For wisdom and guidance—all these are good—
But don’t forget the potatoes!”
—The Independent.
A CINCINNATI MIRACLE.
WHY MR. CHARLES B. NOBLE IS BEING CONGRATULATED.
A Remarkable Case of Being Completely Cured of Paralysis After Nearly Three Years of Suffering and Eminent Physicians Had Declared Their Best Efforts Baffled.
Newspaper men as a rule place little credence in patent medicine stories and seldom bother to even read them. This is not to be wondered at when it is taken into consideration how often they are called upon by unscrupulous persons to fabricate and publish stories of remarkable cures and perhaps print a picture of the mythical man or woman supposed to have been cured. That all medicine advertisements are not mere “fakes,” and that all newspaper men are not equally prejudiced is proven by a story published in the Cincinnati Times-Star of a well-known newspaper man whose life was saved by reading an advertisement. So remarkable and interesting is the story that it is here reproduced as published in the Times-Star.
Mr. Charles B. Noble, the well-known litterateur, who has been suffering for nearly three years with paralysis, was upon the street to-day, cheerful and active and the recipient of congratulations from his many friends. There is a bond of unity between all newspaper men, so that Mr. Noble’s case appeals to every member of the craft as well as to every one afflicted as he was. Mr. Noble has spent the last three years in traveling from city to city seeking skilled physicians, to whom he has appealed in vain for relief. Knowing this, a reporter expressed surprise at the remarkable cure, but Mr. Noble, after executing a jig to show that he was as sound as he looked, let the reporter into the secret of his cure.
“It was a hard time I had of it,” said he, “but the last medicine we take is always the one that cures, and I have taken the last. I was paralyzed on March 9, 1890, while in the employ of the David Williams Publishing Company of New York City as their traveling representative from Cincinnati. I found the traveling a great help to me, both in a financial and a literary way, but suddenly stricken down as I was at Somerset, O., 150 miles from Cincinnati, I was incapacitated for both writing and money making. Luckily my literary productions had been remunerative, and I had a snug bank account laid up, but these three years have made a drain on it.