Newspaper Page Text
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A Letter to a
Wronged Wife
Bv ELLA WHEELER WILCOX.
pvrlght. 191'!. by American-Jour
nal-Examinor.)
B ELIEVE me, dear madam, the
woman who ts an absolutely
wronged wife does not ask any
i e for sympathy or advice, because
wound Is too deep to be probed by
*, and it is hidden from sight,
l* is only the surfaoe scratch which
<« open to the gaze of every eye.
Tou say } our trouble has destroyed
vour nervous system and made you
irritable, cross and irresponsible in
your actions.
A-e you quite sure you were not
■oil with some of these peculiar-
• before you were wronged?
Tl-ere was once a wife who believed
e husband to be loyal and true iu
sense; but she continuously
, 1 him about small matters.
was Irritable and faultfinding.
«] ■■ was a poor housekeeper and
h.->ss tn her personal habits. Life
.nder the same roof with her was
purgatory.
Si: Manly, when both husband and
■ if,, were middle aged, she found
in infatuated with another woman.
-| she lifted her voice and crle 1
id that she had been such a good
r ■ faithful, so self-sacrificing,
< . ... ,-oted, so loving—and here was
her reward.
And no one could make her believe
»ne rad been the one who hewed tile
wood, and shaped and built her own
ross.
s ir'times the absolutely good and
if,; IS neglected and misused,
rhe most adorable woman the writer
f this every Unw was a misused and
neglected wife.
“WITCHCRAFT’
Copyright, 1913, by American-Journal
Kxumlner.
4W
By Nell Brinkley
Every Indignity.
Si,r had suffered every indignity
.Mb ■ from a small-souled brute
f a man. Yet she had made her
a heaven for her children, and
she had developed the most wonder-
poise and strength of character
u i T made her the admiration of all
who knew her.
After her children were grown, and
homes of their own, she left the
man: but she had believed it to be for
, best to save her children the
scandal of a domestic earthquake
were small. And no one
ever heard her mention her husband,
save with dignity. While a woman
remain® under a man’s roof she
should follow the old saying:
If y.,u are going to PUT UP with
situation, then SHUT UP." If you
find tin situation Impossible, then
get OUT; and when it is necessary,
ilk: hut only when it Is necessary.
If you find yourself obliged to re
main 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
on interest in your personal appear-
sne- . surprise him by growing in at-
i ■■iveness, and increase your circle
uf friends.
Don't Look the Martyr.
Do not for an hour let him see you
looking like a martyr.
Female martyrs are never attrac-
' \” t«• you. Keep busy, and never
cl w vourself to be led into quar
rels.
Tliii 1 about others as much as you
;'ii. and as little as possible of your
own sorrows.
Sorin\ well borne is a friend and
a teacher, imparting a sense of kin
ship and sympathy. Put away any
• 'loa that you have been specially se
lf ud by fate for a crushing woe.
<'"ii ler, rather, that you have been
ii. ot on-- of God’s intimate family by
ng shown into the chamber of
sorrow.
I -1 yourself kin to all the sorrow-
it a world, and cast out bitterness.
All this I say to you knowing you
L've not reached a state of suffering
' hi, ji paralyzes the faculties and
tn nos words useless. For if yoti had
'"'i "idd 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.
Davsey Mayme
And Her Folks
By FRANCES L. GARSIDE.
T IP >81; who have seen the painting*
of angels by Paysey Mayme Ap
pleton. so cleverly done that one
can hear the swish of their silk
petticoats as they fly through the sky.
need not for a moment Imagine that
painting is the sum total of her talents
Ifcr 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. I
know that if all else failed 1 could read
these splendid articles on remunerative
occupations for girls, and start out a
any time with determination and a
pickle and in a very brief period 1
would be owning and running an Jm
mens© 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 clsve.r
Imitation of one of the kind mads by
our great-grandmothers that its value
would be priceless.
"With «n outlay of five cents for
thread," the splendid article read, "and
ten cents for bright colored calico, a
girl can make a quilt that will command
thousands of dollars."
It sounded good, and Dayaey 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
turo 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 wa*
don*. and Duysey Mayme exhibited it
to h*>r family and friends with as hfcppv
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 n
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 th© future
may have in store, the dying on© will
sc** my quilt and forget all else. Vie
will at once be seised with mirth and
go dancing into the next -world with hie
crown on one ear and filled with th©
wildest of merriment.
•*lf 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."
\ COM
r\ eve
COMMON enough court trial,
ren in these, our enlight
ened times.
THE ROBED JUSTICE, a much
injured, woeful and wrathful young
man whom anybody can see lias
been conjured "scandalous;" be
witched into lightheadedness;
circed into following will-o’-the-
wisps; spellbound by an enchanting
eye.
