THE SUNDAY OEEGONIA - PORTLAND. FEBRUARY 21. 1909.
UNDISCOVERED
fCOPYRiClri909. BY THE NEW YORK HERALD CO)
All fiigtirs Reserved
E
A
UT I ES
THE
MILLINER
BEAUTY.
Her Horoscope.
By Minerva Meares.
A
i, O HE was born February 11, this prettv milliner
f O girl, and is conscientious and truthful. - She is
sociable, wants tp be among people and where
things are happening. If left to herself for entertain- !
ment she would become melancholy and restless. . J
f She Is very fond of Tiress, and will be clever and
artistic about the minutiae of her wearing apparel and ?
surroundings. Beauty of both form and color ap-
peals very strongly to her. Her talent for details 4
makes her Ingenious in dealing with small problems,
but she lacks the initiative necessary for the execu-
tion of large plans. .
-- - She has a religious temperament, being im-
pressed by the form and ceremony of matters spirit-
ual, and she will need the moral strength of her re- J
Iigion to keep her feet in tranquil paths, as the face
is that of one easily led by others, helplessly swayed "
by outer influence and environment.
The character is sweet and affectionate, very loyal
to her people and in-her friendship, with a longing 1
for the beautiful in life. She will be honest and Just, i
and anxious to see justice done, but she lacks the f
f aggressive qualities necessary for leadership. For J
this reason she will meet with disappointment and
sorrows, and chafe at her inability to relieve the suf-
fering of others.
The. stars indicate that her worldly affairs will be 4
very largely influenced by her friends. Though fond
of her friends she will not be very tolerant of their f
I faults.
The mysterious In all things will appeal to her 4
J, more than the realities of life, but her mental reach
will be circumscribed pretty much by the five senses. 1
She should marry a man born between August 22
t and September 23 or between December 21 and Jan- f
uarjr 20.
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The Beauty That Lasts
THE old adage, "Beauty Is but' skin deep," haa
long been the comfort of the Tlaln Girl. It helps
to stifle the Involuntary envy she feels when she
is confronted with a rival who has beauty, who is a
radiant vision of exquisite cclor and faultless feature.
"Ah, yes," she says, noting the rose leaf complexion,
the sparkling eyes, the ravishing contour of cheek
and brow, "very pretty; yes, beautiful, but it won't
last!"
Then the Plain Girl hugs to herself the secret sat
isfaction that she possess accomplishments much
more enduring than beauty, and she goes to her
books, or her music, or her art, with renewed zeal.
She makes the most of her opportunities. She takes
up new Interests, believing, with Shakespeare, that If
she cultivates the fine art of personality, then "age
cannot- wither nor custom stale her infinite variety."
And she is perfectly mre that age will wither that
rose leaf bloom of her fair rival, and that Time's
finger will deepen those fascinating dimples Into
wrinkles.
But how does the Beautiful Girl regard this prec
ious gift that has been bestowed on her? Does It
ever occur to her that this beauty is fleeting? That
the wondrous picture her mirror reflects to her must
become dimmed and marred?
No, for youth, all youth, is arrogant. And beautiful
youth is the most arrogant thing in the world. Serene,
therefore, in the consciousness of her present loveli
ness, the Beautiful Girl Is content merely to be. She
does not strive to become. Let others who are less
fortunate spend themselves in the pursuit of knowl
edge and in the cultivation of accomplishments.- Her
own great beauty justifies her existence.
Into the joy of her possession there comes no warn
ing of the day of defeat, the day when the Conqueror,
Time, shall have dulled the sheen of the golden hair
..and etched, the fair, smooth skin with the criss-cross
lines of age.
The grim meaning of the proverb about beauty
being but skin deep never comes home to her. And so
she makes no effort to supplant the superficial beauty
of color "and contour with the eternal beauty of soul
and Intellect.
This spiritual beauty means the daily practice of
a lot of difficult virtues. It means sacrifice, unselfish
ness, self-denial, endeavor, a host of old fashioned,
uncomfortable, apparently unremunerative things.
Is it any wonder that one who Is rich in her gift of
beauty should think them unnecessary in her scheme
of life?
Yet these same commonplace and stupid virtues can
give an added radiance to beauty itself and can even
glorify plainness. The face that glows with this inner
fire of the spirit mak as the prettiness of youth seem
insipid. Such beauty, the beauty of character,
charms, compels and endures.
Vanity and self-satisfaction are the arch enemies
of beauty. Just so surely as one day succeeds another
will the passing of that charm come which rests con
tent in Its own appearance. It is a sad thing, indeed,"
a tragic thing, to see a face where the traces of beauty
still linger blurred by the marks that ignoble thoughts
and selfisll habits inevitably carve. The g. rat promise
has been betrayed, the flower of beaury has been
crushed. ' ' .
The responsibility of beauty should not be Ignored.
It is a sacred trust and as'such Is should be cherished
and cultivated.
"F
ELICEl"
The slender, black robed figure rises, places
the monstrous creation of tulle and roses
upon which she is working on the table and
THE ST O R Y OF H E R DAY'S WORK.
j "Oui, madame." She unties the apron about ha waist,
: slips off her thimble and enters the outer shop.
"Felice, Madame X is not pleased with this rose. She
'.thinks;;-. .
"V"lt ought to go at least two inches further back," inter
rupts a crisp, decided voice in direct contrast with the
'. suave tones of the proprietress. The owner of the voice,
i smart, buxom matron, places the hat in question upon
ner head and indicates the rightful place of the faulty rose
. as she continues:
" Must here, you understand? And then on the other
,ide move the bow a trifle forward. You think you can get
it right!" She turns her searching glance upon the girt
who is standing by her side.
iOuvmadame." The matron looks at her keenly, takes
up her Jewelled lorgnette, and calmly surveys her from
: head to toe. Then she turns to the proprietress. .
