not beheld the stunningly gowned girl stalking majestically
around the shopping district in a little tailor-made jacket topped off
with a fur collarette? She tells herself that she is perfectly warm and
comfortable, but you and I know better, my dear, for we have seen her
unhappy efforts to crawl up into this same collarette, and we have
beheld her shivering misery as a good stiff gust of January wind sends
her flying around a corner.

I am a firm believer in the tailor-made gown, and I am of the opinion
that style often counts more than real beauty with women of stately
carriage and pretty figure. But nevertheless, I believe first in
keeping warm and in protecting one's health. The girl in the smart
little jacket could well afford to wear a winter coat over it on the
coldest days, and even then she would not swelter from the heat.
Really, it is torture for a woman of common sense to go along the
shopping district and see her poor, miserable sisters who let comfort
fly to the four winds of heaven while they revel madly in appearances.
It's all very well, my girls, to look your best. But don't make
sacrifices that will injure your health. I'd rather see a woman in a
last winter's coat with the seams shiny than look upon a foolish but
radiant creature in a bit of a cape that would keep her about as warm
as would two good-sized cobwebs stitched together. The first woman
would have the advantage of displaying evidence of real brains on the
inside of her head. And beauty without brains isn't real beauty at all,
but a sad, shop-worn, tear-wringing imitation.

It is my opinion that in choosing underclothing for cold weather
finely-woven cotton is the best of all. Silk is not durable, and wool,
even of the finest quality, will often prove irritating. Besides, so
many of us spend most of our time in steam-heated homes or offices that
woolen garments keep one too warm. The cotton union suit makes a very
desirable undergarment. This should be high-necked, long-sleeved, and
made to come well down over the ankles. For the girl whose particular
worry is a nose of flaming red, let me say that in fleece-lined
stockings, calfskin boots and warm overshoes lies her only hope of a
less flamboyant nasal appendage.

There is no need of fourteen petticoats, notwithstanding the fact that
really nice old ladies insist upon wearing that number. One skirt of
silk or moreen, together with a tiny short one of white muslin and a
pair of sensible,