HOW A WOMAN GETS UP.

Thames Star, Volume XII, Issue 3981, 1 October 1881, Page 1

HOW A WOMAN GETS UP.

A youug woman alwaya dreads to get up. She wakes up, and lies still, aud tbiuka abouL it. She waits for the clock to strike, aud hopes it will strike seven instead of eight. Her head ha* a good mind to nche, and she doesn't feel quite rested. She wonders if her hair is going to crimp well, and she feels the hard bunches over her forehead which hare tormented her all the night, and the purgatory of which has only been borne through the assurance that sho' will look so much prettier with her hair crimped. And a young woman will bear anything for the sake of looking pretty. She speculates on the weather, and thinks how, if she goes out of town, she will wear her new hat if the air is not dump enough to spoil the fcathrr \ nnd she' wonders if Miss A..- will wear pink again this summer, and if Mus B. will be bar* ing another silk dress this season. Then she sits up in bed, and gathers tip her back hair, and sticks in a p n, ana looks at licr finger-nulls, and at the palms of her hand, and unbuttons her nightdress and then ahe yawns again,and puts her feet out on the carpet, and sits there deliberating. '1 hen she starts, and goes to the looking-glass, and examines heruelf as if she half expected some wonderful change had taken place in her personal appearance since last she saw her reflection. She looks out of the window care'ullj

•—just peeping oat behind the closed blind lest somebody should see her, for it is a dreadful catastrophe for such a thing as that to happen to a woman who is just u Pi . . ....

She does not call on anybody for anything. Her buttons do not come oil. Unless it be her boot buttons, and she has got so accustomed to that, that she expects nothing else. She peeps iuto a new book on the table, reads a few lioes; puts on her stockings, looks into the glass to see what makes her eyes feel sohenvy—speculates as to whioh dreas she will wear, combs out her hair, and releases the front from these crimping pins; scatters a little perfume over the structure she has built up on the top of her head; dusts the end of her nose with b pearl powder and wonders if she looks as old as Mary C, who is just her age, and has got false teeth. Then she puts on most of her clothes very leisurely, makes her toilet, finishes her dressing, arranges her hair, puts a ribbon at her throat, cleans her nails, and is ready to go down and conquer. But suppose'she is a woman of a family P Suppose eno has a husband, and a flock of 11 pledges of lore " around her ? Everything is changed. Women in that interesting condition of life know how it is themselves.

The mother of a family does not crimp or powder. Let her nose be red—who notices it? "Father" cares more about his steak being done right than he does about the beauty of the end of his wife's nose. And he prefers the smell of wellmade coffee to the perfumes of Araby ! And before his wife can get into her clothes in the morning he is looking over the grocer's bill, and, vowing by all the saints in the celendari that if any more monpy goes for " sundries " there'll be a row!

And the children are. crying to be dressed, and the eldest ones will be getting their arithmetic and geography lessons in ma's room, and bothering her with questions about the length of the African JXile, and how many tenths of a thing it takes to make seven-ninths of another thing! And the little boy will be. crying for 'lasses candy, and the baby will be putting.up her morning orison, and——But every tired mother knows how she gets up of a morning.—American paper. ■-• ■ -