"Dear me, Cervier, are all your girls as pretty as this?
''You should start a beauty parlor
- She . resumes her own headgear, gives positive orders
that the hat is to be delivered before six-thirty, not a tno--ment
laterand leaves. " ,
It b now five-thirty. ..The lay has been a busy one and
the girl Is very tired. She takes the hat in her hands.
"You wish me to alter this?"
"Yes, and hurry it" There is no suavity about the tone
now; it is sharp and rasping.
"And don't lose your head over that bit of flattery,
either." The girl's cheeks crimsoned. Cervier's sharp
eyes look her over. She is a country girl no one would
doubt that. The soft creamy skin, the clear pink of the
cheeks, tell of days spent in the open. The wavy hair has
never known the touch of tongs, the torture of "rats" and
pads and puffs. It forms an odd contrast to the marcelled
and padded coiffure of the mistress. Involuntarily madame
glances at the tall mirror opposite. Involuntarily she fol
lows the double reflection feature for feature. The fresh
rosy lips with their delicate curves, the bright eyes, the
fine lashes, the swelling throat, throw into unfavorable light -indeed
her rouged and pencilled and wrinkled countenance. "
Even the girl's figure with its long free lines and gently
rounded contours has a peculiar charm, although madame's
own is a masterpiece of the best corsetiere and supposedly
unquestionable.
The comparison does not improve madame's temper.
She has taken the hat from the girl; now she thrusts it
back Into her hands.
"Here, stop wasting my time like this and hurry." -
The girl re-enters the workroom, puts on the apron and
sets about making the changes. She rips and sews with "
deft fingers, but her thoughts fly faster than her needle.-.. -
Her name is not really Felice, any more than madame's .
is Cervier.; It is good for the business to appear French.
Hence the patient study of some twenty phrases, including
the "Oui, madame," which constitute her stock in trade.
Up in the country village where she grew to womanhood
they call her another name. She cuts a bit of thread and
sighs. It was a pretty place, that village. It nestled be
tween two hills, and over the hills one could see most glo
rious sunsets.
She cannot remember the time when she did not. watch
the wonderful colors blend with the green of the trees and
the blue of the sky. She has always loved color. The
. flowers In the garden were her greatest delight. That is
how she found her profession.. The village milliner had
always made her hats, stiff, queer affairs, oddly at variance
with the charming face beneath. Then one day as she ar
ranged a nosegay an idea came. If in vases why not on
hats? She went up stairs and ripped her new hat to bits,
sorted over her piece box and went to -work. She was a
bit afraid of the result, but after church the next Sunday
every one admired it, and she took so many orders and re
modelled so many of her friends' hats that the milliner In
despair moved to an adjacent town. . Then came ambition.
Stories of the wonderful salaries paid to milliners in tiie
great cities her father was getting old. She might be
able to help. ' She must go. And so, half confident, half
timid, she came.
. It' was a bit disconcerting to find that she must begin-
as an "improver," that she must learn to make wire frames
at six dollars a week. The price of board was disconcert
ing, too, but somehow by dint of close economy and a
goodly wardrobe brought from home she managed.
-It was hard work, especially for a country girl. The
rooms were close, the air foul, but she took long walks to
and from work, no matter how tired she was, for the won
derful salaries were there, if she could get them, and she
must keep well. Bit by bit she climbed, from frames at
six a week to making hats at nine, then at ten, then at
twelve. . -
Then she became a "copyist" and copied trimmings on
Imported hats. ;For this she received fifteen dollars. At
" last she became a real trimmer and designer-, and now she
is with madame, who gives her $25 a week in the season.
She sighs again as she remembers that the "season" is
coming to an end. She must find something, to do until
next season starts. The summer time is the worst. Trade
stops after Easter, and work on fall hats does not begin
until August. -
Sometimes she is lucky. One year she did well at a
summer resort. Sometimes well, sometimes it is a hard,
hard pull to keep the little hall room and to send the
weekly remittance home. She cannot go home often, but
the money always goes somehow. They are very proud -.
of her, she knows, and even when madame is most trying
and things are at their -worst there is infinite consolation
In the thought-
"Have you finished, Felice?" It is madame's sharp voice.
She places the completed hat in its box, wraps it tenderly
in tissue paper, and hands it to the boy who is waiting.
It is past six. She puts on her hat and coat and hurfies
out. A masculine form emerges from the shadow and
Joins her. She starts in alarm as a pleasant voice says
"Good evening" then smiles reassured. It is only the
young man who sits next her at table at the boarding
house. She knows him quite well he is from the coun
try, too. But he has never met her like this.
"I .waited for you," he begins, embarrassed, then he
blurts out desperately: "Say, will you go to the theatre
with me to-night? I want you to, awfully."
She looks up and meets his honest, earnest eyes. Sud
denly, though it is very cold, she feels warm from head to
feet. She says, shyly, that she will go. They part at the
door. She goes to her bare little room, still warm with the
glow. She puts on her best suit; it is violet does she not
understand color? a frilly waist, and a hat concocted by
her clever fingers, which any grand dame might envy. Her
eyes are very soft as she turns down the light and descends
the stairs. -
Madame and the store and the dreaded end of the sea
son, and even the hall bedroom she has just left, seem sud
denly very, very far away as she sees that some one is wait
ing In the hail below. Some one for the first time in her
existence wants her awfully.
A charming portrait of a stenographer, painted from
life by Mrs. C G. Weiderseim, will be published next
Sunday.