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What Sort of Girl Do Men Like Best? H
D O women dress to please men or
to please each other? In thi
majority of cases I should say
that they dressed to please each
other
The average man admires simplic
ity In dress; the average woman de
lights In elaborate efTects. Not one
man In a hundred looks on the-tower
ing pompadour as otherwise than
atrocious, and yet, see the vogue It
has attained.
Every woman likes to hear her taste
In dress praised by her men friends,
>-ut she can not resist the prevailing
lashions. A gown that every man In j
room will disparage will bring a sip.,
of er.vy from every woman present.
Careful dressing will Improve every
woman's appearance, but fussy dress
ing will not add to her beauty In the
least.
Girls make a great mistake when
they fuss so much about their clothes
• S to give men the Impression that
•they can think of nothing else.
Don’t Like Dolls.
Tou see, girls, a young man wants a
wife, not a dressed-up doll
The girl who makes her own clothes
and presents a neat and smart ap-
' pearance makes a great hit with any
young man. He can not help but
think how clever and capable she
must be. and that she will, in all prob
ability, make a good, economical wife.
Economy may not sound very ro
mantic, but, all the same, It is a very
desirable quality In a wife, and one
which every man admires.
The girl who has thousands to
epend on her dress does not look a
whit more winsome than the one who,
»n a small allowance, dresses taste
fully and suitably.
Two young women sat near me at
the opera the other night. The con
trast In their appearance was most
noticeable.
One was'gowned in pompadour sat
in, a white ground with huge pink
“A young man wants a wife, not a dressed-up doll.”
and yellow roses scattered over it.
Yellow lace trimmed it profusely
wherever it was possible. There were
diamonds, diamonds everywhere—in
her corsage, round her neck, in her
ears.
And, to crown it all, suet* a pompa
dour that I heartily pitied the unfor
tunate man who sat behind her. If
was a wonderful pompadour. When
it had reached such a height that you
felt it must fall off it began all over
again in a series of puffs and curls.
The other girl was gowned in some
soft black material that fell around
her pretty young figure in graceful
folds. It wuh cut square in the neck
and edged with a fold of soft white
crepe.
The elbow sleeves were finished
with a ruchlng of the same material.
A single strand of pearls was her only
ornament. Her hair was parted and
rolled away from her face, ending in a
coil at the back of her hedd.
i Simplicity Wins.
Her face was really not a bit pret-
| tier than the other girds, but she was
a joy to look at in her exquisite sim-
i plieity. As for the relative cost of the
two costumes, the first exceeded the
second twenty times.
I do not believe there was a man in
J the house who would have hesitated a
minute as to which he admired more.
The simple costume would come out
ahead every time.
The keynote to beauty is simplicity,
and you n- v r can make a mistake if
you stick to it. Avoid extravagant ef
fects.
Don’t look as though your mind was I
all on your clothes. Don’t frighten j
I your prospective suitors away by ex- j
iravagant ideas and talk.
Give and Take.
A N amusing story is related by a Paris
correspondent.
When the Sultan of Turkey gave or
ders /or the mobolization of his troops]
he sent to the King.of Bulgaria a sack
: of millet, with the following letter:
“Ferdinand Effendi, mobilize if you
like, but be assured there are as many
soldiers in Turkey as there are grains
i of millet in this sack. Now, if you
wish, declare war.”
The King of Bulgaria’s reply was in
kind. He sent a very much smaller
sack filled -with the tiny grains of a
j most virulent fed pepper of the country,
i "Ischouski” it s called, and it does not
l belie it* name,* for the effect is that of a
very vigorous snuff. With it went the
following dedication:
“Dear Mr. Sultan The Bulgarians are.
not numerous, it is true; but be assured
that to stick your nose into their affairs
! is like sticking it into our national con-
! diment. Try it and see. They’ll sting
] you so sharply that the whole of Asia
j will not be able to save you.”
The Humility
of Love
AN EMBARRASSING SITUATION
What Would You Do if It Happened to You?
MARRIED LIFE THE THIRD YEAR
MABEL HERBERT ‘ URNER
Sets Down Some Further Third
Year Experiences of Helen and
Warren—Letter of Warren’s
I T was not fair! Aunt Emma had
no right to ask it! It was too
much to expect! Rebelliously
Helen threw’ down this last letter
from Warren’s aunt.
