OCR Interpretation

The Catholic bulletin. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1911-1995, April 30, 1921, Image 7

Image and text provided by Minnesota Historical Society; Saint Paul, MN

Persistent link: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn90060976/1921-04-30/ed-1/seq-7/

What is OCR?

Thumbnail for

Rabbi Wise said that barely. If
ever, did he preach about a play. "For
the thing is done too often, and it
can be done too cheaply," he said.
"But 'Nice People' is a startlingly
vivid and powerful human document
which epitomizes in dramatic form
the things that multitudes of men
and womer. teachers within and with
out the pulpit have long been trying
to say.
"What are the real causes" of the
things that are happening in and to
the lives of the daughters of 'nice
peopley-'-as shown in that first act?
First of all, the woman's movement
toward em&ftc!0ation or liberation has
been grievously misunderstood and in
some senses woefully perverted.
"The notion of women with regard
to freedom, who think that the only
8ure tokens of woman's freedom are
to be found in illimitable indulgence
in smoking and drinking, makes one
wonder whether emancipation came
centuries too soon or a century too
late. To confound disgusting habits
with independence is a strangely per
verse attitude of mind.
"Back of the things that are said
and done by the daughters of 'nice
people' lies a not wholly inexplicable
revolt from the social hypocrisy of
other days with its conspiracies of
silence and deceit, of wile and strata
gem. But the absence of high can
dor in one generation is no excuse for
the next generation lapsing into that
so-called frankness which is little bet
ter than unashamed indecency and
Dr. Wise took issue'with the head
of a woman's college who ascribed
these conditions to "the spirit of the
"The business of those that lead
and teach and influence the life of the
young, whether in the home or in the
school or in the university or in the
church," he said, "is to challenge the
spirit of the times, to appeal from
its decisions that decide nothing, and
to call upon the spirit of the best in
the finest of our yqjith and maidens
to lift up new standards for them
selves and all the youth of our gen
Dr. Wise concluded with an appeal
to young women of leisure and edu
cation, and more particularly to young
college and university women, favored
by opportunity, to be mindful of the
dignity of their calling and the mean
ing of their enfranchised womanhood.
The Saturday Evening Post recent
•ly had an editorial which does not
quite correspond to reality. "The
smallj-town belle who is rouged is
found only in fiction."
It is none of this writer's business
whether country belles "rouge" or
don't rouge, but he does know that
some do, says Lordman.
They are not experts at it. but they
at Jeast dabble with the stuff. Their
amateurish indiscretions sometimes
fairly "scream" at you to take notice.
And, some of these country belles
don't merely "rouge" but they also—
"blacken"—and "whiten."
A nose which looks as though it
plunged into a flour barrel, scarlet
cheeks, and pitch-black crescents
above the flirting eyes, is a combina
tion to make a man cross-eyed.
Mary Rose Potter, dean of the
women professors of Northwestern
Ifibiversity, tells us not to worry about
these painted "beauties." We don't
litend to.
Arthur Brisbane, another authori
ty, but, of a different kind, says:
"Girls* are all right—but—rouge, lip
Stick and the rest are bad for this
j^agon—they take the place of good
isbinplpxions. make it unnecessary for
£trl§ tp for thejr Bfttural com-
^Infttect Tty£^\rop the r/iw#tr?
Smoking by women, drinking by
young people, lewd dancing, immodest
dressing, attendance at all-night par
ties and the lip-stick habit were con
demned last week by Rabbi Stephen
S. Wise, preaching before the congre
gation of the Free Synagogue, New
York City, on "Daughters of 'Nice Peo
ple,' in Carnegie Hall.
"I believe much in the present-day
life of women is due to a half-con
scious revolt against standards, some
women making the terrible blunder
not of insisting that man's standards
shall be even as their own, but of
acquiescing in the lower standards of
men," said Dr. Wise. "As if women
were to say—'You need not be as
clean as we have been, but we shall
be as unclean as you have been!'
"The change in the manner of liv
ilffc of the daughters of 'nice people'
is due in part to the Europeanization
or continentalization of our stand
ards, and is also a result of the chal
lenges and necessities of war emer
gencies. But here, too, the tragedy
is that we have got the worst out of
the war, debased ourselves to its low
est by-products instead of having
achieved its finest hopes and aims.
