a
Som
n—
WHEN WE TWO WALKED IN AR-
CADY.
When we two walked in Arcady
How sweet the summers were!
How thick the branches overhead,
How soft the grass beneath our tread,
And thickets where the sun burned red
Were full of wings astir. my dear.
When we two walked in Arcady
Through paths young hearts prefer.
Since we two walked in Arcady
(How long ago it seems!)
High hopes have died disconsolate;
The calm-eyed angel men call Fate
Stands with drawn sword before the gate
That shuts out all our dreams, my dear;
Since we two walked in Arcady
Beside the crystal streams.
Beyond the woods of Arcady
The little brooks are dry.
The brown grass rustles in the heat,
The rcads are rough beneath our feet,
Above our heads no branches meet,
And yet, although we sigh, my dear,
Beyond the woods of Arcady
We see more of the sky!
—~Caroline Duer, in ‘Scribner's.
“How the Ghost
Was Laid.”
By Mary Kyle Dallas.
“lI cannot marry you,” she said, “I
am afraid. You laugh at me, and talk
about superstition, but Dick Pardon
has kept his word twice, and he will
keep it again. When I, a girl of sev-
enteen who was not able to control her
feelings, refused him with scorn and
contempt, asking him how he dared to
speak such words to me, his master’s
daughter, he caught me by the wrist
and looked into my face as no one
had ever looked before. ‘Avis Shaw,’
he said, ‘you're proud and airish, and
you refuse to marry me because I am
one of your father’s hands, but youll
rue the day you spoke such words to
me. I understand I can’t get you, but
no other man shall. Living or dead,
I will stand between you &nd every
man that comes near you. Living or
dead, Avis Shaw, I'll have my re-
venge!’
“Well, I thought nothing of his
threats. I told my father that Dick
had asked me to marry him, and he
dismissed him. From that time forth
every young man who offered me any
attention was set upon and beaten or
8hot at, or in some way injured on
his way home from our house.
“At last Hall Grayson, the young
lawyer, was killed. That was two
Years before you came here. The poor
young man was net in love with me—
his business was with my father; but
You know how country folk gossip and
pair people off. He was stabbed in
the back, and this time the men of the
village caught the wretch red-handed.
They were carrying him to jail when
he escaped from them, led them a
chase for miles, and ended it by jump-
ing from the cliff near Hunters Hole
into the sea. By the time the inspec-
tor and the rest of. them got to the
edge of the cliff the body of the mur-
derer had disappeared.
“But, Raymond, Dick Pardon had
said that he would carry out his re-
venge, alive or dead, and, though
every one thought that with hisdrown-
ing my troubles would end, it has not
proved so. No one can come to our
house in a way that makes it appear
that the object is my society but he is
warned away. If he does not take the
warning. he is shot at by some one
he cannot see.
“As I did not care for any of the
he was unarmed save for the stick
which he carried in his hand, he re-
solved that it would not be wise to ex-
pose himself further. Consequently
he passed on, but, turning to look
back, saw once more the strange ap-
pearance, this time at an upper win-
dow.
Again the hand menaced, again the
figure faded, and this time Raymond
was angry at himself for feeling cer-
tain of those chills and thrills which
the most sensible of us have at times
experienced. A laugh drove them
away, and coming to the open doors
of a smithy, he walked in among the
men who were watching the proprie-
tor as he shoed a restive horse.
“Good evening,” he said. “1 want
half a dozen men and boys to come
with me to the old stone house on Mr.
Shaw's farm. Some idiot is playing
ghost up there with blue lights and a
white sheet, and I'm raising an army
to put an end to his capers.”
The. loungers looked at Raymond
while he spoke: the smith finished his
job in silence. Then lifting his*head,
he spoke gravely... o “A
“You're Mr. ‘Bell, the architect.that
has come down to build the church, I
believe!”
“I am, Mr. Jones,” replied Raymond.
