The Great American Fraud/Series 2:Chapter 2

—

_________

Popular credulity moves in waves. Now it takes financial form, and some 620-per-cent. Miller buys himself a suit of striped clothing, government pattern, with his profits. Again, religious fervor is its fuel, and "Francis Trust," fortified with press-agent and advertising man, passes across the field of public notice like a meteor, and, like a meteor, vanishes into the darkness. Just at present the public is much concerned with its individual health, a condition which has bred innumerable parasites of the "healer" type. Profiting by the general hypochondriacal tendency, for which the profession of medical advertising in the newspapers is largely responsible, and employing a curious pseudo-science of their own devising, these charlatans are conducting a sort of magic saturnalia of healing.

Family Resemblance of the Fakes.

What is true of one of this class is true of all the "doctors," "healers," "medical institutes," "homes of science," and various fresh-coined "opathys," which advertise to cure diseases by "special knowledge," "marvelous inventions," "startling discoveries in the realm of science," or "miraculous powers." Their schemes are, essentially, the same. One and all, they are frauds, operating by a shrewd and cunningly developed system, in which the sole essential of success is to bait the hook so as to attract the human gudgeon. Once he has nibbled, he's the charlatan's fish. Lucky, indeed, may he count himself if he come off depleted in purse alone, and not in the chances of cure or of life.

Once on a time - this is a recognized and proper form for beginning a tale of magic - there was born a young wizard name Isham. In the natural course of growth he reached that point in life where he desired to turn his wizardry to financial account. Less ingenious representatives of his ilk take to side-shows on country circuits, and either "eat-'em-alive" or become the Beautiful Mll. Astralette, Seer and Prophetess, according to sex and inclination. Isham had a soul above canvas. He had yearned for something permanent and high-sounding; so he devised "Humanity Baking Powder," which, by a complicated scheme too long for detail here, was not only to raise the human race to heights hitherto undreamed of, but was even to extend their thoughts to the stars by means of a mighty telescope to be established from the dividends. The "Humanity Baking Powder" advertising was a thing to thrill the soul; but the sodden an dmaterialistic American mind (feminine) declined to respond with that spontaneity which was expected, so Isham dropped the scheme and came East to settle in that sport, where, as every bunco man in this country knows, the Permanent Convention of Jays and Come-ons is always in session - New York City. Isham's device for alienating the Innocents of New York from their money was the "California Waters of Life." These water flow from a spring near San Diego, Cal., having come a long way to reach that spot, since they are, so Isham assures me, the identical waters which gushed from the Scriptural rock when Moses smote it.

How do you know that they are?" I inquired when this interesting statement was made to me.

"How do you know they aren't?" demanded the Wizard triumphantly, and while I was dazedly feeling for some means wherewith to cope with this resilient brand of logic, he continued with an argument to profound for me to grasp in detail. The gist of it seemed to be, however, that all the waters of the earth, being in constant motion, eventually find their way to all parts of the earth, and that his spring was just as likely to be the Mosaic article as any other; a process of reasoning which I cheerfully leave to persons fond of dialectics. Whatever the source of the waters, Isham, in the course of time, came out with huge advertisements in the New York papers, in which he exploited himself and his spring about equally, declaring that he had a scheme for abolishing poverty and suffer-

ing, that he had been in personal consultation with the Deity about it, and, further, that the Isham spring water would cure rheumatism in seven days, cancer in thirty days, Bright's disease and diabetes in thirty days, would stop hair from falling out in three days, and would grow a luxuriant hirsute crop on the most sterile cranium. When San Francisco was destroyed, the thrifty Isham, eager to make a capital out of calamity, rushed into print with the following head-lines:

OUT OF THE AWFUL EARTHQUAKE ZONE. ANSWERING THE AVALANCHE OF ANXIOUS INQUIRIES ABOUT ISHAM SPRING, CALIFORNIA.

