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A Letter to a
Wronged Wife
“WITCHCRAFT’
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Copyright, 1913, by Amerioan-.Journal-
Examiner.
@
By Nell Brinkley
!By ELLA WHEELER WILCOX
^Copyright, 1913, by American-Jour
nal-Examiner.)
B . ELI EVE rr*e, dear madam, the
woman who la an absolutely
wrongc-d wife does not ask any
one for nympathy or advice, because
the wound la too deep to be probed by
word*. ajKl It la hidden from night. |
It Is only the surface Scratch which
lies open to the gaze of every eye.
You nay your trouble has destroy
your nervous systefa and made you
Irritable, cro»s and Irresponsible in
yoirr actions
Ane you quite sure you were not
afflicted with some of these peculiar
ities before you were wronged?
There was once a wife who believed
her husband to be loyal and true in
a sex sense; but she continuously
nagged him about small matters.
She was Irritable and faultfinding,
and she was a poor housekeeper and
careless In her personal habits. Life
under the same roof with her wau
purgatory.
Suddenly, when both husband and
wife were middle aged, she found
him infatuated with another woman.
Then she lifted her voice and cried
aloud that she had been such a good
wife—so faithful, so self-sacrificing,
so devoted, so loving—and here w is
her reward.
And no one could make her believe
she had been the one who hewed th«
wood, and shaped and built her own
cross.
Sometimes ihe absolutely good and
noble wife IS neglected and misused.
The most adorable woman the writer
of this ever> knw was a misused and
neglected wife.
Every Indignity.
She had suffered every indignity
possible from a small-souled brute
of a man. Yet she had made her
home a heaven for her children, and
ahe had developed the most wonder
ful jKrise and strength of character
which made her the admiration of all
who knew' her./
After her children were grown, and
in homo® of their own, she left the
man; but she had believed It to be for
the best to save her children the
•caudal of a domestic earthquake
while they were small. And no one
ever heard her mention her husband,
save with dignity. While a woman
remains under a man’s roof she
should follow the old saying:
"If you are going to PUT IJP with
a situation, then SHUT IIP.” If you
find the situation impossible, then
GET OUT; and when it is necessary,
talk; but only when it Is necessary.
If you find yourself obliged to ro-
rnatn under the roof of the man who
has wronged you. try and occupy
yourself every hour of the day with
work and duties and distractions
which keep you from brooding. Take
an interest in your personal appear
ance; surprise him by growing in at
tractiveness, and increase your circle
of friends.
Don’t Look the Martyr.
Daysey Mayme
And Her Folks
By PRANCES L. GARSIDE.
Do not for an hour let him see you
looking like a martyr
Female martyrs are never attrac
tive t,o you. Keep busy, and never
allow yourself to be led into quar
rels
Think about others as much as you
can. and as little as possible of your
own sorrows.
Sorrow well borne is a friend ami
a teacher, imparting a sense of kin
ship and sympathy Put away any
idea that you have been specially se
lected by fate for a crushing woe.
Consider, rather, that you have been
made one of Clod s intimate family by
being shown into the chamber of
sorrow.
Feel yourself kin to all the sorrow
ing world, and cast out bitterness.
All this 1 say to you knowing you
have not reached a state of suffering
which paralyzes the faculties and
makes words useless. For if you had
you could not have asked for sym
pathy or spoken of your trouble. The
woman who really loves and has
really been wronged can only talk
with God.
Snap Shots
By LILLIAN LAUFERTY.
A cobweb, a fancy, a glimmer, a glance.
Oh, Life is a bit of illusion;
And you'll find that its changes will
lead you a dance.
And variety's self will trim up and en
hance;
As in change you move on. why you
have to advance;
So. Dull Sameness ! drink your . .in
fusion!
MAIDEN MUSINGS.
Life is. the one real continuous per
formance. On its program you will find
no break between present and i>ast -or
future and present.
Hide them from sight so completely
That the world will never dream
half—
Fasten the strong box securely.
Then sit on the lid and laugh.
—Selected.
T HOSE who have seen the paintings
of angels by Daysey Mayme Ap.
pleton, so cleverly done that one
can hear the swish of their sii^
petticoats as they fly through the sky
need not for a moment imagine tha-
painting is the sum total of her talent*
Her versatility is boundless, her re.
sourcefulness without limitation, and
her faith knows no disquieting depres
sion.
