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Serve Velva
On YOUR Table
You can’t know how really good Velva Syrup is,
unless you serve it to your family—not at any one
meal—but at all three. There’s a use for Velva three
times a day—on griddle cakes, muffins or biscuits in
the morning, in dainty desserts at noon, in cakes and
cookies at night. Besides that, you’ll find that
makes the best candies and fudge that you ever munched—
chewy taffies, kisses, pulled candies and sugary sweets—ami the
fudge; you can’t beat it, try as you will. Nearly a
hundred ways of using Velva, the syrup in the red can
—clean, sanitary, delicious. Send for the hook of
Velva recipes. No charge Velva in the green can,
W too. if you prefer it. Both kinds, ten cents up,
according to size.
Cranberry Sherbet
Bwlk 1 cupful Red Velva Syrup. 2 quarts cranberries 6 .
lemons. 2 egg whites. 11-2 cupfuls sugar. 1 quart g^-'- - - £rs ~~
water. Cover the cranberries with water and boil until IfcSpflr
soft Strain and add the syrup, sugar and lemon u.-a t
Ual/ juice. Freeze, and when partly frozen add the ,
\Ai whites of eggs and freeze to the desired con- af? D *
^ Jl/¥ slsfency Th ls ** excellent with turkey W Jf i W ’
PENICK & FORD, Ltd.
* \ New Orleans, La.
M/
Daysey Mayme
And Her Folks
By FRANCES L GARS IDE.
I T la not given to the grosser mas
culine sex to understand the full
significance to the world when a
class of girls step through the school
door with diplomas In their hands.
Of materialistic mtnda, they see
only another batch of girls to hang
around home till they are married off.
They see only girls In white dresses;
some pretty, some ugly, some serious
and the majority giggly, hut all Just
girls who are great bores because
they know so much they don’t know
anything
A. Big Task.
The editor, realising that such a
great event as a commencement
merited the work of an appreciative
mind, detailed Daysey Mayme Apple-
ton to write up the graduation exer
cises of the Parthenon High School, a
task for wliioh she felt well-fitted,
having only recently delivered a com
men cement address to a world that
waited outside her school room door
••There were twenty-seven girls i»
(he claas that was graduated from
Parthenon High School last evening,
she wrote, “and the audience that sat
spellbound through twenty-seven
orations and papaya till 1:30 next
morning regretted there were not
more.
••Every problem to which mankind
1* heir was solved, from the tariff to
eugenics. Though a tunnel ha.s been
oompletod through the Alps, making
It no longer necessary for the gradu
ate to Inspire us to greater efforts by
telling m that *Beyond the Alps lies
Italv,* such encouragement was not
lacking, and again we crossed the
AJps, surmounting every obstacle that
lay In our way.
'•Demosthenes was excelled; Roora-
tes was rolled into oblivion by the
superior wisdom of the class; Eu-
phrldes. Aristotle, Confucius, Solo
mon, Lincoln and all who have left
names that blazed in history were
extinguished by the flood of wisdom
that poured forth last night. Had
Napoleon been present he would have
learned of his great mistake; Moses
could have sat at. the feet of last
night’s class, and Atlas never again
will have to bear the burden of the
world alone.
“They conquered the superstition
of the ages; their souls soared supe
rior to mundane considerations; a
perfect constellatlon of talent and ge
nlus, they shone In the heavenly
firmament as guiding lights to a
world groping In a labyrinth of dark
ness.
“They showed by the depth of their
Investigation, the eloquence of their
delivery, the mastery of their style,
and the Intrepidity of their bearing
that at last the world has found a
deliverer!
Many Deliveries.
“A deliverer, did I say? Nay, It
has found twenty-seven of them!”
With the report of the commence
ment Daysey Mayme sent a personal
note to the editor.
“I regret,” she wrote, “that I lack
words in which to express the stu
pendous importance that last night s
commencement bears to the world '
Served Him Right.
T HE following story of an English
nobleman now deceased was re
cently told in a West End club:
“The Duke was onoe in church when
a collection was announced for some
charitable object The plate began to
go round, and the Duke carefully put
his band Into his pocket and took out
a florin, which he laid on the pew be
fore him rra K' to be transferred to the
plate
“Beside him sat a little snob. who.
nothing this action. Imitated It by os
tentatiously laying a sovereign alongside
The ducal florin This was too much for
his Grace, who dipped his bund Into
his pocket again and pulled out another
florin, which he laid by the side of the
first The little snob followed suit by
laying another sovereign beside the first.
