in, ,
THE SCRANTON TRIBUNE-TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 5. 1809.
The Story of
Ober .Turret was a hard num. Ho
rather gloried In his hardness. A hard
jnan wus 11 man who couldn't !o fooled.
Obed Jarrott never was fooled. In his
private opinion the world was made up
of it few honest men, and a treat
many fools and knaves. An honest
jnan was one who tin Id his way and
neither asked nor gave favors. Foots
might call him hard, and knaves
might snail because he wasn't gullible,
,but what cared Ober Janet'.'
The honest man sat at his desk that
June afternoon with his pen loosely
dangling In his lingers, and his check
liook open before him. He was in no
hurry. To give away money was so
mow n sensation that he felt Justified
In prolonging it. Not but that he could
amply afford to give the sum he had
fixed upon; It was the principle of the.
thing that held him Irresolute.
Ho was worth close to SSO.OOO. There
was a memorandum slip In the upper
right hand drawer that showed this to
tal In round figures. He could liuvo
told the amount within a dollar or two.
It was a gilt-edged property stocks,
mortgages, cash and n little real es
tate. "If I was sold out tomorrow." said
Obed, smiling grimly, "It would bring
every penny that I've totaled It at."
He had won this comfortable prop
erty by shrewdness rather than harl
work. For more than 20 years ho had
bought mortgages and loaned money,
and snapped up unconsidered financial
trifles, In thnt same old otlice. He slept
in the rooms above It, and sometimes
for days together he didn't leave the
building. There had been few episodes
to enliven the dullness of this money
grubbing life, but tomorrow one of
them was to take place. Tomorrow his
son, his only child, was to be married.
Instinctively his eyes turned to the
portrait above his desk. The portrait
of a brown haired young woman with
smiling eves and slightly parted lips.
As he looked upon the gentle face he
felt n little tightening about the heart.
Dead four and twenty years. Their
son was four and tw nty. and he mar
lied tomorrow. Their son. Had he done
his duty by their son? He thought so.
He had certainly given him n good
schooling. The boy had gone through
college with credit to himself and his
father-and had helped to pay his way,
too. Obed had wanted him to study
law, but ho bad a love for chemistry,
and, in company with a fellow student,
had set up an ofllce of his own. They
started in as consulting chemists and
assayers, and were from all Obed
could learn building up a fairly re
munerative business. He was certainly
a good boy. though perhaps a little
lacking In that respect for his father
which begets confidence, ft seemed
hut a day or two ago that he hud tome
to him and said:
"Father, I am going to marry."
Tt was like a blow to Obed.
"Well, well," he presently said in his
testy way, "since It's all settled, why
do you come to me?"
"Hecause I think you should know
It," said Arthur stoutly.
"You didn't think to consult me be
fore vou took this step," said the old
man. grimly.
"You couldn't expect that, father,"
said the son. "I am no longer a boy.
Resides, you can't help but approve of
her. Sh'-'s the dearest girl. Her name
Is Alma Truman, and her father Is
( hlef accountant with Fancber & Co.
Phe's the eldest of six. and they're
artfully broken up at the Idea of her
going. That's the kind to marry,
father. The kind that is missed at
home. Hut you must see her."
"How do you expect to support
her?" Inquired Obed, dryly.
"With these two hands, and the ex
cellent education you have given me,"
reriicd Arthur.
The boy had taken him around to the
Tiumans' house one evening, but there
were so many Trumans, and It was
only a short call, and he had scarcely
aught a glimpse of the girl. And
now the boy was going to marry and
leave him, he felt, forever.
Their boy! Had he alwavs remem
bered that Arthur1 was their boy?
Would things have been different If
she had lived? Would he, himself.,
have become the dry, old. money
muklug machine lie was? God only
knew.
How happy they had been that brief
year. How ambitious he was for her
sake. How he tolled and planned. And
he remembered how she would come to
him and lay her soft, cool hands on his
nnd draw the pen away and turn him
round In his chair and command him
to rest. Was she smiling down on him
now. as slit had smiled flown upon
him then, and os she nlmost seemed to
smile upon him from the lifeless can-
VI' s"
Four and twenty years, and here ho
sai. an old man, preparing a wedding
gift for their son. who was to be mar
vied tomorrow. A gift for their son.
Yes. yes. It was a custom foolish,
perhaps. He would give him a check
for a hundred dollars. It was u tidy
sum. and pretty nearly as much cash
as the boy s father hud when he mar
i led. A hundred dollars. Surely a lib
eral gift for for their boy. Their boy.
