Often in the newspapers we come upon small notices — testimonials given by their authors about their experience with a kind of soap or some other kind of manufactured product. These are testimonials born of personal experience, intended for the benefit of others and the spreading of good. All the more reason, then, for a person to give testimony about a remedy he has tried himself and profited from, thereby rendering a service to those who suffer and sparing them the trouble of perplexity in choosing the best among these commercial medicines that fill the market. It is with this motive that
I wish to pass on my experience to others, feeling great pleasure at the mere thought that a single human being might benefit from this experience and find relief.
For years now I have suffered from the crisis, or what we call "asthma." I have endured much from it, and have taken medicines beyond count or number — until I came upon the remedy "Mondaco," which consists of tablets. I kept up its use, and the result was truly great: a normal, acceptable life returned to me. I eat and sleep like everyone else, after having turned away from food while sleep turned away from me for most hours
of the night. And it has become certain to me that the success of this remedy depends on continuing to take it for at least three months.
In giving this testimony and passing on this experience, I have great hope that it will reach those who have suffered as I have suffered, so that they may reap from it the good and the health that I have reaped.
In sum, I draw the attention of the honorable doctors to this useful and proven remedy, "Mondaco," with my very great astonishment at how they have not discovered it until now.
lips the innocent, tranquil smile of a sage... like the smile of a child...
It is truly a wonderful thing for a man to witness the victory of spirit over matter and the defeat of cruel pain... the crushing of disease and its conquest. And there was morning... and there was evening.
And there was a new morning... the one that "Pierre-Auguste Renoir" began on the seventeenth of December in the year 1919, after a long night he had passed awake with continuous coughing and a heavy tightness in the chest.
He took his wheeled chair and steered it to the easel, where a new white canvas stood, more like a shroud than anything else — and he turned to the one who attended him at his side and said:
"Give me a pencil, 'Jean'!"
The companion went out to look for the pencil... and when he returned, "Pierre-Auguste Renoir" had given up the ghost, before his shroud — the one he had loved all his life.
Beirut, April 15, 1947
Riley
The car you dream of owning
Sturdiness — grace
Riley
Near East Resources Company — Saad Karahi — Beirut