AND
I S E A S E.
BY EDWAARD JOHNSON, M.D.
AUTIHOR OF "HIYDROPATIIY," "NUCES PHILOSOPHICI2E,C   ETC.
"The pith of nearly all that has been written on the prevention of disease
might be included under two heads, almost in two words-TEMIPERANCn and
EXERCISE."-D?'. Jamees Johnson.
NEW YORK:
JOHN WILEY, 161 BROADWAY,
AND 13 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON.
1850.








C O N T E N T S,
Page
PREFACE to the Ninth Edition,.. o  vii
Preface to the First Edition,...                 ix
LETTER, I.
Nature and Object of the Work,.                        13
The several Systems of which Man is composed,.. 14
Principal Difference between the Animal Man and the Inferior Animals,                                                           18
Argument resulting from the Slightness of this Difference,... 20
Man's natural Weapons of Offence and Defence-SPEEcH,              21
Man owes his Superiority over other Animals to the Faculty of Speech,  22
He does not owe it to a larger Brain,. 23
Ancient Opinions relative to the Process of Digestion-Absurd Use of the
words Digestion, Indigestion, and Dyspepsia-How these Words came
to be used-Proper Words substituted for them,... 24
Stomach and Bowels not the only Organs concerned in Nutrition,.. 26
The different Courses and Functions performed by Arteries andti VeinsThe very great Difference between the Blood circulating in the Veins
and that circulating in the Arteries,.      27
Ultimate Tissue of the Body,....... 28
Cellular Substance,.                                              28
Important Operations carried on within the secret Chambers of the Ultimate Tissue,..'...29.Moral Character depends on Physical Structure,... 29
Duelling no Proof of Courage, but of Moral Cowardice,... 30
Characters of Richard I. and John,...... 31
Instances of daring Courage in the Weak accounted for,... 31
Both the Body and the Character constructed in the Ultimate Tissue,. 31
Folly of beginning the Education of Children too early,..  32
The Course of the Arteries and Veins continued,...   32
Other Distinctions between Arteries and Veins,...   33
Immense Preponderance of the Fluids over the Solids-Nearly the whole
of t?'e solid Body composed of Vessels and Nerves,... 33




hjYr                         CONTENTS,
LETTER II.
Page
Recapitulation,.. 35
Description and Distribution of the Absorbents,... 35
The Offices they perform,,   36
The MANNER HOW we live,.....                  38
We are Dying every Hour-Difference between this Hourly Death, and
the Final Consummation of Life,..... 38
Hourly Reproduction of the Body out of our daily Food,..    9
Why we grow in Youth, and cease to grow in Manhood,.   39
Office of a Secretory Gland,..40
Formation of a Secretory Gland,.. 40
Description and Distribution of the Nerves,.                40
An easy Method of enabling one to conceive how Vessels and Nerves
and Cellular Substances may be so arranged as to present the Appearance of the different Solid Structures of the Body,.         43
Recapitulation of the Uses of the Absorbents, Arteries, Veins, and
Nerves,.....                                  44
LETTER  III.
Death,                                       D.. 47
Organism,..      47
Contractility-essential to Life,. 48
Sensibility,.                                              49
Stimuli,.                                                      49
Vitality not Life,.                                           50
What is Life 2......... 51
Organized Matter compared with a Musical Instrument,             52
What is Health i..                                            52
Tremendous Importance of Contractility and Sensibility to Health and
Strength,. 52
Recapitulation of the Offices of Organism, Contractility, Sensibility, and
Stimuli,............53
Health and Strength must be in Proportion to the Contractile Power,. 55
The Laws of Contractility, and the Reason of these Laws,... 55
LETTER  IV.
Sensibility-its Laws,..58
To injure one Organ is to injure the whole,.                    61
Last and most important Law of Sensibility,..          63
Pleasure and Pain depend upon Sensibility,...... 63
We cannot increase our natural Amount of Sensibility without Suffering, 64
High Degree of Sensibility incompatible with Energetic Contractility, and
therefore with Health-Proofs of this,.......   64




CONTENTS.                             ~
Page
Reason why Acute Sensibility is incompatible with energetic Contractility,..66
Energetic Contractility depends on Energetic Circulation,.     68
Moral Sensibility,... 69
LETTER V.
Circulation of the Blood, e..          70
Passage of the Blood from the Heart to the Lungs, and back from the
Lungs to the Heart, called the " Lesser Circle of Circulation,".  72
Changes wrought on the Blood in its Passage through the Lungs,.. 73
Further Offices performed by the Lungs,..             74
The Function of Assimilation (vulgarly called Digestion) explained by
tracing a Mouthful of Food from the Mouth through all the Changes
which it undergoes, until it has become Part and Parcel of the Living
Body,.. 74
Changes wrought on the Food by means of the Fluids of the Body called
Secretions-Vigorous Circulation necessary to Assimilation,. 84
Mischievous Effects of what are called Comforts....         85
Energy of Circulation essential to Energy of Character,. 85
Folly of Quacking,..                   88
The Reasoning adopted by a Medical Man in examining his Patient,. 88
Fatal Errors frequently committed by those who are fond of Quacking
themselves,.                        89
If Experience be the Mother of Wisdom, she is also the Mother of Mischief,....... 90
LETTER VI.
Causes and Sources of Disease,....       92-104
LETTER VII.
The Influence of Civilization and Refinement of Manners on the Health
and Happiness of Mankind,..... 105-115
LETTER VIII.
Cause and Nature of that Condition of the Body produced by what is
denominated Indigestion,....            116-127
LETTER  IX.
Great Mischief arising from an Indulgence in the so-called "Comforts
of Life"-Privations (as they are called) a part of the Natural Scheme
of Man's Terrestrial Existence, and therefore necessary to his Health
and Strength,.   e.                      128-136




vi-                         CONTENTS.
LETTER X.
Page
1st, The Inutility, and 2dly, the Mischief of Eating too much-Strength
does not depend on the Quantity eaten,.           137
Nature has supplied us with infallible Means of Knowing, not only when
we ought to eat, but how much,. 141
Genuine Hunger scarcely known in polished Life,.               145
We eat, not to allay Hunger, but for the Sake of the Excitement which
highly-seasoned Food affords,..145
Absolutely necessary to distinguish between true Hunger and that Lan-guor and Sensation of Want, which only indicates a distressed Condition of the Nervous System,.                146
Stimulants-Spirit, Wine, Beer-are they Necessary, or are they Mischievous...     147-153
LETTER  XI.
Exercise the Talismanic Agent-the Philosopher's Stone-the true Elixir
Vitm, in. all that regards Health and Strength,. 154-16S
APPENDIX,.... o                    169-17i2




PREFACE TO THE NINTH EDITION.
SINCE the publication of the earlier editions of this work, several important discoveries have been made in the sciences of physiology, animal
chemistry, and minute anatomy.
The necessary corrections, consequent upon these new discoveries,
have been made in this edition. These, however, do not, in the slightest
degree, affect any of the great general principles laid down in this work
-excepting as so many additional proofs of their accuracy.  The doctrines indeed lately promulgated by Liebig are singularly in accordance
with, and confirmatory of, all that I have here said on the subject of alcoholic stimulants, as well as on the subject of the causes of health and
strengtht.  The following passages will put this in a striking light.
" The cause of waste of matter is the chemical action of oxygen. The
act of waste of matter is called the change of matter; it occurs in consequence of the absorption of oxygen into the substance of living
parts." " By the absorption of oxygen into the substance of the living
tissues, these lose their condition of life, and are separated as lifeless,
unorganized (disorganized) compounds."  "All experience proves that
there is, in the organism, only one source of mechanical power; and this
source is the conversion of living parts into lifeless, amorphous compounds"-(in plain language, by the waste of the old body). " Proceeding from this truth, which is independent of all theory, animal life may
be viewed as determined by the mutual action of opposed forces; of
which one class may be considered as causes of increase (of supply of
matter) and the other as causes of diminution (of waste of matter)."
"All vital activity arises from the mutual action of the oxygen of the
atmosphere and the elements of the food"-that is, waste and supply.
" That condition of the body which is called health includes the conception of an equilibrium  among all the causes of waste and supply;
and thus animal life is recognized as the mutual action of both; and appears as an alternating destruction and restoration of the state of equilibrium."*  Thus Liebig makes waste-the disorganization of the bodyto be the first of the two causes which constitute the sole source of all
vital activity and all animal mechanical power. The first cause is waste,
* Liebig's Animal Chemistry.




Viii                        PREFACE
the second, supply. Precisely the same doctrines are taught in the following passages fiom  "Life, Health, and Disease."   "Health and
strength depend upon energetic contractility —energetic contractility depends upon rapid re-organization-rapid re-organization depends upon
rapid disorganization-therefore health and strength depend upon rapid
disorganization"'-that is, waste of matter.
Again: " The operation by which life is supported may be illustrated
by the operation by which motion is supported and communicated by two
cog-wheels acting upon each other. Keep your eye steadily fixed upon
the point at which the cogs of the two are interlocked. What do you
observe?  Why, that at every instant, the empty space which is presented by one wheel is instantly filled by a tooth or cog of the other
wheel, to be almost immediately emptied again, and again refilled. Thus
it is that at every point of the body, and at every instant, little empty
spaces are made which are immediately filled by the nutritive arteries, to
be again emptied and again filled." This is intended to illustrate the
mode in which the all-important process of waste and supply —" sole
source of all vital activity, and all mechanical power" in the body-is
carried on. And seeing that this process depends upon the presence of
oxygen in the ultimate tissues of the organism, and that oxygen can
only be carried thither through the medium of an active and vigorous
circulation; and seeing further that the circulation can only be impelled
to activity and vigor by virtue of bodily exertion, the immense importance
of exercise as a hygienic and remedial agent, must be apparent to the
most superficial thinker.
With regard to Liebig's opinion of the evil influence of alcohol on the
human system, it is extremely gratifying to me to observe that they also
are confirmative of my own views on the same subject. After dwelling,
in various passages, on the fundamental importance of the "' change of
matter." as being the sole source of health and strength, he declares
that alcohol has the direct effect of putting a stop to the " change of
matter."  " It is, consequently, obvious," says he, " that by the use of
alcohol a limit must rapidly be put to the change of matter in certain
parts of the body. The oxygen of the arterial blood which, in the absence
of alcohol, would have combined with the matter of the tissues, or with
that formed by the metamorphosis of these tissues, now combines with
the elements of alcohol. The arterial blood becomes venous, without
the substance of the muscles having taken any share in the transformation."
In the new view which I have taken of the source and mode of formation of the alvine evacuations, I am also supported by the doctrines of
Liebig.                                                   E. J.
Umberslade Hall,
near Birmingham.




PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.
SOMETIME since I received a letter from a very near relative, in which
he stated, that he had been, for a considerable time, an invalid, labloring
under a combination of the most dissimilar symptoms, all of which, he
was assured, are represented by the term " indigestion." He complained
bitterly that he could not obtain any satisfactory information as to the
real nature of this Protean malady; nor as to the probability of his perfect and permanent recovery. When he questioned his medical attendants on the subject, they evinced every disposition to satisfy him; but
they could not avoid making use of phrases which were to him words
without meaning. These phrases were, nevertheless, only such as are
in common and daily use among all classes-phrases which he himself
had frequently used, and supposed lie fully understood; but which he
now found, when he strictly examined them, really conveyed no definite
idea to his mind. He was told that his " digestion was impaired."  He
asked, what was meant by that; and was told, his " digestive apparatus
was deranged in its economy."   My brother was still no nearer the
marlk; and his medical attendant, observing his puzzled look, proceeded
to explain and make the matter perfectly clear, by telling him that his
" secretions were depraved, his gastric juice deficient, his nutritive functions feebly performed, and that the tone, the energy, the nisus formativus-in fact, the vis vitae —was fully twenty per cent. below par." The
enlightened patient bowed his gratitude for this luminous explanation,
and sadly re-seated himself in his chair of sickness —as wise, perhaps,
but certainly no wiser, than he was before.
Now, my brother is neither a profound scholar in mathematics, nor proficient in astronomy, nor an adept in chemistry; but he possesses what
may be called a gentlemanly acquaintance with all these. That is to
say, he understands the great general and fundamental laws which govern
them; and therefore, if he were asked a question in any one of these
sciences, although he might not be able to answer it, yet he would readily
understand its nature and purport; and if the problem involved in that
question were explained to him, he would have no difficulty in comprebending it. But not so with the science of health and disease, or rather
that which teaches the nature of health and disease:-and the reason
1i*




