Since I am not writing a medical history, I need not go on to quote the
long list of the names of those who from the old Greek days to the present
time have been both authors and successful medical practitioners. Their
bare names would fill a large volume, and who would care to read them? To
the general reader they would be quite unwelcome. The reason why medical
authors are so little known is, that their writings have been too
wearisome for the general reader. Such English authors as the satirical
Wolcot (Peter Pindar), the courteous essayist Drake, the poetical and
nature-loving Davy, and the "single-hearted, affectionate" Dr. Moir, are
remembered, while greater and deeper thinkers and writers are, with their
works, buried in oblivion.
When the Duke of Kent was last in America (1819), he was one day taking
observations in the country, when he entered a cosy little farm-house,
where he noticed a pretty young girl, reading a book.
"Do you have books here, my dear?" he asked, contemptuously.
"O, yes, sir," replied the girl naively, "_we have the Bible and Peter
Pindar_."
That was a model house. The Bible and fun-provoking "Peter Pindar!" Under
such a roof you will find no guile. Here you will avoid the extremes of
"_all_ work and no play," for the mind, "that makes Jack a dull boy," and
"all play and no work," which "makes him a mere toy."
I have visited some houses in New England where the Bible, and "Baxter's
Call to the Unconverted," were the only books to be seen; others where
nothing was to be found upon the shelves but a vile collection of novels,
such as Mrs. Partington has termed "yaller-cupboard literature." These
need no comment, in either case.