"Let it not be imagined that the
standards of 'nice people' have bro
ken down overnight. It has not come
about suddenly. It is not overmuch
smoking on the part of the daughters
of 'nice people,' nor indecent drink
ing. nor lewd dancing, nor semi-nude
dressing, nor attendance at all-night
parties, nor the never-ceasing exhibit
of the lip-stick—it is all of these
tilings together that constitute a sor
ry, sordid, little less than tragic,
thing, that make the daughters of
'nice people' conform in manner and
in lack of manner to ,the standards
set by women of the street.
"I have said little of the sons of
'nice people,' though these, too. are
human persons. For these will hard
ly be worth saving if the daughters
of 'nice people' continue to be as they
are becoming."
plexions, and therefore unnecessary
to think about their h«^lth. That's
the next generation." He's
right. Some country belles would be
"rouged" or red enough if they used
a little more of God's pure, free and
fresh air. If our young men went on
a strike and simply refused to marry
painted belles these feminine paint
ers would look for a more profitable
job. But some men, so it seems, are
quite fond of the painted faces, and
this may account for the fact that
some belles paint. These might pos
sibly be excused to say the least,
masculine severity seems a little out
of place. Then, there are some belles
with whom nature has been very un
kind. If mahogany and rosewood
need a little "rub" to make them more
attractive and presentable, we surely
do not desecrate the "lesser" woods
by covering their defects with paint
and varnish. In some cases, there
fore, a little "rouging" and "puffing"
may not only be excusable—but—ad
Stricter moralists may be horrified
at this leniency, but they might know,
that lines which are drawn too tight
How shall I a habit break?
As you did that habit make.
As you gathered you must lose
As you yielded now refuse.
Thread by thread the strands we twist
Till they bind us neck and wrist
Thread by thread the patient hand
Must untwine ere free we stand.
As we built up stone by stone,
We must toil ynhelped, alone,
Till the wall is overthrown.
But, remember, as we try.
Lighter every test goes by
Wading in, the stream goes deep
Towards the center's downwardsweep
Backward turn, each step ashore
Shallower is than that before.
Ah, the precious years we waste
Leveling what we raised in hasto
Doing what must be undone
Ere content or love is won! V*
First across the gulf we cast
Kite-born thread, then lines are pass
And habit builds the fridge at last.
—J.B. O RelllO-
A touching story of a mother-in
law s love, devotion and sacrifice is
related by a writer in the Providence
"A young man able in his profes
sion. had bad financial reverses," he
relates. "Then follows illness to him
self, depriving him of the use of his
faculties, with a heavier cross to
w«igh him down when his young wife
becomes a confirmed invalid. The
mother of the young wife becomes a
devoted slave to both.
"The countenance of that mother is
still vividly before me with all its
beauty and saintliness. She was a
woman of marked refinement, one of
those angels whom God sent down
from heaven to minister unto man.
She had not worked laboriously or in
the field of life before—her life had
been one wholly of domesticity. But
this winter of want, the illness of her
daughter, the inability of her son-in
law to earn a livelihood, spurred her
on. She sought employment, found it,
nursed her daughter and her 'son,'
as she called him, and even after the
death of her own daughter she cared
for, supported and guarded her son
in-law until he was completely re
stored to health."
While the burden which this family
had to bear was greater than that im
posed upon most of us, the account of
the mother-in-law's devotion and sac
rifice is ^probably not unusual. In
thousands of homes the mother of
either the husband or wife lives in
concord and unity with the members
of the household and is often a great
help in rearing the children and mak
ing the home a contented and happy
Serenely, I fold my hands and wait,
Nor care for wind, or tide, or sea
I rave no more 'gainst Time or Fate,
For lo! my own shall come to me.
Asleep, awake, by night or day,
The friends I seek are seeking me
No wind can drive my barque astray,
Nor change the tide of Destiny.
The stars come nightly to the sky,
The tidal wave unto the sea
Nor time, nor space, nor deep, aor
Can keep my own away from me.
Serene, I fold my hands and wait
Whate'er the storms of life may be
Faith guides me up to Heaven's gate,
And love will bring my own to me.
—John Burrouaha.