“Glad to know you, sir,” said the
blacksmith; “but I'm sorry to say that
you are wrong in your idea about what
is seen—what' even some here have
seen in the old stone house on Shaw's
place. It's a real apparition, that is no
trickster’s work whatever.
“Nevertheless I desire to enlist my
army. I offer a sovereign to every re-
cruit,” said Raymond.
But, despite this offer, not a soul
would accompany him to the stone
house, and he was obliged to give up
his plan for that occasion.
On the following Sunday evening,
just as twilight fell, everyone in the
village saw the young architect take
his way along the road to the Shaw
farm. There, upon the poreh, old Mr.
Shaw met him and shook his hand
kindly. 3
“Avis is not here,” he said. “Of
course I know what has passed be-
tween you, and I like you. I should be
delighted to welcome you as a son-in-
law, but what folks say is too true for
that, for your own sake, young man,
you’d better give up all idea of her.”
“I will never do that, sir,” said Ray-
mond.
He talked a little while to Mr. Shaw,
allowed the shadows to gather ere he
bade him adieu, and walked slowly
down the road.
It was not a very clear night, but
the moon now scudded through the
clouds piled white and high. In her
light the old stone house was plainly
visible, and once again he saw tne vi-
sion that had affrighted so many of
the villagers, the shrouded figure sur-
rounded by blue light, the hand lifted
in warning.
On the instant he drew a pistol
from his pocket, took aim at the lifted
arm, and fired.
As he did so out of the bushes
sprang six stout men, employes of the
village brewery, armed and bearing
lanterns.
Headed by Raymond, they dashed
into the old house, and the lights
they bore revealed the figure of a man
lying on the fioor beneath the broken
casement at which the ghost had
appeared. A white sheet had fallen to
the ground, a lantern with blue glass-
es lay beside it. The man was sense-
less. §
“Your bullet hit the mark, Mr. Bell,”
said one of the brewers; “you've done
for him.” ¥
“And, by the Lord Harry, it is Dick
men who came to see me, I made up
my mind to endure my fate calmly; |
but now—"
Here the ‘poor girl burst into tears,
and her lover caught her hands and
pressed them to his lips.
“If you love me, no man shall part
us, Avis,” he =aid: "and as for the
ghost of your murderous farm hand,
I'll exorcise him if he attempts to
frighten me.”
“Papa likes you,” said Avis, “but |
we feel the tales you and all reason- |
able people laugh at are not mere sup-
erstitious fancies, and because we
both like vou so much he joins me in
begging you never to come to Shaw
farm again.”
“Nevertheless, I shall come,” said
Raymond, “so expect me whenever I |
can get here.”
“If you come I will not see you,”
said Avis, in a terror-stricken voice.
“lI will not lead the man I love to his
doom; I will never marry you. Leave |
me, I pray, and never see me more.”
Raymond’ Bell answered by a look
which needed no interpretation, and
kissed her tenderly.
It is strange how much men can for-
give in women they truly love. If any
other person in the world had ex-
pressed belief in such an absurd sup-
erstition, his derision would have
been so great as to blot out all respect
for that individual; but Avis could do
no wrong in Raymond Bell's eyes. Af-
ter all, he thought, her anxiety for him |
was proof of her love. Thinking thus |
he passed a little stone house by the
roadside which was said to be haunted |
by the ghost of Dick Pardon, and |
paused a moment to look-at it.
It was evening, and stars were in |
the sky, but it was -a moonless night. |
The ruinous little building was cov- |
ered with ivy, and so dilapidated that |
tall weeds grew within the almost |
roofless walls; but as Raymond stood
loking at it he saw a strange blue
light begin to glow in its lower win-
dows, and in the midst of the radi-
ance stood a tall figure -draped in
white, who for a moment lifted his |
arm with a warning gesture.