His Grace quietly added a third florin,
which was capped by a third sovereign
on the part of the little snob. Out came
a fourth florin to swell the Duke's dona
tion. and then the little snob triumph
antly laid three sovereigns at once upon
the Hoard The Duke, not to be beaten,
produced three florins.
*‘Just at this moment the plate ar
rived. The little snob took up his hand
ful of sovereigns, ostentatiously rattled
them into the plate and then turned
defiantly toward his rival, as if he would
any, *i think that takes the rise out
of you.’
“Fancy his chagrin when the Duke,
with a grim smile, put one florin Into
the plate, and quietly swept the remain
ing six back Into his pocket!”
IS FASHION’S
WAIST, A
LATEST, THE “I. C. U.”
DISAPPOINTMENT?
WITHIN THE
LAW
T HE “I C U“ waist, the very
latest In feminine apparel, has
reached the United States from
Paris. With it came the modified
split-skirt second cousin to the mod
ified Marathon—because you can run
In ’em.
Both are important, we are told,
but neither is anywhere near as
startling as ihe first descriptions
from the French capital had led us
to -ahem hope they might be.
The cable dispatches had It that the
new waist was a “diaphanous”—
magic word—affair that had the old
peek-a-boo so faded that even the
peek” was taken out of it. Imagine
the fame of the dressmaker that
could claim the reputation as being
the one that had taken the peek out
of “peek-a-boo.”
We were told in the dispatches that
the new r waist 'had a transparent
body, generally made of the filmiest
mousseline de sole, the only opaque
material used being a silk sash
around the waist; the rest, sleeves
Included, being of absolutely trans
parent material, In some cases so
much so as to Indicate a wish on
the part of the wearer to outdo the
most daring fashion of the directolre
period.”
The real thing has come, but
it is not af all startling In the way
expected.
There Is worn under the transpar
ent waist, beside the girdle described,
delicately embroidered intimate
garment, besides a heap of ribbons
and such—a he-reporter Is doing
this word daubing so that the grand
ensemble Is artistic, sensible and a
continual delight to the eye.
As for the new skirt, it, also, will
be disappointing to the “lookers.”
The lines of this garment are not
•hanged In the new’ model. The nar
row width at the knees is to he main
tained, and therefore there must be
some allowance made for my lady to
do her Westoning, The allowance Is
i here.. Yes, it Is a longer and wider'
Thought Them Samples.
A young man who had spent his life
i a country village came to New York
-• seek his fortune. On the day of his
trrlval he walked Into a restaurant and
trdered dinner.
The waiter brought the meal in all
hose little side dishes sacred to restau
rant keeping, and arranged them In
tempting array around the young man’s
olate.
Kor half an hour he sat and looked at
:e untouched dinner, until, overcome
by hunger, he called the waiter, who
had been watching him wonderlngly. and
aid:
“Look here, mister, If you don’t hurry
md bring my dinner T’il eat up your
amples.”
This costume 1s decidedly less startling than its advance notices gave reason to believe. The “diapha
nous” waist loses most of its "diaphanousness" by the wearing of much under-trimming, and the new skirt,
with the slit filled In with accordion-plaited silk, shows less of silken hosiery than the present modes.
Up-to-the-Minute Jokes
On one occasion a well-known man
ager went to the theater for the ex
press purpose of encouraging a young
actor who had shown signs of ner
vousness in a new part. When the
promising young man made his exit
into the wings perspiration was
streaming down his face. The man
ager looked at him for a moment and
then said, In tones of Intense admira
tion :
"How well your skin arts!”
A funny mistake occurred lately In
printing labels for a meat preserving
company. The printer had been in
the habit of labeling tins of beef or
mutton, as the case might be. with
the words “without bone” prominently
displayed. The company having add
ed kidney soup to its list, the new ar
ticle was duly ticketed as "Kidney
soup—without bone.”
Teacher John, can you tell me
what is meant by a steward?
John—-A steward is* a man who
doesn’t mind his* own business.
Teacher Where did you * get that
John' Well, 1 looked it up In the
dictionary and it said: "A man who
attends to the affairs of others."
Mis. Snooper—Men make me tired.
Mrs. Swayhack What’s the matter
Mrs. Snoop.-r M> husband saw
Mrs. K• *« i d > •< vesterday, and I asked
him w hat she had on.stnd he replied.
vhoee pupils made too
the following naivete
slip out: "Gentlemen. If everybody
will be silent we shall be better able
to discover who makes the row.”
