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FOURTH PAGE THE SUNNY SOUTH MAY It, 1907. | Z5f>e Part That Voilets Played \ ) Between Two Young Lovers • 1 • By MABXA PBTTU8—FINETA. “A violet by a mossy stone. Half-hidden from the eye; Fair as a star, when one one Is shining in the shy." HAT is just one of the verses about violets that Cousin Madeline has in her purse. She keeps ev erything she can And about violets, but that is the only one I learned to say. And I learned that to say to my violet man. The reason I call him my violet man is ’cause, ever since tne first time I saw him there in my there is the power to love. In some Btage of development.” He paused and his eyes wandered away to the line where the mist still lingered on the hills. "It has been long years since my sweetheart went away, but my soul knows that she is ofttimes near me still. It was just such a morning as | and when papa canys home from the of- j this The skles were g oft | y blue, and flee, mama asked; I the fragrance of the flowers and the "What did you say was the name of SOEffg of th e birds floated into the lit- the young man staying in your office, l t]e room ghe lay Hke a faIr now? •Robert Grayson, and a mighty fine young fellow he is, too." "Why haven't you invited him to call on Madeline?" "Pshaw, he’s no society man. He wonlt look at at girl. He's a woman- hater, he is.” I didn't know what that meant, but next morning when I went to papa's office, I went right to my violet man’s desk, and after I had hugged him and kissed him “good morning,” I asked him; j "Are you a woman hater?" “No.” he said, and he laughed quick-I like, "but I ought to be. I loved one woman, not wisely, but too well,” and kissed him again. papa’s office, when he j he looked so sad took me up in his arms ! and asked him; and kissed me, he's been sending me j "Then, why don t you send my pretty violets most every day. He says i mi cousin some \iolels. the only "sweetheart" he has to send! " ho is j our cousin. "Cousin Madeline. * j "Madeline." and his face was just as while, "what else?" j "Madeline Marchmont.” ' "She doesn't want m e to send her any | violets.” ' i "Xo, of course, ’cause you haven’t, even been up to get acquainted with her yet; but I want you Jp send them to her, j though," I said, "'cause she just cries j and cries—” j "She does?” "Yes. 'cause Robert went away, and broke her heart, I heard her tell mama so—and violets is all she’s got to—” J "Sav, little girl, can you keep a se- : cret?” And, of course, I promide at once. That's the reason I didn’t tell any body anything about the violets till next | j day. when Cousin Madeline came back ! from her drive, and then I said, just as j \ if T thought She knew about it. j i "Cousin Madeline, don't you want some j ' violets?” j : "Yes, dear," she said, and I ran and ; threw open the parlor door, and said; j "Here they are, then.” And there stood my violet man, with a big bunch In his hand. 1 "Oh, Robert," Cousin Madeline cried, ; and I thought she was going to fall,; j and he thought so, too. I s’pose, ’cause j h e caught her in his arms, and those, violets were all crushed. Nobody cared though, ’cause we’re go ing to have some more at the wedding. I am going to be flower girl—Ruth and I—and we are not going to have any flowers, except violets—just violets. sleeping lily. And I know that she loves me still for she comes Into my dreams and tells me so. And her white hands woo and beckon me across the lonely years. Some fair morning—I know it will be morning—I shall join her out there beyond the bowered gates of sleep.” The tenderness and pathos of his voice moved me to tears and in spite of my efforts to hide them he saw them fall. In a moment he. was-all contrition. “Oh, forgive me! I sometimes forget that you are a human mimosa. "It must have been the smell of the red onions over there.” I said lightly. He smiled. “What have you been reading?" “Paracelsus” He made a little grimace. “Take at home for ?he present, I hope to have »■»♦«»«*>**»»»'»* et***—* f ‘ time to catch iup with all obligations ♦ • T /a Sga ^a/st4«a ^9 4 I Ibis summer (Including some photos ♦ t-fOUlW/Ua ^ ; I have ling promised to have made.) * Bids * The Household l A Last Farewell % By LOMACITA. violets to, now—and he looks as sad as anything. You ought to have heard mama asking: “Child, where in the world did you get that beautiful bunch of violets?” the first time I carried any home; you would have thought I had the whole conserva tory- I left It to papa to explain about that “chap in the office who has taken