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’ mornings
and serving tea afternoons in a
boudoir whose amphora vases three
peach trees were flayed of their
pinky blossoms to till. Anyway, it’s
a creature that anybody can see is
« VYTTCH from*.he- last feathery
curl on the crown 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 singl'd,
who ALWAYS wins his ease. He
never proves that his client isn’t a
witch—that isn’t it—but he always
gets a Sight sentence—Oh! kisses or
something like that. A thousand
or so!
On the Otherhand.
The geography class was In session,
and the teacher pointed a finger to the
man on the classroom wall.
"Here, on one hand, we have the
( for-stretching country of Russia
! \Vtilie," she asked, looking over her
I pupils and settling on one small boy
! «it the end of the class, "what do we
I see on the other hand?"
Willie, hopeless with fright, Iiesitateii
I a moment, and then answered, "Warts
What the Lecturer Said
Snap Shots
By LILLIAN LAUFERTY.
>, a fancy, a glimmer, a glance.
11 Life is a bit of illusion:
ou’Jl find that its changes will
lead you a dance.
variety’s self will trim up and en
hance;
>' change- you move on. why you
ave to advance:
• !*:;11 Sameness—-1 drink your con
fusion!
MAIDEN MUSINGS.
the one real continuous per-
u: On its program you will find
‘" ei, k bin ween present and past—or
h '. ire and present.
1 Lien, from sight so complete ly
' 1 w orld will never dream
Half—
" ■' Fa strong box securely.
: " on the lid and laugh.
—Selected.
- is a matter of extremes; so
v ; , vou are most particular about
'Feme neatness, extreme suita-
anf l extreme good taste!
hoof of Value
the time-tested, world-tried, home
■“IM -proof of its power to relieve
naickly. safely, surely, the head*
rnes, the sour taste, the poor
-FF ? r ‘d fatigue of biliousness
1 be found in every dose of
BEEOHAM’S
PILLS
^^frywhere. In boxes, 10c., "5e.
_KODAKS
' The Best Finishing and Erlar?-
MpV* I ini Thut Can Be Produced.’’
Katun an Films and uoin-
p’.etr stork amateur nuppH ■».
ire for out-of-town cu"*''ni*r9.
- r 'd for Catalog and Price List.
A - K. HAWKES CO. K ° K D P \ K
~~ --Whitehall St.. Atlanta. Ga.
G OUSIX FANNIE felt too ill to
get up last Friday morning and
mother became alarmed—quite
needlessly, r think—and sent for Dr.
Tucker. When l 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 so much
more exercised over Cousin Fannie
than over her own daughter.
When Dr. Tucker saw r 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 and bad
ly scarred that even oil and floor wax
rubbed in scarcely made them present
able.
"Kindly inform me." he said in that
brusque and dictatorial way of his "why
it was necessary for you to wear .' our
self out with that work?"
Cousin Fannie only sighed, and as
the doctor seemed determined to have
an answer. I said with dignity: "My
club, the Dix Amies, met here last night,
and according to our rules we gathered
around the long bare table. Our maid
was out and. of course. Cousin Fannie
and I had to make all the preparations
for the meeting."
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.
"By the way, Miss Lueile,’’ he said,
as he was leaving. "Mrs. Van Rens
selaer is going to have a drawing room
talk by Gregory, the famous English
psychologist, next Monday afternoon on
‘The Dangers of Unselfishness.’ 1 be
lieve you would enjoy it. If you like 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 miss such an excel
lent opportunity of going to the ex
clusive Mrs. Van Rensselaer’s beauti
ful, house. 1 accepted graciously. Af
terward 1 was glad that I had accepted,
for the costumes I saw at the lecture
were quite the smartest 1 had seen this
spring. «>ne 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 awa>
ever since the Civil War. I think it will
divert Cousin Fannie to have some in
teresting work
\
and I was deeply Ir wssed with hit
itinent of the subject. He main
tained that i.xc,e to particula
credit due to the unselfish member wD
is to be found in nearly every famuj
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
ones are as a rule blank pages at the
beginning, and that their character
istics are produced and developed by
the selfishness vif 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 I listened to the speaker \ real
ized the danger I had been in. Dr. j
Tucker must have thought that 1
greatly needed that lecture or he
would not have troubled to get me
an invitation. He lias seen when he
has come to the house from time to
time that I 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 I left the Van Renssolaers’ house
i fairly trembled to think how dread- j
ful it would be If my capacity for en
joyment should be atrophied. I felt
that I must at once begin to gratify
my taste for pleasure. I had intended
to buy Cousin Fannie some flowers
and then go home and pass the even
ing reading lo 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 it
would be much better for me to seek
some amusement.
