THE WORLD RUNS AWAY FROM US

Lake County Press, Issue 693, 30 January 1896, Page 7

THE WORLD RUNS AWAY FROM US

The other day we had a talk with a man who knew as little of the world around him as a baby. Yet lie was a man of naturally fine intelligence. He had just been relieved from prison. Ten years ago ne was incarcerated under a, life sentence. Recently, however, circumstances had arisen widen proved his innocence, and he obtained his freedom. But nothing seemed as before. He had been stationary while the world moved on. Many of his old friends were dead, and all were changed. A big slice of his career was lost, and worse than lost. Could he ever make it up ? No, never, besides,, although he had committrd no offence, the mere fact that he had been convicted of one, would always place him at a’ disadvantage. Different as it is in all outward conditions long illness produce results which resembles these of enforced solitude. When confined to our homes by disease we are virtually oat of the world. Friends may, and do, pity us ; but they do uot lie down by our side and suffer with us. Ah 1 no. They go their own ways and leave us aloiffc. In the midst of company we are still alone. Enjoymen\ food, sleep, fresh air, movement, work, etc. —those are for them, not for us. Alas if or the poor prisoner whose jailor is some relentless disease. Who shall open the iron doors and set him free, “I never had any rest or pleasure.” So writes a man whose letter we have just finished reading. “In the early part of 1888,” hesays, “ astrangc feeling came'over me. I felt heavy, drowsy, languid, and tired. Something appeared to be wrong with me, and I couldn’t account for it. I had a foul taste in the month,*my appetite failed, and what I did eat lay on me like a stone. Soon I became afraid to eat, as the act was always followed by pain and distress. Sometimes I had a sensation of cbpking in the throat as if I could not swallow. I was swollen, too, around the body, and got about with difficulty owing to increasing weakness. “ At the pit of my stomach was a hungry, craving sensation, as though I needed support from food j yet the little I took did not abate this feeling. My sleep was broken, and I awoke in the moi’uiug unrefreshed. For four years I continued in this wretchad state before I found relief.” This letter is signed by Mr Charles H. Smith, of 19, New City Road, Glasgow, and dated-Fehruary 15th, 1893. Before we hear how he was at last delivered from the slavery of illness, let us listen to the words of a lady on the same theme : Mrs Mary Ann Rusting, of Station Road, Misterton, near Gainsborough. In a brief note dated January .3rd, 1893, Mrs Rualing says she suffered iu a similar way for over fifteen years. Her hands and feet were cold and clammy, and she was pale and bloodless. She had pain in the left side and palpitation, and her breathing was short and hurried. No medicines availed to help her until two years ago. “At that time,” she says, “ our minister, the bite Rev, Mr Watson, told mo- of Mother Seigel’s Curative Syrup, and urged me to, make a trial of it. I did so, and presently felt great relief. It was not long before tire bad symptoms all left me, and I gradually got strong. I keep in good health, and have pleasure in making known to others the remedy which did so much for mo.” Mr Smith was completely cured by the same remedy, and says had he known of it sooner ho would have been saved years of misery. The real ailment in both these oases was indigestion and dyspepsia, with its natural consequences. Throughout the, civilised world its course is marked by a hundred forms of pain and suffering. Men and women are torn to pieces hy it as vessels are by the rocks on which they are driven by tempests. So comprehensive and all-cmbraciug is it that we may almost say that there is no other disease. It signifies -life transformed into death, bread turned into poison. Watch for ita earliest signs—especially, tlio feeling of weariness, languor, and fatigue, which announce its approach. Prevention is better than cure. . hy the use of Mother Seigel’s Curative Syrup, cure is always possible ; and poor captives in the loathsome dungeons of illness are daily delivered as the hand of the gojxl German nxtrse swings open the door.