such n fancy to Mildred”—Mildred, that’s me, you know. And papa lets me go to the office with him most every day, now. Sometimes, I give my violets to papa's patients in the hospital, or take them, to th£ little crippled boy down the street, here; and sometimes I take them to church, when I go to Sunday school. That is, I did before Cousin Madeline came to see us—but now I keep them every one in the house, she won’t let me give away a single solitary one, and Tbomas Elmore Lucey. THE GRAY DREAMER. Twilight was coming on and the winds of evening whispered softly to the happy, green trees in their robes of spring. And the woman who stood looking out with me was silent—so silent I read her thoughts. She is past the years of girlhood and yet she is beau- presence! he exclaimed with an tiful and youthful.! Presently she I exaggerated air of grief, turns to me with the glorious light j 1 kissed my hands to him and left of love still shining in her eyes and j him whistling softly among the roses finishes her thoughts in words. j and onions. “I can wait. Time is nothing since i he has made Paracelsus in broken doses, child. He puts love on too low a plane. And the man or woman who has not come into a full realization of the divinity and beauty of love is not at all times a safe teacher.” “It has been so long since I was in love,” I said humbly, “I don’t believe 111 ever be able to concentrate my affections again.” “Ah, how can you be so cruel as to make such a confession right here in I know that he loves me.” I watch her go away, a graceful, gray clad figure beneath the trees. It seems such a marvel. Only a few the whole day sweeter and brighter for me. Dear, Gray Dreamer! ITALY HEMPERLY. I’ve got more vases full—why, they are , . , , . Jus; everywhere. And every time Con- short months asro^hehad been so near sin Madeline looks at them, her eyes gel all shiny with tears, and I think that is funny, don’t you? I’ve cried about lots and lots of things, but I . don’t think I’d ever cry from just look ing at violets’; now, do you think that you would? It’s funny though, what grown folks cry about, and laugh about, anyway. Now, when I laugh it’s because my brother tells me riddles. I do love to tell riddles; don’t you? But one tlme'l got so tickled, and It wasn't about a rid dle. It was when Ruth—she’s the lit tle girl I play witn every day, when we don’t quarrel—and we were playing in her playhouse that looks like a great big tent, when Ruth fell down and hurted herself, ari3 I was so tickled. I went and hid myself behind the Play house, and laughed and laughed, and I didn't let Ruth see me, either, ’cause she'd been mad. One day. Cousin Madeline went and hid herself in her room, and cried and cried, and when mama went in, I peep- the gate of death and then he had come to her. And his very presence had called her back to life. And yet she is neither young—by count of j years—nor foolish. . . . Tomorrow I , will go ask my friend to tell me ; something about this mysterious power i called love. The morning broke sweet and fair with a rippling breeze among the trees. ; Slowly I wended my way to the home of my friend, the Gray Dreamer. i I have given him this name because he still has all the dreams and joyous, i infectious enthusiasm of youth, al- , though his hair Is white with the ; snows of the eighty winters. I saw him j down in the garden among the roses, j and following the path, I surprised ' him in the act of tying up a half- J bloom lily whose stem had been broken j by the wind. His fine, blue eyes flashed me a I greeting more eloquent than words as : he held up his soiled hand. ’Can’t shake; but I knew something j ed through the keyhole, and heard them | g ood was going to happen today.’ talking. Cousin Madeline was saying something about the earthquakes in Mexico, and the starving folks in China, but tllat what they suffered wasn’t as hard as what she had to beaT. for she said being shook up in a earthquake, or being starved to death, either, wasn’t as bad as getting your heart broke—’cause that was something that got worse ev ery day, that you couldn't ever, ever get Over. And I heard mama tell her not to grieve so, that maybe Robert would come back; and if he didn't come back, why. Cousin Madeline could make put my- hand on his shoulder and looked solemnly into his face. “I want you to tell me something,” I said. “Tell me how old people must be before they cease to love and dream.” He gave me a little hurt look. “O, I don't mean people like you. I mean just ordinary folks.” “My child, people never get too old to love and dream. It is the soul that loves, and the soul never grows old. It is the body that gets old and worn with the narrow cares of earth. O'Hagan—Ol have found that hit me wifi a brick as Oi was passin’ the alley, Mr. Murphy. Mr. Murphy—And what did you do It j with him? long visit to us. and have such a good I we only knew how we could always j 0 - Hagan —Nothin,. 