Newspaper Page Text
WOMAN’S LIFE IS A
SEARCH FOR VALUES
By ADA PATTERSON.
r T"' HK u'her day a woman killed
£ lieistlf, and to those gather" 1
about her bedside in a vain ■■{-
rort to save her life she said: "I didn't
know the real thing from the phono
until too latei"
The dying words of the poor palm-
co creature, self-uialn. despairing
anxious to leave a world in which slit*
had allowed herself to be cheated, arc
a message to every woman, whatever
her age or station, whatever her gifts
her outlook or her problems.
World a Big Store.
The world Is a great department
store, and wo are the shoppers.
Woman s life is a search for value.*}.
The woman whose life ended in sui
cide was a bad shopper. At the bar
gain counter, in search of benefits,
she had selected what was worthiest,
liisearding what was worthy.
“The power of living a beautiful
life dwells in the soul,' said Marcus
Aurelius, “and consists in Indifference
to those things which are indiffer
ent.”
The young girl peeps into her mir
ror. and discovers with a thrill of
pride that she has suddenly, mys
teriously, oecome pretty of face an 1
pleasing of figure; that the sallow-
ness and awkwardness of yesterday
have gone somewhere, somehow; that
she is growing up and has dominl .»<
in a new, strange land, the land of
admiration.
Hovering timidly, fascinatedly, at
life’s bargain counter, she is in great
danger, the greatest danger that V* •-
sets a woman’s life—that of n >1
knowing the worthy from what is
worthless.
The stranger, who twirls his cane
with one hand and pulls his mustache
with the other, while he ogles her,
she may, because this shopping is so
new to her. mistake for something
genuine and worth while.
If she watched him saunter a block
further she would see the same twirl
ing of the light cane, the same pull
ing at a feeble mustache, the same
rolling of shallow eye:, at every other
pretty girl he met. Worthless goods!
The only man worth a second’s con
sideration is the one who does not
ogle, but who, looking with true,
steady eyes into your own, asks the
only honest question^ ‘‘Will you be
my wife?”
Perhaps th^y do want it. but the
only real value to befound in the de
partment of hearts is not the admi
ration, but love. Love of general
admiration is tiie commonest mistake
of woman. Homes are broken by it.
Lives are shattered by it. Yet, mad
dened by the rusn of other women to
the bargain counter, many shoppers
pay the last penny of their woman
hood for what is worse than worth
less.
To be admired one moment and for
gotten the next is the lot of the wom
an who cares only for admiration.
The honest love of a good man is the
only article at that counter worth a
thought.
Takes Brairs to Market.
Tn her search for values a woman
who takes her brains with her to
market wants to buy a home. She 4
may begin with a furnished room.
She may. grow out of this into a wee
flat of her own. But if her mind
sits steadily on its throne, there is a.
healthy hunger in her that will not
be stilled—the hunger for a perma
nent home into which she can build
herself and her family. That home
will be to her an expression of them
selves and a growing ground for ev
ery inmate of it, a place for charac
ter growth and upbuilding.
Seeking for values, the peri»anen- ,
cies of life, she finds that honest,
cheerful work, and plenty of it, is
one of them, and good will is an
other.
1 ue idler always makes a poor bar
gain. He gives his time and gets
nothing. The worker gives his energy
and receiver the comfortable assur
ance of having done his best. The
joys of Jove intoxicate, exhliurate and
pass. The consciousness, of having
done your best with the talents grant-
ed you by nature is a permanent sun
shine of the soul. The thorn in many
a death bed has been the thought: “I
have thrown away my talents; 1 have
waited my life.”
There Is plenty of sentiment in tile
world, and in human hearts, if direct
ed Into right channels. The world’s
need is rather the ballast of practical
common sense than of flight-provok
ing sentiment.
Rut there Is no doubt that every life
is better and more profitable for the
cultivation of a spirit of good will.
The hypercritical woman stultifies
herself.
The Woman Who Gains.
She forms the habit of studying life
through a'microscope. She becomes a
fault hunter. The best definition I
have ever heard of a friend is that he
i- one who ir and out of season
tti-' 1 . ' you wed. That is a good atti
tude to take toward life, toward peo
ple, toward the world, of wishing them
well.
