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New Zealand Tablet, 12 May 1910, Page 751

The tailor was ill with a dangerous chill, And his breath came in fluttering ( pants.’ His life, so they said, just hung by a f thread For the doctor had murmured ‘ no chance.’ ’ No words can ex-‘ press ’ his awful distress, " But it ‘seams’ that he put up a fight; ■’ ; - He took the thing sure, Woods’ Peppermint Cure ‘ Sew,’ ‘ needless ’ to say, he got right. 5