Newspaper Page Text
THE SUNNY SOUTO
SATURDAY, MAY 20, 1890.
WOMAN’S PAGE CONTINUED.
his appreciations, that it is impossible to
think of their doing anything else than
make popularity even more popular. They
show a perfect familiarity with the sub
ject and place the author in the front
rank of essayists and critics.
The translation by Miss Frost is smooth
and accurate and preserves much of the
beauty of the original. It is one of the
most notable of recent contributions to
the study of literature. One vol. 402 pp.
Portraits. $2.00. T. Y. Crowell & Co.,
New York and Boston.
• * •
One of the best selling books during the
two past months is "Mr. Dooley in Peace
and War.” Mr. Dooley must be added to
the acquaintance of all who esteem good
sense and good humor.
The scheme of the book is simple. Mr.
Martin Dooley is a Roscommon Irishman,
who settled many years ago in Chicago,
and now keeps a liquor saloon in the
Archer road, in the heart of the Irish
quarter. Every night Hennessy and other
of his friends step over for a ‘hot wan,'
and to them Mr. Dooley holds forth. He
h;ts his opinions on everything that hap
pens. and in spite of some ignorance of
detail, he has the knack of hitting the
centre. His greatest gift is the witty
Irishman’s capacity to improvise satiri
cal situations and dialogue. Here and
in other ways he reminds us of Mulvaney.
Mulvaney's brogue is more creamy, for
American influences have tampered with
Mr. Dooley's, and Mulvaney’s remarks
are more humorously kindly, for Mul
vaney was a humanist, whereas Mr.
Dooley, in conversation at any rate, is a
cynic and a destructive critic; but the
two men stand together. In selecting
Mr. Dooley for bis mouthpiece the au
thor of this trenchant book—Mr. Finley
l’eter Dunne—lias shown much acumen,
for no one is in so line a position to say
true things of Anglo-Saxons, whether in
England or America, as the Irishman who
dwells in their midst and is yet not of
them. Yet Mr. Dooley, however shrewd
itis thrusts may lie, always stives himself
a flash of rectifying humor, so that his
weapon, while it pierces your side, tickles
you, too.
For English readers the section of this
book entitled “In Peace” will be the more
attractive, for many of the remarks on
the progress of the American-Spanish
war are esoteric, although well worth at
tempting none the less. In the “In Peace”
section Mr. Dooley discourses of New
Year resolutions, of football, of golf, of
books, of charity, of the Dreyfus case,
of the decadence of Greece, of the new
woman and many other matters equally
interesting to Englishmen as to Ameri
cans. . . .
\Ye wish we had room to quote Mr.
Dooley’s opinions. Mr. Dunne, it may be
FINLEY PETER DUNNE,
Originator of “Martin Dooley,” and
Whose Letters Have Become Famous.
remarked, is still continuing the series
in his paper, so that a new volume may,
probably, be expected before long. Mr.
Dooley, for shrewd common sense, is
worthy to take his place as a national
satirist beside Hosea Biglow. Price $1.2.1.
Small, Maynard Co., Boston and New
York.
FROM CALIFORNIA.
Our Own Little Woman Writes of the Beauties and
Wonders of That Enchanting Land.
There is a high bank just across from
our parlor windows, and upon it sits a
small house fairly hidden by lovely roses,
scarlet geraniums and other flowers in
mingling profusion. Down the sides of
the bank, green and graceful, clusters a
kind of flowering moss, one of the love
liest decorative mosses that California
boasts of; the flowers are a peculier
shade of pink, and they open through the
day, hut close their pretty eyes as soon
as the sun begins to move toward the
R ■if-kies. Then, In the midst of this
gr -en sea, brilliant and spicy, just a patch
of it, you know, as though it had been
thrown there, scrambles a nasturtium
vine; and I tell you, dearies, we do enjoy
that bit of bank with all its beauty and
brightness. \Ye look at it and talk about
it many times every day, and it is a
source of great pleasure to us. One fair
maid, with shining silken hair, declares
she will yet walk across the street and
boldly carry away a whole handful of
those saucy red nasturtiums, and I really
believe she would were it not for the
fact that a great, tall, solemn policeman
walks hack and forth now and then, sort
of keeping his weather eye upon us lost
we commit some depredation of that na
ture: at least, I suppose that’s what lie
meanders up our way for, ’cause 1 don't
know of anybody else who needs watch
ing. unless it is us, two of us, 1 mean.
