WHAT MAKES THEM CRY ?

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XX, Issue XIV, 2 April 1898, Page 428

WHAT MAKES THEM CRY ?

You have a very sore huger, let us say. It may be a hurt, a boil, or, worse still, that fearfully painful thing, a felou. Oh, my I 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 more thah 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 on which Mrs Elizabeth Allen couldn’t bear the least noise. She had no sore finger, but she had what was still more 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 sounds 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 musketry to one in this condition. Millions of women know all about it, and plenty of men too—crowds of them. You recognise them on sight—those who are subject to this affliction. 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’s us talk about it two minutes, first quoting the lady’s letter, which is dated May 11th, 1893, and written from her home, 263, Systonstreet, Leicester. ‘For many years,’she says,‘l 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, and had to be constantly lying down on the couch. I strained and heaved a good deal, and spat up a sour nauseous fluid. As time went on I got very weak and nervous, and couldn’t bear the least noise.

‘I took all sorts of medicines and consulted doctors, but nothing did me much good. Later on I came to hear of Mother Seigel’s Curative Syrup, and after taking it a short time the disease left me, and I was 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 ten 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 heard 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 left me the first week, I repeated my food no more, and in a month all my ills were gone. Bless Mother Seigel for ever, I say. — Yours gratefully (signed), W. Nash, 331, Goswell Road, E.C., London, October 2nd, 1893.’ Now, where is there room enough on paper to sufficiently praise a medicine that will do 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 cry 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.