SPECIFIC 
THE RED RIVER VOYAGEUR. 
J 5 T JOHN O. WHITTIER. 
Out and in the river is winding, 
The links of its long red chain, 
Through the belts of dusky pine-land. 
And gusty leagues of plain. 
Only, at times, a smoke wreath, 
With the drifting cloud-rack join*. 
The smoke of the hunting-lodgcB 
Of the wild Assiniboins 1 
Drearily blows the north wind 
From the land of ice and snow; 
The eyes that look are weary, 
And heavy the hands that row. 
And, with one foot on the water, 
And one upon the shore, 
The Angel of shadow gives w'arning 
That day shall be no more. 
Is it the clang of the wild geese? 
Is it the Indian’s yell 
That lends to the voice of the north wind 
The tones of a far off bell ? 
The voyageur smiles as he listens 
To the sound that grows apace ; 
Well he knows the vesper ringing 
Of the bells of St. Boniface. 
The bells of the Roman Mission 
That call from their turrets tw’ain 
To the boatmen on the river, 
To the hunter on the plain ! 
Even so in our mortal journey, 
The bitter north winds blow, 
And thus upon life’s lied River, 
Our hearts, as oarsmen, row. 
And when the Angel of Shadow 
Rests his feet on wave and shore, 
And our eyes grow dim with watching, 
And our hearts faint at the oar, 
Happy is ho who hearcth 
The signal of his release, 
In the bells of the Holy City, 
The chimes of eternal peace 1 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
A CURE FOR THE HEART-ACHE. 
BY CAROLINE A. HOWARD. 
[Concluded from page 110, last number.] 
She came home every Saturday, bringing cheer¬ 
fulness and comfort with her. I could see that 
she denied herself everything, but what decency 
required, that all her earnings might go to the sup¬ 
port of her family. She never complained, never 
repined in their presence; in fact, not at all, though 
to me she npukc fiecD ot the trials and anxieties oi 
her position, always careful, too, to set forth its 
advantages. At home she lent a ready and sympa¬ 
thizing ear to all the grievances of the week, and 
they were often enough to cloud and dampen even 
lighter spirits than hers. Her mother was, I think, 
rather selfish, and inclined to look on the dai k side. 
I do not think she considered the exertions that her 
child made for their welfare as she ought. Because 
Marie strove to be cheerful, and told them always 
of the sunniest side of her life, her mother thought 
she must be happy, and that she did not bear so 
great a burden after all,—indeed, she thought the 
burden rested heaviest on her own shoulders. 
Lizzette, too, always of an impulsive and impet¬ 
uous temperament, never fond of work or study, 
and disliking restraint of all kinds, would listen to 
Marie’s account of how the days passed with her, 
(always interspersed with all the pleasing incidents 
which she could remember, to divert them from 
their cares,) and would sigh sometimes, or petu¬ 
lantly exclaim, 
“0, whbt nice times you have! Indeed, I think 
you lead a much easier life of it than I, who must 
stay pent up at home, doing nothing of any impor¬ 
tance. If I only lived in the city we’d see!” 
Marietta made few acquaintances in the city, the 
lady with whom she boarded being almost the only 
one whom she regarded as a friend. There were 
three schools in the building in which she taught, 
hers being the youngest. The largest was taught 
by a young man named Dudley Hall. Marie had 
met with him frequently in his capacity of princi¬ 
pal of the schools, and gradually a more social 
acquaintance sprang up between them. She found 
him a most intelligent and interesting companion, 
and a recess never passed so quickly as when he 
spent it at her desk. He was very fine-looking, 
frank and sensible in conversation. His scholars 
almost worshiped him. 
He seemed to like Marie from the first, and it 
made them more easy and more agreeable to each 
other, that they boarded at the same house. So 
they generally walked to and from school together. 
Was there a concert or lecture which he thought 
particularly interesting or profitable, he generally 
asked the favor of her company. Did it rain before 
school was done, he was sure to send one of the 
boys for her rubbers, and then accompany her home 
under his umbrella. 