Gripping his walking stick, the
young man dashed toward the win- |
dow; but suddenly reflecting that as
the seeming ghost was probably a hu- |
man being bent on mischief, and that |
{ is “Impossible—mille regrets.”
| light.
Pardon himself,” said another.
“I thought so,” said Raymond. “The
{ man did not jump into the sea; he
| contrived to secrete himself among
the rocks, and has been playing ghost
ever since, hiding here, probably.”
This proved to be true, for Pardon
before he died made a full confession,
and a little while later Avis Shaw be-
came the bride of the ghost-layer.—
New York News.
Where Silence Is Really Golden.
This story from the Kansas City
| Star is told as being illustrative of
| the absolute silence and loneliness of
| the typical] Australian bush camp:
Two men were camping together,
| but rarely exchanged a word.
One morning one of the men re-
marked at breakfast, “Heard a cow
bellow in the swamp just now.”
Nothing further was said and they
| went about their business for the rest
of the day. Twenty-four hours later,
once more at breakfast, the second
man said, “How d’ you know it wasn’t
a bull?”
Again no comment. Again a pause
of twenty-four hours. Next morning
the first man began to pack up his
“billy” and “swag.”
“You going?’ inquired the other.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because,” said his friend, “there’s
too much argument in this camp!”
“Turned Down.”
The American editor uses some va-
| riation of the formula, “Declined with
The French editor's phrase
What
does the Chinese editor say about the
MS. he is returning? asks the Boston
Transcript.
“We have read it with infinite de-
By the holy ashes of our an-
cestors we swear that we have never
seen sO superb a masterpiece. His
thanks.”
'majesty the emperor; our exalted mas-
ter, if we were to print it, would com-
mand us to take it as a model and
never publish anything of a less strik-
ing quality. As we could not obey
this order more than once in ten
thousand years, we .are compelled to
send back your divine manuscript,
and beg a thousand pardons.”
Crp 2 The . 2 nq
3 =z
Money-Getting Faculty
The Meanest and Lowest
L Possessed by Man
By a Wall Street Banker.
$900000003 OHN. D. ROCKEFELLER’S fortune is now a round half bil-
® ¢ lion dollars. and he is adding to the pile an income of
s $ $6,000,000 a month. Many people are grieving over John
® @ D's wealth, but as for us, we are not coveting a cent of it.
3 $ Spring is coming, and we do not believe that the Standard
00000000 Oil Co. is going to cvorner up the sunshine or the flowers or
3 the million other beautiful things which are the common
$4 006040¢ property of all those capable of enjoying them. What if the
: Standard does monopolize oil; it is a dirty, ill-smelling and
totally unesthetic product anyway, and we ask very little odds of it. Daylight
is far pleasanter, and cheaper, :
Moreover, John D. cannot take a single kopeck of his money with him,
and the property .he has accumulated will ultimately be redistributed for the
good of the world. The water in a mill-dam is of no use to the mill-owner
except to turn his mill; he can’t drink it up, and as fast as he makes use of it
it escapes and goes on its way, making the earth blossom and eventually be-
ing taken up by the sun, to be showered down again on the thirsty soil for the
benefit of the whole human family.
Weaith, in the same way, is of no value except for its potential power,
and no matter how much a man has he can consume only a certain modicum
of it himself, and the rest goes to enrich the whole world.
A successful business man who has made his pile said to us the other day:
“The faculties required for money-getting are the meanest and lowest of those
possessed by man.” Why, then, covet wealth that is produced by such facul-
ties; ‘why not rather strive for those higher objects which have no price-mark
attached to them, and which indeed are above valuation in dollars and cents.
-Mr. Rockefeller can buy some things which the rest of us cannot, but on
the other hand, all his money cannot procure some of the simple pleasures
which are within the reach of the average mortal. As between the lot of a
healthy tramp and Mr. Rockefeller’s, for instance, we think the tramp has a
little the better of it. As for us, we envy the tramp his freedom more than we
do Mr. Rockefeller his money.—The Pathfinder.
w 2 w »
Sh =The==
Coming American Type
By Edward Meyer.
