As Happy as a King.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXIX, Issue XXII, 29 November 1902, Page 1354

As Happy as a King.

This old saying, like a good many others, is founded upon ignorance, and therefore completely misleading. As a matter of fact, kings have rather less of happiness than falls to the share of most private men. lake at random from history the lives of any fifty kings you will, and compare them with the lives of any fifty private men, also taken at random, and I'll wager you my last sixpence you'll find the balance of happiness inclines heavily to the private men. To be heralded by drum and trumpet wherever you go, to be spoken of either in terms of the extremes! adulation or of vulgar abuse, and to serve as a target for the revolver practice of every crank who nurses a grievance, is not quite the life a wise man would choose if his will had anything to do with the matter. “I wish I were a king,” said Jones to his friend Brown; “not what is now-a-days called a king, but a real king as of old —one with authority to have a few people killed now and again when he felt like it.” “You are neither a king nor a man,” replied Brown, “but an ass without ability to eat thistles.” Brown was right. Of all ambitions which sway mortal man, that which cost imperial Caesar his life —ambition to become a king—has least of wisdom in it, and is only to be accounted for by the monstrous fallacy of supposing that kings are. per se, happier than other men. These thoughts occur to us in considering the case of Mr. William Highett, of 7, Elder-street, Adelaide, S.A., who, we were about to say. was as happy as a king until about three years ago. But that wouldn’t he right. With his youthfulness. his health, strength and splendid physique, Mr. Highett should have been, and doubtless was, hap-

pier than any king who eould be named. Mr. Highett writes thus on the 10th of March, 1902: “I am a native of South Australia, twenty-five years of age, and until three years ago never knew what it was to be seriously ill. At that period I was engaged in bush work, right in the heart of the rough North-east District. The work was extremely laborious, the food coarse, and the climate red hot. These conditions completely broke down my health. I grew weak and thin, continually felt out of sorts, and would get up in the morning feeling more tired than when I went to bed. There was a tight feeling, a distressing sense of oppression about the chest, and I was much troubled by flatulence, which frequently compelled me to rise from my bed and walk the floor for hours. I tried all sorts of pills and medicines for my complaint, but none of them did me any good. Finally I grew so weak that I had to give up my employment, having lost twentyeight pounds in weight. I then went to Adelaide, and placed myself in the care of a first-class doctor, who said that my trouble was a bad form of indigestion; but though he treated me for a considerable time I gained no relief. It was at this crisis that a little book was left at the house whieh, fortunately examining, I found to be an almanac issued by the proprietors of Mother Seigel’s Curative Syrup. In this little work I read of the case of a person whose symptoms were very similar to mine, and who claimed to have been thoroughly cured by Mother Seigel’s Curative Syrup. This fact determined me to try it, and I obtained a bottle without delay. A very few doses were sufficient to cause a great improvement in my condition, which encouraged me to persevere with it, the result being that in a few weeks I felt like a new man. I could eat heartily and enjoy my food, the flatulence disappeared, my sleep was sound and refreshing, and strength and cheerfulness returned to me. That was twelve months ago, and I have enjoyed the best health ever since. I always keep a bottle of it by me, and take a dose from time to time, believing that prevention is better than cure.”