One of my neighbors had fallen down-stairs, and injured himself internally, in the right side of the chest; and a degree, greater or less, of inflammation had followed. The pain was constant, though not severe; but the soreness was considerable, and did not give promise of speedy amendment.
My advice was to keep quiet, both in body and mind, and to avoid all kinds of exertion that could possibly affect the chest. I also advised the use of water, not only for drink, in small draughts, but, if the pain and soreness should be troublesome, as an external application to the part affected. The food was to be mild and unstimulating. A tendency to crowd around the fire was to be guarded against and prevented, by putting on, if necessary, an increased amount of clothing.
Two days passed away with no great variation of the symptoms, either for better or worse. I was now fully convinced that I had taken the true course, because, otherwise, my patient must, by this time, have become worse. Accordingly, I persevered in my general let-alone plan for about two weeks, when the patient fully recovered.
He was a slender boy, in the fifteenth year of his age, strongly inclined, by inheritance, to disease of the chest and brain; and this consideration, among others, led me to be extremely cautious about his treatment. The greater the danger the greater the necessity that what is done should be done right, or we shall defeat our own purposes.
But the most remarkable fact in relation to this very interesting case is,—and it is chiefly for the sake of this fact that I have related the story,—that more than forty-eight hours had passed, after the occurrence of the accident, before it cameinto my mind that any thing could, by possibility, be done for the chest, in the way of bleeding, blistering, etc.,—so utterly irrational had this treatment, once so fashionable, come to be regarded, both by myself and a few others. How strange that I should not think of it in two whole days! Twenty years before, I should not have dared to pass through the first twenty-four hours, in such a case, withoutthinking, at least, of balsams and mustard poultices and the whole paraphernalia of external treatment, to say nothing of bleeding and blistering.
My own child, a boy nine or ten years of age, and somewhat inclined to croup, was one evening wheezing considerably, and, as his mother thought, was threatened with an immediate attack, either from this or some other disease. Of course, there was not a little anxiety manifested in the family on his account, and we were deliberating what to do with him, when the late Dr. Shew, the hydropathist, chanced to come in.
After a little general conversation, we turned our thoughts again to our little patient, and asked Dr. Shew what he would do with him if he were his patient. "If it were my case," said he, "I would give him a tepid bath—say at about the temperature of 80° or 85°." "Would you do nothing more?" "Nothing at all, except to put him early to bed."
I was not committed to hydropathy, as I have before told you. I never have been, though I had a sort of general respect for Dr. Shew; and hence it was that, incidentally, I asked him the question which I did; and I was pleased with his reply. There was nothing suggested which was at all akin to violence. He did not propose a shower bath of any kind. He did not speak of hot bathing, which for that hour of the day might have induced too violent a perspiration. He did not propose vapor bathing or steaming. A tepid bath could, abstractly considered, do no harm. It would, at least, while away the time till nature could have opportunity to rally. And then, if the return to health should be attributed to the application of the tepid water, we had no special objection to it. We had no medical pride—most certainly I had none—that would lead me to fear lest I should add to the popularity of the cold-water system.
But it was rather late in the evening,—between seven and eight o'clock,—almost time for such a child to be in bed. In order to get up a tepid bath and make the application, so much time would be required that it would keep him from sleep till nine o'clock, and perhaps later; whereas, I had a very high opinion of the healing and renovating power of natural and healthy sleep. It struck me that to put the child to bed immediately, and let him have a good night's rest, would be a much wiser measure than to bathe him even intepidwater. So, after thanking Dr. Shew for his advice, I told him that, for the reasons above stated, we had concluded to omit the bath and put the child immediately to bed.
On being put in bed and suitably covered, he went to sleep immediately, and fell into a gentle perspiration, and in about two hours his breathing was much better. It continued to improve till the next morning, when he arose, at the usual time, and was nearly well. Dr. Shew himself jocosely observed that thesleepcure had proved quite as successful as thewatercure.
Much, therefore, as I prize bathing of all sorts, in its proper place, it must never take the place of other and more important influences, whenever these influences can be brought to bear on the case. Indeed, no bathing of any kind can be desirable, any farther than as it serves to aid these natural processes. It has no magic or miraculous power. If we do not eat, drink, sleep, and wake, all the better for it; if the various offices of digestion, respiration, circulation, perspiration, and cerebral action are not thereby, as a whole thing, better performed, it might as well—nay, better—be omitted. Otherwise we waste time and trifle away vital energy.
If all the functions of the body and all the faculties of the mind could be kept steadily employed, and in healthful proportion, it is obvious that a person could not be sick. Or, if one of these only should be deranged, and we should fall sick, as the consequence, what else, pray tell me, is needed, but to effect a speedy return of the faltering function or part to its proper post and duty?
But sleep, more than all things else, whenever the usualhour has actually arrived, has the effect to facilitate a cure. We all know how wakeful some maniacs are, and how hurried and deranged all the movements of the muscular and nervous systems are apt to become, no less than those of the brain itself. And we all know, too, how much good it does such persons to be able to obtain good, sound, substantial, quiet sleep. It acts like a charm, and does more than charms can do, or mere medicine.
Half the formality of having watchers by night in the sick room, does more harm than good. It were better, in many instances, to extinguish all the lights, except at certain set times and on particular occasions, and let the patient sleep. And yet I have as exalted an estimate of the importance of careful nursing as any other individual.
For example of my meaning, in a case of seeming contradiction, I may say that I have taken all the needful care of a young man who was very sick, for more than thirty successive nights with the exception of two, and yet maintained my health, which, as you already know, was never very firm. And I have known those who could do this for three months. But they extinguish or hide their light, and acquire a habit of waking at certain times, so as never to neglect the wants of the patient.
So true is it that sleep is the grand restorer as well as the great curer of disease, that its salutary influence in the case of various infantile complaints, has long been known and regarded. And one reason why infants should neither be nursed nor fed in the night, as many physiologists maintain, is, that it breaks in upon the soundness of the sleep, as experience has most abundantly proved. Sleep, in short, if not a "matchless" sanative, is at least a universal one.
A young man, fifteen or sixteen years of age, who was in the habit of suffering from protracted colds, nearly the whole winter, till they seemed to terminate almost in consumption in the spring, came under my care about March 1st, 1854, and was treated as the nature of his case seemed to require, though with a few of what may be, by some, regarded as peculiarities.