X                           PREFACE.
clearly is, because he knows nothing whatever of the fundamental laws
upon which life depends-nothing whatever of the several actions which
constitute life-nothing whatever of the intimate structure of the living
organs. He knows neither how he lives, nor how he moves, nor how he
breathes. The very language of the science is a dead letter to him;
being borrowed, I verily believe, from every tongue that was ever spoken,
and, for aught I know, from some that were never spoken at all. It is
true he has some notion of the general appearance of a few of the larger
organs, because he has seen similar organs in dead animals. For instance, he has seen a great reddish mass of flesh, and has heard it called
a liver; and he has been told, that in the liver the bile is made; but
beyond this vague and meagre notion he knows literally nothing. As to
how it is made-by what, and from what —or what are the several steps
and stages of the operation-as to all this, which constitutes the very
kernel of the nut, and without which the shell is nought, he is in worse
Cimmerian darkness.
Having read my brother's letter, and digested its contents, I was forcibly struck with the truth of his remarks, and felt that he really had just
cause for lamentation. I then conceived that a small concise work, clearly
explaining, in common language, the nature of the animal economy-the
mechanics of the internal man —the mechanism of life —detailing, step by
step, what actually takes place in the performance of each of the functions concerned in the preservation of life and health, and how, and by
what causes, life is sustained-it struck me, I say, that such a work would
be highly acceptable to the public, and would supply a desideratum in the
elementary scientific literature of the country.
There is no mystery into which mankind are more curious to pry than
into that of their internal structure;-and certainly there is none on earth
which so nearly concerns them. There are many books written with a
view to give men a general notion of the laws respecting their property;
and it seems to me astonishing that there should not be one calculated to
inform them concerning those infinitely more important laws which concern their health. Every gentleman is supposed to know somethingthe general principles, at least-of all the liberal sciences, excepting that
particular one in which alone he has any really great and personal interest. I do think that such a work as I have attempted to describe (providing it were well and plainly written, and all technicalities and unnecessary minutia carefully avoided) would be read with great attention
and interest, and, I trust, profit by all classes. It would be read, I think,
by invalids, in order to acquire some notion as to their own maladies, and
so be better qualified to understand and practise the rules of regimen prescribed by their medical advisers: and it would occasionally be consulted,
perhaps, by those who were not invalids, in order to acquaint themselves
with the best manner of preserving the blessing of which they were then




PREFACE,                           xi
in possession. I believe, also, that such a work would tend more than
any other to induce men to practise those rules of conduct which are best
calculated to preserve and promote health; because anen are ever more
ready to do this or that, when they can themselves clearly see and understand its necessity-and the manner how, and reason why, that necessity
exists-than when they have no other authority than the dictum of
another, however high their respect for his knowledge and judgment may
be. Neither, as I think, should medical men take offence at the publication of such a work; as it would have a direct tendency to ennoble their
profession-to render it purely scientific-and to divest it of that mystification by which it was formerly so much disgraced, and of which a portion
still remains. If patients themselves had a clear general acquaintance
with their own internal machinery-with the nature of the several offices
intended to be fulfilled by the several parts of that machinery, and with
the nature of disease in general; and if, with their mind's eye, they were
enabled to look into themselves, and behold the complicated and delicate
clock-work-every wheel in motion, every spring in operation-all acting
in concert, and all tending to one purpose, yet requiring only the slightest
imprudent interference to throw the whole into disorder and irreparable
confusion-if, I say, they could see all this, they could not but feel and
acknowledge that so beautiful, complicated, and wonderful a machine
could only be regulated by the hand of a mechanician intimately acquainted
with its minutest structure, and with the particular uses and manner of
handling the several instruments necessary to rectify whatever derangement may have accidentally befallen it. It would also materially conduce to destroy the predilection of the public mind for quacks and quackery: for who that knows anything at all of the animal economy, and of
the nature of disease, can for one instant be gulled into a belief that any
one remedy can be, at all times, good or proper, even for the same disease, and for the same patient? A bumper of brandy will cure the headache, providing that it be caused by a disordered stomach; but a glass
of brandy, administered for a headache arising from inflammation of the
brain, would. in all human probability, destroy the patient. And how is
the patient to know from which of these causes his headache arises?
Such a work I have, to the best of my ability, executed-and I have
done so in a series of familiar Letters, because 1 thought that it would
afford me the best opportunity of employing a plain and conversational
style, which is the more necessary when writing for readers who have no
acquaintance whatever with the subject treated. For the same reason,
I have avoided all professional pedantries and learned technicalities, whenever it could be done consistently with perspicuity; and I have described
just so much, and no more, of the structure of the body as I thought sufficient to give the general reader a clear idea of those  parts only which
are concerned in the preservation of health. Thus, in speaking of the
heart, I have divided it into two cavities-a right and a left; although, in
fact, each of those cavities is again divided into two others. But, as a




xil                         PREFACE.
knowledge of this fact is not at all necessary to the understanding the
general functions of the heart; and, as the description of this second
division into cavities would necessarily involve another description of
mitral, semilunar, and tricuspid valves, fleshy columns, tendinous cords,
curtains, &c. —all of which would be " caviare to the general:"-I have
thought it best to confine myself to the first grand division-the only one
necessary to be known, in order to acquire a lucid notion of the course
pursued by the blood. I pretend not herein to teach the anatomical
structure of our organs generally; but only to exhibit the several changes
necessary to nutrition, which are wrought upon our food within the
ultimate tissue of those organs-and to show how those changes are
effected.
Such are the nature and objects of the work which I now present to
the public. Whether.I have succeeded in achieving those objects, or not,
must be left to the decision 6f the reader.




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASES
LETTE R  I.
Umberslade Hall, near Birrmingham.
MY DEAR JOHN,
In reply to your Letter, wherein you complain that you cannot
gather any clear notion of the nature of your malady, because you
cannot attach, in your own mind, any distinct idea to the terms
which your medical attendants seem obliged to use in their endeavors to explain it to you; I am about to give you, in a series
of Letters, a plain and familiar description of the mechanism of
your internal man; together with a brief history of those internal
motions and actions which constitute animal life, and any disturbance in the harmony of which constitutes disease. Thus, I think,
I shall enable you easily to surmount the difficulty of which you
complain. There is another benefit which I intend should result
from these Letters.  They will, I hope, enable you to understand
what are the habits of life which are most likely to conduce to a
sound mind and a sound body. For if I were requested to teach a
man how to regulate and repair his watch so as to make it keep true
time, I should think the best way to enable him to do this, would
be to make him acquainted with the internal mechanism of a watch
— showing him the uses of the several wheels and springs which
keep his watch going. So, I believe, the best plan to teach men
how to regulate their diet and habits of life, so as to make their
health keep true time, is to make them  acquainted with the mechanism of their internal selves-showing them the uses of the
several organs and fluids which keep life going.
But, before we descend to particulars, it will be as well to take
a rapid and brief, but general survey of the several parts which
go to the composition of the animal, man. I say, the animalbecause here we have nothing whatever to do with the higher




14                LIFE, tIEALTII, AND DISEASE.
attributes of his nature*-attributes which have no connection
with physical structure, and the phenomena of which are wholly
independent of all physical laws. We are here wholly and solely
concerned simply with the physical animal.
The method I shall adopt, in order to exhibit the principal systems of which the whole scheme of man is made up, and to show
the relation which exists between them, and the dependence of one
upon another, may be considered as fanciful.  Perhaps it is so.
But it struck me as one well calculated to render what I wish to
say, easily comprehensible; and that circumstance alone is a good
recommendation: for I am not ambitious of fine writing, either as
it regards accurate arrangement, philosophical speculation, or
learned and elegant diction. I am only anxious to be understood.
If man had been the work of any being less than Omniscient,
the several single ideas composing the one complex idea of man
must have occurred in succession; and the first must have been
the idea of his figure.  The first idea could only have been, as I
shall presently prove, merely that of an image or statue of the
particular form and appearance which man presents. I am, of
course, for the present, supposing man to have been the first animal produced, and that his artificer was some being of inferior
wisdom to that of Him who is, in truth, his real Author.
Having conceived the idea of a particular figure, and determined to realize it, the next point to be settled would be the kind
of materials of which to fashion it. Having chosen bone, and
shaped his image according to his preconceived idea, the first of
a series of single ideas forming the one complex idea would be
realized; and a solid statue of bone would have been the resulta mere image of the human form.
Contemplating the work of his hands, the desire of endowing it
with powers of locomotion might then occur to him. In order to
accomplish this, the artificer would find it necessary, first, to divide the statue into parts (re-uniting these parts by means of
joints), and then to contrive a number of motive instruments,
which, being attached to the jointed statue, would enable it to
move-as the mechanic who swishes to move a heavy weight must
first construct his instruments of motion, such as wheels, pulleys,
levels, &c.  Having effected this contrivance, the second idea of
the series would he realized-the idea of the muscular system.
* By which I mean-not the mind-not the reasoning faculties; but the
soul, its immortality, &c.




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.              15
But when he had contrived and attached his muscles, he would
find that the particular shape and general appearance, which he
had predetermined his work should bear, had been quite destroyed, and that these same muscles attached to the outside of the
statue were a terrible disfigurement of its external beauty and
symmetry. To remedy this evil, it would be necessary to scoop
and pare down, and hollow out, different parts of the image, and
then to fill up these hollows with his muscles; and thus restore
those parts, which had been so cut down, to their original size,
and again bring his image to its former shape and dimensions, by
taking away a bulk of bone equal to the bulk of muscle which he
wanted to add. But still he would find, notwithstanding his
muscles, that his statue could not yet move, any more than a
steam-engine can move merely because it has wheels, unless there
be some power to set those wheels in motion. Hence would arise
the third idea of the series —that of a nervous system, whose office
it is to afford motive power to the muscles, which are of themselves only motive instruments. This motive power is to the
muscles-which are, in fact, only so many pulleys, ropes, &c.what the mechanic's hand is to the pulleys, wheels, &c.: it sets
them in motion, and keeps them moving. And here, again, he
would be obliged to hollow out another portion of the bone, in
order to make room for the brain and spinal marrow (from which
nearly all the nerves arise), so that their attachment might not
destroy the symmetry of his image.  The nerves which arise
from the brain and spinal marrow, and whose office it is to carry
the motive power to the muscles, he would of course distribute
and conceal among the numberless little bundles of fibres of which
the muscles are composed. And this he might easily do, seeing
that the nerves are merely small threads, and therefore easily
concealed and embedded in the soft parts, without producing any
disfigurement or much apparent increase of bulk.
Again contemplating his production, it would occur to him, that
the materials of which he had found it necessary to construct it,
were liable to decomposition and decay-putrefaction.  To surmount this new difficulty, it would be incumbent upon him to
contrive a conservative system: and hence he would arrive at the
fourth idea-that of a system of nutrition.  As the organs of
this system are large and numerous, he would be compelled to
hollow out the whole body of the statue, in order to make room
for them, and put them out of sight; leaving no more of solid




16                LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
image than just sufficient to support and give attachment to the
several new contrivances which, in improving upon his original
idea, he had been obliged to add.
Once more contemplating his work, he would now be delighted
to see his new, animated, and improved statue moving from place
to place, without assistance. His satisfaction, however, would be
somewhat disturbed, by observing the grotesque, awkward, and
uncertain manner in which it proceeded or rather zigzagged; and
very soon all his joy would be suddenly turned into consternation,
by beholding his unhappy automaton all at once break its head
against a post, or hop into a river, and vanish beneath the waters.
Having fished it up from the stream, or mended its broken head,
it would now be tolerably clear to him that his new creation was
not yet perfect. He would see that it was absolutely necessary to
its safety that it should know when its path was obstructed by a
post or a pond.  This would suggest the idea of the organs of
the senses; being the fifth idea, and completing that series, of
which the complex one, represented by the words " animal man,"
is composed. By the organs of the senses, his object would be,
to establish a certain relation between it and the rest of the worldto enable it to acquire ideas (by means of the experiences of these
senses) of whatever was likely to inflict injury or afford pleasure,
that it might seek the one and avoid the other.
In considering what senses wvere necessary, he would find that
five were required.  Having scooped away another portion of what
little of the bony statue yet remained, and so introduced the eye and
ear; and having found proper places for the addition of the organs
of taste and smell; and thus, having disposed of four out of the
five senses required, he migDht be supposed to pause, from suddenly observing that there was yet an imperfection which hiad
escaped his notice: for he would see that the external surface of
his image was very unequal, from the many scoopings and hollowings which it had undergon'e-that, though these had been filled
up by muscles, &c., they did not fit with sufficient accuracy to
make all smooth-that some parts were soft, and others hardthat some were of one color, and sonime of another; —whereas the
image, according to his preconceived idea, should have been, as to
its external appearance, everywhere even, homogeneous, and soft
to the touch.  Hoiw was this imperfection to be rectified?  Having
still the fifth sense to add, he would resolve, it nmay be supposed,
to make use of this sense to restore the image to its originally pre



LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.                17
determined external appearance of homogeneous beauty. Instead,
therefore, of making the sense of touch reside in a single organ,
he spread it over the entire surface by means of a most delicate
and beautiful membrane (the skin); and wrapping the image in it,
and seeing that it fitted with perfect accuracy, he would be gratifled to find that he had killed two birds with one stone-that he
had given to his image the desired appearance-and, at the same
time, found the means of attaching the fifth sense without any more
hollowing and scooping.
But these organs of the senses being of themselves onlyinstruments (as the muscles of themselves are only instruments of motion),
could be of no use, unless they were supplied by some other organ
with the power of sensation.  But he could find no room for any
more organs, nor were more necessary; for he had only to take
care that certain of the nerves should be distributed to them, and
his organs of sense would be thus at once supplied with the power
of perfectly fulfilling their respective offices, by means of a sensibility supplied to them  by these nerves.  So, again, some of the
organs of nutrition, of which the heart is one, would have been
useless, unless he had taken care that they also were properly
supplied, by means of the nerves, with motive power.
Having  contrived all this to his satisfaction, he once again, it
may be supposed, carefully reviewed his work;-and having tipped
the fingers and toes with nails, ornamented and protected the head
and chin with hair, pencilled the eyebrows, and fringed the eyelids;
and lhavino' furnished his jaws with teeth, and taught him how to
use themn  he would be glad that he had finished his work; for, I
think, he must have found it a very troublesome affair.
I do not pretend to say that the several ideas composing the
series would have occurred in the particular order in which I have
arranged them.  I only say, they must have arisen one after
anotherl; and that of the mere image must have been the first;
for, surely, it seems absurd to suppose that the idea of a peculiar
set of instruments of motion could occur before the idea of something peculiar to be moved-that the idea of a peculiar system of
nutrition should present itself before the idea of a peculiar something to be nourished —the idea of a peculiar source of motive
power before the idea of a something to be put in motion;-or that
the idea of a peculiar system of organs of sense, which may justly
be termed organs for the admission of pleasure and avoidance of
pain, should precede the idea of something to be pained or pleased.




