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Velvn Syrup is more than a mere sweet. It’s a tine, wholesome, health ful food. It’s just what growing children need — and it’s good for grown-ups, too. Earnest, careful scientists have long ago exploded the mossy idea that sweets arc harmful — and they tell you that sweets are necessary. You’ll find the syrup with the RED LABEL, fine. It has the smoothest of sugary flavor and rseh color. It makes candies, fudge, cakes and cookies that just melt in one’s mouth. It goes great with griddle cakes and I! wilt make your good muffins, waffles and biscuits better. Try it and see if this isn’t so. Ten cents and up, according to size. Vclva in the green can. too, at your grocer’s. Send for the book of Vclva recipes. No charge. VELVA NLH ICE CREAM 3-4 cupful Red Vclva Syrup. » cupful* scalded milk, l tab eapr-anfui t'o<:r, 1-4 cupful sugar, l •kc. pinch of salt. 2 attar 9 cream. I cupful chapped English walnut meats, 1 teaapoonful almond extract, 1 -onfnl rot* extract. Beat up the egp vith the flour and sugar, and gradually add the milk. Cook for 20 mini-tea in u double boiler, stirring nn- stoutly. Cih>1 and add the syrup, salt, nuta. cream and the extrac-'%, and tre-ze Serve in dainty diahet with a preserved cherry on top of each. PENICH & FORD, Ltd New Orleans. La. .ia-*<a*rasi s.tr<-- rlMiirafrorii How Girls May Get \\ ork A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA A Love Story of the Old Spanish Mission By Gertrude Atherton ELLA WHEELER WILCOX: What's Gone Before By BEATRICE FAIRFAX. Don’t spend all your time think ing about dress, but for goodness sake don't go about looking like a frump. A man is twice as ready to listen to a girl’s application for work if she looks pleasant and dresses neatly.—BEATRICE FAIR FAX. r'IK other day 1 met a young wom- I an who was looking for em ployment She complained of having a very hard time in finding anything, and as 1 looked at her I did nor wonder that she had a hard time. Sin h a doleful face you never saw. No man would ever want so mudi dolefulness facing him every day. She made not the slightes attempt to beautify herself in any way. Her clothe® looked as though she flung them at herself. Her hair was dressed in the most unbecoming manner pos sible. and altogether she was an un attractive looking piece of girlhood. If I had had the time to talk to her, I would have said: “My dear, you never in the world will get a job while you look as you do now. Perk up a little bit. look cheerful, dress yourself decently and then try again.” Hear this in mind, girls—don’t spend all your time thinking about dresa, but for goodness sake don’t go about looking like frumps. A man is twice as ready to listen to a girl’s application for work if she looks pleasant and dresses neatly and becomingly. Men can’t stand doleful women. They like brightness and cheerfulness. The girl who always appears willing to attempt whatever work i» set be fore her is bound to get on. There is no use in sulking and look ing abused whenever you are asked to do extra work. If the request only comes once in a while, it won’t hurt you a bit. When you apply for a position,.don’t brag of what you can do. State your accomplishments in a straightforward, modest way, and show that you are willing to do your best if you get the chance. A girl will often be employed sim ply because she looks willing and bright. An employer knows that a cheerful employee has a good effect on her fellow workers. Don’t start out looking as though you had not a friend on earth, but tun on your neatest dress and your bright est look, and see if you don’t find II easy to And work. Like a Motor Car. \ LAUGH German woman held up a long line of people at the money order window in a post office the other day. and all because her memory had failed. She wanted to send some* money to her son, a sailor on a merchant steamer then in foreign waters, but when she presented the application at the window the clerk noticed that the address was lacking. “Well, where do you warn to send it ’ ' he asked. "We can’t give you the money order unless you know the name of the place." "Yah, dot’s de trouble," she replied. "I didn’t pring his letter, and I can’t remember der name of der town, but it's some place out of China dot sounds like der nob** a motor car makes.’’ The two clerks looked at each cither dubiously. "What kind of a noise does a motor car make?" asked one. "Honk, honk!" suggested the other. "Yah, dot’s it!" exclaimed the woman. " 'Monk konk," dot’s de place!" "Fill it in Hong Kong," said the clerk; and she paid over her money. Under the influence of the romances of Dumas, Eulogia is In love with Juan. The match, however, does not receive the approval of Dona Pom- posa, who, while Juan is serenading her daughter, pours hot ashes upon his head. This drives him away and Eulogia promises that she will have no more sweethearts until she is six teen years of age. When her sixteenth birthday ar rives Eulogia is taken to a party by her mother and there meets Don I’ablo Ignestria, who she at first dis dains but later asks to return to her city after he has been called away. While she awaits anxiously his ar rival she hears that he has been mar ried to a former sweetheart. Tier mother then urges her to marry Don Hudson, the rich American, but Eulo- gla demurs, saying 'that nothing is known of him and that she does not like’ him. Hhe has gathered much wisdom from the reading of Dumas, and as she applies this to Don Hud son, her mother is angry. Now Go on With the Story. TODAY S INSTALLMENT. "I fear to break it, senor, for I have faith that it is made of thin glass. It would cut my feet I like better the smooth floor. Who is that standing by the window - ' He lias not danced to night?" "Don Pablo Ignestria, of Monterey. He says thut the women of Han Luis are not half so beautiful or so elegant as the women of Monterey; he says they are too dark and too small. He does not wish to dance wlih anyone; nor do any of the girls wish to dance with him. They are very angry.” "1 wish to dance with him. Bring him to me.” "But, senorlta, I tell thee thou wouldst not like him. Why do those eyes flash so? Thou lookesr as if thou wouldst fight with thy little fists." Don Carmelo walked obediently over to Don I’ablo, although burning with Jealousy. "Senor, at your service," he said "I wish to introduce you to the most charming senorlta In the sala.” "Which?" asked Ignestria, incurious ly. He Was Handsome. Don Carmelo Indicated Eulogia with a grand sweep of his hand. "That little thing? Why, there are a dozen prettier girls in the sala than she, and I have not eared to meet any of them." "But she has commanded me to take you to her. senor, and —look at the men crowding about her! T)o you think I dare disobey?" The stranger’s dark eyes became less insensible. He was a handsome man. with ids tall figure and smooth, strong face, but about him hung the indolence of the Californian. "Very well," he paid, "take me to her." He asked her to dance, and after a waltz Kulogla said she was tired and they sai down within a proper dis tance of Dona Pompoaa’s eagle eye. "What do you think of the* women of San Luis Obispo?" Eulogia asked inno cently. "Are they not handsome?" "They are not to he compared with the women of Monterey since you ask me.” "Because they find the men of San Luis more gallant than the Senor Don Pablo Ignestria!" "Do they? One, J believe, asked to have me introduced to her!" "True, senor. I wished to meet you, that the ladies of San Luis might have their vengeance." He stared at her. "Truly, senorlta, but you do not hide your cards And why, then, should I fall in love with you?” She sat in the deep window seat watching the waves of the Pacific hurl themselves against the cliffs. "Because I am different from the women of Monterey.” '•And If I Hate You?” ^ A GOOD reason why I should not. I have been in every ^ ^ town in California, and I ad mire no women but those of my city.” "And because you will hate me first." "And if I hate you how can I love you?" "It is the same. You hate one woman and love anotlu r Each is the same passion, only to a different person. I.et the person loved or hated change his nature, and the passion will change." He looked at her with more interest. "In truth, I think I shall begin with love and end with hate, senorlta. But that wisdom was not horn in that little head, for sixteen years, I think. Lave not sped over ii no? It went in, if 1 mistake not, through those bright eyes." "Yes, senor, that is true. I am net content to be just like other girls of sixteen. I want to know to know! Have you ever read any