'Twa s all a mis time with all the young people, going to ; keep the body young and beautiful. J take — tke man W as only doing his picnics and parties, and everything, she; In his first state, man was not created | dufy jj e tjj 0u g[,t oi was a constable could forget all about him. And Cou- to die. But we will have to change * | n plain clothes. sin Madeline dried harder than ever then, and said no, she. couldn’t forget him. and the violets every where re minding her ail the time that “the vio lets might bloom in the woods forever, and she sees him never again,” and she Almost wished she was dead. And mama said: “Oh,” just like that; the world vibration before we can attain to these things, and that will take a long while. We cannot go to perfection, but we can grow to per fection. The power to love is one of the proofs of our divine origin, for as we grow toward perfection we can "Tompkins has changed his mind. He isn’t going to put a name on his auto.” “Why not?” “After thinking it over he finally de _ _ _ cified that the law wouldn’t allow of love more perfectly. And In every soul , his calling it w'nat he wanted to.” OW many times have X tried to stop writing to the Household, and failed. There was a charm about our informal gatherings which ej-ew me so irre sistibly that I bad no cWce but to laugh at my self as a reincarnation of Dickens' famous charac ter-type of advertising ruses. The day 1 received The Sunny South announcing that we had a six week’s reprieve f Jumped out of my chair and shouted. ■'Glory!” My mother looked t*p from her bed and inquired mildly: “Well, what sort of fit is it this time?” "To think that I may appear again!" I remarked with modest humility. “Of ! course, I am tickled to death that I’ll 1 get to read ail the good things the others will send in, but I had shut down the lid on a dozen °r more things I was dying to say to those dear people, and it was about to result in aipoplexy.” So I can rflleve my mind of sundry convictions about which I was afraid I had been misunderstood by a few of my friends, and now in this last letter my one thought ia to try to tell you all how much yens have been to me, how dearly I love you, and how greatful I shall -be to you for the rest of my- days. So many have said to me in personal letters that 1 wrote like I had never had any trouble at all. I am glad tnat I left this impression, for I do not want to cast my shadows over other lives. But almost all the great sorrows have been mine. I have been called to suffer agony over my nearest and dearest, and to give up everything in life that I had cner set my heart on. And sometimes when I felt that there was no use to struggle longer, that I might as well give up and drift out with the other human wrecks for whom the rocks of circnrmstance have been too much—often in such an hour some friendly word of encouragement from an unknown friend has lifted my broken: heart and made me feel that I could try again. Friends, from the deeps of exlperlence, I call to you and say; Whatever else you do or don’t do. never be chary with your kind words. There’s no way of reckoning the good they may do when you least expect It, and when in the final accounting you are called upon to give an excuse for having lived, one little forgotten word spoken by the wave id e may weigh more for youi than all the great deeds you counted on to make your election sure. There is no power on earth like sym- tpathy. It is love kinetic, and can spur us on to renewed effort when all else falls. Although, unlike "Earnest Wil lie,” I cannot say that I owe m>- start in literature to The Sunny South (hav ing won recognition from many periodi cals before I knew The Sunny South existed), I can say with him that I owe if more than I can ever hope to repay. For it has tided me over the darkest ‘period of my life. During those weary years, when the editors of first-class periodicals would write me insisting that I send in some more of my work, I would toss the letters aside and say; “What do I care about winning distinction in the leading magazines? I couldn’t write a decent article now if my life depended on it.” Yeit a few hours later, perhaps. I | would