Of what does she think in the long hours? What was her youth? Her middle age? Are her reveries peopled with joyful memories of young, bright faces, or do the vague, misty ghosts of disillusions and unfulfilled dreams trail their mouldy draperies across her vision? Is she content in her corner, like some gray old cat, glad of warmth and food, or does her lonely heart beat at the bars of her isolation, swollen with sullen grudging of her menial tasks?

Sometimes she sits with idle, fallen hands and looks out into the emptiness of the barren alley. A gaunt cat prowls by, an awkward puppy raises a querulous voice, perhaps a scavenger wagon jolts slowly over the ruts, the old horse groaning at every step.

Do those jaded eyes miss the sight

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of familiar hills, a loved stream, a lilac bush or rose vine grown dear from association?

Do those dull ears ache from listening for the jangle of cow bells, the hoarse crowing of a cock, the tap of a hickory cane?

Does that old body, racked and weakened by the infirmities of age, yearn for the peace of her last bed?

Poor old soul! Conventionality forbids my seeking her. What could I say to her if I should? If she read these words they would mean little to her, written by a stranger. But across the few feet and endless space that separate us, I send my love and a very anguish of hope that a garden of peace and leisure waits somewhere to soothe her weari

ness.

HIS form of acne is characterized by redness, dilated and enlarged blood vessels, thickened skin, and sometimes the nose becomes very large and lobulated.

The enlarged veins vary, both in size and number. Sometimes there will be only one or two, or there may be a regular network of them. They may vary, too, in color, from a bright to a very dark red, and these veins are sometimes raised above the surrounding skin.

The nose, cheeks, and even the forehead, are sometimes involved. This is the disease that is usually called the "whiskey, or drinker's nose." But many people who never touch liquors of any kind suffer with this disease.

It is a chronic, inflammatory condition, and though it is inflammatory, as a general thing it is painless. Sometimes a burning or smarting is experienced, but seldom any pain.

It occurs in both men and women, but in the latter does not often tend to go beyond a certain stage. In women it is more likely to occur at early womanhood and at the climacteric period, its causes being undoubtedly due to dyspepsia,

anemia, chlorosis and menstrual disorders.

In men the disease may occur at any period, though seldom under the age of twenty-five. In early life it is due to anemia and debility, nervous prostration and dyspepsia. In later life it can usually be attributed to the habitual use of alcoholic malt liquors.

This disease is recognized by the redness, the acne lesions, dilated blood vessels, and the limitation of the eruption to the nose and face. The enlargement and knobby or irregular shape of the nose and the absence of ulceration, taken with the history of the case, which is always of long standing, are characteristic.

The chances of cure depend largely on the cause. the cause. If the cause can be removed a cure will follow. The milder cases will be cured without much trouble.

Both local and constitutional medication is necessary, and care must be exercised in the diet. The cause must be sought for diligently, and removed if possible. The bowels must be kept regular. Tea, coffee and alcoholics must be prohibited. Plain food, well cooked,

as I stated in my previous article, is the best.

When the patient is pale and anemic, the following will be a good tonic: Tincture chloride of iron, one ounce; dilute phosphoric acid, one ounce; syrup of lemon, two ounces. Mix. A teaspoonful in a wineglass of water three times a day, after meals.

Or this may be used, if the patient be nervous: Fowler's solution of arsenic, two drams; wine of iron, four ounces. Mix, and take a small teaspoonful after meals, in water.

The local treatment should be varied, as the skin will be hardened or accustomed to one remedy if used too long. or continuously.

one to two

Precipitated sulphur, drams; cold cream, one ounce. This can be rubbed in gently two or three times a day. Sometimes lotions have a better effect than the ointments or salves.

Lime, a half ounce; sublimed sulphur, one ounce; water, ten ounces. To be boiled down to six ounces and filtered. Then use one teaspoonful of this solution to ten of water, and mop it over the parts. The strength of this can be increased until it can be used full strength. It can be used two or three times a day.

Or the following may be used: Mucilage, three drams; glycerine, three drams; powdered camphor, five grains; lime water, one-half ounce. This lotion can be applied several times a day.

To regulate the bowels I know of nothing better than the laxative pill, the formula of which I gave in my last month's article.

Where the skin is very dry, a teaspoonful of pure olive oil, taken with the meal three times a day, is a good thing.

The large blood vessels are best gotten rid of by the use of the electric needle, or by cutting them in two with a sharp knife. The bleeding, when cut, can be stopped by cold water compresses held over the part for a few

E

The Use of Ergot.

