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Four Pretty Styles and as Many Pretty Girls
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Specially Posed for This Page by Members
o) "The Madcap Duchess" Company
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A DJURATION of the latest styles in coif-
fnres is largely tinged with rejoicing
that the day of the grotesque hay
stack bunch of jute is passed, and that the
simple, graceful coiffure is coming hack into
its own.
Reginning with left to right, a very effect
ive and simple style of hair dressing is shown
by Miss Ann Swinburne as Seraphina in the
title role of “The Madcap Duchess.’’ The ef
fect is that of a Psyche knot with the added
graoefulness achieved by a braid worn over
the forehead, with the side hair brought low
over the ears.
The style adopted by Miss Margaret An
rirews is in direct contrast, with the effect al
most as simple. The hair is bunched at the
crown with the effect of a soft drooping pom
padour in front.
The style so well suited to the piquant face
of Miss Peggy Wood is simplicity itself. The
hair is parted in the middle, allowed to fall
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Ann Swinburne.
Margaret Andrews.
Peggy Wood.
Glen Ellis-
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loosely over the ears, and is gathered in a low
knot at the back.
Miss Glen Ellis has the perfectly rounded
head that permits of the hair being drawn
into a low bunch at the back, with a fluffy ef
fect in front redeeming it from the trying
severity this style would otherwise become.
r '
I Meeting the Difficulty |
V — — '
A GOOD story is told of a worthy Quaker who lived
in a country town. The man was rich and
benevolent, and his means were put in frequent
requisition for purposes of local charity or usefulness.
The townspeople wanted to rebuild their parish church
and a committee was appointed to raise funds. It was
agreed that the Quaker could not be asked to subscribe
toward an object so contrary to his principles, hut then,
on the other hand, so true a friend to the town might
take it amiss if he was not at least consulted on a ma'-
ter of such general interest. So one of their number
went and explained to him their project—the old church
was to he removed and such and such steps taken
toward the construction of a new one.
"Thee wast right." said the Quaker, "in supposing that
my principles would not allow me to assist in building
a church. But didst thee not say something about pull
ing down a church? Thee mayst put my name down
for a hundred pounds to pull it down."
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THE FAMILY CUPBOARD
A Dramatic Story of High Society Life in New York
fNovelized by]
(From Owen Pavia’ play now being pre
sented at the Playhouse. New York, by
William A. Brady Copyright, 1913, by
International News Service.)
TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT
There was a pause. Emily Nelson
stood trembling with emotion such as
she had forgotten to know through long
guarded years of life that bad made
this moment come relentlessly lo her
at last. The Instrument was held close
to her ear as she waited for Charles
Nelson’s voice-- while her gase never
left the room behind whose curtains
her son and his was making prepara
tion for IHs—long Journey. Could she
save him now at last? Could anything
now be saved from the wreck of love
and—honor and zest to live
At last a voice. "Hi* voice her hus
band was there at the other end of the
little wire that might be the instrument
of saving their boy.
“Hello! Charlie! It is Emily! I am at
Kenneth's: He is In dreadful trouble!
He is going to—Oh, I can't tell you,
Charlie. Come to me! Come to save
him! How long?—Five minutes?—I’ll
try and keep him! No more! No! No!
I love you, Charlie! Come!"
She dropped the instrument that
might yet be of salvation and fell into
the chair sobbing wildly—her strength
almost spent.
Kenneth came into the room walking
as in a daze like n sleep-walker, lie
held some letters in his hands- with the
most minute care he was tearing these
into small pieces As he heard his
mother sob he dropped the paper to the
floor—a white shower ami went to her
aide.
“Don't! Don’t do that'" he said in a
tone so frozen by the horror of all he
had come to know of life that it sound
ed remote—like a voice from another
plane.
Emily Nelson looked up. Five min
utes! Could she hold her son that long?
“What are you going to do, Ken
neth?"
"Just going away. I can't stay here,
you know. I am not fit. I can’t face it!
1 can't face life," he mumbled almost
to himself. But her heart defined what
her ears could not hear.