There is one place I visit once every
week, spend a day there—a lovely little
home, and such a dear, gracious hostess
as I find when I ring the hell and her
smiling face greets me with a welcome.
Do you know what t do while I am there?
In this yard grow the most perfect of
La France roses, Henriette, La Marque,
pink-hearted Duchess, Revo d'Orr. mean
ing “River of Gold,” fa lovely name, isn't
it?> Loretta, Mareehal Nicl, Jaqueminot,
S.ifrane, (that’s the new color that’s all
the rage, you know,) sweet, naughty,
reckless “Ragged Robins," and, oh, how
many more. I wonder! Well, and then,
there are English violets, fragrant as—
fragrant as—why, ju»t as fragrant as vio
lets can be, and you all know what that
means, and trailing smilax climbs bravely
tin and down, green and graceful; a peach
tree, was covered with lovely pink blos
soms a few weeks since. I have a per
fect spray of orange blossoms, filling my
room with perfume at this very moment,
that J gathered in this same yard; a
magnolia will bloom in a short time: a
lemon tree, with lemons almost ripe—wee
ones, half grown fellows and white blos
soms all calling the same tree their moth
er, are at home here; and a loquet tree
does its part with the rest. Oh, yes, I
must not forget the dear old scraggly,
overgrown, sprangly banana tree that has
bananas on now it’s well as blossoms, and
if you have never seen a banana blossom,
you would laugh as I did when I saw one
for the first time, but you probably would
not say what T did, for no one ever docs.
It was just this, only this, and nothing
more: “Why, that fellow wears his liver
on the outside, doesn't lie?" and really a
banana blossom looks more like a nice,
healthy liver than anything I can think
of.
But I was telling you about this lovely
yard, wasn't I? and i started to tell you
what T do when I go there.
I gather roses with impunity, the very
prettiest and most perfect ones. Violets
do not escape my eager fingers, neither
do geraniums, and, oh, so many other
blossoms that I cannot begin in toil you
of here! But it is the dearest place to
get into, fragrant and lovely—an ideal
spot; and its lovely mistress knows my
passion for flowers and lets mo pick them
without stint; and my room glows like a
bower after I return from one of my
weekly visits. And only think of it, all
this beauty and fragrance every day in
the whole year! That is the most as-
A Skin of Beauty is a Joy Forever.
[XR. T. FoLIX OOURAUD’S ORIENTAL
L* CREAM, O t MAGICAL BEAUTIFIER.
Removes Tan. Pimples,
t recklea, Moth Patches,
Hash and Bkln
di?easos. and ev
ery blemish on
beauty, and de-
^ 7 fles detection. It
& has stood the test
of 50 years, and
is so harmless we
taste it to be sure
it is properly
made. Accept
no counter, eit of
! similar name.
l>r. L A. Snyro
said to a lady of 1
tne hant-ton }
_ patieni]: “As;
von ladies will nse them. I recommend 'Gottr- ’
end's O ream’ as the least harmful of all the Skin |
nrenarations ” For sale by all DruRKists and I
fancy Goods Dealers In the U. S.. Canada, ant j
rBRftT. UOPKIN3.PropT.S7 0t. Jonea St.N.T. i
tonishing part of it. isn't it? You who
live away back whore 1 do, only I don’t
know, cannot imagine what a wonderful
thing it is to have all of these lovely
flowers and fruits, with never a frost to
chill their tender hearts or blight their
beauty. I think God did a very lovely
thing when He made California; it was
the one crowning, gracious, perfect act of
all His perfect work: a poem set in the
midst of prose, a flowery kingdom, un
touched by the chill of winter or the hot,
scorching breath of summer.
Some one asked nte a day or two since
how 1 interpreted the word tenderness,
and this was my answer: Tenderness is
not made up wholly of emotions. Some
times we think that because our eyes
moisten at the reciting of a touching, pa
thetic story, be it real or imaginary, or
because we weep with or for another’s
suffering and grief that on- depth ,->f ten
derness is unlimited. We say, some of
us, that we cannot bear to go to hospi
tals or where we must look upon pain
and misery because we are so tender
hearted that we cannot stand the sight of
it Now, do you know, dearest, lovely
tenderness, the tenderness that lived in
the soul of One who suffered all things,
Is this: To be so tender that we can walk
through the wards of the hospitals with
out blanching cheek or trembling hands
and assist, if necessary, when there is a
fearful surgical operation to bo per
formed; perhaps it may be to bold the
head or the hands of some one who is
far away from home and loved ones: to
assure him of God's goodness and wis
dom, to speak loving and soothingly to
him, giving words of hope and encourage
ment in the hour that is so dark and ter
rible to him. This is tenderness, beau
tiful, brave, sympathetic tenderness, that
means more titan tear-filled eyes, tremb
ling hands and nervous hysterics.