The difference between tile magnet
ic and unmagnetic person is nimply in
this atmosphere of thought. We arc
attracted by the person who wills good
will, and are repelled by one Who is
indifferent or malicious.
The woman who has gotten from
life’s bargain counter the love of a
good man; if they have bought, or are
in the way of buying, a home, be it
over so little, of their own; if she Is
developing to the uttermost her tal
ent, be it for raising healthy babies or
singing in grand opera; if .‘he has the
soul sunshine which follows general
good will, she knows values. She has
proven herself a good shopper.
Back to the “Sixties
99
Copyright, 1913. by American-.
Examiner.
13v Nell Brinkley
Here is a story sent by a gulling
reader:
‘‘Standing one day on me first tee at
St. Andrews waiting my turn to start,
a small caddie came up laboring un
der the burden of a very large kit of
clubs, nearly all irons.
‘Halloa, Jock, wha’s yer man?’
called out a brother caddie.
*‘The ."ittie chap replied, l dinna ken.
but,’ looking at his set. Tip thinkin’
he’s a Glesga ironmonger.’ ”
• ••'-*>
A park policeman, seeing a yellow dog
near two handsomely dressed women,
approaches respectfully, and says:
‘Does this beautiful little creature
belong to you. ladies*’’
‘‘Mercy, no!”
Park Policeman (lifting his cane):
“Get out o’ here, you beast
• * *
Old Salt—Yes, mum; them’s men-o’-
war.
Sweet Young Thing- IIow interesting!
And what are the little ones just in
front?
< dd Salt—Oh, them’s just tugs. mum.
Sweet Young Thing—Oh, yes. of
course; tugs-of-war. I've heard of
them.
• * *
Teacher—Well, Tommy, can you tell
me the meaning of ‘repent’*
Tommy- I don’t know, sir.
Teacher- -Well, suppose I stole- a purse
and I got locked tip, wouldn’t I repent?
Tommy—No, sir; you’d be sorry they
caught you.
BE SURE TO STUDY
YOUR CHILD’S ABILITY
By BEATRICE FAIRFAX
P ERHAPS an amiable, but assur
edly a dangerous, assumption
is that on the part of parents.
; and more especially op the part of
mothers, that their children have it in
them to be geniuses.
Little Johnny is seized with a ma
nia for appropriating opened etovel-
! opes or other available resources of
paper, and with «• .-tump <»; pencil
traveling perpetually to his lips in or-
I der to produce fine shadow effects, is
forever drawing cats with triangular
faces, eyes that ore anything but
round, noses well out of the perpen-
. dlcular, and crooked horizontal lines
for mouths.
Or la* makes an irregular oblong,
from each lower corner of which h* j
' lets fall a straight line, to each upper
' corner lie affixes another stroke, and
with a circle for head, a few dashes
■ for features, dots for eyes, and a
triangle for a cocked hat. hr pro
claims that he has drawn a soldier.
•The child will be an artist,” cry
his gratified parents—"perhaps a
great artist.”
He loves to perform upon a cheap
cornet or a whistle. Then he will b
a great musician.
He writes rhymes conspicuous fo
everything but meter and rhyming.
Then he will be a poet.
Ambitious Parents.
And on some scant and uncertain
indications—in a few cases, of course,
more serious and justified—it may >e
his future is wrecked. His good, a
round development—that which would
serve to make a useful, capable man
of him—is lost sigKi of.
In a world of average men and
women, ambitious parent*—mote es
pecially mothers—an* not satisfied
that their boys ami girls shall be
average. They are pressed, fore. 1,
scolded and persuaded.
Ignorant of that first law of Uevel
Capable of Talking
T
tl
HE patron looked like a generous
man, and the waiter had served
„ him an order, and now hovered
round the table. He evidently had not-
been trained on the idea that a good
waiter is practically a noiseltfs* one
who says nothing.
“Steak all right, sir?” said he,’and
moved to the other side of the tabb*.
When the steak had been tried, he
ventured. “Done enough, sir?”
"It will do,” was the reply.
There was another pauee, and then
ie waiter asked;
“Potatoes cooked right, sir?”
The patron beckoned him to come
nearer.