He was directed to rise in the morning at about six o'clock, which at that season of the year is about as early as any one can see well without lamp-light. At the moment of leaving his bed, he was required to wet his body all over, as quickly as possible, either with the hand or a sponge, or if preferred, with a coarse towel, and then wipe himself hastily and partially, so as to leave on the surface a little moisture, and yet not enough to cause, by evaporation, any sensations of chilliness. The water to be used was to be cold, or at such temperature as is usual at that season, when standing all night in a room without fire. This was to be followed by a rapid rubbing withcrash mittens, a coarse towel, or the hand, as long as he could keep up a good reaction and a proper degree of vital warmth.
Or, if rubbing the body increased the cough, and an assistant was required, in this case, a healthy man well charged, so to speak, with electricity, was always to be deemed preferable. In general, however, the young man found no difficulty in keeping himself warm, in this exercise, about half an hour.
Whenever his strength began to flag, or a little before,—for I did not think it desirable to go farther than the mere borders of fatigue,—he was placed in bed and well covered, so as to be immediately warm. The room itself was kept as cool as possible,even in the coldest weather, the fire having been entirely removed at bedtime the night before, and the room well aired and ventilated.
This method of placing him in a warm bed was called dry packing. In this dry pack he usually remained from half an hour to an hour. At the end of this period, he was required to get out of bed, and repeat the former course of rubbing the naked surface of the body a long time, in the cold air, though, in this case, without repeating the application of the cold water.
Thus the forenoon passed away, with a few slight but unimportant variations. At twelve o'clock, this alternation of air-bathing with friction and dry-packing, ceased, and the patient was expected to put on his clothes and come to dinner. You will, perhaps, ask when and where he had his breakfast. No breakfast was allowed him. Nothing was to be taken, except small draughts of water, till twelve o'clock.
Another operation, which had much more the appearance of peculiarity than any other part of the treatment, but which was deemed, more than all else, indispensable to his recovery, consisted in a series of deep inspirations or breathings. It may be described thus: The patient was required to draw as much air into his lungs as possible, and then immediately expel as much of it as possible. This was to be repeated and continued till a suitable degree of fatigue was induced. At first, it was only required as a species of amusement while in the dry pack; but subsequently it was demanded in other circumstances.
I have usually required a person to begin the process by ten, twenty, or thirty deep inspirations, according to his strength of lungs and their irritability; for, at first, it often makes him cough. In the present case, I began with fifty, and gradually increased the number to one hundred. Sometimes, by way of experiment, and to pass away the time while in the dry pack, he went much farther; once to six hundred. In this case, however, the face became slightly flushed, the eyes reddened, and the whole arterial action became hastened. Itwas evidently like "too much of a good thing," and was never repeated.
The afternoon was spent in physical exercise, active amusement, reading, conversation, etc. The first consisted chiefly in sawing and splitting wood, and in walking abroad. The amusements were of various kinds. The reading was chiefly of the lighter sort, such as newspapers and magazines. The conversation—not always controllable—was the best we could furnish him. Some of the walks were long, extending to five or six miles.
Music, both vocal and instrumental, was regarded as a most valuable amusement, and was not wholly overlooked. It had its difficulties, but most of them could be surmounted. As a devotional exercise, its soothing influence was almost always evoked.
I have said that no breakfast was taken by this young man, and no drink used but cold water. The dinner was also without drink, and so was the supper. The first consisted of a very few kinds of coarse food,—generally not more than two or three at once,—such as coarse whole-meal bread, rice, potatoes, apples, etc., and was the principal meal. The supper was a lighter meal, both as respected quantity and quality, and was taken at about six o'clock. No condiments were allowed except salt, and very little of this; and no animal food, or the products of animals, except, occasionally, a little milk. Fruits, either raw or cooked, were frequently among the staples at dinner, but never at supper.
This treatment, with slight variations, would be applicable to most persons suffering with lingering complaints, and to persons in health, as a means of invigorating their systems; but my present purpose is, chiefly, to speak of it as a remedial agency in the particular case of this young man.
I had hoped to be able to effect a cure on him in about a month. But I was happily disappointed in finding him recover so fast that he was dismissed and sent home on the twenty-fifth day. Nor has his consumptive tendency ever again appeared with much severity. Since the spring of 1856—nowbetween two and three years—it has not appeared at all.
This method of cure, by deep breathing, consists simply in using the lungs freely, without overworking them. They may be overworked as well as used too little; though the danger is generally in the latter direction. They are made, most undoubtedly, for a great amount of action, in breathing, conversation, singing, reading, etc.; and yet, in all these respects, they are sadly neglected.
Our ordinary conversation is such as hardly to exercise the lungs at all. We talk with the mouth and throat rather than the lungs. So is it, for the most part, with our singing. And, as for breathing, we only breathe a little way down, even when our dress is such as to form no impediment. Full breathing, except in making violent efforts, is hardly known.
One of the most amusing incidents of my "Forty Years among Pills and Powders," is found at full length of detail in the following chapter. The amusement it affords has, however, a tinge of sadness.
A young man came under my care in the early part of the year 1854, who, for the sake of convenience, I will call Thomas. He was about eighteen years of age, but as delicate, sensitive, and effeminate as a female directly from Broadway would have been, or as a plant reared in a hothouse. In truth, he had been reared very much like many females of the present day, in a manner entirely sedentary—the creature of over-tenderness and over-kindness.
His disease was scrofula; but, with his scrofulous tendencies were conjoined some other difficulties, more obscure and still more unmanageable. His joints were enlarged; and in particular portions of his body were various watery swellings or sacs.
As it was a scrofulous tendency that lay at the bottom or basis of his complaints, I proceeded to treat him accordingly. I was to have him under my care three months, during which time, it was believed, something might be done, if ever. At least, it was believed that a beginning might be made, if indeed the disease should prove to be at all curable.
He was subjected to the treatment, with few variations, which is mentioned in the preceding chapter. He was not permitted, however, to do much in the way of deep breathing till his general health and strength could be improved by other measures. Warm water, in his case, was preferred, also, tocold, and was used in the form of a tub-bath, at five o'clock in the afternoon.
Thomas had been with me about three weeks, without much variation of condition or prospects, when I received a long letter from his friends, the purport of which was that they had been favored with a communication from the "spirit world," which was attended with the appearance of so much truth and reality, that they were not at liberty wholly to disregard it. The communication purported to be made by the late Dr. Benjamin Rush, of Philadelphia.