books, senor’.’" "Many." He looked at her with u very lively Interest now. "What ones have you read?" "Only the beautiful romances of the Senor Dumas. I have seen r.o others, for there art* not many hooks in San Luis. Have you read others "' "A great many < the’s Two wonder ful Spanish books 'Don Quixote de la Mancha' ami ‘Gil Bias,’ and the ro malices of Sir Walter Scott—a man of England, and some famous man, seno- rita A great man lent them to me— the greatest of our governors—Alva rado." "And you will lend them to me?” cried Huh gia, forgetting her coquetry. "1 want ;o read them." Her Eyes Make Him Consent. "Alia! Those cool eyes can flash. That even little voice can break in two. Thou shalt have every book I possess.” "Will the Senorlta Dona Eulogia favor us with a song?" Don Carmelo was bowing before her, a guitar in his hand, his wrathful eyes fixed upon Don I’ablo. "Yea," said Eulogia. She took the guitar and sang a love ong in a manner which can best be d* : cribed as r.o manner at all her ex press! ‘!i never changed, her voice never warmed. At first the effect was fiat, then the subtle fascination of it grew until the very memory of impassioned tones seemed florid and surfeiting. When she finished lgr.estria’s heart was hammering upon the steel in which he had prisoned it. "Well," said Eulogia to Padre Moraga two weeks later, “An 1 not la favorita?*' "Thou a L thou little coquette. Thou i ist the power over men which thou i: t use with discretion, my Eulogia. 'Pell thy beads three times a day and pray that mayest do no harm.” "I wish to do harm, my father, for | nicn Lave broken the hearts of women j “Chut, chut, thou baby! Men are not so black as t! .*y are painted. Harm | no one and the world will he better • hat thou hast lived in it." j “If 1 scratch fewer women will be j cratched,” ami she raised her shoulders benouih the flowered muslin of her J K'Avn. swung her guitar under her arm I and walked down the grove, the silver leaves shining above her hair. Tin* padre had bidden all the young i ; ■ pi • « f the upper class to a picnic i n t! • old mission garden. Girls in gay l" ;-lu and silk rehosas were sitting I beneath the arches of the corridor or l ining under the trees where the yel- v apricots hung among the green I Lav Languid and sparkling faces 'uuetted with Caballeros in bright cali- o j ! Pets and knee breeches laced with i d 1 :• rord. their slender waist girthed I with long sashes, hanging gracefully over the hip. The water rippled in a winding creek, the birds caroled in the trees; but above all rose tne sound of light laughter and sweet, strong voices. They took their dinner behind the arches at a table the lengih of the corridor, and two of the young men played the guitar and sang while the others delighted their keen palates with the goods the padre had provided. ‘‘Shall I Return?” Don Pablo sat by Eulogia, a place he managed to fill very often; but he had never seen her for a moment alone. "I must go soon, Eulogia,” he mur mured, as the voices waxed louder. "Duty calls me back to Monterey." “I am glad to know that thou hast a sense of ihy duty.” "Nothing but that would take me away from San Luis Obispo. But both my mother and—and—a dear friend are ill and wMsh to see me.” "Thou must go to-nighi. How canst thou eat and be gay when thy mother and—and—a dear friend are ill?” "Ay, Eulogia! Wouldst thou scoff over my grave? I go, but it is for thee to say if I return.” “Do not tell me that thou adorest me here ai the table. I shall blush, and all will be about my smarting ears like the bees down in the padre’s hive." “I shall not tell thee that before ail the world. Eulogia, all I ask Is this little favor; I shall send thee a letter the night I leave. Promise me that thou wilt answer it—to Monterey.” "No, sir! Long ago, when I was twelve. I made a vow l would never write to a man. I never shall break that vow.” "Thou wilt break it for me, Eulogia.” "And why for you, senor? Half the trouble in the world lias been made on pape*\" "Oh. thou wise one! What trouble can a piece of paper make w r hen it lies on a man’s heart?” "It can crackle when another head lien on it.” * "No head*will never lie here but" "Mine?" “Eulogia!" “To thee. Senorlia Dona Elogia," cried a deep voice. "May the jewels in thine eyes shine by the stars when thou art above them while they