Emily Nelson rose and followed her
boy toward the door.
“It is my fault I was a bad mother!"
“We did not understand any of us,"
ssid Kenneth, in that quiet voice of
doom.
“Dear. 1 have suffered! 1 think 1
understand now." said his mother,
gently
Fighting the Moments.
In the boy's face was that grim sor
row' that seemed to be bearing his soul
away from life and light and any hu
man consciousness
“That’s what father meant that suf
fering would open my eyes. It has.
lie said that 1 should see myself and her
as wc really are and 1 do. It isn’t
a pretty sight."
His eyes deepened -and then again
there came across them that film that
faraway look.
“I want to get rid of it mother, so
l am going."
One step farther from her one step
nearer the door—and after that what?
“Wait!”
The mother came hastily between her
son and the door—that door she must
not let him pas-. Could she hold him
Could she hold him? Her agonized
brain kept reiterating that question
even while she was bending ever> ctv
erg.\, every power, to the successful an-
CASTOR IA
lur Infants and Children
Tiie Kind You Hays Always Bought
3ear^ the
:natu;e ot
swering of the question on which fate
was balanced.
“You did not love her! Ken. it is
not sorrow I see In your eyes—it is bit
terness!"
“Perhaps. I don't know." The boy
spoke in a soil of lethargy of Indiffer
ence He felt that nothing that had
passed mattered now all that counted
was what was coming “What differ
ence doea it make? Arc you coming
down? I can’t wait."
He did not call her by the sacred
name of mother It was scarcely to his
mother he spoke -just to some one who
was, strangely enough, showing interest
in him, now that It was too lute, and
trying to change his plans -too late!
He turned courteously -but impatiently
—to the door.
As he started Emily Nelson put her
hand on his arm very gently she
scarcely dared to caress hinv he seemed
to her like one In some strange trance
she dared not waken him too abruptly -
lest reason totter- lest he push her
roughl> aside and go on with what lie
had determined.
“Just a moment, dear! When did she
go
“Just now."
' Why?"
“She was tired . She couldn’t
stick. . . . Thai's what the old man
said poor old beggar she couldn't
stick. Well ... I must go!"
Again he started for thut door of
strange doom. Again the frantic ntothcr
seized upon any pretext to stop him.
“Did did she go alone?"
“No."
"With whom'."'
“Please! i CAN T DIVE IT OVER
AGAIN! I CAN'T LIVE IT ADD OVER
AGAIN! LET ME GO!”
The mother heart knew that he could
not li\e it all over again -that with
that memory scaring boyhood and hope
and idealism from his nature he could
scarcely bear to live at all for these
few extra moments that she was trying
to hold him to save bis sanity- to save
his life Itself! And yet she must an
swer him u« if she knew nothing sus
pected nothing of the wild storms that
were sweeping through his agonized j
young-old mind. Life had offered Ken
neth Nelson a rude awakening would
he indeed interpret his knowledge in
terms of death?
“Yes. dear, of course." said Emily,
soothingly.
lie passed her- on, on toward that
door. There seemed nothing to say -
nothing to do—all bad been tried in
vain Would the mother give up hope,
apd lease lighting her battle against
the odds of a disordered brain?
“Oh. Ken!"
Ho stopped.
“Yer?"
“Mai > Burk wh;-
“Mothier. dear! I .am \er> tired
and- and 1 have a lot to do
Emily strove for an easy tone. If
only some stray gleam of love for the
girl* whose unselfish devotion for the
bo> site had been coldly told was “too
good for her—was worlds above her"—
ci ukl brighten the gray gloom of Ken's
outlook on life and love and woman!
Mar> was. as Emily Nelson had come
well to know, the one rose in the tan
gled and weedy Nelson garden, if o»l>
she might yet be the “Rose of the
World” for Ken! And Emily Nelson’s
growth in womanhood was measured by
her simple Judgment thut her penniless
social secretaries love was the on©
gleam ot' hope in the life and for the
life of the wayward boy whom both
women loved.
