Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, November 21, 1903, Page 6

i . from the eastern tower, and that when- Piso it is heard it is an omen—an er? Curse =: Carrington By K. TEMPLE MOORE. CHAPTER XIV. A Laugh, — _ They went slowly back up the aye- "}nue down which they had come so CHAPTER XII -Continued. “To reach the carriage they must the eastern wing. He flung his “Of course you can’t!” indignantly. “You can’t imagine us working for your pleasure as hard as ever worked oat around her to shut it out as they | slave of Siberia—working, toiling, bastend by. shivering—” “‘Hark!’ she said, and thrust his A joyful cry from Baby. ‘hands away, and stood erect to listen. “Oh, I know, I know!” She had “Bor over the ceasless downpour of the rain, over the howling of the wind and rumbling of the thunder, rose a ‘sbriek—an agonized, awful shriek: “False! false! false!’ “She wrenched herself from the arms that strove to hold her; she staggered back; she looked up. Far above, in the eastern tower, framed in by an oriel window, she saw, illumined ‘Dy the red glare of the lightning, the blood-stained and blood-dripping face of her lover. He had seen her hasten past; had thought her false to him! “Swift as a shot slie wheeled around and jooked full at the man beside her, “Come!” he cried, ‘it is too late to draw back now—he is as good as dead. Come on!’ “He flung his arm around her and @trovye to urge her forward. For @ moment she resisted violently; in an- other she had caught sight of a small Spanish dagger—which he always car- wied—glittering in his bosom. “Before he could suspect, think, act, | mshe had torn it from him and had plunged it to the hilt in her own ‘heart! “Not false!’ she cried. ‘Oh, my ove, not false, not false!’ “Sut even as she fell—so runs the story—even as the young blood out- wgushed and the young life tided forth dn its current, a wild, strange peal wang forth from above, where her lov- ~er laughed exultantly in the awful smirth of madness!” ‘There was no sound in the great ‘room when she had finished—not a whisper. All were awed and silenced and full of vague fear. “Oh—h, Cynthia!” Baby Earl whis- pered, with a sigh so deep and pro- found it seemed to have been drawn from the toes of her little bronze tlippers, “what a story! I—I feel as if there was,” wriggling round ner- vously in her chair, “a—a caterpillar on me somewheres—I do!” They laughed at the childish defini- tign of horror, but it was rather «@ d laugh. is a horrible story! of Sir Rupert?” must have lived and flourished the Carringtons of to-day are his i descendants. Further cor:ern- him the legend does not speak. you must remember that, after all, “ibis merely a legend, and as such must ‘be.aliowed wide latitude.” the ghost?” “Well, they say that when poor, ‘wuenged Claude Carrinston died, his it remained in the eastern tower. The.place has for years 2nd years beeu andisturbed and unentered.” “Does he ever come to pay you a friendly visit, Cynthia?’ Baby asked, coming to the surface as irrepressibly as ever. “No? Now that’s what I call uasociable—such a near neighbor, ‘to0.” “Why was he—it—called the Demon of the Tower?” asked Della Dent. “¥ don’t positively know,” slowly— “gnless the reason be this: The story geays—and the story has become tradi- m at Blackcastle—that on certain ion that fearful laugh outrings What be- emen of misery, of death—perhaps of It proclaims evil and misfor- to the house of Carrington. Pre- aaging such, it is little wonder they we branded the poor ghost demon. Here come the gentlemen.” @ rose and rang for lights. A ‘servant brought them and drew the curtains close. Half a dozen gentle- men came into the room with jest and daughter. “Oh, ladies, ladies!” cried genial James Cassard, in mocking reproof. “We left you here three hours ago, nd here we find you still. What sub- fect has been so fascinating as to you to forget the story of the fittle busy bee?” “Ghosts!” promptly responded Baby @arle. “Ghosts!” the men repeated, and ®urst out laughing. “Oh, Baby— awhogts!" “Hush!” Cynthia Lennox whispered, warningly, in the girl’s ear. “You ‘must not speak so before Lady Car- ington. Here she is!” CHAPTER Xill. At the Gates. instinctively the gay voices dropped @ littie as she came into the room— an erect, aged, haughty figure. Her robes of some rich black, lusterless waterial trailed noiselessly behind jumped from her chair and was danc- ing a solo waltz around the room. “You've cleared the lake, you’ve clear- ed the lake! But,” as a sudden thought struck her, “the snow?” “Has ceased,” asserted young Will Warren. “Ah,’ ’with a burst of victo- rious enthusiasm, “veni, vidi, vici!” “Say, Warren, make that plural, will you?” cried half a dozen