Then followed the curative claims. When I called on Isham in his office in the Flatiron Building, New York City, to ask about the cancer cases, he loaded me down with testimonials of various kinds, most of which, however, related to thin hair, or to indeterminate ailments, ranging from indigestion, through supposed kidney trouble, to a bump on the spine sustained in a trolley accident. To investigate all that he produced in the way of testimonials (most of them obviously not worth investigation, as seriously supporting his claims) would have taken weeks, perhaps months.

A few interested me because they suggested technical knowledge on the part of the patient. One of these was "Professor" Fogg, by whom Isham seemed to set great store.

"What is Professor of?" I asked.

"Well, I don't exactly know," said Isham, hesitatingly. "He calls himself Professor."

"Suppose I look him up at the Broadway address given in the advertisement."

"You would be likely to find him," was the hasty response. "He only gets his mail there. He lives somewhere in Long Island City."

Another name he gave me was that of a very prominent and high-standing New York physician. This physician, in reply to my query stated that he had taken two cases of the waters for rheumatism, and had experienced not the slightest benefit. If Isham desires a testimonial to this effect, I dare say he can get it for the asking. Fifteen or twenty fairly prominent Philadelphia business men and financiers appear on the Isham list of names "used by permission." Several of these were asked where they believed that Isham was divinely inspired, that his "Waters of Life" were the identical waters that gushed from the smitten rock of Moses, and that the waters would cure cancer in thirty days, all these statements having been publicly used by the Wizard to push the sale of his product

Isham's Medicine Makes Good Ice-Water.

Some of the recipients of my inquiry became alarmed, and sent the letter to Isham. Those who replied answered the questions in the negative. One bank president loftily characterized the queries as "absurd." Apparently the initial absurdity of his lending his name to the purposes of a preposterous quack like Isham had not occurred to him. At the close of my interview with Isham, after he had fervently harangued me on the supernal virtues of his water, declaring that it would make the drunkard a model of sobriety, reform the vicious and restore youth to the senile, he exhorted me to be fair and dispassionate in my judgment of him and his product. I shall try to be. As to the "Waters of Life," they are probably a fairly good mineral water, as useful perhaps in minor stomach kidney or uric-acid troubles as the average mineral spring water and no more useful. They will no more cure cancer, Bright's disease, diabetes or paralysis than will Croton water. To Isham himself I give the benefit of the doubt. I believe him to be mentally unsound. On any other premise he is the most arrant and blasphemous faker now before the public.

Isham may perhaps find food for thought in the career of a fellow-wizard, "Dr." Theodore H. White of Baltimore, who has recently relinquished the president of "Dr. White's College of Science" to serve a three years' sentence in a Federal jail for fraudulent use of the mails. The "doctor's" qualification for the headship of the college were derived from his previous career as an oyster-shucker, spiritualist medium and "patent-medicine" agent. By ingenious advertising of a sort of book of knowledge he worked up a business which produced from 500 to 1,000 letters of inquiry per day. This book "tells you how to heal yourself and others of all diseases," and to perform various other useful and surprising functions, and is, also, "the key of everlasting life, a godsend to suffering humanity."

The Post-Office Gets After White

In the course of time the Post-Office Department became interested in "Dr." White and his scheme, to the extent of instituting inquiries, which the "doctor" was unable to answer. A fraud order stopped his mail, and his prosecution and conviction followed. The book which was the College of Science's main stock in trade is a fearsome hash of old witch-lore and alchemy, and modern spiritualism, stolen from various sources. Apparently the ex-oyster-shucker's mantle has fallen upon Prof. F. T. McIntyre of 126 West 34th Street, New York City, who exploits the world as his bivalve through a system bearing the esoteric and hypnotic title of "Ucchantana and Bidwesana," whereby the "eminent exponent of the occult and psychic" (meaning McIntyre) teaches all and sundry "to heal the sick and suffering without doctors or drugs." This he pretends to do free, and he will doubtless continue the pretense until the overworked fraud-order section of the Post-Office Department attends to him.