As these friends of Thomas well knew I was not a believer in this new-fangled spiritualism, they had taken much pains to satisfy me that I was to have for my venerable counsellor not a mere pretender, but the veritable Dr. Rush himself. As one evidence in the case, they had inquired through the "medium," who were the present associates of the good doctor in his new abode; who, nothing loath, had deigned to gratify their supposed curiosity, by giving them the names of five distinguished physicians, among whom were the elder and younger Dr. Ingalls, of Massachusetts, and Dr. Sanborn, of New Hampshire.
And then, with regard to Thomas, he only said, at first, that he was very much interested in him, and that he would examine him and report. Soon after this, at another communication, he said his case was a difficult one, but he thought not incurable. He added, that he was already in very good hands, the best, perhaps, that could be found in this mundane sphere, but rather cautiously insinuated that there were symptoms in the case which I had not yet got hold of, but which would, if rightly apprehended, modify, in some of its particulars, my treatment. What it was in the case which I had not discovered, he did not say directly, but subsequently intimated that the young man's disease was not scrofula, as I had pronounced it, but dropsy of the joints.
It was not long afterward that the mother paid us a visit, and brought, well written out, the substance, as she said it was, of quite a number of communications from Dr. Rush. Much was said in them about the necessity of exercise and a plaindiet. And, in general, so far as the mere treatment was concerned, the statements of the spiritual doctor accorded so well with those of the earthly one, that had I been a believer in these modern mysteries, I should have been highly gratified, not only on Thomas's account, but my own.
But the spirit doctor urged a few variations in the treatment of the young man. Beside pressing a little harder than myself the use of green vegetables, and particularly of vegetable juices, he requested, with great apparent earnestness, that he might be permitted to occupy a room heated by a wood fire, rather than by coal. He also made a few other suggestions of less importance.
His mother was a very good woman, save her great credulity. And even here, perhaps, I do her injustice, for there were some curious facts and coincidences. The venerable spirit doctor appeared to have possessed himself of certain secrets which it was extremely puzzling to conjecture how an impostor could have obtained.
After spending a day or two with me, and giving me "much exhortation," the mother returned to her friends. Of her safe arrival, as well as of certain changes that had been resolved on, the husband informed me, by a letter, which, so far as the case of Thomas is concerned, I copy entire.
"Dear Sir:—By Mrs. P., in her recent visit to your place, you have been made acquainted with some of the manifestations of spirits, made to us through a young lady, a medium of our acquaintance."The communications purporting to come from Dr. Rush (as he says in his last communication, tell Dr. —— that it is the veritable old Dr. Rush, the signer of the Declaration of Independence), and with such apparent earnestness and reality, we feel that, to us, they are something more than human or earthly, and of momentous account in this case of Thomas, and that we are not at liberty longer to disregard them. And though we have great confidence in yourself and your practice, we hope you will not think we are losing either when I say that we havedecided to have Thomas return to ——, and commence following the prescriptions of this invisible personage. They appear to be harmless, and may be of great virtue; and much which pertains to them appears to be in harmony with your practice."Again, in closing, I must say that these communications come to us with such force and apparent reality and truth, that I think it would not be doing justly, either to Thomas or our Creator, longer to disregard them."With much esteem, yours, etc., —— ——."
"Dear Sir:—By Mrs. P., in her recent visit to your place, you have been made acquainted with some of the manifestations of spirits, made to us through a young lady, a medium of our acquaintance.
"The communications purporting to come from Dr. Rush (as he says in his last communication, tell Dr. —— that it is the veritable old Dr. Rush, the signer of the Declaration of Independence), and with such apparent earnestness and reality, we feel that, to us, they are something more than human or earthly, and of momentous account in this case of Thomas, and that we are not at liberty longer to disregard them. And though we have great confidence in yourself and your practice, we hope you will not think we are losing either when I say that we havedecided to have Thomas return to ——, and commence following the prescriptions of this invisible personage. They appear to be harmless, and may be of great virtue; and much which pertains to them appears to be in harmony with your practice.
"Again, in closing, I must say that these communications come to us with such force and apparent reality and truth, that I think it would not be doing justly, either to Thomas or our Creator, longer to disregard them.
"With much esteem, yours, etc., —— ——."
"With much esteem, yours, etc., —— ——."
In a somewhat extended postscript it was added: "We have witnessed other manifestations, of several of which we had ample proof of their correctness."
On another small portion of a sheet which was appended to the former, I found, in pencil, the following:—
"We have, this evening, had another conversation with Dr. Rush. His medium was in —— to-day, and was brought to us in order that she might speak to us (Mrs. P. and myself). We are directed to tell you this: that he wants Thomas to be under her (Mrs. P.) care; that there are no earthly physicians that can cure him; that we could not have placed him in better hands than with you. He (Dr. Rush) says he can andwill cure him. He says he could cure him without our help, if he could impress him, but in that he has not yet succeeded. He says he has seen Thomas with rubbers on, and that he would have taken them off if he could. Says positively, he must not wear them. Be good enough, dear sir, to see that he does not wear them in coming home." He adds, in conclusion, "Tell Dr. —— to remove him from the room he now occupies, and place him in one with a wood fire, and where he will have no bed-fellow."
"We have, this evening, had another conversation with Dr. Rush. His medium was in —— to-day, and was brought to us in order that she might speak to us (Mrs. P. and myself). We are directed to tell you this: that he wants Thomas to be under her (Mrs. P.) care; that there are no earthly physicians that can cure him; that we could not have placed him in better hands than with you. He (Dr. Rush) says he can andwill cure him. He says he could cure him without our help, if he could impress him, but in that he has not yet succeeded. He says he has seen Thomas with rubbers on, and that he would have taken them off if he could. Says positively, he must not wear them. Be good enough, dear sir, to see that he does not wear them in coming home." He adds, in conclusion, "Tell Dr. —— to remove him from the room he now occupies, and place him in one with a wood fire, and where he will have no bed-fellow."
Thus ended the communication. Thomas went home, according to request, and was, forthwith, put under the treatment of the spiritual doctor. All appeared to be going on very well for a short time; but after the lapse of about three weeks, I heardof his death. No particulars were added, in the papers, but I afterwards learned that his death was rather sudden.
I did not chance to fall in with Mr. P. for several months, and out of respect to his feelings and those of Mrs. P., I did not depart from my usual track to call on them or even write. At the end of the year, however, I visited them, and after the usual passing remarks, the following conversation took place.
"It seems, then, that Dr. Rush with all his wisdom and skill could not save Thomas."
"No; he said it was too late for any power of earth or heaven to cure him."
"But he was very confident he could cure him?"
"Perhaps he spoke with more confidence than he really felt, in order to encourage us and lead us to exert ourselves."