They had done their share! They
‘^had sent that box of clothing—and a
Check. Until now Helen had not
known that Warren had sent the
check. She wondered how much it
was. Again she took up Aunt Em
ma’s letter and for the third time
read it through.
f Dayton, Ohio, April 9, 1913.
Dear Helen—I can’t tell you
how thankful we were to get the
box. If you only knew' how much
we needed everything you sent.
George was especially grateful for
that overcoat of Warren’s, and
your brown suit just fit me. I
only had to let out the skirt
band.
Tell Warren his Uncle George
Is going to write him and thank
him for the check. We hadn’t ex
pected that, but it has helped so
much. Everything is still in a
dreadful condition. The whole
house will have to be cleaned and
disinfected before anything can
be used. The filthy deposit the
flood left over everything is hor
rible. And we find that much of
the foundation of the house has
been washed away. The walls
are all cracked and most of the
plaster Is off.
We have tried to clean out the
kitchen and dining room; have
tacked sheets over the walls. It
will be weeks before we can get
the rest of the house fit to use.
Now’, Helen, I’m going to ask
something of you and Warren,
which I want you to feel free to
answ’er frankly. You remember
you once invited Alice to make
you a visit. Do you think you
could let her come now? Tf I
could only get her away from here
for a few weeks it would mean
so much to us all. She has not
been w’ell all winter, and the
horror of this has told on her
fearfully. But if you feel that it
would not be convenient, and
that I am asking too much, please
do not hesitate to say so.
Lovingly,
AUNT EMMA.
Helen Is Rebellious.
No, it was NOT fair! The rtiore
Helen read the letter the more re
bellious she felt. If Alice must get
away, why could she not visit Carrie
or some of the other relatives? They
were all better able to have her.
It was all very well for Aunt Emma
to write that they must not hesitate to
say so if it w r ere not convenient, but
she knew they would not say that.
Besides the box, Warren had sent a
check—that thought kept rankling.
Why had ho not told her? How
much had he sent? And still his
Aunt Emma expected them to da
more!
Then Helen felt suddenly ashamed
of her attitude. Was she getting
hard and unsympathetic and selfish?
Should she be glad to help these rela
tives of Warren’s who had been
through such a terrible tragedy and
had lost practically everything?
For the rest of the day Helen’s
thoughts and feelings were most
complex. Her real desire to be gen
erous and helpful was mingled with
the rankling rebellion about it all.
She had met Alice only once, about
two years before, and then she had
been a very pretty but rather vain
and frivolous girl of about eighteen.
Helen knew that as the only child,
both Aunt Emma and Uncle George
had petted and pampered her beyond
words. And to have this spoiled
young woman on one’s hands for an
indefinite visit was not a cheerful
prospect.
Must Send a Check.
Helen restrained her impulse to tell
Warren about it as soon as he came
home, for she wanted him to have
his dinner unworried. But after
ward when he was settled in the
library, she handed him the letter
with a quiet,
‘‘Here’s a letter 1 got from your
Aunt Emma to-day.”
He read it without comment, put
it down on the table and then gazed
frowningly out of the window'. Several
moments passed and still he did not
speak.
“What do you think we ought to
do, dear,” ventured Helen,' finally.
Without answering Warren rose
and strode up and down the room,
his hands in his pockets, frowning
down on the floor. He was plainly
much upset.
“Suppose we’ll have to let her come.
Don’t see how W'e can refuse, do
you?”
“No, I suppose we can’t.” w’eakly.
“And I’ll have to send a check for
her fare, too.”
“Oh, will we have to do that? Why
surely, Warren, they won’t expect
that!”
“Well, they’ve lost everything,
haven’t they? Uncle George wrote me
that all the stock in the store w’as
ruined, and he had only fire insur
ance—nothing to cover this.”
“But you just sent them a check,
didn’t you?” longing to ask how'
much it had been.
“Oh, they’ll have used that. Well,
W’e’re in for it, I guess. You’ll have
to W’rite her to come on. Say I’ll send
a check for her ticket. But by
George, I’ve had a bad month, and 1
can tell you this doesn’t come easy.”
Helen Writes the Letter.
