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The roundup record. (Roundup, Mont.) 1908-1929, January 29, 1909, Image 6

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Persistent link: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn86075094/1909-01-29/ed-1/seq-6/

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Roundup Record.
A. W. EISELEIN, Publisher.
ROUNDUP. - - MONTANA.
"L . . ...... —
trignsn Keen ooservers.
Our English cousins are becoming
greet observers of trifles. Therefore,
one is not surprised to find in a Lon
don paper this comment on certain
national characteristics: "Detection of
foreigners is easiest at table. On Sun
day this writer happened to be lunch
ing at the Cafe Royal, where you may
see more strangers to the square inch
than in any Londbn restaurant. While
waiting for our food we speculated on
the differences. And when a man or
a woman held on to the fork we de
cided that this was English. For an
American cuts the food and then eats
it from the fork in the right hand.
Those left-hand fork people, on aural
investigation, were English. Over
against us is a man whose hand and
fingers are all conversational. They
dart from face to the infinite, return
ing with a touch on the nose. In a
second he jumps up to accede to the
demands of a lady—his companion—
who has forgotten the third button
from the top of her blouse. His knife
goes into the salt and his hands seek
the gilded root in surprise, protest,
and the Britisher sits with knife and
fork at the insular poise and knows
that the man whose five fingers are in
the air and whose knife is on the floor
is a Latin. The pivot of the German's
table manners is the table knife. He
cherishes It, uses It, retains it, as the
Implement not only of feeding, but of
argument. If you see a man waving a
knife in the air in a discussion and
hanging on to it when the waiter
comes to change the plates, he is
German."
A popular magazine devoted to
household and domestic interests con
tains a symposium from disgruntled
husbands in wmch those unhappy per
sons free their minds as to women in
general and wives in particular. One
man is especially bitter because of the
lack of the intellectual seriousness of
wives. They are ready to pursue any
reigning fad, he declares, "but they
rarely know anything thoroughly,
even their own nominal calling, house
wifery. This is the reason, he thinks,
why all the lasting and profitable
friendships he has known between
men and women have been with other
women than wives. If all this is true
it looks like a reflection upon matri
mony in general and men in particu
lar than upon women. Men are free
to choose their wives, and if they
gravitate naturally to the light-minded
ladies, whose fault is It? Or if associ
ation with their husbands causes wom
en originally serious to become trivial,
why, then, whose fault is It?
The grave consequences of reckless
tree felling are so widely and deplor
ably felt that the subject is likely to
become a matter of international con
sultation and deliberation. The terri
ble devastating fires on the North
American continent this year are rec
ognized as a matter of deep concern
elsewhere. A congress of the powers
to devise means of combined action to
prevent further denudation and to
provide for the reforestation of waste
lands might, suggests the Philadelphia
Record, lead the way to most benefi
cial co-operative effort. To conserve
the w'ood supply of the world, to re
gain to the higher land levels their
natural and suitable water supply, and
to restore arid and waste lands to con
ditions of use and fertility are aims to
which the statesmanship of the nation
may be most wisely directed.
It is being made plainer every day
that the remedy for reckless running
of automobiles must come largely
from within. It is impossible for the
police and constabulary to cover the
entire ground. The automobilists
should make their influence felt by
frowning upon daring drivers and in
sisting upon the severest punishment
of those who are constantly taking
murderous risks.
In declining to entertain a neighbor
hood complaint against a crying baby,
the Brookline health authorities show
a proper appreciation of their respon
sibilities. It Is their obvious duty to
promote the birth rate as well as to
reduce the death rate. Give the in
fants a chance to vociferate and mul
tiply
Turkey imported 6,000,000 pounds of
soap last year. Young Turkey's ap
parent determination to wash the
grime of centuries from its face will
commend Itself to the considerate
judgment of mankind.
A leading authority has said that in
50 years disease germs could be
eradicated if the world would get to
gether. This is a subject even more
germane to civilization than the abo
Utioto of warfare.
=1 Is
The Truth and the Lady
By Elia W. Peattio

(Copyright, by Bobba-Merrill Co.)
I have a friend who has often said
to me that she cared nothing for alle
gories, parables or symbols.
"I want the truth," she declared. "I
live by the truth. Nothing less will
do for me."