The tenderness that is so deep and sin
cere that we can live from day to day,
bearing the burdens of some loved one
near to tts, caring for them if they are
frail and weak, blit with never a word
of reproach or a reminder of their weak
ness, but always, with our own strength,
helping them and trying to make them
believe that they are necessary to our
happiness, that we love and live for their
benefit, God bless them, and that they, in
turn, make our world brighter and hotter
because they are a part of it; this Is ten
derness almost divine.
A tenderness that makes us overlook
the faults of our dear ones as they must
overlook ours, forgiving as often as they
offend: this, too, is tenderness, and I say
again that true tenderness will not shirk
from pain and suffering, never, but, with
a brave, hopeful fa re and firm steps, walk
straight ahead to aid and help in what
ever way is most needed. Tenderness
means helpfulness and thoughtful care
for lliose about us; not only tears, blit
actions are needed. The divine part
within us creates this tenderness of which
1 speak, and the spark was kindled from
the depth of tenderness that first knew
birth in the perfect soul of our Creator.
There is a fine, large drug store on the
co-ner of Spring and Fourth, and I'll tell
you why T patronize it. In one of the
great glass windows is a hammock, just
a small affair, but large enough for a cat
to lie in and dream the hours away in the
sunshine that pours in all day long. And
there is a cat flint claims this hammock,
nod i scarcely over pass that it is not
there. It's a striped cat. too, but not
like my striped cat; I call it a pepper and
salt cat, because the stripes are sort of.
light, and really this application is about
the correct thing as designating the color.
1 often go up to the window and speak
to the cat and stroke its fur and have
quite a sociable little time, both of us.
Then, there are lovely cut flowers in an
other window—everything from roses to
dear old-fashioned lilac blossoms: so you
see there are two great attractions for me
in this particular drug store. I must tell
you what they had in their window for
an Easter device. A plump, motherly
Plymouth Rook hen and a brood of chicks
scratched in the sawdust just as happily
as though they were in some nice nlq
barnyard, and with them were rabbits,
pretty, gentle, timid creatures, afraid
even of those baby chicks; one running
little white fellow was nibbling away at
some cabbage leaves, when up came a
saucy chick and picked at bis eyes, think
ing. no doubt, they were something good
to eat. The poor little ralibit winked and
blinked, finally shut bis eyes altogether,
and at last, in sheer desperation, ran into
his little box for protection. Every day
i walKcd past that drug store to watch
those Easter chickens and rabbits; and I
think the idea was both unique and pret
ty. seasonable and appropriate. Every
body was delighted to watch them, and
the children—ah. but they enjoyed it im
mensely! The day after Easier I missed
them, and instead of the cunning live
creatures there were just—well, just
things advertised, you know, and I almost
wished that it was advisable to keep
chickens and rabbits in drugstore win
dows the year around.
I once wrote a story and called it
“Jennette.” I grew to love Jennette, as
I created her, and I wept with her and
rejoiced with her. Finally, she was part
ly burned up in a fire; then I went to
work to fix her up and send her out into
life again. When she appeared at last—
oh. dear! she was awfully mixed up and
tangled around through the fault of
somebody, heaven only knows who. I
scarcely recognized her in the finale, so
topsy turvy were the last chapters. I
didn't weep, for I am growing to take
these things philosophically and am fast
learning to believe they belong to the
trade and let them pass with scarcely
a frown or an extra heart beat.
And dear, nice, funny Robert Burdette
Is married again. I wonder if he will
quite forget “Her Little Serene High
ness" of years agone? No, no; surely
not: she will live in his mind ever as his
first cherished love—his devoted sweet
heart and wife, the dear, precious invalid
who hoped and planned for him and
helped to make him what he is today, a
beloved writer of the people, known the
world over, and an earnest Christian gen
tleman. who not only writes good things,
hut tells them from the church pulpit. We
all hope he may be happy, but we also
hope that the memory of “Her Little Se
rene Highness” will live in his mind a
constant. tender memory, a shining
thread that binds together the days that
are no more with every hour of the pres
ent and future.
Did you notice the dear little poem all
“writ.” for me in the Easter Progress?
