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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. 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