THE NUGGET OF GOLD ORE.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXV, Issue 11, 16 July 1897, Page 31

THE NUGGET OF GOLD ORE.

• That, said my friend, in reply to a question of mine, "is a very large and very rich nugget of gold ore. It was taken many years ago from a mine in Australia." '• How much is it worth ?" I asked. He looked at me with a shrewd smile and replied : " It is worth just nothing at all."

I thought that a queer thing for him to say, but asked no more questions.

Two years later I again visited his house in London and this time I missed the big nugget from the shelf where I had first seen it. But I asked no questions. Perhaps, recalling the incident of two years before, my friend said : " I have something to show you," and. opening a closet, he produced a magnificent gold vase, remarking : " That nugget of gold ore has taken this form. Exclusive of the labour involved in the transformation, the gold alone is now worth £100."

What curious similitudes there are between things essentially unlike. Here is one which it may be instructive to follow up. It is suggested by the following sentence from a woman's letter : " In spite of all the nourishing food I took nothing seemed to give me strength."

Now, why was that / Perhaps the history of the previous three years of her life may help to account for it. In January, 18!)(), she had an attack of influenza, which, she says, left her low, weak and languid. So far as we are able to ascertain, influenza is caused by a certain poison in the blood developed during peculiar conditions of the atmosphere. Its early symptoms are those of a fever ; they are always sudden and often alarming. Yet, as in nearly all cases it ends in recovery in a week or two, it does not explain the mystery of Mrs. Westall's continued weakness and prostration.

She tells us that her appetite was poor, and that eating was immediately followed by great pain in the chest, back, and sides. Hoping to overcome this state of things she took much nourishing food. That an increase of strength should result from the eating of plenty of good food would seem reasonable. How else can one ever gain strength ? Yet, strange to say, no such result followed. On the contrary, the pains became worse, so that — to use her own words — she was " completely racked with pain " all over her, and so weak she couid scarcely put one foot before the other. Besides this, the condition of the stomach was far from encouraging. That organ is the source of all power in the human body, and should feel warm, comfortable and quiet. In this lady's case it was full of uneasiness and pain. She speaks of a craving, gnawing, sinking sensation in it, which was not relieved either by food or by any medical treatment. Certainly, something quite different from a former attack of influenza went to the making of that ; we must look deeper to find the real trouble.

Chemists often determined the character of a poison by observing the colour it creates when applied to litmus paper ; and, in addition to the general symptoms, it is sometimes possible to tell the nature of a disease by taking notice of what cures it. Now there is one universally known remedy which never fails to cure one subtle comprehensive, and yet deceptive disease. Happily it was finally employed in Mrs. Westall's case.

In concluding her letter, dated December Ist, 12 Rucklidge Avenue, Willesden, London, N.W., 1892— she says: "At the time when my condition was very critical and my family very anxious, niy son-in-law, Mr. Deacon, of Shepherd's Bush Road, told me how, in an illness of his own, he had been cured by Mother Seigel's Curative Syrup and advised me to begin using it at once. I did so, and soon my appetite returned and my food digested ; and by the time I had consumed two bottles I was strong as ever, and have kept in the best of health ever since. — (Signed) Yours truly, Mary Westall."

This remedy, as the public is well aware, is advertised to cure indigestion and dyspepsia and its consequences — and nothing else. Yet these consequences include nearly every ailment with which we are familiar. Even influenza seldom attacks any save those whose blood is first poisoned by indigestion and dyspepsia. And as to that nugget of gold ore / Ah, yes — Gold is worthless until it is manufactured ; food is useless unless it is digested. Between the ore and the vase is the workman. Between food and strength also a workman — the stomach.

General Porter tells a story of an old-time Abolitionist in Illinois who went to a theatre in Chicago and saw Forrest playing Othello. He was not very well up in Shakespeare and didn't know the tragedian was a white man, who had blacked up for the purpose. After the play was over the folks who invited him to go to t.ie hhow wanted to know what he thought of the actors, and he said, " Waal, layin' aside all sectional prejudices and any partiality I may have for the race, derned ef I don't think the nigger held his own with any on em."