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r\ E, Beauty Secrets of Beautiful Women It Isn't Only Skin Deep, Says Maude Knowlton By LILIAN LAUFERTY. «B k t JTY Is not Just skin deep -it goes as deep as muscles and blood and brains.” said Maude Knowlton. with the combina tion of buoyancy and conviction that makes a background of emphasis for her every word. “That is not saying than think beauty is health, for fea tures and figure and expression all have their part in making beauty; and I never forget that it goes right through the outer shell to the bone!” In a cozy little flat out in the Eignties 1 visited the clever girl who, under Henry B. Harris’ management, has scored several distinct hits, one of the best remembered of which is her marvelous portrayal of Simpson, the real chorus lady in “The Chorus Lady.” “A girl can’t very well choose her birthplace,” went on the girl whose clever gift of mental twist and verbal k:nk throws added glamour of inter est over big brown eyes, wavy black •hair and a complexion that when it is • rot covered with healthy summer- Fun-and-oeean burn i« first cousin to the cream of Miss Knowlton’s own Irish meadow lands. “No. a girl can’t choose her own native heath, but if she could, ;» good starting place would be California. My! the air out there is made of com ponent parts of vim. vigor and vital- ' Ity—and with a little heredity to back up the H2G combination a start like that gives a girl a tendency to a sane henlthv viewpoint, and that kindly attitude toward life that irra diates even a homely face. Not Posing. “Of course, I am not posing as a beauty expert,” said modest Miss Maude, "but surely we agree that an actually homely face may have a charm of spirit and intelligence, a magnetic giving out of self to the world (that plays give and take all the time, you know) that a mere beauty shell which thrills you for fif teen minutes could not exert after the first quarter was past. Vim. vigor, vi tality, a tolerant spirit toward the world and its inhabitants, and buoy ancy to carry you over the jolting rough places, will surely bring out all your good points better than a diet list and a course of facial massage. “Take buoyancy—it will keep you from getting the wrinkles and lines and spiritless eyes that are foes to beauty: it will put spring into your step. And now I have reached a sid ing, for I just have to stop and talk about walking and carriage. Miss Beauty Seeker, hearken! You must walk along on the balls of your feet with buoyant spring instead of lag gard slouch if you want to be truly attractive. Walk as if you could con quer worlds—and you will conquer hearts. Swimming Good. ( “Swimming helps a lot in the pur- , suit of proper land movement for it brings a graceful fluidity of motion— no, I don’t mean a fish-w r alk. but just a flowing, graceful movement in walking that is sure to please every one who sees, and that is sure to make you look fashionably tall and svelte. “Oh, if you just hold yourself firm- v ly erect on the balls of your feet and carry head and chest high in stead of sloppily caved in, you will look twice as attractive, Miss Beauty Seekei trust me for that! “Vim to keep you up above the dead level of mediocrity; vigor to carry you on to ambition and achieve ment, vitality that will make you ready to m**et every occasion; buoy ancy—of which I have sung at length —and now a tolerant spirit, of which I can not sing at enough length. You know the woman who is al ways pecking and perking and dig ging at life, who criticises all the things that fall outside her own in terests and inclinations. Her # expres sion and attitude can ruin even a collection of perfect features and col oring.” “The woman who never would do WOMAN SIGK FOURTEEN YEARS Restored to Health by Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound. Elkhart, Ind.:—“I suffered for fourteen years from organic lnftam mation, female veakness, pain and regularities. The in Ins in my sides ivere Increased by valking or stand ing on my feet and 1 had such awful faring dowuvfeel- ngs. was depressed in spirits and be- thin and pale with dull, heavy >es. 1 had six tiociors irum wnom I received only temporary relief. I decided to give Lydia E. l’lukham’s Vegetable Com pound a fair trial and also the Sana tive Wash. I have now used the remedies for four months and can not express my thanks for what they have d"rv‘ * rT me “If these lines will he of any bene fit you .,„.t U.,, .... lish them.”—Mrs. Sadie Williams, 455 James Street, Elkhart, Indiana. Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound, made from native roots and herbs, contains no narcotic or harmful drugs, and to-day holds the record of lielng the most snocessful remedy for female ills we know of, and thousands of voluntary testi monials on file in the Pinkham lab oratory at Lynn. Mass., seem to prove this fact. If you have the sllghtsst doubt that Lydia E. PinKharo <s . . Compound will help you, write to Lydia E. Pinkham Medicine Co. (con fidential.) Lynn, Mass., for advico. Your letter will be opened, yead and answered by a woman, and held in strict cwmuenv*. Miss Maude Knowlton. the things New York does, yet who likes to see New York doing them— if it enjoys them," I mused. “Ex-actly. I’ll use that when I in terview you.” laughed merry Miss Maudp. “ ‘Live and let live’ is a good motto for living and having the im press of living mark your face in lines of sweetness. “Now for a background to the vim, vigor and vitality lady—the simplest clothes she dares wear, so she shall not be & mere clothes-horse, but a young - as - possible - attractive girl, whose own sweet nature and expres sion and well-carried figure are more important than the mere garments in which she is swathed. And there’s my ideal of beauty,” concluded Miss Knowlton. And a very ideal Ideal I call it—* don’t you? .:. Where There’s a Will .:. M ME. ROSE BRASSY opened her autograph album, a masterpiece of morocco and soild gold, and showed its contents to her friend, Mile. Lili Blanc. The book was full of sketches, drawings and poems by fa mous men and women, some merry, others grave, but nearly all containing a compliment to the beautiful young matron. “You have certainly added some very interesting autographs to your collec tion since I saw it last. But do you know what you ought to have? Lucien Fond's autograph.’’ “Don’t you think I know that,’’ said lime. Brassy, rather annoyed. “But it is awful difficult t« get hold of just as the man himself. M. Brassy has sev eral times invited him to our dinners, but he has always been engaged.” “Of course he is the fashionable poet of the moment," said Lili, “and ever since I have come home from abroad I have heard of nobody else. The great and only Lucien Fond, whose poems are sung everywhere, from i’alais Elysees to Montmartre. And that is why you simply must have his autograph in your collection, Rose.” “It is easy enough to say that, Lin.” “1 know it is difficult and now more than ever, for Aunt Charlotte told me yesterday that Lucien Fond goes to Ver sailles every day and spends the whole day with a sick sister. But I must go now, dear. Good-bye. I am coming to tennis on Friday.” When Mme. Brassy was alone she threw herself into a chair and began to think. For a long while she sat in silence, pondering, then she jumped up •and said: “I know how it is going to be done.” The next day Lucien Fond drove to the railway station in his car. He Is Annoyed. “Call for me her to-night at 10,” he said to his chauffeur. Then he went into the waiting room, where a large portrait of himself made him pull his hat down over his eyes. His popularity annoyed him. He would have given anything to be an unknown traveler who was not made the target ! of scores of amateur photographers as i soon as he left his house, j The train arrived. Fond entered a first-class compartment and was about ‘ to close the door behind him when he fe’t somebody pulling the door from he outside. He growled something be- :ween his teeth intended to sound like ! an apology and retired into the farthest corner and began to look at the land- j -cape, dreading every moment that the young lady who had entered should be gin to talk to him. No doubt she was I going to pay him one of the compli- ! inents which were on everybody’s lips I and which he hated. Of course, she was staring at him now. He could just feel it with his j nerves without looking up. ! But he was evidently mistaken. The young lady did not say a single word. The poet was bored and the sun an noyed him. He rolled down the shade and cast a stolen glance at his com panion. She was exceedingly pretty. Now she took off her veil and hat and ar ranged her fluffy golden hair. Then she rested her head in her hands and looked as if her thoughts were far away. Fond, who was a great smoker and who was dying for a cigarette, took out his case. , "May I smoke, mademoiselle?” he | asked politely. She nodded her head and smiled. The poet was surprised. After yie way she had looked at him he had exp<*cted a volume of words, a repeti tion of the compliments he was used to hear everywhere and which he hated. But she said nothing—not a single word Fond was surprised and Just a little bit disappointed. Her Scheme. While he was smoking he studied his companion's beautiful profile and slender throat. Suddenly she stood up and tried in vain to open the window. Fond rushed to her side and opened It for her. She thanked him with a graceful nod. “At last I have met a woman who does not talk too much,” he thought. "Per haps she does not know me—and still the way she looked at me.” And Lucien Fond, who hated stran gers to address him, now actually wished she would say something. He threw away his cigarette. “I am sure the smoke annoys you, mademoiselle,” he said. The young lady merely smiled. Dffl she mean yes or no? More and more puzzled by her smile and her silence the poet said: “Don’t you feel a draught? Don’t you want me to close the window on my side?” The young lady produced a notebook, wrote something and handed it to the astonished poet. “I am deaf,” he