WAS IT PROVIDENCE OR ACCIDENT?

Taranaki Herald, Volume XXXIX, Issue 8934, 17 November 1890, Page 4

WAS IT PROVIDENCE OR ACCIDENT?

Did the finoinu: of that article eavo tli9 man's life? That is the question. Is there a divinity that shapes our ends ? or are events but a mere series of accidents which may happen to one person as well as aeother. Are the experiences that compose our lives links in a chain, or loose groins of sand ? As you answer those questions, as you take the one side or the other, so is your faith ; you are a materialist or a believer in Providence. We now propose to relate a story in illustration of this problem which may have some effect in arousing those who have always thought themselves the subjects of blind chauce. The following facts are fully vouched for, and resemble occurrences in the lives of multitudes. Several years ago Griffith Jonea was a policeman at Holjhead, Wales. He had a family considting of a wife and five }onng clilnren to take care of. Holyhead is ou Si George's (or the Irish) Chauntl, an iis optn to the terrific gales lhat so often gainer on those dunjrerouß \satenand beat with violence upon the coast, Jones' 'poßt' or 'beat' extended back into the country, over bleak, wind-swept bills. He had to walk through this region ia all weathers, day or night. He was often out in winter night?, in cold and darkness exposed to the storms that drive in from the sea. At such times the wife listened to the rattlini? windows, and prayed that the husband and father might take no harm in the wild, tempest. This was hard lines, but in the family (though they were poor enough; there was still health and comparative comfort. But in a bad storm the policeman caught a heavy cold- Home remedies failed to cure it, and the officer sent to his old physician at Aberffraw for medicine. It did no good. Jones' right si 1c grew 'queer' and^ painful. The doctor said it was the liver, and he was righi ; but correct opinions don't cure disease. Hia head troubled him too, and he was often so giddy he could hardly walk. (l I am so tired and weary," he would say. "I don't know what makes me. I try ti rest and sleep, bnt get np just as dead tired as when I go to bed." Then worse came. He sat down to his table, but revolted from his food ; appetite was gone. There was a curious fseling at the stomach ; it was cold, dull, aid miserable, like a furnace which conttinsnotbiog but ashes and cinders. A nascyund nauseous kind of gas or wind came up into his throat, like the effluvia from a tomb. Bis wife called his attention to the ghastly yellow colour of hia Gjts and skin, and once in a while he would have a spell of palpilut oa of the heart that ma'-e him atiaid of falling dead — p rhapa in somb lonely place. In spite of it all, however, Policeman Jones kept on dnty as much as ever he could . Of course. So would any honest, plnckv man. But he slept fitfully, with baa dredujs. He cried out sometimes with the terror of them, and the frightened children said, "Is pupa going to die ?" He was, and is, one of tho most patient and loving of men, yet now he was cross and surly to his family. Then tiometbing new developed. There cume a pain under bis left shoulder blade; bis wrists and knees grew swollen and painful this was rheumatism, caused, the doctorß said, r>y tho .indigested and :ermented food having poisoned ibb blood. Kn:ne> and bladder co<i. plaint follower — lor they also ure mertlj sj nip ton s of inaigestiou anl d\spepsia. The policeman now tell that he must give up, and, if be did, tben what ? He could foresee nothing bat destitution. Kow we come to the event which suggested the question with which this short history begins : Was it an accident or wus it a link in a saving cbaiu ? Entering the Holyheud station-house one dv}, nl, depressed, weak, and LMuerable, he saw a little pamphlet upon the table. He picked it up and began to read it. In a few moments bib mind was riveted on its pages. In clear, plain language Le found bis own case fully described, just as though the book bad been written tor him and for him alone. It named v enre for all hisuilments, a medicine called Mother Seigel's Curative Syrup. The plaiu honesty of the statements won his confidence. He procured half-a-dozen bottles through Mr Henry Wilson, of the Drug Hall, Hothead. Taking it he began to improve, and all his aches and pains vuuithed in a few weeks. This was ALgust, 1879. Ten years have passed, but not a bign or ejmptom of his ailment has returned. Mi Jones entered upon a Diore lucrative business, and wherever he goes he spreads thu fume of Seigel's Syrup, and insists that the glimpse of the book on the table settled the point as to whether be should go under the sod or be the strong new man be has been ever since. 5

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