Some months ago the Post-Office authorities descended, with blighting result, upon "Prof." Thos. J. Adkin, sometime of Rochester, where he established the "New York Institute of Physicians and Surgeons" for the practice of "Vitaopathy," whatever that may be. Judging from external evidence it consists chiefly in persuading, by some mysterious influence, the business managers of not-too-particular newspapers to print as "special correspondence" such headings as the following:

DEAD MEN TALKED BACK TO LIFE. Rescued on Way to Grave-Professor Stops Funeral-Restores Woman to Life-Does He Possess Divine Power?

The most eminent physicians and specialists in the world were, according to Professor Adkin, his associates in the practice of Vitaopathy. In addition to his professional qualifications, the professor seems to have been a truly hynotic financier, since he succeeded in securing his world-beating physicians at maximum wage of $30 a week, while the most that any "specialist," called in from without to treat extraordinary cases, was able to wrest from the New York Institute of Physicians and Surgeons was about $5 a months.

"In Prof. Adkin's laboratory his chemists are daily engaged in extracting the life-and-health-giving principle from rare vegetables, fruits and plants."

Thus one of the Vitaopathist's advertisements. When called upon to give details, Professor Adkin could produce neither laboratory, chemists, vegetables, fruits nor plants. Under pressure he bashfully explained that his "treatment" consisted of tablets put up to his order by Parke, Davis & Co. of Detroit. This testimony should be interesting to physicians, since Parke, Davis & Co. are the largest manufacturers of "ethical" preparations advertised to the medical profession in the country, and are earnest claimants of high professional standing. How their ethics comport with this acting as supply to a proven and self-convicted quack, I leave from them to explain. In the general stir that accompanied the Post-Office Department's action against Adkin, resulting in his retirement from public life, the regular medical profession of Rochester did not come off unscathed. One of the allegations against the Vitaopathis was that he diagnosed and prescribed for cases by mail. Believing that the local medical profession was the agent of his discomfiture (a misapprehension on his part) and keen for revenge, Adkin sent out decoy letters to a considerable number of local physicians in good and regular standing and got responses from a dozen or more agreeing to prescribe by mail for cases they had never seen. This unpleasant evidence the "Professor" used in a manner very trying to the ethical practitioners. A sharp lesson for them, but a salutary one. There will be very little of the long-distance-diagnosis form of quackery practiced by the regular profession in Rochester for some time to come, I fancy. On the records of the fraud-order hearing, there is noted as being present (doubtless with a fellow-feeling for the defendant) Gen. James R. O'Beirne, who has held several posts of honor in New York City, and one of conspicuous dishonor, the presidency of the Force of Life Company, a swindle so open and bold that its recent whitewashing by a prominent Federal official of New York has been a source equally of amazement and speculation to those who followed the proceedings against it. one of its fakes was a "Life-Ray Capsule," and to contain radium, but in reality simply a mixture of corn starch and calcium sulfid.

Science, ingeniously perverted, is made the agent of the miracle-working quack. Should some scientist authoritatively announce to-morrow a method of conserving the light and heat of the sun, within a few weeks we should read in the papers that "Bottled Sunlight" is a sure cure for any and all ills. So radium, having occupied the public mind and excited the public fancy, has furnished material for the lively commercial imagination of the quacks. Rupert Wells, M.D., early perceived its possibilities, and appointed himself Professor of Radio-Therapy in the "Post-Graduate College of Electro-Therapeutics of St. Louis," a chair which has no existence, in a college which is purely mythical.

