The Syracuse Journal, Volume 3, Number 42, Syracuse, Kosciusko County, 16 February 1911 — Page 6

Syracuse Journal Wp G. CONNOLLY, Publisher. SYRACUSE, INDIANA. NOT GETTING WORSE Changing Conditions Responsible for Things That May Seem at A ; Sight Alarming. / Are more time and money wasted on ’bridge today than were wasted on ombre, whist and what not In the past? We believe not. We even believe that in our own era the tone of all “society” that Is worthy of the name has turned more than ever before to all that is valuable In domesticity. The English home Is not what it was. Fewer women nurse their own .children; less time is spent in the nursery, the schoolroom, the stillroom or the china closet. That is perfectly true; but it must be remembered that when conditions change it is not always through neglected duties or Increased self-seeking. Our grandmothers stayed at home to a very great extent because they had to . They found their interests within the four walls of the house br the circuit of the grounds and the village, because it was extremely difficult for them to get outside. They had no rapid and frequent train services, no bicycles—above all, no motor cars. No blame attaches to a delicate or tired man who takes a holiday in Switzerland or Egypt, while his grandfather could not get further in the time than to some less sunny or less bracing place in England. Equally no blame attaches to a woman for availing herself of the modern means of transit and extending her sphere of acquaintance and her range of interests by the use of her motor car. The conditions have changed, that is the fact, and the duty of each generation is not to render stubborn resistance to Inevitable change, but to make the best use of Its own conditions. —London Times. Differing Systems. An Englishman who has passed a number of years in India was on a visit to fire headquarters in New York a few days ago and was taken into the telegraph room of the fire alarm system, where he inspected the elaborate layout of telegraph, telephone and signal instruments. He asked his conductor how much it cost a year to maintain that branch of the service. “It cost the city $140,000 last year,” was the response. “My word! but that is tremendous. Out in Calcutta, which has 1,000,000 Inhabitants, it costs only $5.85 a month to maintain the fire alarm system. We have bamboo towers in various parts of the city and in each tower are two watchers who scan the district for the outbreak of fire. That wouldn’t do in a city of high buildings of course, but it works well there,” said the Englishman. Movable Shelves. Built-in book cases should have movable shelves for the obvious reaeon that all books are not the same height and it is often convenient to change them about If the home carpenter is not equal to fitting adjustable shelves, have the lower shelves farther apart, for there is where the largest and heaviest books should be put to keep the feeling of weight near the floor. If there is a fireplace, with a niche at each side, build shelves on each side of it. Build them on each side of the window and place a window seat between. If there are two windows near together, place a desk with shelves over it between them , and bookcases on each side of the windows with window seat between. Have the cases turn the corners of! the room wherever possible, for this Is usually good in effect—Woman’s Home Companion. Prince as Press Censor. Writing from Germany, an American tourist says: “Prince Henry of Prussia, whom we saw in our country a tew years ago and who manages to keep before the public as yachtsman, * automobile enthusiast and aviator, has turned his attention to the newspaper field In a negative way. That is,l he does not write, but prevents others from doing so. He was in the theater at Kiel when Herman Bahr’s new play, ‘Children,’ had its first production. Knowing that the two papers of that city were unfriendly to the theater because of its management and that an unfavorable report of the play might be printed, he had the reporters called to his box, where iti was said later, he applied the 'imperial gag.’ This operation may have been performed, because no unfavorable comment was published." Invidious. “Miss Passay is furious with that society reporter.” “Why so?” “He published the announcement of her approaching wedding under the column headed ‘Late Engagements.’ ’’ r-Life. Slightly In Error. "How did you enjoy the professor’s 0 violin solo?" “Was he really trying to play?” “Why, of course.” . "By Jove! I thought he was imitating animal cries, the way violinists do in vaudeville.” Modern Method. "I am a candidate for your hand.” "But my parents have indorsed another young man.” ' "All right; I’ll run as an [insurgent.”—Houston Chronic!*,

