The oil is put up by me in a special triangularshaped bottle holding about one and a quarter ounces, and is retailed for twenty-five cents. The label is printed with green ink, and I use advertising signs for the store, printed in green ink with a rubber sign marking outfit.

The remedy is used as a liniment by local application to any affected part; it is employed often by rubbing a small quantity underneath the nose and inhaling it; and for neuralgic, and especially for rheumatic, pains in any portion of the body, it is

excellent. It is also used in an atomizer for the nose and throat, and internally for cramps, colic, summer complaint, and allied troubles.

A NEWSPAPER ADV.

Druggists in small towns can use newspaper space to advantage in their advertising campaigns, and I give herewith a suggestion for a notice for "Green Oil:"

There are few crimes in the calendar more reprehensible than the one which allows suffering to exist when a cure is available. In this connection let us direct your attention to

PERKINS'S

GREEN

OIL.

This is a "money-back-if-not-satisfied proposition." Green Oil is recommended as an efficient remedy for

Rheumatism, Neuralgia, Lumbago, Pain in the Back, Soreness, Cramps, Colic, Summer Complaint, Cholera Morbus, etc.

The oil is used internally or externally as the exigencies of he case indicate, and the fact that we are receiving commendatory reports every day concerning its efficiency leads us to believe that its value is unquestioned.

The price is twenty-five cents, and if you are dissatisfied with your purchase after giving the remedy a fair trial, we will gladly refund the price paid.

T. W. PERKINS, Pharmacist, Detroit, Mich.

THE OFFICER OF THE LAW. THAT NEVER CAME.

"Al. Lows" tells how he had a good scare during his callow youth:

I find your "around the camp-fire" stories very interesting reading matter, and in order to help to keep the fires burning I submit the following reminiscence:

It happened on a hot summer day, when I was employed in a store situated on one of the busiest corners of the town. I had only been in the business for a short time, and the extent of my responsibilities was washing bottles. I always did have a mania for juggling things, and one day while I was doing an exceptionally clever stunt in that line with a couple of bottles, "de boss" happened along and stood watching me without my knowledge. After seeing me go through my performance without diminishing his stock of bottles, he decided to give me a "try" out at the soda fountain, thinking I might make a hit tossing drinks. When he informed me of his intentions I was delighted and immediately began making preparations for my début. The next morning after donning a white coat and a new necktie (the color was bright red), and applying a liberal quantity of pomade to my hair, I "got busy" cleaning the fountain, filling up the chocolate pitcher, the fruit bowls, etc.

And now comes the sad part of my story, which for the time being put a damper on my youthful enthusiasm! In looking over a miscellaneous lot of things which were kept on top of the fountain, I discovered an empty pint bottle labeled "elixir calisaya tonic." Feeling it my duty to keep things filled up and simultaneously remembering seeing a gallon bottle in the laboratory marked "elixir calisaya, iron and strychnine," I immediately proceeded to fill the bottle from this stock package. A day or two later while I was busy replenishing the stock in the cigar case, during a lull in the soda trade, a man came hurrying in, and stepping up to the fountain asked for a "good stiff tonic." The head clerk, who happened to be back of the soda counter at the time, without a moment's hesitation made a lunge for the calisaya tonic bottle, poured an ounce or so into a glass, added a little lemon syrup and a squirt of soda,

handed it to the man and bade him drink it, which the stranger did, paid his little fare, and stalked off. I quietly congratulated myself for having noticed that empty tonic bottle and filling it in time to be of use. But just then the clerk, about to put the bottle back in its place, suddenly held it up to the light and examined its color, but for a minute only. With two steps he was at my side, inquiring whether I had filled that bottle. With a proud feeling and a triumphant smile I answered:

"Yes, sir, from the gallon bottle in the laboratory marked 'elixir calisaya, iron, and strychnine.'

A groan, besides several other things which wouldn't look good in print, escaped his lips, and pulling out a pencil he did some rapid figuring for a few seconds. Then, grabbing me by the coat, he said:

"Boy, we're lost. That drink contained at least one-eighth grain of strychnine, while one-twelfth grain is the maximum dose."

