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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