My friend was sitting in her home
one day not long ago, when there came
a ringing at her bell; and, as her one
servant was away for the afternoon,
she herself answered the door. With
out stood an old man with kind eyes
and a cruel mouth—a very old man,
greatly wrinkled, and with a huge pack
on his back.
"I was sent here by a neighbor," he
said, "who told me that I had just the
sort of wares for which you cared the
most. She said she thought I would
find you a generous purchaser."
There was a curious accent In the
old man's speech which my friend
could not quite place. It was at once
familiar and unfamiliar, and she could
not tell whether she liked or disliked
It. But she bade him enter, for he
was old, and, besides, she thought he
might, indeed, have something that
she wished to buy.
"My wares," he said, "are very an
cient. It would be difficult to find any
thing more antique."
"Then I hope they are beautiful,"
cried my friend, "for I have no use
for ugly things, no matter what their
history may be. It is only beauty
hat can reconcile me to mold and tar
nish and dustiness."
"Some are beautiful and some are
grotesque," he said. "But I perceive
by looking about your rooms that you
>ave a fancy for the grotesque as well
is the beautiful."
"One is the face, the other the ob
verse of the coin," said my friend.
'But pray show me your wares."
So from his pack the old man with
he kind eyes and the cruel mouth
ook many packages, wrapped and
led with the cunning of the old races.
"I am a Merchant of Truth," he de
jlared proudly, "and these are my
vares. If you permit me I will show
you the contents of this one, which
tells the truth about your home."
"Oh," sighed the woman eagerly, "if
you please!"
When he had undone the curious
wrappings, the old man took forth a
shining sphere of crystal, and held it
before the woman so that she saw a
tjiing which the old man described in
this wise:
"Your home," he said, "is a badly
built little house, standing in a third
rate suburb of an ill-ordererl city. It
is much too expensive for the amount
of comfort it gives, and even so, it is
not really yours. It is mortgaged, and
you must pay interest as well as taxes.
It Is never as clean as it should be,
by reason of the mills and factories
near at hand. There is much incon
gruity in the furnishing and decora
tion of the rooms, and in winter some
of these rooms are chilly and damp.
In summer you have no garden to
which to retire. It is, you perceive, a
poor place."
"Oh," caid the woman, "how mis
taken you are! I see truly, the things
of which you speak, but do you not
appreciate that here is the door at
which I bid my friends welcome? And
within is my fire, burning sweetly on
the hearth. There is my bed whore I
sleep so deliciously, there the dear
window at which the dawn looks
in. Hero is my kitchen where I cook
the food by which we live, and here is
the table at which we eat it, with talk
and laughter, and even, when we are
so disposed, with song. Everything in
this house belongs to me. My hus
band bought these things and gave
them to me—except such as are the
gifts of friends. I can walk about the
rooms and put my hands on this and
on that and tell you the most beautiful
stories imaginable about the friends
who gave me these things. It is curi
ous, but I know of no one who has
such friends as I. Really, this place,
which looks so poor as reflected in
that sphere and in your words, stands
to me for home—home—home!" She
sighed with happiness.
The cruelty deepened about the old
man's mouth and the kindness glowed
in his eyes.
"You mean," he said, "that this com
mon place is a Symbol of Home. In
this respect, I perceive it is not Truth
which you desire, but the Symbol. It
is the possession of that which makes
you content. But come, perhaps I
have something more to your liking.
Here, madam, is the portrait of your
husband as he is." And he undid an
other wrapping and held up another
sphere.
There she saw shadowed forth the
figure of a man—a man small of stat
ure, inefficient }n his actions, petulant,
narrow, affectionate, fairly honest,
rather discouraged; a man with no
strong passions, no deep or original
thoughts, no brave sins, no capacity
for great sacrifices. Yet one going
faithfully his quiet way, returning al
ways to his home at night, and, in his
pallid fashion loving his wife, though
often forgetting to tell her so by word
or look.
"You see!" cried the Merchant of
Truth. "This is a very revealing little
trinket. It will, if looked at often
enough, liberate you from that domes
tic servitude which you now endure
with maudlin patience Will you buy
it?"
"No, indeed!" cried the woman in
dignantly. "That man is the only one
who ever kissed me on the lips. I
remember well the first time he did
so. It was at sunset, in a beautiful
grove. Tlie golden light fell down be
tween the tree trunks, making them
black. I felt, all the beauty of the
world throbbing through me and I
comprehended how incomplete it
would be without love, and how I was
blessed. A wonderful vision came to
me and I knew what life and work
meant, so I put my hand in the man's,
and always he and I have kept to
gether. And now we have a son and
are a part of the future. Oh, you have
no idea what this man stands for to
me!"