Now, I call that about the nicest thing
anyone ever did for another fellow, don't
you? If I only deserved it! There's the
rub. But maybe I will, you know, some
time, and there's a heap of comfort in
that thought, isn't there? The Other
One will appreciate it, too, I know; and.
as for the striped cat, well, when I go
home. I shall read it to him and make
him understand what it all means. No
one ever tries to teach a cat to read—no
one but me, I mean; they say it takes too
much patience: that's because they don't
understand cat language or eat intelli
gence. It's as easy as anything when
you know how.
There was a great time in Los Angeles
and at the beach the 26th day of April,
and till over (lie laying of the corner
stone of the harbor that is to he; and
there were several foreign vessels here
and a large-sized fuss, I can tell you;
why shouldn’t there be? It is of nation
al Importance and means much to the
commercial world, both of the east and
west; and then, with it. battleship named
I.os Angeles, its The Times puts it, “our
cup will be full.” Adios.
MAY PHILLIPS TATRO.
Frederick, S. C.
QUIET ALONG JTHE POTOMAC
C. Eliott Beers, of Philadelphia, makes
this corre'dion concerning the poem, “All
Quiet Along the Potomac Tonight,” at
tributed to Lamar Fontaine:
“This poem was written by my mother,
Mrs. Ethel Lynn Beers, in my presence,
and appeared in Harper’s Weekly on Sep
tember 20, 1S61, over the signature ‘E. B.'
(My mother's name was Ethelinda Beers,
although she afterward adopted the nom
do plume of ‘Ethel Lynn.’) It was cop
ied without credit, and in course of time
reached acres' the lines .feVl tpto th*®.,
man Fontaine’s hands, was aprpopriated
by him, in the absence of signature, and
has been claimed by him for twenty
years, in spite of the fact that in almost
every publication now the credit has been
given to my mother. I hold in my pos
session copy of receipt given by my moth
er to Harper Brothers for the payment of
this poem, dated December, 1S61.
“A reference to Henry T. Coates & Co.,
of Philadelphia, the publishers of my
mother’s book containing this and other
works, will corroborate my statement as
to authorship.”
CUPID’S KODAK.
A “snap” I took of Molly fair.
Of Molly fair and saucy;
The March wind ruffling up her hair
Looked picturesque and tossy.
A snap I took, and with a start
The kodak dropped in wonder:
I found that I’d exposed my heart
And thereby made a blunder.
(For wily Cupid up to date
Has thrown away his arrows;
And when he takes a shy at fate
A kodak's what he borrows.)
“Oh .maid!" I cried in sore dismay,—
She laughed at my confession:
“ ’Twas Cupid did the work today,
My heart bears your impression.
“And now I pray you mercy show
And favor grant my wooing.
For if your answer be a ‘no,’
This snap shot's my undoing!”
But pretty Molly tossed her head
And laughed in merry measure:
“If not developed,” then she said,
"The print will fade at leisure.
”1 don’t think much of snap shots, sir,
When hearts make such disclosure;
And when I wed I’d much prefer
To risk a time exposure!”
—MAUDE ESTELLE SMITH in Detroit
Journal.
THE CARD PARTY.
Dear Household: And now what do you
all think of me? 1 am just now going to
acknowledge receipt of the postal cards
I teceived last summer. Last summer!
Just think of it! Why, I am actually
ashamed to mention it. But the reason I
waited this long is because I expected a
great many more and thought I would
wait until they were all received before
thanking you all.
The first dear little card that reached
me was dated June llth, and was from
our valuable Ike Heartsill. He said that
I had never deigned to give him or the
little wads he had been luck enough to
wedge into the Household literature, the
slightest notice. Now, Ike, that is a big
mistake, for I have always thought you
one of our best writers, and if 1 have not
expressed so much to you, it is not be
cause I would not deign to, and will ask
you now to put tne down on your already
long list of warm admirers.
Then the next card was from our Bonnie
Sweet Bessie, asking if she might be
come one of my merry Card Party, and
she ueeame one of it, and was one of the
most appreciated members. I wonder
why she is absenting herself so long. Say,
little girl, you and I reside in the same
city, did you know it? My home is out on
Mcfallie. I was tempted more than once
to run round and surprise you hut some
how 1 never 'thought of it at the right
time. When I go back to my home, from
which i have been absent so long, you
may look out for me.
