My society, it is true, was not always the best; but, perhaps, not the less instructive for this circumstance. To become practically acquainted with the world, one must see human nature in all its aspects. Sometimes I met real gentlemen, and sometimes fell in with the perfect boor. I was not known to any one; but the boatmen, frequently becoming sick, applied to me for medical aid; and hence I acquired the title of Doctor.
My prescriptions were always simple; and, strange to tell, I did not lose a single patient. My knowledge of the Materia Medica was, no doubt, limited. Without, however, consulting Celsus or Boerhave, I always told the sick, that in a few days, they would be perfectly well. I really suppose that men often die, because they think they shall. Much depends, in sickness, upon the state of the mind. Our intellectual and physical nature always sympathise with each other. Resistance lessens the force of an attack; and there is something {156} in the declaration, I will not be conquered! which fortifies both the mind and the body.
My next learned theory was, that nature loves herself; and, in sickness, requires, in many cases, only a little aid to enable her so to exert her powers as to produce the desired effect. The most simple prescriptions, if efficient, are always the best. Powerful remedies tend to disorganize the most subtle functions of the animal economy; and by curing one disease to produce a complication of many others.
But I would not call in question the importance of the profession of medicine. As to its station in the catalogue of sciences, it ranks among the very first. This profession presents to the human mind the most extensive field for investigation. The great science of physiology is its basis; and chymistry, the wonderful magician, by whom