From time immemorial the indefi
nite "They" has been made the scape
goat of all sorts of slander, cafumny,
and detraction generally. The cow
ardly backbiter seeks to disguise his
malice by imputing his verbal poi
soned arrows to persons unknown—
"They say so and so." Another field
in which this same indefinite locution
is being overworked is thus aptly de
scribed by "T. A. T..* wilting in the
Catholic Universe:
We all fall easily into tne habit of
saying "they" ought to do this and
"they" ought to do that the "they"
being some vague personages who are
permitting weeds to grow up in the
streets and dirt to accumulate in al
leys. This same "they" fail to do
anything wjien newspapers and maga
zines of- great circulation slander the
Church, or through insinuation and
and doctrines. You and I belong to
that "they." Unless we are doing
all we ca i do to correct such evils,
then we ought not to complain of
"they." Let us substitute "we" for
"they and when we see misrepre
sentations of our religion in the public
press let us do something about it,
and not wait on some "they" who are
always neglecting their duty.
It is an old story, but it is a good
one. A father told his son that when
ever he did wrong he should drive a
nail into the door of the woodshed
The door began to fill up very fast,
and a great many nails were being
used—heaps of them, in fact. The
boy did not like the. appearance of the
nail-studded door, and told his father
so. "Well," said the father, "now
every time you are obedient or speak
a kind word I'll draw one of the nails
out." So it went on for some time till
at last the son, with a good, glad
heart, called his father to draw the
last nail. Out it came. "Oh, I'm so
glad, father," said the boy, and then,
the pitted-looking door catching his
eye, he added, a little sadly "But
the marks are there!" "Yes," said his
father, "and so it is with our evil
deeds—they leave marks that linger
long upon our characters and lives.
Y^e ought to try to escape not only
the wounds, but the scars that are left.
The only way to do this is to avoid the
When Granlma goes to say her beads
For all our family and our needs,
She sweetly says to me, "My dear,
Play nicely with your dollies here
Until I call. Then come to me
And bring your little Rosary."
I help her (Grandma says it's true)
With Aves ten, when she's most
She lays her hand, her gentle way,.
Upon my head. "When children
She says, "the guardian angels take
The whispered Aves, and they make
{They do, indeed, right then and
The loveliest rosebuds of each prayer,
Some rosebuds white, some rosebuds
Red as the lips the Aves said,
Then with the posies off they fly,
Those happy angels, to the sky.
And all that Grandma says is true,
I see it in her eyes so blue
And clear and deep and kind,
That look right into mine and find
Those thoughts that cannot see a way
To get out in the words I say.
I see her sitting over there
In her old fashioned rocking chair,
The place (so I've heard father say)
.She taught her babies how to pray..j
And now the'rosy altar light
(She keeps it burning day and night),
Sends rays that give the softest kiss
To her grey head—like this and this.
Rusty tricks,
You see, I'm learning "tables
not the school room way,
Just mother's way of teaching. Why,
fifty times a day,
She's ask me, "Six times seven?" as
quick as any wink,
And I'm supposed to answer without
one chance to think?
Perhaps I'm drying dishes when my
mother says to me,
"Florence, shine these tumblers, and
what was eight times three?"
Or maybe I'll be dusting, or teaching
When mother calls and asks me,
"Now what was twelve times
At school the stupid figures seem
hard, and all the same,.
But here at home with mother, they're
just a kind of game!
It's fun to know the answers! I real
ly like to play
learning all my "tables" in
mother's funny way!
—Dta Uoina* Regiattr,
]& China New Years is the greatest
festival of the year—not January 1,
but the national feast which comes a
month later.
Rev. Edmond Devloo, B. F. M., of
Chaoyangfu, Cheli, tells about this
festival season.
"With the Chinese New Year all
our school children are disbanded
the boys and girls return home so
spend their biggest national holiday.
"No matter how poor, all of them
must eat pork on that day, and drink
their national wine there are plenty
of fireworks, crackers, cakes nothing
is lacking. It is plain that we priests
would be rather undesirable even in
the houses of our Christians, whose
time is totally taken by the prepara
tions for this great holiday, but we
have opportunity to spend a few
weeks at the presbytery and to write
some words to our dear benefactors
from overseas.
"When I think upon the festivities
of the Chinese New Year, the number
less superstitious practices, the waste
of money to worship Satan and to
beautify his temples, and hence the
increased power of Satan upon these
his worshippers, I cannot but remem
ber the words of Jesus: 'And othei
sheep also I have that are not of
this fold. Them also I must bring
and they shall hear my voice and
there shall be one fold and one Shep
"We priests here in Chaoyangfu are
much in need of a new chapel, and
there is no doubt that many of those
'other sheep' would be gathered in if
we could preach the word la-a church,
capable of accommodating a large
a. Vt,'
f\ I JJ jj JaHT A'3:'-jJK i'
Long years ago, runs one of the
old legends of the Umatilla Indians,
there dwelt at the mouth of the Uma
tilla River an Indian woman who had
but one child, a boy of the age of
seven. The boy was bright and full
of fun and the spirit of adventure,
but he was much inclined to disobey
his mother in matters which seemed
to him of no special importance. The
foolish boy thought he knew better
than his mother what he should do
and should not do.