The old man smiled significantly.
"He also is a Symbol, I see," he
said with contempt. "It is not what
he Is that makes him dear. It is, as
you say. what he stands for. It is be
cause you must feel the wifeliness in
you, because he gives you an excuse
for your feminine sarifices, that you
cherish him. He is the Symbol of
noble and protecting love—no more."
Then he revealed to her—somewhat
doubtingly, for he was beginning to
see that he should not find in her a
ready purchaser—a little wondrous
iridescent sphere.
"Here," he said, "is the Truth about
your son."
Now, so curious a thing was this,
that even the sphere of Truth had
been affected by dreams, and it was
some time before their beautiful
prisms dispersed and showed her the
pitiful facts—a little spindling child,
petulant like his father, narrow of
brow, with a face in which selfishness
and affection ever kept war. The
woman spoke in great anger:
"I have a mind to show you the
door," she said. "Do you not know
that is my little child ? He Is bone of
my bone and flesh of my flesh, and
sweeter to me than the night or the
day. Why, when his little hands tug
at my skirt and I feel myself his pris
oner, I would not change my service
for all the freedom in the world. When
I hear him cry out in the night, I am
filled with poignant Joy, and at morn
ing when his bare feet come pattering
down to my room I give thanks for
the day that brings me this delight.
It is true he is not so bright as some
children, and that he he is fretful and
often ill, but, after all, he is the core
of life to me."
He Is a Symbol," said the old man
in terrible accents. "It is not what he
is but what he stands for that makes
him so unutterably dear. Any other
child would do as well to quench the
mother-thirst."
The woman made a passionate dis
claimer and declared she wished for
none of his wares.
"I am done with you. madam!"
shouted the man. "Yet, no, upon re
flection, not quite done. For your dis
regard of the value of my wares you
shall be properly punished. Behold,
here is the Truth about yourself!'
And he held up to view another
sphere. The woman looked long and
the color came and went in her face.
Her little hands clasped and unclasped,
and once she would have fallen had
not the old man supported her. But
after a time she pushed the sphere
away.
"There is a mistake somewhere,"
she said, in a voice at once joyous and
humble. "All of these things are true,
I know, yet, somehow, that is not I.
There is something within me. not
seen by anyone, not understood by
myself, which makes me different from
that. It is the thing that causes mo
to be careful of my life, which leads
mo to believe that I shall live again
and which lets me walk among my
fellows with my head held high. It is
the innermost self, the secret and
eternal Me."
"It is a figment of your brain,"
scoffed the old man, "a piece of leger
demain of the psychologists, a ghost
conjured up by the churchmen!" Ho
was trembling with anger, yet his
eyes betrayed a defeat. "Come," he
cried, "confess!"
"I can confess nothing sir, exce Pt
that as soon as you are gone I shall
comfort myself for all the Truth you
have shown me, with my sweet Sym
bols. I did not know till now that I
lived by them. But now that l know
it I am all the more protected against
sorrow and sin and falsehood. I am
only a poor woman and ignorant, yet
this I know, that in my Symbols hides
a greater truth than your Truth
knows. Farewell, sir, and come this
way no more."
Begins at Foot of Ladder.
Ogden Mills Reid, only son of White
law Reid, publisher of the New York
Tribune, has begun work as a reporter
on his father's paper. Young Mr. Reid,
who i3 25 years old, is a Yale graduate
of the class of 1901. Subsequently ho
took a course at the Yale law school.
New York's Rapid Growth.
Inside of 12 years New York prom
ises to be the largest city on the
earth. It is now growing more than
six times as fast as London.
a
a
a
a
PUT TO QUEER USE
PICTURES DIVERTED FROM THEIR
PRIME PURPOSE.
Have Been Known to Aid Greatly in
Conviction of Criminals—Once
Efficacious in the Collec
tion of Debts.
Though the prime purpose of pic
tures is to please and instruct, they
have at times been diverted to other
uses. During the recent hearing of a
case at a London police court a wit
ness gave evidence that the prisoner,
who was charged with attempted mur
der and suicide, had drawn his atten
tion to a couple of pictures on the
backs of which, written in pencil, was
a statement by the accused setting
forth the reason for his premeditated
crime.