Near Neurai 1 ot Uusterbmj g. jLYrituarris

Beecher and the Phrenologist - --- - -- —- -

How a Strolling Bumpißeader Examined the Great Pulpit Orator's Head and Told the Truth His Abilities. While Henry Ward Beecher was all his life in most vigorous health, both mental and physical, never suffering serious illness until the mortal attack, he was nevertheless a yearly vletim of hay fever. He found his only relief from hay fever in a sojourn in the White Mountains, and he was accustomed to leave his farm, near Peekskill, N. Y., In mid-July and to remain in New Hampshire until the frost. He was utterly democratic in his manner and unconventional in his dress, so that anyone who did not know him would be likely to judge that he was a farmer who had saved a little money and was spending a portion of it in a summer vacation at a White mountain hotel. Many farmers at that time were accustomed to do this. One summer morning In the late seventies Beecher sat upon the piazza of his hotel, reeading a newspaper. Upon his head was his black felt hat, the brim of which was so broad that It flapped in the breeze. He wore an old-fashioned turn-down collar, with a sort of black string for a necktie. His trousers were baggy, as usual. A few of his friends sat near him, chatting, when suddenly there appeared around the corner of the piazza a quaint and curious specimen of humanity. He was a large-eyed, long-haired man, with the beard of a prophet In one hand he carried a satchel and in the other what appeared to be a chart or a map rolled up. “I’m a phrenologist,” he said by way of Introduction to the little group that sat opposite Beecher. “I can tell by feeling what kind of brain a man has.” ’ I* “You feel the bump??” interrogated qne of the party. “People who don’t know call them bumps, yet they are no burrips, but, in fact, projections of tfie skull caused by the development of the brain,” retorted the phrenologist. ■ “I never make any mistakes,” he added. “I Should be pleased to examine your head, and I charge only a dollar." “Well,” spoke up one of the party, assuming a cautious manner and almost whispering, “I’ll give you a dollar if you’ll examine the bumps on that old farmer’s head” —motioning toward Beecher —“and if we find that you hit it pretty nearly straight, why, then, some of us may have our heads examined.” The phrenologist approached Mr. Beecher. “The gentlemen want me to examine your head,” he explained. “I am a phrenologist. I dan tell you more than you know about yourself.” Beecher at once suspecting that his friends were intent upon playing a Joke, solemnly took off his hat. The phrenologist began to fumble through

Aristocrat and the Ex-Slave

Peculiar Intimacy That' Existed Between Blanche K. Bruce and L. Q. C. Lamar From the Time That Both Were Elected Senators. In 1875 Blanche K. Bruce, born in slavery, and the flrat negro to ait in the United States senate, was made a member of that body by the Mississippi legislature. Two years later that state named as its other senatorial (representative L. Q. C; Lamar, who had drafted the ordinance of secesiton adopted by Mississippi, led his regiment at Yorktown and Williamsburg, and otherwise labored assiduously in behalf of the Confederacy, tn oolor, in antecedents, in training, bi politics, the ex-slave and the man Who was destined to win a seat on the United States Supreme court, were as tar apart as the poles; yet shortly E Mr. Lamar had become senator a noticed with more or less astonent in various quarters that he and the senior senator from Mississippi were on the most friendly terms. There are old residents in Washington who doubtless can easily recall how Senator Lamar and Senator Bruoe used to walk arfn in arm about the residential streets of the capital city and through its parks and squares. Seemingly, it never occurred to the white man that the companion of his outings j was of another race, that his early life had been spent in bondage. And when Senator Bruce retired from the senate and be earns registrar of the treasury in 1881, the intimacy between him and Senator Lamar continued, their Walks about Washington being ample autward evidence at their friendship. Together, during all the period that both man were in the senate, they Would visit the poetoffioe department Motive to appointments. Whenever || became necessary for him to go to the department, Senator Lamar would goarteously ask his negro colleague to accompany him, and more than once they were seen making their way JBmm arm in arm, as though they wore

the masses of silver-gray hair. Suddenly he stopped and stepped back In astonishment “You shouldn’t be a farmer," he exclaimed, excitedly. "Why, you can talk like a steam engine. You’ve got the biggest development of language that I have ever met with. And you’re full of wit and humor. You can talk so as to make people cry, or to make them laugh. Where’s your farm?" “My farm Is at Peekskill, N. Y., said Mr. Beecher. "I thought it wasn’t around here; your head is not like a New Hampshire farmer’s. Do you make your farm pay?” “I have never been able to make it pay. It costs me every year more than I get out of It,” Beecher replied, truthfully. “Os course! Why, if you’d taken to talking—publid speaking—you could have earned money enough to run a farm, and get plenty of money out of It besides, no matter what It cost. You’ve made a mistake. Your teachers ought to have told you that you would make a public speaker.” Beecher did not wince. He asked the phrenologist If it was too late to begin speaking, and for reply was told: "It’s never too late to begin.” Then the phrenologist walked over to the little group. “That’s the first farmer whose head I ever examined who could have been a speaker,” he

