1912-12-07 — Page 7

A Lady Housekeeper

Nervous Exhaustion, Neuralgia,

THE HONGKONG DAILY PRESS. SATUŁDAY, DI CEMBERħth; 1915

Sleeplessness-

The fact that Mrs. Taylor did not give up her work, and did not go for a change, is clear proof Phosferins prevented the nervous breakdown which her doctor said was certain unless she gave up her duties. Mrs. Taylor is not the sort who gives up easily, although she was worn to a standstill with neurasthenia and sleeplessness, and realising that wither change nor rest was possible, she concluded the only certain way to keep going was to supplement her vitality with Phosferize. The actual benefit Mrs. Taylor experienced within a few hours exceeded oven the relief she knew would result from Phosferino, every nerve centre in her system began to resume its activity, thus promoting her recovery with daily increasing rapidity. Now that all traces of nervous disorders are expelled, and she sleeps sounder and eats better than ever, Mrs. Taylor urges aber exhausted workers not to give up, but employ Phosferine to generate a new supply of nerve force and feel for themselves how capable, vivacious, and happy natured this new energy makes everyone,

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Mrs. K. E. Taylor, 369, Goldbawk Road, Chiswick, writes: "The benefit 1 have received from Phosferine is almost incredible. I had been suffering for months from Neurasthenia, everything was a burden to me, bead pains and body pains were constant, I could not eat, neither could I sleep. I felt utterly iil and wearied out, and after struggling on for some time, I was told by my doctor there was nothing for it but to give up my situation or to go away for a change. For many reasons, either would have been my last wish. I remembered Phosferine had done me so much good 14 years ago in a case of neuralgia and weakness following maternity, and so I started your remedy again. I consider it has agaut worked iniracles for me. I can eat and sleep well, and am able to perform my duties, which comprise not only household affairs, but brain work, with ease and pleasure."-April 24, 1912

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THE BUILDING-

Dr.

SEUMAS O'KELLY.:

(Continued from: Page 6.)

**Who built the house on the bill?” he nakadt

**A simple man in the neighbourhood," Martin Cosgrave made amwer, after a little pause.

Märtin Cosgrave could have run up the hill and shouted. He could have called all the neighbours together and told them of the strange man who had called him an arțiat, a poet, a poet who had put up a lyric in stone on the hill.

{"A simple man!" the stranger excltimed, looking at Martin Cosgrave with some The farmer who turned the soda for dispproval.Why the man is an artist, a felds away laboured in the damp atmospnet; a poet to the finger tips. He has put phere of growing things, his mind filled with up-a-a lyric-in stone on that hill." barnst He shook his head at sight of the stranger hesitated before he hit on the Martin Cosgrave above on the hill bent all word lyric. Ho got up on his ear and drove day oror hard stones; whenever he looked up Away muttering something under his breath. he only caught the glint of a trowel or heard the harsh grind of a chisel, But Martin Cosgrave took no stock of the men reddening the soil bonenth him. Whenever his eyes travelled down the hillside be only saw the flock of crows that hung over the bend of the digger. The study of the veins of limestone that he turned in his hands, the slow moulding of the erade shapes to their place in the building, the rhythm and swing of the mallet in his arm, the zest with which he felt the impact of the chisel on the stone, the ring of forging steel, the consciousness of mastery over the irork that lay to his hands-these were the things that seemed to biza to give life a purpose and man a destiny. He would whistle a tune as bo mixed the mortar with the broad shovel, for it gave him a feeling of the knitting of the building with the ages. He pitied the farmer who looked helplessly upon his corn as it was beaten to the ground by the first storm that blew from the sea; he was upon a work that would withstand the storms of

But he did none of these things. He bad work waiting to his hand. A hunger waY upon him to feel his pulse beating to the throb of steel on stone. From the road he made a sweep of a drive up to the building. The neighbours locked open-mouthed at the "Well, that work for the days it went on. finishes Martin Cosgrave anyway," they

said.

Martin Cosgrove rushed the making of the drive; he took all the help he could get. The boys would come up after their day's work and give him a hand. While they worked he was busy with his chisel upon the boulders of limestone which he had set up on either side of the entrance gate. One more he felt the glamour of life-the impact of

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centuries. The scent of lime and mortar forging stool on stone was thrilling through and beauty

greeted his nostrils. When he moved about the splinters crunched under his feet. Everything around him was hard and stub born, but he was the master of it all. In his droams in the night he would rench out his hands for the feel of the hard stone, a burning dire in his breast to put it into shape, to give it nobility in the scheme of a building.

It was while Martin Cosgrave walked through the building that Ellen Kennedy

came to him with the second letter from America.