shine for us below." and a caballero pushed back ! in his chair, leaned forward and touch ed her glass with his, then went down on one knee and drank the ~ed wine. Eulogia threw him a ill Ue absent A Foxy Farmer’s Fortune By MALCOLM DOUGLAS. ptj HNS," said old Farmer Biggs, "is the stubbornest things I raise; IT • hoy St t, an’ set, an’ set, until they’re sot in their ways; ■■■■>■ ;• : ; cot watches to tell the time, but know when the day’s begun thr rooster with his ‘ur-ruh-huh-huh!’ keeps hollerin' at the sun. l \ “Hen s as a Labor I’nion which says that a hen kin lay ; l Jest or** eye fur her boss, an’ only one egg a day: j An' there's strikes an' there’s agitations that start along in the fall, ' An' he up that’s out on a strike don't lay any eggs at all. ■But I've . i on a loetle ijeo that aits on ’em like a charm, s An' « g-rs is the biggest profit I’m gittin’ now from the farm: W’ neighbors o’ mine's complainin' that eggs with ’em is skeerse, AA . o lud d pullets is layin’ 'em somethin* fierce. i ! "I'vo painted my henhouse ceilin’ lo make it look like the sky. With ;> great big 'lectric sun a-glimerin’ up on high: 1 !'■ S - * oot the ' :’*t completely, .in*, jest by pullin' a switch. I have it as bright as noondrfV or make it as black as pitch. W’an the Lens has finished a-lav*n* I turn off the ’lectric li*rht. ' ■'n' un th«**- hop to the'r roost, a’-s’nosin’. of course, it’s night: , T’ *i T t”~n *n t H e r'-'n. an’ they g ! t the cramr* from their legs, Ar.\ r Inkin’ another clnv’s come, they start in n-la yin’ eggs. smile, sipped her wine, and went on talking to Ignestria in her soft, monot onous voice. "My friend—Graciosa la Cruz- went a few weeks ago to Monterey for a visit. You will tell her T think of her —no?" As Stubborn as Pretty. "I will dance with ner often because she is your friend—until I return to San Luis Obispo.” "Will that be soon, senor?" “I told thee that would be as soon as thou wished. Thou wilt answer my let ter—promise me, Eulogia." "I will not, senor. I Intend to be wiser than other women. At the very least my follies shall not burn paper. If thou wantest an answer thou wilt re turn." "I will not return without ihat an swer. I can never see thee alone, and if I could any coquetry would not give me a plaint answer. I must see it on paper before I will believe." "Thou canst wait for the day of resur rection for thy knowledge, then!" O NCE more Aunt Anastacia rolled her large figure through Eulogia’s way and handed her a letter. "From Don Pablo Ignestria, my baby,” she said. "Oh, what a man! What a ca- ballero! And so smart! He waited an hour by the creek in ihe mission gardens until he saw thy mother go out, and then he brought the note to me. He begged to see thee, but I dared not grant that, for thy mother will be back in ten min utes." “Go down stairs and keep my mother there," commanded Eulogia, and Aunt Anastacia rolled off, while her niece with unwonted nervousness opened the letter. "Sweet of my soul! Star of my life! I dare not speak to thee of love, be cause, strong man as I am. still am I a coward before those mocking eyes. Therefore, if thou laugh the first time thou readest that I love ihee, I shall not see It, and the second time thou mayest be more kind. "Beautiful and idolized Eulogia. men have loved thee, but never will be cast at thy little feet a heart stronger or truer than mine. Aye, dueno adorado! I love thee without hope? No; I believe that thou lovest me, thou cold little one, although thou dost not like to think that thy heart thou hast sealed can open to let love in. But, Eulogia, star of my eyes! I love thee so that I will break that heart in pieces, and give thee another so soft and warm that it will be all through the old house to which I will take thee. For thou wilt come to me, thou little coquette! Thou wilt write to me to come back and stand with thee in the mission while the good padre asks the saints to bless us? Eulogia! Thou hast sworn thou wilt write to no man, but thou wilt write to me, my little one. Thou wilt not break the heart that lives in thine. I kiss thy little feet. I kiss thy tiny hands. I kiss—ay, Eulogia! Adi os' Adios! PABLO. She Tells Him to Come, Eulogia could not resist that letter. Her scruples vanished, and, after an en tire day of agonizing composition, she sent these lines: "You