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® © o Smooth-Faced Men Will Be Lonesome When They Are Old, Having No Beard to Pull At ® ®
THE GEORGIANS MAGAZINE, PAGE=>
Advice to the
[Lovelomn
By BEATRICE FAIRFAX.
TELL HER THE NEWS.
Dear Miss Fairfax:
.1 am a young man of 21, and
have been keeping company with
a girl two months. At first she
was much in love with me, but
my folks were not satisfied. Some
time ago I notified her about the
news, and since then she does not
seem as interested in me as she
was at first. Now, T have con
sulted with them, and they seemn
to be pleased. What can 1 do
to regain her love as before?
&N D
Naturally she resented their atti
tude. Now that you have won your
parents to your side, tell the girl so,
and tell her speedily, before you lose
her.
! ——
TELL THE TRUTH.
Dear Miss Fairfax:
I am 19 and am deeply in love
with a young lady one year my
junior. Recently I made an ap
pointment with her, but on that
day 1 overslept and could not
keep the appointment. Now, I
love this young lady and would
like to regain her friendship, but
am afraid if I relate the true
facts she would spurn me.
SLEEPY HEAD.
If she is a nice, sensible girl, she
will accept your apology with a
laugh. The girl who would condemn
a man for this most hunfan weakness
is looking for an angel.
YOU MUST DECIDE.
Dear Miss Fairfax:
I have three admirers; all are
very nice and I like them. One 1
met at a party; another 1 met
accidentally, and the other I know
from the place where | work., All
three have asked me to keep com
pany with them. Which one ~hall
I choose? BLESSING.
The decigion lies with you. 1 can
only suggest that you let your head
assist your heart in making the de
cision. Be sure the one you choose
is of good character,
HIS ADVICE IS GOOD.
Dear Miss Fairfax:
I am a girl of 18 and am
madly in love with a young man
the same age. He has been court
ing me these past three years.
The other night I asked him what
his intentions were since he earns
very little and has no future. To
my astonishment, he told me “to
try and forget” him and to look
for another, bhecause he could
never support me. 1 felt that I
could mot part with him as the
saoce wid BID =e.
DISTRESSED.
Such talk, after three years’ court
#hip, is brutal, I admit, but there is
some sense in it, He can’t afford to
marry. A long engagement is unfair
to you, so do as he says; forget him.
He will be more interested in you if
you make the effort.
LET IT BE J.
Dear Miss Fairfax:
1 am a girl of 24 and have two
gentlemen friends. D is very
wealthy and willing to marry me.
He is willing to support my moth
er and three younger sisters. J
is the man I love and he has also
proposed to me, but he is too poor
to support my mother and three
vounger sisters,
WORKING GIRL.
A marriage to D would prove un
happy for you, though he supported
all your relatives. Follow your heart.
The problem of your mother and three
sisters will find some other solution.
[ am sure they would not ask you to
sacrifice vourself for their sake.
. " .nii‘lfll'fl;ifi; o)
g;m..w
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o Take Care of Your Feet and Lose Those “Worry Wrinkles” o
An Unusually Instructive Beauty Talk With Lois Meredith, Whose Hobby Is Shoes,
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S LR @ ARY
‘I Never Have a Red Nose.”
e 8
By MAUDE MILLER,
VIZ I a hobby? Oh, yes, I think you might
H call it that—ll call 1t a mania.” And Lois
Meredi th leaned back into the depths of
the big cretonne armchair, smilingly inviting me to
ask her what it was.
And this is the tale she told me of a hobby and
the train of results that follow:
“Perhaps you may call me vain—but if there is
one thing in the world I am proud of it is my feet.
I feel that they are just as important as beauty and
even more important to health than are my hands—
and so I treat them well and dress them well too.
And now you have the whole secret of my hobby—
slippers.
“Why, it nearly breaks my heart to have to wear
old shoes in ‘Help Wanted.! I don't mind wearing
an old dress, but if I might only go on in a present
able pair of shoes, I'd be tempted to send a letter of
thanks to the management.
“Every time 1 go out for a walk I seem to pass a
shoe stcre—and then in 1 go and have a real buying.
