberately got out of bed, dressed himself completely even to his gloves, went downstairs and out of the front door, which he closed. Immediately turning, he opened it, went directly to his room, and again undressed as if he had just come in for the night. The experiment worked to a charm, and was frequently repeated, but in all probability is not likely to become a general remedy for sleeplessness.
Frequently the position in bed, the arrangement of the pillows, or too much or too little clothing will prevent sleep. Some people always sleep on the right side and with the head quite high. The result is that while they may sleep very well, they are sure to become what is called lopsided. Change frequently from one side to the other, and as often as possible sleep lying upon the back, which by some is considered the most healthful position, as the internal organs then fall more nearly into their normal positions than when a person reclines upon one side. Of the two sides the right is the more healthful one to sleep upon, since there is then no pressure upon the heart, and its action is unimpeded. The circulation of the blood is most active when the body and limbs are straight, and this position is also supposed to be conducive to perfect physical development; but the Russian soldiers, than whom no men are more erect and robust, are compelled by the military discipline of their country, to sleep "in the form of the letter S," lying upon either side, "to develop their muscles and keep them from snoring. It is the latter, more than likely, that is responsible for this particular item of Russian military discipline. Wise educators in matters of this kind direct that we "learn to sleep with the mouth closed," in order to avoid this annoying natural habit; but the writer, while endorsing the theory, has never found any of its followers who were successful in reducing it to practice. The body and head should be nearly upon a level, the head being but very slightly elevated; the circulation is then uninterrupted. When the head is too high, the muscles and cords of the neck are strained, the spine is twisted and temporarily distorted, and the sleep, in consequence, is broken and unrefreshing. The habit of sleeping in a half sitting posture should never be formed, and should be overcome if formed; and when once one becomes accustomed to the natural level sleeping position, the only wonder will be how the one with head and shoulders propped up was ever endured.
It may seem to the reader that all this has little to do with personal beauty, but there is not a single infringement of Nature's laws, edicts, or demands, in the matter of hygiene, that does not call forth retaliation in the shape of defacement of feature or form; and when her most powerful ally, sleep, fails to woo or be wooed, her resentment is not tempered with mercy, but leaves its traces alike upon those who cannot, and those who will not sleep. An hour of deep natural sleep is worth a thousand times more than any amount of that slumber which results from opiates, in restoring energy, beauty, hope, and happiness.
One or two other points suggest themselves in connection with hygienic laws. They are generally known and yet little heeded. The healthy should never sleep with the sick, since through some of Nature's mysterious ways the sick absorb strength from the strong; and while an invalid may thus be benefited temporarily, it is at a cost which the strong cannot afford, for even a vigorous system will sooner or later succumb to the continuous absorption of its strength. On exactly the same basis the young should never sleep with the old, no matter how perfect may be the health of the later. In olden days constant and intimate companionship of the young was a method employed to prolong the life of the old, and the object was in a measure accomplished, but at a great sacrifice of the hopes, happiness, and lives of the young. The affection of an old person is often so intense as to be unconsciously but utterly selfish, and by such a one the theory just explained is scouted. The writer knows of two or three instances where young girls who have no organic disease and should be robust and healthy, are delicate, have prematurely old faces and no youthful vigor. To a believer in hygiene, the cause is patent. They occupy the same sleeping apartment and share the same bed with aged relatives, whose vitality is certainly sustained by feeding by absorption on that of their young companions. Health should not be thus sacrificed to sentiment, because the demand for the sacrifice is purely selfish; and loss of health always means loss of beauty. Where a sacrifice of this kind is a necessity arising from circumstances, it must be patiently endured; but where the basis is selfishness, both child and mother should rebel.
Retiring too soon after a hearty meal will result in unrefreshing slumber. At least two or three hours should elapse between dinner or a heavy supper and bedtime. The stomach will then have most of its digestive work done, and the system will be in a condition for complete repose--and complete repose means bright eyes, a clear brain, rosy cheeks, ambition, and happiness for each day that follows a night of this supreme restorative.
Make your sleeping apartment as attractive as possible. Put into it as many pretty things as you can afford, so that your waking hours in bed may be spent among cheerful surroundings. Before you retire, fold and put away, or hang your clothing out of sight, and be sure to let down your window from the top, for good ventilation is as necessary in a sleeping apartment as sleep itself. when you awake in the morning, the fresh air in your apartment and the latter's neat, cheery appearance will exercise a tranquilizing, soothing effect, and you will arise in a more pleasant and agreeable frame of mind than if this advice were neglected. A frown on beauty's face when the sun rises over the hills is far more noticeable then later in the day. The rose that is dewy and blushing in the morning excites the admiration of everyone. Be roses of the morning, therefore, dear girls, and become so by taking the "beauty sleep" prescribed by the wise old philosopher; the sleep intended by Nature to keep you fresh and lovely and fit you for a long and happy life in this beautiful world.