My next card was from another of our
favorites ’who has been from us a great
while, and signs himself "Gem." He is
laboring under the impression that 1 am
a Kentucky girl just because I am in that
state. I will enlighten you. Gem, as I
especially want you to know that I am
from the old Volunteer State, and am
glad to say 1 am one of her children
"horn and bred.’’
Then the sweetest of all was (now
please do not blame me, you all, for 1
mean no harm) from our talented Maggie
Richard. It was a lovely little poem, and
the first dedicated to me. I felt highly
honored to he thus remembered.
The last received was from some kind
friend who. it seems, does not belong to
our department, as I have never seen any
thing from anyone who signs R. L. Coxe,
and resides in Alabama, as his card indi
cated. Would like very much . to know
his pseudonym, then I will feel that I
know him better. If he sees this. I sin
cerely hope he will favor us with some
thing from his pen. and become a mem
ber of our band, if he is not already one.
So to you all, I say “thank you” for
these little remembrances. They will be
cherished among my treasures of young
er days, and all alike, held as sacred.
They will remind me that unknown
friends are next to the best.
Good! At last our page has assumed its
old name again. 1 am very glad of the
change, and am sure the others are too.
And oh, don’t we have merry times,
though, with so many of us together?
You all know very well that a new per
son in the neighborhood always excites
the smallest curiosity, and it may be that
a great many of us have stepped in (but
a very few I hope) to see if this new
mother has red hair, freckles, big feet, or
something quite the opposite. But she
could possess every homely feature and
still be the dearest and best mother in
the world. Pretty Is that pretty does.
I wonder how many of you are glad that
summer is nearly here?
Mother tells us that she has several let
ters waiting to he published, pertaining to
the cold wave and other interesting sub
jects, but as I had my full share of the
cold weather myself, and was so glad
when it came to an end, 1 do not want
to mention it, and what is more 1 do not
want to remember it. and what is still
more I do not want to be reminded of it.
1 was glad when the trees began
to show their foliage and sweet
and fragrant blossoms, and the green
sward crowd itself out of the ground, and
to hoar the merry, winged warblers burst
ing their little throats almost, in honor of
the somewhat belated spring. Let us all
thank our Father for the many blessings
received at His hands, and fell grateful
that our sufferings were no worse.
Sylvan Glenn, you must surely think I
do not know how to keep a promise, or
do not want to keep one. I have not for
gotten the one made you about my photo,
but I just cannot make up my mind to
send it to you. The only one I have is a
perfect fright, and would scare you into
a spasm. However, I will risk it and
send it along. It was made by an ama
teur. so you must he sure and take it for
granted that I am a thousand times bet
ter looking. When it reaches you, and
you cannot i>ersuade yourself to keep it,
why you know my address.
I wonder if anyone is going to send me
one to look at? I am most crazy to see
John's. Y'ott hear. John?
And Romulus, 1 have one of yours that
I received last summer, hut maybe you
have had another taken and can let us
see if a year makes much difference in
your handsome face. Now, please don’t
get vain, or mother will have to turn you
out for fear you will smash her best
French plate mirror.
Mountain Girl, you seem to take it for
granted that wherever Romulus is found,
there I may be found also. Now that is
nice, to be sure, but I do not believe Ro
mulus is pleased with the idea, and if
you want to escape the necessity of pick
ing a crow with him, you had better ask
his pardon.
Musa, please make some more chow-
chow by that same recipe of yours if
you are out. The last you gave us was
so highly and finely flavored.
Earnest Willie, we are still looking for
a repitition of your last visit.
Mother, enclosed you will find some
New York exchange, for which I ask in
return the 1,201st copy of The Sunny. 1
especially want it as Sylvan Glenn de
scribes her valentine party, and it is her
letter I want for my Sunny South scrap-
hook. I had this copy myself, and loaned
it to a fresh young fellow to read on con
dition that he return it next day. He ap
peared a. day or two later and without
my paper, and asked in a baritone voice
if the paper was a very important one.
“To be sure it was, why would I ask
you to return it?”
“Well, I am very sorry,” he guiltily re
plied, “but I left it on my chair, and—
and—er when I went back for it. it was
gone. I could not find it high or low. I
suppose the boy made the fire with it.” I
do have the Worst time of all people with
my Sunnies.
With best wishes to mother and her
one hundred and eighty-five children, I
am faithfully and lovingly,
DORA DEANE.
Hopkinsville, Ky.
WHILE THE WAVES ROLLED
HIGH.
Low tide—the bouncing waves curled o’er
The gleaming sand. With arms stretched
out
To grasp the driftwood on the shore
Where scattered spars lay heaped about.