18               LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE,
Besides, all the other parts of the body are subservient to the
mere image or skeleton; and we can assign a distinct purpose to
every part of the body except this same skeleton.  Thus, if one
be asked, Why the muscular system exists? the answer is readyto move the bones.  Why the nutritive system?-to enable the
bony edifice, together with its motive appendages, to resist decay: —
and so of all the other systems. But if it be asked, Why was the
skeleton created? —who shall answer the question?  Its purpose
cannot be simply to support the soft parts-this is only its secondary and adventitious use: for I have just shown that the soft
parts are subservient to it, and not it to the soft parts.  And,
besides, I have proved that the idea of the bony image must of
necessity have been the first to present itself, since all the other
parts of the body answer no other purpose than that of conferring
some service upon the skeleton or bony image.
To the Divine Artificer, however, the source of all wisdom, and
fountain of all that is good and all that is beautiful, and to whom
nothing is impossible, nothing difficult —to Him the whole complex
idea was present at the same instant of time: and therefore
foreseeing, in his omniscience, all that which could only occur to a
finite mind step by step, and little by little, He from the first provided against all exigencies, and fashioned man at once as he is.
Thus, then, we see that the body may be conveniently (at least
for our present purpose) divided into five principal systems. First
come the bones: secondly, the muscles moving these: thirdly, the
nervous system, from which the motive power of the muscles is
derived: fourthly, the organs of the senses, by which the being,
thus endowed, discriminates between that which is conducive, and
that which is detrimental, to his welfare; enabling him to seek the
former and shun the latter; and establishing a due connection between him and the objects which surround him: and, fifthly, the
nutritive organs, nourishing and sustaining life in the whole.
Now what is my motive for dividing the body into its several
systems, and for thus carefully showing you that all the other systems composing the body are only so many servants in waiting
upon the bony fabric or skeleton?  It is a very important one.  It
is this. It is in order to show you that the only difference between
the animal man and other animals of the higher order, is to be
found in the shape of his skeleton. It is the skeleton which con.stitutes and individualizes the animal.  For all animals (at least of
the highest order, and living in the same element) have, equally




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.                19
with men, the same kind of muscular system, the same kind of
nervous system, the same kind of nutritive system, and similar
organs of the senses-and all these are, equally with those of
man, subservient to the well-being and duration of the skeleton.
They are different, it is true, in size and figure, but this is only in
consequence of the difference in size and figure of the skeleton to
which they are attached. I am particularly anxious that you
should see and understand all this: because you will then be enabled to appreciate the force of those arguments, relative to the
best manner of promoting the health and strength of man, which
are drawn from the observation of those means which are acknowledged to be the best for promoting the health and strength of certain animals, such as the horse, the dog, &c., &c. You will then
be able plainly to perceive, that if water be the best drink for a
horse, so also it must necessarily-I say necessarily-be for man.
Why? I have just told you. Because both animals are the same
in physical constitution. The only reason which can be given why
water and a vegetable diet are most conducive to the health of the
horse, is because these are his natural drink and his natural diet.
And seeing that there is no essential difference between the living
economy of the animal horse and the animal man-seeing that, in
this respect, they both belong to one class-it follows that if the
natural drink of the one be the best for that one, so the natural
drink of the other must be best for that other. For they are but
two individuals of one class. Whatever is true of a class is true
of each individual of that class.  If, therefore, it be true that the
drink which nature has provided for animals is the best they
can have, it is equally true that the drink which she has provided
for man (water) is also the best which he can have-he being (in
all that concerns his physical constitution) but a different individ.
ual of the same class. If nature had provided wine for man, then
wine would have been (necessarily) the best possible drink for
man, for the very same reason that water is the best possible drink
for horses. If there had been any intrinsic difference between
them-if the living actions of the one had been different from
those of the other-it might then have been said that nature, in
pity to the very small degree of art which the brute is capable of
acquiring, took care to leave nothing to be accomplished by art.
But that, foreseeing the very high degree of art which man,
through his faculty of speech, would arrive at, she did, in his
case, leave something to be artificially effected. It might have




20             -LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
been said: "It is true that for those animals whose life consists
simply in the due performance of the functions of absorption, secretion, circulation, and respiration, the drink furnished by nature
is all-sufficient.  But here-in nman-there is another function of
life, which the brute has not, and in order that this other function
may be duly performed, it is necessary to have recourse to art.
Thus much-the care of this particular function, distinctive and
characteristic of human life only-nature has left to be provided
for by the wisdom and ingenuity of men."  But I say there is no
such distinguishing and characteristic function in human life.
But you will say —" Does not man, in his present artificial state,
require a different drink-a stimulating one?"  Most manifestly
not —seeing that the very evil entailed upon us by our artificial
state, is one of excessive stimulation —excessive cerebral excitement; of which that host of diseases, consisting of vascular congestion, is the direct result.  We are constantly blowing the fire
all day long, and when the bellows are laid aside, during tile night,
or any other interval, the fire burns so dully that it is incapable of
affording heat enough to perform the proper functions of a fire.
Then we seize the bellows and begin to blow agtain, and thus we
keep up a flickering and uncertain flame.  But to insure a steady
and efficient fire, the rigiht way is, to rake out the dead ashes and
cinders every now and then, to supply it liglhtly at propel intervals.with good and proper fuel, and leave the rest to the natural
draught of the chimney.  The cook who is constantly blowing
the fire will only vwaste coals, and will never have a good one.
The life of cultivated society is one of hourly excitement-the
excitements of business-of emulation-of ambition-of readingof writing-of quarrelling, &c., &c.  The brain is constantly erect
-throbbing with thought.  What it wants is, quiet-time to recover its exhausted energies.  If a man feel languid-dull spirited
-enfeebled-it is because his energies have been overtasked.  In
such cases the remedy is rest-not still further stimulation.
And you will further see that if exercise in the open air be
necessary to the health of a horse, so also it must be for that of
man.  And that if hot stables and warm clothing be injurious to
the health and strength of the horse, so also must warm parlors,
closed curtains, soft beds, and such other similar luxuries, be
equally detrimental to the health and strength of man.  It must
of necessity be so, since the structural nature of the two animals is
one and the samle, saving only in figure and bulk; and since there




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE,                21
is no difference-no, not so mucl as the estimation of the millionth
part of a hair-between the actions which constitute the life of a
horse and those which constitute the life of man.
We have now taken a view, in the gross, of the several parts of
which man is made up.  But, in contemplating the new being, as
we have seen him turned out of the hands of our imaginary Prometheus, has it not struck you, that something extremely necessary
to his safety has been forgotten?  Let us suppose that the first
living thing he meets, after his creation, is a wolf, gaunt with hungel'.  He cannot flee from him; for the wolf is swifter than he:
he cannot resist him; for the wolf is stronger than he: he must
perish, for want of weapons of defence.  In vain do his organs
of the senses warn him of the approach of danger: he can neither
shun it, nor resist it.  What he still wants, then, to secure him
in his existence, are weapons of offence and defence.
Here, then, is a new difficulty.  How is it to be overcome?
Man was originally designed, not only not to become the prey of
the rest of the animal creation, but to hold every other animal under his own dominion-within his own power-under his own control, and at his own service.  Nothin g sholrt of Omnipotence could
effect it; and I know of no better proof of the divine origin of man,
than the solution of the following problem: —man and the beast
of prey being given, to give to the weaker dominion over the
stronger.  How beautifully, perfectly, yet simply, has the A1mighty Ruler surmounted this difficulty.  Alan spealcks!-and the
problem is solved.  By virtue of that miraculous little system of
organs-the organs of speech-what an immeasurable distance is,
at one instant, interposed between the reasoning powers of the
brute and his own! These'enable him  to add to the stock of
knowledge resulting from his own experience, the whole stock acquired by the experience of his fellow-man.  Thus he obtains innumerable ideas, which could never have been collected by the
senses of one individual.  These he combines, analyzes, recombines,
compares, arranges.  New ideas give rise to new pursuits, and
new pursuits to new ideas.  Thus his stock of knowledge is continually augmented, as his sources of ideas ale multiplied; till his
power, resulting from his knowledge, is only inferior to that of his
Creator.  The lion is lord of the forest; but man is lord of the
lion.  The stag and the antelope outstrip the wind; but man outstrips the antelope and stag.  The most powerful of the brute creation become his obedient slaves. The tiger is hunted and slain,




22                LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
or entrapped and imprisoned, and his savage ferocity made subservient to his master's amusement and profit. Man's superior
reason, therefore-which he owes chiefly to his faculty of speech
— constitutes his weapon of offence and defence.
(vals Kepar7x   ravposg,
cOXag  6r' edoWev [Tr7r(OL5
HoRcoKlDv Xaycwos,
Anovoa Xao'p oJovrcov,
Tots LXOvOLv rO vflKrov,
Tots OppEOtS 7rETac'Oat,
Tots avepao. 4qPONHMA.
" Nature hath given (for their weapons of offence and defence)
horns to bulls, hoofs to horses, swiftness to hares, a cavern of teeth
to lions; to fishes, the power of swimming; to birds, the power
of flying;- to man she has given qwisdom."
" Man," says Geoffrey Crayon, " is naturally more prone to subtlety than open valor, owing to his physical weakness, in comparison
with other animals.  They are endowed with natural weapons of
defence —with horns, with tusks, with hoofs, and talons; but man
has to depend on his superior sagacity."
I hope it is not necessary to tell you, who know me so well,
that I consider the reasoning faculty as quite distinct from the soul,
which I believe to be a portion of the divine essence, "divinam
particulam aurae," inhabiting the body, but not subservient to any
of its functions —Ov  oyooc, xic it zXOStOYv.  "Not reason, but
something better."
I have mentioned the reasoning powers of brutes. No one, I
think, of the present day, who is accustomed to read, and think,
and take note of the habits of animals, will deny their possession
of this faculty.  Everything which remembers, and regulates its
conduct by this remembrance, performs an act of reason. Why
should they not reason? And that man owes his superiority of
reasoning power to his faculty of speech, is most strikingly and
irresistibly proved by the effect of the press.  What is printing,
but an extension of the powers of speaking? Enabling a man,
without moving from his native soil, to put his antipodes in possession of every new idea he acquires; so that what one acquires
is acquired by all; thus multiplying the still newer ideas to which
this newly-acquired one may give rise, by nearly the whole number of the reading inhabitants of the world: for almost every man
will probably derive, from the combination of this new idea with




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE,               23
one which he already possesses, another new idea;-and this other
new idea is again told to the world through the press, and its results again multiplied as before. The first possession of the faculty
of speech did not elevate man nearly so much above the brute, as
this extension of it has lifted him above his former self. It must be
remembered, also, that it is solely owing to this faculty of speech
that men can consult together-an important advantage which is
denied to brutes.
It may be objected that man has a larger brain than other animals, and that his superior ratiocinative powers may be owing to
this circumstance. The objection may be answered in two ways.
But I shall only answer it as though it were true; for if it be true,
it does not invalidate my aigument: for if man possess a larger
brain, it is only in consequence of his possessing the organs of
speech. Because, that man should speak was a part of his original design; and the Creator, foreknowing (as he foreknew and
provided for every other exigency) that the faculty of speech
would render a larger brain necessary for the reception of that
multitudinous host of ideas which his vocal organs would enable
him to muster-and in order that he might reap the full advantage which His gift of speech was calculated to confer upon him —
has given him a magnitude of brain corresponding to his necessity.
If he had not done so, he would have defeated his own purpose:
he would have given him the means of acquiring ideas, without the
means of turning them to account; and. man, as it regards his reason, would still have been but one remove above his neighbor, the
brute.  His superior magnitude of brain, therefore (if he possess
it), and his superior ratiocinative faculties, are both alike the consequence of his vocal organs. If it be true that he possess a larger
brain than other animals, this may be a second cause of his superior reason; but his possession of speech still remains the first
cause.
But it is manifested that the power of acquiring knowledge is
not in proportion to mere magnitude of brain, for my lady's poodle
is just as sagacious (if not more so) as my lord's coach-horse.
And sagacity is but another name for knowledge.
There is a difference between the human brain and that of the
brute.  If an animal, having a larger brain than man, were endowed with the faculty of speech, although it would lift his ratiocinative powers to an elevation nearly equal to the grandeur of
man's, it would not quite equal it.  But this difference is to be