All this came about after a while, for Marie was 
at first reserved and shy, and even proud at times. 
With the sensitiveness natural to refined poverty, 
she shrank from receiving attentions from those 
who she felt could only be prompted by motives of 
pity or generosity; for she firmly believed that in 
herself she possessed no attractions whatever. 
I seldom spoke to her on such subjects as love 
and marriage, for I felt that to a disposition like 
hers it would be injurious. She had such a loving 
heart, such acravingforsympathy,thatifunsatisfied 
often turns to bitterness. To any hint of mine she 
generally replied, “ 0, Fanny, that is not for me. 
Ho one will ever want me, or if they did, they will 
not want my family, to whom, henceforth, my life 
must be devoted.” Or, it would be, “ Pshaw!— 
Fanny, you are partial and blind, too, I fear. Who 
but you can see either virtues or charms in the 
poor, plain schoolmistress, who is never young or 
gay?” 
But in this evidence of penetration, I certainly 
was not alone, though Marie did not or w'ould not 
see that for the kind and daily increasing regard of 
Dudley Hall, she was indebted to nothing but her¬ 
self for he knew no more about her than just what 
she’appeared day after day, the quiet little schooi- 
^Shtfhad known him nearly all of her first term 
before she mentioned him at home otherwise than 
as ‘‘the principal, Mr. Hall.” By-and-by she 
spoke of him more frequently and dwelt with appa¬ 
rent pleasure upon his kindness to her.. 
The summer vacation came, and with it came 
Marie, looking rather pale and worn. But she said 
she was perfectly well and seemed more cheerful 
than since her father died. She worked most 
industriously, neither sparing her money nor her 
labor in making her family comfortable. She 
seemed uneasy, however, and said she longed to go 
back to school, she liked it so much, and then it 
seemed like idling, to be at home six long weeks. 
I said nothing,But I half mistrusted that she had 
a weightier reason still. She had told me many 
things trifles in themselves, but which I thought 
accounted quite satisfactorily for her life in the city 
being pleasanter than at home. I noticed, too, that 
in making up the few things which she had pur¬ 
chased for herself out of her slender income, that 
there was more taste than usual displayed, and a 
few more genteel articles—such as a worked collar, 
a belt ribbon or two,—were added to her store, 
thino-s for which till now she never seemed to care. 
She Tiad always dressed with almost Quaker plain¬ 
ness, and often generously gave up all such little 
feminine ornaments to the pretty Lizzette for 
whom she thought them more suitable. 
We wrote to each other occasionally, and some¬ 
how the name of Dudley Hall became, ere long, 
as much associated with the letters as the date and 
signature. She told me nothing of her hopes or 
thoughts,—she only stilted the occurrences of her 
daily 5 life and left me to draw my own conclusions. 
The conclusion that I drew was this,— and I have 
never retracted it,— that Mr. Hall was very rapidly 
discovering in my little woman those admirable 
qualities which I'knew her to possess, and that 
there was dawning upon his mind the idea that 
it would be a pleasant thing to possess her, quali¬ 
ties and all. 
At Christmas time there was a vacation of two 
weeks, when Mr. Hall returned to his home and 
Marietta to hers. One day during the first week 
she came to see me, and on my inquiring for Mr. 
Hall, she drew a letter from her pocket and told 
me I might read it. It was a kind, manly-toned 
letter, such as a good brother might write to an ab¬ 
sent sister, except that there was in one or two 
paragraphs a depth of meaning that seemed almost 
tenderness. He alluded to his pleasant home, which 
was lonely, as he had no sister, and often missed 
their cosy chats in her school-room. In conclusion 
he asked if he might not call upon her in her own 
home before school resumed. 
“ And what shall you tell him ?” said I. 
“ That I should be happy to see him, certainly, if 
he wishes to come. That my mother and sister 
would welcome a friend who had been so kind to 
me. That my home is a very, very humble one, 
more so than he has ever bad any idea of,—that he 
might not afterwards be as well pleased to have met 
Miss Ruisseau at home, as at her school-room or at 
Mrs. Weston’s pleasant boarding house—neverthe¬ 
less she would be glad to see him at any time.” 