Sepp
* MAINTAIN that the typical American beauty (and therefore
- the beauty of the world) is a brunette. I shall try to go
5 further and to prove by the following historical facts that
ge
oo
3
the future American girl will be an extreme specimen of
the brunette. In proof of this I shall cite history.
In the seventeenth century Christopher Meyer and his
wife came from Palantinate, Prussia, and penetrated the un-
trod forests of Pennsylvania, where ‘they built their log
cabin home—the first t8uch of civilization in that region.
Christopher Meyer was a blonde, of not extraordinary stature; so was his
wife. They spread the glories of the New World among their friends across
the sea. The result was the immediate emigration of hundreds of others to
this new home, which Christopher Meyer namer “Muhlbach” (now Lancaster
county, Pa.). The point I want to make here is that all these German pioneers
were pronounced blondes, with blue eyes and flaxen hair. From that time
down through the centuries this colony of first settlers has remained intact.
They have been loyal to each other, and have never married into the different
nationalities who came later. Now, here I want to emphasize point No. 2. It
is this: My forefathers (Christopher Meyer was my direct ancestor) were all
blondes. Today the sixth and seventh generations are nearly all extreme bru-
nettes, with black hair end eyes. What has caused the change? Climate, say
I, for one thing; seccndly, freedom—freedom of mind and soul that has been
working toward the ideal—namely, brunette type.
Another remarkable thing is this: Our race has grown in stature. My an-
cestor, Christopher Meyer, was a man of ordinary height, the present gen-
ation is a race of giants ranging from 6 feet to 6 feet ¢ inches in height. I my-
self being 6 feet 2 1-2 inches. This characteristic increase of height is notice-
able throughout central Pennsylvania; all the boys and girls now growing up
to manhood and womanhood are growing taller than their parents (om an av-
erage) and their complexion is darkening. I predict that the American girl of
a hundred years from now will be a magnificent creation—about 6 feet in
height, perfectly formed, with black hair, black eyes, a complexion almost In-
dian bronze in color, features strong, clean cut. classical—the most beautiful
work of the Divinity since the Garden of Eden—and a brunette.
- - - »
= A New Estimate 9
i, ~—of Champlainwe—~
er Rp
HAMPLAIN is one of the noblest characters of early Ameri-
C can history. He was one of the great navigators of a time
WwW
Ze 0% 4% 2% 3% ae a% a%e a¥e oY,
By Henry Loomis Nelson.
when a voyage across the Atlantic was taken at the risk of
life. He was a perscvering and patient worker, a keen
judge of men, and a careful and accurate observer. He was
an excellent man of business. He was enthusiastic and
inspiring, and had wonderful self-control. He was devout
and religious, but long experience bred in him a philosophi-
cal indifference to theological disputes. He had no vanity,
and was unselfish and self-sacrificing. He was humane. He was possessed
of the mysticism and superstition of his time: not so deeply, however, that
he could not meet with conquering ridicule the deeper mysticism and the
more childish superstitions of his savage friends. He was not only a good
and courageous navigator, but he was a brave and skilful soldier. Above
all, he not only inspired men with his enthusiasm, but invited their confidence,
from the King, nobles, and merchants of France to the savages of the woods.
In some degree, even as it was then given to Frenchmen to understand the
art of politics, he was a statesman; he could settle disputes justly and satis-
factorily, and he could administer the affairs of the community under his
charge with the requisite skill.—Harper’s Magazine.
* = &» °
Soese beet ReZesteSeitestestesSeste sie teste
Segeeetelnineferte ste de stete fetes se totes
The Want of Hospitality
By Charles Marshall.