Religious Rupert, the Fireside Faker

Rupert Wells, M.D., is very religious - in his advertisements. He loves the church papers. The weeklies with smug and pious editorials, and no conscience whatever in the matter of paid advertising, are his green pastures. He is a home-and-fireside cuddler, is Rupert. He is also a ground-and-lofty liar of the most complete and soul-satisfying description. You can read whole pages of his literature and not come upon one single statement tainted with truth. To illustrate, by a brief capitulation of the main points of one of his "come-on" letters: By virtue of his profound studies in radium-administration (lie No. 1) at the college wherein he is a professor (compound lie, No. 2) he can cure consumption (lie No. 3) and cancer (No. 4) by a method which he wishes to tell you about free (No. 5), consisting of the internal and external application of Radol, which is radium in fluid form (No. 6), which he himself has discovered (No. 7), and by which he has effected many cures (No. 8), as follows (Nos. 9, 10, 11, etc., to the extent of the testimonials). Recently a Philadelphia woman emulating the anxious gentleman in Mr. Wallace Irwin's engaging poem,

"I wrote Dr. Sharko and got as an answer:  'The wart on your thumb is incipient cancer,' "

consulted Rupert Wells, M.D., by mail. He sent her a form letter, ingeniously devised so that besides date, name and address only one word need be written in. This word gives the location of the alleged cancer, and the sentence is: "Your letter convinces me that you have cancer of the _______." In this instance the world "temple" was obviously typed in. Of course, the symptoms, whatever they may be, will always "convince" Rupert, M.D., that his correspondent has cancer (unless the reply is to a consumption advertisement), to be cured only by Radol. Of late the Professor of Radio-Therapy has grown quite painfully cautious. Attempts to purchase Radol of him direct, have proved unavailing; he will send it by mail alone, and then only after receiving a diagnosis blank. However, the Lederle Laboratories succeeded by a roundabout process in obtaining the precious fluid for analysis, which showed that Radol contains exactly as much radium as dishwater does, and is about as efficacious for cancer or consumption.

More Radio-Quackery.

Some time ago I received a circular inviting me to become rich without effort by investing in the stock of the Dr. Warner Remedy Co. of Chicago, Ill., proprietors of Radium Rings and Radiozone. Radium Rings. I learned from the accompanying literature, "are circular adhesive plasters, self-retaining to any part of the body, and a positive care for all germ diseases" by a process whereby "the germs and decayed tissues are promptly flooded with emanation from the radio-active compound." "Radiozone tablets," so the prospective investor is further informed, "carry the radio-active properties (internally) and possess all of the virtues of Radium Rings." Very alluring as a financial proposition, but I restrained my cupidity, and went to call on the Dr. Warner Remedy Co., which I found to consist of one Bird Collins, a graduate from the fraudulent nostrum school as exemplified by Wine of Cardni. Mr. Collins is a frank and businesslike person as will be seen by the following dialogue:

"Are Radium Rings radium?"

"No."

"Is there any radium in them?"

"No."

"Then why do you call them Radium Rings?"

"It's a trade name."

"Is Radiozone radium?"

"No."

"Is there any radium in it?"

"No."

"Then why do you call it Radiozone?"

"It's a trade name."

"Is Dr. Warner here?"

"No."

"Is there any Dr. Warner in your Company?"

"No."

"Then why do you call it the Dr. Warner Medical Company?"

"It's a trade name."

"Is your name Collins?"

"N-yes."

"Is it a trade name?"

"No."

"Do you make your own remedies?"

"No."

"Who makes them?"

"Seabury and Johnson." (This firm, like Parke, Davis & Co., is an "ethical" concern.)

"Is there anything in them at all?

"Yes there is," said Mr. Bird Collins earnestly. "There's money in 'em if they're pushed right." And he proceeds with an impressive line of promoter's argument, which I refrain from reproducing, this not being a financial article.

Radium Radia is another attempt to trade upon the public superstition regarding supposed wonderful qualities of the little understood element. It is really a patent medicine rather than a specific form of quackery, and I mention it only to state that it contains no radium, and that its name is typical of its swindling purpose. The same is true of Radiumite, a cure-all which consists of zinc sulfid and lead.