He bent forward suddenly and dip?
ped his pen In the ink. It was strange
how dim the lines on the check seemed.
He wrote the dute. Four and twenty
years ago. Why, the room seemed full
of her! Was she leaning over his
shoulder ngaln Ho slowly made the
figure "1" and the two ciphers. Their
boy! Was that the touch of her soft,
rool hands on his? Was was she
guiding his pen? The lines were dim
Indeed, as he slowly wrote. Then he
paused nnd stared down at his work
and carefully added his signature.
He dropped hack in his chair and
brushed his hand across his eyes, nnd
for a moment was very still. When
he looked up again at the portrait he
smiled. Then he briskly tore out the
check, pushed back the book, shut
down the desk, and seizing his hat,
was off.
Ten minutes later he confronted the
serlous-fuced teller of tho Sixth Na
tional nnd thrust the check at him
across the plate glass shelf.
"Certify that, please," he said, In his
crisp way.
The teller picked up tho slip of pa
per In his preoccupied manner and
glanced at tt. Then his faco suddenly
beamed.
"Why. that's line!" ho nrled, und
certified It In a hurry.
Obed said nothing.
It was a n.ulot little home wedding.
Only the relatives were present, but
there were such n lot of them on tho
Truman side. It was a nice wedding
If It was qiilet. The house was beauti
fied with flowers, and vines, and rib
bons, under tho supervision of the sis
ter who was in the achool of art, and
Two Ciphers,
everybody looked quite happy. Includ
ing the younger Trtitnans, who were
bearing up bravely.
Ailhur took his father with him to
the house, and then left him in tho hall
In chat go of an usher,
"There Is usually. I think' said
Ol-d to the usher, "a place set aside
for the gifts to the the happy pair.
Am I right?"
"You are." said the smiling usher.
"This way." And he led him upstairs
to the 'little room where the modest
gifts were displayed. Fortunately for
Obed, there was nobody in tho apart
ment at the moment, and when tin;
usher's back was turned he slipped
the check from his pocket and laid It
under the edge of a plaque on the
table. Then he softly stole down
stairs.
After the ceremony he came slowly
forward, following the others who liud
offered their congratulations, and took'
his son's hand and pressed It Bi'.-mly.
Then he turned to his new daughter,
surprised at a look that passed between
the happy pair, and wondering what
It meant.
"Father .Tarrett," said Alma, as she
raised her face and the old man quite
without forethought stooped and kissed
her, "Father Jarrett, you know that
nobody can refuse a bride's request.
And Arthur nnd I want you to promise
to come nnd live with us Just as soon
as we are settled In our flat."
"No, no," said the astonished Obed.
"I I should be In your wny."
"That's no answer," said Alma; "sny,
at least, that you will come and try It."
The old man hesitated. She certainly
was a dear girl.
"I will promise to try It," he smiling
ly said, and somehow his heart felt
lighter than It had for many years
"And to think," he muttered to him
self as he stepped back, "that she In
vited me without knowing a blessed
thing about that check!"
A few moments later his son called
to him.
"Father." he said, "some up with US
and look at the presents. It's a good
time, everybody Is Vmsy talking, and
Alma wants you to see how nice and
kind her friends have been."
So they went up to tho little room,
and there Alma began her rapid history
of the gifts and their donors.
Suddenly they were Interrupted by a
cry from Arthur. Ho had discovered
the check.
"What's this!" he stammered. "Pny
to the order of Arthur Jarretft $10,000?
Why. father.
"Oh, oh! Now we can have a home of
our own!" cried the delighted girl, who
was looking over Arthur's shoulder.
"Hut you know. Father Jarrett, that
you would have been Just as welcome
at tho Hat."
"Yes, yes, I know," he answered.
Then he added a little brokenly: "I
want to be perfectly honest about this
money. One hundred dollars Is from
me, the rest from Arthur's mother." '
They looked at hlin wonderingly, and
he turned suddenly away.
When he looked around he said with
his grim old smile: "Slip It in your
pocket, my boy; the money will be
there when you get back."
Hut after Alma and Arthur had
started on their two weeks' wedding
Journey, and the old man was walking
back to his lonely rooms, he suddenly
straightened up and said half aloud:
"It will only be two weeks." W. It.
Hose, In Cleveland Plain Dealer.
DOBLEY'S MAN
WITH THE HOE.
From tho New York Sun.
"I might lust as well resign at once!"
exclaimed Mrs. Dobley. "I hnd no Idea
that Joining a literary club meant that
one had to perform In public. I simply
can't do It."