24                LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
sought for, not so much in superior magnitude, as in superior delicacy, elaborateness, and intricacy of structure-in the greaterquantity of cineritious matter, and in the greater size and number
of its convolutions. - As this superior quality, like the supposed
superior magnitude of man's brain, is only the consequence of his
possessing articulating organs, my assertion still holds, that his
enunciatory apparatus is the sole cause of his superior ratiocinative capabilities.
Now, my dear John, begging pardon for this long digression
about the talking organs, and with a devout hope that your amiable wife, when she learns how much she owes to these little instruments, will be particularly careful never, by overtasking, to
put them out of tune, and you out of temper, I will descend from
generals to particulars.
Many years ago, it was believed, by physicians, that our food
~ was operated on by the stomach, pretty much in the same way as
shins of beef and ox-cheeks are dealt with by Papin's digester.
It was supposed to be digested: that is, simmered, concocted, or
stewed.  Wllen a man, therefore, felt himself strong and active,
not oppressed after meals, and altogether in excellent health and
spirits, this fine state of things was thought to be all owing' to the
circumstan-ce of the stewing and simmering of the stomach having
been carried on merrily and well, till it was done enough; and
then, it was thought, the stomach handed over the stew to the
bowels, thoroughly and properly cooked.  But when a man without any one very painful symptom in particular, felt himself generally indisposed, weakly, disinclined to action, low-spirited, and oppressed after eating; it was then said that his food had not been
properly digested-in plain English, not properly stewed by the
stomach; but that it had been left by that organ very much in the
same state in which the shins of beef would be found after having
been stewed over a bad fire, and in a cracked digester which let out
the steam.  He was said to be afflicted with indigestion! which
signifies the unequal distribution of particles by stewing, or simply,
imperfect stewing. Or, if his physician chanced to be somewhat
of a pedant, the more learned word dyspepsia was used, which
signifies difficult boiling.
You see, therefore, that when'these queer words, digestion, indigestion, dyspepsia, digestive, &c., &c., were first introduced, viz,,
when physicians looked upon the stomach as little more than a living
stew-pan, they had each a very clistinct and definite meaning, and




LIFE, HEALTII, AND DISEASE.                25
were used with perfect propriety.  I mention this merely to account to you for the introduction of these strange words into medical language.  That these words are still used by medical men is
of little consequence; because, although they retain the old words,
they attach to them new meanings —meanings which by no means
belong to the words, but lwhich are perfectly understood among
themselves.  But with the rest of mankind tile case is very different: for, as they retain the old words, they must also retain the
old meanings, or else no meaning at, all, which is by far most frequently the case; because they cannot be aware of the several
great changes and improvements which medical philosophy has
undergone. IWhen these words, therefore, were filst introduced,
they were proper enougll; but now that physicians have discarded
"' Papin's digester," and refuse to recog'nize any similarity between
the uses of the stomach and those of the stew-pan-now that we
know that the " stomach is neither a mill, nor a stew-pan, nor a
fermenting vat, but a stomach, gentlemen, a stomach"-now, I
say, all these words, as applied to any condition or action of any
part of the body, are perfectly senseless and worse than absurd,
because they are only productive of confusion-they ought, therefore, to be expelled from  medical lang'uag'e; or if retained, they
must, and indeed can only be understood in senses which do not
properly belong to them. But we had better get rid of them
saltogether; for it is impossible to use them with the slightest
shadow of propriety; and we shall have no difficulty in finding
substitutes, each of which will carry its own definite and obvious
signification.
From what I have said of the manner and reason of the introduction of these words, which we have just ejected friom our vocabulary, you will easily understand how it came to pass t!hat all
those disorders to which the term indigestion is applied, were supposed to.exist in the stomach only; because you will have observed that it was in the stomach, according to the creed of our
good forefathers, that all the stewing' and digestingo were carried
on; and when the stew was not properly stewed, they never
thought of looking to the fire or to the cook-maid for the cause;
they only looked to the stew-pan, which they learnedly denominated
"' the digestive or stewing organ'.'
Now for our substitutes.-For the phrase'" sound digestion"
substitute perfect assimilation; for " indigestion" substitute imperfect assimilation; assimilating organs for " digestive organs:"
2




26                LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
assimilation of food instead of " digestion of food," &c., &c.  The
word assimilation is generally used by authors to designate that
process by which the food, afterl having undergone all the necessary previous changes, ceases to be food, and becomes part and
parcel of the living body; when that which was flesh of the dead
ox becomes flesh of the living man, or bone, or hair, or skin, &c.,
&c., according to the nature of the different parts of the body to
which it is distributed for the purpose of being assimilated.  But,
in fact, all the changes which the food undergoes are assimilating
changes, all tending to that ultimate assimilation which converts
the fluid blood into the solid body-in one word, its solidification;
Thus the conversion of food in the stomach into chyme (learnedly
called chymification) is its assimilation to the nature of chyme:
its conversion into chyle (chylification) is its assimilation to the nature of chyle: its conversion into blood (sanguinification) is its
assimilation to the nature of blood: and if we wish to particularize any one of these changes, we have only to name the organ in
which it takes place. Thus, if we wish to designate those particular changes which take place in the stomach, commonly called
digestion, we have only to speak of them  as " assimilation in the
stomach."
Now that we have got rid of the word digestion, with all its
stewing derivatives, and banished it from our own to the cook's
vocabulary, to which alone it properly belongs, you will not be
surprised when I tell you, that the stomach and bowels are by
no means the only assimilating organs we possess.  Every organ
which is concerned in the nutrition of the body-and without a
healthy state of which organ, nutrition cannot be properly performed-has a righlt to be called an assimilating  or nutritive
organ. I need not tell you that nutrition and assimilation are the
same thing. Assimilation completed is nutrition completed; and
the several assimilating changes in the food are only so many nutritive steps towards the completion of the process of nutrition.
I shall presently take a meal of food, and trace it, or rather
follow it, through all its changes, until it has become assimilated,
that is, until it has become part of the living body.  In doing
this, you will learn what are the assimilating or nutritive organs,
what is the office of each, what the changes which these organs
severally effect in the food, and in what manner they accomplish
these changes.
It will be convenient to state here that two kinds of blood are




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.                 27
contained in the body, differing from each other as much as any
two things can well differ.  The one is of a beautiful, bright, vermilion color, teeming with the living principle, pregnant with all
those elements from which all the organs of the body are nourished, and in a condition readily and instantly to part with those
elements, each at the proper moment and in the proper place, accordingly as the nutrition of the several parts of the body requires
them. This vermilion blood is, as it were, in a state of excitement, being surcharged, not with the principles of electricity, but
with the principles of living matter; and, as it circulates through
the minute vessels;, parts with those living elements with the
readiness and freedom  with which a highly-excited body parts
with its electricity. This blood is conveyed in vessels called arteries.  The other kind of blood is a filthy, thick, purplish, blackish, inky puddle, unendowed with any good quality, endowed with
many pernicious ones, productive of much mischief, but incapable
of any one good with which I am  acquainted; save only that
from it the bile and the urine are formed.  This blood is contained
in vessels called veins.  Some of the principal differences between
arteries and veins are the following:-The arteries carry the living blood from the heart to every point of the body.  The veins,
like so many waste pipes, carry the deteriorated, dirty, and, if I
may so speak, dead and useless blood, from every point of the
body, back -to the heart. *The arteries, arising chiefly by one
large t-runk from the heart, become smaller and smaller as they
pursue their course towards their termination in the veins.  The
veins, arising from  the innumerable terminations of arteries, become larger and larger as they proceed towards the heart.  The
arteries, therefore, in the neighborhood of the heart-from which,
as I have just said, they almost all arise by one common root (the
aorta)-are large and few; but from the sides of these there are
perpetually given off smaller and smaller branches; while from
these smaller, others still smaller than they are continually separating; and so on, until the whole are finally lost in indistinguishable
minuteness.
While the arteries are in this state of wonderful attenuation,
their course is exceedingly tortuous; they recoil upon themselves;
and are circumflexed hither and thither, until there is scarcely a
point in the body which is not occupied by one of these little vessels.  After having thus permeated the universal body, they lose
the characteristics of arteries, and assume the structure of veins.




28                -LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
The terminations of arteries, therefore, are the becginnings of veins.
This termination of arteries in veins can be seen, by the aid of
the microscope, in the frog and salamander.  In some fishes it
can be seen with the naked eye.  The arteries near their termination, and the veins near their beginning, are many times smaller than the finest hairs; and, in this state of hairlike minuteness, they constitute that which is called the ultimate tissue of
the arteries and veins; —and so, also, the tissue formed by the
nerves and absorbent vessels, while in their last state of minuteness, is called the ultimate tissue of the nerves and absorbents;
and that beautiful network formed by the interlacing of all these
delicate and hairlike threads, viz. arteries, veins, nerves, and absorbents, in their minutest condition, is denominated the ultimate
tissue of the bodly; and this ultimate tissue constitutes, in fact,
nearly the whole of the body: for all that which appears to our
eyes so firm and solid (not even excepting the bones) mainly consists of this astonishing network of minute vessels and nerves.
This network, or ultimate tissue of the body, owes its compactness to its being firmly compressed and interwoven; to its being
well and accurately filled with fluid (principally blood); and to
the circumstances of its being everywhere  supported, held together, contained, and, as it were, closely stowed away in the cells
of the cellular substance-now mole properly called the areolar
web, or membrane.
In order to obtain a clear notion of the cellular substance, its
universality and appearance, just fancy it possible for an anatomist, with a finely pointed instrument, to pick away every part of
your body, which is not cellular substance; what remained would[
be, of course, cellular substance only, and you would present exactly the appearance of a man made of honeycomb or sponge.
But if this spongy relique of you were perfectly dried, it would
be so light, that the sigh of a butterfly in love would be sufficient
to scatter it to the four winds of heaven.  Notiwithstanding it
pervades, therefore, the whole body, its actual quantity or weight is
exceedingly small; and notwithstanding  its resemblance to sponge
when seen in the mass, when spread out and viewed under the microscope, it is observed to present the appearance of a spider's web.
I trust you have now a tolerably accurate idea of the ultimate
tissue.  If you have not, I pray you to refer back, and read again:
and every now and then shut your eyes, and so endeavor  to ascertain whether you clearly understand what you have just read




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.                 29
or not, and by no means proceed to a second sentence before you
have fully understood the first.  Pardon this earnestness;   and if
I have been somewhat tedious or tautological, you must pardon
that too, for I am extremely anxious that you should obtain a distinct conception of the nature of this amazing part of our structure; otherwise I shall have lost both my time and labor, and it
will be impossible for you to understand me when I come to
speak of diet, the conduct of life as it relates to the preservation
of health, the origin of disease, &c., all of which have a direct
reference to this same ultimate tissue.  It is, besides, the most
beautiful, the most wonderful, the most important structure in
the human fabric, magnificent in its very simplicity, stupendous in
its very minuteness; and it is the secret chamber in which Nature
conducts all her hidden operations.  Hither are brought, and dealt
with, by that subtle and mysterious Operator, all the elements
necessary to the production of a Newton, or a Montaigne; a Howard, or a Robespierle; a Richard the First of [England, or a
Lewis the Eleventh of France; a genius, or a dunce; a martyr
for relicion, or a murderer for pelf.
The pjhysical is the father of the moral man; and it is quite true,
"Quod animi mores temperamenta sequantur:"-that morals depend upon temperaments.  And no less true is it, that " Philosoply has been in the wrong, not to descend more deeply into the
physical man:-there it is that the moral man lies concealed:the outward man is only the shell of the man within."  To alter a
man's moral character, you need only alter his physical condition.
Take the brave and hardy mountaineer from his hills-lap him in
luxury-let him be fed on dainties and couched on down-let his
lullaby be sounded by the "soft breathing of the lascivious lute,"
instead of the wnild music of the whistling wind-you will soon
reduce him, first physically, and then morally, to the rotund but
helpless condition of the turtle-fed, yet imbecile alderman.  In a
few years replace him  on his mountain-top-set him  beside his
former companions-show him the aggressor against his rights,
the oppressor of his race —bid him meet and repel the common
enemy.  Behold! his courage has fled; the love of liberty and
independence is dead within him; the spirit of freedom sleeps; he
trembles, and yields, preferrineg the indolence of slavery to the
toil necessary to preserve him free.  It may be said, that courage
is but one of the mo[ral qualities: true, but it is one on which
many others depend.  Courage results from  a consciousness of




30               LIFE, HEALTH, ANhD DISEASE,
physical strength; and cowardice, from a consciousness of physical weakness.  The strong will not shun danger, because he feels
himself competent to resist and repel it.  The weak man, knowing
himself unable to surmount danger by an exercise of strength
which he does not possess, will resort to other means of preservation-to petty cunning, wily stratagem, mean subterfuge, lying
and circumvention. Thus the virtues which are directly opposed
to these vices all depend upon courage, at least to a considerable
extent; and courage depends on physical strength, the size of the
heart and lungs, the firmness of the heart's structural fibre, and
the liveliness and energy with which circulation and animalization
are performed.  The fortitude with which the Indian savage endures torture at the stake, I shall endeavor to show, by and by,
is clearly the result of his physical condition.  It may be objected
that we have numerous instances of undoubted courag'e in men
possessing but little physical strength; but this objection will not
hold.  When the noble scion of a noble house, the nursling of
luxurious ease fiom his cradle, goes out to fight a duel, is it because he loves danger for the sake of the pleasurable excitement
it affords?   No.-Is it because he is indifferent to  danger?
No.-What is it, then, which urges him  on?   It is the fear
of disgrace; it is the dread of being hooted fro'nl that sphere
of society in which he moves; it is his fear of the finger of scorn
which impels him: this, therefore, is not courage-this is fear.
If he refuse to fight, he knows that he will be degraded from his
caste-his views, whether of love or ambition, will be destroyed.
If he fight, he has a chance of escape, and if he escape, his character, as a man of courage, is established.  His, therefore, is a
choice of two evils; and he chooses to fight as being the less evil
of the two. If he could avoid both evils, most assuredly he would
do so. But this is not courage. The mere act of fighting does
not constitute bravery. It is the feeling, the inward feeling which
he carries with him to the field-it is this which constitutes true
valor. The rankest coward that ever lived will fight, when he
knows that instant death attends his refusal, or that there is more
danger in running away than in going forward. True courage
loves danger for the sake of the excitement it affords-loves it for
the same reason that men love wine-loves it, too, for the glory
consequent on overcoming it.  Had Richard the First not been the
giant he was, would he have been the her o he was? would he have
courted danger as he did, alone, and single-handed?