Pretty ones, comfy ones, useful ones—boots for
tramps in rain and storm, slippers for dancing and
shoes for climbing and sneakers for tennis.
“I have the right sort of footgear for every occa
sion. I am extravagant about shoes.
“And sometimes when [ think about the three
headed result I get 1 feel satisfied that my one ex
travagance saves me a lot in health and comfort
and satisfaction.
“My feet are always smooth and free from callous
The Woman Thou Gavest Me
Copyright, 1912, by Hearst's Magazine.
Copyright, 1913, by Hearst Magazine.
Copyright In Great Britain Copyright,
1913 by J. B Lippincott Company.
TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT.
Sixty-first Chapter—Continued.
God bless her! The dear sweet
woman! Such women as she is, and
my mother was-—so humble and lov
ing, so guileless and pure, never say
ing an unkind word or thinking an
unkind thought—are the flowers of
the world that makeé the earth smell
sweet.
When she was gone and I remem--
bered the promise I had made to her
I asked myself what was to become
of me. If I could neither divorce
my husband under any cirecumstances
without breaking a sacrament of the
Church, nor love Martin and be loved
by him without breaking the heart
of his mother, where was I?
I intended to go home the following
morning; I was to meet Martin the
following night. What was I to say?
What was Ito do?
All day long these questions haunt
ed me and I could find no answers.
But toward evening 1 took my trou
bles where I had often taken them-—
te Father Dan,
Sixty-second Chapter.
HE door of the presbytery was
T opened by Father Dan's Irish
housekeeper, a govod old soul
whose atitude to her master was that
of a “moithered” mother to a willful
child. ‘
All the way up the narrow staircase
to his room she grumbled about his
reverence. Unless he was sickening
for the scarlet fever she didn't know
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SO
““My Slipper Mania Keeps My &kin Clear, My Temper Even,
and My Digestion Good.”’
!in her seven sinses what was a-mat
ter with him these days. He was as
white as a ghost, and as thin as a
shadder, and no wonder, neither, for
he didn’t eat enough to keep body and
soul together.
Yesterday itself she had cooked him
a chicken as good as I could get at
the Big House; “done to a turn, too,
with a nice bit of Irish bacon on top,
and a bowl of praties biled in their
jackets and a basin of beautiful new
butter milk;” hut no, never a taste
nor a sup did he take of it.
“It's just timpting Providence hig
reverence is, and it'll be glory to God
if you'll tell him so.”
“What's that you're saying abou!
his reverence, Mrs, Cassidy?” cried
Father Dan from the upper landing.
“I'm saying you're destroying your
self with your fasting and praying
and your midnight calls at mountain
cabins, and never a ha-porth of any
thing in your stomach to do it on.”
“Whist, then, Mrs. Cassidy, it's tay
time, isn’t it? So just step back to
your kitchen and put on your Kkittle,
and bring up two of your best china
cups and saucers, and a nice piece of
buttered toast, not forgetting a thim
bleful of something neat, and then it's
the mighty proud woman ye'll be en
toirely to be waiting for once on the
first lady in the island. * * * Come in,
my daughter, come in.”
He was laughing as he let loose his
Irish tongue, but I could see that hls
housekeeper had not been wrong, and
that he looked worn and troubled.
As soon as he had taken me into
his cozy study and put me to sit in
the big chair before the peat and
wood fire, I would have begun on my
errand, but not a word would he hear
vntil the tea had come up and I had
taken a cup of it.
Then, stirring the peats for light as
well as warmth (for the room was
dark with its lining of books, and the
evening was closing in), he said:
“Now, what is it? Something se
rious—l can see that much.”
"It is serious, Father Dan.”
“Tell me, then,” he said, and, as
' well as I could, I told him my story.
I told him that since I had seen
him last, during that violent scene at
Castle Raa, my relations with my
husband had become still more pain
ful; I told him that, seeing I could
not endure any longer the degradation
of the life 1 was living, I had thought
ibout divorce; I told him that, going
first to the Bishop and afterward to
ny father's advocate, I had learned
hat neither the church nor the law,
for their different reasons, could grant
me the relief 1 required; and finally,
in a faint voice (almost afraid to
iear myself speak it), I told him my
, “olemn and sacred-secret—that, what
&
ever happened, I could not continue
to live where 1 was now living be
cause I loved somebody else than my
husband.