And she told him so immediately. An answer 
came in the person of Mr. Hall himself, who, 
towards the close of the next week, was domiciled 
at the house of our good friend Dr. Aiken, with 
whom he was acquainted. 
He spent Friday evening with Marie at home— 
on Saturday she went to ride with him to view the 
surroundings of our pretty village, he said, and in 
the evening they came and passed an hour or two 
with me. I liked him much, his appearance was 
very prepossessing, and what pleased me most was, 
that. t thought I saw urnnlstakabte si<;n» of Ki« 
preference for Marie. He attended her to church 
on Sunday, to the wonder of Mrs. Grundy and 
others, and on Monday they returned to the city to¬ 
gether, both apparently satisfied with the visit. 
I had never seen Marie look so well. She told 
me with pride, how he had lectured her for not 
knowing him better than to suppose that if he liked 
her, her circumstances would make any difference 
to him. How he had been just as gentlemanly to 
her mother as if she were the finest lady in the 
world, and what a social, merry friend Lizzette 
thought him. “And he thinks Lizzette is beauti¬ 
ful—he told me so! He called her a little wild 
flower. I knew he would like her.” 
With the constant tax on body and brain, Marie 
had now almost lost the roses which were wont to 
bloom on her cheeks. She called herself well, but 
in March she sent for Lizzette to come and help 
her a few days in her school, saying if she got 
through the week she should be well by Monday. 
Lizzette went, butby Monday M arie was too feeble 
to return, and Lizzette changed places with her. 
She had become somewhat initiated already, and 
Marie wrote a note to Mr. Hall asking him to 
assist Lizzette in maintaining good order until her 
return. She was a harum-scarum young thing, and 
needed a good deal of help to make up for her want 
of dignity. I suppose Mr. Hall thought so, for he 
was very considerate. 
Marie was sick three weeks, scarcely able to hold 
up her head. I was with her a good deal, and she 
talked about Mr. Hall continually when we were 
alone. He had sent her boquets of hot-house flow¬ 
ers and two bottles of old wine. He constantly 
inquired after her, and had written once or twice 
in his brotherly way. 
Once he came home with Lizzette on Saturday 
and spent Sunday with the Doctor. We all thought 
him kind.' I thought him devoted, but I was 
young then. 
At length Marie resumed her laborious duties 
and the days went by much as before. I cannot 
linger over the gradual development of an event 
which drew nigh so imperceptibly that Marie 
never lieededitsapproach. Duringthat Summer’s 
vacation Marie went with me to visit my aunt at 
-Springs. We thought it would do her good, 
so we would take no denial. She heard frequently 
from home, and in one of her letters Lizzette said, 
“Who do you think has been in this neighborhood 
for more than a week past V Why, Dudley Hall ' 
He spends his time mostly in hunting and fishing- 
and has dropped in to see us several times.” 
We had a delightful visit, and Marie returned 
refreshed and recruited in every respect. Lizzette 
had told her that she longed for her return, as 
she had something important to tell her, and she 
scarcely waited to be alone with her, ere, with tears 
of mingled happiness and embarrassment, she 
told her that she had promised to be Dudley’s wife, 
Marie did not say one word till she had finished 
She saw it all at a glance,—then telling her sister 
oh, so coolly and calmly, that she was tired and 
would talk by-and-by, she put her gently from the 
room and locked the door. 
You are a woman,—perhaps you can imagine the 
agony of that one hour during which no eye save 
the All-Seeing might read the poor, bruised heart 
But it was all past when Marie came down to tea 
pale as the wind-flower, but quiet and collected 
They thought her only tired, and when the eager 
children gathered around to hear of her visit, and 
she put them aside with a kiss, and “ not to-night, 
darlings,” her mother said, 
“Marie is not so strong as she used to be, I am 
afraid her journey has not helped her much.” 
“0, yes, mother! You can’t tell how much 
stronger I am. To-morrow I shall be my old self 
again,” replied she, to whom self was ever count 
ea the least in importance. 