"Do I understand you? Do you mean to say that perhaps the spirit doctors, like the fleshly ones, in order to encourage the friends of the sick, will depart a little from the truth?"
"Not exactly that. Rather this: we do not consider it a departure from the truth."
"I am of a different opinion. In earth, or elsewhere, I call such a course as you intimate a species of white lying—quite common on earth, but which, till now, I did not suppose had found its way to the confines of the world spiritual."
The conversation ended here, and was not afterward resumed. I have, indeed, witnessed a good deal of spiritual doctoring since that time, but it was of a somewhat different character from the foregoing.
For example: I saw a family in the interior of Massachusetts, whose faith in spiritualism and spirit doctrine was perfect. The mistress of the house was the patient. The physician a young man who had been a mechanic, but who had very recently become convinced that it was his duty to attend the sick,—not to do anything for them, on his own responsibility, but only to suffer an old Indian physician to operate through him as a medium.
The chief thing which Dr. H. did, so far as I observed, was to lay his hands on her, and sit for some time in that position.I am not sure that he did not prescribe a few very simple things, from time to time, such as a little weak tea, or the infusion of some domestic herb, from the garden. He was counted, everywhere (for his circuit was a large one), very successful; for his patients generally recovered. Their recovery, it is true, was often very slow.
When I was a lad, a man was employed by my father on his farm, who used occasionally to fall down in convulsions, lie for some time, not entirely still, but foaming at the mouth and agitated or rocked to and fro, as if in great distress; and yet, as I afterward learned, senseless. These attacks, they told me, werefalling sicknessfits. The man was weak in mind, and not vigorous in body, though, by diligence and perseverence, he could accomplish something in the progress of a whole day. He died but little beyond middle age.
Since that time I have been intimately acquainted with several individuals who were subject to these attacks of epilepsy, some of whom were affected in one way, some in another. The cause, too, was as various as the manner of attack, and in a few instances was peculiar and remarkable. In general, their memory and intellectual faculties, as well as their bodily strength, became, ultimately, a good deal impaired. In my practice as a physician, I had very few of these cases, and none in which I could afford relief at first. The patients were, however, for the most part, of middle age, or at least beyond thirty years. Several had taken nitrate of silver or other minerals, till their skins were of a blue-black color.
In the beginning of the year 1854, a young man about seventeen years of age, of scrofulous and nervous temperament and of great delicacy, came under my care, to be treated for this disease, whose history, from beginning to end, was remarkable. I will call him Samuel.
When about twelve years of age he had difficulty with another boy,—an Irish or Scotch lad,—which ended in a personal affray, in which Samuel was worsted, and his headseverely injured. It was thought by some that a portion of the skull, which, by the violence of the blow it had received, had been forced in, ought to have been elevated by the trephine; but I believe no surgeon of reputation ever saw him. Being young, the depressed portion of skull gradually resumed its place, so that the depression could scarcely be seen.
All, however, was not right within, for he was soon afterward attacked by epilepsy. Whether, at first, any connection between the disease and the bruised skull was suspected by the friends, I was not able to learn; but probably not. The attacks having been once commenced, were frequent and severe, and every year became more so. They were particularly frequent and severe during the winter and spring.
The medical art was invoked in his behalf, especially in the region round about New Haven, Conn. He was not only treated by the regular physicians, of different kinds and schools, but by not a few empirics or quacks. By some of them he was evidently injured, and by none was he benefited. The tendency still continued to be downward, on the whole, and his friends were, at length, almost discouraged.
All this while his diet appears to have been the usual diet of that part of New England in which he resided—-too stimulating, and too much refined by cookery. In general, too, his active and perverted appetite led him to excess in quantity; but, as his friends never thought of its being a morbid or diseased appetite, no strong efforts were made to control it. In truth, as he was feeble and growing, it was thought necessary that he should eat stimulating and highly seasoned food, and in large quantity. He was also accustomed to tea and coffee. All his appetites, as it afterwards appeared, were, to say the least, very active, though the gratification ofthe third appetitewas wholly confined to solitude.
No restriction, nor indeed any direction, so far as I could learn, had been made at this period, with regard to his mental food. Whatever he chose to read, he was indulged in, both as regards quantity and quality. And as usually happens, in the case of epileptic, and scrofulous people, he was quite too muchinclined to works of imagination, with which the age and country abound. It appears, also, that being regarded as quite unequal to the task of laboring in field or garden, he was thus, in large measure, deprived of two essentials of health and happiness, especially to epileptics; viz., air and exercise.
In August, 1853, he went to an institution that had once been a water-cure establishment, but which had undergone many modifications, till it better deserved the name of College of Hygiene, than water cure. Here he remained several months.
The peculiar treatment he received at this institution consisted, first, in a plain and unstimulating diet. Water was his only drink, and bread and fruits, with a few well-cooked vegetables, his only food. But, in the second place, he was subjected to a course of treatment not unlike that described in Chapter LXXIX, with the exception of the deep breathing and cold-bathing. The last, however, was, I believe, used occasionally.
There was, indeed, one important addition made to the treatment above alluded to. This consisted in an exercise designed to expand and strengthen the lungs, by what was calledshaking down the air. This exercise was practised very frequently, and was curious. I will describe it as well as I can.
He was first required to inflate his chest as much as possible, and then, while retaining the air with all his might, rise on his toes, and suddenly drop on his heels, with a sort of jerk, several times in succession, till he could hold his breath and retain the air no longer, which was now suffered gradually to escape. A new recruit was then drawn in, and treated in the same manner. The exercise, as a whole, seemed to consist of a series of jumpings up and down, without quite raising the toes from the floor, and of deep sighing. The object aimed at was to shake down a large amount of good, pure air, into the cells of the lungs, and retain it there as long as possible; and then, to let out or force out the air, so as to empty the lungs as perfectly as possible.
The warm bath was occasionally used at four o'clock in theafternoon, but with doubtful effect. Exercise, especially mechanical exercise, was of much more service, and so was the gymnasium. He was, however, required to forbear all violence, in his exercises and amusements; nor was he allowed any severe studies. His reading was to be light, though not trifling.
For several months next subsequent to his arrival at the institution, he appeared to improve. Instead of weekly, or semi-weekly, or still more frequent attacks, he suffered but rarely; and, in one instance, he was exempt from an attack for several weeks. But in December and January they became, once more, rather frequent. They had, however, usually been most frequent in winter and spring.
