The Telegram. — 1894-10-23 (Weymouth, Dorset, England)

TIM GOOD SLEEP OF A BAD MAN.  In a certain prison that we all have heard of lay a convict upon in narrow iron cot. He was to be hanged the next morning. Yet he lay there, covered with a rough blanket, sleeping as quietly and sound/y as a tired schoolboy. Occasionally the guard in the passage outside peered between the bars of the cell, only .t) find his charge breathing deeply and regularly. This man had violated the law prohibiting murder, yet he had not violated the physical laws governing his own body, and Nature rewarded him as if he had been the noblest of his race.  That same night, less-than a mile away, a rich man tossed and tumbled upon his hunrious bed. He was a good and useful member of society, yet he could not sleep. And, worse still, this happened to him every night. Sleep—that blessing which the Psalmist says, 'Ged giveth his beloved," was practically a stranger to this man. What ailed him? The tortures of eon,aience? Want of money! The fear of enemies? Nothing of the sort. Then why didn't he sleep as well as the murderer? Von would like to know? Right, let us look at the matter.  "I got no sleep at night ; I wonld lie for hours tossing about In the otorrang I was worse Sired arm when I went to bed."  Thus writes Mrs. Blir-a Mathews, of 1, North Road, Burnt Oak, E igwere, near London, under date of September 22nd, 1892. Just two years before this time she loet her health. A foul taste in her mouth, loss of appetite, and great distress after eating were among the first things she complained of. She craved food at times, and fancied she could eat heartily, yet when the very dishes she had asked for were set before her she turned from them as though they were filth from the gutter. Herskin grew sallow, her eyes yellow, and she had a constant pain at her chest, sides, and between her shoulders. Her biwels were constipated, and the least eKertion set her heart thumping as if it must jump up into her mouth. At such times it Was an much as ever that she eotild get her bremh. She got so thin and weak she WAS no good for work. She couldn't walk out. doors without stopping to rest every few rode almost.  The doctor did what he could for her, all any doctor could do. At first be sMd he thought her illness was owing to the smell of the farm-yard. This looked posmble. Even the smell of violets has made strong men torn pale and faint dead away. Yet the doctor wss wrong. If he had been right, she would have gat hotter when the family left she farm at Bentley Priory and went to live at Burnt Oak. But she W,14 not insproved by the change of an; she grew worse and worse.  "In May, 1837," says Mrs. Mathews, "I went over to Chelmsford to visit my aunt, Mrs. Troughton. She told me of the good Mother Seigel's Curative Syrup had done her when she had indigestion and dyspepsia. She bought me a bottle, and I began taking it. After a few doses I felt relief. I kept on taking it, and ia two months I was strong and well as ever. My husband and friends were astonished, yet I assured them that Seigel's Syrup had done it. Yours truly (Signed) ELIZA MAliiEws." The point is plain enough. The convict) slept soundly because be was a healthy man, although he was a wicked one. Our rich friend rolled about all night because his nerves were unstrung by the state of hi a stomach. Our correspondent was prostrated hy the same thing—indigestion and dyspepsia. The remedy named cored her because it had that power. The reason remains a secret with the roots and herbs from which it is made. Yet so long as it drives away disease and gives us back our health and strength, who cares for its mystery? Results, not arguments, are whet we all want.  "Herta Oak House, Edgware, September 22nd, 1392. 1 have knOV/11 Mrs. Mathews for some seven years, and remember her long and lingering illness. She informs inn that Mother Singers Curative Syrup cured her, after medical and other means failed. Mrs. Mathews is a lady of respectability, and her word can be implicitly relied upon. You can use this statement in any way you may think proper. Yours truly (Signed) T. H. Howe, Grocer and General Provision Dealer, Burnt Oak Stores, Edgware."