Widnes Examiner. — 1893-05-20 (Widnes, Cheshire, England)

HOW DID THEY COME TO DO IT.  Only to think that any 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 Christmas week, 1891. The dense fog it was, of course, that made them. People could hardly see six feet ahead of their noses ; maybe less at times, and in seine 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. But a fog ! A fog is to have your eyes put out ; it is blindness. As for shipwrecks and other calamities due to fogs—why, there's no end to them. The London papers have wondered why somebody hasn't invented a way to scatter fogs. Ah, yes, why ?  Here's a woman's story about a fog, one of those thick mists that hang over most of us twelve months in the year. She says that from April to September, 1889, she was too ill to have any pleasure or comfort. This was a thing to notice, inasmuch at her disposition was naturally cheerful and lively. The trouble, whatever you call it, came on her gradually, much as a fog rises. At first she simply felt languid. Very little exertion made her tired. Her breath came 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 swollowing 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 rnueh as ever. Simple medicines such as we all know of—these she tried but no good came of it. So she next consulted tke family doctor, a man who has a large practice and is considered very clever. He examined her carefully and then said," .3frs. Plocright, you are sujering from conjestlon of the liver, heart disease and dehility."  This was a statement fit to make the poor woman give up in dispair. Indeed, it nearly did. But the doctor was right ; that is, from his point of view. Ile treated the patient for some time. For a short space,occasionally he relieved her ; then she was as bad as ever. " Once in a while," she says, " my heart almost stepped 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 and thought highly of it. But I had not much faith in it. I began by taking fifteen drops, but as this had no effect I took thirty drops and followed the directions. This 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 taking two bottles more I was well, and have been well ever since." (Signed)