He now began to be apprehensive of a return of his disease, in all its former violence; and the dread of February, March, and April had an influence on his system which was any thing but favorable—since fear, in these cases, is often worse than the evils which excite it. And, according to his faith, or rather according to his want of faith, so it was with him. The attacks became very frequent, sometimes daily; and, in one or two instances, twice a day.
He came under my special and almost exclusive care, Feb. 1, 1854. I soon discovered that there was a close connection between excess and irregularity, in regard to his food and his paroxysms of disease. I saw, also, that a part of his food had been too stimulating. In justice, however, I ought to say that in the government of the other appetites, he had succeeded far better than I had expected, though his power to control himself was far from being perfect.
While, therefore, I did not materially change the general treatment in other particulars, I determined to regulate his diet; and, with a view to this important end, to watch him, and even to deal out to him his daily rations, with just as much care and particularity as if he were a mere child. He ate but two meals a day, and these were taken attwelveandsix; and then I always sat by him. I did not leave him, except for one single meal, for a period of fifty-five days.
During the whole of this long period—long, I mean, to thepatient—he not only had no attacks of his disease, but none of the giddiness or other symptoms which had formerly accompanied or preceded them. He did not, it is true, gain in flesh or strength during the time. In all this and in many more particulars he remained nearly stationary.
Towards the close of March, his friends became desirous of taking him home. I was not without apprehension; but, hoping for the best, I submitted to their wishes as cheerfully as I could. He was among them for a short time; and was then, by my particular request, as well as in conformity with his own choice, placed on a farm.
Nearly three months after his return to his friends, I received a letter from him, which I insert here, not only as a convenient nucleus around which to cluster certain suggestions I wish to make to the general reader, but also as a continuation of my patient's history. It was dated June 18, 1854.
"My Dear Physician,—I am now at Mr. ——'s. Every thing seems to be in perfect accordance with the wishes of those who are concerned in the case. I can get as plain a diet as I please, and have nothing, so to say, to tempt me. I confine myself to a very small variety. I have had strawberries ever since I came here, which was June 7th. I eat sometimes nearly a pint at a meal. Sometimes I eat nothing but strawberries and dry bread. I have some sugar on the table, and sweeten the berries a little. I eat considerable potatoe—say two or three at dinner—sometimes a little more. I have had two dinners of asparagus, just boiled in a little water, and poured on to some crusts of toasted bread. It was good. I do not think I have had more than three things set on the table for me, at a time, while I have been here. I have bread, potatoes, and berries for dinner. For supper I have bread and berries, and sweetened bread, as it might be called. It is sweetened but a very little. Now don't I live plainly."But I have left out some things that I have had. I had Graham mush a few days, but I like the bread better, as Mrs. —— makes such good bread. Mr. —— likes it better thansuperfine. I have had boiled rice—a few meals. I had one meal of bag-pudding—Indian—with a few whortleberries in it."I have now given you an account of how I live. I eat at ten or half-past ten, A. M., and at four, P. M. So I do not have to go to bed with a meal of victuals on my stomach."After I left you, and before I came here, I had, all the time, a great looseness of the bowels. It seemed to weaken me. Afterwards I thought it was caused, partly, by some very tart, dried apples, of which I ate freely at every meal. Aunt ——thought it was working at hoeing up turf around trees, for she said that working hard with her arms affected her in that way. My stomach did not seem quite right. Perhaps I strained it in coming home. The very next day after I came here, I commenced eating the ripe strawberries at meals, and have eaten them freely ever since. I sometimes eat nearly a pint at a meal. From the first they have seemed just the thing for me. They regulated my stomach and bowels, and they have strengthened them ever since."I eat alone, and enjoy it capitally. I would not go back to the Institution (the Hygiene establishment) for a great deal, because there are so many things there to harass one's mind, or tempt him, at every corner of the street and almost every shop. Since I came here I have not tasted of any thing between meals, and have had no inclination to do so. I think there will be no trouble on that account."I am busy out of doors a good deal of the time. I have hoed corn, piled cord-wood, driven team, picked strawberries, etc. At night I milk one cow. I go barefooted three or four hours in the middle of the day, use no flannels, dress very thin,—as little as I can get along with."Do you wish me to learn to swim, if possible? There is a pond—a natural one—about a mile from this place. Will you not answer me soon, and give me your opinion on this and other subjects?"In love, yours, etc."Samuel."
"My Dear Physician,—I am now at Mr. ——'s. Every thing seems to be in perfect accordance with the wishes of those who are concerned in the case. I can get as plain a diet as I please, and have nothing, so to say, to tempt me. I confine myself to a very small variety. I have had strawberries ever since I came here, which was June 7th. I eat sometimes nearly a pint at a meal. Sometimes I eat nothing but strawberries and dry bread. I have some sugar on the table, and sweeten the berries a little. I eat considerable potatoe—say two or three at dinner—sometimes a little more. I have had two dinners of asparagus, just boiled in a little water, and poured on to some crusts of toasted bread. It was good. I do not think I have had more than three things set on the table for me, at a time, while I have been here. I have bread, potatoes, and berries for dinner. For supper I have bread and berries, and sweetened bread, as it might be called. It is sweetened but a very little. Now don't I live plainly.
"But I have left out some things that I have had. I had Graham mush a few days, but I like the bread better, as Mrs. —— makes such good bread. Mr. —— likes it better thansuperfine. I have had boiled rice—a few meals. I had one meal of bag-pudding—Indian—with a few whortleberries in it.
"I have now given you an account of how I live. I eat at ten or half-past ten, A. M., and at four, P. M. So I do not have to go to bed with a meal of victuals on my stomach.
"After I left you, and before I came here, I had, all the time, a great looseness of the bowels. It seemed to weaken me. Afterwards I thought it was caused, partly, by some very tart, dried apples, of which I ate freely at every meal. Aunt ——thought it was working at hoeing up turf around trees, for she said that working hard with her arms affected her in that way. My stomach did not seem quite right. Perhaps I strained it in coming home. The very next day after I came here, I commenced eating the ripe strawberries at meals, and have eaten them freely ever since. I sometimes eat nearly a pint at a meal. From the first they have seemed just the thing for me. They regulated my stomach and bowels, and they have strengthened them ever since.
"I eat alone, and enjoy it capitally. I would not go back to the Institution (the Hygiene establishment) for a great deal, because there are so many things there to harass one's mind, or tempt him, at every corner of the street and almost every shop. Since I came here I have not tasted of any thing between meals, and have had no inclination to do so. I think there will be no trouble on that account.