This reminds us of a medical re
port. which began thus: "There exists
a great number of families in Dublin
who have died of cholera.”
A. —You don’t seem to have any life
in you. Is there nothing or nobody
over which you can enthuse?
B. —Nothing at all. I once became
enthusiastic over somebody, and a
short time afterward she became my
wife. That was a sad warning to me
to avoid enthusiasm.
Taken Literally.
The parish tea was over, and the
curate stood up to say a few words to
the recipients before they dispersed.
He spoke in eloquent terms of the
lmpecuniosity of curates in general,
and then went on to say. in apparent
ly touching tones:
“Why. even as I stand before you
now I have only half a shirt on my
back.”
A few days later the reverend gen
tleman received a par.cel containing
ha’lf a dozen new shirts, accompanied
by n card bearing the name of one of
his fair (though, alas! no longer
young) parishioners. At the earliest
opportunity he called upon the lady
and thanked her for the gift, and then
proceeded to ask what had prompted
the kind action.
"Why,” she replied "you told us
the other night that yr* had only half
a shirt to your back.” F
’ True." he answered, "but the other
half was m front.”
the Uw"
BACHELOR WHO WOULD BE A JILT
He Thought He Was in Love, Proposed, Was Accepted, and Nou) He Is Sorry
I Copyright, 1913, by the H. K. Fly Com
pany. The play “Within the Law” Is
copyrighted by Mr. Veiller and this
j novellzation of It is published by hla
| permission. The American Play Com
pany 1h the Bole proprietor of the ex
clusive rights or the representation
and performance of “Within
in all languages.
By MARVIN DANA from the
Play by BAYARD VEILLER.
TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT.
He would not believe that the girl
did not care for him. Whatever had
been her first purpose of using him
only as an Instrument through which
to strike against hip father, whatever
might be her present plan of elimi
nating him from her life In the fu
ture. he still was sure that she had
grown to know a real and lasting af
fection for himself. He remembered
startled glances from#the violet eyes,
caught unawares and the music of
her voice In rare Instants, and these
told him that love for him stirred,
even though it might as yet be bul
faintly, In her heart.
Out of that fact he drew an Imme
diate comfort In this period of his
misery. Nevertheless, hjs anguish
was a racking one. He grew older
visibly In the night and the day. There
crept suddenly lines of new feeling
into his face, and, too. lines of new
strength. The hoy died In that time;
the man was born, came forth in the
full of his steadfastness and his cour
age and his love.
The father suffered with the son. He
was a proud man, intensely gratified
over the commanding position to
which he had achieved In the com
mercial world, proud of h1s business
Integrity, of his standing in the •com
munity as a leader, proud of his social
position, proud most of all of the son
whom he so loved.
Realized His Son’s Love. •
Now, this hideous disaster threat
ened his pride at every turn—worse,
it threatened the one person in the
world whom he really loved. Most fa
thers would have stormed at the boy
when pleading failed, would have
giveh commands with harshness,
would have menaced the recalcitrant
with disinheritance.
Edward Gilder did none of these
things, though his heart was sorely
wounded. He loved his son too much
to contemplate, making more evil for
the lad by any estrangement between
them. Yet he felt that the matter
could not safely be left in the hands
of Dick himself.
He realized that hts son loved the
woman—nor could he wonder much at
that. His keen eyes had perceived
Mary Turner’s graces of form, her
loveliness of face. He had appre
hended, too, In some measure at least,
the fineness of her mental fiber and
the capacities of her heart.
Deep within him, denied tuny outlet,
he knew there lurked a curious, subtie
sympathy for the girl In her scheme
of revenge against himself. Her per
sistent striving toward the object of
her ambition was something he could
understand, since the like thing in
different guise had been back of his
own business success.
He would not let the idea rise to
the surface of consciousness, for he
still refused to believe that Mary Tur
ner had suffered at his hand unjustly.
He would think of her as nothing else
than a vile creature, who had caught
his son In the toils of her beauty and
charm for the purpose of eventually
making money out of the intrigue.
Gilder, In his library this night, was
pacing Impatiently to and fro, eagerly
listening for the sound of his son’s re
turn to the house. He had been the
guest of honor that night at an impor
tant meeting of the Civic Committee,
and he had spoken with his usual clarity
and earnestness in spite of the trouble
that beset him. Now. however, the re
generation of the city was far from his
thought, and his sole concern was with
the regeneration of a life, that of his son,
which bade fair to be ruined by the
wiles of a wicked woman. He was anx
ious for the coming of Dick, to whom
he would make one more appeal. If
that should fail—well, he must use the
Influences at hts command to secure the
forcible parting of the adventuress from
his son.