While I was speaking Father Dan
was shufflimg his feet and plucking
at his shabby cassock, and &8 soon as
1 had finished he flashed out on me
with an anger 1 had never seen in his
face or heard in his voice before,
“I know who it is,” he said. “It's
Martin Conrad.” . !
I was so startled by this that I was
beginning to ask how he knew, when
he cried: :
“Never mind how 1 know. Perhaps
you think an old priest has no eyes
for anything but his breviary, eh?
It's young Martin, isn't it?”
uyon"”
“The wretch, the rascal, the scoun
drel! If he ever dares to come to this
house again, I'll slam the door in his
face.”
1 knew he loved Martin almost as
much a® I did, so I paid no heed to
the names he was calling him, but I
tried to say that I alone had been to
blame, and that Martin had done
nothing.
“PDon’t tell me he has done nothing,”
cried Father Dan. “I know what he
has done. He has told you he loves
you, hasn't he?”
“No."
“He has been colloguing with you,
then, and getting you to say things?"
“Never.”
“Pitying and sympathizing with
you, anyway, in your relations with
your husband?"”
“Not for cne moment,"
“He had better not! Big man as
he is in England now, I'll warm his
jacket for him if he comes here mak
ing mischief with a child of mine,
But thank the Lord and the holy
saints, he's going away soon, so you'll
see no more of him."”
“But he is coming to Castle Raa,” 1
said, “and I am to see him to-morrow
night.”
“That, too! The young scoundrel!”
I explained that my husband had
invited him, being prompted to do so
by the other woman, - i
“Worsge and worse!"” cried Father
Dan. “Don’'t you see that they're
laying a trap for you, and like two
young fools you're walking directly
into it. But no matter! You mustn't
go.”
I told him that I should be com
pelled to do so, for Martin was com
ing on my account only, and I could
neither tell him the truth nor make
an excuse that would not be a false
hood.
“Well, well, perhaps you're right
there, It's not the best way to meet
temptation to be always running
away from it. That's Irish, but it's
true enough, though., You must con
quer this temptation, my child; you
must fight it and overcome it.”
By HALL CAINE==—
The Greatest Novel of the Twenticth Century
“Put I've tried and tried and 1 can
not,” I said. . §
And then 1 told him the story of my
struggle—how love had been no hap
piness to ‘me, but only a cruel war
fare; how I had suffered and prayed
and gone to nfass and canfession, yaol
all to no purpose, for my gx’r@x-pqh‘pw
Martin was like a blazing fire wirich
nothing could put out.
Father Dan's hands and lips were
trembling while I spoke and I could
see that he was shuddering with pity
for me, so 1 went on to say that if
God had put this pure and hoiy love
into my heart, could it he wrong-—
“Stop a minute,” cried Father Dan,
“Who says God put It there? And
who informed you it was pure and
holy ? et us see where we are. ((ome,
now. You say the Bishop told you
that you could never be divorced un
der any circumstances?”
“Xon"
“Yet you wish to leave your hus
band?”
“How can I help it? The life I
have been living is too horrible.”
“Never mind that now. You wish
to leave your husband, don't you?”
L et
“And you want to go to this . . .
this young . . . in short, you want
to go to Martin Conrad? That's the
plain truth, isn't it? Don’t deny it.
. « « Very well, let us call things by
their proper names. What is the
fact? You are asking me--me, your
spiritual father—to allow you to live
a life of open adultery. That's what
it comes to. You know It is, and
God and His holy Mother have mercy
on your soul!”
I was sgo startled and shocked by
his flerce assault, and by the cruel
climax it had come to, that I flung
up my hands to my facé and kept
them there, for I felt ag if my brain
had been stunned and my heart was
bursting. /
How long I sat like this, with my
hidden face to the fire. I do not know;
but after a long silence in which I
heard nothing but my own heaving
breath, I became aware that Father
Dan .had drawn one of my hands
down to his knee and was smoothing
it with his own.