But she was not quite herself, as I could see 
more plainly than they. She came to me that day 
and told me all. I was ready to burst out in 
indignation against what I thought a cruel decep 
tion, but she put her hand firmly over my mouth 
H 
U M PURE YS 
HOMCEOPATHIC REMEDIES, 
IVo. 562 Broadway. 
HUM 
E M S 
SPECIFIC 
HOMaCOPATIIIC REMEDIES, 
No. 562 Broadway. 
SUPPOSED PORTRAIT OF A CELEBRATED “PROFESSOR.” 
As intimated some weeks ago, we give a portrait of the self-styled “Professor” of “Terra-Cul¬ 
ture”— the man who don’t admire certain “Learned Agricultural Editors,” because their exposures 
have retarded his progress and ■profits in “disclosing the disclosures.” The above is supposed to be 
a portrait of the possessor of the so-called Great Secret; but by reversing the picture (as the reader 
will now do,) he can be seen as viewed by those who have heard him and tested Jins theory. 
saying, 
“Not a word, Fanny! Not a word. It is all 
plain enough to me. They were only brotherly 
attentions. I deceived myself, and he was not to 
blame. I have been a fool, but, Heaven help me! 
I will be one no longer.” 
“ Why, just see how natural it is that they 
should choose each other. He is so wise, so noble— 
she so handsome, so childlike. Why, it would 
have been preposterous to have chosen me, even 
had I possessed the half of Lizzette’s attractions. 
For, do you see, if he had married me, they would 
have been just as dependent as ever upon me, 
only I should have shifted the burden trom my 
shoulders to his, and that would be hard for a # 
young man—a rising, ambitious man. But now 
they will marry and live cosily by themselves 
somewhere, he will mould his child-wife into 
enough of a woman to help and love him, without 
her losing any of the beauty and grace which will 
cheer and delight him.” 
“And you?” said I sharply, sick of the picture 
which I knew was but an effort to deceive and 
silence the voice of nature. 
“ I ?” as if that were the furthest from being of 
any consequence. “ 0, I shall keep on with my 
school. Mother is stronger now, and Nellie is 
growing quite a little housekeeper. I shall work, if 
possible, busier than ever, for work you know dis¬ 
ciplines the mind, and they will need all I can earn, 
for soon they will have only me. I suppose in a 
few years I shall be old-maid ‘Auntie’ to half a 
dozen curly pates just like Lizzette. Ha! ha!” 
And off she went without allowing me another 
word. I sat/nusing on what she had said about 
his bavin u It infill to take care of if he married 
licr, and t Uclj> thinking that, aside from 
the fascipfilbns of Lizzette’s beauty, perhaps such 
a consideration had held its full weight with him. 
Perhaps I wronged him, for he was always a good 
son and brother to them. 
They were to be married soon—the next spring. 
As week by week Marie came home, sometimes 
accompanied by Mr. Hall, I marveled at the per¬ 
fect self-control which she seemed to haveattained, 
yet I knew by the pale face, the compressed lips, 
that the inward struggles were neither few or 
slight. Towards him her manner seemed un¬ 
changed, save that it was less impulsive, older, so 
to speak, and she did not often enter into conver- 
vation with him unless addressed. I think he saw 
no difference in her. 
As to Lizzette she was so absorbed in her own hap¬ 
piness and her preparations that she never heeded 
these tokens. Nothingcould exceed Marie’s kind¬ 
ness to her. She was ever a good sister, but now 
it would seem that something of the love which 
she would have given another, was turned to her 
whose love was preferred to her own. 
Once I spoke to her of this, and a beautiful light 
shown in her eyes as she said, simply, 
“Since I mistook, and sought to exalt myself 
above my deserts, may I not atone by striving to 
make sweeter and more worthy of his acceptance 
that which with greater wisdom he has chosen.” 
I wondered sometimes that Lizzette could so 
receive, even exact, as a matter of course, the 
thousand sisterly favors lavished upon her. 
