Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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:S' 4 Ten Thousand Churches jnrtba United dtutes have u««d the Longman & Martinez Pure Paints. Every Church will be given a liberal quantity whenever they paint Don’t pay $1. 50 a gallon (or Linseed oil (worth <50 cents) which you do when you buy thin paint ic a can with a paint label on it. 8 to G make J4 therefore when you Want fourteen gallons of paint, buy only eight gallons of L & M., and mix Six gallons of pure linseed oil with it. „You need only four gallons of L & Bl, Paint, and three gallons of Oil mixed therewith to paint a good siznd house. Houses painted with these paints never grow shabby, even after 18 years. These celebrated paints are sold by our agents, Smith;.Hard ware Co . <3affnev ; Cole <fe Turner, Blacksburg. TALMAGE SERMON W By Rev. PRANK DE WITT TALMAGE. D.D., Pastor of Jefferson Park Presby terian Church, Chicago Whether a man is too tired to go to the theatre when he comes hom j from work depends on whether it is with his own family. CANCER CL'KKD l»V Itl.OOl) BALM. Aik SklujHiid ltloo(t]Uiseasei»{al8o cured. Mrs. M. L. Adams, Fredouia, Ala., took Botanic Blood Balm, which ef fectually cured an eating cancer of the nose and face. The sores healed up perfectly. Many doctors had given up her case as hopeless. Hun' dreds of cases of cancer, eating sores, suppurating swellings, etc., have been cured by Blood Balm. Amoug others, Mrs. B. M. Guerney, Warrior Stand, Ala. Her nose and lip wer*- raw as beef, with olTensive discharge from the eating sore. Doctors ad vised cutting, but it failed. Blood Balm healed the sores, and Mrs Guerney is as well as ever. Botanic Blood Balm also cures eczema, itch ing humors, scabs and scales, bone pains, ulcers, offensive pi.mplos, blood poison, carbuncles, scrofula, risings and bumps on the skin and all blood troubles. Improves the di gestion, strengthens weak kidneys. Druggists, $1 per bottle, with com plete directions for home cure. Sample free and prepaid by writing Blood Balm Co., Atlanta, Ga. De scribe trouble and special medical advice sent in sealed letter. The man who is unable to get credit doesn’t have to dodge up an alley when he sees a bill collector coming. •£21 J 'Tlie Pleasure of Eating.? ^Persons suffering from indigestion, dyspepsia or other stomach trouble will lind that Kodol Dyspepsia Cure digests what you eat and makes the stomach sweet. This remedy is a never failing cure for Indigestion and Dyspepsia and all complaints affect ing the glands or membranes of the stomach or digestive tract. When you take Ivodol Dyspepsia Cure every- represents God as telling them to thing you eat tastes good, and every bit of the nutriment that your food contains is assimilated and appropri ated by the blood and tissues. 8old by Cherokee Drug Co. A girl who is being hugged for the first time acts like she was afraid it might never happen again. The reason why Hancock’s Liquid come Sulphur should be in evtry house, it is endorsed and prescribed by the leading physicians, for such diseases as Eczema, Pimples, Ringworm, Salt Rheum, Dandruff, Diphtheria, Sore Throat, Cuts, Burns, Open Sores, and all blood and skin troubles. No home should be without it. For sale by the Cherokee Drug Co. The earlyjworm gets caught as ret ribution for.wakiog up everybody else in the house. 3 prfirg Doctors Coulil not llel)> ilrr. “I had kidney trouble for years," writes Mrs. Raymond Conner, of Shelton, W’ash., "and the doctors could not help me. I tried Foley’s Kidney Cure, and the very first dose gave m* 1 relief and I am now cured. I cannot say too much for Foley’s Kid ney Cure.” Cherokee Drug Co. If beauty were taxable the fair sex would never try to dodge t he assessor. Foley’s Honey and Tar is peculiarly adapted for chronic throat troubles and will positively cure bronchitis, hoarseness and all bronchial diseases. Refuse substitutes. Cherokee Drug Co. FOR Up-to-Date Job.Print- ing, call at the LEDGER Office. Gaffney, S. C. “OSS’* Early Risers The famous little pills* fOimKlDNEYCURE Hakes Kidneys and Bladder Right FOlEnHONET^IAR ftrnhUdrmmi eofe, enm» Be •plmtm Chicago, Sept. -7. — Amid the dis tractions and temptations of modern life this sermon utters a warning cry, a timely call for a return to the simple ways and upright, honorable, Chris tian lives. The text is Jeremiah vi, 10. “Ask for the old paths.” Most simple is the text's figure. Its simplicity gives it a homely beauty. It has in it the aroma of the woods. It is one of those simple similes of coun try life that bring back to the weary ! city dweller, whose feet have been long accustomed to the hard paving stones ; of the city sidewalks, the memory of the footpaths over turf covered hills and the narrow lanes between the banks bejeweled with sweet wild flow ers that lie used to walk in bis child hood days. The old paths—we can never forget them. It will do us good if we think of them this morning and see if there are any moral lessons we j can learn from them. Sometimes the commonest incidents