THINGS SLOWLY LEARNED.

Otago Witness, Issue 2319, 11 August 1898, Page 58

THINGS SLOWLY LEARNED.

There is a man in Scotland who used to write many readable and iustructive things. He signed himaelf "A Country Parson," and s fcrigut parson he is.. One of his essays is entitled, " Things Slowly Learned," a goodlino cf thought for anybody. Well, Lere is one of the things slowly learned— that diseascdoeao'fcjurop on a man like a wild cat cut cf a tree, but develops from seeds and conditions, jus 1 ; as roses and weeds do. We who write mm3 print the essayi of which these lines are one hava ea'd this a hundred times; but all the people don't seem to have thoroogbljr grasped tbe idea yet. For if Mr Theodore Treasure alone bad done so, hs wouldn't, have suffered 10 years from attacks of rheumatic fever. In November, 1891, he saya be bad a fearful time of it. He tells us in a letter that he bad dreadful pains all ovec bis body, and was so sore be couldij't bear anything to touch him. Even the bedclothes burt him, like a feather against a sore eye. " I gob little or no slefp," h3 says, " tossing all the night ltng, and hyiug to get ease by a shift of poeition. " I had a foul taste in the mouth, and spat up a great quantity of slimy phlegm. My appetite left me, and the little food I forced down gave rae great pain at the chest and sides. For five months I was confined (o my room, most of the titr.e unable to leave my beel, and what I suffered during that time I have no words to describe." Anyone who has ever been through that sore of thing cau easily believe what Mr Treasure says ; for whin every muscle and joint in % man's body is throbbing with inflammation, it ian't sny commou collection of words that cao Bet forth his feelings. Ifc is agony and torment in the supreme degree. Yet we ought to know bstter than to have it. But we don't— not yeU.

"2 waa perfectly helpless," continues out friend, " and could scarcely move. In fact, the people had to move me fn m one side of the bed to the other. Month after month 1 was laid up^ and cuffericg in this way. I had a doctor attending me, but he wasn't able to do much to relieve me. " Finally, to cub the story short, I came to hear of Mother SeigePs Curative Syrup. I read about it in a book that was left at my home. The book said this medicine was good for rheumatism, and bo my wife got me a bottle from Mr Ford, the grocer, at Oakhill. After taking it for a week I felt great relief. Then I kept on taking it, and uot long afterwards 1 found it; bad cured rae; it had completely driien the rheumatism out of my system. lam willing you should publish these tacts, aiid you can retet any inquirers to me. (Signed) Theodore Treasure (Waggon and Horses lun). Doulbiog, Shepton Mallefct, November 3rd, 1893." Now let's hark back a moment. To the thoughtful reader Mr Treasure's story may look a trifle confused and raised. That is, ho describes the symptoms of rheumatism proper in connection with a lot of other sjmptoma which wouldn't seem at the first blu.«h to have anything to do with rheumatism. But there's where Mr Treasure is right and the reader wrong. His account shows that he was a victim of chronic indigestion, dyspepsia, and torpid liver— and that corera the whole ground. Rheumatism (and this is the sloioly learned lesson) is merelj a nasty symptom of a dytpeptie condition of Ihe digestive organs. At the outset! it means too much eating aud drinking. This results in the formation of a poisonous acid which fil's the body and produces the local outbreak called rheumatism. Hence we cure it from within not from without. And this true. idea is also a ?!ew idea — do you see ? Try to get tbis lesßon by heart. You can prevent rheumatism by Seigel's Syrup ; you can cure ib by Siegel's' Syrup. Bat it is more comfortable to prevent it.

"What do you think? My wife's father 1 told me before we got married that he would give me a handsome present on our weddingday."—And didn't he?"— " Well, I waited over a week, and as he didn't mention the subject I asked him for it, and all he said was: 'Why, didn't I give you my ; daughter? — " What," said the visitor to the village of his childhood, " what's become of the boy I hated— Willie Hawker, the sneak? In prison, no doubt— he bore that fate on ms face."— "Hnsh!" said the villager. ''He is now Mr Hawker, the famous millionaire. " What?" cried the visitor, " my dear schoolfellow a millionaire ! I rmist^call upon him and revive the old friendship..'