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WOMAN’S LIFE IS A
Back t(,
i the “Sixties” : By Nell I
Brinkley
BE SURE TO STUDY
SEARCH FOR VALUES
’
your child:s ABILITY
By
ADA PATTERSON.
[ ''HE other day a woman killed
herself, and to those gathered
8 *<out her bedside in a vain -f-
'> to save her life she said: "1 didn’t
O', ilie real thing from the phony
• i! too late!”
1 ‘io dying words of the poor, paint-
f-rralure. self-slain. despairing,
•\.t us to leave a world in which she
•' ;,| "'Hil herself to be cheated, are
1 -age to every woman, whatever
■’ «'»r station, whatever her gifts,
r outlook or her problems.
•-1H a P.
Id a Big Store.
ur
world .9 a great department
and we are the shoppers.
n. iTi's life is a search for values.
o. uan whose life ended in aul
as a bid shopper. At the bar-
fiunter, in search of benefits,
id sel< < ted what was worthless,
ding what was worthy,
e powej of living a beautiful
•veils in the soul,” said Marcus
us. “and constats 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, oeeome pretty of face and
pleasing of figure; that the sallow-
ness and awkwardness of yesterday
have gone somewhere, somehow'; that
she is growing up and ha9 dominion
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 be
sets a woman’s life—that of not
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
cies of life, she finds that honest,
cheerful work, and plenty of it, is
one of them, and good will Is an
other.
The idler always makes a poor bar
gain. He gives his lime and gets
nothing. The w orker gives Ills energy
and receives* the comfortable assur
ance of having done his best. The
Joys of love intoxicate, exhilarate and
pass. The consciousness of having
done y our 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: *1
have thrown away my talents; 1 have
waited my life.”
There is plenty of sentiment in the
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 liight-provok-
ing sentiment.
Hut 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
is one who 1n and out of season
wishes you well. That is a. good atti
tude to take toward life, toward peo
ple, toward the world, of wishing them
well.
The difference between the magnet
ic and unmagnetic person is rimply In
this atmosphere of thought. We are
attracted by the person who wills good
w ill, 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
ever so little, of their own; if she is
developing to the uttermost her tal
ent, be 1t for raising healthy babies or
singing in grand opera; if she has the
soul sunshine which follows general
cm
By BEATRICE FAIRFAX.
Up-to-Date Jokes
rolling of shallow eyes at every othei g. OG( j w m t she knows values. She ha9
\ pretty girl he met. Worthless goods. p roV en herself a good shopper.
The only man worth a second s con-
sideration is the one who does not j
ogle, but who, looking with true, |
steady eyes into your own, asks the j
only honest Question; “Will you be ;
my wife?”
Perhaps they do w’ant it, but the i
only real value to befound in the de
partment of hearts is not the admi
ration, but love. Hove of general
admiration is the commonest mistake
of woman. Homes are broken by it.
Lives are shattered by it. Yet, mad
dened by the rush 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 Brains to Market.
In her search for values a woman
who takes her bruins with her to
market wants to buy a home. She
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-
i.ent home into which she can build
herself and her family. That home
will be to her an expression of them-
mnd a growing ground for ev
en inmate of it, a place for charac
ter growth and upbuilding.
S*-eking for values, the pernianen-
Here is a story sent by a golfing
reader:
“Standing ono day on the first tee at
St, Andrews waiting my |urn 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 Tittle chap replied, ‘1 dinna ken,
but,' looking at his set. I’m thinkin’
he's a Glesga ironmonger.' ”
• » •
A park policeman, seeing a yellow dog
near twm handsomely dressed women,
approaches respectfully, and says;
“Does this beautiful little creature
belong to you, ladles*”
“Mercy, no!"
Park Policeman (lifting his cape):
“Get out o' here, you beast!”
* • *
Old Salt—Yea, mum; them's men-o’-
war.
Sweet Young Thing—How interesting!
And what are the little ones just in
front?
Old 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
mo the meaning of ‘repent’*
Tommy—I don’t know', sir.
Teacher—Well, suppose I stole a purse
and 1 got locked up. wouldn't i repent?