Saw Treatment in a Dream

Dr. M. O. Terry While Asleep Received instructions That Developed Into His Oil Cure of Many Kinds of Enteric Diseases. A well-known encyclopedic authority states that the name of James Marion Sims “deserves a place as an inventive genius among the great surgeons of the world.” It was Sims who, about the middle of the last century, substituted silver wire for silk and other sutures, first making this daring experiment in a peculiar and hitherto incurable disease, and then extending the use of metallic sutures to general surgery. For some time he had been making a study of the hitherto Incurable malady. He knew that the common silk suture would be eaten away by acids before the wound made by an operation could heal; it was this fact that made the disease Incurable. He was puzzling over this apparently insurmountable obstacle one day when he walking about the streets of Montgomery, Ala., where he made his great experiment, when he saw a hairpan of the common black wire variety lying upon the sidewalk. Instantly e an idea flashed into his mind. He picked up the hairpin, took it to a

old cronies. Arid it was noticed that the advances invariably came from Senator Lamar; that Senator Bruce did not presume upon the official relations that existed between him and Senator Lamar to force his personal attentions upon the latter. At the beginning of Grover Cleveland’s first term as president Senator Lamar became secretary of the interior. Not long thereafter he sent word to Senator Bruce, then getting ready to retire as registrar of the treasury, that he would like to see him. A little later the secretary was receiving the registrar as he would an old friend, and confessing to him that he doubted whether he was as well equipped for an executive office as he was for a judicial or legislative post. “But,” he said, “I am going to make as good a secretary of the interior as I am able.” Then he brought up a personal matter. “Senator,” he asked, “how many appointees of yours are there in this department?” “Well,” replied Bruce, "I can’t tell off-hand, but possibly there is a larger number here than I should have asked for.” “Do you think so, Senator f queried Secretary Lamar. “Well, I have sent for you simply to say this: Not one of your appointees in this department shall be touched. You can tell them all that they need feel no anxiety; they shall stay here as long as I am secretary of the interior." Shortly after Justice Lamar’s death, in 1893, Senator Bruce was reminded bf this incident. “Judge Lamar was faithful to that self-imposed and unsought for promise,” said Bruce. “Not an appointee >f the interior department named on my recommendation was removed by him. And when I recall this and all the other great kindnesses and the solicitude he showed for me at all times, do you wonder that I shall •peak of him as one of the nobleat characters and truest gentlemen I have ever heard of or known?” (Cowftoht. 1910, br B. J. Bdwwda. AM Rights BsmtHA)

said. “That man could talk like a steam engine.* “Do you know who that fanner is?” asked one of the party. “That is Hen ry Ward Beecher." For a moment the phrenologist stood looking in dumb amazement at the speaker. Then he dropped his satchel and chart on the porch and fairly leaped in front of Mr. Beecher. “So you’re Henry Ward Beecher," he shrilled. “To think I’ve examined your head and told the truth about you! Well, now, you’ll believe there’s something in phrenology.” And looking long and wonderingly at the great pulpit orator, the Itinerant phrenologist at last gathered up his satchel and chart and disappeared as quietly and mysteriously as he had come. (Copyright, 1910. by E. J. Edward*. AU Rights Reserved.) They Escape a Lot. Querlcus —Let’s see; the married men all have better halves, don’t they? Cynicus—Yes. Querlcus —Then ■’▼hat do the bachelors have? Cynicus—Better quarters.—Short Stories. A Public Character. “Tibbs can’t decide whether to go on the stage or the lecture platform.” “What put that notion into hia head?” “He lighted a cigar with a ten-dol-lar bill last night before a large crowd of spectators.”