“Dick at Last,’’ He Muttered.
The room In which he paced to and
fro was of n solid dignity, well fitted to
serve as an environment for Its owner.
It was very large and lofty. There was
massiveness In the desk that stood oppo
site the hall door, near a window. This
particular window Itself was huge, high.
Jutting-ln octagonal, with leaded panes
In addition, there was a great fireplace
set with tiles, around which was wood
work, elaborately carved, the fruit of
patient questioning abroad.
On the walls were hung some pieces of
tapestry, where there were not book
cases. Over the octagonal window, too,
such draperies fell In stately lines. Now.
as the magnate paced back and forth,
there was only a gentle light in the room
from a reading lamp on his desk.
The huge chandelier was unlighted.
. . . . It was even as GIMer, in an
Increasing Irritation over the delay, had
thrown himself down on a couch which
stood Just a little way within an al
cove. that he heard the outer door open
and shut. He sprang up with an ejacu
lation of satisfaction.
“Dick at last!” he muttered.
It was. in truth, the son. A moment
later he entered the room and went at
once to his father, who was standing
waiting, facing the door.
“I’m awfully sorry I’m so late, Dad,” |
he said simply.
“Where have you been?” the father 1
demanded gravely. But there was great
affection in the flash of his gray eyes as
he scanned the young man’s face, and
the touch of the hand that he put on
Dick’s shoulder was very tender. “With |
that woman again?"
The boy’s voice was disconsolate as
he replied:
"No, father, not with her. She won’t
see me ”
The older man snorted a wrathful ap
preciation.
Gilder Was Impressed.
“Naturally!” he exclaimed with ex
ceeding bitterness in the heavy voice.
“She’s got all she wanted from you—my
name!” He repeated the words, with j
a grimace of exasperation. “My name!”
There was a novel dignity in the son’s I
tone as he spoke.
“It’s mine. too. you know, sir," he j
said quietly
By DOROTHY DIX.
A N old bachelor, who In an un
wary moment allowed himself
to be captured by some skill
ful lady fisher of men, is wriggling
on the hook and has appealed to me
for assistance In getting free again.
He writes a doleful letter in which
he says that although the girl to
whom he is engaged 1b all that is
nice and charming and would make
some other man an admirable wife,
he doesn't want to marry her or any
other woman, because it will Inter
fere with all of his old bachelor ways.
He is settled In his habits and he
doesn’t feel that he could change
them to please a wife. For instance,
it upsets him for the entire day to
have anybody alter the position of
hlB brushes on his chiffonier. And
what he should do if he found a long
hair In his comb he trembles to con
template.
Also of an evening he likes to sit
by himself and smoke his pipe in
silence, an amusement which in his
opinion is a million times more
pleasurable than listening to the
chatter of any wife. He dreads to
think of this unsociable custom be
ing broken up, and he palpitates with
horror lest he should not only get a
wife who would want to talk and be
talked to of an evening, but who
might put the taboo on pipes al
together.
Wants Advice.
The poor fellow is in a terrible
dilemma, and he asks me what I
think he should do under the circum
stances.
My advice to him Is to break off
the engagement, not for his own
sake, but in common humanity to the
girl. He has become fossilized, and
fossils have no business getting mar
ried. Their proper place Is on a shelf
In a museum, or at a seat at a-club
window', and not In cluttering up the
holy estate.
What would a young and blooming
girl, full of vitality and enthusiasm,
brimming over with interest in life,
do with a man w’ho was nothing but
a bunch of peculiarities and cranki
ness? A woman with “ways” is bad
enough, goodness knows, but heaven
help the poor girl who marries a man
with “ways.” There are many men
who are hard to live with, but the
sissy man with all sorts of little fln-
nlcky habits has gotten all the bal
ance of them beaten a city block.
However, I commend my corre
spondent for one thing. He is can
did and honest with himself and with
the girl. He knows he wouldn’t
make a good husband, and he warns
the girl of his cantankerousness be
fore marriage instead of waiting to
let her find It out afterward when it
is too late.
This is, at least, playing the game
squarely, and it’s a pity that more
men don’t show the same sportsman
like attitude toward matrimony. If
they did. there would be fewer mar
riages, but happier ones.