Chapter 7.
General Hints Regarding the Bath
As a Promoter of Health and Beauty.
The bath, properly taken, is not a matter of purification alone, but is a beautifier as well. To be cleanly is a just homage to Him who requires purity in all things whether of the soul or body; a moral obligation to those with whom we come in contact; and a duty we owe ourselves from a sanitary standpoint; and also from a laudable desire to preserve such endowments in the way of beauty as Nature has seen fit to bestow upon us.
The general acceptance of the meaning of the word "bath" begins at water and ends there. Two other powerful elements which should be included are air and sunlight, but as their missions differ somewhat from that of water and in a way are less important, a consideration of the "general acceptance" seems first in order.
There is something radically wrong, mentally, with a healthy person who enjoys the enlightenment of civilization and yet refuses an intimate acquaintance with soap and water and only occasionally tolerates its reviving, refining influences. The inappreciation of cleanliness by the savage of the forest or of heathen countries can easily be understood; but when a human being, belonging to a civilized race which acknowledges that "cleanliness is next to godliness," deliberately refuses or neglects to endorse the precept by practice, he is a savage in his own country; and unless he can be converted to a belief and indulgence in frequent ablutions, he forfeits all claim to even the minimum of respect left for him on the basis that he is a specimen, though a sorry one, of the genus homo.
As a rule, it must be confessed that men are better bathers than women; for when bathing is one of their regular habits, they will persevere under difficulties and in the face of obstacles that would totally discourage and finally defeat a similar effort on the part of a woman. And yet to both the bath is equally necessary and, properly regulated, equally beneficial. We all know the evil effects of defective sewerage and drainage and how a choking up of the pipes throws back upon us the poisonous gasses of decaying matter. It is on exactly the same principle that the human system suffers when bathing is neglected. To fully and emphatically impress the importance of cleanliness upon the reader who may know nothing anatomically and physiologically of her skin, a condensed description of the latter seems necessary.
The skin includes three distinct divisions. The outer one or surface of the body is called the epidermis, cuticle, or scarf-skin. It is an extremely think leather-like layer of membrane and, not being supplied with nerves, is therefore insensible, though it is that portion which rises in blisters through friction, exposure to the sun's rays, or the application of irritants. The corium, or true skin, is situated just underneath and next to the cuticle or epidermis and is a strong, tough membrane replete with nerves and blood vessels. It is this skin that bleeds or feels pain at the least cut or puncture, for so filled is it with tiny arteries and veins that the point of the finest needle cannot be inserted in it without wounding one of them or a nerve filament. The third division, or subcutaneous cellular tissue, lies directly under the true skin, and is generally very fatty. Occupying the latter and the true skin are the sweat glands which are coiled and twisted tubes, each ending upon the epidermis in a minute opening called a pore. These pores average three thousand in number to every square inch of cuticle, and the hair-like ducts or sweat glands to which they are openings coil and turn until in the body of an ordinary-sized person their aggregate length represents a distance of twenty-eight miles.
If, through a lack of cleanliness (or from other causes), the openings to this immense system of drainage becomes closed or clogged, the result is apparent to a reasoner, and he at once sees what formidable proportions it may assume. Perspiration is the method adapted by Nature to throw off effete or superfluous matter through the skin, but this cannot be effectually carried out unassisted by bathing. When nature has forced to the surface what she discards, all traces of the refuse should be, for very obvious reasons, removed. This done, the oil glands gently soften the skin without making their mission disagreeably apparent; the epidermis becomes fine and transparent, and through it the blood shows a clear, healthy tint, and a fresh, rosy complexion, that desideratum of every woman, results. That this complexion will be spotless is not promised, but it will be so benefitted as to more readily respond to the treatment suggested for it in the succeeding chapters of this book.