Bee idetebe tetede Serle ste Se teste tothe tester desk
Sefeteielilofolefotedutotolotofoefoiaioofofolook
00008000000 HEN the at home day is at an end, and the last hand-shake
9949499909 has been given, who has really benefited by these social ob-
3 & servances? No one to whom a good meal would be a wel
: 3 come boon has been fed; in fact, nobody has been fed at all.
$ & A little gossip has gone round, the shortcomings of the ser-
2 3 vants have been discussed, and the children compared. As
069990600 cach visitor leaves, little remarks have been dropped, prob-
060946000 ably rearetted later—but the faults of our poorer relations
are so temptingly patent to all the world. At an at home
can any one say that the real hand of friendship is held out? No, the tend-
ency is to acquaintance only. The limited time, the ceaseless comings and
goings, preclude anything like friendship.
If there still remains with us the duty of taking an interest in those less
blessed with worldly goods than ourselves. we have a vast field for hidden
charity unconnected with any subseription list.
The exercise of a more extended and liberal hospitality toward friends
who have not the means to enjoy little luxuries in their own homes would do
much to lessen the enforced sordidness of the lives of many. I know that the
constant appeals from so many large institutions naturally dwarf individual
charity, yet without apparently curtailing these responses, and, indeed, with-
out much self-denial; numberless gentlewomen who feel the bitter sting of
poverty, but hide it so bravely, might thankfully accept the kindnesses prof-
fered by those known to them, without losing their cherished independence.
)
TT RATA 7
“THAT TIRED FEELING.”
Don’t want to work, or nothin’,
Don’t want to read er walk;
Don’t want to drink, don’t
think—
Don’t even want to talk.
Don’t want to go to dinner,
Don’t want to go to bed:
Can't seem to rest—this weathe™'s Jest
Natur’ly gone to my head!
want to
You can’t hardly call it lazy—
You can't rightly name it sick,
But, good land's sake! how my bones do
ache
Whenever I work a lick!
It's just too blame much bother
To do anything but lie
On the fiat o' £7 back and look through
a crac
In the trees at that warm, blue sky!
I know I'd orter make garden,
I know I'd orter rake
The trash that lays in the yard, an’
Be helpin’ my wife to make
Soft soap. But I jest can’t do it—
I ain’t in th’ right condition ;
But i* some one 'ud dig some bait, an’ rig
iy tackle, I'd go a-fishin’!
—~Cleveland Leader.
JUST FOR FUN
“Does he get much for his work?”
“All that he is worth.” “I don’t see
how he can live.”—Cleveland Plain
Dealer.
Johnnie—My pa’s richer’n your pa.
Freddie—P’raps he is, but he’ll never
get back the money he lent my pa.—
New Yorker.
Judge—Six months! Cos Cob Con—
Ah, wot a relief! Now I kin stop
worrying about where I'm going ter
spend de summer.—Puck.
“De man dat is his own worst en-
emy,” said Uncle Eben, “can’t reason-
ably be depended on to be a friend
to anybody else.”—Washington Star.
“Some men,” said Uncle Eben,
“keeps so busy talkin’ ’bout desire’fs
dat dey never finds time to say any-
thing wu’f talkin’ ’bout.”—Washington
Star.
“Has the Russian General Hittem-
upski a good war record?” “I should
say so. He retreated 20 miles in two
hours and four minutes.”—Cleveland
Plain Dealer.
Duncley—Well, every man has a
right to his opinion. Wise—Yes, but
the trouble is that he can’t be made
to realize that there may be wrong to
it.—Philadelphia Press.
“I gave him a piece of my mind.”
“That was very generous.” “How so?”
“To give freely of what one has the
least of is the highest form of gen-
erosity.””—Cleveland Plain Dealer.
Gladys—1If she thinks her young man
is such a paragon of perfection, why
does she watch him so closely?
Esmeralda—She is afraid he is too
good to be true.—Chicago Tribune.
Nibbs—I left that boarding house
because the food was adulterated.