"What do they want you to do, my
dear''" asked Mr. Dobley. " song
and dance or a cakewalk?" I wouldn't
mind a little think like that. You can
pick it up In no time."
"It nothfiig like that," said Mrs.
Dobley, passing a typewritten docu
ment over the breakfast table. "And
you needn't make any fun of the mat
ter, either. The frivolous way in
which you look at everything is tire
some. Now, what am I to do?"
"X am sure, my dear," began Dob
ley "Just read it read it!" commanded
Mrs. Dobley, and her husband read:
"Honora Coombs Dobley.
"Dear Madam: At the next meeting
of the Literary club the topic of dis
cussion will be Markham's poem, 'The
Man With the Hoe.' As you have been
selected as chief speaker of the even
ing, you will kindly be prepared to
recite the poem and give a short sketch
of the author's career. Also to give
your opinions as to the Idea contained
In the work, as well as the general
style and literary construction of the
poem."
"Well, my dear," said Dobley, try
Ing to conceal the fact that ho was
quite as perturbed as his wife by the
letter. "Well?"
"Well? Why didn't they select you'
What did they, send that to me for?
What do I know about funning?"
"You forgot, tnv dear, thnt thla la
nrt an agricultural club, but a liter
ary society. Of course they refer to
the famous poem." t
"What poem?"
"Is It possible that you haven't heard
of Murkham's masterpiece. 'The Man
with tho Hoe?' " usked Dobley, with
a reproachful look over the top of his
egg.
"Why, I haven't read anything but
Quo Vadls tills summer, and 1 only
half read that. You sen It hurts my
eyes und besides that I'm too busy.
Who was he?"
" 'The Man with the Hoo"' lie has
become one of the most typical of "
"What was tho matter with him?
Why didn't he hoe? Where did It hap
pen?" "It began with a picture my dear.
An artist made a picture of a. man In
a field with a hoe."
"Hoping corn, I suppose; well, what
of It?"
"Well, It was n great picture filled
with depth and feeling and life "
"I suppose It eeemed as though h
were really hoeing, did It? I've seen
a plctuie like that a girl gathering
roses you could Just see the stems
snap."
"No, it wasn't exactly that. The
inafi had stopped"
"Stopped hoeing? What did ho do
that for?"
"He'il stopped to reel and was lean
ing on the hoe."
"Gracious! A hoo Hn't a bit com
fortable to lean upon. Why didn't he
sit down?"
"Why cr It was Just the ni fist's
Idea, you see. The man stopped to lean
on his hoe the laborer In the field
don't you sec'' typifying the workman
of tho ages the 'empty tiges,' Mark
ham wrote."
"Was It Marklmm had the hoo?"
"Oh, no' Markham wan a poet nnd
he saw the picture nnd saw the poetry
In It. Then he wrote the poem nnd
called It 'The Mnn with tho Hoe.'"
"Was It pretty?"
"It was a magnificent Idea tho figure
of that man ns typical of the work
manthe patient sluve ploughing the
Held"
"What did ho have a hoo for If ho
was ploughing?"
"You don't understand. Don't you
catch the Idea? Labor the farmer at
work -plodding along without an Idea
sweating over his work"
"You lust said he'd stopped to rest."
"Kr yes bit; when you rend it,
you'll see the splendid picture Mnrk
hiun drew "
"Excuse me, John; was .Markham tho
artist or was he the man who had the
hoe. or tho man who Just wrote about
11?"
"He was the poet, my dear; he wroto
thp verse."
"1 suppose he was paid for it, wasn't
he?"
"I suppose so. my dear."
"Then whnt was the trouble? Heal
ly. John, I can't seem to understand
what all the fuss was about."
"Markham wanted to show the mis
erable condition of the hard working
farmer tho slavery of the toller the
the fetters "
"Why, John Dobley. you know you
have often said you'd like to be a farm
er because they have everything so
easy. Hoeing and raking Is child's
play, and as for ploughing It's Just
like riding a bicycle nowadays. You
sit In a sort of a sulky and the horses
know Just where to go. 1 suppose they
will have automobiles after n while."
"He spoke," went on Mr. Dobley. "of
the 'emptiness of ages.' There's a
grand thought. The emptl "
"What did he mean bv that?"
"Why cr so much of that Is meta
phoryou see. The main idea Is that
the lot of the working ninu Is hopeless
'The Man with the Hoe' was a poor
wretch bent with toll a farmer whose
life was "
"Why didn't he get one of the farm
hands to do the hoeing?"