of everyday life have a voice for those who will hear, j Jean Francois Millet is everywhere rankl'd among the most famous artists.. He taught, however, his greatest les son by painting two ordinary every day French peasants bending over their hoes in the center of a country field in an attitude of prayer. The “Angelas,” immortalized by Millet, was rung from a village church spire. Ills worshipers were those who once lived in a humble poor man’s home. Robert Burns was the sweetest bard old Scotland ever cradled among the wild flowers of Ayr and lullabied to sleep by the murmuring waters of the “Bonnie Doom” Yet, with the hand of a master, he played upon the silver chords of the grand old instrument of human love by singing one of his sweetest songs about a mouse’s nest. 1 , the death of a four legged dumb brute Burns loosened the silent tongues of many a songster and songstress who have blended their voices in a chorus of praise at the sacred altars of domes tic happiness. Jeremiah, among the greatest of the prophets, lamenting that bis countrymen had deserted their God and disobeyed his laws, pleads with them to avert the impending pun ishment by returning to him, and he employs this simple figure to portray their condition. He describes them as travelers lost upon the mountains of sin, hunting for a path which will lead them out of their moral difficulties. He ask for the old paths, which is the good way, and walk therein, and ye shall find rest for your souls. But they said. “We will not walk therein.” Jeremiah points the right path leading to the throne of God by using the homely simile of the ordinary country paths or rough roadways in common use at the time, over which the eastern cara vans have traveled and the cows have home for the evening milking and over which have passed tired men and women when, with daily tasks well done, they have sought the homo fire sides for | hysical refreshment and for blessed sleep. The- I'nthwuy to the Cros*. Like Jeremiah, I would today carry your thoughts back to the reminiscen ces of the country and from the sweet, fresh flowers of the village hedgerows pluck blossoms which will remind you of old time associations and resolves. The greatest of horticulturists is not tlie gardener who fashions ids beds in the “many colors” of a Joseph’s coat or a grandmother’s crazy quilt. It is be who makes ids floral designs simple- very simple. One bed looks as though it were a bit of Alpine lake flung among the crowded regiments of flow ers. It is planted entirely with violets. It looks as simple and yet as beautiful as the June heavens colored in blue. Another lied looks like a great collec tion of leaping flames. It is planted only in roses. It is very simple. It is as simple in colors as a cardinal’s robe. It is as simple in colors as the setting sun. Another bed has the jaundiced look of a Malay’s skin. It is only planted in golden glows. Another will be an azalea bed, another a dahlia, an other planted in white lilies, another in geraniums. The horticulturistic genius thrives best in the simplicity of colors. From tins sermonlc bed I would pluck only the sweet forgetmenots of tender memories. Like Jeremiah the prophet I would try to lead you over some of the old paths which your feet have trodden in the past, and in the leading I would lead you to the foot of the cross. The old path which wound its way toward the old homestead is the first one I would bid you to seek. That path by the side of which was once builded your father’s and mother’s nursery is today iu all probability cov ered up with underbrush. Here it is blocked by the rotting trunk of a tree which has fallen sideways. There it has been scooped out by a freshet and yonder covered up with a landslide. It looks a great deal like one of those old deserted log roads wldeh once wound their way through the woods toward the town. After the new highway or pike was opened the farmers and the farmers’ wives always went the other way to market. The result Is that the small bushes and the weeds have be gun to grow over that path which led to your mother’s nursery. It has long been untrodden by any human foot. Five, ten. fifteen, twenty, thirty years! What? What? Have your mother and father been dead as long as that? My. my. how time does go! No wonder you have forgotten a great deal about your mother and her ways. t rlenr Awny Hie HuIiMmIi. But, come, let us take our axes to day and clear away some of that rub- bisli. Let us explore the old patli which once led up to the old home stead. When the first settlers entered the Michigan woods they used to “blaze” the trees. That means that with their axes they would chop a notch out of this tree and that and the other tree as they went along. Thus, if they could not find the right place to settle in one direction, they would retrace their steps by these notches and start i out in the woods from another direc- ! tion. Well, those old paths which once 1 led up to the homes of our childhood ! may not have been used for a quarter | of a century, but they can be easily | followed. Our