read something in the Household j that set my brain to working, and I | would seize my pen and forget myself n a letter to re:r page. It wasn't like writing for an editor on request—it was like talking to dear human fr’ends. I didn’t haive to think about how I was putting things or rewrite It when the mood had left me. And so I relieved my heart and kept my brains from get- ing rusty. Can you wander, then, that I deluged M. E. B. with contributions, that I tor mented the managing editor periodically for Household numbers, that I was filled with unrighteous wrath at the very idea of leaving our department out of the new magazine? The Household was a part of my life, and whoever, struck at It struck at me. As for Little Mother, so well do I love her that although I may never see her. the man gh e ig named as one of the five equal legatees In my will. Money could never repay her for what she has done for me, but so long as I live I shall follow her with my love. To the hundreds of friends who have written to me. I want to say, please do not think me unappreciative because I cannot answer promptly. So far I ha'-e hardly succeeded in answering the most UTD^nit ‘letters! those irwf irtijg about some particular point, those enclosing stamps, those acconppanyir.g presents, i and those from dear ones in trouble, or giving me the friendly criticism I asked Indeed. It Is like waving a magic wand, as some one expressed it, to ask for anything of Mother Meb’s big family. Tou Should see the way back numbers of The Sunny South have been pouring in on me—some being sent on the mere chance that they were what I wanted. About a dozen wrote me they could supply me if I would write what I wanted. I shall remember this kindness, and answer as soon as possible, T5he Crowning With Happiness \ Of Two Sad Lives Pilds Cured In 0 to 14 Daya. PAZO OINTMENT is guaranteed to cure any case of Itching, Blind. Bleeding or Protruding Piles in 6 to 14 days or money refunded. 50c. t ♦ * as #*•■*•■»•*•■*•*•*»*«•*«*•■*•’*•* « By JULIA COMAN TAIT. SUMMER night among the hills of New England, moonlight tinted with opel mists that hovered over the tops of the mountains, standing like giant sentinels in the distance. The breeze brought delicate odors of blooming flowers to the two—a young man and a girl—sitting on a rustic seat in the front yard of a little cottage. It was a night to invoke memories, and as they sat silent, perhaps they were thinking of their childhood days when they went to school together In win ter on the same sled and coasted, hand A DEER'S BASE INGRATITUDE. (From Central Point Herald.) Will Scott, holding down a claim in the tall timber a few miles from Butte Fails, had an exciting experience one day last week. He was at work in the timber some distance from his cabin when his attention was attracted by thej, n hand acrosg the frozen lake, while ferocious barking of a pack of coyotes , .. , .. ■’Jin summer they were comrades in the woods, picking berries or gathering S flowers. Later their life-paths diverged—the boy went to a medical college in New York, the girl to a boarding school in her own state. The parting had been sad, and each carried a heavy heart on the journey that bore them from each other. After years of student life they had met again a few months before; she changed from the awk ward girl Into the polished, graceful young lady, he from the gawky boy into a young man of fine appearance, whose hard study and natural ability had enabled him to graduate with dis tinction, his teachers predicting that he would become eminent in the field of medical science. The future was bright with promise to these two. who were rich in youth and hope. Breaking the silence between them, the young man s.«!d: “Marion, before I go away tomorrow to begin my bat tle with the world in a strange city, | 1 wish to tell you, what you already know, that I love you fondly—have loved you always—and that my dearest wish is to make you my wife. Marion can you return my love and promise lo wait until I am in a position to marry you. The knowledge that you love me and will be mine will make me supremely happy and will inspire me to work hard for success. What say you, sweetheart? Do you care for me? Will you promise to wait until 1 can claim you as my wife?” A year later a cry for help went up from the south. That land of beauty brush came suddenly within a few * an d romance was stricken in one of yards of a magnificent buck surrounded j h er fairest cities by an epidemic of the by the pack. j dread yellow fever. Hundreds were The coyotes