"Ho probably was a farm hand him
self working for a pittance"
"Well, he-ought to have been glad he
was working. I think. The Idea! What
did he want? A steam hoe?
"No, my dear; but the idea Is what
did life hold for him? Of what was
he thinking as he stood there leaning
on the hoe that humble Implement of
toll?"
"Probably he was thinking of his
dinner. I'm not a bit sorry for that
man. He had nice open air work and
he could stop to rest when ho wanted
to and probably his wife brought him
his dinner every noon time, and he had
nothing to do butto hoe. And he
wasn't even doing that!"
"Walt till you read the poem, Ho
ora. Markham calls him 'brother to
the ox." "
"What for?"
"The ox, you see. Is the beast of bur
den. When the poet spoke of the lab
orer as the brother to the ox he placed
him as low in the Intellectual scale as
It was possible to get him. He asks,
'Who blew out the ' "
"Gas ?"
"No no! 'Who blew out the light
within tills brain?' asks 'Markham."
"Well, who did?"
"It was Just a metaphor a figure of
speech "
"Why didn't he say what he meant?"
"Poets never do that, my dear."
"Well, what did he mean?"
"That the workman was a miserable
creature, whose life was like an ani
mal's a "
"Don't he believe In men working?"
"Yes hut "
"I suppose he likes tramps, then.
Those men that sit around tho parks.
'The Man with the Tomato Can' would
be his Idea of the Ideal man."
"'Poets look at these things different
ly." "Weill think it is silly to pity a man
because he has a job. Think of all the
men that can't get work. Suppose you
didn't work? Where would we be?"
"It's the idea of man earning his
bread by tho sweat of his brow the
curse of laboring for hire for "
"Why, this man with the hoe proba
bly had a good, steady place on the
farm. Perhaps he owned it. He pro
bably had stopped to figure out the
crop. Maybe his wife took boarders
and they had plenty of money."
"When you road It, my dear, you will
be able to "
"Oh, pshaw! I might Just as well
start In to Idealize the cook and call
her 'The Girl with the Frying Pan' or
'The Woman with the Holllng Pin.' "
"Heally, my dear, I think you will
be uble to talk before the club. If you
keep on."
"It's the very same thing! The cook
is a laboring woman, but she's a great
deal freer than I nm. She hus no so
cial obligations and no calls to make
or to receive. She doesn't have to
spend her time dressing and talking to
folks when she doesn't want to. She
has a comfortable home and Just ns
good things to eat us we have. She
has two days off every week. Sup
pose I began to weep over her sad con
dition and called her 'sister to the ox.'
Why she'd leave very first thing."
"Rut a poet would never write about
a cook."
"Well, a good cook Is a lot better
than an old farmer who only hoes and
looks pathetic. Any one could hoe.
Why, I almost believe you could hoe."
''1 haven't a hoe, my dear."
"That's another thing. Suppose the
man didn't have a hoe? He'd have
been worse off, wouldn't he? A hoe
represents capital. Do you know, John
Dobley, It gets sillier every minute, to
think of all the sympathy your wast
ing on that man. It Is 'The Man With
out the Hoe' you should be sorry for."
"You are getting mo round to your
way of thinking, Honora. I recall the
story now of a rich man who said he
started in business picking rags, but
for u week or two he nearly starved,
because he had no money to buy a rag
pick with."
"What did he do?"
"He borrowed money enough, I be
llevq, und twenty-live years ufter he
told the story of the trouble he hni
getting some one to lend the money.
The funniest part of It was that ho
said ho had never paid It back."
"I wonder If that man really owned
the hoe, or hnd borrowed It?"
"Perhaps that Is what he was think
Ing of."
"He was probably too mean to buy a
hoo of his own! You know. John, 1
think thut man was no good!"
Honora. your loglo Is so convincing
thnt I am beginning to agree with you
that 'The Man with the Hoo' was con
siderable of a gold brick,"
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THIS TELLS YOU HOW
THINKING IS DONE
THEORY OF THE BRAIN'S WAY
OF WORKING.
Millions of Brain Cells That Operate
Apparently on the Principle of a
Great Telephone Exchange, with
Nerves for Wires The Great
Function of Sleep.
From tho New Yoik Sun.