My heart suddenly stopped performing its natural functions, hot and cold spells alternately raced up and down my back, my knees did a little shake all by themselves, while I felt innumerable lumps rise into my throat and almost gag me. But to make a long story short, it was another case of "all's well that ends well."

After spending the rest of the day awaiting the results of my doings, expecting every minute to be pounced upon by an officer of the law, who should come towards evening but the victim of my lack of pharmaceutical knowledge, seemingly none the worse for the "good stiff tonic." The feeling of joy and lightness that overcame me at the sight of him is beyond description. I simply had to restrain myself from making an aerial journey over the counter and kissing the man's feet. Gathering all the self-control left in me I calmed myself sufficiently to speak, made a few remarks about the weather, and then finally asked him what he would have. He stroked his beard thoughtfully, tilted his hat back on his head, and said:

"I got a tonic in here this morning, but I guess it was too cold and I drank it too fast, for I had a severe attack of colic shortly afterwards."

I looked wise and told him it was a dangerous

thing to pour icy drinks into a hot stomach. He seemed to agree with me on that point, and I offered to make him up a nice egg drink with a little ginger in it. Mentally I was figuring on the healing qualities of the egg, to repair the damage done to the lining of his stomach by the strychnine, which I supposed at that time had the same tissue-destroying properties as carbolic acid.

Well, I took special pains in preparing the egg drink for him, and while he sipped it slowly he remarked casually that he hoped it would not bother him during the night, as he had to get up early the next morning to catch a train. Going to take a train! I mentally thanked him for this bit of information and assured him that he would not be disturbed. He departed satisfied, and I never heard or saw anything more of him. I am to this day thanking my lucky star for getting out of that scrape as easily as I did!.

COST HIM A FIVE-POUND BOX OF CANDY!

D. G. K., from a town in Southern Texas, tells this rather good one on himself:

Here's one: Day before yesterday a young lady came into the store and wanted a good tooth-paste, saying she was tired of powders and washes. I asked her if there was any particular kind she wanted, but she said "No," and would leave it to my judgment, as I ought to know what was best. So I suggested euthymol tooth-paste. She said all right. She'd heard that was good. I took a carton out of the case, wrapped it up, and gave it to her.

Well, in about an hour the 'phone rang. The young lady asked me if I had any particular grudge against her.

I answered "No! Why?" She informed me that "that was the vilest tasting tooth-paste she'd ever used." I jollied her about having such a "hard-toplease taste," told her she'd get used to it in one or two trials, and advised her to go ahead and use the article as there was no better paste made.

This occurred in the afternoon. After supper I was again called to the 'phone, and told that I didn't know what a good tooth-paste was if I called that kind I sold her good. She said it was the greasiest stuff she'd ever put in her mouth, and that she couldn't wash it out, spit it out, or in any other way get it out of her mouth, and that her brush was a sight to behold. Well, just about that time I had a thought (guess all know what it was!), so I told her to hold the 'phone a minute. I went to the show-case to see if "I had done it," and sure enough I had given her euthymol "cream" instead of the tooth-paste- I returned to the 'phone, told her to

throw the euthymol paste away, and said that I'd send her up another kind and a brush gratis.

I thought I was about as "smooth as they make 'em" in getting out of difficulties, but I changed my mind the next morning when that girl came into the store with that package of euthymol cream, showed it to me, and remarked that until now she had always had reason to believe that I was a friend of hers. Well, I "squared" it with a five-pound box of candy, and from now on I'm going to examine carefully the packages of euthymol tooth-paste and euthymol cream before I wrap them up!

HE GOT NO MORE "ALKEHOL!"