Perhaps Mary's name would he the
talisman to save Ken!
“I am very tired -and 1 have a lot
to do," said Ken.
"Natural^ go dear how sill> for me
to keep you. Poor Man s troubles are
nothing to you."
There was deep subtlety in that!
“Mary's troubles"'
I The boy cam* back to his i niter's
aid i-
“Yes But it doesn't man-"-. She
sa>s she is going i<> leave m* Sir. ,»
1 gave up the house thcru .« nalL
r Thing for her to do ar.d she knows
ifford to keep her, But it will
BA/ A Thrilling Story of Society Blackmailers
(Novelized by)
1. Mil!
To He Continued To n orrow.
(From the play by George Scar
borough, now being presented at the
Thirty-ninth Street Theater, New York.
Ser.al rights held and copyrighted by
International News Service.)
TO-I)AY ’S INSTALLMENT.
The chief and the Inspector looked at
each other. Well, Flagg, Invulnerable
to all state weapons that had searched
for the vulnerable spot In the armor of
Ids evil deeds, hud been reached by a
higher law. And the .dealer of justice
must l»e meted human justice now and
pas the penalty to human law—the pen
alty for spilling the blood of this base
brother.
“Inspector. I’d swear on a stack of
Bibles that I saw a tin box set tin’ right
a-top of that there cabinet," said Don
nell. rubbing his eyes to make sure that
some strange magic was not all that
kept him from seeing it now
"Well, who moved It?" asked the in
spector sternly
"I don't know, sor."
“\\ bo’s been in the room since you
saw the box?”
“Only ourselves, sor."
There was a moment's pause. Then
the flinty smile played about the firm
mouth of Chief Dempster. There was
a trail plain for his eyes to see. Only
he could not see just where it would
lead, and well for 1dm, and for the
friendship he had ever had for the Dis
trict Attorney of the I'nlted States that
lie could not see that the trail led to
the white-faced * girl who was the daugh
ter of bis friend:
“Only ourselves," repealed lhe In
spector
chief Dempster put u grin period
to the sentence. “And Holbrook," said
he quietly.
But Holbrook was speeding through
the night—speeding on to his cham
bers speeding to the final revelation of
that tell-tale plateholder he had filched
from the camera Donnell held In hands
that should never have been trusted
with such valuable evidence. i
A Night of Terror.
The victims of the scourge Insom
nia cal la Jij&ln of sleeplessness a “white
I hey dread even through the
golden day the- coming of the long
stretch of hours when all life sleeps
and they alone wake. A “white night"
measures horrors of twitching nerves
and unresting mind of weariness and
despair too great for normal man.
wrapped in sweet slumbers, to meas
ure. But the terrors of such a night
arc multiplied a thousand fold- are
raised to the power of desperate agony
when the? come to a girl whose past is
a degradation whose present Is a liv
ing horror of death itself and whose
future is otd? a pitiless toll extorted
from her own mistakes.
Like a mad thing Aline had gone j
through the streets after that scene
of strangling and choking and strug-
ling—and striking—in the den of the
spider. In fear she had left her own
home to enter the web she had allowed
to he woven about her six years be
fore by the summer sea. But fear was
an unmeasured thing—fear was a weak
word to picture the tortured agony she
must endure as she fled back to what
could no more be a refuge for her—to
what was called Home—Home whose
sacred j recincts she had defiled
Aline rushed from the spider s do
main she ran from that writhing thing
that bad lately been called a man—
she fled from insult and degrading in
nuendo from that leering face and silky
voice that dared ask of her, nay. de
mand of her “a hundred days strung
throughout the year."
N v running like a hunted thing
like the hunted thing she must soon
become: now biding in shadow at the
terror of h cm. kiing tw g now doub
ling on her UAcks that the inevitable
pursuer might be thrown off the tran
sit** vouched i.»" own «L orwa\ at Iasi
But ilo’-o w.. s one enem> she could
iiiiow ledge of Aline Graham
At last she reached her own room.