protesting voices. “Thank you all,” Miss Lennox said, graciously. “We were so regretful at the prospect of deferring our skating party.” “Six o’clock—two hours till dinner. Come down to the lake now and prac- tice—do!” appealed Miss Earle. “Do!” seconded young Warren, Baby’s adorer and abettor in every mad scheme and prank “The idea 1s capital! It is a glorious night! We'll be in splendid trim for our moonlight race later. Come, Miss Lennox!” There was a chorus of assent, a soft rustle of women’s draperies, the softer sound of women’s laughter. “Who'll be first?” cried Will. “I!” shouted back Baby, half-way up | the stairs. True to her word she was down first, flushed but triumphant. By one, and two, and three, they gathered round in the wide, old hall, like a flock of bright plumaged birds, and then they had fluttered out inte the frosty winter night. An ideal night, for now that the snow had ceased, the world lay dressed in robes of spotless beauty. “Every pine, and fir, and hemlock, ‘Wore ermine too dear for an earl, And the smallest twig on the elm-tree ‘Was fringed inch-deep with gold. Up the bright sky the white moon cleft her Shining way, and far in the “blue infinity” the stars trembled to golden life. Down the eastern avenue of Black- castle they went, with laughter, and jest, and snatch of song; and their voices, strong with youth’s strength, and sweet with youth’s joy, rang pleasantly forth on the keen, crisp air. But despite themselves their voices sank and their laughter died as they passed the eastern tower. All except Baby’s. The girl’s wild spirits were inexhaustible. She shook her little, gauntleted hand at the great, crumbling pile of masonry ris- ing grimly and forbiddingly above her. “Ghost of Blackeastle, come forth! I defy you! I invoke you!” “He dare not! He was afraid of me! Poor Mr. Ghost!” “Who wouldn’t be, you witch?” Will Warren whispered. And now they have come to one of the lodges of the demesne—to the gates. Across the road beyond lies the lake. “Sing, Miss Earle,’ ’a gentleman in the rear called out. “Not tonight,” gaily. “A bird whe can sing, and won't sing, must be made to sing,” quoted Miss Lennox. “Sing, Baby!” “Your will is law, Cynthia,” the girl laughed, with a loving glance at the face near her. And just as they passed through the great gates she broke out singing—a quaint, old-fashioned song, that our grandmothers sang, old as the hills. But sung ‘t as it was sung now, with the pathos and the jubilance of a fresh young voice, it sounded rarely sweet: But sung as it was sung now, with “I remember, I remember, How my childhood fieeted by, With the mirth of its December, And the warmth of its July, I was merry, I was merry, When my little lovers came, With a lily, or a chery, Or some new invented game. Gems to-night, love, gems to-night,love, Are flashing in my hair; But you know they're not as bright, love, As my childhood’s roses were. Now I've you, love, now I've you, love, ‘To kneel before me there; But you know you're not as true, love, As my childhood lovers were!” “Thank you!” Will Warren cried, cordially. “That was—” Good heav- ens, Baby—” For the girl had leaped back with a shrill ery. “I—1 touched something in the road with my foot!” wildly, “and—and it stirred—it moved!” in feminine inco- herence. The spot was surrounded densely in a second. They stooped—they search- ed. And out of the pure, deep snow, as out of her winding sheet, they drew the figure of a woman. The moonlight fell on her face sil- verly. Ah, such an exquisite face! her. She wore a dainty morsel of old face, an apology for a cap, on her fine ty shaped head; a few costly rings «parkled on her thin, old hands. “All here! You are back early, gen- temen,” she said with a smile. She came slowly up the brilliant oom with that proud grace of move. ment which was s0 peculiarly her own. S “Where have you all been?” cried Baby, with her bright audacity. “Guess?” “Give it up! “Can't!” tersely. More that of a child than a woman. Calm as though carved from Carrara —pure, passionless, free from all touch of pain. The long lashes lay, jet black, on the marble cheek; the sweet young lips were half-parted, half- smiling; the bronze-gold hair drifted over her bosom, flaked with snow like scattered rose-leaves. “Bring her to Blackcastle—quick!” said Cynthia Lennox, in a whisper. Tenderly they raised her. Rever- ently they bore her in. Through the} doors of the Carringtons—through the gates of Blackcastle—through the por- tals of the future. ( ey blithely a short time before. But there was no merry jesting, no ing of young laughter. “ . “Is she dead? Oh, Mr. Warren, is she dead?” And Baby’s gay voice was almost unrecognizable in its terrified solemni- ty. “I think