LIFE, HlEIALTH, AND DISEASE.               31
I have said, that many virtues depend on this single quality of
courage.  Richarld possessed the ne plus ultra of courage, and he
was high-minded and generous to a fault.  He sought to accomplish all his ends openly, avowedly, and honorably, because he felt
himself able to do so.  Ilis brother John was a coward: and how
did he seek to accomplish his objects?  Why, by every species of
low and cunning rillany, not stopping even at murder.  Had John
been physically constituted as Richard, and Richard as John, John
had been called " the lion-hearted," and Richard "the craven
coward."
Again, it may be urged, that on the field of battle men not
physically strong have frequently performed feats of gratuitous
and uncalled-for daring.  But neither will this objection serve;
for at the time of performing these deeds of valor, their physical
constitution is actually altered.  The nervous system, powerfully
excited by the senses, the trumpet's clang, the panoply of war,
the miartial music, the stir, the life, the uproar all around, pours
into the heart a resistless tide, as it were, of nervous energy; and
the heart, obedient to the impulse, propels the blood in a stream
of triple force along the arteries, until every organ of the body is
in a state of the highest excitement, swollen and distended with
the living current.  Thus, for a time, the weak become actually
strono; and hence these instances of courage in the weak.  The
same thing occurs in anger.  A man under the influence of rage'not only appears to possess, but really does possess, triple the
physical pourer which he can command when calm.
It must be remembered that a man may be physically strong,
notwithstanding that he may have but a smaltl development of
muscle and bone. His brain and spinal cord, his heart, his lungs,
may all be largely developed; and this will give him a consciousness of strength —of internal strength-although the instruznents
of strength (muscle and bone)-the instruments to be set in motion
by this internal strength, are deficient in size and substance.  It is
this internal consciousness of living strength which constitutes the
difference between the high and low bred horse.
Not only, therefore, is the body constructed in the ultimate tissue, but the character is constructed there also. And as the health
and strength of the body depend upon the healthy performance
of the processes of assimilation in the ultimate tissue of the body,
so also do the health and strength of the character and mind.




32                 LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
"Who'd pique himself on intellect, whose use
Depends so much upon the gastric juice?.'
says Byron.
The moral qualities are therefore, at least to a great extent, the
offspring of physical structure.  I lnow that moral causes may,
and often do, produce physical disease: but this does not Lweaken
the argu'rment; for a child may destroy its parent; and so the
moral qualities, thoughl they result from  physical structure, may
nevertheless re-act upon that structure to its detriment.  The
qualities of the mind, also, may be modified, improved, trained,
and properly directed, by religion and education.  So, also, may
the child of one lparent be nurtured and educated by another.
One of the most familiar instances of the influence of physical
conformation on moral character is to be found in the fact, that
all tlhe most courageous and ferocious -animals have a heart iemarlkably large and strong in proportion to their size, while the
Yweak and timid hlave hearts proportionally small.  It is as impossible for an animal iwith a small, flabby heart to be bold and strong,
as for two and two to equal five: and equally impossible is it for:a man whdo is physically constructed to be a coward, by any act
of his own will, or of abstract couraage, to make himself a hero.
I am gclad to perceive, by some late publications, that the truth
of this doctrine is beoninning to be admitted' and I trust it will
not be long before piarents can be made to understand, that the
only certain method of assuring to children a vigorous and healthy
mincl is, first of all, to allow them the opportunity of acquitring a
vigorous and healthlr body.  Let them be assured, too, that those
wvho begin by c~lmnmil a child's memory (for judgment is out of
the question) with a quantity of bad French and worse Latin, together wnith the terms and problems of the abstruse sciencesavhich, after all, they can only learn to repeat as the parrot does,
by rote, without understanding;-let them, I say, be assured,
that those who thus begin, by seelking to make a child so very,
very learned, will end, in all human probability, by making him
sickly.
I have been seduced by this important subject into a long digression:  but let us return to the arteries and veins.
The arteries, ramifyingl    in every direction, like the branches of
a tree, from tlieir' commnon root in tle heart, and havTing  sh)ot their
minute and hairlike termlinations into every part of the body, so
that you cannot insert the point of the finest needle without




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.                 3 
wounding one or more of them, cease to be arteries and take the
structure of veins.  These hairlike veins (which are merely a continuation of hairlike arteries with an alteration in the structure of
their coats) soon begin to unite two into one, to form larger veins.
These larger veins again presently unite two or more into one, to
form lalger still, until all the veins of the body have united together, and so formed two very large ones, which empty themselves into the heart. One of the grand distinctions, then, between
veins and arteries is, that while the arteries arising from the heart
are multiplied in number and diminished in size, until they have
reached and distributed their blood to the ultimate tissue, the veins
arising fiom the ultimate tissue are constantly becoming diminished
in number and increased in size, until they have reached and carried their collected blood to the heart.
Another general distinction between arteries and veins is, that
arteries alone possess any visible pulsation.  The blood in the
veins is driven onward by various circumstances extrinsic to themselves; such as the contraction of nuscles around them, the pulsation of arteries in their neighborhood, a dependent position, &c.
The veins, therefore, have valves, which, when thle blood has been
squeezed forwards towards the heart, by the adventitious causes
just mentioned, prevent its regurgitation, or gravitation backward.
I have said, that there is scarcely any point in the body which
is not occupied by vessels and nerves.  It follows, therefore, that
there is scarcely any point of it which does not in great measure
consist of vessels and nerves;-and this is true.  When you look
at a piece of red raw flesh, that which appears to you a solid
mass is, in fact, mainly composed of a wonderful  and compact
tissue of nerves and hollow tubes, firm'ly compressed and matted
together.  The only solid parts are the nervous and muscular
threads, a little areolar substance, and the delicate membranes
forming the coats of those hollow tubes; that is, the blood-vessels
and absorbents; —and even these are porous-at least the bloodvessels.
What I have said of the red raw flesh, is also true of the bones,
especially of young animals; for the internal structure of the bones
is honeycombed and highly spongoid, and their cells are everywhere filled with vessels and nerves.  From all this there results
another consequence; which is this-that so large a portion of
the body consisting of tubes, and these tubes being filled with
fluid, a very large proportion of the whole body must consist of
2-?




34                LIFE, I-IEALTH, AND DISEASE.
fluid.  This, too, is true.  If you take a piece of human muscle
(that is, what you call, in meat, the lean part) of the size and
thickness of an ordinary beef-steak, and dry it perfectly, it will
become but little thicker than a sheet of brown paper.  In fact,
fully nine-tenths of the body are fluid.  The next large proportion
consists of the solid matter composing the muscles, the nerves,
and the coats of vessels. What remains is too trifling for consideration.                      Au revoir-adieu!
E. JOHNSON.




LETTER II.
Umberslade Hall, near Birmingham.
MY DEAR JOHN,
In my last Letter, I told you that by far the greater part of
the body is composed of a delicate net-work, formed by the interlacing of minute arteries, veins, nerves, and absorbents; and I
endeavored to give you a clear notion of the manner in which the
arteries and veins are distributed-how they arise, and how they
terminate —the differences which distinguish veins from arteriesand also the differences which characterize the two kinds of blood
which they contain and convey.  I have now to speak of the absorbents and nerves; and explain the manner in which they are
distributed throughout the entire body, so as to perform their share
in making up that wonderful tissue, of which our organs consist.
The absorbents arise by cul de sacs from numerous points of
the body and permeate almost every tissue. They may be compared to a number of long, slender, delicate leeches, attached by
their mouth-ends to various points of the interior of the solid tissues; and having their bodies gradually and progressively united,
until they all terminate in one tail-end; which tail perforates the
side of one of the large veins near the bottom of the neck, on the
left side; so that whatever is taken in at the several mouth-ends
is all gathered together into the one tail, and emptied by it into
that vein, when it becomes mixed at once with the general current
of the blood.
A certain and vey considerable number of the absorbents arise
from the internal surface of the bowels.  It is the office of these
to take up the nutritious chyle produced by each meal and convey it into the blood.
Now this chyle has somewhat the appearance, and also some
of the properties, of milk; and the Latin word for milk is lacand, therefore, those particular absorbents which arise from the internal surface of the intestines, and which have to perform the duty
of absorbing this lac, or chyle, are, on that account, called lacteals.




36                 LIFE, HLEALTH, AND DISEASE.
The fluid in the other (absorbents has something the appearance
of water; and one of the Latin worlds for water is lympha —and,
therefore, this fluid has received the nanme of lymplh; and on that
account, those particular absorbents are called lynmphatics, in order
to distinguish them  from the lacteals.  For the sake of perspicuity, I shall call those absorbents which take up the chyle, clhylous
absorbents, and the others lymphatic absorbents.
Their course is not straight, but waving and  devious; and, as
they proceed towards their termination, they ale perpetually inosculating, that is, uniting, and again separating.  They all eventually terminate and empty their contents into the veins.
It was formerly supposed that the office of the lymphatic absorbents is, to take up molecule after molecule of the effete body,
convert it into the fluid called lymph, and carry it into the blood;
the office of the chylous absorbents being to suck up from the intestines the nutritious chyle, and convey that also into tile blood,
for the purposes of nutrition.  These two sets of vessels, therefore,
under that supposition, mighlt be comlpared, not inaptly, to two parties of laborers; —the one party being occupied in pulling down
the old building, and carrying away tile rubbish; while the other
is equally busy in bringing into the blood new rfmaterials, whlerewith to rebuild it as fast as it is pulled down; tile newY materials
being carried to every part of thle body by the arteries.
This was the doctrine of the Hunters.  But modern discoveries,
resulting from improvements in tile microscope, have now utterly
rejected it.  It can now be almost demonstrated that the office of
the lymlphatic absorbents, like that of the chylous absorbents, is
also to carry nuZztritious matter into tlle blood —the effete, thlat is,
dead and useless matter-n- matters whlich can no longer serve any
useful purpose in the econom1y —being absorbed by the veins, anld
by them transmitted to the several excreting organs, as tile lunngs,
kidneys, and slkin, by iwhicll they are separated from the blood and
thrown out of the body.  As it is thle office of tile chlylous absorbeats to carry into thle blood certain nutritious matters furnished
to them from the solid matters whlicll we put into our stomaclh as
food, so it is the office of tile lymphatic absorbents to carry into
the blood certain nutritious matters furnished to themn froml the
solid matters of our own bodies.  Tile chylous absorbents feed
upon the food which we give them from without.  Thile lymphatic
absorbents feed upon ourselves.  They are man-eaters..The food of the chylous absorbents —the food which I e eart —is




LIFE, HIEALTH, AND DISEASE.                   3 ~
assimilated to the nature of chyle by virtue of certain changes
Awrouglit upon it wTithin the stomach and upper portion of the
smaller intestines.  The food of thle lymplhatic absorbents —our
own solid flesh —is assimilated to the nature of lymph by virtue of
certain chllanges wrought upon it by and in the litlle cul de sacs,
or cells, from which the mouth-ends of the lymphatics arise.  And
both the cllhyle and lymph are further assimilated to the nature of
blood by virtue of certain changes wrought upon them in the lacteal aad lymphatic tubes and gllnds.
It is the veins, therefore, which  carry off the worn-out particles
of the old body; and it is the absorbents (both lacteal and lymphatic), whIich carry into the blood the nutritious materials, in the
shape of chyle and lymph, out of which the daily waste is to be
supplied.  All these nutritious materials are transmitted through
the lungs (mixed with the common blood) to the left side of the
heart, by which they are sent through the branching arteries to
every point of the body.
As an absorbent passes onward frlom  its origin towards its termrination, it every now and then stops, recoils upon itself, and rolls
itself up into an irregularly-shaped ball (varying in size from that
of a millet-seed to that of a pea), and then proceeds as before.
While the absorbent is in the act of forming this ball, it is excessively minute.  These balls are exceedingly numerous in the mesentery-that part which, in a lamb, is called " the fry:" they are
generally to be found in thle neighborhood of large blood-vessels,
under the lower jaw, before and behind the ear, at the bendin'gs
of the kinee and thigh, and ine the arm-pit.  These little balls are
the absorbent glantlds; and there is scarcely an instance of an absorbent vessel reaching its termination in the veins without having
first formed one or more of these glands.
Now, as these glands are merely a conger-ies of minute absorbent vessels, it is clear that the lymph and the chyle, which these
vessels convey, must traverse these glands before they can enter
the blood.  The chyle and lymph are, in fact, strained through
sever-al of these curious little sieves; and this straining produces
some necessary alteration in them, by virtue of which they become
more nearly assimilated to the nature of blood, as before observed.
I need not tell Sou, after whlat I have already said of the distribution of arteries and veins, that these latter vessels everywhere accompany, and interweave themselves with, the absorbent vessels
and glands.