"When I came in here,” he said, ”1
supposed everything would be all
right.” ,
"Yes, sir.”
”1 took it for granted, and ordered
on that theory .'’
“Of course, sir.”
’’And if there i* anything wrong, 1
might vay confidently that there is an
excellent way to find it out.”
“Yes, sir."
"Well, you just keep within ear-
• !iot and say nothing, and if there is
anything wrong I’ll talk. I can do it.
And that tip— ”
"Yes. sir."
"You needn’t keep working for it. I
don’t need to be reminded that you’re
the man who waited on ine. 1 never
can forget a noisy waiter, and always
‘remember’ a still one."
He was not disturbed again.
opment which demands rest and *'«•
ure for the proper growth of any . •-
u!ty, somebody is forever at their el
bows insisting that time is valm e,
that life is short, that they snail *• --
member their talent and vr, *
neither.
If they would make a stir in *
world, they must be up and doln.j.
one has memories of weary-3
spiritless or restless. fever-br’
ehildren. in whom mothers
neither tin* anaemi 1. nor nerveU %
ness, nor sleeplea.-nes.®. nor indigis: 1
consequent. on long, close hour*, ; !
overtaxed brains—-nothing of that- -
only that possible realisation of a . -
bitlons.
Irtentions Are Good.
That mothers, in this relation, ere
inspired by excellent intentions is 1 t
denied.
In some cuses, it is true, such n
ternal ambition is the outcome f
mere selfish vanity.
The mother herself, it may l>e. 1 \
never made one effort toward distil
Mon, and does not know the eo«t., I t
her son or daughter shall, if train!?
forcing and perpetual ^spurring t : i
avail, be made to excel, in order tfa.it
she may share their glory.
Such mothers must be iefi out • ?
account —it is to be hoped they a.«
run ; at all events, nothing that « n
be addressed to them from the stand
point of their children’s welfare \9 II
be of the slightest use.
On* speaks, therefore, to her who,
with th«- best intentions in the wort
striven to make geniuses of her aver
age brood.
A quite tin gifted woman—the wtfe
of a mediocre, unsuccessful man—ot
served with an indignation amounting
almost to anger to the beautiful, tal
ented wife of a distinguished, well-
known lawyer:
"1 can’t think how it is that
c hildren arc* not so clever and hand
some as yours.”
And she continued to bewail an®
admonish her children. Why do yog
not h< ad your class us Clarence X—*-
does?”
"Why do you not play the piano and
sing, and carry yourself, and have
pretty manners like Julia. X—?”
And eventually: "Why do you not
marry so successfully and get on in
the world so well as Julia and Clar-
| ence X—?”
The explanation was manifest to all.
Julia and Clarence X— were ©x-
< optionally gifted in both looks and
talents.
The others, to whom the X—s were
perpetually held up as examples, wer*
average, healthy, hearty children,
who. under a .just and prudent up
bringing, would have made average
useful members of society.
As it was, perpetually goaded to
exhibit and develop qualities they
lacked, they proved failures.
Two Lives Wrecked.
Tin: boy who, possessing good, all*
i round capacities, might have mad*
an excellent, contented man of busi
ness. was converted by his mother's
teaching into becoming a neurotic
and morose twelfth-rate poet, whom
nobody reads; whih* the daughter,
who might have been a happy wife
and mother, a capable teacher o* a
helpful hospital nurse, wasted six or
eight hours daily for seven long years
vainly laboring to wrest music from
a violin.
These two young liv*-s have been
absolutely sacrificed to a maternal
ambition, wicked in its selfish disre
gard of their shortcomings, their a< -
tual abilities and their personal well-*
1 being.
CLEEK OF THE FORTY ]
FACES
Nell Brinkley Says:
TP the sAveel little ghost of my grandmother s youth should rustle
THE GRANDSON OF MICHAEL
By T. W. HANSHAW.
Copyright by Doubleday, Page & Co.
U
TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT.