not—I hope not!” With strong and kindly hands, which grasped each other beneath their un- conscious burden, they bore her on— that awfully rigid, quiet, corpse-like figure. “Wait!” Cynthia Lennox cried, im- periously. In a moment she had torn off her long, satin-lined sealskin cloak. “Wrap her in this. It is cold!” And when it was done the little cor- tege moved on again. And now the moon was high in the heavens, and its flooding light fell in a rain of silver over beautiful Slack- castle—over.the wide demesne—over the grand old house—over that strange, slow-moving group on the aye- nue—over the eastern tower! “Ab!” and this time Baby Earle did not cry out in reckless and joyous de- fiance. She only crouched a litile nearer Will Warren with that quick word of fear. For before them, at their very feet, stretched a broad patch of shadow, dense and black and ominous—the shadow flung by the eastern tower. They passed into it, bearing their life- less load. Beyond gleamed the lights of Blackeastle. A little way more, and— “Mercy! What was that?” A laugh!—the wildest, maddest, most demoniac peal that ever rang from lips infernal—a laugh that froze the warm blood in their veins, and sent it surging back to their hearts in icy torrents! They glanced up, but the place was in shadow. For a few moments they stood, like a group cut from stone— just as still, as motionless, as breath- less. The story they had so lately heard recurred to their minds with startling horror. Swift as lightning before them that terrible scene loomed up— the frenzied lover below, the blood- stained face above, the woman they both loved madly dead, by her own hand, at their feet. And over all, that mad laugh ringing in wild, defiant de- spair. : And now—pitiful heaven!—was not its echo even now throbbing in their ears? What was it that Cynthia~had said? “It is an omen of evil, of death, per- haps of both—that fearful laugh! It presages evil and misfortune to the house of Carrington!” Miss Lennox was shuddering from head to foot. “Go on!” she commanded, her usual cold, self-contained voice grown 4 rapid, husky whisper. “Oh, go on! go on!” In trembling silence they hurried en whom Clive Carrington these two women who loved Lim! must climax in brain fever. be immediately removed to her room ” room. They staggered back, bling and half afraid. her as she lay there, like a pearl in a setting of onyx. Her soft, clinging dress revealed _every curve of the ex- quisite figure. The long, heavy mass- es of waving heir were wet and pow- deved with snow. The lovely young face gleamed against its dusky back- ground, marble-white and marble- cold. “Wait!” some en said. “Here is Lady Carrington.’ She came gliding down the hall like a tall, dark ghost. “What is it, Cynthia?” she cried. “What has happened? Who is she?” Miss Lennox did not answer. She was on her knees beside the couch, forcing some brandy between the girl’s lips. But a dozen eager voices broke out in excited explanation. “We don’t know. We were crossing the road to the lake, and we found her half-buried in the snow. Poor lit- tle thing! Such a child ta be left so destitute as she was apyarently! Is she not beautiful, Lady Carrington?” My lady came nearer and stood be- side the lounge, looking down on the motionless figure. Aye, an exquisite face, truly! small, delicate features The were abso- lutely perfect; the long, curling lashes and dark, fine brows were black as night; the short, proud lips were faultlessly chiseled. She stood several minutes looking at her in absolute silence. And thus they met—these two wom- loved— “Here is the doctor!” He came bustling up the hall, pre- ceded by a servant—a little, short, stout, rubicund man. He bowed deferentially to my lady, approached the patient, felt her pulse, and shook his head with an air of alert professional gravity. “A serious case—very! A delicate constitution, exposure combined, make it quite serious. You understand? She may be conscious toward morn- ing. If not, the exhaustion and ex- posure from which she is suffering She must “Papa! papa!” The broken cry wailed through the trem- The girl on the lounge had started to a sitting posture and was looking wildly around. Once again had the fever fiend clutched her in his burr- ing grasp. “Oh, I am‘ going to you—I am going to you! You will be glad to have me, dear! A few steps more—Hark! What is that they are playing? ‘Re- quiem aeternam’—rest eternal. Oh, not here!” with a sudden sharp, aw- ful ery, which thrilled her listeners through and through. “Not here—not here!” And once again she fell back, white and unconscious. They carried her up the grand stair- way with strong arms and gentle, and into a dainty, luxurious room on the floor