The tailor was ill with a dangerous chill, And his hfeath "came in fluttering "pants." His life, so they said, just, hung hy a "thread," .- For the doctor had murmured "no chance." No words can ex-"press" his awful ': ■- ■ 'distress, ;„- " '■■ ■_■•■' i But it "seams"' that he- put up a fight; • He took the thing sure, Woods' Peppermint Cure, -■■ "Sew/' "needless" to say, he got. right. ■'■■■' 3
Permanent link to this item
https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/OAM19100923.2.60.2
Bibliographic details
Oamaru Mail, Volume XXXVIII, Issue 10567, 23 September 1910, Page 6
Word Count
65Page 6 Advertisements Column 2 Oamaru Mail, Volume XXXVIII, Issue 10567, 23 September 1910, Page 6
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