One day the mother heard there was
a sorceress in the woods back of the
tepee, a witch doctor who could do
anything she wished with people in
her power. Therefore, she told her
son to remain within the tepee until
the witch had gone away.
The boy, who was called Cherr
1-1-e-e, said, "All right, mother," and
then slipped out of the back door,
thinking he would go to the woods,
see the*witch, and return in safety.
There is where he made a mistake
He had scarcely reached the woods
before he saw a dreadful figure with
disheveled hair, long, sharp claws and
malign aspect, peering through the
brush as if in search of someone.
The boy was badly frightened and
at once took to his heels. The witch
gave chase. In a* moment her hot
breath was on the boy's neck and he
felt that all was lost. Still, he strove
with all his might to get beyond her
clutches and at last managed to get
beyond her reach by climbing a pine
Once in the treetop he felt secure
and glanced down at the witch. She
was standing at the foot of the tree,
gnashing her teeth and vainly trying
to ascend. Then the boy thought he
would have some fun, so he plucked
a huge pine cone and threw it at the
old hag, striking her on the head.
Again and again he hit her, laughing
with glee at his success, but the
witch still remained at tjie foot of
the tree.
Then the lad threw a cone far out
into the brush, the witch gave chase
and, while she was gone, he slid down
the tree and within a few minutes
was safe in his mother's tepee.
Scarcely had he arrived in the tepee
when the witch reached it also, wild
with anger. His mother, in alarm,
hid him in a corner and covered his
head with a buffalo horn spoon.
The witch came in and demanded
the boy. She was told that he had
not come home. Then the witch
searched the tepee and, eventually
finding the boy, seized him. As the
boy tried to squirm out of her grasp,
she caught him with all her claws'
by the forehead and, left the marks
of her talons on his. face and body.
Then she changed him from a boy to
an animal which she called a chip
munk. And that is why that cheer
ful little animal frequents the pine
trees and wears stripes.
(Continued from page 3.)
in a bit of embroidery I detested,
while Horace, seemingly unconscious
of observers, played with the abandon
of youth.'
Just as my patience %as worn
threadbare, Miss Mattie unwittingly
supplied me with the big idea. One of
her young friends worked in a caridy
shop where the proprietor gave the
girls liberty to eat all they wanted.
"At first she stuffed and staffed now
she can't bear the sight of it," Miss
Mattie chuckled.
Why would not that plan apply to
my own situation? My exasperation
cooled. I'd feed Horace to satiety.
"Your husband is away so much
I'm sure it must be lonesome for you.
Why not take your meals with us?"
I said to Kitty, cordially, the next
After that, morning, noon and night,
she was in and out. When she was
not there I kept her in our thoughts
through the most prosaic moments of
our daily life.
Horace seemed delighted, at first,
but the habits of years are not so
easily broken. Whenever he settled
himself with a book or paper, I began.
His shoulder-jerking, newspaper rust
ling intimations that he did not wish
to be disturbed I entirely ignored. I
also began as soon as he awakened in
the morning.
"What a lovely head of hair Kitty
has," I commented, while combing my
own straight, heavy locks.
"A veritable shower of gold," he
agreed, and through the reflection in
his mirror I saw the look I so detested
creep up and wipe out the strength
of his face.
"It curls so beautifully," I forced
myself to continue then I burst into
uncontrollable laughter when Horace
absent-mindedly banged his bald spot
with the back of his brush instead ot
stroking the long lock he had care
fully trained to cover it.
"Pardon, dear. It was so funny!"
I kissed his flushed cheek and hur
ried down to get breakfast.
When Horace came down he glared
at me suspiciously, jerked out his
chair, and attacked his broiled steak.
"Tough as leather!"' he exclaimed
"Why, Horace,, it is particularly ten
der! Are your teeth troubling you
again? I do hope you won't have to
wear a plate, as Doctor Reed'fearisd,"
1 said solicitously.
"Nonsense! My teeth are all
right!" he snkpped.