I
see. No male servants at all
then
“No, sir; not one. There’s
Jones—the handy man as comes in
mornin’s to do the rough work and
the haulin’ and carryin’ and things
like that; and there’s the gardner and
Mr. Kempner—him as is Mr. Nos-
worth’s assistant in the laboratory,
sir—but none of ’em is ever in the
house after 5 o’clock. Set against
havin’ men sleep in the house was
Mr Nosworth—swore as never an
other should after him and Master
Harry had their falling out. Why.
sir. he was that bitter he’d never
, yen allow Mr. Charles to set foot in
the place, just becau-e him and Mas
ter Harry used to be friends which
makes it precious hard on Miss Ren
frew, I can tell you."
•■As how? Is this ’Mr. Charles’ con
nected with Miss Renfrew in any
way?”
A Rare Old Skinflint.
“Lummy! yes, sir—he's her young
man. Been sweet on each other ever
since they was in pinafores; but
never hJd no chance to marry be
cause Mr. Charles—Mr. Charles.
Drummond is his full name, sir h^
hasn't one shillin' to mb against an
other. and Miss Renfrew she's a little
worse off tliun him. Never gets
nothin'. I am told, for keepin' house
for Iter uncle—just her food and
lodgin' and clothes—and her slavin’
like a nigger for hint the whole
blessed time. Keeps his books and
superintends the runnin' of the house,
S 1 U . do, but never gets a brass
iarthin’ for it. poor girl. 1 don't like
speak ill Of the dead. Mr. Head
land sir. but this I must say: A rare
,,ld skinflint was Mr. Septimus Nos
worth—wouldn’t part with a groat
unless un war forced to. But praise
be Iter'll get her dues now, poor girl—
in’less Old Sktr.flllnt went and
changed his will without iter know-
“Oho!” said Cieek, with a strong
rising infection. "His will was made
in Miss Renfrew's favor, was it?"
•■Aye. That's why her come and
tmt up with un and all his hard-
beartedness—deny in' her the pleasure
o' even serin' her twang man just be
cause him and Master Harry had
been friends and playmates when t'
pair of on were just boys in knick
ers and broad collars. There be a
stone heart for you."
A Strange Beast.
"Rather. Now one more question.
J think you said it was Miss Ren
frew who gave the alarm when the
murder was discovered. Mr. Nippers.
How did she give it and to whom?”
“Pegs! To me and Mistress Anm-
royd, of course. Me and her war
sittin’ in the kitchen havin’ a bite o’
supper at the time. Gorham, he war
there, too, in the beginning but un
didn’t stop, of course—’twouldn't a
done, for the pair of us to be off
duty together.”
“Oh! Is Gorham a constable,
then?”
“Aye—under constable second to
me. Got un appointed six months
ago. Him had just gone a bit of a
time when Miss Renfrew come rushin’
in and shrieked out about, the mur
der. but he heard the rumpus and
FRIENDSHIP
T
liv-
By WILLIAM F. KIRK.
HIS is the friendship 1 would
choose:
Hard to win and hard to;
lose;
Slow to seek a separation,
Quick to find an explanation:
Smoldering in its early days.
Growing like a forest blaze;
Through the seasons bravely
ing.
Never asking, ever giving;
Hearing doubters that desert you,
Heeding nothing meant to hurt
you;
Watching all your faults to catch
them,
Finding faults of his to match
them;
Saying till the journey's end.
‘‘Right or wrong, he is my friend!”
1 Hard to win and hard to lo«e—
! That is the friendship 1 would
choose.
came poundin’ back, of course. 1
dunno what I’d a done if un hadn’a,
for Miss Renfrew, her went from on**
faintin’ fit to another—’t was just
orful. Gorham helped I to carry her
up to the sittin’ room where Mistress
Armroy-1 burnt feathers under her
nose, and when we’d got her round
a bit we all three went outside and
round to the laboratory. That’s
when we first sec tlie prints of the
animal’s feet. Mistress Armroyd
spied 'em first—all over the flower
bed just under the laboratory win
dow.”
Keeps Various Animals.
“Oho! then that Is what you meant
when you alluded to an ‘animal’ when
you pounced down upon us, was it?
I see. One word more; what kind of
an animal was it? Or, couldn’t you
tell from the marks?”
“No, sir, I couldn’t—nobody could
unless it might be Sir Ralph Droger.