Tommy—No, sir; you’d be sorry they
caught you.
iV.
ft
» -- . \ , - r>
ft sr . ry-3
f feft
AKA' '•
M ' '
13
~1 =1 ~
P ERHAPS an amiable, but assur
edly a dangerous, assumption
Is that on the part of parents,
and more especially on 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 envel
opes or other available resources of
paper, and with a stump of pencil
traveling perpetually to his lips in or
der to produce fine shadow effects, is
forever drawing oats with triangular
fares, eyes thet are anything but
round, noses well out of the perpen
dicular. and crooked horizontal lines
for mouths.
Or he makes an Irregular oblong,
, from each lower corner of which he
lets fall a-straight line, to each upper
coi ner he affixes another stroke, and
with a circle for head, a few dashes
for features, dots for eyes, and a
triangle for a cocked hat, he pro-
i 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 ho will be
a great musician.
He writes rhymes conspicuous for
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 oe
his future Is wrecked. His good, all
round development—that which wpuld
serve to make a useful, capable man
of him—is lost sl&ht of.
In a world of average men and
women, ambitious parents—more es
pecially mothers—are not satisfied I
that their boys and girls shall be
average. They are pressed, forced,
scolded and persuaded.
Ignorant of that first law of devel- j
Capable of Talking
TP
T 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 noiseless one
, who says nothing.
“Steak all right, sir?” said he, and
moved to the other side of the table.
When the steak had been tried, he
ventured, "Done enough, sir?”
"It will do,” was the reply.
There was another pause, and then
the 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.”
"I took it for granted, and ordered
on that theory.”
"Of course, sir.”
“And,if there is anythPcr wrong, I
! might say confidently that there is an
excellent way to find it but.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, you Just keep within ear
shot 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 me. I never
can forget a noisy w'aiter. and always
'remember' a Mill one.*
He was not disturbed again.
CLEEK OF THE FORTY FACES
4 4
By T. W. HANSHAW.
. 'pyrigi i by Doubleday, Page & Co.
TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT.
servants at all
I
J onef
SEE. No malqH
then ?”
• No, sir; not one. There’s
-the handv man as comes in
mornlnV to do the rough work and
the haulin' and carryln’ 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 over in the
house after 5 o’clock. Set agains
havin’ men sleep in the house was
Mr Nosworth—swore as never an-
other should after him and Master
Hsrrv had their falling out Why,
'Jr he was that bitter he'd never
even allow Mr. Charles to set foot in
ihe place, just because him and Mas
ter Harry used to be friends which
makes it precious hard on Miss Ren
frew, 1 can tell you."
•As how? Is this 'Mr. Charles con
nected with Miss Renfrew in any
A Rare Old Skinflint.
"Lummy! yes, sir—he's her young
. man Been sweet oil each other ever
Tiey was in pinafores; but
never had no chance to marry *>e-
" ' , Mr Charles—Mr. Charles
Drummond is his full name, sir-he
hasn't one shillin’ to rub against an
other. and Miss Renfrew she s a little
off than him Never gets
I am told, for keepin’ house
un cle—just her food and
and clothes—and her slavin'
nigger for him the whole
deseed time. Keeps his books and
superintends the runmn of the house,
Jhf ao, hut never gets a brass
arthin' for it, poor girl. I.dont like
O speak ill of the dead. Mr. Hcad-
' ,, a ir hilt this I must say: A rare
Skinflint wti- Mr. Septimus Nos-
wouldn’t part with a groat
vc U n war forced to. But praise
ir'il get her due? now’, poor girl-
old Skinfilint went and
! ,; 0(J his will without her know-
said CUek, with a strong
’..■"infection. ‘‘His w'ill was made
s Renfrew’s favor, was it?”
That’s why her come and
un and all his harri-
deny in' her the pleasure
' -ui : \y*rmg man just be
cause him and Master Harry had
been friends and playmates when t’
pair of un 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 w'hen 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 h> ’ war
sittln’ in the kitchen havin’ a te o’
supper at the time. Gorham, he war
there, too. in the beginnin’; 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 rushln’
in and shrieked out about the mur
der, but he heard the rumpus and
FRIENDSHIP
I
worse
nothin’,
for her
lodgin’
like
old
By WILLIAM F. KIRK.
HIS is the friendship 1 would
choose;
Hard to win and hard toi
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 liv
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!”