At lust scientists seem to be on the
point of finding out what happens In
the brain when a person thinks. It has
long been known that the brain Is the
thinking organ, but just bow the muk
Iiik of thought eonies about hus been
a puzzle. The celebrated Cabiiiis
solved the matter offhand by sayinff
thut the brain secretes thought as the
liver secretes bile. This terse Faying
parsed Into common use, but soon came
to be recognized as a clever speech
rather than an explanation of the mys
tery. Now, however, the most recent
researches of the mleroacoplsts uro
making It appear that after all the say
ing Is not so far wrong, but that, cor
rectly Interpreted, It In some measure
expresses the facts. Of course, thought,
being Intangible, Is not properly to bo
compared with bile or any other physi
cal substance, but it appears that tho
processes In the brain which produeo
thought, and without which thinking Is
Impossible, are comparable to those
changes In tho liver nnd other organs
which produce the tangible secretions.
A committee of Ihitlsh physicians,
acting Jointly, have been giving par
ticular attention to this topic for somo
years, and their researches, though not
yet altogether complete, already show
some very Interesting results, which,
tnken together with those of Investi
gators on the continent, let us see a
long way Into the Intricacies of the
brain.
WEAR OF liRAIN CRI.LS.
It Is shown unequivocally, for ex
umple. that a bialn cell, which Is the
really Important part of the brain,
actually loses part of its iiuhstnr.ee
dining action. Tho brain cells of per
sons and of animals that have died
during a period of great exhaustion
from overexertion are found to be
greatly changed from the condition of
the normal coll during times of health
and vigor. Tho cell of the exhausted
brain, Instead of being plump and full
of nervous matter. Is found to be hoi
lowed out or "vacuolated," a cavity
within Its substance having formed
and being filled with water. This
I means thut u part of the cell atib-
luxury within
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stam-e has b en actually corsumod
dining the time of brain activity, pre
cisely as coal is consumed when one
gets heat from a furnace.
It Is found, further, that If nn ani
mal whose brain cells are thus ex
hausted Is permitted to rest and to
sleep Its cell:! rapidly recuperate, new
material being supplied from the bliod
until the vncuolatlon has disappeared
and the cell Is practically as good as
new again. This explains why sleep
Is necessary to our existence. During
waking hours eur brains are literally
worn away, and sle.-p Is the sti't' dur
ing which the repair sliopp of the
brain moke good the damage of the
waking hours. Thus the brain of a
person who suffers from Insomnia Is
in the condition of a locomotive which
Is run night nnd day without going to
the repair shops; disaster mu3t ulti
mately result.
rsrcs of susisr.
It Is not sleep alone, however, thnt
rests the brain cell, though sleep Is ab
solutely essential to recuperation of tho
brain as a whole. Hut not all parts of
the brain are Involved In any .me kind
of mental effort. The blood supply of
the brain Is so arranged that by ex
pansion or contraction of different ar
teries parts of the brain may be Hushed
with blood and other parts dammed off.
so to speak, somewhat us the vorlous
currents of an Irrigated Held are regu
lated by the gardener. And as rapid
How of blood Is essential to great men
tal activity, this means that one part
of the brain may be very actively nt
work while another part Is resting and
recuperating. Thus It Is that a person
suffering from brain fatigue may leave
his desk and go out Into tho fields with
a golfstlek, or on the highways with
a bicycle, and, by diverting his mind,
give the overworked cells a chance to
rest and recuperate. Hut It must not
be overlooked that such exerclso in
volves other brain cells, which, In turn,
beronio exhausted, and that, In the
end, for tho recuperation of the brain
ns a whole, sleep Is absolutely essen
tial. No recreation, no medicine, no
stimulant will take Its place. The man
who does not gle himself sufficient
hours of sleep, or who Is unable to
sleep when he makes the effort. Is lit
erally burning away his brain sub
stance and can no more keep on in
definitely In this way than a loconio
tlvo can run on Indefinitely without
getting fresh supplies of fuel.
In this new view It uppeurs that each
brain cell Is a sort of storage battery,
which can perform n certain amount of
work and then must be recharged. This
llkeiuss to a buttery Is further empha
sized by the fact that tho nature of
the brain cell's work consists, like that
of any other battery, of the sending
out of charges of onergy along connect
ing wires, or, at least, along flbics that
may bo likened to wires. Urarn cells,
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when examined under the microscope,
are found not to be simple globular
bodies, like many other kinds of cells.
On the contrary, they are irregular In
shape, and when properly stained,
little wire-like fibres can be seen jut
ting out from them In various direc
tions. It Is along these fibres that the
messages come to the cell, and other
messages are sent out, much ns mes
sages go and come from a telephone
central ofllce,
AN APT COMI'AIUSON.