parents “blazed” them all the way along. As I follow these “blazings” I find they were morally straight paths. They were as straight as a die. Your father may not have had ranch money. In all probability you. as a farmer’s boy, re member him for the most part clothed In overalls and a woolen shirt. But under that rough exterior there beat a heart as true as honesty Itself. Look ing back over the long years, you re member him traveling that “straight path.” You cannot think of one act your father ever did which was dis honorable. People sometimes said “he was close” in reference to money. He had to ho close in order to furnish bread enough for his babies’ mouths. You cannot remember your father once losing his temper and uttering male dictions unless perhaps it was on the day when he found that a neighbor, who was left an executor by law, bad robbed a poor widow of her all. Ah. that old father of yours may have worn shabby clothes and may have been poor in pocket, but he was rich in character. The path be traveled to and from the old homestead was al ways a “straight path.” Though the “last will and testament” which he signed made provision for a few trin kets, a Bible and a gold beaded cane, and perhaps a snuffbox, that father left you the grandest legacy a boy ever received. He left to you an un tarnished name, the example of a father’s life well and honestly lived. Eyon as I speak now and talk about his past life a blush mantles your cheek. When you contrast bis pure life with yours and you remember some of the mean, sneaking things you are accustomed to do in your dealings with your fellow men, you say: “I wish I had always followed in the foot steps of my father. I wish I had al ways followed in his straight path.” Why don’t you, my brother? Why don’t you now? Are the thickets too strong about you? Are the jungles of sin too dense? God is tolling you to day to seek the old paths. Ask for the old path, the straight path, the honest path, which your father once trod. Seek it now! “lilMziiiK'” Marks. Then, again, I further study the “blazing” marks along the paths which led up to the home of our childhood. I find out that these paths were Chris tian paths and always led toward the throne of God. How do I know? Sim ple enough. Let me illustrate: When I was in Europe I always, as far as possible, got away from the beaten tracks of tourists. I never could see what enjoyment there was for a sum mer tourist to go to Baris and live with Americans in an American hotel, and go to Rome and live with Ameri cans in a hotel run there for Amer icans, and go to Berlin and live with Americans in Berlin. When I go to Europe as far as possible I live there among the natives, and for the most part among the common people. Now. again and again, when I have turned my hack upon European cities and climbed the unfrequented paths which lead over the mountains, I have been startled with finding here a cross and there an altar. I would find these crosses and altars far, far away from any house or church. Then, as I have concealed myself among the trees am! waited, I have seen weary peasant:- come along with great big packs strap ped to their shoulders. Then I have seen them stop and look around to see if any one was watching. Then I hav» seen them unstrap their burdens an lay them at the feet of the image c Christ and then and there kneel in prayer. Well, my friend, in goinj. along the pathway which was “blazed by your mother’s bread knife and kni: ting needle, I come upon altars every where. I find that there was hardly step that she took in life hut she had place where she could stop and kne> in prayer. And at every altar I flm indentations in the rocks where she laid her burdens at the Saviour’s feet. And. oh, my friend, what a lot of burdens she had to lay upon her Sa viour’s breast in her Journey of life! There was that awful burden of phys ical sickness. I do not know how you may remember your mother, but most of us think of mother when she was physically sick. She seemed to be so long dying. Now it was the pain in the head; now it was the disordered nerves. Then it was that long, long time, when we had a trained nurse. “How Is mother today?” the younger children would ask, and we would an swer, ‘‘Not very well, my dear; not very well.” I think one of the sad dest and yet the most beautiful pray ers my mother used to make. In the last year and a half of her earthly ex istence, was tjiis: "O God, may my children never have to physically suf fer as I have suffered.” Yet, for the most part, our mothers lost their phys ical health by living and doing for us. A Glorified Roadway. I go a little farther along this Chris tian path of your dead mother. I find also the place where she laid at Christ’s feet the burden of her anxiety for the salvation of her children. 