The truly profitable way of furnishing radium to the public is to find a place where it spouts from the ground. Such a spot has been discovered at Claremore, Indian Territory, by an association of highly respected men and bunco practitioners from Fort Smith, Arkansas, calling themselves "The Claremore Radium Wells Co."

Their circular embodies a picture of a young female exhaling zigzag streaks from her head and hands in a manner to suggest that she has just been short-circuited, the illustration being labeled "Radium Emanations from Human Body after a Bath." The literature goes on to describe in modest and restrained terms the virtues of the spring.

"This magic mineral Radium Water has more miraculous and wonderful cures to its credit than any other known agency . . . . Hundreds are being cured by all manner of diseases, and no failures with this Magical Mineral Radium Water, without the use of medicine. Drink the Magical Mineral Radium Water for rheumatism, all blood diseases, all kinds lung and stomach troubles and Bright's diseases (sic).  It cures quick."

The baldness of the fake is enhanced by the inclusion in the circular of a chemical analysis of the water, showing absolutely no radium or radium-producing constituents. As a fitting close to this remarkable instance of swindling, which the correspondent who calls it to my attention characterizes as "evidently designed to test the limits of human credulity," I can do no better than reproduce in its own form the caution in the Claremore Radium Wells Co. circular:

and to add, lest there be any misapprehension, that the chief "Fake Radium Water" in Claremore is that furnished by the Claremore Radium Wells Co.

Magnetism is still "good graft." Its mystical suggestion, appealing to superstitious hope, offers the proper medium for skilled quackery. Prof S. Malcolm Watson, R.S. (whatever that may mean), of Battle Creek, Michigan, operates in this field. Vibro Discs are his wares. They are exploited to cure rheumatism. Prof. Watson's advertising matter is calculated to inspire it. I have seen nothing more ingenious in the realm of patent medicine literature.

The Professor's letters, too, are models of altruism. He yearns to cure you, not so much for his good as yours. The $5 which he proposes to charge you is merely nominal. If, after you have nibbled at his bait the first time, he fails to hook you, he lowers his price to $2.50. Let this letter go unanswered for a fortnight, and he comes after you with a final proposition to throw in a bottle of Vibro Oil, although the Vibro Discs and the Vibro Tablets, which are an "infallible cure," would seem to be sufficient. Mark the pathos of this last Watsonian plea:

"I have written you several kind and courteous letters, but so far you do not seem to have made the least reply. All this is very strange and to me rather painful.  Of course, there may be a just cause for your silence.  But if no such cause exists you must admit that I am not getting a fair return for the good I have tried to do and the courtesy I have shown you."

How to be Your Own Magnetizer.

"Prof." Watson's Vibro Discs are merely plasters to be affixed to the soles of the feet. Vibro Tablets and Vibro Oil are ordinary preparations put up for him by a drug firm. In none of them is there any more curative "vibration" or "galvanism" than in a lump of mud. In the interests of those suffering from rheumatic ailments I will give the following prescription free, which I will guarantee to be as efficacious as Prof. Watson's Vibro Treatment, and considerably less expensive. Purchase at any drug store one two-cent stamp (the one-cent variety will do in incipient cases), affix it firmly to the base of the spinal column, and while seated upon it take one bread pill (brown or white), whenever you happen to think of it. The stamp will provide fully as much vibration as Prof. Watson's discs, and the bread pill will be better for you than his tablets. Just at present the Vibro-Scientist is under a cloud, his mail having been suppressed as fraudulent, but he will probably

bob up again in some new spot, unless the fraud-empowering bill, pending at Washington, ties the hands of the Post-Office Department and gives Prof. Watson a practical license to resume business at the old stand.