"Kitty has such pretty white teeth,"
I observed pensively.
Horace darted an angry glance at
me. I thought I heard him mutter
"Rats!" into his napkin, but smilingly
ignoring his bad manners I offered
to poach him an egg. At that he
grabbed his paper and slammed out
of the room, and I could hear him
growling and kicking things out of
his way in the library.
Kitty came in a moment later, as
sweet as a rose. I sent her into the
library, listening gleefully. She came
while I see to your breakfast." I
turned away to hide my twitching
mouth. Horace loathed camphor!
Kitty came right back, looking puz
zled. Horace left for his office with
out his customary good-byo—and did
not return until midnight.
Next morning I blithely renewed
my theme. "Oh, chop it!" Horace
inelegantly blurted* and I changed the
I had prided myself that our life
was free from the petty bickerings
we saw in other homes. Was it be
cause, concealing my own irritations,
I had shielded Horace from the an
noyance of errands, baskets, and bun
dles? It made me blaze to see how
chivalrously he relieved Kitty of these
homely tasks. Pleading urgent busi
ness he had always excused himself
from all household cares.
I knew that he was engaged' on an
important case, but I had no mercy
in my heart. If he lost the suit, he
lost money but I was fighting for all
that made life dear. I dared not relax
my purpose. So, in the midst of his
intense application, I made Kitty's
birthday an excuse for a merry even
When Horace came home, white,
fagged, I sent Kitty to greet him.
You' are working i y&urself to death
over those old law books!" she pouted
babyishly. Quick tears stung my eye
lids, seeing the tired lines fade into
tenderness at the clasp of her hands.
But, as the evening wore on, I saw
that it was increasingly difficult for
Horace to keep his mind on Kitty's
nonsensical chatter. Nevertheless, I
encouraged her to the moment of her
departure. When Horace sprang to
assist her with her wrap, a gossamer
frame for her loveliness, I followed
them out, ostensibly "for a breath of
air"—so Miss Mattie waited up for
nothing that evening.
Finally, seeing us equally interested
in our gay neighbor, I think even Miss
Mattie's suspicions died out. Kitty
was making younger acquaintances,
and I sensed relief in the way Horace
was setting back into his quiet hab
its. My heart was lulled into thank
fulness. Then, without warning, the
blow fell.
Horace came rushing back one
morning, saying he must make the
early train for Chicago. I dutifully
helped him off, then planned ah orgy
with my vacuum sweeper. While loop
ing back the curtains, I noticed a taxi
stopping at the Madison porch. "Mr.
Madison's home. He ought to come
home oftener," I thought, then stared,
astonished, seeing Kitty hurry out in
her trig traveling suit. "We'll have
to scorch some to make that nine
train!" the driver said, stowing away
her shiny bag and slamming the door.
I tried to call her, but only a hoarse
croak came from my contracted
throat. The room swam. I turned to
stone. In the mirror I saw myself
in the merciless morning light—a hag
gard, aging woman! 4
Through my hour of anguish pierced
the thought of the noon "flyer," The
blood surged back through my veins.
I ordered a taxi, bathed my face,
smoothed "my hair, got into street
clothes, threw a roll of bills into my
well-worn bag, then pinned a veil over
my ravaged face and set out on my
ill-defined quest.
On my arrival in Chicago I decided
to go straight to our usual hotel. I
had registered and was on my way to
the suite we generally occupied, when,
glancing backward, I saw Kitty, beam
ing and smiling as usual. My
heart stopped beating! Her own
husband, instead of mine, was bend
ing over her! In a panic I followed
the boy to my room. When the door
closed after him I indulged in my first
attack of hysterics.
A voice roused me—Kitty's voice,
followed by her husband's mildly chid
ing, "Why did you come over with
Old Law-Books
"I didn't! I came as soon as I got
your wire—but not with him. I hid,
so he wouldn't see me," she giggled.
I held my breath. They were in
the room opposite, and both transoms
were open. I brazenly listened.
"I'd have punched his bald pate if
I'd seen him philandering with you."
"Of all the insolence!" I gasped.
"It has looked, sometimes,, as if he
were smitten with you," the voice
"Andy, Dandy!« You wouldn't want
a wife nobody'd look at!"
"What puzzles me is how the Missus
stands for it."
"She understands. He doesn't mean
anything. He's leen tired this long
time, trying to be as young as he tised
to be. If she wasn't such an old
dowd, he wouldn't have looked at me
in the first place."
