HE SHOUTED FOR HELP.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXV, Issue IX, 1 September 1900, Page 387

HE SHOUTED FOR HELP.

It was not for pleasure that Mr. Wilson concluded to take a walk in his garden; it was rather an experiment than an act of recreation. And, grievous to relate, the result was against him. The fact is, he had hardly covered a hundred feet of ground before he stopped, gave u choking gasp, and then sang out for help. His wife ami two sons came to the reaeiin. and got him indoors as best they were able.

And that ended his going alone for six months or more. , By trade Mr Wilson is a carpenter, one of the most useful, peaceful and respectable of all the forms of industry. He has lived and worked for a long time at Given Terrace, Paddington, Brisbane, Queensland, and lives there still. About four years ago—or it will be by the time this gets into print—Mr. Wilson began to feel himself much less of a man than he use& to be; he was breaking down. The first thing he noticed was that when he set out to walk a fairish distance, which he would have done once with a kit of tools on his track without minding it—l say, when he set out to tramp this, he found his legs were weak, and he often had to stop for breath. And he kept on getting worse. Such a state of things was almost as bad for a carpenter as it would have been for a postman. Both these vocations demand good legs and good wind.

On being consulted the doctor said. “Mr. Wilson, your heart is so weak it can scarcely pump the blood through your body, and your whole system is out of order. There is no chance of your getting sound again, ami the sooner you lay aside your saws and hammers the longer you are likely to live.”

These were plain words, to be sure, but not words which a patient would feel like paying out money' to listen to. All the same, friend Wilson did as the doctor said, because he had no choice. He couldn't work, and so,

naturally he didn’t. His chisels grew dull, but not so dull as their owner. He left off making chips and shavings. and went in for dru£s and regrets— a bad landslide for him.

After about half a year of this sort of thing Mr. Wilson made up his mind to find out for himself if he was in faet so poor a stick of human timber as the medical man had declared him to be; hence the experimental walk in the garden already described. For six months more he was like a ship in a dry dock, of no use to himself or anybody else. The doctor had measured up the carpenter’s complaint to an eighth of an inch, but, as for curing it. why, that he made no pretence of doing. "About this time,” says Mr. Wilson in a letter dated September 22. 1899, “Mr. Frank Percival Peacock, of Man-ning-street, South Brisbane, urged n>e to try Mother Seigel's Syrup; he said he was sure it would help me. I didn't think so, but 1 tried it. To my surprise and delight it enabled me to get about in three weeks, and in six weeks I went back to work; and have had splendid health ever since. "As I am 61 years old, it wasn't the rebound of youthful elasticity that saved me; it was Mother Seigel's Syrup, and nothing else. I am known to nearly all the people of this neighbourhood. who can vouch for the truth of my statement.”—H. Wilson. Mr. Wilson’s ailment was of the digestion—the heart aud lung troubles being functional symptoms of that. When the stomach was made right he picked up his saw.