_A MAJESTIC LITERARY FOSSIL_
If I were required to guess off-hand, and without collusion with higher
minds, what is the bottom cause of the amazing material and intellectual
advancement of the last fifty years, I should guess that it was the
modern-born and previously nonexistent disposition on the part of men to
believe that a new idea can have value. With the long roll of the mighty
names of history present in our minds, we are not privileged to doubt
that for the past twenty or thirty centuries every conspicuous
civilisation in the world has produced intellects able to invent and
create the things which make our day a wonder; perhaps we may be
justified in inferring, then, that the reason they did not do it was
that the public reverence for old ideas and hostility to new ones always
stood in their way, and was a wall they could not break down or climb
over. The prevailing tone of old books regarding new ideas is one of
suspicion and uneasiness at times, and at other times contempt. By
contrast, our day is indifferent to old ideas, and even considers that
their age makes their value questionable, but jumps at a new idea with
enthusiasm and high hope—a hope which is high because it has not been
accustomed to being disappointed. I make no guess as to just when this
disposition was born to us, but it certainly is ours, was not possessed
by any century before us, is our peculiar mark and badge, and is
doubtless the bottom reason why we are a race of lightning-shod
Mercuries, and proud of it—instead of being, like our ancestors, a race
of plodding crabs, and proud of that.
So recent is this change from a three or four thousand year twilight to
the flash and glare of open day that I have walked in both, and yet am
not old. Nothing is to-day as it was when I was an urchin; but when I
was an urchin, nothing was much different from what it had always been
in this world. Take a single detail, for example—medicine. Galen could
have come into my sick-room at any time during my first seven years—I
mean any day when it wasn’t fishing weather, and there wasn’t any choice
but school or sickness—and he could have sat down there and stood my
doctor’s watch without asking a question. He would have smelt around
among the wilderness of cups and bottles and phials on the table and the
shelves, and missed not a stench that used to glad him two thousand
years before, nor discovered one that was of a later date. He would have
examined me, and run across only one disappointment—I was already
salivated; I would have him there; for I was always salivated, calomel
was so cheap. He would get out his lancet then; but I would have him
again; our family doctor didn’t allow blood to accumulate in the system.
However, he could take dipper and ladle, and freight me up with old
familiar doses that had come down from Adam to his time and mine; and he
could go out with a wheelbarrow and gather weeds and offal, and build
some more, while those others were getting in their work. And if our
reverend doctor came and found him there, he would be dumb with awe, and
would get down and worship him. Whereas, if Galen should appear among us
to-day, he could not stand anybody’s watch; he would inspire no awe; he
would be told he was a back number, and it would surprise him to see
that that fact counted against him, instead of in his favour. He
wouldn’t know our medicines; he wouldn’t know our practice; and the
first time he tried to introduce his own, we would hang him.
This introduction brings me to my literary relic. It is a _Dictionary of
Medicine_, by Dr. James, of London, assisted by Mr. Boswell’s Doctor
Samuel Johnson, and is a hundred and fifty years old, it having been
published at the time of the rebellion of ‘45. If it had been sent
against the Pretender’s troops there probably wouldn’t have been a
survivor. In 1861 this deadly book was still working the cemeteries—down
in Virginia. For three generations and a half it had been going quietly
along, enriching the earth with its slain. Up to its last free day it
was trusted and believed in, and its devastating advice taken, as was
shown by notes inserted between its leaves. But our troops captured it
and brought it home, and it has been out of business since. These
remarks from its preface are in the true spirit of the olden time,
sodden with worship of the old, disdain of the new:
‘If we inquire into the Improvements which have been made by the
Moderns, we shall be forced to confess that we have so little Reason to
value ourselves beyond the Antients, or to be tempted to contemn them,
that we cannot give stronger or more convincing Proofs of our own
Ignorance, as well as our Pride.
‘Among all the systematical Writers, I think there are very few who
refuse the Preference to _Hieron, Fabricius ab Aquapendente_, as a
Person of unquestion’d Learning and Judgment; and yet is he not asham’d
to let his Readers know that _Celsus_ among the Latins, _Paulus
Aegineta_ among the Greeks, and _Albucasis_ among the Arabians, whom I
am unwilling to place among the Moderns, tho’ he liv’d but six hundred
Years since, are the Triumvirate to whom he principally stands indebted,
for the Assistance he had receiv’d from them in composing his excellent
Book.