silversmith, and asked the latter if he could draw a silver dollar into a wire much finer than the hairpin. When informed that this could be done, Sims gave instructions for a dollar to be drawn into a wire that had the thinness of a coarse thread; and with this thread of silver he was able to complete successfully his difficult operation, thereby banishing a hithertc incurable disease, and establishing a new era in American surgery. In an equally extraordinary manner came the first hint to its originator of what has come to be known in the medical world as the oil treatment in enteric cases, which include appendicitis and typhoid. By originating thia treatment Dr. „M. O. Terry gained world-wide notoriety. Yet until now it has never been published how h« got the germ of the idea that caused him to promulgate his famous treat ment “It was a curious experience, verg ing on the weird, almost, that first led me to the study of medical sufficlencj of oil in the treatment of many kinds of enteric diseases, especially appendicitis,” said Dr. Terry. “I was very fond of olives —and am yet—and it was my custom after a day spent in the hospitals and in following my private practise, to eat a handful of olives, with a few crackers on the side, before going to bed. Frequently, I was careless and left the bottle of olives uncorked, so that when I went again to it I usually found- the contents incrusted with a sort of scum, and the olives themselves turned sour. “Well, one night, after a hard day's work, Including two very difficult operations, I fell into a sound sleep. And a dream came to me. It was as vivid as though I were awake. And in it I was told that if, after opening a bottle of olives, I would pour upon the water in which the olives were packed in the bottle enough oil completely to cover the water, I would have no further difficulty about my olives souring. “Furthermore, I was told the philosophy of this. ‘lf you pour oil into the bottle,’ it was said to me in the dream, it will float upon the top of the water, it will make an absolutely impervious coating. No germs from the air can penetrate it It will smother all germs, for that is the quality of oil. Therefore, your olives will be protected.’ "I awoke, and reached out to my night table, which always stood by my bed, and made a brief note in my note book. Then I went to sleep again. “In the morning I discovered the note upon my table, and I said: ‘Tonight I will make the experiment* I did so, and found that what had been said to me in the dream was true. The olives were perfectly protected from all germs. “Ndw, that set me thinking. I reasoned that if oil were taken into digestive organs, it would thoroughly insulate them—prevent attacks upon them by bacteria; or, if attack had been made, it would smother the forces of Illness. I soon had an opportunity to make a test of my newly formed theory, in the case of a child who was dangerously ill, and, to my gratification, I found it worked perfectly. Then I developed the theory to extend it to typhoid fever, and especially to appendicitis; and it is through my advocacy of the oil treatment in the cases of appendicitis that have not yet reached the acute stage, with pus formed—when the knife is the only remedy—that I have gained professional advocates and opponents pretty much over the civilised world.” (Copyright, 1910, by E. J. Edwards. A* Rights RassrvsdU

THE MAN DECIDES By GRACE E. LESTER

Martha Bemis clambered off the train just as Mrs. Phillip Metcalf flrove up to the prim little station ivith its inevitable triangle of green grass and the bed of geraniums at the side. “You dear little idiot!” cried Mrs. Phillip. “I’m awfully glad to see you. Jive me your hand and. I’ll help you ip.” "I call that yanking me up,” pantBd Martha, as she tumbled in beside tier friend. “I can’t help it,” laughed Mrs. Met:alf, kissing her. “I am so glad to see Fou that I even drove over myself to neet you, in spite of my duties as lostess. Martha settled back in the seat and miffed the crisp air. "Glorious!" she murmured. Mrs. Metcalf smiled in sympathy. "You always did live in the superlative, dear. It is a wonder to me :hat with your temperament you have not married.” Martha brushed the Idea away with tier hand. “Impossible! I have tried to recon:lle myself to some men and I canaot. They put themselves at a disadvantage. Most of them propose at some social affair under the impresrion that they look irresistible.” She paused and made a grimace. “They look like a lot of crows.” “Martha! Martha!” protested Mrs. Metcalf, laughingly. “The air has certainly gone to your head. But where should a man propose?” “Out of doors, of course. It is his natural element and woman’s, too, only a woman appears better in the ! artificial life.” “Is that why you didn’t accept Stanley Metcalf last year?” asked Mrs. Metcalf, gazing off over the rolling country. Martha flushed and hesitated. "No-o. I just didn’t think I wanted to get married. I couldn’t decide so juickly." “I don’t think you know what you want, Martha," reproved her friend, .flicking a fly from the horse’s back with the whip. “You should have some one else to decide for you. If I were a man I would bind you hand md foot and carry you away.” “Then I wish you were a man,” said Martha, half seriously, as they drove In at the gate. A few evenings later Martha trailed flown the stairs in a shimmering, pink gown which surrounded her like a soft, billowing cloud, shaded by a crimson sunset. She was met in the hall by her hostess. “I have been looking for you everywhere, Martha. I need another hand at whist." “Oh, please don’t make me,” pleaded Martha. “I am so tired and sleepy and I don’t feel a bit like whist.” “No Wonder you are tired, the tramp you took this afternoon. I’ll let you off this time; you have been very good about playing,” said Mrs. Metcalf, pinching Martha's bare arm. “Better go to bed; it is after eleven,” she added, turning back to the parlor. “Guess I will,” agreed Martha, starting up the stairs. She stopped half way up, attracted by the bright fire in the library. “Guess I won't,” she murmured, descending the stairs. She paused at the door, admiring the effect of the fire and the rosecolored light of the chandelier; then she moved toward the fire, unconscious of adding another shade to the pink glow of the room. The small clock on the mantel struck midnight; she heard the guetets going to their rooms and made a half-hearted effort to arouse herself and follow them, but she only changed her position and settled back in the chair. The house was very still—so still that when the little French clock struck three Martha opened her eyes and gazed at it stupidly. “I went to sleep,” she muttered in surprise. She rose half way in her chair, but sank back quickly. A muffled step was coming across the hall. It stopped at the door and came into' the room. She heard a stifled exclamation and, lifting her eyes to the mirror over the mantel, she saw a masked man with a silk hat on his head and a fur-lined coat on his arm. He returned her look for a moment, then removed his hat and came and stood in front of her. “I thought you were a pink ghost,” he said in a low tone. At the sound of his voice she drew in her breath sharply and leaned forward. “Who—who are you?" she stammered, her heart beating suffocatingly. He made a slight bow and replied: “I am a gentleman thief!” “You are not!” contradicted Martha, flatly. “It is impossible. I shall ring for someone at once." She arose, but before she had taken a step he was in front of her. “Do not, I beg of you," he entreated. "I will go as quietly as I came if you will tell me why you contradicted me. Why is it impossible for me to be a thief?” “Because nothing. Os course you are a thief if you wish, even if you have a voice," she finished desperately. “A voice?” he questioned, puzzled. "I mean a voice like someone I knew once," she explained, in confusion. "Is It not possible that you were