can come back to San Luis Obispo. "EULOGIA AMATA FRANCISCA GUADALUPE YBARRO.” Another year passed. No answer came from Pablo Ignestria. Nor did he reiurn to San Luis Obispo. Two months after Eulogia had sent her letter she received one from Grociosa la Cruz, containing the information that Ignestria had married the invalid girl whose love for him was the talk of Monterey for many years. And Eulogia? Her flirtations earned her far and wide ihe title of Dona Coquet- ta, and she was coder, calmer and more audacious than ever. To Be Continued To-morrow. LETTERS TO GIRLS This Is Number III in the Series and Is Ad dressed to a Girl Who Is Sorry for Herself. By ELLA WHEELER WILCOX. (Copyright, 1013, by .Journal-American- Examiner.) \ NUMBER III. ^TV) A GIRL who is sorry for her- £ self: Your letter shows me not how badly Fate treats you, but how badly you are treating yourself. You are standing outside of your self, and making a mental picture of misery and neglect, and sorrow, of loneliness a nc\ heart hunger—and weeping over it. That is the easiest and the weakest thing a mortal can do. I doubt if a human being lives, no matter how seemingly fortunate and to be envied, who could not find a whole chapter of miseries to mourn over, if he or she chose to turn over the leaves of'life’s book to that par ticular page. In every life there is always some thing which might be bettered. One person likes his environments, but hates his occupation; another likes his work, but dislikes his envi ronment; one wants the city; another wants the country; and so on ad in finitum. You feel you are particularly un fortunate in not having a harmonious home; in not having more compan ionship with people who are con genial, and in having a great many material worries. Life a Serious Thing. You carry always a face of sorrow and a look of sadness; and you tell me life grows more and more a very serious thing to you. You are meantime forgetting that you are blest with health; that you are in possession of all your faculties; that you are not crippled or bedrid den; and that you are pursuing an occupation which you like. You breathe good fresh air in your home; you are not shut up in a tene ment house; you are not confined in a factory all day; and you are not starved for good food. Why, my dear girl, with .such a list of things which could make life hard indeed for one left out of what fate gives you, it seems to me your days should be one paean of thanks to God, and one prayer for voice and words to praise Him for His manifold bless ing®. In the same post with your letter came one from a girl who is totally deaf; and who has lost both lower limbs; and she writes me that she has had a very pleasant time, enjoy ing the outdoor life and the kind attention of good friends: and that she has been studying and growing. Does not that make you ashamed of yourself? It ought to. DOM to your own soul; and picture to yourself a life apart from the fam ily. It will come to you if you live in a way deserving of this freedom. It will come either by a change irv the people w r ho make the discord or in your change to other surroundings. It can never come while you are pitying yourself. Self Pity is Weakness. Self-pity is weakness and a waste of mental force. It is a great weakness of character to continually crave pity and sym pathy; and to want people to be sorry \ t for you. Just as well might every pupil who is given a lesson ask all the teachers and all the other scholars to be j "sorry,” and bestow sympathy. We are placed in this world where our actions and thoughts in other lives direct our path; and we are i here to build character and learn the l * I power which lies in our minds to change present conditions and shape a better future. We can never do this by con stantly mourning over our situation. For such feelings waste our energies | and prevent constructive processes of thought. Tliank God for Trouble. Begin right now, to-day, my dear girl, to thank God for whatever has come to you; thank Him for trouble and sorrow; and ask Him to show you the way to transmute these things into a strong, helpful, charac ter; and to give you the power to work up, and out, of all conditions which are distasteful to you. This is your work; and you alone can do it. Then look gfcbout you for things to rejoice over; and think and