She tore from her the polluted gar
ments that the master of pollution had
touched— the poisoned things she had
worn In the rooms of Evil. She flung
them in a heap on the floor; they could
not be touched now ; her 'maid would
hang them away. And in flinging aside
the habiliments of that dark night
Aline forged another link In the chain
that must soon bind her fast. At last
her soft white “robe de milt" encased
her cold form and she tumbled Into the
sanctuary of her white bed. Like a
child that shuts out darkness, she
pulled the covers over her eyes; warmth
and comfort must :ic there. But warmth
and comfort lay nowhere. The girl lay
shivering in fear and horror of all she
bad learned tills night- and all she did
not guess. For the full terror of her
visit to her enemy Aline did not know;
she did not realize that Judson Flagg-
had died!
Suddenly she heard the jangle of the
door bell loud talking she must know
what it portended- -Rhe must have real-
it> instead of' this mir%bing terror of
what might he. She leaped from Jier
bed ami crept to the top of the stairs.
Aline • Graham held become an eaves
dropper in her father's house! She
came on down the stairs and stood
trembling at ilie library door.
She listened—and new terror tore at
her face like a monster with evil claws.
Like a fugitive thing she crept back to
her room at last—and stealthily, lest
any might hear her. she began dressing
in street clothes. Then in the sinister
black of the midnight hour Aline Gra
ham again left the protection of her
father’s house—and crept out into the
streets.
A man's room will often tcU what he
is. Jn one of the side streets of Wash
ington in one of the luxurious apart
ment buildings of Washington where
secretaries of legation and young for
eign diplomats, where dilettanti at liv
ing. where Washington’s eligible bach
elors prove how homelike may be a
homo even without woman's magic
touch, Lawrence Holbrook had his quar
ters.
To-night a white-clad, black-haired,
Oriental-eyed Filipino boy stood with
Eastern stoicism and patience and
gazed out of a high studio window into
the blackness of the midnight streets.
Master would come soon and in the
meantime the “boy” would stand and
gaze into the same blackness that held
his island jungles.
Back of him and his window lay a
huge living room wainscoted high in
panels of soft brown Circassian walnut.
Above the wood was a wall covering
of forest green burlap. Against this
background were hung half a dozen
time-mellowed and rare hunting prints.
Above the fireplace was a fine moose
head, ar.d on the breast of the mantel
were shining barreled guns. Over door-
wajs and hung above the monster buf
fet ami wide book shelves were swords,
knives, a Manila kriss. some foils, a
travel-worn knapsack and wavy daggers
of a rare Spanish make. Sconces lit
the dark wainscoting and shone on the
heads of elk and caribou and on hunt
ing horns from far German forests. A
“world-man" indeed was the dweller in
this great room
Suddenly tne keen-eared Filipino boy
turned—arranged glasses and decanter
on the great table In the center of the
room—drew the deep Russian chair
closer to the gleaming fire and stood at
attention at the open door with a quiet
dispatch that seemed to disprove all
theories about Oriental slowness.
In His Home.
With the eas\ grace that was his
Irish heritage—with the smiling at-
homeness with the world that had al
ways been his up to the time of dan
ger—Daptain Holbrook swung into his
own domain. The servitor he had j
trained to wear livery instead of Fil- !
ipino skins and fiber took his hat and
coat with h military precision.
“Wait a minute. Barne> Hold <»n H
ye don’t mind. I’ve got something up
rue sleeve."
He u« \ that g ha.k U*x it lap
armed fr.-m sleeve. Barney
locked . uri* us., at the other sleeve.
The captain produced a queer little I
wooden thing from his pocket and put it j
on the table. Off came his dinner coat
and draped its well-cut blackness over I
a chair; then the captain’s hands slipped 1
through the unaccustomed opening in
his shirt sleeves, leaving the cuffs
standing away from his arms just below
the elbows. He picked up the curious
thing that was a plate-holder and van
ished into an inner room. Barney looked
after his master speculatively, touched
the black box with a long, curious finger
shook his head, a*nd picking up the
topcoat ami fedora marched into anot'n- I
er room.