A "Subscriber" relates this tale of a narrow escape from moral disgrace:

I am very much interested in your "Camp-fire" stories. Here is one that kept me interested for a little while, I assure you:

I am known as a temperance druggist. I am very much opposed to the selling of liquor by druggists for any but legitimate uses. Shortly after buying my present place of business an old "Norske" man came in with a leather bag on his shoulder. Arriving at my desk he dropped the bag and drew forth a quart flask and called for "alkehol." The doctor whom I had bought out happened to be in the store at the time and told me to let him have what he wanted, saying that he came in about every sixty days regularly for his quart. I proceeded to fill the bottle accordingly. In about sixty days the same thing was repeated. The third time was the last and "out."

He

On this occasion I filled his flask as before. went out and I forgot all about him. In about an hour I looked across the street at a reeling, drunken old codger, who happened to be the same "Norske" man whom I had sold the alcohol a short time before. He fell just as he reached his buggy, seemed to realize his condition, but was simply "paralyzed." A crowd soon gathered. He was lifted into his buggy and started towards home. My heart was in my throat. I felt sure he had gotten his drinks elsewhere than out of the bottle I had furnished him. But suppose his horse should run away; suppose he should get killed! They would find the bottle and would see that I had sold him alcohol.

Soon I saw the crowd run in the direction his horse had taken. His horse was running away. There! he had been thrown out! I could in fancy see his mangled body out there by the roadside. Think of my disgrace! Soon the crowd came back. He was not badly hurt, they said. A friend took

him home; and sixty days later he appeared again with his leather bag and bottle. You may be sure that he got no "alkehol" this time!

TWO ENGLISH ANECDOTES.

One of our English subscribers, signing himself "Ixion," contributes two stories:

In looking over the issue of the BULLETIN for last October, and running across the "Camp-fire" instalment of that month, I was much interested in the bishop stories contributed by an English compatriot who signed himself "Acetum." I was immediately reminded of an anecdote. Perhaps you would like it. My Lord Bishop was invited to take part in the celebration of christening a battle-ship. The invitation sent out read "The Right Reverend and Lady." The Bishop went early to see that all proper arrangements had been made, leaving his wife to follow. In due course her coachman drove her to the dock gates, which were guarded by a royal marine. She found that she had forgotten the ticket when the guard

asked for it, so she said in reply to his demand that she was "the Bishop's lady." He promptly replied: "I can't help it, ma'am. Even if you were the Bishop's wife herself you couldn't go in without a ticket!"

I leave the readers of the BULLETIN to picture the good lady's countenance!

HE GAVE SOME ADVICE.

Here is another story that may fit into the "camp-fire" series [continues "Ixion"]. One of our leading surgeons, in lecturing to new students at a medical school, used the same old arguments about there being plenty of room at the top, and advised his auditors to work hard and study diligently. "Take me, for instance," he declared. "I am able to keep out of the workhouse!" Now it is necessary to state that this surgeon happened to be the leading operator in lithotomy at one of the London hospitals; and so it was that a voice from the rear of the room quickly answered: "Yes, but even you have to break stones to do so!"

Mr. Judson B. Todd, the well-known druggist of Ithaca, N. Y., is a resourceful man. We hope to show how he made one window display-that shown in the accompanying illustration-serve two purposes, and serve both admirably. First let us quote Mr. Todd's own telegraphic description of the figure which comprises the central feature of the window:

"Bust and skirt form secured from a dry-goods store; skirt made of chamois; bust covered with a shirt waist; sleeves stuffed and then covered with chamois; rubber gloves on the hands; one hand made to carry a sponge bag in which was tucked a Japanese paper napkin; red chamois collar; ear sponge for a stick pin; sponge face; raised sponge for nose; pink cotton for lips, drawn back in the mouth; jute for hair; artificial eyes; a few small sponges sewed on an 'elephant's ear' for the hat, with black pompon of ribbon stuck in; bunch of artificial violets on the breast."

Mr. Todd informs us that this beautiful specimen of the fair sex attracted a great deal of attention as the bright particular star of a sponge window during the first week of her existence. Then she was taken out and given a rest for a week, after which she was brought back and-quoting Mr. Todd again-"made to 'holler' for Vinol." She is seen doing this "hollering" in the accompanying illustration.