‘[In a previous paragraph are puffs of Galen, Hippocrates, and other
débris of the Old Silurian Period of Medicine.] How many Operations are
there now in Use which were unknown to the Antients?’
That is true. The surest way for a nation’s scientific men to prove that
they were proud and ignorant was to claim to have found out something
fresh in the course of a thousand years or so. Evidently the people of
this book’s day regarded themselves as children, and their remote
ancestors as the only grown-up people that had existed. Consider the
contrast: without offence, without over-egotism, our own scientific men
may and do regard themselves as grown people and their grandfathers as
children. The change here presented is probably the most sweeping that
has ever come over mankind in the history of the race. It is the utter
reversal, in a couple of generations, of an attitude which had been
maintained without challenge or interruption from the earliest
antiquity. It amounts to creating man over again on a new plan; he was a
canal boat before, he is an ocean greyhound to-day. The change from
reptile to bird was not more tremendous, and it took longer.
It is curious. If you read between the lines what this author says about
Brer Albucasis, you detect that in venturing to compliment him he has to
whistle a little to keep his courage up, because Albucasis ‘liv’d but
six hundred Years since,’ and therefore came so uncomfortably near being
a ‘modern’ that one couldn’t respect him without risk.
Phlebotomy, Venesection—terms to signify bleeding—are not often heard in
our day, because we have ceased to believe that the best way to make a
bank or a body healthy is to squander its capital; but in our author’s
time the physician went around with a hatful of lancets on his person
all the time, and took a hack at every patient whom he found still
alive. He robbed his man of pounds and pounds of blood at a single
operation. The details of this sort in this book make terrific reading.
Apparently even the healthy did not escape, but were bled twelve times a
year, on a particular day of the month, and exhaustively purged besides.
Here is a specimen of the vigorous old-time practice; it occurs in our
author’s adoring biography of a Doctor Aretæus, a licensed assassin of
Homer’s time, or thereabouts:
‘In a Quinsey he used Venesection, and allow’d the Blood to flow till
the Patient was ready to faint away.’
There is no harm in trying to cure a headache—in our day. You can’t do
it, but you get more or less entertainment out of trying, and that is
something; besides, you live to tell about it, and that is more. A
century or so ago you could have had the first of these features in rich
variety, but you might fail of the other once—and once would do. I
quote:
‘As Dissections of Persons who have died of severe Headaches, which have
been related by Authors, are too numerous to be inserted in this Place,
we shall here abridge some of the most curious and important
Observations relating to this Subject, collected by the celebrated
_Bonetus_.’
The celebrated Bonetus’s ‘Observation No. 1’ seems to me a sufficient
sample, all by itself, of what people used to have to stand any time
between the creation of the world and the birth of your father and mine
when they had the disastrous luck to get a ‘Head-ach’:
‘A certain Merchant, about forty Years of Age, of a Melancholic Habit,
and deeply involved in the Cares of the World, was, during the Dog-days,
seiz’d with a violent pain of his Head, which some time after oblig’d
him to keep his Bed.
‘I, being call’d, order’d Venesection in the Arms, the Application of
Leeches to the Vessels of his Nostrils, Forehead, and Temples, as also
to those behind his Ears; I likewise prescrib’d the Application of
Cupping-glasses, with Scarification, to his Back: But, notwithstanding
these Precautions, he dy’d. If any Surgeon, skill’d in Arteriotomy, had
been present, I should have also order’d that Operation.’
I looked for ‘Arteriotomy’ in this same Dictionary, and found this
definition, ‘The opening of an Artery with a View of taking away Blood.’
Here was a person who was being bled in the arms, forehead, nostrils,
back, temples, and behind the ears, yet the celebrated Bonetus was not
satisfied, but wanted to open an artery, ‘with a View’ to inserting a
pump, probably. ‘Notwithstanding these Precautions’—he dy’d. No art of
speech could more quaintly convey this butcher’s innocent surprise. Now
that we know what the celebrated Bonetus did when he wanted to relieve a
Head-ach, it is no trouble to infer that if he wanted to comfort a man
that had a Stomach-ach he disembowelled him.
I have given one ‘Observation’—a single Head-ach case; but the
celebrated Bonetus follows it with eleven more. Without enlarging upon
the matter, I merely note this coincidence—they all ‘dy’d.’ Not one of
these people got well; yet this obtuse hyena sets down every little gory
detail of the several assassinations as complacently as if he imagined
he was doing a useful and meritorious work in perpetuating the methods
of his crimes. ‘Observations,’ indeed! They are confessions.