He’ll be like to if anybody. Keeps
ail sorts of animals in Droger Park,
does Sir Ralph. One thing I can
swear to. though, sir; they warn’t like
the footprints of any animal as 1
ever see. There be a picture o’ St
George and the Dragon on the walls
o’ Town Hall at Birohnmpton, Mr.
j Headland, sir, and them footprints
is more like the paws of that dra-
I gon than anything else 1 can call to
! mind. Scaly and clawed they is—
j like the thing a.s made ’em was pari
brrd and part beast—and they’re a
good twelve inches long, every one of
! ’em.”
i
To Be Continued To-morrow.
To Make Amends
PST4BI HED 23 YEARS
.DR.E.G. GRIFFIN’S
GATE CITY DENTAL ROOMS
BEST WORK AT LOWEST PRICES
All Work Guaranteed.
Hour* 8 to 6-Phone M. 1708-Sunday# 9- 1
Whitehall S* Over Brown A Allen#
A STORY is told of a certain Scot
tish magistrate who on rising one
morning found that he had over-
j slept himself, and had but a few min
utes In wnich to keep a most impor
tant appointment. Making a hurried
toilet, he rushed from the house and
hailed a passing cab.
"Drive me,” he said to the driver, "to
the police court with all possible speed.
On no account delay an instant.”
Faithful to his instructions, the driver
urged his speed to its very utmost.
Faster and faster they went until, after
an exciting drive, he deposited his fare
at his destination in time for the ap
pointment, but not before he had dam
aged a passing vehicle in his mad career.
The magistrate, on alighting, handed
him his fare with the addition of a
substantial tip, and then, to the man’s
astonishment, pressed thirty shillings
Into liis hand, at the same time saying: 1
"Here’s thirty shillings, my man; you I
will be brought bef*>r»*
morning for furious d. ; vL g. and I shad
into a little Chapeau Shop in this Springtime of nineteen-thir-
teen she would raise her little milted hands to heaven in amaze—
for behind the glass eases she would find the very cocked hats and
the same wee bonnets that she fitted over her black curls in eigh-
teen-sixty-eight! Oh. have you noticed them well—the ‘ hit-lid-
dies" like little wedding cakes, tiny bowler crowns—all pink
buds, field daisies, watered ribbon, brocade, flutings, with "stream
ers”—"flirtation ribbons,” or, a.s they were called in Paris,
“suives moi-jeune homme,” hanging down the back in an old, old
fashion long forgot? They are pushed down, too, over one's nose,
and tilted up in the hack. So look to the order of your back hair,
oh, Pettys, as you have not had to look since hats jammed down
to one's shoulders, all around, for the last two years, for your
grand-dame’s hats are here, and the nape of your neck is once
more a thing of beauty to be gazed upon.
“Y
“THERE IS PLENTY OF
JOY TO GO ’ROUND”
T HERE is plenty of joy to go'
’round, you know.
To see this you’re just about
bound, you know.
For the truth of it’s easily fount!
and so
It is foolish to envy the chap who’s
arrived,
For the thing is so sweetly and neatly
contrived.
That although you're still climbing
while he If* on top—
If you’ll simply keep going and worn
the word "stop,”
Why, you’ll get there at last,
And his hour may be past
When yours is just found.
Oh. yes, I’ll be bound
That the doctrine’s quite sound—
There is plenty of joy to* go ’round.
There is plenty of work to go ’round,
you know.
And your share can be easily found,
you know.
If to do f our part you feel quite bound j
and go
A-looking for work that you only cun
fine
that am**
1
All the while sternly striving to got to
the top.
Where the joy of arriving it not that
you stop.
When you get there at last,
You will find work's not past:
But the secret is found
That w<* ris** from tile ground
By the weakness we’ve downed—
There Is plenty of joy to go ’round.
Yes, there's plenty of joy to go ’round,
my lad;
By the beauty of striving you’re
bound, my lad;
When your taf4c and your duty are
found, be glad.
You’ll know when you're working with
might and with will.
When you’re seeking for power epch
task to fulfill,
That there’s pleasure in climbing—no
thought of the goal;
That there’s joy in just doing your
work, heart and soul.
So you’re sure to arrive.
And be keenly alive
To the bliss that Is found
In the garb of work gowned.
