The Forrest City times., 1894-08-24
WOMAN'S WASHSTAND.
She Seems to Cherish It Above
 All Things.

If you take up any society novel that pretends to portray American life and manners, and open it at 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 hd- 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- tishly rearranged bunch of flowers in crystal vase"
 Or perhaps this is the exact for mula:
 "A discreet knock upon the rose wood door was all that was necessary to gain admittance for our hero to the dainty boudoir where Gladys Heap style lay back languidly in her luxuri- ous fauteuil."
 That is about the way it reads, isn't it? Yes? We'll, it isn't so. It never happened that way Not in this coun- try. Not on your mother-in-law. Not if Gladys Heapstyle was an American girl.
 But here is what did happen. Whether it was dignified 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 that sacred asylum to come downstairs and see the man she had been expecting for an hour and 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 sprln- ting for a hundred-dollar prize: and she didn't feel really comfortable or like herself until she got her rocking chair hitched 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 bed, a
 and a haSln. soap-dish and slop-jar, is barren blank. You may think that Gladys IS happy when you see her sweeping through the magnificent ballroom be- tween ranks of lowing admirers, with the chastened glory of the electric lights Illuminating her sunny hair and her goddess-like brow. And, in way, perhaps she is happy. But 1t IS not the genuine solid happiness of sitting in a room with a bed and washstand in it. where she can feel the near pres ence of the soap-dish and the tootn- brush mug, and the box of comoings nndar the bureau l. is only in such sacred surroundings as these that the true American woman can De truly happy. all
 The bedroom disease pervades all classes of American womanhooo. i1 Lrows no restrictions of wealth, fash ion locality or social position. As far as the passion for bedroom iiie IS concerned. the miliionaire's wife ana the spouse of the humblest shanty dweller stand, or rather sit. on exactly tba same basis. Be it ever so humble there's no place like the bedroom.
 Gladys is child of wealth, sne lives fin 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 wsre a wilderness of apartments, each one more beautiful than the other Gladys would fly them all to new heF-