had chased the buck ; suffering, dying through lack of med- through the deep snow until he nad j i ea l attention. The cry for help reach- finaily made a stand, was making a ed the ear of Roger Brooke, a young valiant though losing fight against th% physician in Boston, who. although he hungry horde. With hoof and horn &• | had been living In that city only a fought them off. but it was a losing j year> had established a fair practice, game, and had Mr. Scott not appeared t t^ice his heart responded to the on the scene the unequal fight must j ca u for assistance. Pecuniary loss have soon been over. So interested were and the rIsk of hIs life did not weI ^ h the combatants that they did not notice wlth hlm against h is sense of duty the presence of a man, but when the' suffering . hu rn&nlty. Leaving his coyotes , th ! y en q f!j! bright prospects, he set out lmme- * ** ^ diately for the south, and arriving in the infected city ho offered his assist ance to the medical board. Earnestly he went to work in the crowded hospitals and wherever help was most needed. Day and night he and his other self-sacflficing brothers in the profession battled with the ♦ • 9 m more tnan verified—he had gained emi nence and wealth in his profession. He had not visited the south sinjo his vain search for the sweetheart of his youth, and as he sorely needed rest he determined to take a trip through the southern states. He stopped in West Tennessee to visit a brother physician whom he had known in col lege. This doctor was the acting phy sician of the county poor house, and on one of his professional visits there he invited Dr. Brooks to accompany him. On the wtiy he related the sad story of one of the inmates of this in stitution—a woman, accomplished and well-born, yet most unfortunate. On arriving at the poor house Dr. Brooks requested to see this special patient, and in a moment he stood face to (««.* again with the playmate of his child hood. the sweetheart of his young man hood. But how different from the Marlon whose image he had carried in his heart all these years. This was an old woman with gray hair and with- Mrs. M. M. Str&tner. in the canyon below him. The sounds were unlike the ordinary coyote cry, and Mr. Scott, becoming interested, started down the hill to investigate, and as he stepped around a bunch of thick beat a hasty retreat. With a snort of F. I*. Orton. ered features, but Marion—his Marion still. Seeing that he was > recognized, for her glad cry of “Roger’’ greeted hTm, he opened his arms and folded the frail, yielding form to his breast, and, there under the roof of that Tennessee poor house each heard the story of how the one had lost the other. A week later a large river steamer, northward bound, had among its pas sengers Dr. Brooks and his three-days bride. They were standing on deck enjoying the beauty of the scenery. The sunset glow was reflected in the blue eyes of the little bride. Her head had found a resting place on the broad shoulder of her husband. As they watched the shadows thicken and the stars one by one come out to be re flected from the water below them, sh* raised her face to his and said: “God. who made all the beauty and wohders of the universe, doeth all things well. He has brought us to gether, beloved, in* His own good dreadful epidemic until the worst was time.” over, the fever was on the wane. His I The arms that held her clasped her splendid vitality was greatly lowered ' closer, while from two heartj? a prayer by what he had gone through, and was sent up to Him, who ii. Hisl good time had seen thus at last. Harry M. Dean. victory the buck turned ihs head and saw the man. He paused for the fraction of a minute in surprise, then, with lowered antlers and blazing eyes, made a rush for this new intruder, and suddenly Scott re membered that he had no gun. He did not feel in a mood for foot racing just j while the glad tidings. “The epidemic is conquered!” was being telegraphed over the land, the young doctor was stricken by a parthian dart of the dread disease. Fever in its most ma lignant form held him in its grasp. For a long time his death was hour ly expected, but with careful nursing he finally, after many months, regaln- eu his strength. One year from the date of his leaving Boston he was on me streets of the city again. As soon as his neglected business could be looked after he turned his face toward his childhood’s home there to see Marion Stanbury, his betrothed, strange it was that in the dark years that had passed no word had come to him from her. Soon after arriving