“I never.” she says with a fine show
of spirit, "permit myself to become dis
couraged, finding stimulus for a faint
ing spirit in the women's magazines. 1
know that if all else failed I could read
these splendid articles on remunerative
occupations for girls, and start out .. t
any time with determination and a*
pickle and in a very brief period I
would be owning and running an im
mense pickle factory.”
She had read in one of these Pillars
of the Home an article on how to make
a quilt that would be such a clever
imitation of one of the kind made bv
our great-grandmothers that its value
would be priceless.
"With an outlay of five cents for
thread,” the splendid article read, "an*
ten cents for bright colored calico, 1
girl can make a quilt that will command
thousands of dollars."
It sounded good, and Daysey Mayme
borrowed the money from her mother,
laid the foundation of the family for
tune on a dry goods counter, and began
work.
She selected a pattern of a bright
purple pumpkin trailing its leaves of
pale blue across a white field,* with a
big pink sunflower in the center. Show
ing that disregard of the colors of na
ture that proved our foremothers were
so courageous.
She sewed many days, leaving the
calls of other duties for her mother
to answer, and at last the quilt was
done, and Daysey Mayme exhibited it
to her family and friends with as happy
a countenance as if a tub of honey had
been upset on her soul.
True, she found no buyers, but her
great resourcefulness at once devised a
means whereby it may become a source
of perpetual income to her family.
"I will hire it out," she said proudly,
"to cover what threatens to be a lugu
brious deathbed. When filled with
mournful thoughts over parting with
the dear ones left behind; when tor
mented with a fear of what the future
may have in store, the dying one will
see my quilt and forget all else. He
will at once be seized with mirth and
go dancing into the next world with his
crown on one ear and filled with the
wildest of merriment.
"If there is any one among you who
fears a lugubrious deathbed and who
will name a date the quilt may be
rented at a nominal fee.”
\!
To-c
On the Otherhand.
A COMMON enough court trial,
even in these, our enlight
ened times.
THE ROBED JUSTICE, a much
injured, woeful and wrathful young
man whom anybody can see has
been conjured ‘‘scandalous." be
witched into lightheadedness;
circed into following will-o’-the-
wisps; spellbound by an enchanting
ej'e.
THE OFFENDER, a soft, sweet
creature—perhaps the saving, busy
girl who hikes out gallantly to a
shop or an office desk every morn
ing. blue-skied or rainy—perhaps
the little aristocrat who labors at
riding in Grant Park o’ rr nings
and serving tea afternoons in a
boudoir whose amphora vases three
peach trees were flayed of their
pinky blossoms to fill. Anyway, it's
a creature that anybody can see is
a WITCH from the last feathery
curl on the crow n of her head to the
strap of her ’broidered slipper.
THE COUNSEL FOR THE DE
FENSE, a small fat person with a
powerful tongue and eloquent eyes;
with white wings that are found
sometimes to be slightly singed,
who ALWAYS wins his case. He
never proves that his client isn’t a
witch—that isn’t it—but he always
gets a light sentence—Oh! kisses or
something like that. A thousand
or so!
The geography class was in session,
and the teacher pointed a finger to the 1
map on the classroom wall.
"Here, on one hand, we have the p
far-stretching country of Russia.
Willie,” she asked, looking over her
pupils and settling on one small boy
at the end of the class, "what do we
see on the other hand?"
Willie, hopeless with fright, hesitated |
a moment, and then answered, "Warts.”
What the Lecturer Said
C OUSIN FANNIE felt too ill to
get up last Friday morning ami
mother became alarmed quite
needlessly, 1 think and sent for lJr.
Tucker. When I recall that 1 have
often stayed In bed mornings because
of severe headaches and that mother
has never even thought of calling a
doctor for me I am forced to wonder
why she should have been ho much
more exercised over Cousin Fannie
than over her own daughter.
When Dr. Tucker saw Fannie he said
that he knew she had been working
too hard. He questioned her persist
ently until she told him that he day
before she had become fatigued because
of some unusual sweeping and the
polishing of the extra leaves of our din
ing table, which were so dusty ami bad
ly scarred that even oil and floor wax
rubbed in scarcely made them present
able.
