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I* I I and fell he't I ii i 1 1 A Letter to a Wronged Wife “WITCHCRAFT’ &Sh 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 « .. 11 n i n— VOU &l my lil convin morroi what 1 >ou in Stan him c step 1 man. ed, wl aJ she felt th cause Aunt that tl to mai Whe pcsitio he ust and tl his rel lent te he tvai ter-in- ing of She r The 1 to ope pale v face w Whe Mrs. X •‘I k my ch more should to hav can w< it? Vi Ann* and th der fin “The age co no mo Mr. M unjust, And “Yes found Annett silent. . "I k living,’ that P now, b have g shared and lai much throug have l am no “I ki have li Dno’t You di husbar to yoi him th would ‘‘Net what s come t me clo the co our lif to part “I fe You S] years i "And you th “Givi Mrs. she d d looked with te “Do lv. “th; those d, of then-