Quibbs—So0? Nibbs—Yes; it was so
mixed up with too much gossip; I
couldn’t stand for it.—Detroit Free
Press.
Hostess (to distinguished foreigner)
—I do hope you won’t find it too dull
here. Distinguished Foreigner (polite-
ly)—Ah, no, I will not find it dull. Are
not you and your husband amusement
enough ?—Punch.
“I think,” said the first Washintgon-
ian, “that our senators should be
selected by popular vote.” “G’on!”
exclaimed the sporty one; “what kind
of a ball team could we git that way?”
—Philadelphia Record.
“De trouble wif some mighty smart
men,” said Uncle Eben, “is dat when a
opportunity comes along, dey does so
much mental arifmetic about it dat
it’s clean gone pas’ befo’ dey gits de
answer.”—Washington Star.
“Bessie, how many sisters has your
new playmate? ” “She has one,
mamma. She tried to fool me by say-
ing she had two half-sisters; but I
guess she didn’t know that I studied
fractions.”—Washington Life.
Citizen—I wish to consult a “Life
of Roosevelt.” 1 presume you have
one. Attendant—Not in this building,
sir. You want to step over to our an-
nex. That is devoted exclusively to
lives of Roosevelt.—Philadelphia Bul-
letin.
“But my dear,” remonstrated Mr.
Meekun, “there’s a good deal to be
said on both sides.” “No, there isn’t,”
answered his spouse. “I’ve told you
what I think about it, and that’s all
that is going to be said.”—Chicago
Tribune.
“Do you think that history tells the
COMPLETELY RESTORED.
Mrs. P. Brunzel, wife of P. Brunzel,
stock dealer, residence 3111 Grand
Ave., Everett, Wash., says: “Tor fif-
3 teen years I suffered
with terrible pain in
my back. I did not
know what it was to
enjoy a night's rest
and arose in the morn-
ing feeling tired and
unrefreshed. My suf-
fering sometimes was
simply indescribable.
When I finished the
first box of Doan’s Kid-
ney Pills I felt like
a different woman. I
continued until I bad
taken five boxes.
Doan’s Kidney Pills act very effective-
ly, very promptly, relieve the aching
pains and all other annoying difficui-
ties.”
Foster-Milburn Co.,
For sale by all druggists.
cents per box.
Buffalo, N.Y.
Price 50
Mr. Edison's Watch.
To Mr. Edison, time is so valuable
that he does not waste it even by
taking account of it. He buys a
stem-winder costing a dollar and a
half, breaks the chain ring off, squirts
oil under the cap of the stem, thrusts
it into his trousers pocket—and never
looks at it. When it gets too clog-
ged with dirt to rum, he lays it on a
laboratory table, hits it with a ham-
mer and buys another.—World’s
Work.
What Corporations old.
It has been estimated by
Grosscup that one-third of the wealth
of the United States is represented
by corporations. It is ceriain thal
the par value of all the stock and
bonds admitted to trading in the
New York stock xchange equals
one fifth of the nation’s wealth.
Popular Cara,
The DPope-Hartford and Pope-i'ribnne
gasoline cars and runabouts meet the spe-
cific demands of a large class of automobile
users. 'I'hey are simple in construction,
free from complicationan- eflicient. Prices
from $500 to 21600. For finely illustrated
catalognes and descriptive matter, ad-
dress Dept. A. Pope Manufacturing Co.,
Hartford. Conn. :
To Observe a Peace Day.
Secretary Martin of the Massa-
chusetts state board of education has
through his state a circular letter set-
ting forth the recommendation of the
board that appropriate exercises be
held in the schools of the state on
May 18, the anniversary of the open-
—Chicago Journal.
Alcohcl from Sawdust.