he went to the cottage where she had lived with her widowed closed and still. On inquiry he learned j out causing them d!scomf( that during his absence her mother! “Easv-to-Quit” is a trea! had died and Marlon, finding herself penniless and alone, had gone south to reside with a maiden aunt—no one knew exactly where. to bless Tobacco Bad as An Absolute “Sto Brain-Killing', : ing Tobacco Been Fo You Can Try It The tobacco habit is man knows It. Some know it. Most men wo: mother, but he found it they knew they could do maxe the smoker and lately quit for good the in any form. Marion Stanbury from her lonely Florida home, on the banks of palm- cringed Indian river, grew sad for a sight of her dear New England. Her then, either, so he shinned up a tree at [life had become very dark. She had a pace that would make the nimble gray j written repeatedly before her mother’s squirrel green with envy. Nor did he [ death to her lover in Boston, but no have any time to lose, for as he swung j answer had come. Then came the con- himself into the first branches the tip of elusion that he had broken faith with the deer’s antlers tickled the bottom of her Among the lovely intellectual Cancer Is Curable A QUARTER OF A CENTURY’S MARVELOUS SUCCESS WITH SOOTHING, BALMY OILS. MRS. B. r. SMITH, Columbia, Ms. Cured of a Terrible Cancer of For*, head. Over a quarter of a century Dr. By* ha* demonstrated beyond a shadow of a doubt that Cancer and Tumor ara :urable diseases with soothing, balmy, aromatic oils. A THING WORTH KNOWING M. YANT, Crete, Nek^ 8ays of our Mild Method of Curing Cancer: "To* have performed one Of the most miraculous cunt in my case ever heard of." THE ILLUSTRATED BOOK Write today for It and leara how you may be CURED AT HOME AT SMALL EXPENSE No need of cutting off a woman’s Dre&st or a man's cheek or nose In a vain attempt to cure cancer. No use ftesh P arid*’ t burn,nfir Peters to the weak from suffering* Soothing.*ba*my% ... , Patients whom we are treating by mail. ‘McAbe, Philosopher, Mr. Ben N.. Notho- Five safe, speedy and had one located to the same place and w,s rnnowo are ^ rom , 6 ’ fc ,ry Ktate ^ in Ihs rone, Bachelor Parson, Panhandle Boy, T(le mogt horrible forms and aore healed In au weeto' time. Union, and we have found that where wnnla favor me with - Mr. Brady Mitchell, of Number One. Tenn., cured the patients will follow our instruc- I*™ Parnet would tavor me witn of eritheliema (cancer) on lower rye lid, hr home tions closely a rapid cure is the result, j their addresses. If they won t. then I for. Many letters from my Household favorites and. regular correspondents re proach me mutely every day. But I will get around after awhile, and hope to , „ . - - „ , . . . . send each some little souvenir of Lona- place for treatment, can be treated by t . „ mail and express successfully. We , J wish that Gnadeloupe. Harry have constantly from 500 to 1,500 i Bill, Improvisatore. Senex. Franceska, Persons living a great distance from Kansas City, who cannot come to our his foot and caught the hem of his over alls, ripping them to the pocket. That was perhaps the proudest buck deer that ever trod the earth in Oregon. He hqd Put to flight a band of wolves and treed a man, and he concluded to camp there awhile and enjoy his victory. For an hour he guarded his captive, stamping his feet, shaking his head and j, g r-*’auTit making other warlike demonstrations, while Scott remained in the treetop and wished for his rifle. Finally the deer tired of the game and moseyed off into the woods, stopping once in a while and looking back, as if to say: “I've a no tion to climb that tree and get you yet.” Was Scott mad? Mrt—, rather. He had saved the deer g s life, and for his kind ness haa been repaid with base Ingrati tude. He is an ardent sportsman dur ing the lawful season, hut in his present state of mind the whole deer family would better give him a wide berth. Italy Hemperly’s Little Boy. certain cure. „ iimi ef cancer of the face, breast, womb, mouth and stomach, large tumors, ugly ulcers, fistula, catarrh, terrible . . , .... ...