38                LIFE,  EALT'I'I, AND DISEASE.
Now that you understand the nature of the offices and functions
performed by the lymphatic and chylous absorbents, and the absorbing functions of the veins, you will easily comprehend what
is called the modus vivendi; that is, the manner how we live; viz.
in a state of perpetual decay and regeneration-a continual pulling down and building up again.  The building up is effected by
the minute capillary arteries, which carry and distribute the nutritious materials to every point of the fabric.  The pulling down
is accomplished partly by the agency of oxygen.  The same arteries which carry the nutritious elements, also carry oxygen in
combination with these very elements.  At the several points at
which the body is to be nourished, a portion of the oxygen quits
the nutritious elements and combines with a portion of the effete
and useless matters, which combination of oxygen and effete matter is immediately absorbed by the veins; and a portion of the
nutritious elements which have thus lost their oxygen leaps into
the place just vacated by the effete matter.  The other part of
the pulling down is effected by the lymphatic absorbents, as before observed, and the  points thus rendered vacant by the action
of these absorbents are refilled by the remaining portion of the
nutritious elements which have parted with their oxygen.
These compounds of oxygen with the worn-out body are transmitted by the veins to the excreting organs to be thrown out of
the body.
There is not a square inch of you which is the same as it was
ten years ago.  That which lwas you, ten years since, is now not
you, but something  else:-it has been thrown ott of the body, resolved into its origcinal elements, has undergone new combinations,
and is at this moment, perhllps, flourishing in the shape of some
goodly water-dock or field-tllistle; or more fhumibly, but still usefully, employed in stopping tihe buno-llole of a beer-barrel.  "Alexander died; Alexander was buried; Alexander returneth& to
dust; the dust is earthl; of earth we make  loam:-and why  of
that loam, iwhereto lie was converted, might they not stop a beerbarrel?"
The fact is, that we are dying every hour, nay, every instant:
and the only difference between this death and the final consummation of life (as far as it regards the body) is, that, in this hourly
and gradual death, the place of every dead molecule is instantly
supplied by a living one; while, in the other case, all the parts of
the body perish at once and together, and are not reproduced.




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.                39
You are, then, a new and a different being, exercising the same
faculties, but doing so with different organs.  You still exercise
the faculties of vision, of hearing, and tasting; but the eye with
which you now see is not the same eye with which you saw ten
years ago; it is a new eye; and you hear with a different ear,
and taste with another tongue. Indeed, the eye of to-day is not
the same as that of yesterday: for a part of the eye of yesterday
has been taken up by the absorbents, as food, and converted into
lymph; and another part has been conveyed, first into, and then
out of the blood, in the shape of perspiration, breath, &c.; while
the deficiency thus produced in the eye has been supplied by a
part of yesterday's dinner; so that you are now performing the
act of vision with a part of the pudding which you ate at that
meal. This is not romance, nor speculation, but a literal fact.
Is not this, of itself, sufficient to show you the vast importance of
the assimilating processes?  Does it not clearly demonstrate to
you the manner in which faulty assimilation operates, so as to injure the health and- perfection of your organs?  Is it not manifest
that if your assimilating organs do not perfectly assimilate your
food, that the deficiencies produced in your eye, by the action of
the absorbents and veins, will be either not supplied at all, or supplied with new matter, of an unhealthy quality, so that the new
eye will not be so good and perfect as the old one?
From  considering the functions which the chylous and lymphatic absorbents perform, together with the absorbing function
of the veins and the property of combining with the elements of
the worn-out body possessed by oxygen, you will readily understand why we grow in youth, and cease to grow in manhood.  It
is because, in youth, the building up processes go on more actively than the pulling down processes.  In middle life they are
in equilibrium. In old age the destructive processes exceed in
activity the reparative.
While the manner in which the absorbent glands are formed is
fresh in your memory, I may as well describe to you how the secretory glands are formed.  This will give you an opportunity of
observing the difference between the two; both as it relates to
their formation, and to the functions which they severally perform.
We have just seen that the office of the lymphatic and chylous
glands is to operate some change upon the lymph and the chyle,
which has the effect of assimilating them more and more nearly to
the nature of blood.  But the office of a secretory gland is to




40                LIFE, HEALTHI, AND DISEASE.
elaborate, or manufacture (if I may so speak), out of the blood,
a new and distinct fluid; which new fluid is called a secretion; as,
the bile, the saliva, &c., &c.  Previously to the recent improvements in the construction of microscopes, everything relating to
secretion and the secreting apparatus vwas little else than mere
speculation.  Now, however, through the agency of these instruments, speculation has yielded to ocular microscopic demonstration.
All the secreting glands are demonstrated by the microscope to
consist of a conglomeration of minute cells, everywhere interpermeated by capillary blood-vessels.   The secreted fluid escapes
from the blood through the coats of these capillaries into these
cells, from  which it is collected into the excretory ducts which
carry it to its place of destination.
This is the way in wlhich all secretory glands are formed.  Their
size is extremely different, varying firom the wonderful minuteness
of the ceruminous glands of the ear, whlose office is to secrete the
wvax-and which are, I believe, tile smallest glands in the bodyto the great magnitude of the liver, which is the largest.  But a
very large gland is, in fact, only a vast number of very small ones
conlglomerated into one mass, and united, and as it were glued
togethelr, by areolar tissue; and having theirI several minute excretory ducts united so as to form one, two, and sometimes three
larIger ones, into which the smaller empty themselves.
I have now to speak of the fourth principal structure which
enters into thle composition of the ultimate tissue of the body-I
mean the nerves.  The brain accurately fills the cavity of the
skull.  Witll its general appearance you are probably acquainted,
from Ihaving seen the brains of animals.
The spinal marrow is a tail-like elongation of the brain; which
elongation passes out of the head, through a round hole in the
back part of the skull.! So great is its resemblance to a tail, that
it has been called cauda cerebri; that is, the tail of the brain. 3
From thle brain and spinal marrow there arise forty-tlree pairs
of nerves; twelve frlom thle brain, and thirty-one f-onm the spinal
nlarrow.  Tlhe neives are.whitish cords; and every large nerve
consists of a bundle of sinall ones; and these small ones consist of
bundles of still smaller, as a skein of thread consists of a number
of single thllreads, and as every single thread consists of a number
of still smaller threads, viz., the fibres of the cotton.  As a large
nerve proceeds from  its origin to its termination, every now and
then one or more of the thrlleads, of which it is composed, parts




LIFE, IIEALTH, AND DISEASE.                  41
company, and takes a course of its own.  As these proceed, one
or more of the strands, of which they also are composed, disjoins
itself from the felloAwship of the others, and takes a course of its
own: and so on, until the whole have been separated into microscopic filaments of undistinguishable minuteness.  You will observe here a remarkable difference in the manner in which nerves
are distributed from that in wThich arteries are given off.  The
branch of an artery a-rises from that artery: there is a communication between them; so that the contents of the parent altery
flow into the branch which proceeds from it.  The large veins,
also, are formed by the absolute union of smaller ones; so that
the contents of tlhe smaller flow into and mingle with the contents
of thle larger: but between thle large nerves and the branches
which proceed from them  there is no union nor communication
whatever; they are merely in juxtaposition-a bundle of separate
threads, bound up together, and inclosed in one common sheath.
W~hen, therefore, a nerve gives off a branch, that branch merely
parts comlpany, to travel along another road.  Every nerve, therefore, however minute, is a distinct thread; having one of its extremities fixed in tihe brain or spinal marrow, and the other in that
point of the body on which it terminates.  If it were not for this
peculiar arrangement, all our' different sensations would be jumbled
into one.  If we touched a round body with one hand, and a square
one with the other, before the two impressions reached the brain
they wvould become mingled; so that the idea whicll we should
derive from these two impressions would be a sort of hybrid idea
of a something neither round nor1 square.
There is one pair of nerves included by me among those arising from the brain, which possesses strilking llarksl of difference from
all other nerves: it is called " the great sympathetic pair."-I
should have observed, that all the nerves are sent off from the brain
and spinal marrow in pairs.-This pair of nerves has given origin
to endless discussions: some asserting that it arises from the brain,
others, that it does not;-some, that it has one office, sonme, another.  Fyfe says, "It is either formed originally by the reflected
branch from the second or the fifth pair; and by one or two, and
sometimes three, small filaments, sent down from  the sixth pair,
whilst in the cavernous sinus: or, according to the opinion of some
authors, the sympathetic sends off these small nerves to join the
fifth and sixth pairs." Mr. Green says, " This nerve is so essen



42                LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
tially distinguished from the other nerves of the body, that it may
be described separately, or as a separate system of nerves."
" It consists," he says, " of a considerable number of ganglia
(hardish knobs), of whichl the number and size differ, not only in
different individuals, but in the same individual, on the two sides
of the body;  and of branches, which in part connect these
ganglia, or form junctions with the other nerves; and are in palrt
distributed to the internal organs.  It extends from the base of the
skull, on each side of the vertebral column (backbone), through
the neck, chest, and abdomen, as far as the coccyx (that is, the
lower extremity of tile backbone), forming from above to below,
numerous ganglia: those in the neck are few in number; but in
the rest of its course it generally forms one ganglion between every
two vertebrmi (bones of the back): these are severally connected,
lay one or more filaments, with each other, and with all the nerves of
the spinal marrow; and the uppermost cervical ganglion (ganglion
of the neck) is connected with most of the cerebral nerves (nerves
of the brain).  Lastly, it detaches filaments to the viscera (organs
of the belly and chest; and those which are distributed to the abdomen (belly) form connections with the numerous set of ganglia
in this cavity, which are placed about the trunks of the large vessels."-Thus Mr. Green traces it no higher than the base of the
skull; but an anatomist has recently traced it completely round
the brain; and thence downwaid, on either side of the spine, until
that portion of the nerve which descends on one side of the spine
unites with that descending on the other side, at the extreme lower
point of the backbone.  During its whole course, there are little
knobs situated upon it, at short intervals; so that it has something
tile appearance of a cord with beads of different sizes strung upon
it-or of a chain-or of a small knotted rope, with its two extremities joined so as to form  a sort of necklace, as it (the necklace)
hangs round a person's neck, falling gradually to a point in front.
From the little knobs, or ganglia, numerous nerves are given off,
which unite with almost all the nerves coming' off from the brain
and spinal marrow; and sending numerous filaments also to the
organs concerned in nutrition; as the heart, lungs, stomach, bowels, liver, &c., &c.  The little knobs with which the sympathetic
is studded,'have been considered by some as so many little independent brains, whose office it is to supply the organs of nutrition
with motive power; and they say that this arrangement was made
in order to remove these organs beyond the influence of the will,




LIFE, HEALTII, AND DISEASE.                43
which has its seat in the brain.  The absolute necessity that these
organs should not be under the control of the will, and the fact
that they are not, togrether with the additional fact that this pair
of nerves does not supply them with motive power, seems, I think,
to favor this notion.  But, however this may be, it will be sufficiently accurate for oar present purpose, to consider all nervous
influence as derived from the brain, and from the spinal marrow,
which is merely an elongation of the brain.
I have now given you an account of the general structure of
the body-sufficiently brief and rough, but nevertheless sufficiently accurate and minute, to enable you to understand the nature
of the several functions performed by the several organs of nutrition, whenever I have occasion to speak of these functions and
these organs.  This general structure is so simple, that you can
never forget it.  You have only to remember, that whenever you
are considering and presenting to your mind's eye any part of the
body-whether it be the stomach, the liver, the heart, the bowels,
or the arteries and veins —whether it be the solid bones, a mass of
flesh an inch thick, or a delicate filmy membrane no thicker than
the gilding of your picture frames, it is still the same; it is still
nothing more than a matted congeries of arteries, veins, nerves,
and absorbents, held together by, and wrapped up in, thie meshes
of the areolar web.  Areolar web is a better term  than areolar
substance: for, when spread out, it has a good deal the appearance of a spider's web, and has, moreover, of real substance, extremely little indeed.
Take four threads of different colors-a scarlet one, to represent the arteries; a black one, to represent the veins; a white one,
for the nerves; and a silver one, for the absorbents.  Dip them
in melted wax, and then roll them up into a firm ball.  This will
give you a rude idea of the manner in which minute threadlike
vessels can be so arranged as to form a solid mass; for it is easy
to fancy three of these threads to be hollow tubes filled with fluid,
like arteries, veins, and absorbents.  The wax, which everywhere
surrounds them and glues them  together, will afford you some
notion of the principal office of the areolar web; which is to hold
the different parts of the intimate structure of the body together,
by entangling them in its meshes, as the wax unites the threads
by virtue of its stickiness.  If, instead of dipping the threads into
melted wax, you had dipped them in a solution of phosphate of
lime (which constitutes the hard part of bones), the ball, when