For example, the man who is stingy
and who feels as If he were parting
with his life blood every, time he
spends a nickel, knows very well that
matrimony isn’t going to work any
DOROTHY DIX.
miracle In him that will make him
generous. He Is perfectly aware of
how grudgingly he is going to pay his
family expenses. Why shouldn’t he
emulate the example of my corre
spondent and be frank with the wom
an he asks to marry him? He might
say to her when he popped the ques
tion. “I love you, kid, but oh, my
pocketbook!”
That would give the girl a chance
to know* the difficulties she was sure
to confront in matrimony, and if she
thought phe would not enjoy cork
screwing money out of a tightwad
husband, she could decline the Job.
Rut the man never says a word to her
concerning his miserly habits, and so
the poor, ignorant girl goes blunder
ing along Into a lifetime of begging
and coaxing for pennies, and of get
ting scolded because she can't run a
house on air.
Certainly the man who does not like
to talk, or to be talked to, and who
has the fixed habit of spending hi*
evenings in solitude over pipe ana pa
per, is in honor bound to warn the
woman he marries that that is what
she has got to expect If she becomes
his wife. And, believe me, there would
be a mighty falling off In the ringing
of wedding bells if girls knew how
often they were getting a dummy In
stead of a five husband.
You see the poor things marry fbr
companionship. They dream of the
jolly times they are going to have go
ing about with their husbands, or the
dear heart-to-heart talks they are
going to enjoy across their own drop
light, and when they find out that
hubby is always too tired to go out to
any place of amusement, and that hi*
entire stock of domestic conversation
consists of a few grunts, they get the
jar of their lives and wonder why
they left their happy home* for this.
I Nor Is it very lively for a woman to
spend the evening at home alone be-
uause her husband has the club habit
and prefers to play poker with a lot
of men to making himself agreeable
to his wife. Few girls have to mairy
in this day for support. They have a
I good home, or else they can make one
for themselves. Also, they have their
friends and amusements, and there Is
nothing meaner, nor crueller, for a
man to do than to take a young wom
an out of her own gay and pleasant
environment and dump her down in a
strange place and leave her by her
lonely. Unless he means to bear her
company ahd to make her life happy
and cheerful he has no right to many
her.
Another Don’t.
Likewise, the man who know* Mm.
self to be fickle, and that his errant
fancy is snared by every pretty facs
that passes, should give himself the
benefit *of the doubt and stay single.
He shouldn't marry to tear his wife’s
heart with jealousy.
And no man should marry until he
has finished towing hi* wild oats
crop. A# long as man wants to run
with the boys, and come home at all
hours of the night, he should be hu
mane enough not to inflict on an in
nocent woman the sad lot of the
drunkard’s wife.
In a word, unless a man can make
up his mind to change his habits, if
they are bad ones, and adapt his wa vs
to those of the woman he marries, he
should stay single.
THE FIVE FRANKFORTERS .
A Romance of Great Wealth as Played by Money Kings
By KATHRYN KEY.
Copyright, 1913, by the New York Even
ing Journal Publishing Company.
TO-DAY'S INSTALLMENT.
“Money? He can have as much
money as he wants for all I care.”
“Come, sit where Grannie and I
were this morning. It is so cosry
talking across her dear little, round
breakfast table—sugar and cream,
sir?” She laughed at her merv
fancy.
“Don’t Charlotte—that hurts,” he
said, in a voice that he tried to keep
smooth and impassive. But the
thought of pretty Charlotte in the
gentle intimacy of the breakfast hour
was almost more than his heart could
bear.
Charlotte dismissed her game, since
It appeared, for some reason which
she could not fathom, to be most un
welcome. “Then if the Duke is wel
come to our money—which Is most
Important, I should think—what is it
you object to?” There was a long
pause—Jacob wondered dully ho v
much a man might bear. "Oughtn’t I
to ask? Dear Jacob, shall we forget
I tried to pry into your private—
and, no doubt, very good—reasons?”
Jacob laughed roughly and uneven
ly—a laugh in which there was no
mirth. ” ‘My reasons.’ I must tell
you—I must. Little Charlotte, your
fate is being sealed in that room up
stairs. Now you know.”
‘‘My fate! But I do not und^rstanl!
How does it concern me?”
"The Duke will ask for you In mar
riage—he Is to marry you as part of
the bargain—in return for the ser
vices our family is rendering him. It
is all your father’s clever idea. He i3
the cleverest of us all. He can turn
almost anything to good account.