"I am busy out of doors a good deal of the time. I have hoed corn, piled cord-wood, driven team, picked strawberries, etc. At night I milk one cow. I go barefooted three or four hours in the middle of the day, use no flannels, dress very thin,—as little as I can get along with.
"Do you wish me to learn to swim, if possible? There is a pond—a natural one—about a mile from this place. Will you not answer me soon, and give me your opinion on this and other subjects?
"In love, yours, etc."Samuel."
"In love, yours, etc.
"Samuel."
About a month later, viz., July 18, he wrote thus:
"My dear Doctor:—Five months and a half without a symptom! I have not the slightest feeling to remind me of my old attacks. Should I not be thankful?"A short time since, I had a very sore stomach. It got out of order, I think, in consequence of eating too much. I broke off, went a day without nothing to eat; eat less now, and feel well. When Mrs. —— was here, she told me she thought I might eat all I craved. I did so, and suffered the consequences, though I cured myself."There is a place here in the woods where raspberries are so thick that people get six quarts at a time. Apples are nearly ripe. Pears will soon succeed them."Yours truly,"Samuel."
"My dear Doctor:—Five months and a half without a symptom! I have not the slightest feeling to remind me of my old attacks. Should I not be thankful?
"A short time since, I had a very sore stomach. It got out of order, I think, in consequence of eating too much. I broke off, went a day without nothing to eat; eat less now, and feel well. When Mrs. —— was here, she told me she thought I might eat all I craved. I did so, and suffered the consequences, though I cured myself.
"There is a place here in the woods where raspberries are so thick that people get six quarts at a time. Apples are nearly ripe. Pears will soon succeed them.
"Yours truly,"Samuel."
"Yours truly,
"Samuel."
Two weeks later than the above,—a little more than six months after the discontinuance of the epileptic attacks,—I received a letter from Samuel's guardian, in which he wrote as follows:
"We have continued the same course of diet as at your house; in short, have carried out your views perfectly as possible. Notwithstanding all this, he (Samuel) has lost flesh and strength; and, for the last few weeks, has fallen off greatly, in mental and physical vigor. He has run down in flesh to eighty pounds, is pale as this paper, coughs considerably, especially at night, yet does not expectorate very much. He had a spell of spitting blood, some five or six weeks ago, raised perhaps a gill. I do not think that it debilitated him very much at the time."
"We have continued the same course of diet as at your house; in short, have carried out your views perfectly as possible. Notwithstanding all this, he (Samuel) has lost flesh and strength; and, for the last few weeks, has fallen off greatly, in mental and physical vigor. He has run down in flesh to eighty pounds, is pale as this paper, coughs considerably, especially at night, yet does not expectorate very much. He had a spell of spitting blood, some five or six weeks ago, raised perhaps a gill. I do not think that it debilitated him very much at the time."
Not far from this time Samuel was taken from the farm, and subjected to various changes in his habits, which were unauthorized, and which probably proved injurious. He took a large amount of cream,—an article which had not before been allowed him,—also a little fresh meat at his dinners. Insteadof going without his breakfast, as before, he now appears to have taken breakfast; and in some instances, at least, to have used not only large quantities of cream at this early hour, but animal food likewise. There was a strong and increasing belief among his friends, that his food was not sufficiently nutritious, and that he was suffering for want of materials for blood; whereas the error lay in the other direction. His stomach and other digestive organs were overloaded and depressed by the large amount of nutriment he had for some time received. But more on this hereafter.
He now appeared to be falling into what is called a galloping consumption, of which he died a few weeks afterward. There should have been a post mortem examination; but, from various causes, it was not attended to. At the time of his death he was about eighteen years of age.
The treatment of this young man on the farm, was by no means what had been intended. The experiment of having him eat alone was hazardous, and I sternly protested against it. But the hours at which he chose to take his two meals, especially the first, were such as to preclude, practically, a better arrangement. There was no one that wished to eat at ten in the forenoon, but himself; and it was not customary for the family to convene for eating in the afternoon, till six. Now, although, abstractly considered, he selected the best hours for his meals, yet, taking society as it is, and human nature ashiswas, it would have been much better, in the result, had he eaten with the family at twelve and six. He would have eaten less, and yet would probably have been better nourished and better satisfied.
No housekeeper who has the usual feelings of a housekeeper, will be content to set before a young man of seventeen or eighteen years of age, no more, for example, than one-sixth as much food as she would prepare for six such persons. It would seem to her almost like prisoner's fare. And then, few young men or old ones will content themselves with one sixth as much food when sitting alone, entirely unrestrained, as when in company, where pride or self-respect would have influence. And of one thingwe may, at least, be sure, viz., that Samuel, with his almost illimitable appetite, tempted by abundance and assured that he might, with safety, eat as much as that appetite craved, would never be the individual to stop short of fifty per cent more of carbon than his feeble machinery could appropriate; while every ounce of the surplus was burned up by his lungs, at an expense of that vital energy which should have been husbanded with the greatest care, and expended no faster than was indispensably necessary.
His friends, no doubt, supposed—for such views greatly prevail—that he would not be likely to hurt himself on plain and simple food; and, in truth, that it was so light and unsubstantial that he needed a large amount of it to keep him alive.
One or two individuals, largely interested in him, gave this as their opinion, more than once, and vainly believe, to the present day, that he ran down and died for want of proper nourishment. Whereas, we need nothing more than Samuel's own confessions, to show us, as clearly as the sunlight could possibly show us any thing, that it is much more likely that he perished from excess of nutrition than for the want of it.
Let us look a little at particulars. It appears, most clearly, that Samuel always had before him a good supply of bread, of such excellent quality that he could make a full and agreeable meal of it. While under my special care, he could eat and enjoy a full meal of the driest bread; and he would even have proceeded beyond the limits of safety on it, had I permitted it, and this, too, without berries, sugar, or cream, to make it still more inviting, or without his "sweetened bread," as he called it, for a dessert. It is, moreover, by no means probable, that the morbid keenness of his appetite was at all diminished by being on a farm and in the open air much of the time.
Observe, now, his living. Fruit, he says, he allowed himself always, at both dinner and supper, sometimes a pint at a meal. Dried apple-sauce, very "tart," as he called it, he appears to have had at every meal. Sugar, moreover, to sweeten his berries, etc., he always had on the table. Will one who has such an appetite as he had, eat moderately, withfruit, sugar, and apple-sauce always before him,—and these regarded as a dessert, of which he may eatad libitum, after having eaten a full and more than a full meal of bread? In potatoes, too, he indulged, as you will see by referring to his letter, in rather large quantity.
