222 AT THE SIGN OF THE STOCK YARD INN 



down in the very heart of the new ! A fascinating 

 memento of an age when men had time to think, and 

 cultivate the arts of friendly intercourse, the Inn 

 looks calmly down upon the rush and roar of city 

 rails and motors, and bids the breathless pause and 

 find perspective. 



A wall 220 feet in length is presented to the city 

 street, but a generous passageway admits man and 

 beast and vehicle of whatever kind through a modi- 

 fied type of the old-fashioned Scottish wynd into a 

 quiet court. Over the main entrance is the porte- 

 cochere that graced the old Guild House of the 

 ancient city of Hereford. In the southwest wing you 

 see the front of a fine old Yorkshire manor house 

 woven into the long and beautiful facade. At still 

 another point may be made out the lines of what was 

 once JOHN HARVARD'S home. Stop and study it. You 

 have only just left the whirl of metropolitan life out- 

 side the wall, and instantly you have come upon a 

 scene whose dominant note is peace and real repose. 

 You feel yourself suddenly halted in your accustomed 

 race; and if at all responsive to the picture, you will 

 presently begin to feel something in the nature of a 

 benediction. The slings and arrows of today are 

 flying only beyond the gates. 



Practically all of our most widely -distributed 