The carpenter was hammering at something below. The letter said that Rose Dempsey and her sister, Sheen, would he home in the late harvest. With all I saw since I felt Kilbeg, Rose Dempsey wrote, "I never saw one I thought as much ofas Martin Cosgrave," When Ellen Kennedy left him, Martin Cosgrave stood very quietly looking through the cut-stone tracery window. The beech trees were sway- ing slowly outside. Their music was in his

cars.

|

his arma,, the stone was being moulded to the direction of his

ting mind.

When he had finished with the boulders at the entrance gate the people marvelled. The gate had a glory of its own, and yet it was connected with the scheme of the building on the hill palpably enough for even their slow minds to grasp it. When the people looked upon it they forgot to make com- plaint of the good land that was given to ruin. One of them had expressed too

1 general vague sentiment when he said,

Well, the kite has got its tail.”

In the late harvest Martin Cosgrave carried up all the little sticks of furniture from his, cabin and put it in the building. Then he sout for Ellen Kennedy. When- the woman came she looked about the placo- in amazement. "Woll, of all the sights in the world!" she exclaimed. Martin. Cos- grave was irritated at the woman's attitude.

"We'll have to make the best of it," he marrying Rose Dempsey in the town the dny said, referring to the furniture. "I will be

"Rose Dempsey would never like the Buddeness of that," her aunt protested. She can be staying with me and marrying "from my house.""

Then he remembered that he was standing in the room where he would take Rose Demp-after she lands." sey to his breast. They would be shut in here from the world. It was bere he would tell her of all the bitter things he had locked up in his heart when she had gone away from him. It was here he would take her again in the arms that had raised the building that would be about them. It was here he would tell her of the day of resurrection, when all the bitter thoughts had burst into flower at the few words that told of her return. It was that day of great tumalt within him that thought of the building had come into his mind.

When Martin Cosgrave walked out of the room he was pale with anticipation of the things to come. The carpenter and a neigh- hour boy were arguing about something at

the foot of the stairs.

"It's too steep, I'm telling you," the busy was saying.

"What do you know nhout it" the carpenter demanded.

I know this much about it," the other persisted, that if a little child came running down that stair he'd be apt to fall and break his neck."

Then the two men went out, still arguing. Martin Cosgrave sat down on one of the stope of the stairs. A child running down the steps! His, child! A child-bearing his game! He would be prattling about the building. He would ran across that landing, swaying and tottering. His little voice world the bai'ding. Arms would be reaching out to him. They would be the saft white arms of Rose Dempsey, or maybe, they would be the arms that raised up the build. ing his own strong arms. Or it might ne that he would be carrying down the child and handing him over the rails into the out-spread arms of Rose Dempsey. She would be reaching out for the child with the newly kindled light of motherland in her eyes, the passion of a young mother in her welcoming voice. A child with his very name a child that would grow up to be a maz and hand down the name 'to another, and so on during the generations. And with the name would go down the building, the building that woukl endure, that would live, that was immortal. Did it all come to him as a sudden revelation, springing from the idle talk of a neighbour boy brought up to think from one season to another? Or was it the same thing that was behind the forces that had fired him, while he had worked at the building? Had it not all come into his life the evening he stood among his fields with his eyes on the crest of the hill.

Ah, there had been a great building surely, building standing up on the hill, a great, a splendid building raised up to the sight of all the world, and with it a greater building, a building raised ap from the sight of all, men, the building of a name, the moulding. of hearts that would beat while Time was, a building of immortal souls, a building into which God would breathe His breath, building which would be beard of in Heaven, among the angels, through all the eternities, a building living on when all the light was gone out of the sun, when oceans were as if they had never been, a name, a building, living when the story of all the worlds and all the generations would be held written upon a scroll in the lap of God.

The neighbours were more awed than shocked at the change they saw increasing in Martin Cosgrave. He had grown paler and thinner, but eyes were more tense, had in them, some of the neighbours said, the colone of the limestone. He was more and more removed from the eld life. He walked his. fields without seeing the things that made up the old companionship. His whole attitude, was one of detachment and aloofness from everything that did not savour of the grind and crunch of stone, the ring of steel on the walls of a building. He only talked rational- ly when the neighbours spoke to him of the building. They had heard that he had gone to the money-lender, and mortgaged every "It was easy to know hoir work of the like would end," they said. One day a stranger was driving by on his car and when he saw the building he got down, walked up the hill and made a long study of it. On his way down he met Martin Cosgrave.

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"I saw the Priest about it,". Martin Cosgrave said impatiently. "I will have my way, Ellen Kennedy. Rose Dempsey will come up to Kilbeg my wife. We will conto in the gate together, we will walk into the building together. I will have my way."

Martin Cosgrave spoko of having his way. in the impassioned voice of the fanatic, and of his home-coming with his bride in the half dreamy voice of the visionary.

(Continued on Page 8.)

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