deceived by his voice—in him?” he | asked with a whimsical smile. < “Most certainly not!” she flared. “Stanley—” She stopped, frightened, and tried to pass him. He prevented her by catching over her hands and, leaning over her, trembled. “This man. Was he anything to you?” he demanded. “I am not in the habit of making a confident of anyone, least of all a gentleman thief.” He paid no heed to the rebuke, but drew her hands against his breast. “Tell me, tell me! Do you love him?” he persisted. “You—you—!” she gasped. “Tell me!” he reiterated sharply. “Yes!” she sobbed. The man gave a low, triumphant cry and caught her in his arms. In the struggle to free herself she threw r up her hand and the mask slipped from his face. “Stanley Metcalf!” She lay in his arms a moment, stunned by the revelation; then tore herself away, white with rage. “How dare you!” she cried . “How dare you play such a cheap trick on me?” “Martha, let me explain,” he begged. "There is nothing to explain,” she replied. “I will not listen.” “Yes, you will,” he declared. “There was no trick about it.” “Os course not,” she sneered. He paid no heed to her words, but continued speaking rapidly. . “I had been at a masquerade party at the Yelvingtons’, over at G about 30 miles from here. I promised Phil and his wife that I would pay them a visit, so I decided to *'come on over in my machine tonight I had a slight accident, which accounted for my being late. I left A Saw a Masked Man. the car at the gate and entered by one of the windows, intending to arouse some one and announce my arrival. I noticed the light in the library and looking saw, or so I supposed, my sister-in-law asleep in front of the fire. Knowing that she was not easily frightened I slipped on my mask and entered the roonj, intending to play a joke oh her.” “Is that all?” Martha asked, coldly. “You know the rest,” he went on. “When I saw your reflection in the mirror my surprise was as ! great as yours. I did not know that you were visiting here.” “That explains your presence, but it does not explain your taking advantage of the unusual situation to force a confession from me," she blazed. “When you spoke of my vbice, dear, I lost my head. I was wild to know the truth. If you love me why should you not say so?” he argued. “-If that is all I think I will leave you,” she said, ignoring hls : last question because she could not .answer it. “No! You shall not leave me—not after that confession. Martha,” he cried, in a low tone, seizing her in his arms again. “I hate you now!” she parted. “O, no you don’t. You will get used to my ways after we are married,” he assured her, calmly. “Married! I did not say that I would marry you. I will not.” “People that love each ether ought to marry,” he reasoned, quietly stepping to the long window and opening it. "We will have just about time to run over to G and be married and be back in time for breakfast.” She stood looking at him in stupid wonder. . ! “We haven’V any too much time. It is after four now,” he informed her. “You must be crazy!” she gasped, “I am just coming to my senses,’ he replied. “Better put this coat on, it is cold riding.” He threw the coat around her. She stood facing him, defiantly. There was a moment’s silence as each stood measuring the will power of the other. Then with a quick movement the man picked her up in his arms and stepping through the window leaped lightly to the lawn. He paused a moment and looked down in her surprised, indignant :face with a smile. “You’ll be sorry,” she cautioned, through closed teeth. He answered her by bending his head and kissing her then strode off across the lawn toward the road. And Martha, catching sight of the new moon over his shoulder looked and. smiled in hannv resignation.