44                 LIFE, HEALTHI-I, AND DISEASE.
drly, would have given no bad representation of the structure of
the bones.
Now, suppose the former ball-that formed of the threads dip —
ped in wax-to be submitted to a pressure capable of flattening
it until it becomes no thicker than a film of tissue paper.  This
will show  you how the same structure which forims the thick,
solid, and gross parts of the body, may be so arranged as to form
also its most delicate membranes.
A knowledge of the nature and structure of membranes is of the
hig'hest possible importance in all that regards the regulation of
our diet; for the stomach and bowels are lined with one of those
most delicate, and therefore extremely irritable, and highly sensitive, and easily-offended membranes, called the "mucous membrane of the stomach and bowels."  It is with this membrane that
all which we eat, and all that  we drink, comes directly in contact.
HIere, then, is another powerful reason for caution in what we eat
and drink.  This membrane is little thicker than gold-leaf; and
you know very well that you can scarcely touch a leaf of gold
without injuring it-without deranging, and even tearing it. RPemember when you are eating your dinner, that the membrane on
which every mouthful falls, is little thicker than a leaf of gold.
In contempliating any part of the body-knowing as you now
do, that it consists of arteries, veins, nerves, alnd absorbents-you
will please always to bear in mind what are tile offices or functions which these structures severally fulfil.  You will recollect
that it is the function of the lymphatic absorbents to eat away
the body-to feed upfon it; that of the arteries (or ratiher the
vital blood contained in them) to restore what tile lymphatics have
eaten away; and that of the veins to absorb and carry back to
the heart the refuse of the blood; that is, lwhat remains of it,
after tile arteries have done with it.  When the blood has parted
with its living elements while in the arteries, the veins carry it
away, in order that it may receive a fiesh supply of these living
elements.  But the arteries could not carry tihe blood from  the
heart, nor the veins return it to the heart, if they were not supplied wvith the power of movino.  This motive power is afforded
them by the nerves-or rather, a fluid conveyed by the nerves.
This fluid, however, does not, I conceive, travel along the nerves
like a tangible fluid in a tube, but like the electric fluid along a
wire.  The nervous fluid, therefore, is to the organs of the body
what steam is to a steam-engine.  And as this fluid is conveyed




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.               45
by single filaments of nerves, it is clear, that wherever there is an
artery, vein, or absorbent, there mlust also be a nerve to enable
those vessels to convey their fluids, which they do by a motion of
their own or of neighboring parts.
You may conceive the universality of the nerves and blood-vessels by the fact, that you can scarcely insert the point of the finest
needle into any part of your body without producing pain and
bleeding; which proves that the point of the needle has wounded
both a nerve and blood-vessel.
Sis me7mor mei 
E. JOHNSON.




LETTER III.
Uinberslade Pcark, necar Birmingham.
MY DEAR JOHN,
I have already described to you as much of the structure of the
body as I believe necessary, in order to enable you to understand
the nature of the several actions which are perpetually going on
within that structure.  It is of these actions that I have now to
speak.  But previously to a description of the actions peculiar to
living beings, it seems proper to devote a few moments to an
inquiry into the nature of life itself.
Writers on physiologyu are accustomed to enumerate the several
distinctive differences which separate the organic from  the inorganic kingdom  of nature.  These are, generally speaking, well
marked, and sufficiently understood, by almost every one; although
almost every one might not probably be able to give a scientific
* Physiology is an exceedingly improper term. It is used by the moderns
to signify the science of life;-naimal physiology being used for the science
which treats of the life of animals, and vegetable physiology being appropriated to the science of life in vegetables. But the term Physiology no more denotes the science of life, than it does the science of picking pockets. It means
the science of nature; and it is as strictly applicable to the laws which govern
inanimate matter, as to those which regulate the actions of living beings.
This term, with regard to animal life, should be Zoonomy, which signifies that
science which consists in a knowledge of the laIrs of life. and nothing else.
With regard to the life of vegetables, the term should be Phytozoonomy, which
means the science which makes us acquainted with the laws of p)lant-life, that
is, the life of plants. "The endless introduction of new technical terms, on every
frivolous pretence," says DR. FLETCHER (a new star in the latro-philosophical
firmament, and a bright one too), "' seems adapted much less to benefit than to
injure the cause of Philosophy."  True: but when the introductions are not
endless, and the pretence not frivolous, an exactly opposite result will accrue.
Nothing has tended so much to mystify science, and obstruct its progress, as
the unsettled state of the exact meanings of words. Words are, through ideas,
the signs of things; and if one word be used indiscriminately, as the sign of
several things, how is the reader to- know which thing of the several the writer desires to indicate? Dr. Fletcher has himself taken occasion elsewhere
to complain, and that loudly, of this improper, indiscriminate use of words.




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.                  47
relation of them.  To dwell upon these, therefore, would be foreign to my present purpose.  But there are a few characteristics
of organic matter, of such vast and immediate importance to all
that relates to the preservation of health, that I must not omit to
take especial notice of them.
One of the few attributes I shall mention, as peculiar to organized matter, is DEATH.
Death-" the dunnest of all duns,"-death,
" Sole creditor, whose process doth involve in't
The luck of finding everybody solvent,"
has been so often personified, indeed, as something horrible-as
some " gaunt gourmand," who is by every means to be eschewed
-that we are apt to contemplate it as though it were a real entity-a sort of " raw-head-and-bloody-boines," whose chief amusement consists in stopping folks' breath.  But I need not tell
you that all this is mere rhetorical delusion-one of the poet's
"' fine phrensies."  Death is a sheer abstraction-the mere cessation of life.  As the cessation of sound is called silence —as the
cessation of motion is called rest —so the cessation of life is called
death. Death, therefore, being only the abstraction of life, it is
manifest that things which have never lived can never die.
Another condition peculiar and necessary to all matter intended
to live is, organism-the  consummate result of organization.
Organism, in the common sense, is that'state of existence in which
the elements composing the germs of matter intended to live are
held together by a property which may be called "vital affinity,"
or " the affinity of vitality"-a property which enables it to resist
the ordinary agencies of chemical affinities to which common
matter is subjected.  A seed is an -instance in which a germ  of
matter intended to live (for a seed does not live —it merely possesses vitality, or the aptitude to live) preserves its integrity, in
virtue of the vital affinity, and in defiance of the common chemical agencies.  A melon seed, a hundred years old, will grow, if
planted in a proper soil.
But the term organism is not only used to indicate a peculiar
condition of the elements of matter, but also a peculiar condition
of masses of matter.  Here it signifies that state of existence in
which masses of matter grow and preserve their integrity by virtue
of a power which may be said to consist in the affinities of assimilation —a power withdrawing them from the influence of common




48                  LIFE,'HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
chemical agencies, until they shllall hlave accomplished  the final
cause of their oroganization —a power enabling them  to assimilate
other matter to their own nature and substanlce.e*
Another most important characteristic of living matter is its
contractility; that is, not contraction, but the power of contracting: it is the being able to contract.
Now, Indian-rubber, or a steel spring, may be said to be able to
contract.  But then the one of these can only do it after having
been put upon thle stretch, and the other only after having been
bent; they can only contract after having been put into an unnatural condition.  In their natural  condition they  are, like all
other inorganic matter, at rest; and can neither contract, nor expand, nor dilate, without being first submitted  to the action of
muechanical or chemical force.  These, therefore, are merely elastic.
But living matter can do much more than this.  When at perfect
rest, and in its natural state, it can contract, shrink, and, in short,
perform  spontaneous movements, merely on being excited, stimulated, or irritated, without the agency of any mechanical or chemical power.  It does this by virtue of a property called contractility.  When you look at a very strong light, the iris, the colored
part of the eye, being irritated by the rays of this strong light,
contracts, and almost closes the pupil; that is, the black spot in
the eye, which is, in fact, a round hole,  When your  will directs
your arm  to move, the muscles of the artm, stilnulated (that is,
excited) by  yTour will, contract, and raise the arm  accordingly.
When the blood rushes into  the rilght side of your heart, that
part of tile healt contracts, and pushes it into the left side: then
the left side contracts, and pushes it into the aorta.  All these
contractions could not of course be executed, if it were not for the
property of contractility-that is, the ability to contract.
Now, all the motions of the different parts of the body, iwithout
and within, are performed by these contractions, and by vilrtue of
this contractility.  It is the main-spring of the watch-it is tile
* It is perfectly correct to call the assimilating processes by the term   affinities of assimilation."  For what is affinity, but an alliance or relation'  And
is there not a relation between the foodl and the body llich it nourishes; 
Is there not an alliance between theml?  And whbat are the assimilating   or
nutritive processes or actions, but those actions or changes wrought on tle
food, by which its alliance to the body is drawn closer and closer, until they
become id entical. And so it is correct to say, that tile proximate atoms of
organic germis are held to$'et,'cr by vital affinity; for this is not cquivalent to
saying tbley are brougl,.ht. towgthder by vital afinity.




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.                  49
chief wheel in the machine-it is the principal beam, the main
prop, of the building: by it we gather our food —by it we eat itby it we swallow it —by it the stomach sends it on to the bowels:
from the bowels it is carried to the heart by it; and by it having
become blood, it is circulated throucgh the body, for whose nourishment it is destined.  Whenever, therefore, I use the term contractility, you will know that I mean that power by virtue of which
the several parts of tile body are able to move, and perform those
actions which are proper to them.
A third property, distinguishing organized from inorganized matter, is sensibility.
This is exceedingly slippery ground, and rendered still more dangerous by the darkness in which it is enveloped.  I shall therefore
hasten off the ice as quickly as possible, lest some invisible straw
or other should trip up my heels.
"Irritatio," says G-lisson, "est perceptio, sed sensatio est perceptio perceptionis;" that is, " Irritation is perception, but sensation is the perception of a perception."  Said I not it was slippery
ground?  But Dr. Fletcher, speaking of this definition of Glisson,
says, "for either terseness or accuracy, it cannot, perhaps, be improved."  To me, however, I confess, it has very much the appearance, not of splitting a hail-that is but a trifle —but of splitting
the very ghost of a hair, which is no trifle.  Lobstein defines sensibility as' facultatem  stimunlum  percipiendi;" that is, "the facvlity of perceiving a stimulus."  You probably know that anything
which irritates or excites any part of the body to action is called a
stimulus.  I think Lobstein is rioht.  Thus the heart, by virtue
of its contractility, has the power of contracting; but it is by virtue
of its sensibility that it perceives the proper moment for exerting
this power —the precise time when to contract; viz. when the blood
stimulates it by its presence, as it rushes into its cavities.  Sensibility, therefore, is that property of organized matter by which it
becomes aware of an impressing cause —by which it perceives when
it is acted upon by a stimulus.
In vain would the heart be organized —in vain would it be endowed witll contractility (that is, the power of acting) —were it not
also endowed with sensibility; that is, the power of knowing when
to actl; —of feeling the presence of a stimulus.  The several stimuli
may be likened to a number of messengers sent out from " headquarters," the heart, in order to tell the several parts of the body
when to act; and tfhe arteries are the roads along which they travel
8




50               LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
-the principal stimuli within the body being the countless streams
of blood continually flowing through its arteries.  You must remember, however, that this office of stimulation is by no means the
main duty which the blood has to perform: it is only an adventitious office —only one of the numerous functions which the blood
performs. Besides the blood, there is another remarkable stimulus-another messenger sent to certain parts of the body, to summon them to action; which is sent, not from the heart, but from
the brain. This messenger is a strange, incomprehensible being;
and his name is Will.
Comparing organized matter to a musical instrument, and its
aptitude to act, i. e. live, to that instrument's aptitude to sound,
one might liken the stimulus offered by the blood to the performer,
whose office it is to play upon that instrument.
These two properties, sensibility and contractility, constitute
vitality. I say vitality-not life.
And here allow me to caution you against the common error of
confounding vitality with life. The term " vitality" no more signifies life, than the word fiddle signifies music. Vitality signifies,
not life, but livability (if I may coin a word); that is, the aptitude
or fitness to live; as musicality (if I may be allowed to coin another
word) would denote, not music, but the aptitude or fitness to give
rise to musical sounds.  Vitality is a secondary cause-a necessary
condition of organized matter, in order to give rise to living actions; as musicality would represent a necessary condition in a
fiddle, in order to give rise to musical sounds. A fiddle may be
perfect in all its parts, and yet, for want of this necessary condition, which I have called musicality, be wholly unable to produce
musical sounds. For instance:-if you were to fill the body of
Paganini's best fiddle with sand, and soak its strings in tallow,
Paganini might go mad, perhaps; but twenty Paganinis, or one
Paganini with a twenty-Paganini power, which is the same thing,
would not be able to extract from it a single musical tone. Why?
Because the instrument would have lost that necessary condition
which I call musicality-the sand and the tallow have destroyed
it. "En caput; sed cerebrum non habet;" —which, being interpreted into the vulgar tongue, for the benefit of " ears polite," signifieth, "There is the fiddle; but where is its aptitude to discourse
most excellent music?"  I will make this clear in a moment. The
first condition necessary to life is organism —that is, the fiddle;
the second is vitality, or t1lat  codition  or manner of existence