“Oh, dear, I’m so sorry?” Helen
stroked his arm in tender sympathy,
“but think how’ much better *bff w’e
are than so many—those poor people
out there w’ho’ve lost everything—
whose homos and families have been
swept away. At least w'e have our
swept away. At least we have our
home and each other.”
“Huh, w r ell 1 don’t think that’s so
blamed much. And now w f e’ve got her
coming on here. If any one thinks I’ve
got a cinch—well, they’re welcome to
my job. I’m not any too keen on it,
I can tell you that. Now if you’re
going to write that letter, you’d better
get at it.”
“Oh, Warren, do I have to write it?
Hadn’t you better?”
“She wrote you, didn’t she? You’re
the one has to answer.”
“What shall I'say?” going reluc
tantly over to the desk. “1 can’t truth
fully write we’ll be glad to have her
come.”
“Well, you’re pretty good at lying—
so lay it on thick. If we’re going
to do the thing at all, we might as
well do it up right.”
“When shall I say for her to come?”
helplessly.-
“As soon as she wants to. No use
putting it off.”
Helen wrote steadily for several
moments.
“Will this do?” reading aloud.
“Dear Aunt Emma—Well be
very glad to have Alice visit us.
We know how’ difficult t' ings
must be for you and are giad of
this opportunity to help. I have
just talked It over with Warren,,
and he agrees with me that it will
be the best thing for Alice. We
will do everything possible to
make he,r visit a pleasant one
and help her to forget the fear
ful ordeal she has been through.
“Warren says tell you he will
send a check for her fare in a few
days. Let us know when to ex
pect her.
“Affectionately, your niece,
“HELEN.”
“I'm—m, that’ll do, l suppose.”
Helen folded the letter and put it
into the envelope thoughtfully.
“Dear, we're not doing it very
cheerfully, are we? 1 suppose we
oughtn’t to feel so mean about it.”
“Huh, we deserve a lot of credit
for doing it at all. You think people
do such things cheerfully? Take it
from me that nine-tenths of the so-
called ‘unselfish, generous, charitable’
deeds are done a darn sight more be
grudgingly than we’re doing this.
Here, give me that letter—I’ll mail
it now.”
Recognized It.
A certain London clergyman who had
been traveling in Greece found himself
compelled to stay the night at a monas
tery on Mount Athos. The welcome was
warm, but the food execrable, in par
ticular the soup, which the guest could
hardly force himself to swallow. Being
a classical scholar, his knowledge of
ancient Greek helped him to some un
derstanding of the monks, who spoke
the widely-different modern tongue, and
he was astonished to hear that the un
palatable soup was an English dish.
“English!” cried one of the monks,
adding that an English sailor had been
there not long before and recognized it.
‘“What did he call it?" asked the
clergyman.
The monk had to think for a moment
before he could recollect the strange
English name of that soup. Ah! he had
it. It was “bees’ly muck!”
By FRANCES L. GARSIDE.
A GIRL who lives in the moun
tains writes from the depths
of her trouble heart.
T am a young girl of eighteen,
and am in love with a young man
of twenty-five who lives in the city.
He loves me in return and has asked
me to marry him. I know that I
am just a mountain girl who lives in
a little town. If he takes me to the
city, where his folks are well-to-do, \
1 know they will be ashamed of me,
and also of him. Can you tell me
how I can learn the city life and
look and dress like a city lady?
“MOUNTAIN GIRL.”
Heaven forbid that I should do a
thing so monstrous. If by any
thought or suggestion I ever influ
enced any little girl from the coun
try "to learn city life and look and
dress like a city lady,” then may my
punishment be swift and sure! It
could not be worse than mv deserts.
She loves this man with a single
ness of purpose, and with her whole
heart, he doesn’t love him for what
such an alliance may bring her in
social position or financial returns.
Hie will not give him a heart that is
divided with any other man.
She Likes Mountain Air.
She is pure and sweet and whole-
some, like the mountain air she has
always breathed, and her love bears
the mark of every true woman’s love:
Humility. She does not question if
he is good enough for her, but if she
is good enough for him, and would
make herself over to match what
she dreams might be his ideals.
After she has lived in the city
a while she will want to make him
over! I wonder if he appreciates the
treasure he is winning!