This likening of the brain to a tele
phone central ofllce Is a comparison
that may be carried to a remarkable
length. Indeed, no other comparison
serves so well to give one a collect
notion of the method of brain action.
Hut until recently there wus one
phase of the matter that could not h
explained. How Is It that the various
messages that are surging through the
brain nn directed to proper channels,
nmong these multitudinous wires?
'When you call up the central olllce
you give a certain number, und the
optrator connects your particular wire
with that .number. When you are
through talking the operator breaks
the circuit, and you can no longer
communicate along that line. Rut Is
there anything similar to this making
and breaking of currents possible In
the brain? Astonishing ns It may
seem, the answer Is yes. There Is
precisely such a series of changes in
the circuits of the brain cells as Is ef
fected by the operator with tho tele
phono wires.
The manner of it is this. Recent
studies of the brain cell, particularly
those mnde by the Spanish physlol -gist,
Mnmon Cujal, have shown that
many of the wires which lead out from
a cell do not go on uninterruptedly to
a teimlnatlon In some other distant
cell, as they were formerly supposed
to do, hut Instead terminate In "blind
ends." That is to say, they point out
toward other cells, but do not reach
them. Such a fibre clearly cannot con
vey any message, because, like a tele
phone wire that has been tut. it does'
not lead anywhere. Rut under cer
tain conditions of stimulation a very
extraordinary thing happens. Tine
"blind" fibre, under stimulus from Ifi
central cell, lengthens out until lt
touches a llbro of a neighboring cell,
and presto, with such contact, a cir
cuit Is completed and a message flash
es between tho cells. Manifestly such
coming together of tho "blind" HIiicm
Is precisely comparable to the opiru
tor's connecting your telephone witl
another. And as In the case of the
telephones, so In th case of the cells,
when the communication is completed
the connection Is broken, the Mires re
tract and venue to touch uno another,
and no furth'r message can be sent.
HI5AI.V KINKS.
Sometimes tho telephone girl does not
t999999999ft
understand your order or reports that
the number you wish Is "engaged," and
you cannot send your message. Sim
ilarly, in the brain, it seems some
times as If certain circuits one wishes
to use are engaged In other channels:
for how often does one "puzzle hla
brains" to recall a fact or a name,
which he feels that he knows pel feet
ly, but which will not come at com
mand. And then how. perhaps hours
afterward, the elusive name will float
before him, us If the telephone girl
of his brain cell had at last succeeded
In getting the right connection. When
one lellocts that each of these wonder
ful brain cells is microscopic In size,
requiring. Indeed, a high power of the,
mlscioscope to make It visible, and
that there are billions of them In a:
cubic Inch of brain substance, one Is
led to wonder that such mlstukes of.
connection or falluie to connect do not
occur oftener. As It Is, the telephone
ofllce of the brain Is easily the most
wonderful structure of which we havo
any knowledge. The most delicate,
piece of mechanism ever devised by
human hands Is a crude thing ci in
pared with the murvlous brain cell.
In time of war It often happens that
nn Invading army will cut the tele
graph wires and destroy Instruments
and batteiles at. the central offices, so
that telegraphic and telephonic com
munication becomes impossible. M
precisely similar destruction of the
brain fibres und brain cells occurs un
der certain conditions of disease. Tha
familiar disease paresis, for example,
consists essentially of just such a de
struction of the brain structure as this.
Day by day, in the paretic's brain,
disease is making Inroads upon the uVi
Icate mechanism of the cells, nnd, cor
respondingly, the Ideas that could
alone result from the nctlvltles of thosa
cells are destroyed forever. When
such destruction has gone far. Involv
ing many sets of cells, It Is as impos
sible that tho paretic's mind should
act normally as that a telephone sys
tem should cperate with lines cut and
butteries destroyed.
Going West?
1
I Why not go via tho Nickel Hnte
I road? Many improvements have been
made In tho last few years and its
service Is now second to none. Three
! fast through trains aro run every day
I In tho year between Huffnlo nnd iil
j eago, while solid through trains of ele
I Rant day coaches and vestibule buffet
sleeping cars are run between New
York nnd Chicago via the Lackawanna,
road. Ilomember, that rates via the
Nickel Plate road are lower than via,
other lines.
For Information call on any ticket
agent of the Lackawanna road, or ad
dress F. .1. Moore, general ngerjt) Nlcjkel
Rluto Road... 291 'Mulif a'treoty'ifiurfah),
N. Y.
A.