Had Larry Holbrook forgotten the
emerald brooch that lay In telltale carp
lessness in the pocket of that coat that
he had so idly hung over the back of
the cliair? j
For a moment there was stillness in
the deserted room. Then the captain’s
voice called. “Barney! Barney!" No
answer. Back came Holbrook carrying
a red lamp unlighted and a pan for a
photographic plate.
The Missing Hypo.
“Barney!”
“Yes, sir." and the servitor with nar
row. twitching black eyes came at the
calf.
“There was a bottle of hypo in my
cupboard. W here Is it?" Holbrook was
now quite intent on lighting the lamp.
“What, sir?”
“The stuff you’ve seen me pour in this
pan."
“Bah-tle?" queried Barney, with
great precision.
"Yes."
“Don’ know. Captain."
“You must find it, Barney."
“Don' know!"
lie started across the room, shaking
his head gravely and repeating his for
mula. .“Don ’ know."
“It’s not there!" cried the captain in
exasperation—he must have the means
of developing this plate—he must know
—the worst—the very, very worst.
He spoke with slow patience.
“Big bottle—says H-Y-P-O on the
label—big Poland water bottle."
Barney bobbed his head vigorously;
he went over and knelt at the buffet.
“Oh, yis. sir—yIs. sir."
The captain dropped the work/ of his
hands and straightened up to t J he oc
casion.
“My word—in the buffet!"
“These. Captain?’’
“That’s it . . . Barney, did you give
anyone a drink of it?"
“Not yit, sir," answered Barney re
spectful!?'.
“Well, wait till 1 tell you before you
do!"
“Yis, sir.''
The captain started back to his own
private sanctum to immerse the plate
that would tell all in its hypo bath.
“And. Barnev —don’t drink any of it
yourself."
“Yis. sir."
The captain lingered at the door and
spoke with the grave emphasis he used
in training this ignorant “boy"—-and '
yet there was in eye and voice the j
twinkle that had won him the friend
ship of women and savages.
A New Plan.
“That’ll send you back to Manila,
Barnadino—in a pine box. . . . Now
get Dr. Elliott on the phone and tell
him I’m sick—to come as fast as ever
he can
A new plan was hatching in the pro
lific brain of this soldier of fortune.
“Docker Ell-yut," repeated Barna
dino gravely.
“Yes. His number's in the little book.
E-two L’s-I-O ami two teas!"
Barney's nose was buried in the lit
tle book while yet he knew that precious
formula.
“Yds. sir "
“And after that get me a pot of
tea."
Barne> .dropped the book and gazed
at his master in something akin to
horror.
-tea:"
We have moved to our new store.
97 Pesohtre? Street
ATLANTA FLORAL GO.
“TEA!" Repeated Captain Holbrook
late of the V. S. A. and late and soon
of the world. There was something in
tliis brief dialogue to suggest that tea
was not a beverage for the preparation
of which Barnadino had a vast num
ber of calls.
“Yis, sir," said Barney in a chastened
tone.
The Captain took the plate and went
into I he dark room that w ould soon
give him light that should be as sinister
and dark as the ruby-lit gloom in which
the mysteries of the camera come to
life. Barnadino went back to his book
and the formula, “E-two L's-l-0 and
two teas!"
"3-8-1 Main."
The Captain came back to the door
way for a brief second.
“Tell him I’m near dead."
The door slammed after him with a
tone of finality—and Barney was left
alone with the room and Its precious
contents.
“Yis, sir." said Barnadino, in the
pause of waiting for the mysterious pro
ceedings that made that little black
thing at his ear talk to him.
To Be Continued To-morrow.
The Only Seat.
A famous pianist used to be greatly
bothered by requests for free seats at
his concerts.
On one occasion his appearance had
been advertised fbr weeks, and on the
day of the concert every seat was
booked. Just before he was about
to go on to the platform an excited
lady made her w r ay to the artists'
room and begged for a ticket, saying
that all her efforts to buy one had
proved futile.
