seem that the pores are large and coarse and open, but they are simply
undergoing a cleansing process that in the end will bring a lovely
white, perfect skin. Whenever I hear women say that they never wash
their faces, but use a cream instead, I always wonder if they really
feel clean. I am sure I would not. Fancy the state of our hands were we
never to wash them! And the face, having more oil glands, is in still
greater need of soap and water. However, let me say right here that no
soap at all is better than a cheap scented soap, and unless the very
best and purest soaps can be had it is much more desirable to
substitute almond meal or something of the sort. Treatment for
blackheads calls for the same care of the health as does treatment for
pimples.

TAN, SUNBURN AND FRECKLES.

Tan, like borrowing friends, and various other afflictions, is awfully
easy to get, but really more than passing difficult to remove. It is
delightful to sit on a big bowlder that dots a great, lovely, sandy
waste and watch your hands gradually turn from their customary
whiteness to a deep burnt orange. One has to have something to show for
a trip out of town, one thinks, else the doubting Thomases will arise
and give vent to suspicions that one has been merely concealing oneself
in an attic or back bedroom. It is pleasant, too, to go fishing, with a
dainty, absurd little hat that, although it looks pretty, is about as
useful as would be a beaten biscuit pinned to one's tresses. You feel
your nose becoming unusually warm, and it begins to tingle and smart as
if the pores were filling up with hot sand. All of which is quite in
keeping with summer-resort existence, and you are as proud as Lucifer
when you trail back to town to show this cerise-tinted evidence of your
outing.

But the friends who you thought would envy you giggle and smirk and
nudge each other and make suggestions that are supposed to be
mirth-compelling. And then and there you decide to do differently next
summer. A sunburned nose may be a treasurable possession away from
town, but back among the hosts of the city it is a different matter.
More than that, it is an affliction.

If the weeks at the seashore or the lakes would only brown the summer
girl it would not matter so much. But instead of making the skin a
beautiful, poetical olive tint, it usually turns it to a hue which is
best compared to the flaunting colors of the auctioneer's emblem. If
the girl is reckless, if