Even his own daughter.” So flowered
the seed of bitterness Solomon had
sown in Jacob’s heart.
Charlotte answered with gentle ear
nestness: “You must not speak like
that of my father. Remember that I
love him—and although you and even
I may not understand all he does—he
loves me and he tries to do his best
for me.”
“So you will mam’ the Duke?”
Jacob in turn questioned gently—
but he had not dreamed that her love
for her father would carry the girl
so far—where, in truth, was her re
sentment at being the puppet for
for use in her father’s tremendous
schemes? Charlotte did not an
swer.
Jacob spoke again: “You like him,
don’t you?” Masculine Jealously sug
gested a solution of Charlotte’s
s.trange attitude. She must like the
man, else how coud she so calmly
take the great news of how* her fate
was being settled in the room above.
“I like him—yes. He is clever—
more so than he pretends to he. And
he has a kind heart, too—though he
likes to appear bitter sometimes—but
he ought to outgrow that. He is quite
young." Charlotte spoke her thoughts
aloud, in calm consideration of this
most unexpected turn of events. But,
after all, she was accustomed to her
father’s wizardry.
Life Had Been Easy.
“‘Young’—‘And handsome.’” said
Jacob.
The girl continued in her train of
thought. “Yeg. He is handsome and
he is not conceited.’
“In fact, he has a perfect character
—as well as a grand position. What
more could a girl of my people—of
ANY people—want?”
Charlotte answered dreamily—the
bitterness of her cousin’s tone had not
yet echoed its way into her conscious
ness. “It would he a very different
life from what I have always pic
tured for myself.” She paused a mo
ment and looked at the man with
whom she was so dispassionately dis
cussing her marriage to another man.
In his face she beheld the Hr** of an
emotion far gfeater than she had ever
known—or seen. Life had bean lUtos
and roses and violets In a gandnn far
Charlotte—of life’s governing fowjaa,
of the roots from which the flosvera
and we humans alike—spring she had
known no real fact Vaguely and
dimly she sensed now In Jaoobte bnm-
ingly tender eyes something very big
—very far and very real. Elemental
primitive love—the guardianship of a
man for his mate. For a aecond the
girl looked into Jacob’s soul and than
she spoke uneasily: “Why do you dl*-
like the Duke *o?“
“Because I am Jealous ot hlnrT"
“Jealous?”
"Only because he is so self-pos
sessed, and I am Just the opposite!
He makes me feel stupid, awkward.
I know I am far beneath him. I have
nothing against him, and Just be
cause T haven’t I feel”
“What? asked Charlotte very
gently.
The boy’s iron self-control broke.
He burled hla face in shaking arms
and breathed one word. “Miserable.”
A tender light broke over the girl’s
face. Another second of weakness on
Jacob’s part, and the course of lives
might have been changed—little Prin
cess Evelyn In Neustadt Castle, who
knows what a man’s strong feeling
of family one-ness and family honor
did for your gentle fate?
“What troubles you, Jacob? Let m*
help.” The woman’s tender heart
spoke in the girl’s tones—and Jacob
knew that the victory lay -with him,
and his to choose what the victory
must be.
To Be Continued To-morrow.
Oh! My Back!
A stubborn backache
that hangs on, week after
week, is cause to suspect
kidney trouble, for when
the kidneys are inflamed
and swollen, bending the
back brings a sharp
twinge that almost takes
the breath away.
It’s hard to work and
just as hard to rest or
sleep.
Doan's Kidney Pills re
vive sluggish kidneys-—
relieve congested, aching
kidneys. The proof is an
amazing collection of
backache testimonials.
Here’s an Atlanta case.
Atlanta Proof
“Every Picture Tells n Story.
Testimony of a Residentrn
Cooper Street
E. W. Brooks, 198 Coopar
Street, Atlanta, Ga., says: * 'I
can recommend Doan’s Kid
ney Pills. Some months ago
I procured a box of Doan’s
Kidney Pills at Jacobs’ Drug
Store for one of my family
who had been suffering with
kidney disorders. They
quickly removed all traces of
the trouble. I advise all suf
fering from kidney disorders
to give Doan’s Kidney PUT*a
trial.”
To Bo Continued To-morrow.
When Your Back is Lame—Remember the Name”
Price 50 cents. Fosier-Mtlbum Co.. Buffalo, N. Y„ Proprietors
A PILLS