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HIS little volume, "A Strange Railroad Wreck," is the product of a former railroad telegraph operator, who is so badly afflicted with a rheumatic trouble that he has not touched his face with either hand for more than nineteen years, and has been compelled to use two crutches during all that time in order to get about. I have often wondered how he managed to work at all; but he was with the Pennsylvania Railroad Company for many years, while I was employed by the same corporation, and I speak from actual knowledge when I say that he was one of the most competent and careful operators on the Monongahela Division. The long hours which railroad telegraphers are compelled to work, however, are more than he is able to bear in his present physical condition,

About two years ago he entered a New York hospital for treatment, with the hope of getting in shape to once more face this world's battles. After being considered a hopeless cripple by many physicians for nearly twenty years, this treatment has made such an improvement in the right arm that he is now enabled to get food to his mouth by using an ordinary fork, instead of one with an extended handle thirteen inches long, which he carried with him all these years. The elbow still refuses to bend enough to permit his hand to touch his face; but there is little doubt if he continues receiving this treatment the arm will eventually become much better, if not entirely well. The treatment was interrupted recently because he did not have money enough to pay the expenses connected with it.

That is why this volume has been published—to help raise the funds necessary to continue this work. The book is interesting from beginning to end; it is well written, and worth all that is asked for it. The main part of the story is true; the railroad wreck actually did occur not far from where the author was working at the time, and he is perfectly familiar with the subject upon which he writes. Many railroad men along the Monongahela valley today, myself included, remember the incident very well, and consider it the most peculiar wreck ever heard of. A pretty romance has been woven through the entire story.

Everybody buys books; make this one of your next purchases and see how many friends you can persuade to do the same.

D. M. HOPE.

Brownsville, Pa., December 15, 1903.