If L hoped to make a “city lady"
of her, I would introduce her to every
deception beginning with the powder
can and rouge pot, and ending Chaos
alone knows where.
T would accompany her to a dress
maker, and assist in tearing down
every conception she has of decency
and modesty. She must wear her
skirts vulgarly tight, and immodestly
short, and the neck out indecently
low.
She must take off those sensible
shoes that serve for purposes of com
fort and protection, and put on
pumps and silk hose that will cause
the eyes of all men to follow’ her,
that being the beginning and end of
all ambition ©f the “city lady.”
1 would give her a hat that is a
torture to the head under it, and a
torment to all w-ho sit near, but that
is indispensable because its gro-
tesqueness attracts. I would, in brief,
take the care in outfitting her that
a sign painter observes in painting
a cigarette sign: Anything to catch
the eyes of the men!
Will His Folks Be Proud?
I wonder when she has been made
into a “city lady,” and every charm
of nature has been tortured, sup
pressed, pinched, squeezed and paint
ed into all that is hideous and un
natural, If “his” folks will be proud
of her. If they are. then they are
l he kind of relations one is better
| off for not knowing.
I wonder if the man w’ho loves the
I mountain girl will love her just as
: much w’hen she has become a victim
of the prevailing city life epidemic.
] I doubt it, and because I doubt it I
want this little mountain girl to
bring to her city home so much <*f
the strength and purity of her native
hills that the hypocrisy of the un
natural city life will never find room.
The history of this great, old world
j will prove that ever since man left
his mark upon it, the rugged, the
strong and the upright have come
from the mountains, and the weak
and shifting and indecisive have come
j from the plains.
I do not w’ant this little girl to
become contaminated by the lives of
the dwellers in the plains. I want
her to be always honest and fearless
and sincere. To be natural, to be
herself, to be grateful that she was
in the beginning, “just a mountain
girl.”
For she has a heritage worth more
than any superficial knowTedge of
what makes up a “city lady.”
This is evidently a situation requiring ac
tion rather than words. It has happened in
many a household. What would you do if you
were one of the parties involved? Think i.
over and talk it over with your friends. You
may be in the same predicament some time.
ADVICE TO THE LOVELORN
LAI
And Everybody
Laughs With You
The Great Comic Sect
Hearst’s
r
Useful to Know.
To prevent sausages bursting w’hen
being fried, first, prick them with a
skewer or fork, then pulngo into boiling
water, and allow ttyem to boil slowly
for ten fifteen minutes, according to
the size, after which drain and place
in a hot frying pan, and fry till a nice
brow’n.
Raspberry Cream.
Take one pint of tablet raspberry
jelly, dissolve In half a pint of hot
w’ater; w’hen cool, tako half a pint of
cold milk, to which add four cents’
worth of cream: stir together and pour
into the jelly, stirring all the time; stand
in a cool place. This is a delicious aft
ernoon teatable dainty.
If You Like
Coffee
You’ll Love
LET THE NEXT DISPUTE END IT.
D ear miss Fairfax.
I am 20 and am very much in
love with a young lady of is. We
have been engaged for nearly one
year. She and I both have a very
high temper and are very inde
pendent, whleh causes us to dis
agree and fuss and hurst up for
a short lime only. Now, I think
the world and all of this young
lady, and ofttimes try to give her
advice in the right direction, as I
thin* because she is young and
has never had the experience of
love. For the love 1 have for her
I have stuck to her through all
anger and tears.
Now, our engagement has been
put off for the second time; once
on account of (I think) this girl
being the main support of her
family, and her mother p' rsuaded
her out of the notion, telling her
to put it off a while longer; and
then, when we had a little dis
agreement a few weeks ago, i
quietly left her, but did not tell
her that I w’ould not be back,
thinking that perhaps she would
let me hear from her the next day,
as she usually calls me over the
phone; but, on account of her in
dependence, she failed to call me.
Finally, her conscience made her
speak to me, so she called me over
the phone and told me she was in
the wrong and wanted us to try it
once more, which, of course, 1
gladly accepted and went back.
Would you go on with the young
lady and continue my love and
affection for her, and in the wind
up get married on the day she
wishes, after she haH already been
the cause of two broken engage
ments? TROUBLED.