RGOT is generally used as an emergency remedy to stop hemorrhages. Large doses, quick action, is a necessity in such cases. To use a poor, cheap product, to use something called ergot that in reality is not effective, is almost a crime. This is true of any other remedy where toxic doses are necessary to produce the result desired. To be sure, ergot is also used in chronic conditions where small doses and continuous action are required.

Probably there is no other remedy in the world that is so often prepared as to make it ineffective. When using ergot it is the absolute duty of every physician to see to it that he uses a good specimen. Laziness or indifference in the selection of such a drug is rank infidelity to the trust the people have in physicians.

Sharpe & Dohme manufacturing chemişts, New York City, insist that they are making liquid extracts of ergot that are absolutely sure to act without the usual bad effect upon the stomach. this be true, every physician in this country ought to know it. If it be false, there is equal necessity for every physician to know that also.

If

A little treatise on "The Non-Obstetric Use of Ergot," by Ralph St. J. Perry, M. D., L.L. D., a reprint from the Medical Brief of November, 1905, can be obtained by physicians by writing this doctor at Farmington, Minn. He talks as if he knew what he was saying, and was confident of his position. Well worth reading. Every doctor should certainly be in search of just such a preparation of ergot as this doctor describes. It may be that every word he says is true. It is well worth looking into.

Send 10 cents for sample copy of THE COLUMBUS MEDICAL JOURNAL. If you subscribe this will be credited on your subscription.

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Carl.

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HIS very interesting little fellow is seven years old. He has dark complexion, hair and eyes. Good physique and mentality, but a boy all over. When asked what he expected to follow when he became a man, he said, "finding homes for little boys." Upon closer inquiry it developed that he would like to be a farmer. His judg ment on the relative value of cattle and horses is excellent.

If you want a boy for company Carl is good. If you want one to work he is too young; besides, he is small for his age, though on a physical contest we would put him up against anything of his inches. Yet he is not too little to gather the eggs, bring the cows and run errands. He, now, in your hands, would be like clay in the potter's, susceptible of being

molded into the useful and the beautiful.

When he is older he will help you. He can soon feed, harness and hitch the horses; plant and sow, reap and mow, barter and buy, bargain and sell, keeping pace with you all over the farm and in business matters, infusing cheer and new life. You will live a dozen years longer and when you are dead he will sing your praises and perpetuate your memory. Now is the time to give the boy a start.

Lucy.

W

E are two of the C.......

kids," said Lucy, first

time the writer was introduced. By "we," she meant her sister, whom we also received. These girls are diamonds in the rough, gems of purest ray serene, but they need proper setting; a

papa and mamma to direct them aright.

them a home both together in the same We have tried for some time to get family. But it is so hard to find a family with sufficient breadth of mind and generosity of heart, to take two children; and yet any one who has raised a family, will tell you that two or more children are scarcely any more trouble than one. They help one another, not only physically, but morally and mentally.

In union there is strength. The element of selfishness, too, is to a great extent eliminated, where there is more than one child in a family.

These girls are aged respectively eight and ten. They have blue eyes, fair complexion, light brown hair and kind, affectionate dispositions. They have been unconditionally committed to our care and custody. We may place them separately, but they love one another so dearly that we feel it would be wrong to part them.

What do you say, dear reader? Put yourself in one of their places, or in the place of their dear departed mother, and write us your mind fully.

It takes a certain time to get a photo finished up; then the artist must have time to make the half-tone and printers require several days to get a publication wheeled into line. So that many times desirable children, such as we represent, can be placed well before you receive THE JOURNAL. In that event, would you not consider others, two brothers or a brother and sister?

Give Nature a Chance.

AMANDA F. GREELY, 513 Fourth Street, S. E., Minneapolis, Minn.

Y

ES, give Nature a chance. In this rush and hurry age poor old

Mother Nature is too often set to one side, or pushed to the wall entirely. True, she is slow, but she is safe and sure, and should not be supplanted by any old fad or artifice that comes along.

Nature nowadays doesn't have half a chance to breathe, eat or sleep, as she wants to. She is often bound by her garments. She must eat wrong things at wrong times because social custom says so. She must keep late hours and be cheated of her needed rest and sleep because society sets the pace. She has to hurry up and go at this or that with almost breathless haste and nervous strain. There seems to be no time for anything to be done in a rational, safe and sane way. Everybody, from the baker to the banker, from the milkman to the merchant, is ever on the rush as if he had but a minute more to live. And what is it all for? Money, money! More money! And what is saved in dimes is often lost in digestion and overtaxed nerves.