above. out of the uncanny shadow into the | ‘sich a cosy nest, all azure and sil- bright moonlight beyond. ver! And then for the first time they all broke into nervous and excited speech. “Oh, what was it?” *“An omen of evil to Blackcastle!” “It was a voice from the grave!” “So unnatural!” “Oh, to me it sounded human!” “Impossible!” And so they talked on, in quick, terrified, tremulous fashion, till they came into the ruddy disk where the streaming lights from the windows of Blackcastle flushed the snow. All except Cynthia Lennox. She walked on among them, deaf to their chatter. Her bosom was rising and falling in deep pulsations. She was chilled with an undefinable fear, a su- perstitious dread. She seemed to awaken with a start as they came to the shallow stone steps, and the men in advance began to ascend them wifh their strange bur- den. “Gently, there! tly!” Will Warren ran before them and sent an imperious summons sounding | through the house. A moment more the great doors were flung wide, and a billow of light flooded the crowd beyond. In perfect silence they went in— those gay young people who had surg- ed forth less than an hour before with song and laughter. | The hall of Blackcastle was a .sub- ject for a painter. A grand, wide, old place, with its dusky, stout-ribbed rafters, its polished oaken floor, black and slippery with age, its carven seats, its armored knights, its rugs of shaggy bear-skin, its antlered heads, its tro- phies of field sports and martial war- fare. And over it all, with its wealth and art and rich medieval beauty, blazed and fell the light of a fire which roared up the huge-throated chimney in royal riot. And here, through stately doors of a proud race, they bore her in and laid her down—she the denied and forsak- en outcast—she the child of a galley slave—she whose name was in itself a brand to scorch and shrivel her young life to blackness—Laurence Lisle! Knock, Will. Gen- CHAPTER XV. A Patient. “Send a servant for Dr. Adams— quick!” “Bring some sal-volatile! a faint.” “Brandy’s better,” suggested War- ren. “Very well; but hurry!” They laid her down on a low lounge, covered by a great, black bear-skin It’s only The night wore on. Dinner was over. The numerous clocks through- out Blackeastle had clanged the hours in erratic clock fashion. Eight, nine, ten, eleven! Eleven! Brass, and silvér, and tron jingled and chimed—eleven! “Eleven!” cried Baby Earle, rudely jarring the social chord of genial con- versation. “To bed—to bed! And to- morrow we'll have our sleighing party and our skating match. Well, what do you bet I won’t pass you by a quarter of a mile?” “A box of gloves?” “Done?” And so they trooped off to bed, and silence fell over Blackcastle. But though there was silence there was wakefulness, and with wakeful- ness comes thought, and with thought —ah, so often, heartache! In the room above, where the sick girl lay, the minutes ticked by in mellow monotony. And what a pretty room it was! There were Soft, light carpets, all sprayed with forget-me- note under foot. The shining folds | of curtains of blue silk draped the long | windows. Mirrors, reaching from floor | to ceiling, paneled the painted walls. Here and there were scattered deep, | Snowy rugs of sheepskin. Even the little white bed was a miracle of taste and beauty, with its bars of polished silver, its billows of fine linen and embroidery, its canopy and curtains of azure silk and costly lace. Above the hearth, composed of quaint, bright Winton tiles, a clear fire burned and crackled bravely. and from their pedestals, gleaming fig- ures of marble lifted aloft globes of rosy light. Tick, tick, tick! droned the clock on the mantel. And throb, throb, throb! went Cynthia’s heart in time. She was sitting in a low chair by the fire, her fine white draperies trailing about her, her dark head a little bent. Beyond, in the bed, her patient lay babbling incoherently in burning fe- ver, or lying white and speechless, and passively deathlike. She was thinking—thinking deeply —thinking as every woman thinks some time in her life, with the clear- ness and desperation born of passion and despair. “He never cared for me—hé never eared for me!” she told herself bitter- ly. “And I—I kave loved him since 1 was a little child, unconscious of the meaning of the word. God help me! And he-—-what was that Lady Car- rington told me?. He loves beneath him! Ah, whoever she is, she is hap- py in that love—aye! happy and thrice blessed in that, which I would peril my soul to win! Bah!” she rose with a laugh and began pacing ner- yously up and down the room; “we The warm, crimson light fell upon {are all fools, we women! We sacri-| HAPPY WOMEN. fice our lives, our hopes, our ambi- .tions; .we