Show yourself at the theater--I
flutter down on you in yellow. The mere titles of my advertisements
are quite irresistible. Le t me quote a few from last week's issue.
Proverbial Title: 'A Pill in time saves Nine.' Familiar Title: 'Excuse
me, how is your Stomach?' Patriotic Title: 'What are the three
characteristics of a true-born Englishman? His Hearth, his Home, and his
Pill.' Title in the form of a nursery dialogue: 'Mamma, I am not well.'
'What is the matter, my pet?' 'I want a little Pill.' Title in the form
of a Historical Anecdote: 'New Discovery in the Mine of English History.
When the Princes were smothered in the Tower, their faithful attendant
collected all their little possessions left behind them. Among the
touching trifles dear to the poor boys, he found a tiny Box. It
contained the Pill of the Period. Is it necessary to say how inferior
that Pill was to its Successor, which prince and peasant alike may now
obtain?'--Et cetera, et cetera. The place in which my Pill is made is an
advertisement in itself. I have got one of the largest shops in London.
Behind one counter (visible to the public through the lucid medium of
plate-glass) are four-and-twenty young men, in white aprons, making the
Pill.
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