According to this book, ‘the Ashes of an Ass’s hoof mix’d with Woman’s
milk cures chilblains.’ Length of time required not stated. Another
item: ‘The constant Use of Milk is bad for the Teeth, and causes them to
rot, and loosens the Gums.’ Yet in our day babies use it constantly
without hurtful results. This author thinks you ought to wash out your
mouth with wine before venturing to drink milk. Presently, when we come
to notice what fiendish decoctions those people introduced into their
stomachs by way of medicine, we shall wonder that they could have been
afraid of milk.
It appears that they had false teeth in those days. They were made of
ivory sometimes, sometimes of bone, and were thrust into the natural
sockets, and lashed to each other and to the neighbouring teeth with
wires or with silk threads. They were not to eat with, nor to laugh
with, because they dropped out when not in repose. You could smile with
them, but you had to practise first, or you would overdo it. They were
not for business, but just decoration. They filled the bill according to
their lights.
This author says ‘the Flesh of Swine nourishes above all other
eatables.’ In another place he mentions a number of things, and says
‘these are very easy to be digested; so is Pork.’ This is probably a
lie. But he is pretty handy in that line; and when he hasn’t anything of
the sort in stock himself he gives some other expert an opening. For
instance, under the head of ‘Attractives’ he introduces Paracelsus, who
tells of a nameless ‘Specific’—quantity of it not set down—which is able
to draw a hundred pounds of flesh to itself—distance not stated—and then
proceeds, ‘It happened in our own Days that an Attractive of this Kind
drew a certain Man’s Lungs up into his Mouth, by which he had the
Misfortune to be suffocated.’ This is more than doubtful. In the first
place, his Mouth couldn’t accommodate his Lungs—in fact, his Hat
couldn’t; secondly, his Heart being more eligibly Situated, it would
have got the Start of his Lungs, and being a lighter Body, it would have
Sail’d in ahead and Occupied the Premises; thirdly, you will Take
Notice, a Man with his Heart in his Mouth hasn’t any Room left for his
Lungs—he has got all he can Attend to; and, finally, the Man must have
had the Attractive in his Hat, and when he saw what was going to Happen
he would have Remov’d it and Sat Down on it. Indeed he would; and then
how could it Choke him to Death? I don’t believe the thing ever happened
at all.
Paracelsus adds this effort: ‘I myself saw a Plaister which attracted as
much Water as was sufficient to fill a Cistern; and by these very
Attractives Branches may be torn from Trees; and, which is still more
surprising, a Cow may be carried up into the Air.’ Paracelsus is dead
now; he was always straining himself that way.
They liked a touch of mystery along with their medicine in the olden
time; and the medicine-man of that day, like the medicine-man of our
Indian tribes, did what he could to meet the requirement:
‘_Arcanum._ A Kind of Remedy whose Manner of Preparation, or singular
Efficacy, is industriously concealed, in order to enhance its Value. By
the Chymists it is generally defined a thing secret, incorporeal, and
immortal, which cannot be Known by Man, unless by Experience; for it is
the Virtue of every thing, which operates a thousand times more than the
thing itself.’
To me the butt end of this explanation is not altogether clear. A little
of what they knew about natural history in the early times is exposed
here and there in the _Dictionary_.
‘_The Spider._ It is more common than welcome in Houses. Both the Spider
and its Web are used in Medicine: The Spider is said to avert the
Paroxysms of Fevers, if it be apply’d to the Pulse of the Wrist, or the
Temples; but it is peculiarly recommended against a Quartan, being
enclosed in the Shell of a Hazlenut.
‘Among approved Remedies, I find that the distill’d Water of Black
Spiders is an excellent Cure for Wounds, and that this was one of the
choice Secrets of Sir Walter Raleigh.
‘The Spider which some call the Catcher, or Wolf, being beaten into a
Plaister, then sew’d up in Linen, and apply’d to the Forehead or
Temples, prevents the Returns of a Tertian.
‘There is another Kind of Spider, which spins a white, fine, and thick
Web. One of this Sort, wrapp’d in Leather, and hung about the Arm, will
avert the Fit of a Quartan. Boil’d in Oil of Roses, and instilled into
the Ears, it eases Pains in those Parts. _Dioscorides, Lib. 2, Cap. 68._
‘Thus we find that Spiders have in all Ages been celebrated for their
febrifuge Virtues; and it is worthy of Remark, that a Spider is usually
given to Monkeys, and is esteem’d a sovereign Remedy for the Disorders
those Animals are principally subject to.’