„ ^ All communications by letter or other- thank theme here, and send my love. etC ” % re V 1 successfull Y . wlse ^ iu . ?V\ r ‘ Ct l% „°^ nf uS ' 1 ^ hunted vainly for the addre treated by the application of various Mrs. W. A. Southard, Buffalo, Mo., cancer of sons desiring to know more of thifl Berms Of soothing oils. hreaat d ** of teacup, cortfl by home treatment. valuable treatment should write* DR. BYE, 905 S. BROADWAY, KANSAS CITY, MO. address of the lady who said she wanted th<» life of John Fiske, or other literature. Will she please send it to me? As my mother's health necessitates m# staying Cancerol. a Home Treatment for Cancer. An unparalleled record of successful cures proves the superiority of Cancerol. Not an experiment, but the result of experience. Investigate for yourself— costs but a trifle. Write today for free book. Addrese Dr. L. T. Leach. Box 88, Indianapolis, Xnd. Well Equipped. The morning after the wreck of one of the fast trains running between New York and Chicago, an old farmer was standing on the bank of the river into which the train had plunged, in tently watching the water, says Har per’s Weekly. A stranger approached, and natural ly the conversation reverted to the wreck and the fortunate escape of all the passengers. "It was the costliest train world,” informed the stranger. "Yes,” grunted the other, still watch ing the stream. “And also the best equipped,” the new-comer continued. "No doubt about it,” assented the old farmer. "I've fished a dozen bottles out of the water already.” women of the city he had found one who had caused him to forget his lit tle mountain sweetheart' Well, she would not intrude on his happiness, she would write no more. Quiet and uneventful was the life she spent here among the orange groves of south Florida, with no companion save her Her heart turned to her northern home. She longed to see once again the .mist-crowned mountain tops, and the snow-covered plains. Years went by, bringing no change to her until her old aunt died and she found herself alone In the world. After days of effort and of heart sick waiting, she found work in an other state. By careful economy she managed to support herself on the small Income accruing from her occu pation. The work was hard, and as time went on gray threads began’ to appear in her dark brown hair. Lone ly. unloved, she plodded on with weary feet, longing for the rest beyond. There came a day when she was un able to go to work. It made her dizzy to raise her head from the pillow; In trying to get ua she fainted, and when consciousness came to her a physician wes bending over her. Gently as pos sible the’ fateful knowledge was brok en to her—she would never be able to work again. Her disease was one of the spine and her life depended on her being quiet and comfortable. With heaving bosom she turned her face to tne wall and there fought out the hard battle in her own soul. Two weeks later, through the influ ence of the phyalcian. she found her self an inmate of the county poor bouse. Bitter at flrst was the fate to this high-strung, accomplished woman, but, as the years passed she became more and more resigned. She the ! would bear her lot patiently here, hop- ' ing for rest and happiness on the shore "where the surges ceased to roll.” Dr. Brooks was now fifty years old. He had grown stout with the passing of time, as well as famous. The pre dictions of his Instructors had been Bums the Brain to Ashes. Tobacco deadens the bralr., stupefies the conscience, ruins the affections, brings the beast to the surface. Most tobacco users are the iaat ones in the race for success. Business men ' now adays are looking around for men and boys who are not tobacco slaves,—for clear-headed, strong-nerved helpers, who can be relied on. It takes - nly ten minutes for tobacco to change the beats of the heart. To keep it up is to tempt 'death by heart disease, nervous collapse, tobacco can cer. and stomach, liver or kidney dis eases. For the young cigarette fiend who has become so calloused that he smokes la the face of ills mother, sister, wife or sweetheart. “Easy-To-Quit” Is a salva tion. Mothers, save the young smoker's brain, he cannot do It himself. Wives, sisters and sweethearts, help save the mind, body and future of some one who is near and dear to you. Without your help it may not be done. '‘Basy-To-Quit’’ iS‘ a positive, absolute "etopper” for any tobacco habit. It Is a vegetable remedy, and any lady can give It secretly in food or drink. It is harmless: leaves no reaction or bad after effects, and it stops the habit to stay stopped. Fill out blank lines in coupon below with name and address, and mail for a free trial today. FREE PACKAGE COUPON. If you fill out the blank lines below with jonz name and address, cut out coupon and send it to ns. we will send you absolutely free, tar Basil, in plain wrapper, a trial package of "Eaay-to- Qc.it.’’ .Yon will be thankful aa ions aa yon lire that you did it. Addresa ROGERS DRUG AND CHEMICAL OO.. US1 Fifth and Race Hta, Cincinnati, Ohio.