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This is an age of prescriptions. Morning after morning, from the back- page of your newspaper, quick and uncostly cures for every human ill thrust themselves wildly on you. The age of miracles is not past. But I would raise no false hopes of myself. I am no thaumaturgist. Do you awake with a sinking sensation in the stomach? Have you lost the power of assimilating food? Are you oppressed with an indescribable lassitude? Can you no longer follow the simplest train of thought? Are you troubled throughout the night with a hacking cough? Are you--in fine, are you but a tissue of all the most painful symptoms of all the most malignant maladies ancient and modern? If so, skip this essay, and try Somebody‘s Elixir. The cure that I offer is but a cure for overwrought nerves--a substitute for the ordinary `rest-cure.‘ Nor is it absurdly cheap. Nor is it instant. It will take a week or so of your time. But then, the `rest-cure‘ takes at least a month. The scale of payment for board an

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