8ome people love to think of their mother, first by picturing her sitting and sewing for their advent. It is a beautiful sight to see the young wife by the evening lump, with her needle in her hand, making the little white garments for the stranger soon to come. Our moth ers thought and planned for the cradle and the little wardrobe weeks before we wore born. They did it so that when they should lie down upon a bed of suffering pH might be well for the little one’s welcome. That is a beauti ful vision. But, oh, to me It is a far more beautiful sight to see a young wife upon her knees in prayer. To think of her praying to God that l^r I unborn child might grow up to be a good man, a good woman. And you, my friend, sitting before me, from that moment when your mother first prayed for you until her death she never left that altar before which she was con tinually beseeching God for the salva tion of your soul. Along that Chris tian pathway she first led your totter ing feet. In that Christian pathway she first taught you to utter the baby prayer, “Now I lay me down to sleep.” In that Christian path she gave you her dying benediction. Will you not seek the old path, the Christian path of your glorified and sainted mother? It is a path covered with wild flowers and fragrant with perfume. Those flowers and that pathway have been watered with your mother’s tears. But there is another path to which I would call your attention today. It is that which you once traveled when go ing to Sunday school and to the church of your childhood. If that church was in the country, then there was poetry in your going. When the call of the village bell rang those notes would press their way through the atmos phere like bubbles of air working their way up from the bottom of a stream. They would come nearer and nearer to your ear, as the bubbles come nearer and nearer to the surface of the wa ters. Then with a happy laugh they would seem to burst. You would first hear those notes when you would be riding toward the town. Father and mother, brothers and sisters would all be crowded together in the one car riage. My. there was a big load of you who used to travel that road! No won der the big springs of that family ve hicle used to bend and groan and creak under the heaviness of the load. Walking: With Christ. If the path which you first traveled to Sunday school was along the side walk of a city, then In all probability you walked. You walked by the side of your father^or mother, because you were the youngest. Then your new shoes would squeak at every step. Those shoos kept new for a long while, because you were only allowed to wear them on Sunday. But as you rode or walked to that Sunday school and to your first church services a great change came over your family party One of your sisters or brothers left your side and went up to the church al tar. One by one they there gave their hearts to rhr.ist and publicly confessed him at the communion table. After awhile your turn came. You can see yourself now as you came before the church session. You remember how the old minister wiped his glasses. He put his hand upon your shoulder and said: “My boy, why do you want to join the church? Do you love Jesus? Will you promise to live for him and give your life to his service?” Then you remember the great big lump that stuck in your throat. You remember how between your sobs you said: “The reason I want to be a Christian is bo cause my father and mother and broth ers and sisters are all Christians. 1 want their Saviour to be mine. As we Ifave a united family here I want an unbroken family circle in heaven.’' Aged, gray haired man, that was . beautiful path over which you went to church for the first time. That was a holy drive you took on the morning you went to take your first communion. You did not speak much that morning, but your thoughts were very deep and very high. They were as deep as your sins, as high and as great as the forgiveness of God. Oh, why have you not always kept walking in that path? Christ walked with you then’ twenty years ago. Jesus as guide L ready to lead you back to that patl and walk with you there now. Wil you seek the old path—the path over which you went for the first time to the communion table of the Lord? IliKliway of UloHMomH. There is siill another path which yo. once trod. This path is fragrant with blossoms. Like the fabled trees of old, the heavy bfauches which Hue it are laden with silver bells'. It is the patl which once led up to your marriage u! tar. It is the path over whjch the fall en rice Is strewn and where the merry laughter of the bridesmaids Is tryiug to drown the joyful salutations of the wedding chimes. The blossoms which line this pathway are orange blossoms. The silver bells are those which once played Mendelssohn’s ‘‘Wedding March.” Where did that path which ended at the marriage altar first lead you? “Oh,” you answer, “it led me first among the briers and over the stony grounds. My courtship days were not all sunshine. For a long time I did not know whether I could win the hand of my heart love. In the first place, I was not socially her equal. Then I was penniless and had nothing to offer but my two hands and a will ing heart. Then my life was not what it ought to have been. But she had faith in me. I promised her to reform. I