Amandine:
Blanched bitter almonds, three and one-half ounces.
Powdered orris root, three-fourths ounce.
Powdered white castile soap, three-fourths ounce.
Glycerite of starch, one and three-fourths ounces.
Clarified honey, one ounce.
Oil of lavender flowers, one-half dram.
Oil of bergamot, one-half dram.
Oil of bitter almonds, four drops.
Beat the blanched almonds with a small quantity of water to a smooth paste, add the other ingredients, and mix intimately. A solution of cochineal will color it.
THE EYES
"Tell me, sweet eyes, from what divinest star did ye drink in your liquid melancholy?"—Bulwer Lytton.
You would think, wouldn't you, that women would be good to themselves? But they aren't. Not a bit of it! They abuse their complexions with cosmetics as deadly as Mrs. Youngwife's first plum pudding. They "touch up" their tresses with acids terrific enough to remove the spots of a leopard. They paddle around in the rain like ducks in petticoats and overshoes, and then sit down and chat with the woman next door for a whole hour, so that the damp skirts can more properly inaugurate a horrible cold that will settle down and stay for six weeks or more. And their eyes—but that's a story in itself.
An oculist once said that every dot in a woman's veil was worth $5 to the gentlemen of his profession. The eye is being constantly strained to avoid these obstacles in its way, and, of course, it is weakened and tortured. Think of a woman paying $1.50 for something that will, in time, destroy her eyesight just as sure as fate! I leave it to you if she's not a ninny? But women do these things in spite of everything—except when the overworked eyes begin to pain, and then they're glad enough to do almost anything for quick relief.
To keep one's eyes in good, healthy condition, rigid laws must be laid down and carried out, though the heavens fall and the floods descend and everything gets up and floats out into Lake Michigan. You must not read in bed, and you must kiss good-by to that becoming black veil of many dots and spots.