eat our- hearts out with jealousy and anguish; we suffer, we smile, we die—for what? For a fancy which men call love—which to them is as light as the breeze of a summer day, changeful as the humor of the ocean, fragile as the flower which blooms at morn to die at even!” She went over to the bed and held a cooling draught to the girl’s parched lips. Then she came back and re sumed her seat by the fire. There was a low knock at the door. “May I come in, Cynthia?” “Certainly—come.” The door opened, and Lady Carring- ton came into the room. “How is she?” “Better, 1 think, but she talks so strangely.” “Poor child!” She came slowly across the room and sat down opposite Miss Lennox. She, too, had discarded her cumber- some dinner dress. She wore a soft, grey wrapper, of finest cashmere, corded and slashed with crimson. They both started violently as a sweet, wild voice rang through the quiet room: “Oh, the fire! It is sinking! carling, my darling, forgive me! I take it back! I take it back! I did not know you meant him! He is my lover—my husband! Papa—papa—re quiem aternam—rest eternal! Ah, not for me—I am dead—I am dead— I am dead!” The two women looked at each other in horrified dismay. “How she talks!” said Cynthia, shud- dering. And then, for a long while there was silence. Twelve! boomed out the big clock above the stables! twelve! boomed and chimed and jingled all the clocks in Blackcastle—twelve! rippled sil- very the little Swiss clock on the mantel. And then the subdued light fell on them, each absorbed in their own thoughts—these two women. One so young, so strong, so regal, so full of passionate and hot-hearted life! The other so proud, so indomitably un- pending, so rigidly inflexible in her adamant control. The pitiful, childish chatter beyond dwindled to a whisper. (To Be Continued.) My Oh, KEPT IT DARK. A Secret Regarding a Good Looking, but Not a Good Seeing, Horse. A well-known up-town man who is a lover of fine horseflesh sa wa fine bug- gy horse which he thought he wanted. He located the owner and asked the price. “One hundred dollars,” was the reply. After looking the animal over and trying her speed he concluded it was a god trade, and at once wrote out a check for the amount. The next day he found that the mare was blind, but this did not hinder her speed nor detract from her appearance. He drove the animal for several weeks and succeeded in attracting the at- tention of another lover of horses, who made a proposal to buy. “Well,” said the owner, “I gave $100 for her, but I’ll let you have her for $125 if you want to buy.” After looking the animal over and taking a short ride behind her, the man decided to buy. .He paid the money and took the mare. When the animal was unharnessed the first thing she did was to run against a post; then, by way of emphasizing the | fact that she was blind, she fell over a barrel. The next day the buyer came back with blood in his eye. “Say, you know that mare you sold me?” he began. “Well, she’s stone blind.” “T know it,” replied her past owner, with an easy air. “Well, you didn’t say anything to me about it,’ said the purchaser, his face red with anger. “Well, I'll tell you,” replied the | other; “that fellow who sold her to me | didn’t tell me about it, and I just con- cluded that he didn’t want it known.” —Philadelpbia Public Ledger. A TRIBUTE TO “CENTRAL.” a Great Telephone Exchange. The average layman hazily pictures “Central,” that place heard so long but not seen, as a modern edition of Babel, delivered over to jarring voices and ringing bells and general pande- monium. If he should visit a certain | great exchange he would see forty-five girls at work at a switchboard han- dling 18,000 calls in a busy hour. Yet there is no noise louder than a swarm of bees. The wheels go round with- out friction; the operators are too busy for the bustling hum of incompe- tency; ingenious devices have brought the eye to the ear’s relief, replacing bells by a system of lamp signals. Everything makes for efficiency. An operator makes on an average ten con- nections a minute, with automatic ac curacy. Under pressure—from a fire, a panic, a national calamity, accumu- lation of business after a break—she doubles this rate.—Booklover’s Maga- zine. Just the Thing. | 1am told, madam,” said the visitor, “that you have several marriageable | daughters. I am the president of the | College of Cookery, and I thought you—” “My daughters do not need to learn | cooking,” interrupted Mrs. Rich. “They | will be able to hire all the servants | they need.” | “xaetly, madam, but our special | course will teach them how to keep }a cook.”