went to church with her. I gave up drinking, and I promised her I would surrender my heart to Christ. And, do you know, the night she gave herself to me she made me kneel with her and we both made a prayer that God would hear and help me keep my vows.” Ah. yes, my brother, I know just how you feel when you think of that old patli which led up to your marriage altar! When you took the trembling band of that young girl in yours you truly felt that you wanted to fce good. You promised God, then and there, for her sake as well us your own, to live a good, true, pure, noble, Christian life. 1 Have you kept your vow? Are you willing to go to church with her now as you did when you were engaged to her? Are you helping her to set the right example before your children— your children and hers? Remember, ; man, you made a promise to her and to God on the night of your wedding. Will you seek the old path of conse- ! crated love, which wound through the days of your courtship and ended on the night you took your heart love as a bride frmn her father’s home? Keep Your Pledees. But there is still one more path 1 want you to seek. That is the one which led down by the cradle of your children. When your first child was born, if you had the least spark of manhood in your makeup, you wanted to be a good man for your baby’s sake. Even the lowest form of human being feels the uplifting power when a child is born to him. In the graveyard of Henniker, N. II., can be found a tomb stone with the name, “Mary, wife of Thomas Wallace,” chiseled upon it. The history of that name is this: In June, 1720, a ship was sailing across the Atlantic. It was attacked and boarded by pirates. The crew was strapped to the masts, preparatory to being thrown overboard and drowned. , Just before the wholesale murder was to take place the captain of the pirates found in a stateroom a woman by the name of Mrs. James Wilson, with a newborn baby lying by her side. He instantly asked her, "Is it a boy or a girl?” "A girl,” was the answer. “Will you let me name her?” the rough pirate asked. "If you will I will unstrap your husband’s crew and let your ship go free.” "Yes,” was the answer. fThen,” said he, “I name her Mary.” Mary Wilson grew up to be an old wo man and died at the age of ninety-four years as Mrs. Mary Wallace and was buried in the little graveyard at Heu- niker. As that pirate in all probability saved that crew on account of the memory of his own little daughter, so the birth of every firstborn child makes almost every father pledge him- eelf to God to be a better and purer man and a noble Christian. Have you kept the vow you made when your first baby was born? Besides that, my brother, have you also tried to follow out that pledge you made to God iu the night when your baby was very sick? You well remem ber the grave faces of the physicians. You well remember how you knelt by the crib and said, “O God. if you will make my baby well 1 pledge to you my future life.” You well remember the pledge you made to God ou the night your baby died. Nearly every one of us has had a child’s death in our family. Have you kept that pledge? Have you kept the pledge you made to God on the old path which once led down to the cradles of your living children and uow also leads down to the graves of your dead ba bies ? The Way to IlaitpineiiB. But how are you going to find your way back to these old paths? Some of you have been away from these paths for many years. You are lost, com pletely lost. You will never find your way out from the mountains of sin unless yon have a divine guide. The importance of a guide to one lost in the mountains of earth or of sin can never be overestimated. I remember, some years ago, when bicycling through the mountains of West Virginia, we were completely lost. We wandered around and around until the sun sank and the twilight covered up her somber face with a black robe and bid herself in total darkness. We groped our way along, shuddering at the fiendish yell of a screech owl and the glittering eyes that might be those of a prowling pan ther. After awhile we saw a dim light in the distance. We struggled on until we could knock at that house and be taken in. Then in the morning we were safe because our host, as a guide, directed us on. Today, ye lost and wearied sinners, Christ is ready t< be your guide. He will lead you out of the mountains of siu. He will lead you to the old paths which are all con verging into the one Christian path that leads to the foot of the heavenly throne. Will you let him lead you? Will you let him pardon you? Will you let Jesus save you? May the old paths of Christian love today become to you the new paths of Christian service. We have read that, in 181)2, a party of men were encamped upon the battlefield of Bea Ridge, in northern Arkansas. While they were cooking their supper by the camp fire they exploded a buried twelve pound Parrott cannon shell which had been fired there out of a Federal gun on June 12. 