In this country, no person has taken the lead of a famous doctor in the way of advertising.  Nearly every paper in the Union was one-fourth filled with ably-written articles in praise of his compound.  In fact, he published papers of his own, the articles in which were characterized by the “one idea principle,” and that one idea was contained in a bottle of Dr.—­’s save all and cure all, “none true but the genuine,” “warranted not to burst the bottles or become sour.”  In addition to these, he issued an almanac-millions of them-bearing glad tidings to the sick and credulous, and sad tidings to the “regulars” in the medical fraternity.  These almanacs were distributed everywhere.  They came down on the American people like rain-drops.  The result was, as we all know, the doctor flourished in a fortune equal to his fame, and disposed of his interest in the business, a few years since, for one hundred thousand dollars.

The amount of capital invested in advertising is very great, some firms expending thousands of dollars monthly in this mode of making known their business.  It has been truly said that a card in a newspaper, that costs but a few dollars, is of far more value than costly signs over one’s door.  The former thousands behold, and are directed to your place of business; the latter very few notice who do not know the fact it makes known before they see it.

Attracted by the good fortune of those who have advertised, nearly every one has adopted the means that led to it; and the advertising system has become universal.

We have been seated in a car, waiting impatiently for the sound of the “last bell,” when a person in a brown linen coat entered with an armful of books, and gave to each passenger a copy, without a hint about pay.  Thanking him for the gift, and astonished at his generosity, we proceeded to open it, when “Wonderful cures,” “Consumption,” “Scrofula,” “Indigestion,” and “Fits,” greeted our eyes on every page.  Illustrated, too!  Here was represented a man apparently dying, and near by a figure that would appear to be a woman were it not for two monstrous wings on its back, throwing obstacles in the way of death in the shape of a two-quart bottle of sarsaparilla syrup.  Presumptive man in a brown linen coat, to suppose that we, just on the eve of a pleasure excursion, are troubled with such complaints, and stand in need of such a remedy!

You buy a newspaper, go home, seat yourself, and, in the anticipation of at glorious intellectual feast, open its damp pages, when, lo and behold! a huge show-bill falls from its embrace, and you are informed of the consoling truth that you can have all your teeth drawn for a trifle, and a now set inserted at a low price, by a distinguished dentist from London.  The bill is indignantly thrown aside, and you commence reading an article under the caption of “An interesting incident,” which, when half finished, you find to refer to a young lady whose complexion was made