talk of these; and allow no one to be sorry for you. Stand before your mirror and laugh every day for five minutes; and when you feel the corners of your mouth turning down bring them UP—and laugh again. And before very long you will dis cover that you are no longer to be pitied, but to be congratulated. For you will have made a new heaven and a new earth for your self. Do You Know- Try for Harmony. An inharmonious home is indeed a great trouble; but the only thing for one ‘to do who suffers from such a cause is to BE ONE NOTE OF HAR MONY IN THE RECORDS. Speak the silent word of love to each member of the family; say "Peace, Be Still" to the troubled do mestic ocean, and by every thought, word and act set the example of harmony. Miracles have been wrought by one loving, patient soul in a home of many'wrangling minds. Refuse to quarrel; refuse to be sul len; refuse to be sarcastic; and by the example of love and kindness, and good cheer, shame the other members of the household into better be- he^or. Then, if they continue to be dis agreeable, speak the word of FREE- Germany, according to the religious statistics of the Empire, has an increas ing number of persons without any re ligious profession. The number has,' grown from 17,000 in 1907 to nearly* 206,000. * * * Astronomical observations were car ried on in China so long as the year 2352 B. C. * * * Suffrage was granted to women in the Commonwealth of Australia in 1902.\ * * « e The average strength of a woman compared with that of a man is as 67 to 100. Served Him Right. "I am the unluckiest man alive’.” “What’s the matter?” "Why, I heard that Muriel was en gaged, so I went round and proposed to her, so that she wouldn’t think l had been trifling with her." “And wasn’t she engaged?" “Yes; but she broke it off. She said my love was more sincere than the other fellow’s.” an’ It’s off r*'* nn' e' 5f n^’in: b^o- 1 T’nl«n 'i^ns. but l’m r-c-kiV ’em oil lik« : a evsr " r’ hens will la' hlffh fc"® n da' - !”, Up-to-Date Jokes IX/f R. CLOSELY (snappishly)—1 be- j lieve you’d stand before a, mirror all day doing nothing but changing your dresses. Mrs.'. Closely (dreamily)—Perhaps I would if 1 had the dresses. Clara—1 have been to the theater every nigh.t this week, and had a dif ferent escort each time. Fred—You should be mere cautious, my dear Miss Clara. Clara—Cautious? Fred—Yes; or ill-natured people will be saying that you can’t get the same man to go with you twice. “Mother," said an exasperated young lady, "I wish you would not hang that old parrot up in the parlor.” "Why not, my dear?" asked her mother. “Why, I think he must have belonged to a street car conductor before you bought him. Every two or three ■unutes when Edwin is here he chirps out, ‘Sit closer, please.’ It Is too embarrassing fur anything." A Sunday school teacher had just told the story of Dives and Lazarus to his class, and at the close of the lesson he asked: "Now, boys, which would you prefer to be?" % One smart lad replied quickly. “I’d like to be the rich man while I lived and Lazarus when I am dead." "Why, the size of your bill," cried the angry patient to the doctor. t "makes me boil all over!" j "Ah!" said the eminent practloner. j calmly, "that will be two guineas more for sterilizing your system." "I want you to understand that I got my money by hard work.” "Why, 1 thought it was left you by your uncle.” "So it was; but 1 had hard work getting it away from the lawyers.” Hewitt—Gruet has lost all hit? money. Jewett—But I thought he was t Napoleon of finance. Hewitt—He was, but he met a Wel lington. "What relation are you to the pris oner?" asked the magistrate of the witness. “Next-door neighbor, sir.” was Lie prompt reply. Strengthening Food for Hard Workers It isn’t necessary to eat a lot of meat to nourish and sustain your body. It is a positive fact—ask your doctor—that there is more real nutrition in a 5c pack age of Faust Macaroni than in 2 lbs. of beef at 12 times that price. You get more nutrition—better per living when you eat eating—che MACARONI Made from Durum wheat, a cereal extremely rich in gluten—a bone, muscle and flesh builder. Put up in air-tight, moisture-proof package—write for free recipe book showing how many delicious ways there are for serving Faust Macaroni. At oil grocers’— Sc and IOc packages. MAUU BROS. St. Louis, Mo.