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TOO MUCH FOR THE CORPSU Exhibition of Meanness That Galvan ized the “Dead" Irishman Into Indignant Life. “Don’t be mean in your offerings," eald T. P. O’Connor, in a plea in New York for the Irish cause. “The Irish can’t stand meanness. “No, no; the Irish can't stand meanness. Take O’Grady’s case. You know, in Ireland, some 60 or 70 years ago, when a poor family lacked a coffin : they made the corpse beg for it. “This custom, alas! sometimes i«d to imposture. Thus, Thirsty O’Grady and his friends wanted money badly once, and O’Grady was assigned to act the corpse. So they laid him on a bier outside the door and they put i a pewter plate beside him for the pennies. “As O’Grady lay there, so, still, wit* closed eyes, an old woman stopped and dropped sixpence into the pjate. Then she began to take out change. A penny, tuppence, threepence she took out, and O’Gradyi couldn’t stand such meanness. Corpse as he was, he said: " ‘Arrah, now; don’t mind the change.’ ” —Washington Star. Careless and Cappy. We have undertaken to ( blend in one the best bf the two proverbial conditions —to be careless and happy, hairless and cappy. We are now happy and cappy, and frequently carbless as well. A pretty figbre~ may be conjured up—a figure in leaf-green satin veiled with rose and silver shot gauze. The- dark hair is covered by a sailor’s cap, point and all, worn flatly over the whole bead, the point falling at the back. Instead of being made of scarlet cashidere, it is of the gauze, over silver tissue, and Studded with pink and yellow topaz, while it is bordered with grqat gray pear-shaped pearls, these, of course, hanging around the back of the neck and over the soft hair in front. We have taken to caps. Digging Spruce Gum. There will be a crusade in spruce gum digging in the Maine woods this winter. About twenty men will leave Skowhegan within a short time to begin gum digging operations near Jackman. Gum has grown scarce in the last few years and the demand is so great that It has become a business to many Maine men. Last year James Carey, Frank Croning and Joe Cass dug 1,300 pounds and sold it all in Maine. It is Estimated that from 50,000 to 100,000 pounds will be dug thii season. —Kennebec (Me.) Journal. As It Appeared in Print. Senator Newlands of Nevada was soaring in debate one day, soaring so high he “hit the ceiling.” He realized he was getting a trifle “owery and to excuse himself said: “Indeed, Mr. President, perfervid oratory may be pardoned, for this subject furnishes all the food eloquerice needs.” That sounded pretty good to Mr. Newlands, but he was a bit abashed when he read in the Congressional Record next day that he asserted his topic “furnished all the food elephants need." RESULTS OF FOOD. Health and Natural Conditions Come From Right Feeding. Man, physically, should be like a perfectly regulated machine, each part working easily in its appropriate place. A slight derangement causes undue friction and wear, and frequently ruins the entire system. A well-known educator of Boston found away to keep the brain and the body in that harmonious co-operar tlon which makes a joy of living. "Two years ago,” she writes, “being in a condition of nervous exhaustion, I resigned my position as teacher, which I had held for over 40 years. Since then the entire rest has, of course!* been a benefit, but the use of Grape-Nuts has removed one great cause of illness in the past, namely, constipation, and its attendant evils. “I generally make my entire breakfast on a raw egg beaten into four spoonfuls of Grape-Nuts, with a little hot milk or hot water added. I like it extremely, my food assimilates, and my bowels take care of themselves. I find my brain power and physical endurance much greater and I know that the use of the Grape-Nuts has contributed largely to this result “It is with feelings of gratitude that I write this testimonial, and trust it may be the means of aiding others in their search for health.” Namegiven by Postum Co., Battle Creek, Jfifich. Read the little book, "The Road to Wellvllle,” in pkgs. “There’s a Reason.” Ever read the above letter! A new one appears from time to time. They are Pennine, true, and full of human interest.