“Don’t be angry with your old
priest for telling you the truth,” he
said, “It's hard to bear; I know it's
hard; but it's ag hard,for him as for
you, my child. Think—only think
what he is trying to save ‘you from.
If you do what you wish to do, you
will put~yourself out of communion,
If you put yourself out of communion
vou will ceage to be a Catholic. What
will become of ?rou ‘then, my daugh
ter? What will be left to replace
the consolations of the church—in
death? Have you never thought of
that?" ¥
I never had. It was thrilling
through and through me,
“You say you“can not ' live any
e :
Perhaps You May Call Me Vain.”
skin and painful foot troubles that might call me
to the chiropodist. 1 never have to forego a cross
country tramp, or for a stimulating walk in the rain,
or a game of tennis for lack of the right footgear.
“I never have a red nose or a feeling of nervous
indigestion from shoes that pinch or are run down
at the heeis and $o throw me into an uncomfortable
position in .standing or walking. No matter how
tired 1 am, 1 can go out for an invigorating little
tramp in the fresh air—for I alwpys have a fresh,
cool, restful pair of shoes to cha nEe to.
“So you see my slipper mania keeps my skin clear
and my temper even and my digestion good.
*And, honestly, I do feer well dresged and sure of
mysm;)f when I don a ‘dainty pair of slippers that
make me feel trim from head to toe.”
Reason Quite Valid.
The train was somewhat full. Still, aithough he could
not find a corner seat, there -was really plux\ti\' of room
for Algernon. Plenty of room, yes; but on the seat be
side him lay a 2 sack which gave off a oSt fearsome
smell. !
“] say,” remarkad Algernon io the vokel on the far
ther side of the offensive bundle, “do you mind remov
ing that sac¢k from the seat?”
“I do,” replied the countryman. “I mind very much.”
Algernon was silent for a while. Then:
“Unless you remove that sack,” he sighed, “Fm afraid
I shall have to call the guard”
“Then. call the ‘gunard.” .
Algernon’s lips sald nothing, but his eves said much.
And at the next station he duly carried out his threat.
The guard, belng a peace-loving man, tried to settle
the dispute by tactful, persuasive methods,
““(‘ome, come!” he pleaded, after a lengthy argument.
“Why won't you do as the gentleman asks, and shove
that bundle on the rack?”
SWHY?? teplied the’ “countryman. “Because it ain’l
mine.” s
lomger with 4\'01:1" hushand because he
has broken the vow he made to you at
vour marriage, But think how many
thousands of poor women all over
the world are doing it, every day-—
liyinZ, wih gdulterous husbands for
the' sake of their homes and children,
and not only for the sake of their
homes and children only, but for the
sake of their souls and their religion.
Blessed, blesged martyrs, though we
know nothing about them, holding so
clety and the church and the human
famgdly together.”
I was trembling all over. I felt as
it Futhetr Dan were trying to take
away from me the only sweet and
precious thing in my life that was
left.
To Be Continued To-morrow,
ffeaded for home,
He got what he went/for and now he is happy ¥ -."{-\» : ]
on the way. There is nothm% that appeals Q, W < i
to a normal, healthy appetite like the whole- ¥ &
some sweet best found in \ k ok
' 2 50 :
| L 7 &y~ 78
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y your groc 9.,:%», /l & ¢
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The Manicure Lady
By WILLIAM F. KIRK.
66 HAT became of that nice
young man that worked
on the third chair yes
terday?” asked the Manicure Lady.
“The mice young man got fired,”
said the Head Barber. *“He was one
of them languid workers, and when
he shaved a man he acted ag if he
was doing the man a favor. T watch
ed his speed all day, and when them
shades of night was falling, as the
poets say, I tied a can to him.”
“You might have given him more
of a trial,” said the Manicure Lady.
“He looked so neat and handsome
in his white coat.”