The bridal outfit was simple and neat, suited, in 
all respects, to their circumstances; indeed, it was 
much better than, without Marie, it could ever have 
been. It was she who gave and helped to make 
the wedding dress. It was her purse which sup¬ 
plied the pieces of snowy cloth, and, as if, when 
all was done, these were not her gifts, she gave 
them both, what she called her “ wedding present,” 
a handsome family Bible. 
You may think, perhaps, that I have bestowed 
upon my heroine superhuman strength. Do not 
think she has ceased to suffer, that she could al 
ways thus control her soul. 
When she came fairly to realize the truth, her 
heart found relief in these little offices of love. 
She felt that the true way of loving him was the 
unselfish one of seconding his wishes, whatever 
her own might be. She was a Christian, and she 
felt that to give way to despair and melancholy 
were at once wrong and useless. She knew, too, 
that the best relief for an aching heart is to be 
found in earnest and practical labor, so what her 
hand found to do she did with all her might. 
But even Christian fortitude gave way at times. 
It were not in human nature to assist in these 
busy preparations, joyous to all but her, to see 
almost daily how Lizzette grew closer and closer 
to the heart which to Marie seemed the noblest of 
all hearts, and not falter in the line of duty which 
she had prescribed for herself. 
Sometimes, though seldom, she would come to 
me with these “ little troubles,” as she called them, 
and having relieved her mind of them and shed a 
few very bitter tears, she would startle me by the 
suddenness with which her old manner returned, 
and she would say in a light, cheery voice, 
“ But never mind ! It is plain that I am in the 
wrong again, somewhere. Here I’ve been having 
another fit of the blues ! Wrong, entirely wrong, 
Marie IIuisseau ! How often must I reason with 
and school you about this very thing. I think you 
have too much time to think. You must work, 
child ! Idleness is the root of all evil. Ah ! Fan¬ 
ny, I must look about me and find something more 
to interest myself in, or my thoughts will be con 
tinually ‘ a Maying ’ after forbidden fruit.” 
And so she would go away with a sweet, holy 
calm in her eyes, and a rather mournful attempt 
at a smile playing around her calm, small mouth. 
Thus she has gone on to this day, for she is living 
yet. Her mother is long since dead, so are two of 
her little flock. I call them hers, for she was 
father and mother both to them. She is a teacher 
still, one of the most beloved and influential. She 
is in “ the afternoon of life,” but it is a beautiful, 
a sunny afternoon to her. One by one the little 
ones have grown out of the need of her care, who, 
through every trial, has supported and guided 
them, and, thank Heaven ! all have proved worthy 
of her. She is the reverenced and loved sister- 
mother. 
She will not be dependent, although they have 
all tried to induce her to give up her school. She 
says she needs the exercise of body and mind. 
Besides, she must do all the good she can while 
life and health are hers. She tells them that with¬ 
out this wholesome stimulant, she should become, 
what she has a horror of, “ a repining old maid,” 
but they know better. 
Lizzette, who is surrounded by the half-dozen 
nephews and neices which “ Aunt Marie” prophe¬ 
sied that she should live to see, tried for along 
time to persuade Marie to make her home with 
them, (I think amid the cares and perplexities of 
married life, for which she was so little qualified, 
she felt how invaluable would be Marie s assist¬ 
ance and judgment,) but Marie steadily refused, 
preferring to reside with her favorite and oldest 
brother, their father’s namesake. 
Had this been a fiction, dear Mii.icent, I should 
have felt bound, as all good novelists are, to have 
represented Marie as out-growing her youthful 
and misplaced attachment, or discovering that it 
was no attachment at all, and after a few years, 
being happily married to some one infinitely su¬ 
perior to her first love, so becoming an excellent 
wife and mother. Excellent, I have no doubt she 
would have been, but her Maker had other work 
for her to do. She accepted the mission and ful¬ 
filled it well. Not but that she might have mar¬ 
ried, but she believed, as I hope you do, that 
without perfect unity of sentiment, faith, and 
r—. r „™. nr, mm-riage can be holy or happy, and, 
as she felt that, between herseli and those who 
sought her, no such unity could exist, she remain 
ed single. 