“Madam,’’ answered the musician,
“there is but one seat left in the
whole building. If, however, you
care to take it you are welcome to
do Sv "
"How can I thank you!” answered
she. "It makes no difference to me
where the seat Is.”
“Then, madam," said he, “come this
way!”
Leading her to the steps up to the
platform, he pointed to the seat at
the piano. When be turned round
she had fled.
His Turn.
Two motorists, having almost ruined
their tempers—and their tires—in a
vain attempt to find a hotel with a
vacant bed. were at last forced to
make the best of a small Inn.
Even then they had to share a bed.
which was—and on this the landlord
laid great stress—a feather bed.
They turned in, and one of the pair
was soon fast asleep; the other was
not. He could not manage to dodge
the bumps and heard hour after hour
strike on the church clock until 3
a. m., when he also struck.
H4 did this by violently shaking his
snoring friend.
"What's the matter?” growled the
other. “It can’t be time to get up
yet"’
"No, it Isn’t,” retorted his friend,
continuing to shake him, “but it's my
turn to sleep on the feather!’
THE MANICURE LADY
“1
By WILLIAM F. KIRK.
HOPE to goodness we don't
I never have a real war with
them Mexican fellow's,” said
(he Manicure Lady. “That is about
all the talk I have heard up to the
house for the last week, and I am
getting kind of scared and nervous
about it. My father's father fought
in the Civil Rebellion, George, and
got one of his legs shot clean off at |
the battle of Missionary Ridge. I j
used to see him hobbling around the [
house when I was a little kid, and i
I couldn't help thinking when I seen !
his wooden leg that war was every
thing Mister Sherman said it was. I
suppose the scars of war is honorable
scars, George, but you got to admit
that there ain’t much class to one of
them old fashioned wooden legs, big
in the calf and little in the ankul
and no instep on them.
“Every time the old gent gets a
little lit up he tells that pie is of
fighting stock, and you w'ould think
to hear him go on that his ancestors
had all went to West Point and
served Uncle Sam all over the world.
His old man was the only one that
ever smelled gunpowder, and he didn’t
come out of it with no flying colors
except the wooden leg, as I w’as say
ing. I think ho got that leg shot
off in the only battle he was ever in.
But the old gent is full of the war
fever now, and he has even got
brother Wilfred talking war and
strategy. Wilfred wouldn’t make
much of a boy in blue, with that
gentle, shrinking poet nature of his,
but he thinks that if war broke out
with Mexico he would be right down
there with bells on. I don’t believe
they would take him for a soldier at
all, on account o2 his lamps being
weak and his small size being against
him, but between him and the old
gent all we hev now is war, war,
war.
“It kind of grates on mother and
us Brirls, because we ain’t of a fight
ing nature, and the only fun me and
May me gets is kidding the life out of
Wilfred when he tells how he would
charge the ramparts of the enemy and
save the country's flag. We told him
last night that the only thing he
could charge was his board bill, and
Mavme found a war poem that he had
wrote and was going to send to the
Washington Heights Flour and Feed
Courier. This is how it goes, George.
Don t read it if it is long," said
the Head Barber. “Me and the Missus
had a few words before I left homo
this morning, and I don’t feel none
like listening to poetry.”
"It ain’t much, George. Listen:
‘ Oh, Mexico, thou land of heat
And cactus thorns and creeping
things,
You most assuredly will be beat
If Uncle Sam on you his soldiers
flings.
1 shall volunteer for the Stars and
Stripes
And fight like a hero our flag tot
save,
And if your navy with ours does clash.
You will surely go to a watery
grave.
And if I die on the battlefield
The world will say that 1 done mr
best,
And my greatness it will be revealed*
When my hands are folded on my
breast.”
“He ain't giving himself any the
worst of it in that poem,’’ said the
Head Barber. “It sounds kind of fool
ish to me.”
Internal Evidence.
•At a certain college custom ordains
that at examination time each of the
candidates shall write the following
pledge at the bottom of his papers:
“I hereby declare, on my honor, that
1 have neltFer given nor received as
sistance during the examination.''