Then follows a long account of how a dying woman, who had suffered nine
hours a day with an ague during eight weeks, and who had been bled dry
some dozens of times meantime without apparent benefit, was at last
forced to swallow several wads of ‘Spiders-web,’ whereupon she
straightway mended, and promptly got well. So the sage is full of
enthusiasm over the spider-webs, and mentions only in the most casual
way the discontinuance of the daily bleedings, plainly never suspecting
that this had anything to do with the cure.
‘As concerning the venomous Nature of Spiders, _Scaliger_ takes notice
of a certain Species of them (which he had forgotten), whose Poison was
of so great Force as to affect one _Vincentinus_ thro’ the Sole of his
Shoe, by only treading on it.’
The sage takes that in without a strain, but the following case was a
trifle too bulky for him, as his comment reveals:
‘In Gascony, observes _Scaliger_, there is a very small Spider, which,
running over a Looking-glass, will crack the same by the Force of her
Poison. (_A mere Fable._)’
But he finds no fault with the following facts:
‘Remarkable is the Enmity recorded between this Creature and the
Serpent, as also the Toad: Of the former it is reported, That, lying (as
he thinks securely) under the Shadow of some Tree, the Spider lets
herself down by her Thread, and, striking her Proboscis or Sting into
the Head, with that Force and Efficacy, injecting likewise her venomous
Juice, that, wringing himself about, he immediately grows giddy, and
quickly after dies.
‘When the Toad is bit or stung in Fight with this Creature, the Lizard,
Adder, or other that is poisonous, she finds relief from Plantain, to
which she resorts. In her Combat with the Toad, the Spider useth the
same Stratagem, as with the Serpent, hanging by her own Thread from the
Bough of some Tree, and striking her Sting into her enemy’s Head, upon
which the other, enraged, swells up, and sometimes bursts.
‘To this Effect is the Relation of _Erasmus_, which he saith he had from
one of the Spectators, of a Person lying along upon the Floor of his
Chamber, in the Summer-time, to sleep in a supine Posture, when a Toad,
creeping out of some green Rushes, brought just before in, to adorn the
Chimney, gets upon his Face, and with his Feet sits across his Lips. To
force off the Toad, says the Historian, would have been accounted sudden
Death to the Sleeper; and to leave her there, very cruel and dangerous;
so that upon Consultation it was concluded to find out a Spider, which,
together with her Web, and the Window she was fasten’d to, was brought
carefully, and so contrived as to be held perpendicularly to the Man’s
Face; which was no sooner done, but the Spider, discovering his Enemy,
let himself down, and struck in his Dart, afterwards betaking himself up
again to his Web; the Toad swell’d, but as yet kept his Station: The
second Wound is given quickly after by the Spider, upon which he swells
yet more, but remain’d alive still.—The Spider, coming down again by his
Thread, gives the third Blow; and the Toad, taking off his Feet from
over the Man’s Mouth, fell off dead.’
To which the sage appends this grave remark, ‘And so much for the
historical Part.’ Then he passes on to a consideration of ‘the Effects
and Cure of the Poison.’
One of the most interesting things about this tragedy is the double sex
of the Toad, and also of the Spider.
Now the sage quotes from one Turner:
‘I remember, when a very young Practitioner, being sent for to a certain
Woman, whose Custom was usually, when she went to the Cellar by
Candlelight, to go also a Spider-hunting, setting Fire to their Webs,
and burning them with the Flame of the Candle still as she pursued them.