read. Deaf, that beautiful young girl—for of course she could not be married. The poet was deeply touched and wrote in the book: “Please accept my sincerest sympa thy. LUCIEN FOND.” The poor young girl took her note book, looked at it, smiled and put it into her bag. • • • Three days later Mme Rrassy was having a tennis party. Lili played bad ly and Rose scolded her. “You must try to play better. Lili.” Her Triumph. "Where there is a will there is a way, you know.” "Not always Rose—remember Lucien Fond's autograph.” “Oh, I have that.” Rose threw' down her racquet, ran up to the house and returned proudly with her album open. A new page had been pasted in, and on this was written: “Please accept my sincerest sympa thy. LUCIEN FOND." "But how in the world did you get it so quicaly, Rose, and why does he write ‘sincerest sympathy’?” Mme. Rose blushed a little and re plied: “.That is my secret.” A Tie. “I took Gladys to the party last night. On the way home I proposed, and she accepted me.” "That’s winning ill a walk, isn’t it?” "Yes, but it wa*s a neck and neck finish.” A Misfit. “Wealth has its penalties,” said the ready-made philosopher. “Yea," replied Mr. Cumrox. “I’d j rather be back at the dear old factory j than learning to pronounce the names of the old masters in my picture gal lery.” How Wonderful! The dumb man saw a wheel and spoke. The deaf man saw a flock and herd. ♦ The blind man bought a plane and saw. BEHIND CLOSED DOORS One of the Greatest Mystery Stories Ever Written By ANNA KATHARINE GREEN. (Copyright, 1913. by Anna Katharine Green.) TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT. "Now, when did she fly?” the detec tive pursued. "Shortly after I saw her last. And how? On foot and quietly. The hall boy saw her go out, and he says she had her little bag on her arm and looked decent and composed; not like a woman in a delirium, nor even like one who meditates any dreadful crime. But then a boy’s observation does not go for much, and we will let It pass. What we will remember, though, is this, that she had a veil on which covered her face, and this veil was brown, or. at least, of a very dark color. “Two persons have told me so; the boy, whose word goes for little, and the chambermaid, who, though she did not see her go out, had had ample oppor tunity for observing her veil earlier in the afternoon, anti" whose word on such a subject does go for something. But, and mark the fact well, for It seems to me Important, the veil that was clinging to her dress when she was brought into Mrs. Olney’s parlor was gray and decidedly light; not the same one at all, according to description, which she wore when she went out of the hotel. What is the conclusion? That she stopped somewhere. Where? Another thing to find out. And now 1 , about the poison. I went through Twenty-second street very soon after leaving Mrs. Olney’s last night, and in front of one of the houses between Fifth and Sixth avenues I found a broken phial reeking with the smell of bitter almonds. So that part of his story is true. I have brought the bits of broken glass. Here they are.” The Coroner looked at them curiously, smelled them and glanced up at Mr. Gryce. “Well!” he suggested, in an inquiring tone. He felt that the detective’s silence meant something. “Don’t you notice anything peculiar about these pieces?” “No; to be fronk, I don’t.” “Poison that is bought at a drug store usually has a label on the bottle.” “True.” "And this phial once had a label on it.” “I see.” “But it has been washed off; or rather rubbed off by a moistened hand. There are bits of it still remaining.” “I perceive them.” “What inference can we draw? That caution has been used. Now caution is not an atribute of the suicide, wheth er thj^t suicide was an intentional one or the result of a mistake.” “Humph!” “And then there is another thing that puzzles me. Dr. Molesworth de clares he found her sitting on the steps. I looked at those steps. There was a light snow lying on them and this snow lay white and undisturbed, as it would not have done if a woman had been sitting t^iere. But then some lit tle time had elapsed since he removed her from the spot, and enough fresh snow’ may have fallen to cover up the traces which her skirts must have left behind her.” “Very possible." “Only those skirts were not damp about the edges, as they must have been if she had been sitting on a stoop un der these circumstances. And this to my mind is good evidence that she did not sit there. I would sooner believe she had been carried down the stoop and placed in the phaeton without put ting' her foot to the ground. Only It happens to be General ’s house and the thing Is impossible.” “But how could you know about her skirts? You did not go near her.” "But Harrison did, the man you your self sent there to Investigate.” “And you have seen him since?” “Five minutes after you did, sir.” The coroner laughed. He did not un derstand such zeal. “I knew you would send for me,” re sumed Mr. Gryce, “and I want to have something to talk about.” “I see,” said the Coroner, “well, go on.” “I am almost at the end of my rope, only—did you wonder what had become of Miss Farley’s bag?” "I did not know she had any.” The Missing Bag. "The people at the hotel say she had, and here is the ocular proof of it.” And Mr. Gryce produced from under his coat a small but neat handbag of black leather, having on one side two orna mental steel letters, one of which was "M.” and the other “F.” “The Initials of her name, you perceive.” The Coroner nodded. “You wonder where 1 got this bag. Why, in the most natural place In the world: it w-as in the phaeton.’ “Ah, in the phieton.” “When I went out of the houBe last night I found that vehicle standing where it had been left, in front of the steps; and as according to the doctor's story, it had been the real scene of death, I naturally thought you would wish to have a look at it. I accordingly took possession of it and not seeing what else I could do with it at that time of night, drove it into a stable nearby. I expected every moment to be stopped by somebody and so forced to reveal my true character; but circum stances favored, me and 1 got off with my prize unmolested. You will find it in charge of an officer at No 66 West street.” see you understand me.” He then ad mltted apologetically, “ ’Twas dark and | I did not find much. Still, I found some thing; the hag, for instance.” The Coroner looked at him with a doubtful air. Did he suspect for the first time that the detective was con cealing something from him? If so, he said nothing, and Mr. Gryce went on blandly. “This hag may have stories to tell. Suppose you open it, sir.” The Coroner nodded and did so. A number of toilet articles came to light and some linen. All was fresh and neat “Nothing that is likely to help up,” asserted the Coroner. "Ne vestiges of poison, no letters, not even a scrap of writing of any kind.” Mr. Gryce did not commit himself. “I would like to take an inventory of the articles," said he. The Coroner allowed him to do so and then inquired: “What about the witnesses? Have you seen the clerks at the drug store?” “Yes, they have nothing to add to his story. He stopped there, came in as he said, told his fears and asked for as sistance. One of them. Herbert Black by name, at once responded, but before he could reach the door the doctor came rushing back and crying out: “It is too late; she Js dead, led the way to the phseton, where they saw the poor girl tumbled in a heap, white and lifeless. They were young men and did not know enough to take her by the hand and see if she were yet cold. They took him doctor’s word for granted, knowing him so well, and feeling a natural Indisposi tion to interfere in a matter at once so horrible and so delicate, only asked what they should do to help him. I am going to take her straight home,’ he told them, and requested one of them to tele phone to you and the other to run along at his side as far as the house. This latter duty fell to Mr. Black, and it was he who helped the doctor carry the poor girl in. That is all. I worked a half hour, but could get no more out of him.” Nine Hours to Work. “And the clergyman?” “Has nothing to impart.” “And the driver? You surely have seen the driver, he whom he sent out of the way with a prescription to some patient or other?” Mr. Gryce's brows knit. “I have had but nine hours to work in," he said, “and one of them was thrown away on that boy. I set a watch for him in three places and suc ceeded in getting the first word with him. But he had only one story to tell and told it doggedly. It was in strict accordance with that of Dr. Moles worth. He had been ordered to come to the C Hotel at a quarter past 8 to take Mr. Pease home after the ex pected ceremony. He had gone there on foot, Dr. Molesworth himself hav ing driven Mr. Pease to the hotel, and, finding the phaeton at the door, had waited beside it for the clergyman to come out. But before this could happen the doctor reappeared, and declaring that matters had not gone as he wished, took his place in the phaeton and beck oned him in beside him, after which they rode about the streets until the doctor suddenly stopped the horse some where near Union Square and, com manding him to get out, gave him a bit of paper, which he told him to take as quickly as he could to Mr. Monroe, in Seventy-third street. He obeyed him and had only just come back. This is what the boy said and all he could say, but I know as well as I know anything that he did not tell me the truth, for when I asked him what cars he took he stared at me for a moment helplessly, and then said. ‘The Madison avenue cars,’ which story he stuck to, but as one who is very much frightened sticks to a statement he knows is false but dares not abandon.” “I will make him tell the truth,” as serted the Coroner. “It Is to be hoped so. He is not dull, but he Is mighty obstinate, and Is to all appearance very much afraid of his master.” “I know the species. I can manage him.” Mr. Gryce looked doubtful, but did not pursue the subject. On the contrary, he remarked: “I