Frequently the eruptions seen on the face are the result of uncleanliness. This may sound harsh and unreasonable until understood, when it cannot but be acknowledged. The magnitude of the human drainage system has just been explained, and it is certainly sufficient to do its part of the work of purification if properly aided; but if the pores of the body are not kept free from clogging matter and the drainage must escape, where will it find an outlet except on the face which is daily washed and thus affords the only unobstructed canals for the crowding, poisonous matter that must be thrown off? A complete daily bath may not suit every constitution; but that point can be decided by personal experiment. A bath should be taken as often as possible, either at night or in the morning, according to the time of the bather or its effect on individual constitutions; for if the pores of the skin are so choked that a portion of their work is also thrown upon the kidneys or intestines, and these are not healthy in themselves, the whole system may be quickly and seriously deranged. It is because of improper purification of the blood through natural channels that so many skins are susceptible to and infected by skin diseases—those disfigurers of beauty so dreaded by all. And when one thinks of the refreshing, delightful preventive, the bath, whose benefits are often so little understood and appreciated, possibly because within reach of everyone, it would almost seem that a crop of pimples upon the face of a beauty would prove a fitting punishment for her neglect of this department of hygiene. Of course, there are cases where there are decided humors in the blood, which even the most scrupulous habits will not materially benefit. If the unfortunate sufferer finds no relief from the bath and the simple remedies suggested elsewhere in this volume, she should put herself under the care of a reliable physician for a thorough course of blood purification.
Regarding the proper time to take a bath, a simple, general rule may be given: Take cold baths on arising in the morning, and warm ones just before retiring. Or if a warm bath is taken during the day, it must be followed by active exercise for an hour or so in the air, or repose for the same length of time in a warm room in which there are no drafts. In this way, the blood gradually cools to its normal temperature, and a cold, that enemy to comfort and comeliness, is avoided. Probably the most satisfactory time of the day for invalids or delicate people to bathe is about eleven o'clock in the morning. Then the breakfast will be nearly digested, and by the end of the bath the stomach will be again ready for food, which at this particular time will be doubly beneficial, since it will not only fulfill its natural mission, but in addition effectively brace up the system if the latter has suffered any depression whatever from the bath. At this hour of the day tepid water is the most advisable. In taking Turkish or Russian baths, the hour need not be considered--except as in all baths, none of which should be taken under an hour or so before or after meals--since they are followed by a period of resting and cooling off in the lounging rooms of the establishments where they are given, which will prevent all evil results in the way of chills or colds. Cold baths are taken for the purpose of stimulation and invigoration and are generally short ablutions of the "plunge" or "sponge" varieties. In either case brisk rubbing must follow, to call the blood to the surface of the body until the latter glows like a rose; for the effect of cold water without friction, is to drive the blood from the surface and leave a chilled and shivering unbeliever in the efficacy of cold water as an invigorator. Nor will her convictions be very erroneous, for a cold bath without considerable after exertion with the towel or flesh gloves, is a fair example of "faith without works."
If cleanliness is the main object of a bath, then warm water must be used, nor must soap be omitted. The housewife knows she cannot cleanse her domestic utensils nor her linen without both, and it is quite unreasonable to suppose that the skin, which is constantly exuding oily, fatty matter, can be cleansed with water alone, and especially cold water which has never yet evidenced an affinity for grease in any form. But cheap soaps are emphatically forbidden, even though they may be fair to see and agreeable to the nostrils. A cheap soap usually contains strong alkalis, and filthy fatty matter necessitated by its cheap character. It may perform its work of making a "good suds," but its later effects on the skin are sure to be deplorable. In bathing establishments patronized by refined people one rarely sees other soaps than the old-fashioned pure Castile or the newer Ivory soap and occasionally a refreshing cotton-seed oil soap made expressly for that purpose. None of these are colored, none perfumed, and all are extremely softening and cleansing in effect.
In taking a warm bath judgment should be exercised in the matter of duration. So seductive is the pleasant sensation of warmth imparted that many people are apt to linger too long over such ablutions and suffer, in consequence, a debilitating effect which prejudices them against warm baths just as an indiscriminate use of cold water without friction has convinced others of the insalutary effect of cold bathing. Judgment, either personal or that of an attendant, based on the effects of a properly given bath, must regulate the duration, degree of heat, and hour of taking, in all cases. Then the bath will do all that is claimed for it in the way of renovating the person, invigorating the system, increasing the softness and fineness of the skin, and making the individual look and feel years younger; and all this with no attendant unpleasant effects.
Just how often a bath should be taken is so largely dependent upon conditions and circumstances that no arbitrary rule can be established. Bathing may be carried to excess, but a majority err in the opposite direction. A daily bath at home in the morning is recommendable, and where the surroundings and time are favorable, this is a general rule. Its exceptions are usually found outside the circle of luxury. And to those who are able to indulge but occasionally, we can only say, take your bath as often as you can, or a frequently as seems to suit your constitution, and let it be of the kind, hot or cold, which seems to revive your system best and refresh you most. But be sure to take it. It is the least expensive and most potent promoter of comeliness known to science.