Thus yonr labor Is crowned
Ami t'ncre'» ylint> of Joy V s ,,
OU are stupid and ugly, poor
Alexis. You are proud be
cause I have married you and
because I am beautiful. it flatters
you. Then so much the worse for me.
But you are a sport and not st'ingy.
which makes up for much, even for
your miserable appearance.”
Thus spoke* Anita Dumoulin. a
princess now, wife of the great-
grandson of Michel the Wolf.
He did not answer. Why should he
exert himself to do so? He married
Anita because he loved her. He knew
her past, but did not ran*.
He did not even get angry one
night when, returning home unex
pected, he found Anita in the arms of
a friend from the club. He simply
asked the friend to leave, as if he
were afraid of him.
‘‘Well, yes! What about it?” cried
Anita furiously. “I have been un
faithful to you."
"Don’t say anything.” he said gen
tly.
He seemed more discouraged than
annoyed. Then he went to bis club,
and tiie next day he paid Anita’s bilfc
as usual.
Alexis then refused to pay any more
bills.
"Don’t expect me to pay any of your
debts, Anita,” ho said to his aston
ished wife. Then he telephorted ail
the tradespeople to stop her credit.
That night she was sitting in hei
boudoir, completely crushed.
There was a knock at the door, it
was Alexis. She had been expecting
him for some time.
“I have been packing my suit case,”
he said.
"Your suit case! So you arc going
away? And where to. may 1 ask?
Monte Carlo, Nice. China?”
"I am going back to my own coun
try.’’
"To your own country? With noth-
' Jffter the Bath •
4^ Air-Float Talcum Powder—bora- ^
- ted, perfumed—guaranteed pure. %
$ TALCUM Pl/FF COMPANY f
Ilitri uni Iuafiflt.rm, Da»b Trnainal Bl4g., '*
BROOKLYN, NEW YORK >*,
Talcum Powder
ing but a suit case? You must be
crazy. How much money are you
going to leave me?”
‘‘Nothing at all.”
"What! You ar** not going to leave
me any money? Well, lam not going
to stand for it.”
And for a quarter of an hour she
ejaculated her rage in the wildest,
coarsest and most insulting expres
sions. He listened to her without a
word.
“And what are you going to do
with your dirty money?” she scream
ed at last. "You have found another
woman, I suppose, who has spotted
you for the sucker that you are.”
Prince Alexis’ voice was very calm
as he replied:
"War lias been declared, Anita. I
need all my money to turn it over to
my king to be used against the Turks.
When I get home I will enter the
army as a private.”
Anita was pale with rage. He was
even a greater fool than she had
thought.
"You want to be a soldier and
throw your money into that, dirty
war! And what about me and my
bills and my house? You are a selfish
scoundrel, like all men. You, a sol
dier! You make me laugh. You are
not even a man. You will die with
fright, if the weight «>f your knap
sack doesiVt kill you. You, a coward,
who did not even fight the man who
stole your wife from you!”
The Prince did not seem to hear
her. He shrugged bis shoulders and
said:
"I am going now. An re voir,
Anita.”
His composure maddened her.
"You coward!” she hissed, "you will
throw away your gun to run quicker,
just, like all the rest of your miser
able countrymen, as soon as they see
the Turks. They will chase you like
the swine ami curs you are. You must
be crazy to fight for a good-for-noth
ing mongrel country like your Ser-
via.”
She said no more. Alexis’ face had
suddenly become purple at her last
words. His fingers clutched his wife’s
throat and gripped it tightly until
' she died. Then he left the room,
asked for his suit case, and said:
'Don’t disturb the Princess until to
morrow. She is asleep, but will ring
| if she needs any one.”
He took the Orient express for
Vienna.
Nobody discovered the crime until
more than twelve hours later. Hos
tilities had already begun
Whefl an extradition order reached
the Servian general at the front, th»
i officer said respectfully to the Pavia
i detective:
"It is Alexis Petragorevitch you
want. Come, I will show him to
you.”
The bodies of four private soldiers
lay under a tent. Pointing to one of
them the General said with a salute:
"There he is.”
And everybody touched their caps
j in respect for four heroes.
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