You may doubt if she was satisfied so to live. I do 
not. Let any one work with all the light and power 
which God has given them for the good of human¬ 
ity, sustained through all by a perfect trust in the 
mercy and wisdom of an All-wise Father, and 
whatever their station, whether married or single 
II T J M P BC R. EX®' 
SPECIFIC 
Hom ceopathic Remedies. 
No. 562 Broadway. 
HUM 
e -ur s 
IP Ri 2R. 
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HOMCEOPATHIC REMEDIES, 
No. 562 Broadway. 
I believe they will be happy beyond any happiness 
which mere earthly love can bestow. 
* * * * * -x- -x- 
Milicent Rokeby had read it all. She closed 
the manuscript and went about her daily work 
with a thoughtful, but not a clouded brow. A new 
light, a truth had begun to dawn upon her mind, 
and it haunted her long ere it developed itselt in 
her life. But it did at last, and had you asked her 
some two years after what was the best cure for 
the heart-ache, I think she might have answered 
from experience, “ Useful employment and self- 
denial.” 
She was married long ago, though not to Cousin 
Joseph, and she has made a good wife and mother, 
though I hardly think better than she would have 
made “ an old maid.” 
She told me all this herself, and turning to her 
old journal showed me the verses which she wrote 
so long ago, and I noticed that beneath them, 
several years later, she had added, by way of com¬ 
mentary, 
O, ye on whom stern Fate unkindly frowned, 
Who’ve loved and lost your heart’s desire; 
Let love not die, but more diffused around 
Burn on still brighter, purer, higher; 
Its joy, which else to one alone might fall, 
A gleam of happiness may shed on all. 
QWucrtiscmmts. 
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TT XT IYI X* II II Tl Y 8 ' 
SPECIFIC 
H o m oeopatliic lie m edies, 
No. 562 Broadway, 
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I>._For Piles, Blind or Bleeding, Internal or External. 
O.—For Sore. Weak or Inflamed Eyes and Eyelids; Fail¬ 
ing, Weak or Blurred Sight. 
C.—For Catarrh, of longstanding or recent, either with 
obstruction or profuse discharge. 
W. C.—For Whooping-Cough, abating its violence and 
shortening its course. 
In all Acute Diseases, such as Fevers, Inflammations, Di- 
arrhses, Dysentery, Croup, Rheumatism, and such eruptive 
diseases as Scarlet Fever, Measles and Erysipelas—the ad¬ 
vantage of giving the proper remedies promptly is obvious, 
and in all sucli cases the specifics act like a charm. The en¬ 
tire U ISraSU Id arroBtoil "* I'll.- 1 l " — 11 U-O 
violence of the attack is moderated, the disease shortened 
and rendered less dangerous. Even should a physician 
afterwards have to be called, be will take the case at decided 
advantage from the previous treatment. 
Coughs and Colds, which are of such frequent occurrence, 
and which so often lay ttie foundation of diseased lungs, 
bronchitis and consumption, may all be at once cured by the 
Fever and Cough Pills. 
In all CnRONic Diseases, such as Dyspepsia, Weak Stom¬ 
ach, Constipation, Liver Complaint, Piles, Female Debility 
and Irregularities, old Headache, Sore or Weak eyes,Catarrh, 
Salt Rheum, and other old eruptions, the case has specifics, 
whose proper application will afford a cure in almost every 
instance. Often the cure of a single chronic difficulty, such 
as Dyspepsia, Piles, or Catarrh, Headache, or Female Weak¬ 
ness, has more than paid for the ease ten times over. 
FOR COUGHS AND COLDS.—A gentleman, well known 
in this City, in at our office, remarked: “Your COUGH 
PILLS have been of great value at our house this Winter.- 
In every instance when one of the family has taken a cold, 
three or four doses of the COUGH and FEVER PILLS, 
given in alternation, have entirely cured the case in a day 
or two. The case has already paid lor itself several times 
over.” 