"She is a frump. Can't blame him
for wanting to rest his eyes—but I
didn't send for you to talk hbout
The voices merged in gleeful chat
I flounced to the mirror. "Old
dowd!" I taunted myself. "Frump,"
I mocked, for a frump I saw, in an
old-fashioned, wrinkled suit, shabby
hat and gloves, dusty shoes.
I wouldn't have Horace catch me
here for the -world! And I had plumed
myself on getting full service out of
my clothes, contrasting my frugal ex
penditures with my husband's more
extravagant tastes! Why, I had. been
actually secretly ashamed of his fas
tidious notions in dress! "What an
all around fool I've been!" I groaned.
With the Madison arraignment ting
ling my ears, I set out on a reckless
round of shopping.
I reached home with heart beating
high. I phoned for Alice Mullen, my
occasional helper, and engaged her
permanently. In a beauty parlor, pre
viously scorned, I had things done to
my face, hair and hands. My new
coiffure was becoming. The differ
ence it made in the contour of my
face was surprising. How had I been
so content with my tightly twisted
When my gowns and pretty acces
sories arrived, I tried them on, happy
as a school girl, anticipating my hus
band's astonishment.
right back. "Mr. Vance says he has
a headache," she announced, eyeing! turn I stationed myself at the library
me inquisitively I Window, where I used to wave him
"Here's the camphor rul) his heed greetings, years before. 1 &aw hWn
On the evening of his expected re-
6. 8. Stephens,
Floor Hamm Bldg.
'S i
look across and lift his hat, without
so much as a glance at the cottage
beyond. How could I have suspected
the best man in the world of caring
seriously for that silly, brainless chit?
I met him at the door. His eyes
widened. "Are we entertaining?" he
frowned apprehensively, as he peered
over my shoulder.
"No one here but us," I smiled.
"I'm glad of it." He beaved a sigh
College of Saint Teresa
Registered (or Tfcachers' License by the New York £olrd of Regents.
Accredited by the Association of American Universities.
Holds Membership in the North Central Association of Colleges.
Standard degree courses in Arts and Science leading to the degrees of
Bachelor of Arts and Bachelor of Science.
In the History of the Rasmusstn School
The earnest teaching, progressive methods and splen
did equipment of this biff school induce students to come
from far and near.
To meet the great demand for graduates, the school
has day and evening sessions the entire year.
Students are enrolling now for spring and summer
term. Illustrated catalog mailed free anywhere upon re
quest. Phone Cedar 5333.
1*® Fiftk St., bet. Robert and Jackaon Sta.
One of the largest and best equipped business
schools in America. WALTER RASMUSSEN, Proprietor
A thoroughly equipped High School for Girls
SAINT PAUL, MINN. Telephone Dale 0535
Piano, Harmony. Violin, Mandolin, Guitar. Zither, Banjo, Voice. Elocution.
Language, Painting, Drawing, China Decorating
Puplla may enter at any time
CaJl or wend for term* Leaaona elven daring vacation
St. Benedict's College and Academy
Under the patronage of the Right Reverend Joseph F. Busck, D. D., Bishop
of St. Cloud.
THE COLLEGE—Offers a four years' course, leading to the degrot gf
Bachelor of Arts.
i -IfflW,
ACAIPEM Y—Offers a four years' course, preparing for College.
,Catal°* mailed upon application to "Sister Directress.1*
8ecure an efficient, thorough Bus*
iness College training. Gain the
Specialized Knowledge that will
enable you to forge ahead of the
untrained crowds.
Decide today—now—to enroll in
in either our
Day or Night School
Phone, write or visit us in
Villa Maria Academy
Conducted by the URSULINE NUNS
Send lor Catalog and Complete Information.
7y f.
Ga rfield 4378 ST. PAUL. MINN.
An Institution for the Professional Training
of Grade Teachers for Parochial Schools
Affiliated to the College of Saint Teresa
St. Joseph's Hospital
For particulars^—*•
Address: Superintendent of Xiirses
of relief. "I don't seem to remember
that gown"—he said In a puzzled way,
taking my hand. "Why. what have
you been doing to yourself, Nancy?"
"I got tired of being a dowd—"
"You sweet woman!" Horace
crushed me against his dusty coat I
did not remonstrate the mussing of
my new gown was a small considera
tion just then.
Mortnt V Gl'riHn, tm thr Kqsotv

xml | txt