18G2, thirty years before. Would that this sermon, like that bur led shell, might have an explosive pow er. May It awaken all the sweet and holy memories of the past—memories twenty, thirty, forty and even fifty years old—and start each one into a new Christian life. “Stand in the way and see and ask for the old paths! The old paths!” (Copyright, 1903, by Louis Klopsch.] Thousands Have Kidney Trouble and Don’t Know it. How To Find Oat. Fill a bottle or common glass with your water and let it stand twenty-four hours: a sediment or set tling Indicates an i—-73, unhealthy condi- CyV tion of the kid- \ neys; if it stains your linen it fs evidence of kid ney trouble; too f-equent desire to pass it or pain in the back is also convincing proof that the kidneys and blad der are out of order. What to Do. There is comfort in the knowledge so often expressed, that Dr. Kilmer's Swamp- Root, the great kidney remedy fulfills every wish in curing rheumatism, pain In the back, kidneys, liver, bladder and every part of the urinary passage. It corrects inability to hold water and scalding pain in passing it, or bad effects following use of liquor, wine or beer, and overcomes that unpleasant necessity of being compelled to go often during the day, and to get up many times during the night. The mild ?nd the extra ordinary effect of Swamp-^oot is soon realized. It stands the highest for its won derful cures of the most distressing cases. If you need a medicine you should have the best. Sold by druggists in 50c. and$l. sizes. You may have a sample bottle of this wonderful discovery and a book that tellsi more about it, both sentj absolutely free by mail, address Dr. Kilmer & Home of Swamp-Root. Co., Binghamton, N. Y. When writing men tion reading this generous offer in this paper. THE UP-TO-DATE MARKET. The place to get your fresh meats of all kinds is at L. W. McGuinn’s Up-to-date Market, cut by old experienced hands. No trouble to have something good to eat. Round Steaks, Loin Steaks, Sur- hon Steaks, Porterhouse Steaks, Rump Roast, Clod Roast, Round Roast, good fat Stew Reef and good Sausage, fine ground; fresh Fish on Fridays and Sat urdays, straight from the water. Fresh Country "Produce and Vegetables daily; Heavy and Fancy Froceries, Confection eries, and Tobacco. Goods delivered ! promptly and on time—all meats guaran teed good, not tainted or spoiled. Come or call Phone No. 60, Burnett Block. L. W. McGUINN. KIDNEY DISEASES ■ aa ■ :—1 .jq are the most fatal of all dis eases. Cm C V’Q kidney cube it t iULli O Guaranteed Remedy or money refunded. Contains remedies recognized by emi nent physicians as the best for Kidney and Bladder troubles. PRICE 50c. and $1.00. Sour StomacH No appetite, loss of strength, nervous* ness, headache, constipation, bad breath, general debility, sour risings, and catarrh of the stomach are all due to indigestion. Kodol cures indigestion. This new discovery repre sents the natural juices of digestion as they exist In a healthy stomach, combined with the greatest known tonic and reconstructive properties. Kodol Dyspepsia Cure does not only cure Indigestion and dyspepsia, but this famous remedy cures all stomach troubles by cleansing, purifying, sweetening and strengthening the mucous membranes lining the stomach. „ Mr. S. S. Ball, of Ravenswood, W. Va„ Mys:— 1 was troubled with sour stomach for twenty years. Kodol cured me and we are now using It In mlb for baby.’’ Kodol Digests What You Eat. Bottles only. $1.00 Size holding 2H times the trial size, which sells for 50 cents. •repared by r c. DeWITT & CO„ OHIOAQO Kor salf !>y Cheiokoe Drug Company. A Modest Giver. Abram S. Hewitt alone knew who gave $250,000 to New York’s Cooper Union last year, and very likely no one else ever will know. The story as he told it was that after Mr. Carnegie’s gift of $000,000 he was wondering where the next $300,000 should come from when “a gentleman whom I have long known, who had never manifested any special Interest in Cooper Union, called at my house” and after a chat and a cup of tea said, “By the way, I have got something for you, a little gift for Cooper Union,” “and to my in tense astonishment he handed me $250,- 000.” It was a certified check on a trust company. Mr. Hewett turned it over to the corporation and never told any one who the modest giver was. The most brilliant gem that was ever taken from the earth would not amount to much if there were no peo ple to appreciate its beauty and to vie with each other for its possession. The most spacious store, the most carefully selected stock of goods, the clever est corps of clerks will not avail unless people know about them. Knowledge of such things is spread in various ways. A passerby may drop in and be impressed. He may tell his neighbor, and he in turn may tell somebody else. That is one way, and there are some merchants who today think it is good enough. Modern develop ment, however, has sup plied in newspapers the best means. They go into ev ery home in the land, how ever humble, however mag nificent. Through them all of the information can be supplied, not to one, but to thousands. Are you using this paper to the beat advantage?