It happen’d at length, after this Whimsy had been follow’d a long time,
one of them sold his Life much dearer than those Hundreds she had
destroy’d; for, lighting upon the melting Tallow of her Candle, near the
Flame, and his legs being entangled therein, so that he could not
extricate himself, the Flame or Heat coming on, he was made a Sacrifice
to his cruel Persecutor, who, delighting her Eyes with the Spectacle,
still waiting for the Flame to take hold of him, he presently burst with
a great Crack, and threw his Liquor, some into her Eyes, but mostly upon
her Lips; by means of which, flinging away her Candle, she cry’d out for
Help, as fansying herself kill’d already with the Poison. However, in
the Night, her Lips swell’d up excessively, and one of her Eyes was much
inflam’d; also her Tongue and Gums were somewhat affected; and, whether
from the Nausea excited by the Thoughts of the Liquor getting into her
Mouth, or from the poisonous Impressions communicated by the Nervous
_Fibrillæ_ of those Parts to those of the Ventricle, a continual
Vomiting attended: To take off which, when I was call’d, I order’d a
Glass of mull’d Sack, with a Scruple of Salt of Wormwood, and some hours
after a Theriacal Bolus, which she flung up again. I embrocated the Lips
with the Oil of Scorpions mix’d with the Oil of Roses; and, in
Consideration of the Ophthalmy, tho’ I was not certain but the Heat of
the Liquor, rais’d by the Flame of the Candle before the Body of the
Creature burst, might, as well as the Venom, excite the Disturbance,
(altho’ Mr. _Boyle’s_ Case of a Person blinded by this Liquor dropping
from the living Spider, makes the latter sufficient;) yet observing the
great Tumefaction of the Lips, together with the other Symptoms not
likely to arise from simple Heat, I was inclin’d to believe a real
Poison in the Case; and therefore not daring to let her Blood in the Arm
[If a man’s throat were cut in those old days, the doctor would come and
bleed the other end of him]. I did, however, with good Success, set
Leeches to her Temples, which took off much of the Inflammation; and her
Pain was likewise abated, by instilling into her Eyes a thin Mucilage of
the Seeds of Quinces and white Poppies extracted with Rose-water; yet
the Swelling on the Lips increased; upon which, in the Night, she wore a
Cataplasm prepared by boiling the Leaves of Scordium, Rue, and
Elderflowers, and afterwards thicken’d with the Meal of Vetches. In the
mean time, her Vomiting having left her, she had given her, between
whiles, a little Draught of distill’d Water of Carduus Benedictus and
Scordium, with some of the Theriaca dissolved; and upon going off of the
Symptoms, an old Woman came luckily in, who, with Assurance suitable to
those People (whose Ignorance and Poverty is their Safety and
Protection), took off the Dressings, promising to cure her in two Days’
time, altho’ she made it as many Weeks, yet had the Reputation of the
Cure; applying only Plantain Leaves bruis’d and mixed with Cobwebs,
dropping the Juice into her Eye, and giving some Spoonfuls of the same
inwardly, two or three times a day.’
So ends the wonderful affair. Whereupon the sage gives Mr. Turner the
following shot—strengthening it with italics—and passes calmly on:
‘_I must remark upon this History, that the Plantain, as a Cooler, was
much more likely to cure this Disorder than warmer Applications and
Medicines._’
How strange that narrative sounds to-day, and how grotesque, when one
reflects that it was a grave contribution to medical ‘science’ by an old
and reputable physician! Here was all this to-do—two weeks of it—over a
woman who had scorched her eye and her lips with candle grease. The poor
wench is as elaborately dosed, bled, embrocated, and otherwise harried
and bedevilled, as if there had been really something the matter with
her; and when a sensible old woman comes along at last, and treats the
trivial case in a sensible way, the educated ignoramus rails at her
ignorance, serenely unconscious of his own. It is pretty suggestive of
the former snail pace of medical progress that the spider retained his
terrors during three thousand years, and only lost them within the last
thirty or forty.
Observe what imagination can do. ‘This same young Woman’ used to be so
affected by the strong (imaginary) smell which emanated from the burning
spiders that ‘the Objects about her seem’d to turn round; she grew faint
also with cold Sweats, and sometimes a light Vomiting.’ There could have
been Beer in that cellar as well as Spiders.
Here are some more of the effects of imagination: ‘_Sennertus_ takes
Notice of the Signs of the Bite or Sting of this Insect to be a Stupor
or Numbness upon the Part, with a sense of Cold, Horror, or Swelling of
the Abdomen, Paleness of the Face, involuntary Tears, Trembling,
Contractions, a (****), Convulsions, cold Sweats; but these latter
chiefly when the Poison has been received inwardly;’ whereas the modern
physician holds that a few spiders taken inwardly, by a bird or a man,
will do neither party any harm.
The above ‘Signs’ are not restricted to spider bites—often they merely
indicate fright. I have seen a person with a hornet in his pantaloons
exhibit them all.
‘As to the Cure, not slighting the usual Alexipharmics taken internally,
the Place bitten must be immediately washed with Salt Water, or a Sponge
dipped in hot Vinegar, or fomented with a Decoction of Mallows,
Origanum, and Mother of Thyme; after which a Cataplasm must be laid on
of the Leaves of Bay, Rue, Leeks, and the Meal of Barley, boiled with
Vinegar, or of Garlick and Onions, contused with Goat’s Dung and fat
Figs. Mean time the Patient should eat Garlick and drink Wine freely.’