Hard to win and hard to lose—
Thai is the friendship I would
choose.
erv TA.BL" HEO 23 YEARS
DR.E.G. GRIFFIN’S
GATE CITY DENTAL ROOMS
BI * WORK AT 10WEST PRICKS
All Work Guaranteed.
Hours 8 to v- Phone M. ’.7C8-Said ays t-1
24' Whitehall €t. Over Brown 1 Allens
came poundin’ back, of course. 1
dunno wfcat I’d a done if un hadn’a,
for Miss Renfrew, her went from one
faintin' fit to another—'t was just
orful. Gorham helped I to carry her
up to the sittln’ room where Mistress
Armroyd burnt feathers under her
nose, and w’hen we’d got her round
a bit we all three went outside and
round to the laboratory'. That’s
when we first see the 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 Drogrer.
He'll be like to If anybody. Keeps
all sorts of animals In Drogrer Park,
does Sir Ralph. One thing r can
swear to, though, Mr; they wam’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 Hail at Birchampton, Mr.
Headland, elr, and them footprints
is more like the paws of that dra
gon than anything else l can call to
mind. Scaly and clawed they is—
like the thing as made ’em was part
bird and part beast—and they’re a
good twelve inches long, every one of
’em."
To Be Continued To-morrow.
Nell Brinkley Says:
I F the sweet little ghost of my grandmother’s youth should rustle
into a little Chapeau Shop in this Springtime of nineteen-thir-
teen she would raise her little mitted 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-sixtv-eight! Oh, have you noticed them well—the “bit-lid-
dies”—like little wedding cakes, tiny bowler crowns—all pink
buds, field daisies, watered ribbon, brocade, flutings, with “stream
ers”—“flirtation ribbons,” or, as 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 back. So look to the order of your back hair,
oh, Bet.tys, 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.
To Make Amends
A STORY Is told of a certain Scot
tish magistrate who on rising one
morning found that he had over
slept himself, and had but a few min
utes in which 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 h ! the addition of a
substantial tip, at. . then, to the man’s
astonishment, prt -ni thirty shillings
into his hand, at the same time saying:
“Here's thirty shillings, my man; you
will J>e hrougb/ before me lo-morrow
morning for ft'lrious driving, and I shall
that
“THERE IS PLENTY OF
JOY TO GO ’ROUND”
rpHERE is plenty of Joy to go'
j 'round, you know.
To soe this you're Just about
hound, you know.
For the truth of it's easily found—
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 1s on top—
If you’ll simply keep going and scorn
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 your part you feel quite bound
and go
A-looking for work that you only can
do,
Or a-fittlrig your task 1£ your task
.'< fit you.
All the while sternly striving to get 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 we rise from the 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
hound, my lad;
When your task and your duty are
found, be glad.
You'll know when you’re working with
might and with will,
When yon’re seeking for power each
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 your laboi^ Is crowned
And therols plenty of inf Ac g
opment which demands rest and lels.
ure for the proper growth of any fac
ulty, somebody Is forever at their el
bows insisting that time is valuable,
that life is short, that they shall re
member their talent and was:#
neither.
If they-would make a stir in the
world, they must be up and doing.
One has memories of weary-ey -1
spiritless or restless, fever-bright
children, in whom mothers sa .v
neither the anaemia, nor nervelesa-
ness, nor sleeplessness, nor indigestion
consequent on long, close hours, and
overtaxed brains—nothing of these —
only that possible realization of am
bitions.
Intentions Are Good.
That mothers, in this relation. are
Inspired by excellent intentions is not
denied.
In some cases, it is true, such ma
ternal ambition is the outcome of
mere selfish vanity.
The mother herself. It may be. hat
never made one effort toward distinc
tion, and does not know the cost, but
her son or daughter shall, if training,
forcing and perpetual sspurring will
avail, be made to excel, in order that
she may share their glory.
Such mothers must be left out c.f
account—it is to be hoped they are
rare; at all events, nothing that can
be addressed to them from the stand
point of their children’s welfare will
be of the slightest use.
One speaks, therefore, to her who,
with the best intentions in the world,
strives to make geniuses of her aver
age brood.
A quite ungifted woman—the wife
of a mediocre, unsuccessful man—ob
served with an indignation amounting
almost to anger to the beautiful, tal
ented wife of a distinguished, well-
known lawyer:
I can’t think how it Is that my
children are not so clever and hand
some as yours.”
