WAS IT PROVIDENCE OR ACCIDENT ?

Taranaki Herald, Volume XXXIX, Issue 8935, 18 November 1890, Page 4

WAS IT PROVIDENCE OR ACCIDENT ?

Did the finding of that article save tho man's life? 'lbat is the question. ]b there a divinity that shapes our ends ? or are events but a mere series of accidents which may happen to one persou as well us another. Aro the experiences that com pose our lives links in a chain, or loose grains of sand ? As you answer these questions, as you take the one side or the other, co is your faith ; you are a mate rialist or a btliever 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 chance. The following facts are fully vouched for, and resemble occurrences in the lives ot multitudes.

Several yeatß ago Griffith Jones was a policeman at Holyhead, Wales. He had a family consisting of a wife and five young children to take care of. Holyhead is on St George's (or the Irish) Cbannsl, and is open to the terrific gales that so often gather on those dangerous waters and beat with violence upon the coast, Jones' 'post' or 'beat' extended back iuto the country, over bleak, wind-swept hills. He had to walk through this region in all weathers, day or night. He was often out in winter nights, in cold and darkness exposed to the storms that drive in from the sea. At such times the wife listened to the rattling windows, and prayed that the hubband and father might take no harm iv the wild tempest. This was hard lines, but iv the family (though they were poor tnoughj there was still health and comparative comfort. But in a bad storm tbo policeman caught a heavy cold. Home remedies failed to cure it, and the officer cent to his old physician at Aberffraw for medicine. It did no good. Jones' right si ie grew 'queer' und painful. The doctor said it was the liver, and he was right; but correct, opinions don't cure disease. His head troubled him too, and he was often so giddy he could hardly walk. " I am bo tired and weary," he would Bay. 18 1 don'c kaow what makes me. I try to rest and sleep, .bat get up 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 curiouß feeling at the stomach ; it was cold, dull, and miserable, like a iurnace which contains nothing but ashes and cinders. A nascy und nauseous kind ofgaß or wind ciime up into bis throat, like the effluvia from a tomb, fcfis wife called his attention to the ghastly yellow colour of his eyts and skin, and once in a while he wouli have a spell of palpit{it : oa of the heurt that mace him atraid of falling dead — perhaps iv some lonely place.

In spite of it all, however, Policeman Jones kept on duty as much as ever be could. Of course. So would any honest, plucky man. But he slept fitfully, with bad dreatLS. He cried out sometimes with the terror of them, and the frightened children said, "Is papa going to die ?" He was, and is, one of the most

patient and loving of men, yet now he was cross and surly to his family. Then something new developed. There came a pain under his left shoulder blade; bis wrists and knees grew swollen and painful this was rheumatism, caused, the doctors said, ' by the (indigested and fermented food having poisoned the blood. Kidney and bladder complaint followed — ior they alno are merely symptouis of indigestion and djepepsia. The policeman now felt that be must give up, and, if he did, then what ? He could foresee nothing but destitution.

Now we come to the event which suggested the question with which this short history begins : Was it an accident or was it a li&k in a saving chain ? Entering ihe Holyhead station-house one day, ill, depressed, weak, and Uiiaerable, he saw a little pamphlet upon the table. He picked it up and began to read it. In a few momentß bib mind was riveted on its pages. In clear, plain language he found his own case fully described, just as though the book had been written for him and for him -alone. It named a cure for all bis ailment?,. a medicine called Mother Seigel's Curative ' Syrup.- The plaiu honeßty of the statements won bis confidence. He procured half-a-dozen bottles through Mr Hei-ry Wilson, of the Drdg Id all, Holyhead. Taking it he begun to improve, and all his aches and pains vanibhed in a few weeks. This was August, 1879. Ten years Lave passed, but not a sign or symptom of bis ail men t has returned. Mi Joneß entered upon a more lucrative business, and wherever.he goeb he spreatiß thu fame of Seigel's Syrup, and insists that the glimpse of the book on the table eettled the point as to whether he should go under the sod or be the strong aew man he has beeu ever Bince. ' 5