Magie Foot Drafts, made at Jackson, Michigan, belong to this same class. Affixed to the soles of the feet they are advertised as drawing out the rheumatic poison from the whole system. Of course they might as well be affixed to the barn door, so far as any uric acid extraction is concerned. They are a compound of poke-root, pine tar, and corn meal. Prof. E. C. Goddard, manager of the Crescent Magnetic Appliance Co. of St. Louis, also had a "foot-battery" to be attached to any form of insole and a magnetic (not an electric) belt "guaranteed to throw a magnetic current through six inches of solid glass, stone, wood or other substance." This claim is no more preposterous than the company's offer to cure heart disease, epilepsy, paralysis, rheumatism, insomnia, and general debility by means of their contrivances. On this same principle of pasting a label on the outside of oneself to cure something wrong with one's inside is Dr. Young's "Peptopads," which, like the Magic Foot Drafts, hail from Jackson, Michigan. Affix one of these to your solar plexus and, according to the advertisement, you will not only recover from any stomach ailment, but "you can eat what you want and all you want." This, I suppose, operates on the simple and well-known principle of sticking a piece of court-plaster on the back of a watch to repair a broken mainspring.

But the King of Quackdom in the magnetism field is C. J. Thacher, M.D., of Chicago. His powers are cribbed, cabined, and confined by no arbitrary limits. He would scorn to restrict himself to any one of disease or class of diseases. Thacher will cure anything, paralysis, consumption, Bright's disease, obesity, insanity or senility; it's all one to him. Just let him get the patient inside a set of "the famous Thacher Magnetic Shields," and disease and death must slink away, impotent and ashamed. Hear the trumpet-tones of Thacher, via the New York "American:"

"I want to say to every man, woman and child within my reach that I can cure any disease that afflicts the human race. I make that statement just as broad, sweeping and all-inclusive as I know how.  I don't care what the disease is, nor how bad it is, nor how many other disease are complicated with it, I am as positive that I can cure them all with the famous Thacher Magnetic Shields as I am that the sun will rise in the morning."

When I called at 161 State Street, Chicago, to see the worker of these miracles, I found a big, gaunt old man, with a formidable head, a formidable voice, and a still more formidable manner. He wore a magnetic cap, a magnetic waistcoat, magnetic insoles, and his legs were swathed like a mummy's in magnetic wrappings. It made one perspire to look at him. The outset of the conversation, I regret to report, was unpropitious. Upon learning of my errand, the aged Thacher proceeded to thunder eloquent denunciations. Because of what he termed "wholesale and warranted attacks" he couldn't get his advertisements in the best newspapers, nor would the high-class office buildings accept him as a tenant. (Real estate men in Chicago seem to be more particular than in New York, where the Flatiron Building accepts Waters-of-Life Isham, the blood-brother in quackery of Thacher, et all.) He was confounded with every quack that chose to exploit himself. He, Thacher, was no quack. He defied anyone to call him a quack. At this point, observing that his hearer was probably impressed and alarmed, he became mild and confidential, and delivered a lecture which I think was devised for prospective patients. A few of the gems (unset, of necessity) follow:

My object is to spread the light: to rescue humanity. I can cure them of anything! I write and I lecture. The people flock to hear me. In time they will compel the authorities to take notice of my methods." (Presumably Dr. Thacher did not have in mind the Post-Office authorities.)  "I will extend my Magnetic Shield treatment to the Government. I will say, 'Take it! Take it! and set the people free.'

"Insanity!" (Whacking himself on the magnetic-cap.) "Insanity!  Simple as daylight!  Let the authorities turn over ten cases to me.  I'll put my magnetic shield on 'em and cure 'em.  Restore the harmonious vibrations of the brain and everything is well.

"Paralysis!" (Hammering himself on his magnetic leg-swaddlings.) "Easy problem.  Had five cases.  Couldn't wink or speak or move finger or toe.  Put suits on 'em and cured 'em.  Cured 'em right off.  Winked.  Spoke.  Moved finger and toe.  Got up and walked.  Paralysis!  Pish!"

