THE WORLD RUNS AWAY FROM US

Lake County Press, Issue 694, 6 February 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. Vet he 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 which proved his innocence, and he obtained ins 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 ol bis career was lost, and worse than lost. Could be ever make it up? No, never, besides, although ha had committed no offence, the mere fact that In; had been convicted of one, would always place him at a’ disadvantage. Different as it is in all outward conditions long illness produce results winch resembles Ihtseof enforced solitude. When confined to our homes by disease we arc virtually out of tile world. Friends may, and do, pity us ; but they do not lie down by our side and suffer with us. Ah ! no. They go their own ways and leave us alone. In the midst of company wc are still alone. Enjoyment, food, sleep, fresh air, movement, work, etc. —those arc for them, not for us, Alas ! for 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 whoso letter we have just finished reading. “In the early- part of 1883,” he says, “ a strange feeling came over me. I felt heavy, drowsy, languid, and tired. Something appeared to ho wrong with me, and I couldn’t account for it. I had a foul taste in the mouth, my appetite failed, and what I did eat lay on mo lihe a stone. Soon I became afraid to eat, as the act was always followed by pain and distress. Sometimes I had a sensation of choking 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 ; yet the little I took did not abate this feeling. My sleep was broken, and I awoke in. the morning uurefreshed. For four years I continued in this wretched state before I found relief.”'

This letter is signed by Mr Charles H. Smith, of 19,. Now City Road,. Glasgow, and dated February loth, 1893.

Before we hear how he was at last de livered from the slavery of illness, let us listen to the words of a lady on the same theme : Mrs Mary Ann Rusling, of Station Road, Misterton,. near Gainsborough. In a brief note dated January 3rd,. 1593, Mrs Rusling says she suffered in 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 late Rev, Mr Watson, told me of Mother Seigel’s Curative Syrup, and urged me to make a trial of it. I did so, and presently felt great relief. £i was not long before the 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 me.”

Mr Smith was completely cured by th ■ same remedy, and says had he known of it sooner he would have been saved years of misery. The real ailment in both these cases 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 by it as vessels are by the rocks on which they arc driven by tempests. So comprehensive and all-embracing hj it that we may almost say that there is no other disease, it signifies li e transformed into death, bread turned into poison. Watch for its earliest signs—especially the feeling of weariness, languor, and fatigue, which announce its approach. Prevention is better than. cure.. - -

But, by the use of Mother SeigePs Curative Syrup, cure is always possible ; and poor captives in the loathsome dungeons of illness are daily delivered as the hand of the good German narse swings open the door.