"Is the coming time," said afar English poet," 'a man or woman eighty or one hundred years vid will be more beautiful than the youth or maiden of twenty, as the ripe trait is more beautiful and fragrant than the green. These ripe men and women will have no wrinkles on the brow, no grey hair, no bent and feeble bodies." On the contrary they will have perfect hearing, clear eyesight, sound teeth, elastic step, and mental vigour,"
Yoes this sound absurd and impossible? Why should it? People over one hundred years old are frequently met with in these days, as. they have been as far is human records go back. -A-man'is of no real value until he is past fifty and gained control of his passions avd acquired some practical wisdom, After that lo ought to have from fifty to seventy-five working years before him. Whose dies short of one hundred (bar violence) dies of his own folly or that of his ancestors. One chief thing, however, we must learn, What isit Take un illustration—such as we see multitudes of on every side, Mr. Richard Legatte of New Bolingbroke, near Roston, Liucolashire, is a man now somewhat over. seventy. He is a farmer, well known "and highly respected in his ict. In the spring of 1891 he had an ick of influenza, from which he never fully away, of course, but he remained weak. No ecu ted. The severe symptoms passed
doubt food would have built him up, provided he' could have eaten and digested it. Yet here was the trouble, his appetite was poor, and what little he took, as a matter of necessity rather than of relish, seemed to act wrong with him. Instead of giving him strength it actually produced pain and distress in the sides, chest, and stomach.
Then egain—which is a common experience—he would feel a craving for something to eat; yet on sitting down to a meal, in the hope to enjoy it, the stomach would suddenly rebel against the proceeding, and he would torn from the table without having swallowed Nothing could come of this but increasing wealtness and it wasn't long before it was all he could do to summon strength to walk about. As for working on his farm, that, to be sure, was not to be thought of. He had a doctor attending him, as we should expect.
the services of a learned medical man are ever needed they must be in such a ease—when nature seems to be all broken up, and the machinery runs slow, as our family clocks do when we have forgotten to wind them at the usund hour, Well, Mr. Loggate took the prescribed medicines, but got no better. He asked the doctor why that was, and he appeared to be puzzled for an answer at first. Naturally enough a doctor doesn't like to admit that his medicines are doing no good, because he expects to be paid for them and then there his professional pride, besides.
However, he finally said, 'If my medicines fail to make you better itis owing to your 'That idea was plain as a pikestafl, and if the patient had never got any better afterwards, why who could dispute what the doctor suid'? Nobody. of course. It would look just as though Mr. Leggate were really going to pieces from old age. But something
easy theory of the cage. What it was he tells Subsequently "happened which spoils that us in " letter dated February 3rd, 189:
After doctoring several months without receiving any benefit, I determined t" try Mother Seigel's Curative Syrup. I got a bottle from Mr G. H. Hanson, Chemist, New Bolingbroke. After taking the Syrup' for a week I was much better. I had a good appetite, and what I digested "and strengthened me; and by the time I had taken tivo bottles I was well and strong as ever. You may publish this statement if you think proper. (Signed) Richard Leggate."
8o it proved, after all, that \'r. Leggate swat not suffering from old age (at seventy Nonsense!) but from indigestion and dyspepsia. When Hotber Seigel's great discovery routed that, Se felt well strong as ever."
Now for the moral: It is not Father Time who mows people down thus early in life; it 4s the Demon of Dyspepsia. Keep him away, vand—barring accidents—you may live a century.
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Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.