"Kindly inform me." he salt! in that
brusque and dictatorial way of his "why
it was necessary for you to wear your
self out with that work?"
Cousin Fannie only sighed, and as
the doctor seemed determined to have
an answer. 1 said with dignity: "My
club, the IMx Amies, met here last night,
and according to our rules we gathered
around the long hare table. Our maid
was out and. of course, Cousin Fannie
and I had to make all the preparations
for the meeting ."
Fashion is a matter of extremes; so
euppose you are most particular about
yours extreme neatness, extreme suita
bility and extreme good taste!
Proof of Value
A Great Chance.
Though Cousin Fannie insisted that
she was merely tired. Dr. Tucker or
dered her to keep her bed for several
days and Instructed me to see that noth
ing interfered with her securing a com
plete rest.
of the time-tested,.world-tried, home
remedy—proof of its power to relieve
quickly, safely, surely, the head
aches, the sour taste, the poor
spirits and the fatigue of biliousness
•—will be found in every dose of
BEECHAM’S
PILLS
Sttid evarywhere. In boxes, 10c., 2Ac.
KODAKS
BMMyUflMiffi The B**t Finishing and Enlirg-
l"tj That Can Br Produced "
Fa«in,*n Film* *nd ooro-
1 yleu- •took aruai mu suppllt's.
- Tee for out-of-town ruatomera.
Send for Catalog and Price List
A. K. HAWKES CO. K D ° t D P A T K
—1* Whitehall St.. Atlanta. Ga.
"By the way. Miss Lucile.” he said,
ay> he was leaving. "Mrs. Van Rens
selaer Ik going to have a drawing room
talk by Gregory, the famous English
psychologist, next Monday afternoon on
The Dangers of Unselfishness.' I be
lieve you would enjoy it If you l.ke I’ll
ask Mrs. Van Rensselaer, who is an old
friend of mine, for a card for you."
My first impulse was to decline the
card, for the subject of the lecturer
did not appeal to me. However, it
seemed a pity to misa such an excel
lent opportunity of going to the ex
elusive Mrs. Van Rensselaer's beauti
ful house. I accepted graciously. Af
terward 1 was glad that I had accepted
for the costumes 1 saw at the lecture
were quite the smartest 1 had seen this
spring One charming gown gave me
a splendid idea for a frock for myself,
which we can easily make at home out
of a lovely old soft lavender brocade
that grandmother has had put away
ever since the Civil War. I think it will
| divert Cousin Fannie to have some in
| terestlng work
The Iscturer was really fascinating
1 and I was deeplj impressed with his
i eatment of the subject. He main
} talned that there was no particular
I credit due to the unselfish member wn
j is to be found in nearly every family
group. Mother is everlastingly remind
ing me of Cousin Fannie’s unselfishness
and trying to burden me with a sense
of gratitude that I now see should not
be demanded of me.
What He Said.
The lecturer said that the unselfish
one* are as a rule blank pages at the
beginning, and that their character
istics are produced and developed by
the selfishness of the more decided
people about them. They are always at
the disposal of others. They are
drained for sympathy from morning
till night. They think other people’s
thoughts, about other people's trou
bles, until they actually have no
thought of their own to think, and
they lose all individuality and origi
nality. By their unvarying unselfish
ness they become a menace in the
family by making others selfish in
their dependence.
As l listened to the speaker I real
ized the danger l had been in. Dr.
Tucker must have thought that I
greatly needed that lecture or he
would not have troubled to get me
an invitation. He has seen when he
has come to the house from time to
time that 1 am constantly giving up
my own plans and wishes for others
He doubtless agrees with the lecturer
that such self-abnegation is inimical
to the development of character.
As 1 left the Van Rensselaers’ house
fairly trembled to think how dread
ful it would he if my capacity for en
joyment should be atrophied. I felt
that I must at once begin to gratify
my taste for pleasure. 1 had intended
to buy Cousin Fannie some flowers
and then go home and pass the even
ing reading to her, as mother had
hinted that Cousin Fannie was dis
pirited, but it now occurred to me
that for her sake as well as mine ii
would be much better for me to seek
some amusement.
I went over to La Salle Street, in
tending to go to father's office and
coax him to stay downtown and take
me to one of the hotels to dinner.
