WHAT MAKES THEM CRY?

Otago Witness, Volume 25, Issue 2321, 25 August 1898, Page 54

WHAT MAKES THEM CRY?

You have a very sore finger, let us say. It may be a hurt, a boil, or, worse still, that fearfully painful thing, a felon. Oh, my! oh., my! What a time you have been trying to protect that poor finger. It is all the time getting hit or knocking against something. Simply to keep it out of harm's way worries you name than doing a day's work; and you don't succeed — and wouldn't even with a dozen policemen to help you. You are scared of a fly threatening to light on it. That is the principle- <m which. Mrs 'Elizabeth Alleu couldn't bear the lea3t noise She had -(() sore finger, but she had what was sliU mere sensitive — a body full of sore nerves; weak, starved, unstrung nerves. So the prattle of children, the closing of a door, the momentary roar of a waggon in the street, the clatter of dishes in the kitchen, the thousand and one Rounds and noises that are in the air constantly — why, the smallest of them struck her like a blow from a club. Noises which are not regarded by a well person are like volleys of mu»keliy to one in this condition. Millions of women know all about it, and plenty of men, too — crowds of them. You recognise them on bight — those who ars subject to this af Motion. Their lined foreheads, their bright suspicious eyes, their self-protecting gestures and manner — you've seen them. Perhaps you are one of them yourself. If so, you'd give all your money and mortgage your future to have a stronger set of nerves, wouldn't you? Let' 3* talk about it two minutes, first quoting the lady's letter which is dated May 11, 1893, and written from her home, 263 Syston street, Leicester,

" For many years," she says, " I suffered from indigestion and weakness. After meals I had a great pain at my chest. Every few days I had an attack of sick headache, ond had to ba constantly lying down on the couch ; I strained and heaved a good deal, and spat up a sour nauseous fluid. As time went or I got very weak and nervous, and couldn't bear tho least noise.

" T took all sorts of medicines and consulted doctor?, bub nothing did me much good. Later un I came to hear of Mother Seigel's Curative Syrup, and after taking it a short time the disease left me, and I Avas able to relish and digest my food. Owing to the virtue of this remedy I now keep in good health. (Signed) Elizabeth Allen." And here is Mr W. Nash, who says: "For fully 10 years I suffered from periodic attacks of biliousness. At times a severe headache, preceded by excessive drowsiness; at other times vomiting, and retching for a whole day ; at, other times sleeplessness, pain in the chest, side, and stomach, coated tongue and bad breath — that was the way it acted with me. I grew very melancholy, and was not able to follow my business. I consulted doctors and used tonics, etc., but they only made me worse.

"I had constantly hoard of your wonderful remedy, Mother Seigel's Syrup, but didn't believe in it. Then I read in ' Wit and "Wisdom ' of a case like mine that the Syrup had cured; so I. tried it and the first bottle acted like magic. The pains l&il me the first week, I rejected ray food no more, and in a month all my ills were gone. Blesa Mother Seip-el for ever, I say. — Yours gratefully (SigntJ), "W. -tsash, 331 Goswell road, E.G., London, October 2, 1893." Now, where is thero room enough on pnper to sufficiently praise a medicino that will clo what this one did for these two good friends of ours? All pain, remember, is nervous pain, and in the above case it was the foul and inflamed ' stomach which, by' 'stopping digestion, starved the nerves and made them cvy out. What won't cry out when it is starved? Babies will, men will, women will, nerves will.

Mother Seigel's medicine set the stomach in order and gave the nerves some food. Then what? Why, quiet, comfort, strength, rest, enjoyment. "Bless Mother Seigel," indeed.

— Lionel B rough tells a story o? an old country sexton who, in showing visitors round the churchyard, used to stop at one pai ticular tombstone and say :— " This 'ere is the tomb of Tummas 'Ooper and 'is eleven woives." On one occasion a lady said: "Eleven? Dear me! that's rather A lot, isn't it?" The old man looked at her ( gravely, and then replied : " Well, mum, ' yer see, it war a 'obby of 'is'n,*