The moon, her silv’ry face aglow,
With smiles, hangs lamp-like in the sky,
And looking at the scenes below
Keeps watch on every passer-bye.
The music of the ocean’s band,
As deep the waves their notes gave forth,
Was swelled bj - gulls In chorus grand
That winged the way in flight far north.
The surf was ceaseless in its song,
The swish of fast receding pools.
Of water, made the chorus strong.
Where Neptune waves his wand and
rules.
We strolled along the moonlit shore,
With eyes and ears alert to grasp
Both sounds and sights that formed a
store
Of priceless joy within our clasp.
I longed to tell her that her lips
Glowed crimson like the waters red.
Of sunset streams whose water slips
Along the woodlands peaceful bed.
A world I would have east away
For but the chance to speak a word
Of Spring and moonlight walks in May,
Of babbling brook and noisy bird.
M‘ hopes were at low tide. My arms
! Sv ’.iViriS. W e were not alone,
I or father swept aside all charms.
And he was acting chaperon.
Maternity
If every expectant mother would put herself
under Mrs. Pinkham’s care and follow her
advice, which costs nothing - , the experience
of maternity would be approached without
peril and passed with the least possible pain.
Mrs. Perley Moulton, Thetford, Vt., writes:
“Dear Mrs. Pinkham: I think Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vege
table Compound is an excellent medicine. I took several bottles
of it before the birth of
A
%
my baby and got along
nicely. I had no after-
pains and am now
strong and enjoying
good health. Baby is
also fat and healthy.”
Mrs. Chas. Gerbig,
304S. rionroeSt., Bal
timore, Md., writes :
“DearMrs. Pinkham:
Before taking your
Vegetable Compound I
was unable to become
pregnant; but since I
have used it my health
is much improved, and
I have a big baby boy,
the joy and pride of
our home.”
It is not Nature’s
plan that bearing
children shall de
stroy comeliness
or wreck health.
W rite to Mrs.
Pinkham at Lynn,
Mass., for practi
cal counsel.
Mrs. Cora Gilson,
of Yates, Tlanistee,
nich., writes :
“ Dear Mrs. Pinkham :
Two years ago I began
having dull, heavy,
dragging pains in my ' .VlVCd
back, menses were pro
fuse and painful, and
was troubled with leu-
corrhoea. I took patent
medicines and consulted a
physician, but received no
benefit and could not be
come pregnant. Seeing one
of your books, I wrote to
you, telling you my troubles
and asking for advice. You
answered my letter promptly
and I followed the directions
faithfully, and derived so mjggszzy
much benefit that I cannot 1 %
praise Lydia E. Pinkham’s
Vegetable Compound
enough. I now find myself
pregnant and have begun
its use again. I cannot
praise it enough.”
Mrs. Ed. Waddell, Phil-
brook, flont., writes:
“ Dear Mrs. Pinkham :
I wish to tell my suffering J’.V.lWiA.
sisters about your Vege
table Compound, to which ,
I owe my life and three ■
fine, healthy children.
Five 3 r ears ago now, I
had three miscarriages
and at the time of the
second one the doctor
said another would kill
me. In six months I had
another. Well, I did
nothing; I was lifeless and listless, cared for nothing. I thought
I would ask your advice and try your medicine, and I am so glad
I did, for it made such a change in me. I gained strength, slept
well and gave birth to a nice boy with comparatively little
suffering. Since then have had two children, which through
the use of Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound I was
able to bring to maturity. I feel that I could not do without
your medicine at such a time. I am now well, and do all my
own work. I thank you for your kind advice and shall not be
without your medicine. I recommend it to all who suffer.”
Mrs, Ehimgar Thanks Mrs, Pinkham,
“Dear Mrs. Pinkham: I have many, many thanks to give
you for what your Vegetable Compound has done for me.
After first confinement I was sick for nine years with prolapsus
of the womb, had pain in left side, in small of back, a great deal
of headache, palpitation of heart and leucorrhoea. I felt so
weak and tired that I could not do my work. I became preg
nant again and took your Compound all through, and now
have a sweet baby girl. I never before had such an easy time
during labor, and feel it was due to Lydia E. Pinkham’s
Vegetable Compound. I am now able to do my work and feel
better than I have for years. I cannot thank you enough."—
Mrs. Edward Ehlinger, Devine, Texaj.
4i
■sm
m:
m
More Than a Million Women Have Been
Helped by Mrs. Pinkham’s Advice
and Medicine.