Dr Thacher proceeded to explain that in every square of his magnetic garments is a small magnet, the total lifting power of a full suit being 250 pounds. On the basis there seems to be something wrong with my

sample of magnetic insoles, as the very slightly magnetized steel in them won't lift its own weight. At this rate a full outfit, having the lifting power claimed by the inventor, would be rather cumbrous for summer wear, as it would weigh about a quarter of a ton.

Of the making of "electric belts" and other fake forms of electric "cures," there is apparently no end. Most of them purport to relieve general debility. They may have a brief stimulating influence, but the stimulus soon wears off, leaving the dupe worse than he was before. As cures for rheumatism, paralysis, and other diseases which they pretend to eradicate, they are simple frauds one and all. Moreover, most of them when worn next the skin produce ugly and poisoned sores, from the chemical action. Extreme instances of swindling claims are afforded by the "The Electricure," which modestly offers to cure absolutely "consumption, paralysis, rheumatism, heart disease, and all acute, chronic or organic diseases," and the "Electro-Chemical Ring," which cures diabetes, epilepsy and rheumatism merely by being worn on the finger.

{{center|From Quackery to Miracles.)

At the apex of the profession of quackery stands the miracle-worker proper. usually he is an itinerant, traveling after the manner of his fellow parasite, the flea, by long leaps. One week he will be in Cincinnati, the next in Chattanooga, and a fortnight later in New Orleans. his advertising methods are those of the cirens. One of this class, who swings around the circle in western New York, in a singular creature, whose stage name is "The Great Vurpillat." He travels with a brass band and a six-horse team, duly blanketed with his name, and precedes his "lecture" with a vaudeville show. newspapers that want his advertising must print it as legitimate news, which, to their discredit, many of them do. In the Rochester Union and Advertiser, for instance, I find his three-quarters of a column next to reading matter and with no mark to deisgnate it as advertising. The Great Vurpillat's system is to hire a vacant hall, or, in warm weather, a vacant lot, give his little show, and then proceed to "demonstrate." For instance, a member of the audience presents himself to be cured of deafness. The Great Vurpillat stands fifteen feet away from the patient, and in a voice like a dying saint's last whisper inquires: "Can you hear me speak?"

"No," replies the patient in answer to the expression of inquiry on the demonstrator's face. Anointment with some kind of embrocation follows after which the wonder-worker moves away forty or fifty feet, and thunderously bellows: "Can you hear me now?"

"Yes," says the startled victim.

On the following day the Union and Advertiser dutifully announces that "after the Great Vurpillat had demonstrated upon him with his wonderful new discovery, Mr. Leidecker said he could hear Vurpillat's voice at a distance of sixty feet."

The New Orleans States sells its space to a species of quackery so blasphemous that the clergy of that city might well make it the subject of concerted protest. The advertiser is a "Panopathic Professor," Wallace Hadley of New York, who offers to cure all diseases at any distance, and thus exploits himself in huge type:

{{center|{{smallcaps|has he the power divine?}}}}{{center|{{smaller|Ministers of the Gospel say he is Gifted of God, and Praise Him for His Help to Suffering Humanity.}}}}

Professor Hadley, when not itinerating, is the medical director and working head of the Force of Life Co.

Toledo has a curious quack who describes his alleged successes as "Modern Miracles." He calls himself "Professor Larmouth," under which name he conducts a "Health Home." He is cunning, ignorant and without genuine medical qualifications, in spite of which he has as partner in his noisome enterprise the proprietor of one of Toledo's principal newspapers, a gentleman who takes pride in his record as a public influence for good through lectures and Y.M.C.A. addresses; yet who takes profit from a swindle, compared to which three-card monte is respectable and harmless.

Every city has its quacks of the miracle-working kind. Mostly they prey upon the ignorant, and when the field of one locality is worked out they move to another, leaving their former province to some successor of their kind. For upon this profitable province to some successor of their kind. For upon this profitable principle all medical bunco is built; that the human sheep once fleeced soon grows another crop for the benefit of the coming shearer.