“He'll look just as neat and hand
some Ariving a team,” said the Head
Barber. “That kind of a guy never
needs to get his clothes pressed very
often, no matter what kind of a job
he has, T have saw quite a few like
him, and, they ain’t no good. He said
he wasn’t much in love with the jeb
anyway, and 1 told him that made it
nice all around. It beats all the
number of men there are in this
country who are looking for a job
and afraid they will find one.”
“l guess that s so,” egaid the Man
jcure Lady. *“Brother Wilfred is a
good deal that way himself. You:
know that job I was telling vou
about, that job he had writing =soap
ads? Well, he passed that up after
working three weeks just because the
owner of the concern took a notion
that he didn't Hke one of the verses
Wilfred wrote, It was only a little
eight-line jingle, and he could have
wrote another in ten minutes, but he
felt as bad about getting it turned
down as a playwright would feel
when he found he couldn't get his
play on the stage. He told the boss
that he wasn't used to having his
poems criticised and turned down
Up-to-Date Jokes
“How are you to-day?” sald a Scot
tish landlord to one of his tenants on
meeting him on the road.
“Vera weel, sir, vera weel” an
swered John, in his usual way, “gin
it wisna for the rheumatism in my
richt leg.”
“Ah, well, John, be thankful; for
there is no mistake, vou are getting
old like the rest of us, and old age
does not come alone.”
“Auld age, sir!"” replied John. “1
won'er to hear ye. Auld age has
raething to do w'it. Here's my ither
leg, jist as auld, an’ it is quite soond
and soople yet.” !
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.
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The Carton way is the clean way—the clean way should be
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conditions
CLEANED, UNCOATED, WHITE FULL HEAD
comes to you in a dustproof, dirt-proof, damp-proof, orange
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The same high quality as “‘Hotel Astor’’ Coffee and Tea. Not
sold as a big package or a small package, but at ten cents a
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Ask Your If you are not using Hotel Astor Rice we want you to try it.
Just send us ten cents for a full pound carton post paid. Be
Grocer sure and give us the name of your grocer,
B. FISCHER & CO. : : 190 Franklin Street, New York
like that, which was about as far
from the truth as anything Mister
Ananias ever said. Goodness knows
he has had his poems criticised and
returned as often as any poet that
ever wrde a llne. Father tald him
when he came home with his tale of
woe that he was a big baby, and he
hinted that work and Wilfred
wouldn't never be no great pals.,”
“I always liked to work, and I
have worked ever since I can rée
member,” said the Head Barber. “I
never got fired but once, and that
wasn't because I didn't work hard. I
was a little bit shaky from a session
I had the night before, and I cut off
part of a gent's ear. The gent was
one of theth mean old aarts that
couldn’t take it the way It Was meant,
and he said that {f the hogg didn’t fire
me he wonld sue the place, o out T
sailed. T like work now, as much as
I ever did, and I always will like it
till 1 take the last count.”
“Well, T can't go that strong,” sald
the Manicure Lady. “Of course, I
realize that a person ought to do
comething to be useful as one is go~
ing through life, but I ain’t no holy
terror for pitching in and ma%#\c
things fly. I ain't as lazy as 1-
fred, though. 1 work kind of cheer
ful and fairly patient, I think. He i®
the limit for dodging the heavy go
ing. He js all the time talking about
the dign(ty of labor and wrote a poem
onee called ‘Triumphant Toil,” but he
ain't got no callouses on his hands.
He's about like the voung fellow that
was looking for a j= and asked how
much pay he would get. ‘As much
as you are worth,' says the boss, T
won’'t work that cheap,’ says the
young man.”
“Yes,” said the Head Barber, “and
the woods is full of young men just
like him.” j
“Yes, I certainly advertised for a
valet,” sald the gentleman, in reply
to the man on the lookout for a berth;
“but you're as old as the hills.” /
“Well, sir,” answered the applicant,
“begging your pardon, aren't valleys
always as old as the hills?”
» - -
Hezekiah (seeing the sights with
his father)—Say, why do they call
this 'ere building the Exchange?
Old Dubbs (a lamb who has been
shorn)—Because, Hezckiah, that's
where you exchange your cash for
experience. i