Ere now pictures have been enlisted
in Hymen's cause. That celebrated
painter of flower and figure subjects,
William Hunt, was on one occasion
commissioned by a gentleman to paint
his portrait in the attitude of kneeling
and holding in his hand an open scroll
whereon was written a declaration of
love and offer of marriage. The lady
to whom this unusual proposal of mar
riage was sent replied with a chalk
drawing of herself with a sheet of
paper in her hand on which was in
scribed a laconic "Yes."
As debt collectors, too, pictures
have proved efficacious. Etty, when a
young man, received an order from
certain Marylebone tradesmen to make
a dozen caricature sketches of a resi
dent of the locality who was notably
averse to settling his accounts. These
portraits when finished were displayed
in the windows of their subject's long
suffering creditors, who refused to re
move them from the public gaze until
their bills were paid. Seeing no way
of escaping ridicule save by yielding
to their just demands, the gentleman,
on condition that the objectionable
portraits were destroyed, agreed to
discharge his debts.
Soon after he settled in London,
Sir Thomas Lawrence, then a mere
youth, was a witness to a dastardly
assault on a lady by a ruffian, who
managed to make good his escape,
not, however, before he had been well
noted by the young artist, who, at
once returning to his studio, drew
from memory a speaking portrait.
This, which he handed to the police,
was the means of bringing the crimi
nal to justice.
That wayward genius, George Mor
land, was often sore pressed for mon
ey to pay his debts. On one occasion
he stayed at an inn where he speedily
ran up an account which he was un
able to meet. He offered a picture in
payment, but Boniface shook his head.
Suddenly, however, his eye brightened,
and he invited the artist to step into
his yard, where, he trusted, means of
settlement might be found. Morland
did so, and a few days later received
his bill receipted. The following Sun
day mine host appeared at church in
a truly novel waistcoat, being nothing
less than the painter's payment, which,
stretched across his ample chest, dis
played to the amazed congregation
the picture of a gigantic pig.—Pitts
burg Bulletin.
Winter Drainage Suggestion.
Winter drainage is not the same as
summer drainage, and it must be at
tended to very carefully at this clos
ing up season. In summer we simply
want capacious tiles running through
the soil capable of keeping it from be
ing waterlogged, and we want a slo
ping of drives so that swift showers
shall be carried quickly by surface
ditches. But in winter, there is often
a body of melting snow very suddenly
let loose, that will wash the best soil
off your land, tear gutters through
your strawberry beds, and possibly
even heave out your young trees. It
la extremely important just as you
wind up your work, to cut surface
drains of a temporary sort, where the
slopes are likely to be washed, and so
as to catch the flush of water before it
accumulates, and throw it out of your
garden and ^off your lawn. These su
perficial drains can be closed in the
spring, or, if left at all, can be modi
fied to very shallow and almost un
noticeable suices.—Outing Magazine.
The Final Word.
It Is related of Phil Spayce, the
minor author, that he never is long at
a loss for a simile, drawing freely up
on his personal experiences. When
he seeks to indicate the ill humor of
his characters he does not write:
"They were as cross as two sticks"
or "they were as mad as hornets" or
"they were as angry as demons."
For these be phrases all too hack
neyed. Rather does this keen observer
pen it:
"They were as snappy as a man and
wife who have spent Sunday in flat
hunting."
And with this the final word has
been spoken.
Its First Telling.
Eve had fabricated her first biscuits.
"Just like mother used to make," de
clared Adam, fulsomely.
Tears sprang to Eve's eyes.
"If you hadn't eaten that apple,
you would never say so!" she pro
tested.
Yet it was no bigger lie, on the
whole, than plenty of men have since
told in those identical words.
Per Capita of New York.
New York city has the largest per
capita personal property assessment of
any city in the state, the valuation be
ing $»« for each inhabitant.
"KIT* CARSON NOT FORGOTTEN.
Many Traces of the Famous 8cout in
the Southwest.
Every American in whom a spark of
romance is alive knows the name
"Kit" Carson, says the St. Louis
Globe-Democrat. And the majority of
us began young to know it, for "Life
and Adventures of 'Kit' Carson" was
among our choice boyhood books. To
be a "Kit" Carson was and long will
be boyhood's ambition. "Quick to act
and never known to boast," is the Car
son epitaph, and one that any boy may
well emulate.