And she continued to bewail and
admonish her children. “Why do you
not head your class as Clarence N—
does?”
“Why do you not play the piano and
sing, and carry yourself, and have
pretty manners like Julia N—7”
And eventually: “Why do you not
marry so successfully and get on in
.the world so well as Julia and Clar
ence N—?”
The explanation was manifest to alL
Julia and Clarence N— were ex
ceptionally gifted in both looks and
talents.
The others, to whom the N—s were
perpetually held up as examples, were
average, healthy, hearty children,
I 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.
The boy who, possessing got£. all-
| round capacities, might hav.- made
an excellent, contented man of busi
ness, was converted by his mother’s
teaching into becoming a neurotic
I ami morose twelfth-rate poet, whom
' nobody reads; while the daughter,
I who might have been a happy wife
and mother, a capable teacher or a
i helpful hospital nurse, wasted six or
eight hours daily for seven long years
| vainly laboring to wrest music from
a violin.
These two young lives have been
absolutely sacrificed to a maternel
j ambition, wicked in its selfish disre-
I gard of their shortcomings, their ac-
I tual abilities and their personal well-
1 being.
THE GRANDSON OF MICHAEL
“Y
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 stingy,
which makes up for much, even for
your miserable appearance.”
Thus spoke Anita Pumoulln, 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 care.
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 lt?“ cried
Anita furiously. “I have been un
faithful to you.”
“Don't say anything," he said gen
tly.
He 6eemed more discouraged thAn
annoyed. Then he went to his club,
and the next day he paid Anita’s bills
as usual.
Alexis then refused to pay any more
bills.
“Don't expect me to pay any of your
debts, Anita,” he said to his aston
ished wife. Then ho telephoned all
the tradespeople to stop her credit.
That night she was sitting in her
boucoir, 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 are going
away? And where to. may I ask?
Monte Carlo, Nice, China?”
“I am going back to my own coun
try .”
“To your own country? With noth
ing but a suit case? You must be
crazy. How much money are you
going to leave me?"
“Nothing at all.”
‘What! You are not going to leave
me any money? Well, T am 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 mbhey?” 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 has been declared, Anita. T
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 of your knap
sack doesn’t kill yon. 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 his shoulders and
said;
“I am going now. Au revoir,
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 and curs you are. You must
be crazy to fight for a good-for-noth
ing mongrel country ,-Hke your Ser-
via,”
She said no more. Alexis’ fac.e 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 roc
asked for his suit case, and sa:
“Don't disturb the Princess until i
morrow. She is asleep, but will ri
if she needs any one.”
He took the Orient express :
Vienna.
Nobody discovered the crime ur
more than twelve hours later. He
tilities had already begun.
When an extradition order reach
the Servian general at the front, t
officer said respectfully to the Pa
detective:
“It is Alexis Petragorevitch y
want. Come, I will show him
you.”
The bodies of four private soldh
lay under a tent. Pointing to one
them the General said with a salul
“There he is.”
And everybody touched* their 00
in respect for four heroes.
Do You Know How
to Whiten Your Skin?
\ NY very dark, sallow or
swarthy complexion can
be improved and lightened by
the use of
Dr. Palmer's
Skin Whitener
We guarantee Palmers
Skin Whitener to be absolutely
pure nnd (harmless. It makes
the skin clear, soft and smootli.
and lightens it.
A trial will convince you.
Price 25c, postpaid anywhere.
FOR SALE BY
All Jacobs’ Stores
And Druggists Generally.
jy ' . -i
fr Air-Float Talcum Powder—bora- *
\ ted, perfumed—guaranteed pure, i
% TALCUM PUFF COMPANY f
y ■l>cra and nanafaetr.rtT*, Bush Trrainai Bldg.,
BROOKLYN, NEW YORK
Talcum Powder 4
Steel Engraved and
Embossed Stationery
BUSINESS CARDS AND ANNOUNCEMENTS
Largest Plant in the South Lowest Prices
Sample, will be submitted or our representative will call upen request.
J. P. STEVEN c NQKAViNQ CO.
47 Whitehall Street.
LOB
fVt Phone Main 1743.
4terl
A1.1ANTA