However, os I was*passing the build
ing where Carl Bates' office Is he
came out of the door.
"Why, Lucile." he said, "aren't you
lost?"
1 laughingly told him my plan and
he said gayl.v: "Let me be a father
to you this evening. We’ll dine down
town and go to the theater, too. if
you’ll pardon my business clothes
Conte. let’s telephone your mother.
Of course 1 agreed, for 1 wasn’t at
all sure that father would stay down
town. He has such a stubborn pref
erence for home dinners. Carl and I
had a delightful evening and I was
awfully relieved to find that my
capacity for enjoyment had suffered
no injury.
Advice to the
Lovelorn
By BEATRICE FAIRFAX.
A DISAPPOINTMENT.
T~A E A R MISS FA IRFAX ;
I w'ish you would please ex
plain the following for me. I re
ceived it in a letter from a
young man and would like to know
what he meant. "May I some time
tell you about the air castle that
is about to be dismantled? I fear
this week will end such foolishness,
if this he the true status of such
things." ROBERTA.
I think he has been disappointed, and
wants to tell you about it. He built
an air castle, and realizes that it has
no foundation in fact, and must he torn
down.
Just what that air castle concerned—
Love or Fame or Business—I can not
surmise.
r*DT NECESSARILY.
p\EAR MISS FAIRFAX:
I have been corresponding with
a woman of about twenty-six, dur
ing the last year. 1 am nineteen
and a high school boy. and feel very
much attached to her. She writes
to me about once a month, and al
ways asks me to tell her what I am
doing. Don’t you think it is all
right for her to write to me. and do
you think she is very much inter
ested in me? R. N.
* HUNTING A HUSBAND By VIRGINIA TERHUNE VAN DE WATER
She may be interested in you as she
would be in the welfare of a young
brother, and you must not suppose it is
anything else. For this reason: You
are only nineteen, a schoolboy, and
should he interested in your studies to
the exclusion of all thoughts of love.
Chinks Sometimes.
She—Ah, marriage confers such peace
of mind’
He Yes. I know most married men
1. forever getting it from their wives
She What. prat
lie—Piece of mind.
Household Suggestions
On a cold, wet night every one likes
to see a blazing fire, but this generally
means heavy coal bills. A good plan is
to place a quantity of chalk at the back
of each grate, in equal proportion to the
coals. This throws out a great heat
and lasts quite a long time. It always
pays in the end to buy good coal, for
not only does it make k a clearer fire, but
it leaves fewer ashes. A handful of
common salt thrown into the fire occa
sionally makes a cheerful blaze and
lessens the consumption of the coal.
T HE wedding was over. Amid a
flutter of excitement among the
sentimental bridesmaids. and
much showing off of authority by the
best man and ushers. Robert Maynard
and his newly-made wife had left the
church, and the vestibule was now full
of chattering, laughing guests, waiting
for their carriages and automobiles.
Beatrice had sat with Helen during
the service. The widow had heard the
minister’s words without emotion; she
had watched the progress of the cere
mony dry-eyed, while Helen wep\ co
piously "because it was all so lovely.”
She had declined, with ill-concealed
impatience, Helen’s offer to take her to
the reception at the Damerel house in
her carriage. She had come to the wed
ding only to please Miss Damerel, Be
atrice said. She did not intend to be
bored further by having to say anything
in the way of congratulations to the (at
present) happy pair. That sort of thing
was wearisome to all but those closely
concerned—none of whom would miss
her.
She was making her way through the
vestibule of the church, intent on get
ting out and away from the crowd as
soon as possible, when she heard her
name spoken and glanced up startled.
Dr. Yeager stood before her, fault
lessly arrayed, and looking very self-
possessed and handsome.
"I though that perhaps you would
like to know' how Paul is getting along,”
he remarked.
Her Voice Trembled.
"Since my last attempt to obtain in
formation was so evidently unwelcome,
I am not sure that l have any interest
in the matter," she retorted, her voice
trembling childishly.
"Well, that is what 1 told Paul,’’ an
swered Dr. Yeager, eyeing her keenly.