Your very mature way of question
ing the girl’s good sense Is amusing
You say she is 18 and too young to
know better; and you are only 20!
Moreover, I don’t like your compla
cency. You are too quick to think
she is in the wrong.
For her sake, let the next dispute be
the last. I am sure she can do better.
GIVE HIM UP.
D ear miss fair fax;
I am going with a young man
29 years of age. I am 22, and
have been going with him ever
since I met him. two years ago.
During this period of time he has
claimed he loved me with all his
“heart and soul.” This friend is
fond of drink; otherwise he is
nearly perfect. Some time ago he
told me he thought if we were
married we would never be happy,
and he didn’t think he was good
enough for me. I agreed that we
stop going together, but he didn't
stop. He has continued to call me
up and continues to call.
DISTRESSED.
His fondness for drink, makes him
most undesirable, though otherwise he
may be nearly perfect.
He admits his unfitness for you.
Agree with h&ft, and give him up.
NOT IF YOU LOVE HIM.
D ear miss Fairfax;
I am a young girl of 19,
and am di >ly in love with a gen
tleman 20 years my senior. This
gentleman calls upon me every
evening, and is always very af
fectionate.
y o?r> n-yern.— r» ♦r> tb’«* ""mtlomnn
she went away and met a young
man and became engaged to him.
Since her return she has been
writing asking me to keep her
company just the same, as the
man she is engaged to is far
away, and she will not see him
for maybe six months. Do you
think it fight for me to go with
her? J. W.
Most decidedly not. She Is not true
in thought to her fiance in asking it
and Is not fair to you.
QUIT CUESS>,NG.
T~)EAR MISS FAIRFAX:
I am in love, I guess, with a
girl who is of the same age* as I.
When in company she sesms to
admire mo, but when by ourseiVes
she seems to not be as sociable.
What must I do to win her love?
IN SUSPENSE.
She probably doubts your sincerity,
just as I doubt it. Perhaps, also, when
you are alone with her she is afraid
to show her admiration, thinking you
may he too presumptuous.
By Beatrice Fairfax
SHE IS RIGHT.
TVRAR MISS FAIRFAX:
I am a young man of 18,
keeping company w’ith a young
woman two years my senior. We
are infatuated with ea.ch other.
Hut my mother does not approve
of it, for the simple reason that
I am too young to keep com
pany with any as yet. C\ T. H.
A boy of 18 is too young to play
with love. Give up this nonsense and
devote more tirpe to jour w’ork. If
she is the girl for you, this is not th*
time, and both you and she will infr*
prove in the waiting.
HER MANNER WILL SHOW IT.
HEAR MISS FAIRFAX:
I am a young man 18 years
of age, and like very much a girl
one-half year my junior. I see
her very oft* n. T do not know-
whet her she ILNjs me not, but
w\ou!d like to find ot«L
J. G. G. Q.
That is easy to learn, as girls are
not « vor in concealing their like*
or dislikes. But don’t make the ef
fort. You are both too young.
aoTrt&tt
ChmdL
d>
When a woman suffering frorp some form A feminf. e
disorder is told that an operation is necessary, it of course
frightens her.
The very thought of the hospital operating table and thu
surgeon’s knife strikes terror to her heart, and no wonder.
It is quit'* true that some of these troubles may reach a stage
where an operation is the mly resource, bu thousands of
women have avoided the necessity of an operatio by taking
Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound. This .act is
attested by the grateful letter's they write to us after heir
health has been restored.
These Two Women
Cary, Maine. —“I feel it a duty I
owe to all suffering women to tell
what Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable
Compound did for me. One year ago
I found myself a V rible sufferer.
I had pains in both sides and such a
soreness 1 could scarcely staighten
up at times. My back ached, I had
no appetite and was so nervous I
~ * ’— 1 T w-onld be so
Prove Our Claim.
all my own work for a family of
four. I shall always feel that I owe
my pood health to your medicine.”
—Mrs. IIaywabd So webs, Cary, Me.
Charlotte, N. C—“I was in bad
health for two years, with pa; in
both sides and was very nervou.,. If
I even lifted a chair it would cause
a hemorrhage. I had a growth which
■’ ■ ) ~tor said was a tumor and X
---.Io.r j had
On c