Macon beacon. [volume] (Macon, Miss.) 1859-1995, 1894-09-01
WOMAN'S WASHSTAND.
She Seems to Cherish 1t Above
All Things,

and manners, and open II al the place
where Percy Algernon Fitzdutch goes
to call on Miss Gladys Heapstyle to
propose marriage, or elopement, or
| suicide, or to do nothing at %all-which
would be more in accordance with the
traditions of the society novel-you
will find that it goes something like
this:
Percy had hardly touched the
Heapstyle door-bell when he was ad-
mitted BY the old butler, whose digni-
| fed visage frightened at the sight Of
the Young man., whom he ushered at
once into the sunny morning-room."
why, how late YOU are cried
GLADYS, half rising from her delightful
nest among the multitudinous pillows
Of the great divan. Her mandolin lay
at her feet by the side Of the latest
| novel; and as She spoke she coquet-
ti>hly %rearranged a bunch of flowers
in a crystal vase"
Or perhaps this is the exact for
muls;
a discreet knock upon the rose
wood door was all that was necessary
to gain admittance for u hero to the
dainty boudoir where Gladys Heap
style lay back lsnguidly in her luxuri-
Gus fauteuil.r
That is about the way il reads, isn't
it? Yes? Well. it isn't Sc. 1t never
happened that way. Not in this II
try. Not on your mother-in-law Not
if Gladys Heapstyle was an American
girl,
But here is what did happen.
Whether it was a dignifed butler or a
neat and attractive housemaid who
admitted Percy Algernon, he or she
Shot that young man straight into the
| parlor, and scuttled off upstairs-one
flight, two flights, three flights, as the
case might be-to Miss Gladys bed
room, and routed her out of hat
sacred asylum to come downstairs and
see the man She had been expecting
for an hour and a half. And the mo-
ment his call was over Gladys gath
cred up her front draperies and ran
upstairs as hard as if she were sprin.
ting for a hundred-dollar prize; and
she didn't feel really comfortable or
like herself until she got her rocking
chair hitcbed up close to the wash
stand.
For. TO the true American woman,
there is no room in the world like her
| bedroom: and life without a bed. a
washstand, a pitcher and a basin, a
soap-dish and a slop-jar, is a barren
blank. You may think that Gladys is
happy when you see her sweeping
through the magnificent ballroom be-
tween ranks of bowling admirers, with
the chastened glory of the electric
lights illuminating her sunny hair and
her goddess-like brow. And, in a way,
perhaps she is happy, But it is not
the genuine solid happiness of sitting
in a room with a bed and a washstand
in it, where she can feel the near pres
ence OF the soap-dish and the tooth
brush mug, and the box of combings
under the bureau. 1t is only in such
sacred surroundings as these that the
true American woman can be truly
happy,
The bedroom disease pervades all
classes Of American ~womanhood. 1t
knows no restrictions of wealth, fash
ion. locality or social position. As
far as the passion for bedroom life is
concerned, the miliionaire's wife and
the spouse Of the humblest shanty
dweller stand, or rather sit, on exactly
the same basis, BE it ever so humble.
there's no place like the bedroom.
Gladys is a child of wealth. She
lives in a sumptuous New York home.
The rooms on the lower floor are many
and comfortable. There are sunny
rooms and shady rooms. There are
warm rooms and cool rooms, large
rooms and small rooms. But if there
were a wilderness of apartments, each
one more beautiful than the other,
Gladys would fly them all TO new her
self up in her bedroom, happy in her
proximity to her washstand as a de-
votee who draws near the altar with
the mystic longing of devotion. Her
occupation matters nothing. To her
bedroom she takes her reading, her
sewing, her fancy work; it is there
that she practices upon her mandolin or
her either; and il she could carry her
piano under her arm she would have it
up there.
| do not know how the bedroom dis
ease first got its insidious grip on the
women OF IL country, | only know
that it has obtained such a hold upon
their systems that they are, in all
probability, beyond any mortal cure.
There may be regulations in Heaven
to keep those blessed angels In the
streets, or In the Jasper vestibules, or
the crystal front parlors, or some place
where slop jars and washstands are
not; but never on this poor mortal
earth will You get the American
woman to give up her habit of tester
ing in her bedroom during ever,
minute Of her spare time.
There was one man who once at
tempted to buck against the bedroom
habit. He was a very rich man whc
had made a vast fortune in the west
and he had a wife of whom he wa,
very fond. She had injured her healtl
by sitting day after day in the mias
matte atmosphere of her toothbrush
and %combings, and he wanted to tr,
, to reclaim her, to make a healthy
happy woman of her. SO he built
house that might have been called
palace, If any one OF those wretchet
old European palaces were one.hun
dredth part as good as the kind of hous
an American builds when he sets on
: to please his wife. One specially abou
this house was that it had more diffe,
ent sorts Of rooms than any house tina
y. ever was heard of. 1t had p~arlors an
drawing-rooms and withdrawn
|, rooms, and without drawing rooms, an
: dining rooms, and wining-rooms an
Q . music rooms and picture rooms and !
J. braries and aviaries and apiaries an
conservatories and observatorics an
every possible and impossible arch
!; tectural outfit that ever was devise'
But the heart and soul of the who
house was the boudoir. II was on thi
boudoir that this man flung himsel
He had fought in the wild west wit
savage Indians and rough frontier
men. In the face Of countless obstI
cles he had made himself rich and r,