Prof. Classen, of the Technical
High school, Aix-la-Chapedle, has
brought out a process of making al-
cohol from sawdust, of which great
things are expected. The cellulose is
treated with gaseous sulphuric acid,
and glucose formed, which is convert-
ed into alcohol by fermentation. A
ton of sawdust yields about 50 gal-
lons of crude alcohol, or 25 gallons of
absolute alcohol. It is expected, how-
ever, that in time 30 gallons or more
will be obtained. Taking into ac-
count the cost of sawdust and grain,
it seems that the new process will
supersede the old. The cellulose re-
moved from the sawdust is the only
component having a ruel value, and
the residual sawdust can be utilized
as fuel in the process of manufacture.
To this end it can be pressed into
the ' form: of briquettes.—London
Globe.
Pleasure for Children.
Thousands of children were the
guests recently of United States
Senator W. A. Clark at the Senator's
mountain home, three miles south-
east of Butte, Mont. Every child in
the county was invited to enjoy the
day at the Senators expense, who
turned over the street car system ot
Butte to the youngsters.
ee OY
Giant for French Army.
Several instances are on record of
the army draft having drawn a dwar=
to the ranks of the French army.
This year the calling out of the class
has recruited a veritable giant. The
individual in question hails from the
Rodez district and his name it Cot.
This young Goliath towers to the
height of 7 feet 4 inches.—Chicago
Journal.
FEED YCU MONEY
Feed Your Brain, and Tt Will Feed You
Mowey and Fame.
“Ever since boyhood I have been
especially fond of meats, and I am con-
vinced I ate too rapidly, and failed to
masticate my food properly.
“The result was that I found myself,
a few years age, afilicted with ailments
exact truth about great men?’ “Cer-
tainl not,” answered Senator Sorg-
hum. “A man who is competent to
rule egislators and soldiers ought to
be ale to have pretty much his own
way with a few historians.”—Wash-
ingto Star.
“Hre is where a man stole $4000
fromthe government years ago and
has jst returned $12,000 to the ‘con-
sciene fund.” ” “By jinks, I am think-
ing.” “Thinking what?” “If the gov-
ernmmt would be better off if every-
body itole $4000 and returned $12,000.”
—Chiago Daily News.
“Mj dear,” said the decrepit mil-
lionaie to his youthful bride. “I'm
only bo glad to die when I think of
the pkasure you will derive from the
fortum I shall leave you.” “If it makes
you hippy, dear,” she replied artless-
ly, “ccnsider yourself dead now, if you
wish.”’—Brooklyn Life.
“Jf we economize,” said the hus-
band, “we will soon have a house of
our ovn instead of having to live in
rented property.” “But I'm not sure
I should like that,” answered the wife.
“1 couidn’t drive nails anywhere I
please in the walls or woodwork of our
own hcuse, you know.”—Chicago Dai-
ly News.
of the stomach and kidneys, which in-
eI ITI ed Seriously Wit Hy vudiucoos oon
“At last I took the advice of friends
and began to eat Grape-Nuts instead of
the heavy meats, ete., that had consti-
tuted my former diet.
“I found that I was at once benefited
by the change, that I was soon relieved
from the heart-burn and the indigestion
that used to follow my meals, that the
pains in my back from my kidney af-
fection had ceased, showing that those
organs had been healed, and that my
nerves, which used to be unsteady, anc
my brain, which was slow aad lethargic
from a heavy diet of meats and greasy
foods, had, not in a coment, but grad-
ually, and none the less surely, been
restored to normal efiiciency. Now
every nerve is steady and my bral
and thinking faculties are quicker and
more acute than for years past.
“After my old style breakfasts I used
to suffer during the forenoon from na
feeling of weakness whieh hindered me
seriously in my work, but since I
have begun to use Grape-Nuts food I
can work till dinner tinte with ail ease
and comfort.” Name given by Postum
Co., Battle Creek, Mich.
There’s a reason.
Read the little book
Wellville,” in each pkg.
“The Road to
Judge
sent to the superintendents of schools’
ing of The Hague coaference in 1899. .
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