Now, recently, it so happened that a
young fellow, after handing in one of
the papers, suddenly remembered that
in his haste he had omitted to write the
oath. On the following day, therefore,
he sought out one of the examiners and
told him that lie had forgotten to put
the required pledge on his paper.
The old man looked at him over the
top of his glasses and dryly remarked:
“Quite unnecessary. Your paper in it
self is sufficient evidence. I've just
been correcting ^t."
CHICHESTER S PILLS
, THE lMAMUM) BRAND a
Ladles! Ask yonr l»ru Kff |.t f nr /\
{ " U ,n H ' d ‘"i ''"Id mmm
r.k^ nU\rL;7 r \/
y tars known as Best. Saf, sl . Always Rell,bta
SOLD BY DRUGGISTS EVERYWHFP5
To®
Lovers
will appreciate theuv
viting fragrance
exquisite flavor of
Maxwell Home
Blend Tea
It meets every require
ment of Quality and
purity.
C«p» 1
Baat.‘»*
J»cka~,ilU
A Friend of Quaker for Twenty-Two Years
Mr (J. R. Howder. 63 years of age.
Who lives at 110 (’enter street, this
city lias been a friend of Quaker Ex
tract for twenty-two years. When he
first lierame acquainted with its won
derful virtues he had been ailing for
years from stomach troubles, and had
used quite a few of the many remedies
on the market at that time, but found
nothing to give real permanent relief
until he at last found the first pack
age of Quaker Herbs put up at that
time in a dry form He was cured by
R few weeks' use of them, and since
then each year, usually at the spring
lime, he gives himself and all the fam
ily a course of the great medicine, and
if more healthy-looking and vigorous-
feeling man ai the age of 63 can be
found in Atlanta it will take more
than the normal exes to find him. Mr
Howder has raised i wo < hildrm on
Quaker." and they have never had
the puny. pale, sallow complexions »•(
the average* child. tt«>r l ave they .of
fered from in;.;;.' ills ' * besot
the growing child, more especially the
hundreds of worms and other intesti
nal parasites that infest the human
system of those who do not properly
cleanse the digestive tract each year.
When Mr. Howder first began to use
the Quaker medicine himself lie weigh
ed just exactly 130 pounds. Now he
tips 'he beam at 198. and it ; s all good,
healthy muscle and sinew and steady
nerves, not a lot of bloat. This gen
tleman (ailed at Coursey & Munn's
drug store and. after talking to the
Quakers a while took three more bot
tles of Quaker Extract, which he in
giving • to a friend yt
ginning t > manifest some nf tiic* symp
toms of pellagra. He knew that the
same remedy had already cured a case
in Marietta, and is doing yeoman ser
vile in six or seven other rases right
in. MUnia Now. Duise ,.f on wit.,
arc inclined to dotilu tha- the <»u;i!-.*r
Itemednr<* per-v.-r-ut in t heir noa
: •“ 'ht ,• who think that when
uu ' tnr re ucui« i .\. maoe n friend
they are easily shaken off. just take
& walk over to Mr. Howder’s residence
on Center street and ask him person
ally what lie knows of the Quaker s
medicines. He'll be onlj too glad to
explain why he has used them for so
many years, when there, are over 200
other remedies that are sold on thP
druggists' shelves to-day. And . re
member. too. that if you suffer from
any possible branch of stomach, liver,
kidney or blood troubles, or you and
your little ones have xyorms of any
lend, here is a cure, ont- that has ere
a ted over 900 permanent cures right
hei*- ih v.iiir own city, right on your
very threshold, **o to speak, w-here
you have the privilege to investigate
them at your Will, x
These wonderful remedies—Quake:
Extract. 6 for *5 0". 3 for 12.50 or $1.00
a bottle: nil of Balm. :„n\ or 5 for
1 obtained hi Coursey S-
Munn's Dr::g Store, 2'* Marietta street. ,
p ( :-m cjiar*/es "n all or
dots -T '•< op over.