Now the most healthy person in the world, would ere long have an acid stomach, as well as weakened lungs, who should undertake to live in this way; how much more a person who has long been feeble, especially in his lungs, nervous system, and even his digestive system, for that was active rather than strong.
Indeed, there are many circumstances which favor the belief that he burned himself out by excess of stimulus, or, in chemical language, by excess of carbon. His thoughts seem to have been very largely on eating. It will be seen by the extracts I have made from his letters, that after speaking on any other needful topic, he would soon get back to the subject of eating. Observe, too, he says he feels no temptation to eat between his meals; but why? First, doubtless, because he eat to the full at his regular meals; and secondly, because the food was mostly, if not always, set away out of his reach.
Another thing deserves consideration. Not only was he, but his friends also, inclined to the opinion that he would not, and perhaps could not, hurt himself on such things as plain dry bread; but they also appeared to believe,practically, at least,—and the belief is very common,—that the use of bread would atone for other transgressions. Thus, suppose he were to have, for once, a rich pudding to eat, or some baked beans, or sweetened rice pudding,—which, as you know, are of themselves very pure nutriments,—set before him, and he were to eat to the full, till the question should begin to arise in his own mind, whether he had not gone too far, it was apt to be thought, or ratherfelt, that an addition of plain bread, or some fruit, or a few cold potatoes, or some other vegetable, would be a correction for the preceding excess. Such, I say, is the virtue which, by a kind of tradition, is awarded to coarse and plain food, and to fruits, and even nuts. I know, indeed, thatthis idea would hardly be defended in so many words; still, it is practically entertained.
To make plainer a great dietetic error, I will explain my meaning. It is believed, for example, that a pound or two of greasy baked beans would not be so likely to hurt a person, if a little bread or fruit or potatoe or sauce were eaten after them, as if eaten alone,—a belief than which none can be more unfounded or dangerous.
One more proof that Samuel was constantly inclined to excess in eating, is found in the fact that there was a continual tendency, in his stomach, to acidity, which was best relieved by a day of entire abstinence; and the same might be said of a tendency to relaxation of the bowels, and its correction. In short, if there be a plain truth fairly deducible from the facts in the case, it is that he was destroyed by a carbonaceous nutriment in too great proportion for his expenditure.
It may have been feared by his friends, that he yielded, at this period, toother propensities. Indeed, one letter which I received after his death, more than intimated all this. The remark alluded to was as follows:—"I have had the fear that there was something unexplained about his case, as you say you once had." For various reasons, I am inclined to believe that the indulgence referred to had little to do with his comparatively sudden death. His whole soul was pivoted on that great central organ, the stomach. For this he lived, and for this, probably, he died.
My own principal error, in relation to the case, was, in suffering him to go upon the farm with such unintelligent, though well-intentioned teachers. Lord Bacon and others have said, "A little knowledge is a dangerous thing;" and in nothing is the remark more applicable than to the first or pioneer knowledge of people on hygiene. From the very nature of the case it must be so. I ought either to have protested against the farm,in toto, or given such minute instructions that they could not have been easily mistaken. But I had my reasons, at the time, for the course I took, and I thought them quite sufficient. How easy it is, in this world, to find cause for misgivings!
At a certain season when scarlet fever was very prevalent among us, a member of my family was attacked with it slightly, and, as it was believed by almost everybody to be contagious, the case excited much alarm. The fact that in persons of my friend's age, it had, during the season, occasionally proved fatal, no doubt increased the apprehension and alarm, and led to many anxious fears about the treatment. Those who regarded my general method of treating disease as rather too "tame," and who supposed themselves in special danger of "taking the disease," were not only curious, but curiously inquisitive to know what I would do in my own family, to meet this supposed terrible malady.
My first object was to quiet all fears, especially in the patient. It would have been easy—comparatively so—to do this, had it not been for the croakings of our neighbors. They told the sick person so many dismal stories of persons of her age—she was in middle life—who had died of scarlet fever, that it was not so easy to resist, wholly, the impressions. The most resolute and determined are apt to yield, in such circumstances.
However, we did the best we could. We endeavored not only to keep her quiet in mind, but in body. All irregularities were carefully watched and guarded against; not by giving medicine to prevent evil, real or imaginary; not by prophylactics, as they are called; but by strictly and carefully obeying all the laws pertaining to the human, physical frame, so far as they were then understood.
It was one object to keep the patient cool,—not, of course, chilly; for this would have been worse than a temperature a little too high. But excess of heat, in its application to thesurface, was dreaded as one of the worst of evils; and no pains were spared in attempts to keep the sick-room not only cool, but well ventilated. Her food, also, both for the sake of the general circulatory system, and for that, also, of the sympathizing skin, was not only cool, but unstimulating.
In addition to all this, and in pursuance of the same general plan, a warm or rather a tepid bath was administered. But in applying this the greatest care was used. The water was only warmed just enough so as not to feel uncomfortable. It had so good an effect that it was repeated.
The fever did not run so high as had been expected; and our apprehensions gradually disappeared. All went on well, and, in a few days, health was entirely restored. None of the neighbors sickened as the consequence, either of infection or of contagion.
I do not mean, by the relation of this fact, to intimate that every case of scarlatina, treated in the same way, would be attended with similar results; for the powers of life are often fed by sicklier streams than in the present case. There is often a large amount, so to speak, of combustible matter in every "nook and corner," ready to be ignited by the burning flood, as it courses its way through the system. Yet, even then, the flame would be greatly diminished by keeping quiet. Who has not observed the difference, amid a general conflagration, between a most perfect stillness and a blustering or windy moment? The difference between perfect quiet of body and mind and great agitation and fear, in their effects on health and disease, is scarcely less striking, if not, indeed, more so.
Pope says of the freethinker, that he may be "all things in an hour." So may some people in their medical creed, at least, practically. They change their opinions with almost every change in the position of the weathercock. To-day they are very orthodox, medically; to-morrow they are ready to throw physicians and medicine to the four winds, if not to the dogs. Just as the freethinker is now very orthodox in religious matters, and in a day or an hour quite out at sea.
My troubles with patients of this description have been numerous and great. They promise well, and probablymeanwell. But just as the new wad in a boy's pop-gun drives out the old one, in order to occupy its place, so the very next medical adviser, especially if he have much self-confidence, secures their entire trust, and I, for the time, seem to lose it. At least, mine is eclipsed. The people I am describing are of too easy virtue to be virtuous.