"But he had an idea that you would care
to know that he is better. He gave me
this note to hand to you. He is still
weak—very weak but he insisted on
writing it. By the way,” as she did
not answer. ”1 have told them at the
hospital that if you call there at any
time you are to be allowed to see the
patient. Good morning!”
Beatrice took the envelope without
speaking, bowed in return to the
physician's farewell, and left the
church.
She walked rapidly down the sunny
street, her heart beating in time to
her swiftly moving feet. At the cor
ner she stood for a moment and opened
the note. Only a few trembling, wra-
vering. penciled lines on a single sheet
of paper, but they brought tears to her
eyes.
“Thank you for the asters. I knew
they were from you. P. M.”
"He knew they were from me!" whis
pered Beatrice. She walked up the
street in the brilliant sunshine.
The doubts and unhappiness of the
past w'eeks were falling from her.
Once or twice she smiled gently. She
strolled on, as in a dream, Faul May
nard’s little note held tightly in her
hand, his face floating before her
tear-dimme*d eyes.
How far she went she did not know,
hut she suddenly came to a full
knowledge of her surroundings be
fore a huge building of warm red
brick.
Sparrows squabbled on the wfndow
sills and white-capped nurses passed
now r and again before the windows.
There was no surprise in Beatrice’s
mind whe#i she recognized the hos
pital where Paul Maynard lay HI. She
knew’ now that this had been the
place toward w r hich she had been
walking for the past hour. She en
tered the building without further he3*
itation.
An attendant led her to Paul's door
and she entered. The sun streamed
through the windows and lay in a golden
band on the floor and close to the feet
of the dark-haired man stretched in a
reclining chair, his back toward her.
A sweet-faced nurse came swiftly for
ward .
He Is Much Better.
"T am Mrs. Minor." said Beatrice,
softly. "I just came in to ask how Mr
Maynard is."
"Oh, he is much better," the nurse
assured her, in a low voice. "He is
asleep just now, but he is expecting you.
Will you wait?”
"No." stammered the visitor, ‘‘but I
please tell him I called to ask after J
him, and—”
"He is awake now," Interrupted the |
nurse, as the dark head moved a little
She went noiselessly to her patient's I
side, and spoke to him gently. Then |
she motioned to Beatrice to go to him,
and, turning, left the room.
As in a dream, Beatrice stood by the I
sick man for a second, silent. His I
poor hands were still wrapped in band* I
ages, and a crimson scar glowed angrily I
on one side of his pale forehead, but I
I his suffering had lent him a certair. I
| pure beauty that had never been his |
I before.
"I only came—" began Beatrice; tbec I
stopped. But the man smiled up at |
her and held out his arms. With a lit
tle sob she knelt beside him and buried J
her face on his breast.
"My love!” he whispered; ‘‘my love I
Velveteen which has served its pur
pose as a dress or blouse should be pre
served and made into polishing cloth
In this connection velveteen is almost
as good as a chamois leather, and can
not only be used for obtaining a tine
polish on sat in wood and mahogany fur
niture. but as a means of brightening
silver and plated goods. When soiled
the velveteen may be successfully
cleaned by washing it in a soapy lather.
CASTOR IA
Robbin^/the Dining Room
to“Pay” the. Kficnen
"hJO wonder butter is so high.
• » I-
Particular women who are
loath to use lard or cooking but
ter in their cakes and fine pastry,
use table butter. With butter at
the price you have to pay for it,
that’s downright extravagance. Cottolene
is just as good as butter for pastry; for
frying, it is better. And Cottolene costs no
more than lard. Moreover,
Cottolene
For Infants and Children.
The Kind You Have Always Bought
Bears the
Signature of
is richer, and two-thirds of a pound of it will
go as far as a full pound of butter or lard.
And lard and Cottolene are not to be mentioned in the same
breath, for Cottolene is a vegetable product, healthful, always safe
— and makes digestible, rich,
but never greasy food.
Remember, Cottolene is better
than butter, better than lard
—and much more economical.
TRY THIS RECIPE:
■Fried Oysters-
Use l.trge oysters; parboil a moment
to dry out some of the juice to pre
vent .pattering during the frying. Lay
then in seasoned bread crumbs, beaten
egg and again in bread crumbs, then
brown a few at a time in deep, smok
ing-hot Cottolene.
Made only by
THE N. K. FAIRBANtt COMPANY
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