I went over to La Halle 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, as I was passing the build
ing where Carl Bates’ office is he
came out of the door.
"Why, Lueile," he said, "aren’t you
lost?"
I laughingly told him my plan and
he said gayly: "Let me lie a father
to you this evening. We'll dine down
town and go to the theater, too, if
you'll pardon thy business clothes.
Come. let’s telephone your mother.
Of course I agreed, for I wasn’t at
ill sure that father would stay down
own He l as such a stubborn pref
erence for home dinners. Carl and I
ad a delightful evening and 1 was
iwfi:Jl> relieved to find that my
rapacity for enjoyment had suffered
no injury.
Chinks Sometimes.
She- Ah, iii irriage confers such peace
f mind!
He—Yes. know nmrt married men
e forever ,etHrg it f, om their wives.
She -Whs., pmv?
He—Piece of mind.
Advice to the
Lovelorn
HUNTING A HUSBAND By VIRGINIA TERHUNE VAN DE WATER
By BEATRICE FAIRFAX.
A DISAPPOINTMENT.
FJEAR MISS FAIRFAX:
I wish you would, pjeuso 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? 1 fear
this week will end such foolishness,
if this be tlie true status of such
things." ROBERTA.
I think li£ lias 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 be torn
down.
Just what that air castle concerned —
Love or Fame or Business 1 can not
surmise.
NOT NECESSARILY.
•p) EAR MISS FAIRFAX:
1 have been corresponding with
i woman of about twenty-six, dur
ing the last year. I 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 1 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.
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, j. schoolboy, and
should be interested in your studies to
the exclusion of all thoughts of love.
Household Suggestions
On a cold, wet night every one likes
to sec a blazing tire, Jmt 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 ;i great heat
and lasts quite a long time. It always
pays in the end to buy good coal, for
not. only does it make a clearer tire, but
it. leaves fewer' ashes. A handful of
common salt thrown into the tire occa
sionally makes a cheerful blaze ami
lessens the consumption of the coal.
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 < :.am is leather, and can
not only be used for obtaining a line
polls!: on satinwc- d and mahoaary fur
niture. but as a means of brightening
s iver and plated goods. When soil* d
the velveteen may bo - .c ue---fully
cleaned by washing it in a soapy lather.
rri IIE 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 wept 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.
"T though that perhaps you would
like to know how Paul is getting along,"
lie remarked.
Her Voice Trembled.
"Since my last attempt to obtain in
formation was so evidently unwelcome,
i am not sure that 1 have any interest
in the matter," she retorted, her voice
trembling childishly .
"Well, that is what I 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 be insisted on
writing it. By the way." as she did
not answer, “I 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 loft the
church.
She walked rapid!.' 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, wa
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 weeks were falling from her.
once or twice she smiled gently. She
strolled on. as in a dream, Paul May
nard’s little note held tightly in her
hand, his face floating before her
tear-dimmed eyes.
How far she went she did not know,
but she suddenly came to a full
knowledge of her surroundings be
fore a huge building of warm red
brick.
Sparrows squabbled on the window
sills and white-capped nurses passed
now and again before the windows.
There was no surprise in Beatrice’s
mind when site .recognized tlie hos
pital where Paul Maynard lay ill. She
knew now that this had been the
place toward which she had been
walking for the past hour She en
tered the building without further hes
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 th© floor and close to the feet
of the dark-lmired man stretched in a
reclining chair, Ills back toward her
A sweet-faced nurse cam© swiftly for
ward.
He Is Much Better.
"I 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
please tell him I called to ask after
him, and—"
"Ho is awake now." interrupted the
nurse, as the dark head moved a little.
She went noiselessly to her patient s
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
sick man for a second, silent. His
poor hands were still wrapped in band
ages, and a crimson scar glowed angrily
on one side of his pal© forehead, but
his suffering hail lent him a certain
pure beauty that had never been his
before.
"I only came— began Beatrice; then
stopped. But the man smiled up at
her and held out his arms. With a lit
tle sob she knelt beside him and burled
her face on his breast
"My love!" he whispered; "my love!"
Ppbbinp the Dining Pa
to'Pay’the KjicR
TSJO wonder butter is so high. >
Particular women who are \ J
loath to use lard or cooking but- 7 ,;
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,
oom
en
ttolene
CASTOR! A
jeor Infants and Children.
ills Kind You Hevs Always Bought
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-.
Dears tile
{•Jiirua-turu of
■Fried Oysters-
Use large oysters; parboil a moment
to dry out some of the juice lo pre
vent spattering during tftetiymg. Lay
them in seasoned bread crumbs, beaten
egg and again in breaii crumbs, then
brown a few at a time in deep, smok
ing-hot Cot'olenc
Made only by
mii n. a. u-uiouLNa uAu*anv