Now, really, does it pay? Is life worth. living under such a pressure? The frequency of suicides seems to say that it is not. Poor Nature is despoiled of her birthright all around, and the pity is that it is the unneeded, the artificial wants, that are crowding her to the limit. How foolish in us to allow it. We have no confidence in her ability to do things in

the right way, just as if the Great Architect of all creation didn't know His business when He made her.

Even Motherhood, given the divinest love and trust in the created universe, deliberately sets aside Nature's dearest law and turns her baby from the breast which holds its very life and health, to the too often death dealing bottle. How can she do it!

And again, in the cosmetic bedaubed faces of women behold how Nature has been insulted. Faces which she had made to be clean and beautiful, gleaming with brightness and health. Beauty comes from within, and the more we daub and fill up the natural avenues of Nature's housecleaning, airing and beau

tifying, why the worse we look.

Why not trust Nature and her way of doing things? Certainly Nature like any other machine has to be given time and opportunity or the wheels cannot

go round.

Why not simplify our living, and keep in touch with Mother Nature? Let us not lose the substantial things of life in the superabundance of condiments and jimcracks.

Give Nature time and not rush her to death, and she will prove the best friend we ever had.

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Mud Baths.

WAY over in Indiana, near Attica, at the junction of the Wabash and Chicago and Eastern Illinois Railways, is a place they call Mudlavia, which means mud baths. At this place people take baths in mud, instead of water.

When I was a boy I used to like to play in the mud. I have got licked many a time for doing so. Looking at the pictures of these mud baths, and noticing. their facilities for playing in the mud, the instinct of boyhood comes back to me to go out there and play in the mud a while. They have even gone so far as to tempt me with a free pass to do so. Good for three days' complimentary entertainment and treatment. Not only furnished me the mud to play in, but a bed to sleep in and meals.

Now, if I could have one of those

Pennsylvania boys who used to play in the mud with me, for instance, Dr. Edward H. Angle, of St. Louis, Mo., and we could go together, the temptation would be too great. I would relapse from editorial work back to paddling in the mud. At least, for a few days.

Or if I was full of rheumatism, or had any constitutional disorder that drugs could not reach; if my blood was surcharged with urates; my joints creaking with deranged cartilages; then I should go to Mudlavia at once. Get next to that poison-absorbing and lifegiving mud. Yes, I would. I would stay there until I got the evil effects of wrong eating and luxurious habits all

out of me.

But I have none of these things. I am younger to-day than ever in my life. If

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I went to Mudlavia at all it would be on a spree, just to have some fun with the officials and throw mud at the patients. This I should like to do very much.

I thank the proprietors of Mudlavia for their kind invitation to visit them, and should these lines fall under the eye of some chronic victim of rheumatism, constitutional blood poison or the like, I hope he will just drop a letter to one of those hustling, wide-awake doctors down there, and get the particulars.

Doctors, did I say? Well, I don't know that they are doctors. There is no evidence in reading their letter to me that they are doctors. Perhaps they are, though, and too modest to put M. D. after their names. The secretary's name is E. L. Boughman and his address is Mudlavia, Warren County, Indiana.

FTER all that may be said on the subject of "Motherhood," we can only hope to bring society up to the standard of ideals, that perhaps already exist, for, somehow, the powers that are supposed to control these matters have fixed a high standard for woman in her relation to the home and the sacred duties of motherhood. But how about Fatherhood?

We may bitterly deplore the lack of a sense of responsibility in many fathers, yet is there not some cause for the difference in the feelings of men and women toward their offspring?

The little boy often shows a great love for dolls when he is very young. So far as I have noticed quite as much as girls do. But people say, "Give the boy a hammer and nails, or a toy horse and cart, and the girl her dolls."

I have known several boys, who as babies learned to love their pillows, and were never willing to go to sleep without a certain pillow, which to them was their baby. There was a kind of protective love, which they seemed to feel for these pillows, or rag doll, which ought to have been cultivated.

While the husband, if he is anything of a man, looks forward with tender affection to the advent of a child in his home, the unmarried man has little feeling of regard for the child to be born out of the bonds of wedlock, of whose being he is the author. It may mean inconvenience, or possible disgrace, but the thought that his own flesh and blood will be born in shame, and bear the reproach of the world, seems to give a man little trouble.

It is all wrong. Society has been wrong for ages. The laws are wrong. The institution of slavery fostered this inequality of responsibility. The father saw his own offspring born into a condition of servitude, yet he felt no responsibility, other than he felt for his prosperity in general.

The system of social license, which young men consider their privilege, is