"Kit" Carson, this greatest, perhaps,
of American scouts and frontiersmen,
can be claimed by old Missouri. To
be sure, he was born in Kentucky,
but he was only a year in age when
the family removed to historic How
ard county, which, although now in
the center of civilization, at that time
was exposed to savage beasts and In
dians.
Howard county in the '20s grew too
tame for hire, and his apprenticeship
to a saddler, David Workman, (a good
name), waxed uninteresting. The call
of the wilder wilds was insistent, and
when he was 17 he joined a Santa Fe
caravan. He already was an excellent
shot, a proficient hunter and a strong,
alert, steadfast youth.
In November, 1826, he turned up at
Fernandez «is Taos, now of north
eastern New Mexico, then of Mexico
Itself. Here to-day are to be found
many traces of him, for Taos was his
rendezvous and home through 40
years. At Taos he and his wife are
buried.
The house which he occupied for
many years while he was Indian
agent still stands and also the low
adobe structure containing his office.
In Taos lives Aloys Scheurich, a Car
son close friend, holding whose hand
the scout died, and Mrs. Scheurich, the
scout's niece.
The doings of "Kit" Carson after
his arrival in what is now New Mex
ico have been faithfully recorded and
embodied in print. But unfortunately
his boyhood in Howard county seems
vague. It is to be hoped that the right
effort will result in more information
concerning this not unimportant pe
riod of his life—the crucial period real
ly. He was well schooled In all the
perils and vicissitudes and lore of
frontier life and he extended his lo
cale, according to hazy report, by
hunting buffalo with the Sioux. His
knowledge of the Sioux tongue after
ward stood him in good stead.
He is a character of whom Missouri
may be proud. His honors apparently
are untarnished by the vices so prev
alent in his rough and ready day.
Worry.
One who could rid the world of wor
ry would render greater service to
the race than all of the inventors and
discoverers that ever lived.
We Americans pity ignorant savages
who live in terror of their cruel gods,
their demons which keep them in ab
ject slavery, but we ourselves are the
slaves of a demon which blasts our
hopes, blights our happiness, casts
its hideous shadow across all our
pleasures, destroys our sleep, mars
health and keeps us in misery most of
our lives.
This monster dogs us from the cra
dle to the grave. There is no occa
sion so sacred but it is there. Un
bidden it comes to the wedding and
funeral alike. It is at every reception,
every banquet; it occupies a seat at
every table.
No human intellect can estimate the
unutterable havoc and ruin wrought
by worry. It has forced genius to do
the work of mediocrity; it has caused
more failures, more broken hearts,
more blasted hopes, than any other
one cause since the dawn of the world.
—Success.
Apropos of "The Devil."
Now that those two "Devils" are ex
hibiting themselves at the Lyric and
Garden theaters, weak jokes and plays
on words regarding his Satanic ma
jesty are all the rage, says the New
York Times.
"I'm going to the devil to-night,"
one remarks, listening hopefully for
the ensuing cachinnation—or else "So
and-So has gone to the 'Devil,' " etc.,
through delightfully bewildering varia
tions.
And then, of course, there la this
gem: When some one tells you heat
edly "go to the devil!" you suavely
inquire: "Which 'Devil,' please?"
All this recalls something that hap
pened in Boston a few years ago,
which, though somewhat similar to
these "Devil" jokes, was distinctly
funny. There was a dog show at
the time. Whoever ran the press
agent end of the thing conceived a
brilliant idea. Instead of having ordi
nary signs hung on the street cars go
ing to the show, he caused to be
placed on each one a placard an
nouncing in big black letters:
"This car goes to the Dogs."
Religious Joke.
Lawson—What is the difference be
tween the cows of ill-omen that
Pharaoh saw in his dream and the
typical Boston girl?
Dawson—I'll bite. What is It?
Lawson—The cows were the lean
kine, and the typical Boston girl ie
one of the lean kind.—Somerville
Journal.
Not So Worse.
"Our band was in a smashup last
night," said the man with the big
bass drum.
"Any bones broken?" queried the in
uocent bysta.ider.
"Only the trombone," answered tb«
drum thumper
EXCELLENT WEATHER
AID MAGNIFICE NT CROPS
REP0RT8 FROM WESTERN CAN
ADA ARE VERY ENCOURAGING.
