Only to think rhatany man—in the daytime, with his eyes open, not being crazy and not wanting to commit suicide—should walk straight into a canal or a river! Only to think of that, I say! Yet a good many did it in and around London in Chiristinas week, 1891. The dense fog it was, of course, that made them. People could' hardly see six feet ahead of their noses less at times, and in. some spots. For you understand' the difference between mere darkness and a fog. In the dark, no matter how black it is you can always see the lights if there are any. Buta fog! A fog is to hav put out and other calamities due to fogs—why, there's end to them, The Lenten papers have endered why somebody hasn't invented a fter fogs. Ah, yes, why? about a fog, one of those thick mists that hang over most of twelve months in the year. She says th from April to September, 1889, she was too ill to have any pleasure or comfort. This was a thing to notice, inasmuch as her disposition was naturally cheerful and ively. The trouble, whatever you call it, came on her wlually, much as a fog rises. At first she simply felt languid. Very little exertion mace her tired. Her breath exme to be very short, too, and she often felt faint. She couldn't eat; that is, not with any relish, and her sleep was broken up into naps and snatches instead of being solid and straight away, as good sleep always is. Her spirits were dull and depressed. To be sure. How else could they be?
She had great pain in the region of the heart, which frightened her, as it would you, for the heart is a vital organ and we are properly scared when there's anything ailing it. Every morsel she ate distressed her. Even the swallowing of a mouthful of water was a painful matter. For several weeks she went on in this fashion. She kept on with her work in the house and shop (a bakery), but it was as much as ever she could do.
Simple medicines, such as we all know of these she tried, but no good came of it. she next consulted the family doctor, a man who has large practice and is considered very clever. He examined her carefully anti then said, "Mra, Plowright, you are suffering rom congestion ofthe ier, heart dissent, cent This was a statement fit to make the poor woman give up in despair. Indeed, it nearly did. But the doctor was right; that is, from is point of view. He treated the'patient for some time. For a short space, occasionally, he relieved her; then she was bad as ever, "Once in a while," she ~says, "'my heart almost stopped beating. and I looked and felt like a dying person." This, she was told, was the incurable complaint called angina pectoris; but it wasn't, nor any thing like it, Still, it was serious and dangerous, Her letter ends in these words: I had read in a book about Mother Seigel's Curative Syrup, and my husband had taken some of it anid thought highly of it. But Thad not much faith in began by taking fifteen ops, but as this had no effect T took thirty drops and followed the directions. Thi dose suited me, and after having used up the bottle I felt better. I could eat and digest food, the pain in my chest and side gradually went away, and after two bottles more I was well, and have been well ever since."
(Signed) Mrs. Prowricur, wife of Mr. William Plowright, of the Lincolnshire Bakery, 23, Cheetham Street, North Street, Cheetham, Manchester, What are we to think of thi are to think that this lad as what is called" functional organic" disease. In plain English, the heart's action was disturbed by the blood poison created by indigestion and dyspepsia real auc only malady. The liver trouble and debility were parts of the same puzzle, And sow as the asthma, Now, what is the worst fog that ever durkened England? It is the fog which kee Aoctors and people from seeing that nearly all the complaints they suffer from are nothing more or less than symptoms of indigestion and dyspepsia: and curable by the remedy mentioned by Mrs, Plowright. By reason of this foy folks walk straight into open graves—every day.
(8) 13, 20 & 2700 100
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.