COUGHS AND COLDS.—A gentleman, a public lecturer, 
took a severe cold the latter part of last month, while travel¬ 
ing and lecturing in northern Pennsylvania, though address¬ 
ing public audiences every evening, yet in two days, by the 
aid of the Specific lie was entirely recovered, and enabled to 
pursue his avocation without inconvenience. No public 
speaker should be without them. 
I1AD COLD.—A married lady of forty had taken a violent 
Gold, which settled on her lungs, causing severe cough, pain 
in the side and considerable fever and hoarseness. Such 
colds were usually very lasting and troublesome, but by tak¬ 
ing the Specific Cough Pills four times per day, in three 
days she was entirely well. 
Chronic Catarrh.—A clergyman in a neighboring village 
had suffered for many years from an obstinate Catarrh, 
which had resisted all attempts for a cure. The obstruction 
and discharge from the nose was constant, destroying both 
taste and smell; and at times even interfering, from the 
change of voice, with his public ministrations. Almost in 
despair lie commenced the use of our Catarrh Specific, and 
after the use of only a few pills—one every night—found him¬ 
self improved; and ere he had used an entire box, could 
consider himself entirely well. 
Dyspepsia or Weak Stomach, Case 1.—A young man of 19 
had Dyspepsia for two years, attended witha severe pain 
in the pit of the stomach, coming on during eating or as 
soon as food reached the stomach, and continuing through 
the period of digestion. The pain was severe and aching, 
sometimes extending to the shoulders; less if he eat very 
digestible food, and proportion ably more violent as bis food 
was less carefully selected. It was also worse during warm 
weather. The bowels were very costive—stools hard and 
dry. Allopathic medicines only made him worse, and the 
prescriptions of a very regular Homoepath failed to help him. 
He commenced taking the Dyspepsia Pills, one pill three 
times per day, with prompt relief. In lit tle more than a wees 
this pain of two years’standing had disappeared, and in * 
month more his bowels had become perfectly regular and lie 
was entirely well. 
2 A young lady of 26 had been troubled with indigestion 
for’ several months, so as to render great care necessary m 
the selection of tier food. After eating, the stomach became 
acid, food rising in her mouth with water, and unpleasant 
heavy load-like sensation in her stomach, continuing some 
hours, frequently headache, bowels constipated, and a De¬ 
pressed mental condition. She commenced taking the 
pepsia Pills, one morning and night, und in less Qian * 
week almost every symptom of her disease had vanished: 
and she felt like a new being. 
PRICES. 
Full set, 20 large vials in Morocco Case and Book.S-T'J 
Full set, 20 large vials in Plain Case and Book. ’■ J 
Case of 15 numbered boxes and Book.. . 
Case of any 6 numbered boxes and Book. ‘ j 
Single numbered boxes, with directions. 5 
Single lettered boxes, with directions....... 
Large plantation or physician’s case, 1 and two oz. vials 
OUR REMEDIES BY MAIL. 
Look over the list; make up a case of what kind jpj 
choose, and enclose the amount in a current note or st-.uw 
by mail to our address, at No. 562 Broadway, New York,» 
the medicines will be duly returned by mail or express, ir« 
° f No family should be without these InvaffiaWe curatives.' 
They are the only remedies perfectly adapted for dome, 
and private use. With them the parent is armed and p' 
pared against the first approach of disease, and can in®®, 
at the threshold and keep it at bay. A trifle ofmeduM* 
rightly directed in the first hours ot disease, perfectly cun 
that which by delay can only be relieved by long and teffigg 
hours of suffering, if at all. With these at band, you are n 
obliged to await the coming of that distant as well as ex|t^ 
sive luxury, a doctor; nor to be drugged, or poison a, 
blistered, or bled, but may yourself administer'the 
specific, and restore the ruddy current of life again mat 
and joy. There cannot only no injury arise in any case ‘ 
their use, but the general influence upon the coustitui 
beyond all question is most beneficial. 
AGENTS WANTED. 
We desir.e an active efficient agent, for’the.sale of 
remedies, in every town or community in the Uniteu o 
Address F. HUMPHREYS & CO. 
No. 562 Broadway, New 5 Oil- 
Sold by all dealers in Rochester. 477-13teoff 
