they are really preferable,
as the fresh air is necessary. Oxygen destroys or burns out carbon, and
carbon is fat. The more exercise and fresh air, the more oxygen, and
consequently destruction of fat by the one healthy means of remedying
obesity. Soda phosphates and the various fat-reducing preparations are
not desirable. The only way to cajole willowiness of body into coming
in your direction is to diet and to take plenty of exercise. Do not
drink much water. A little lemon juice added to it will make it less
fattening.

There, now, plump lady, are your rules! Abide by them and your woes
will surely disappear with a swiftness that will make you laugh.

THE WORKING GIRL

"Labor is life!--'Tis the still water faileth;
Idleness ever despaireth, bewaileth;
Keep the watch wound, or the dark rust assaileth."

--_Mrs. Frances S. Osgood._

It has often occurred to me that there are a vast number of plucky
little bread-winning girls and women to whom even a tiny jar of creme
marquise is a hopeless impossibility. For them is this chapter written.

In the first place, we all feel pretty sure that--in the great,
wonderful beginning of things--it was never meant that women should
work. We can't help knowing this when we look about us every night at
six o'clock and see the weary, patient, brave little faces that line
either side of the elevated trains or the crowded street cars. Women
are not given to the solving of problems, so we won't go into the great
"whys" or the "wherefores." That's a loss of time anyhow. But we will
do heaps better than that. We will try to be hopeful and cheery, and
learn how to make the best of the little happinesses that do come our
way.

The working girl--and we all take off our hats to her pluck--needs more
than any other class of womankind to take care of her health. She is
out in all kinds of weather, she works hard, and ofttimes struggles
through a daily routine that is harrowing beyond everything. After
hours there is mending to be done, or a thousand and one little duties
to keep her busy until, tired out and nerve-weary, she goes to bed to
gain rest and strength for the struggles of the morrow. She cannot
afford the little luxuries of the toilet that are so dear and near to
the heart of womankind the world over. The joys of having her hair
"done" or her pretty cheeks massaged are not hers--and the pity of it
is that often enough the faul