As for me, I should prefer the spider bite. Let us close this review
with a sample or two of the earthquakes which the old-time doctor used
to introduce into his patient when he could find room. Under this head
we have ‘Alexander’s Golden Antidote,’ which is good for—well, pretty
much everything. It is probably the old original first patent-medicine.
It is built as follows:
‘Take of Afarabocca, Henbane, Carpobalsamum, each two Drams and a half;
of Cloves, Opium, Myrrh, Cyperus, each two Drams; of Opobalsamum, Indian
Leaf, Cinnamon, Zedoary, Ginger, Coftus, Coral, Cassia, Euphorbium, Gum
Tragacanth, Frankincense, Styrax Calamita, Celtic, Nard, Spignel,
Hartwort, Mustard, Saxifrage, Dill, Anise, each one Dram; of Xylaloes,
Rheum, Ponticum, Alipta Moschata, Castor, Spikenard, Galangals,
Opoponax, Anacardium, Mastich, Brimstone, Peony, Eringo, Pulp of Dates,
red and white Hermodactyls, Roses, Thyme, Acorns, Pennyroyal, Gentian,
the Bark of the Root of Mandrake, Germander, Valerian, Bishops Weed,
Bay-Berries, long and white Pepper, Xylobalsamum, Carnabadium,
Macodonian, Parsley-seeds, Lovage, the Seeds of Rue, and Sinon, of each
a Dram and a half; of pure Gold, pure Silver, Pearls not perforated, the
Blatta Byzantina, the Bone of the Stag’s Heart, of each the Quantity of
fourteen Grains of Wheat; of Sapphire, Emerald, and Jasper Stones, each
one Dram; of Hasle-nut, two Drams; of Pellitory of Spain, Shavings of
Ivory, Calamus Odoratus, each the Quantity of twenty-nine Grains of
Wheat; of Honey or Sugar a sufficient Quantity.’
Serve with a shovel. No; one might expect such an injunction after such
formidable preparation; but it is not so. The dose recommended is ‘the
Quantity of an Hasle-nut.’ Only that; it is because there is so much
jewellery in it, no doubt.
‘_Aqua Limacum._ Take a great Peck of Garden-snails, and wash them in a
great deal of Beer, and make your Chimney very clean, and set a Bushel
of Charcoal on Fire; and when they are thoroughly kindled, make a Hole
in the Middle of the Fire, and put the Snails in, and scatter more Fire
amongst them, and let them roast till they make a Noise; then take them
out, and, with a Knife and coarse Cloth, pick and wipe away all the
green Froth: Then break them, Shells and all, in a Stone Mortar. Take
also a Quart of Earth-worms, and scour them with Salt, divers times
over. Then take two Handfuls of Angelica and lay them in the Bottom of
the Still; next lay two Handfuls of Celandine; next a Quart of
Rosemary-flowers; then two Handfuls of Bears-foot and Agrimony; then
Fenugreek; then Turmerick; of each one Ounce: Red Dock-root, Bark of
Barberry-trees, Wood-sorrel, Betony, of each two Handfuls.—Then lay the
Snails and Worms on the Top of the Herbs; and then two Handfuls of
Goose-dung, and two Handfuls of Sheep-dung. Then put in three Gallons of
Strong Ale, and place the pot where you mean to set Fire under it: Let
it stand all Night, or longer; in the Morning put in three Ounces of
Cloves well beaten, and a small Quantity of Saffron, dry’d to Powder;
then six Ounces of Shavings of Hartshorn, which must be uppermost. Fix
on the Head and Refrigeratory, and distil according to Art.’
There! The book does not say whether this is all one dose, or whether
you have a right to split it and take a second chance at it, in case you
live. Also, the book does not seem to specify what ailment it was for;
but it is of no consequence, for of course that would come out on the
inquest.
Upon looking further, I find that this formidable nostrum is ‘good for
raising Flatulencies in the Stomach’—meaning _from_ the stomach, no
doubt. So it would appear that when our progenitors chanced to swallow a
sigh, they emptied a sewer down their throats to expel it. It is like
dislodging skippers from cheese with artillery.
When you reflect that your own father had to take such medicines as the
above, and that you would be taking them to-day yourself but for the
introduction of homœopathy, which forced the old-school doctor to stir
around and learn something of a rational nature about his business, you
may honestly feel grateful that homœopathy survived the attempts of the
allopathists to destroy it, even though you may never employ any
physician but an allopathist while you live.
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