In ancient days physicians often made woman's vanity regarding her charms of person the lever by which they induced her to adopt habits of cleanliness. A famous beauty sought advice upon the preservation of her loveliness. The clever old doctor gave her a vial of colorless liquid and instructed her to daily take a bath of soft water in which were three drops of the precious liquid. The lady followed his bidding for years, and was beautiful until the end of a good old age. In the meantime it had been secretly discovered that the elixir given her by her cunning physician was nothing more nor less than some of the same water used for her baths. It was a ruse—the only one which could have induced her to take a daily bath, the merits of which the sage old fellow knew full well. Except among the ancient Greeks and Romans, the bath at that time was apparently something to be dreaded rather than enjoyed. But in this age the belief in its sanitary benefits is rapidly increasing, and a glance at the glowing faces, bright eyes, and elastic figures of the men and women of today who make the bath one of their daily habits, is a sufficient endorsement of its efficacy to convert the veriest skeptic on the subject.
The test as to the advantage or benefit of a cold bath in individual cases is easily understood. If a "glow" immediately follows the drying of the skin, the bath is beneficial. But if this reaction is tardy, or does not occur at all, and there is a bluish tinge upon the surface of the body, under the nail, and on the lips, and this continues for some minutes, then the bath is harmful.
Delicate people must be cautious in taking cold baths, and children and elderly persons ought never to bathe in water below 70 degrees Fahrenheit. Where cleanliness is the main object, the water should be from 92 to 98 degrees. Where the bath is to serve as a powerful stimulant, as in cases of illness, it should be from 98 to 115 degrees. The temperature of water for a cold bath should range from 32 to 65 degrees.
Where it is possible, use fresh, clean rain water for the bath. This is the nearest approach to distilled water, which is too expensive for general use, but is, without doubt, "fitted beyond any other to render the skin clean, odorless, white, soft, smooth, and transparent." Diana of Poictiers, a famous beauty at the courts of three successive French kings, was as charming, fresh, and lovely at the age of seventy as at thirty. And though it was said clever chemists prepared for her daily use a potion of soluble gold, yet her "apothecary-in-chief" declared that the only thing she did to so wonderfully preserve her youth and beauty until her death at the age of seventy-two, was to bathe "in rain water every morning of her life."
Pure, soft water, be it from spring or stream, is, next to rain water, the best for bathing purposes, and often with it a little borax or ammonia will, with the oily secretions of the skin, form a natural soap that is quite sufficient for all cleansing purposes.
Hard water, which is made so by deposits of lime in the surrounding soil, should not be used for bathing, unless soft water cannot be obtained, for it cracks the epidermis and roughens and reddens and chaps it out of all semblance of beauty. But if it must be used, it can be somewhat softened by boiling, or by adding to it just enough borax or ammonia to make it feel smooth and silky. The lie cement upon the inner walls of a cistern frequently hardens even rain water; and when the latter is to be reserved in quantity it should pass into the cistern through a large filter of charcoal, coarse sand, and gravel, and through a smaller similar one when drawn for use. This removes all impurities and prevents the disagreeable odor always present from the decaying vegetable and animal matter in an unfiltered supply of rain water. Chips of oak wood, or tannin of oak bark, put into hard water containing organic impurities will cleanse it by causing the impurities to sink to the bottom, but they will not soften it. The muddy water of the river Seine is cleansed by using alum in the proportion of two or three grains to the quart. but while this process cleanses, it leaves the water harder than before.
A few general rules for bathing should be observed, and are given below:
1. The best time for a bath is two hours before or three after eating.
2. Do not take a bath when greatly fatigued or exhausted, as under such circumstances proper reaction and warmth will not be likely to occur. Moderate exercise before and after a bath is beneficial in accelerating and stimulating the circulation.
3. Begin all baths by thoroughly bathing the head and face to prevent a rush of blood to the head and other unpleasant sensations.
4. Take all general baths briskly, and rub vigorously in the bath as well as in drying.
5. Use moderately coarse towels, also flesh gloves if desired. Rub briskly and create a thorough glow all over the person.
6. Dress quickly if you are to go out, and keep moving until the body is of normal temperature. If you are feeble, or it is bedtime, get into bed, cover up warmly, and go to sleep if possible.
7. People of nervous temperaments or impaired digestion, those whose circulation is feeble or whose temperature is below the normal standard, and invalids or convalescents should avoid using cold water; for it will eventually render them more miserable, though it may temporarily benefit.
8. The temperature of the room should not be below 70 degrees. With good ventilation 80 to 85 degrees would be better.
In the following chapter the various kinds of baths in general, fashionable, and medical use will be discussed, with such suggestions added as have arisen from personal experience and general observation.
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