—Philadelphia Press. The Remedy. She—They say that love is blind. He—Yes, but marriage frequently drives men to indulge in eye-openers. The Marvelous System Necessary in | Mrs. Pare,’ wife of C. B. Pare, a Prominent resident back I had a great deal of trouble with the secretions, which were ex- ceedingly variable, sometimes exces- sive and at other times scanty. The color was high, and passages were ac- companied with a scalding sensation. Doan’s Kidney Pills soon regulated the kidney secretions, making their color normal and banished the inflam- mation which caused the scalding sen- sation, I can rest well, my back is strong and sound and I feel much bet- ter in every way.” For sale by all dealers, price 50 cents per box. * Foster-Milburn Co., buffalo, N. Y. v The Reason. She—I can’t see why I ever eloped with you. He—I can. I was the first fool that ever asked you to elope.—Chicago Ree- ord-Herald. Mother Gray’s Sweet Powders for Children Successfully used by Mother Gray, nurse in the Children’s Home in New York, cure Constipation, Feverishness, Bad Stomach, Teething Disorders, move and regulate the Bowelsand Destroy Worms. Over 30,000 tes- timonials. At all ists, 25c. Sample WREE. Address A. S. Olmsted, EeRoy,N-Y. Precocious in Spots. Bobby—Do I have to go to school again, mother?” Mother—Of course, Bobby. Bobby—Why, mother, I heard you tell father last night that I knew en- tirely too much.—Detroit Free Press. One Short Puff Clears the Head. Does your head ache? Have you pains over your eyes? Is the breath offensive? These are certain symptoms of Catarrh. Dr. Agnew’s Catarrhal Powder will cure most stubborn cases in a marvellously short time. If you've had Catarrh a week it’s a3 sure cure. Ifit’s of fifty years’ standing it’s just as effective. 50 cts. at Druggists. Gentle Hint. “Do you know, Mr. Borem,” queried the fair bunch of loveliness in the par- lor scene, “that I am a perfect martyr” to insomnia?” “No, I wasn’t aware of the fact,” re- plied the end of the sketch. “Is there anything I can do to afford you relief?” “Now, really, Mn Borem,” responded the fair party, “I—er—don’t want to hurry you at all.”—Chicago News. LABOUCHERE’S WEAKNESS. Prominent Englishman Is a Cigarette Fiend of the Worst Kind. Though enormously rich, Labouchere enjoys few of the ordinary pleasures that are supposed to go with riches. He eats the simplest fare; he never touches wine except when he is bullied into taking a glass or two of mild claret by medical advice, and then he swallows it as though it were medi- cine. He has two weaknesses: one is his love of cigarette smoking; the other a mania for changing houses and decorating and rebuilding. He is rare- ly without a cigarette in his mouth; indeed, this love of smoking amounts to something like a passion. Almost every half hour, even in the midst of a fierce debate or of a great speech, Labby may be seen rising from his seat in his lazy, indolent manner; he is going to one of the smoke rooms of the house to have his cigarette. It is characteristic of him that he smokes very inferior cigarettes. I asked him once what kind he smoked. “As long as there is quantity,” said Labby, with his usual sardonic smile, “I really don’t much care about quality.”—Ev erybody’s Magazine. AN OLD TIMER Has Had Experiences. A woman who has used Postum Food Coffee since it came upon the~- market eight years ago knows from experience the necessity of using Pos- tum in place of coffee if one values health and a steady brain. She says: “At the time Postum was first put on the market I was suffering from nervous dyspepsia and my physician had repeatedly told me not to use tea or coffee.. Finally I de- cided to take his advice and try Pos- tum and got a sample and had it carefully prepared, finding it delicious to the taste. So I continued its use and very soon its beneficial effects convinced me of its value, for I got well of my nervousness and dyspepsia. “My husband had been drinking cof- fee all his life until it had affected his nerves terribly. I persuaded him to shift to Postum and it was easy to get him to make the change for the Postum is so delicious. It certainly worked wonders for him. “We soon learned that Postum does not exhilarate or depress and does not stimulate, but steadily and hon- estly strengthens the nerves and tha stomach. To make a long story short: our entire family have now used Pos- tum for eight years with completely satisfying results as shown in our fine condition of health, and we’ have noticed a rather unexpected improve! ment in brain and nerve power.” Name given by Postum Co., Battle Creek, Mich. Increased brain and nerve power al- ways follows the use of Postum in place of coffee, sometimes in a very marked manner. $ Look in each package for a copy of the famous little book, “The Road to, Wellville.” : —j—-