A correspondent writes the Winni
peg (Man.) Free Press: "The Pinch
er Creek district, (Southern Al
berta), the original home of fall
wheat, where it has been grown with
out failure, dry seasons and wet, for
about 25 years, is excelling itself this
year. The yield and quality are both
phenomena], as has been the weather
for its harvesting. Forty bushels is a
common yield, and many fields go up
to 50, 60 and over, and most of it No.
1 Northern. Even last year, which was
less favorable, similar yields were in
some cases obtained, but owing to the
season the quality was not so good. It
is probably safe to say that the aver
age yield from the Old Man's River to
the boundary will be 47 or 48 bushels
per acre, and mostly No. 1 Northern.
One man has Just made a net profit
from his crop of $19.55 per acre, or
little less than the selling price of
land. Land here is too cheap at pres
ent, when a crop or two will pay for
It, and a failure almost unknown. Nor
is the district dependent on wheat, all
other crops do well, also stock and
dairying, and there is a large market
at the doors in the mining towns up
the Crows Nest Pass, and in British Co
lumbia, for the abundant hay of the
district, and poultry, pork, and gar
den truck. Coal is near and cheap.
Jim Hill haB an eye on its advan
tages, and has Invested here, and is
bringing the Great Northern Railroad
soon, when other lines will follow."
The wheat, oat and barley crop in
other parts of Western Canada show
splendid yields and will make the
farmers of that country (and many of
them are Americans) rich. The Cana
dian Government Agent for this dis
trict advises us that he will be pleased
to give information to all who desire
It about the new land regulations by
which a settler may now secure 160
acres in addition to his 160 home
stead acres, at $3.00 an acre, and also
how to reach these lands into which
railways are being extended. It might
be interesting to read what is said of
that country by the Editor of the
Marshall (Minn.) News-Messenger,
who made a trip through portions of it
in July, 1908. "Passing through more
than three thousand miles of Western
Canada's agricultural lands, touring
the northern and southern farming
belts of the Provinces of Manitoba,
Saskatchewan and Alberta, with, nu
merous drives through the great grain
fields, we were made to realize not
only the magnificence of the crops, but
the magnitude, in measures, of the
▼ast territory opening, and to be
opened to farming Immigration. There
are hundreds of thousands of farmers
there, and millions of acres under cul
tivation, but there is room for mil
lions more, and other millions of acre
age available. We could see in Western
Canada in soil, product, topography or
climate, little that is different from
Minnesota, and with meeting at
every point many business men and
farmers who went there from this
state, it was difficult to realize one
was beyond the boundary of the
country." _•_
Would Risk One More Bottle.
A Frenchman from the provinces
who was paying a prolonged visit to
Paris found his hair was leaving him
at the top of his head, and took his
barber to task about it. "You sold me
two bottles of stuff to make the hair
grow." "It is very strange it won't
grow again," said the modern Figaro;
"I can't understand it." "Look here!"
said the countryman. "I don't mind
drinking another bottle, but this must
be the last!"—Philadelphia Inquirer.
SICK HEADACHE
Positively cured by
these Little Pills.
They also relieve Dis
tress from Dyspepsia, In
digestion and Too Hearty
Eating. A perfect rem
edy for Dizziness, Nau
sea, Drowsiness, Bad
Taste in the Mouth, Coat
ed Tongue, Pain in the
Side, TORPID LIVER.
They regulate the Bowels. Purely Vegetable.
SMALL PILL. SMALL DOSE. SMALL PRICE.
CARTERS
CARTERS
Genuine Must Bear
Fae-Simile Signature
REFUSE SUBSTITUTES.
KNOWN „ , a.. RELIABI f
P r NT C Tblack
^ N CAPSULES
, H ^ i- i;>. . ^.wIN .*mt itr- ho. * :
rwi o ma. i ;nK t" t it : < •- ,
rare
MAI
paSpAii
Beware of tie Cottfk
that hange en penUtently, '
breaking your eight's rest and
exhaustingyoa with the violence
of the paroxysms. A few dose*
et Piso's Cure will relieve won
derfully any cough, no matter
how far advanced or aerio j.
It aoothaa and heal, the irritated
wirf ace», clean the clogged air
pauages and the cough diaap
pear*.
AldèuchY.ti«

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