forgot to give you another point I have made. Molesworth says that after leaving the hotel he rode through the streets searching for his missing bride. Now, a person who searches goes slowly, and when he finds what he seeks in the condition in which Miss Farley was found, he still goes slowly. But Df. Molesworth’s horse had been driven far and fast, as the state he was in when I drove him into the stable amply showed.” “A point? I should think so.” “And that is not all. Seeing that the horse went a trifle lame, I examined his feet, and there,* wedged between the hoof and the shoe of his right forefoot I found a bit of gravel which I dare wager never came from the streets about Madison Square. As the horse was not lame enough for It to have been there long. I drew the in ference that Miss Fdrley was searched for in other regions than those his story would lead you to surmise.” To Be Continued Monday. Defeating Justice ' • * v v** -vi 4#!. -mmm IP PI “Y Policeman—All right, young feller, I’ll pinch you when you come out. Bather—But I’m not coming out. Ha! ha! You see, I’m committing suicide. Advice to the Lovelorn By BEATRICE FAIRFAX. “NO” TO ALL. Dear Miss Fairfax: The other night 1 attended a . mask ball. Through the masking 1 became acquainted with a young man. Before leaving he asked me for my address, and if he might call. I am 17. Should I have given him my address? Should *1 con tinue the acquaintance without a conventional introduction if he writes, as I know none of his friends? The young man asked me to call him up on the phone. Can I do this? Would it 1m* proper to have him call? Should he ask me to go out with him (for he said something to that effect)? Could I do so without a chap erone? ROBERTA. Let the matter end right now. You were foolish to give him your ad dress, hut it will he nothing more than passing folly if you make no effort to see him again. ACCEPT HER STATEMENT. Dear Miss Fairfax: Until recently one of the boys in our crowd kept company with a rather pretty girl and through some disagreement discontinued his attentions. All along I have been rather sweet on this same girl and since their disagree ment I have been to see her very often. What I can not understand, is this: It is only two or three months since I have been calling and she says she has learned to love me dearly. This other boy says she has told him that very often, too. Do you really think she could have learned to love me in so short a time? She has given proof in one way, however. She never went to church before, but now she goes every Sunday night with me. The boys kid me terribly and I want to hear from some one who is entirely impartial. WILLIAM. She may love you. One can not measure love by time, and you say she has given proof. Accept her state ments without question and enjoy the present, but make no arrangements for marriage until you are sure that you are more than “rather sweet” on her. KODAKS “Th« B*«t Finishing and Enlnrg- !nn That Can PraduMd " Eastman Films ami rum- plot* stork amateur suppllw. * l<-t for out-of-town cunlimers. Sand for Catalog and Prlca LI at. A. K. HAWSiES CO. 14 Whitehall St., Atlanta, G«, breezes at Hot Springs, Arkansas i t i make every pleasure “That is all right, but what about the look you took? You never left that phaeton for me to examine first.” Mr. Gryce smiled grimly at the plain gold stud he wore as a cuff button. 1892. Donald Fraser School for Eoys. 1813 Decatur, Ga. Thoroughly prepares for college. Experienced faculty of male teachers. Gymnasium. Atnletio aporta. Limit? d number. Catalogue upon request. PAUL vl. Principal. Phone Decatur 253. Every Woman la Interested and should know about the wonderful Marvel Douche Ask rour d ruggiat for It. If he cannot sup ply the MARVEL, accept no other, but send stamp for book tMr»«U*,44S.JjWSL.|| f T. CITY TICKET OFFICE (if EITHER PHONE THE ATTRACTIVE WAY NORTH & WEST of out o’doors inviting. The golf and tennis you play; the rides and drives you take on the picturesque mountain roads; the boating and fishing you do on the Ouchita river nearby—what ever form of out-door recre ation you choose, the cool hill breezes co-operate to m^ke it enjoyable. Get full value. Everything that makes a vacation worth-while is yours at Hot Springs. Spend your vacation at this pleas ure place where you can enjoy the coolness and pleasures of moun tain heights and also have these health-restoring waters to build you up. You would be surprised what little is asked for good board and how low the bath prices are fixed by Uncle Sam. The Rock Island is the direct line to Hot Springs from Mem phis. Four modernly equipped trains daily, leaving Memphis 7:00 a. m. 9:45 a. m. 11:00 a. m. and 12:01 midnight. Trains from the southeast make direct connection in Memphis with these Rock Island trains to the Hot Springs, Arkansas. Find out about the many attractions of this health and pleasure place. VVrite for booklet and for details about schedule and fare from your hometown. H. H. HUNT, Dist. Puienrer A|t, 18 North Pryor St* Atlanta, Cuu