And whence all this? It arises from ignorance—not very blissful ignorance, either. As well might Nebuchadnezzar's image, had it possessed sensation, been blissful, as such persons as these. Brass, iron, and clay may quite as easily unite to form a reliable compound, as these persons become settled in opinion with regard to a proper medical treatment.
I had one patient of this description who harassed me for many years. It is true that he finally recovered; but I hardly know how. His recovery, when I reflect on it, leads me towards the belief that people oftener get well in spite of their medicine, than as the consequence of using it.
He was originally a boot and shoe maker; and being exceedingly ambitious, he had neglected exercise, and worked toohard at the bench, as well as committed certain imprudences connected with diet, till he was almost a perfect wreck, from dyspepsia. He was about twenty-five years of age.
At first, despite of his ignorance, I had hope of being able to put him upon the high road to health. He seemed unusually docile. But, as I have before said, virtue is sometimes too easy. He would believe in and follow me almost implicitly, for a little while; but when about half or perhaps two-thirds of the way to the land of health, he would become impatient, and either run to me anxiously or veer to somebody else. I have known him to start in pursuit of me when I was a full day's journey distant, and not easily found even then.
But I have also known him go, with the same earnestness and anxiety, to another adviser, and follow his directions with the same care with which he had followed my own, and perhaps about as long. While following a person, however, he was, for a very short period at the first, entirely devoted to him and his principles, which, as far as it went, was undoubtedly favorable.
Once he followed, for a time, a clairvoyant,—a female,—and took her medicine. She gave him, it is true, rather more medicine than he was willing to take, or even pay for; but as I gave him less than he desired, he thought it advisable to give her system a fair trial. I do not know whether he thought himself at all benefited by her prescriptions. Most certain it is that he did not long follow her, and that he came to me again some time afterwards, in the same condition as formerly.
In another instance, he sought relief of the hydropathists. One of the most eminent of them had him under his care for a long time. I believe he even visited, and staid a week or two, at a Water Cure Institution. Yet he never acknowledged any benefit from this treatment. He finally tried to unite allopathy and hydropathy, and to invoke their combined forces. A meeting of myself and an eminent hydropathic practitioner was appointed and held, but even this did not result in his recovery.
And yet he finally recovered, though I hardly know how. Suchcases force me to the acknowledgment that human physical nature is tough, that we are machines made to live. Were it not so, this dyspeptic friend of mine must, at a comparatively early age, have sank to the grave, a victim of ignorance. He has, however, acquired wisdom in the school of experience.
A brother of his, who was my patient in a similar complaint, and from similar causes, recovered in a very few months. But he was not a mere weathercock.
In the early part of the year 1854, measles prevailed considerably, and was rather severe even under the most favorable circumstances. In our cities, such as New York and Boston, it destroyed a great number of valuable lives. It was by no means confined to children; it attacked adults, who had hitherto escaped it, as well as children.
One of my most intimate female friends, who was over forty years of age, had often been exposed to it without taking it, and had begun to hope she should escape through life. The family to which she belonged had it, and in the end a blow fell on her. It alarmed her most fearfully. She declared, again and again, that she should not and could not survive it, and her fears greatly aggravated the severity of her symptoms.
She was well acquainted with the most enlightened views on the subject of disease, and though her fears were great, she endeavored to pursue the proper course at first, which, as she knew, consisted mainly in supporting her strength as much as possible, in the most appropriate and healthful ways. She had no thought, it would seem, of taking medicine.
But she had neighbors,—some of them of the gossiping kind,—who called on her frequently, to convince her of the necessity oftaking something to bring out the measles, and to relate the pitiful story of Mr. and Mrs. Such-an-one, who perished because they would do nothing to save themselves, and to entreat her to take at least a little saffron and snakeroot tea. And they had some influence with her; not indeed at first, but after she became weakened by the disease. Drowning people, it is said, catch at straws.
I was called to see her late one Saturday evening. She didnot know, as she said, that any medicine was needed, but as she was considerably advanced in life, and many had sunk under the disease of late, and as she had such a continual feeling of depression and fainting, she thought it barely possible I might think it advisable to give her some little thing to make her feel more comfortable.
There were indeed many things that required attention. Her feet were cold, unnecessarily so, and her room was not properly ventilated. Then she needed small draughts of water much oftener than she had been accustomed to receive them, or had dared to venture in their use. She needed no snakeroot and saffron, nor indeed any other form of herb tea. I gave particular orders with regard to the little things so needful in such cases, and in order to be on hand in case of alarm, I remained in the house till morning.
More than once during the night, her courage nearly failed her, and I was summoned to her bedside. In one or two instances, she ventured to complain of me as neglectful of her case, because I gave her no medicine. But I cheered and encouraged her as well as I could. Her disease had made her a child, and she needed a child's treatment. I was not, indeed, without my fears, but I did not see how her condition could be alleviated by medicinal agents, unless they become necessary as a substitute for that faith in Nature, which she was accustomed to exercise when she had more strength. This faith, as I have already told you, did indeed sometimes fall a little below the proper standard, but the depression was in general but momentary.
Early in the morning a near neighbor called, and kindly inquired how she did; and when assured that she was, as yet, no better, was unable longer to repress her feelings. "Why, in the case ofmychildren," said she, "the measles never came out without giving them something, and they never would have done so to this day." Yet she had a large family. I might have asked her how she knew what Naturecouldhave done unaided, since she gave her no opportunity to test her strength; but she was too ignorant to converse with on such subjects.To have asked her how she knew whether her children got well in spite of the medicine they took, or on account of it, would have been but throwing pearls before swine, and I would not do it.
It was very soon reported, all over the neighborhood, that Mrs. O. was in a very dangerous condition, and if she did not have some other doctor, would soon die. And, what was worst of all, the stories got back to Mrs. O. herself. And now came the tug of war; and had not the eruption, just at this time made its appearance, I do not know what the results might have been.
Before noon, however, of this day (Sunday), every thing went right, and Mrs. O. was as blooming as she had been before pale and disconsolate. My good friend who had given me the morning homily, did not again make her appearance, and the neighbors in general who had dealt out their jeremiades so freely, kept themselves at a very respectful distance.
The recovery was as rapid as could have been expected, even in the most vigorous young person. Nor was there any after-trouble, to require physic, or eye-water, or remedies for the dropsy. And,—what added to my own surprise, if not to that of the neighbors in general,—though she was a feeble woman, constitutionally, she recovered with as much rapidity as the most healthy and robust, and as well, to say the least, as if she had taken "snakeroot and saffron."