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.                 51
necessary to the production of living actions-that is, the musicality, or that particular mode of a fiddle's existence necessary to
the production of musical sounds; viz., perfect freedom from sand
and tallow, and all other impediments to musical sounds. And,
as we have just seen that a fiddle may exist perfect in all its parts,
and yet be wholly destitute of musicality, and therefore entirely
unable to emit sound; so organized matter may exist, and yet, for
want of vitality, be wholly unable to live, I know a man who
has a very large wen, situated on the back of his head.  If this
wen were shaven off, it would still for a time remain perfectly
organized —but it could no longer live.  Why?  Because it would
have lost its vitality —that condition necessary to life, which, in
this instance, would be an endowment derived from its connection
with the rest of the man's body.
And again: as organism may exist without vitality, so may vitality without life. Seeds are an example of this. A grain of
mustard-seed does not live: in it there is neither motion nor fluid;
and it is utterly impossible for a moment to conceive the existence
of life without both these.  But it possesses the aptitude-the
ability to live —that is, vitality; and if you plant it in a proper
soil, it actually will live, and become possessed both of fluid and
motion.  A  grain of sand, on the contrary, possessing neither
organism nor vitality, will remain a grain of sand forever-plant
it in whatever soil you please: at least, it cannot undelgo any
changes but such as are purely chemical or mechanical.
As vitality is not life, then, so neither is it organism, but merely
a condition of the latter, necessary to the existence of the former.
Life, then, being neither organism nor vitality, what is it?
"Life," says Richerand, " consists in the aggreogate of those
phenomena which manifest themselves in succession for a limited
time in organized beings."
" Life," says Dr. Fletcher, in one of the most erudite, elegant,
and ingenious works that ever fell from the press —"life consists
in the sum of the characteristic actions of organized beings, performed in virtue of a specific susceptibility (vitality), acted upon
by specific stimuli." These two definitions are perfectly consentaneous with each other; and to them  I have nothing to add.
Life, like death, is not an entity: it is merely an aggregation of effects.  To say what life is, is only to enumerate all the actions of
which a living being is capable; not only the visible actions, as of
the members, but also the molecular actions, as those invisible




52                 LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
motions among the ultimate and proximate molecules of the matter of which he is composed, and by which his nutrition is effected.
Life is, to organism, contractility, sensibility, and stimuli, what
chemical phenomena are to chemical affinity-what astronomical
phenomena are to the centrifugal and centripetal forces, and the
antagonization of these forces by each other-what the motion of
the hands of a watch is to the mainspring and its elasticity; viz.,
the sum total of numerous effects, of which these four attributes
of organic matter above-nmentioned are the secondary causes. These
effects we call living actions —actions, the totality of which constitutes life.'Organized matter is a harp, of which vitality is the musical
power: stimuli are the fingers of the performer: and life is the
music produced-a hymn, day and night, in praise of the goodness
and power of HIM, who permits
"This harp of a thousand strings
To keep in tune so long."
Such is life.-Now, what is health?
As life consists in the aggregate union of all the living actions,
and indifferently, whether those actions be well or ill performed;
so health consists in the aggregate union of such only of those actions by which  nutrition is carried  on-and  not indifferently,
whetherl they be well or ill performed; but exclusively when they
are well performed.  And disease consists exclusively in their
being (one or more of theim) ill performed, or not performed at all.
You will now readily undeirstand of what tremendous importance to health are the properties contractility and sensibility; for,
as health consists in the due performance of certain actions, and
as these' actions depend on contractility and sensibility, it is clear
that they will be feebly or energetically performed, accordingly as
these two properties are themselves in a healthy condition.  You
will also see, that the stimulus which the blood offers to them is
of vast importance likewise.  This stimulus is a sort of messeniger,
sent to summon them  to action.  In proportion as the summons
is feebly delivered. it will be faintly heard, and feebly obeyed.
Contractility and sensibility are like a horse that gallops furiously, moves slluggoishly, or goes to sleep entirely, exactly in proportion as the stimulus of the whip is gently or vigorously applied.
Like the horse, too, the faster they are urged forward by the whip,




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.                  53
the sooner they become tired;-like him, they may be driven even
to death;-like him, they require rest and repose.  Do not therefore be led to undervalue the importance of these properties, because of the playfulness with which I have occasionally spoken of
them; as, for instance, in the allusions to Paganini and his fiddle.
"Ridentem dicere verum quid vetat?"   What reason on earth is
there for always tellingo the truth with a grave face?  Why should
we not sometimes tell it with a smiling eye, as well as a scowling
brow?  Gravity is not wisdom; nor a smile, folly.  Besides, if to
smile be a folly, what then?  "' Qui vit sans folie, n'est pas si sage
qu'il croit," says RochefouCauld.  He who lives without folly is
not so wise as he believes himself.
Organism, then, is that arrangement of the component parts of
matter which fits it to be endowed with contractility and sensibility.  Contractility is that property which endows it with  the
power of executingo living motions.  Stimuli are impressing causes,
acting on its contractility, and exciting it (organized matter) to
action; and sensibility is the property by which it perceives the
presence of these impressing causes.
The muscles of your atrm are organized, and they possess contractility and sensibility: and when you resolve to raise your arm,
your will becomes an impressing' cause, exciting' those muscles to
action; that is, to contract.  Thleir sensibility makes them  aware
that this impressing catse, or stimulus (viz., the will), is acting
upon them; and they contract in obedience to it; and your arm
is raised accordinigly.
I trust, my dear John, there are now  clearly depicted on the
canvass of your minrd, four distinct and well-defined ideas, representing' organism, contractility, sensibility, and stimuli; and that
you plainly perceive their intimate connection with each other, and
the necessary co-operation of all, in order to produce the phenomena of life.  As to stimuli, when you consider the literal meaning
of the word, you will have no diffculty in understanding that modified sense in which it is used in the language of science.  It means,
literally, a long stick, with a sharp point, with which husbandmen
were wont to goad their oxen along, in times and countries when
and where oxen were used for agricultural purposes.
Now these properties, contractility and sensibility —these important properties, upon which, it is manifest, life depends; and
without a hlealthy condition of which the health of the body can
no more be preserved than the true motions of a watch can be




54               LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
maintained with a broken or otherwise injured main-spring-these
properties, I say, are subject to certain laws.  I am  now about
endeavoring to establish these laws; or rather, I am going to endeavor to convince you of their existence.  That they do exist, is
a truth that has been well and incontrovertibly established and
admitted among all men acquainted with the animal economy, the
effect of medicines upon it, &c., &c., ever since Hippocrates practised physic at Athens; and that is more than two thousand years
ago. But it is not sufficient that medical men are aware that these
laws exist;-my object is, to convince you of their existence.  I
want you to know what is good and what injurious to your health;
not from  my dictum, but from the simple exercise of your own
reason.
I beg that you will consider what I am  about to say on the
subject of these laws with great attention;-examine the proofs
and arguments carefully, but fairly.  For I tell you, at the outset,
that if you admit the existence of these laws, you will not afterwards be at liberty to question or doubt the truth or propriety of
what I shall say with regard to diet and regimen.  For the existence of contractility and sensibility are like the axioms of Euclid;
-they are self-evident truths, of which any one may convince
himself by experiment.  For instance, a dead man may easily be
made to move his limbs, to breathe, to frown, &c., by exciting the
appropriate muscles to contract by means of galvanism. And the
laws to which these properties are subject, and of which I am now
to speak, are, if I prove them, of the nature of the propositions of
the First Book of Euclid.  If these be true, the propositions of
the Second Book must be true also, of necessity-the truths of
the Second Book arising out of the truths of the First. As, for
instance, if you admit that twice two are four, you must of necessity also admit that the half of four is two.  So if you admit what
I am about to say of these laws, you must also admit the propriety of what I shall hereafter say as to diet and regimen; as the
correctness of the latter will depend solely upon the correctness
of the former. When I come to apply these laws to the subjects
of diet and regimen, I repeat, that either what I shall say then
must be true, or what I am about to say now must be false.
As all the actions of the body are performed by contractions,
and as these contractions are performed in virtue of the contractile power, that is, contractility, it is evident that the physical
strength of the body —that strength by which we raise heavy




LIFE, IEEAL'I'-, AND DISEASE. 
weights, walk, run, leap, &c. —will be in proportion to the energy
of the contractile power.  A high degree of contractile power,
then, is synonymous with strength; and a low degree of contractile power is synonymous with weakness.
But not only are the motions of the limbs performed by contractions, but also those motions of the internal organs by which
nutrition is effected. Now, this being the case, and as these internal contractions are also performed in virtue of the contractile
power, or contractility, it is again manifest that the energy with
which these internal motions are performed (and by which nutrition is effected) will be also in proportion to the energy of the
contractile power: and as health consists in the due energy (as
wre have before seen) with which these motions or actions are
effected, it follows, clearly and logically, that a high degree of
contractile power is synonymous with a high degree of health;
and that a low degree of contractile power is synonymous with
feeble health.
Having premised the above short paragraph, I now proceed to
mention to you the first important law to which contractility is
subject, viz. evanescence.  Contractility can only exist in perfection
in recently-organized matter.  No sooner has a molecule of matter
become organized and assimilated to the living matter, than its
contractility begins to fade-to evaporate, as it were, like breath
which has been breathed upon a highly-polished surface, such as
steel, or looking-glass.  Indeed, it seems to be the evanescent
nature of contractility which has given occasion to that particular
contrivance by which life is supported; viz. by constant organization and disorganization; that is, perpetual building up and pulling down. For if contractility could continue to exist in full
energy, in an organized body, during the whole time that body
was destined to exist, what necessity was there for this constant
renewal-this constant disorganization and reorganization-this
constant pulling down and building up?
The evanescent nature of contractility may, I think, be accounted
for thus:-It seems to have been a predetermined law of nature,
that the only permanent condition of matter should be the inorganic condition. Nevertheless, certain ends in the general scheme
of creation were to be fulfilled which required for their accomplishment the existence of organized matter.  But, in order that organized matter might not be permanent, and so destroy or neutralize
that origoinal law by which it was enacted that there should be no




56                LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
permanent conditioli of matter except the inorlganic, all organized
matter was made subject to the laws of fermentation and putrefaction, as they are usually called; whose office is to destroy its
organism, and bring it back to its orig'inal inorganic condition.
But if this had been all that was done, the objects for whicl matter had been organized could never have been accomplished; for
no sooner would matter have becomle organic, than it would instantly have begun to be disorganized again, by virtlue of the laws
of fermentation and putrefaction, to which it has been made subservient.  But the ends to be answered by organized beings required time —required a continuity of existence, in a perfect state
of organism, for a determinate period.  It was necessary, therefore, that there should be another contrivance, in order to withdraw organized beings beyond the influence of the laws of putrefaction and fermentation for a definite ti-me; that is, until the
purposes for which it had been organized should be accomplished.
The phenomena of life exhibit this contrivance-a number of
temlporary phenomena, set up in order to withstand the plhenomena of fermentation  and putrefaction for a limited period.  But,
since the phenomena of life resulted from  contractility, and because contractility can only reside in full activity in very recently
organized matter, it was necessary, in order to make the matter
of an orguanized being a fit residence for vigorous contractility,
that it should be continually renewed; that, while the whole being,
as a being, grew older and older, the molecules of which he is
composed should, nevertheless, be always young.  And thus we
observe in the aped, in whom the process of rene-wal goes on but
feebly, and in whonm the laws of fermentation and putrefaction are
gradually gaining the ascendency over the laws of life —the laws
of that contrivance which was instituted in order to remove living
beings, for a time, from  thle influence of fermentation and putrefaction-we observe, I say, in the aged, that contractility is greatly
diminished-it has wanred, it has faded-their strength is greatly
reduced-they are no longer a fit residence for active contractility;
since tlhis pr'operty can only reside, in its perfection, in very recently-organized matter; whereas, in the old, organization goes
on very slowly and impeirfectly.  On tlhe contrary, in children,
contractility exists in a very high degree; because, in them, the'rocess of oruanization goes on with great rapidity.  A child will
romp about on its legs for a whole dcay, withoutt feeling fatigue;




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.                  57
and can endure exertion far longer than a man, when we take into
consideration the comparatively small size of the child's muscles.
It is a law, then, of contractility, that in order to its perfection,
it is necessary that the molecules of the parts in which it resides
should be rapidly reorganized —in a word that they should always
have a plentiful supply of healthy and well-vivified blood; for it is
out of the blood that the solid body is repaired —reproduced.
Another proof of the evanescence of contractility is, the physical weakness which invariably attends total inaction.
Another law of contractility is this: It is in perpetual strife
with the laws of fermentation and putrefaction.  This law arises
necessarily out of what I have just said; viz., that life is a contrivance to withdraw, for a time, organized beings from  the influence of fermentation and putrefaction. It is proved also by the
fact, that healthy living beings cannot putrefy-that the universal
solvent, the gastric juice itself, has no power to dissolve living
animals when accidentally taken into the stomach —that living beings, in whom life and strength (that is, contractility) are at a very
low degree indeed, as in putrid fevers, do begin to putrefy partially-and that all beings who have lived, are instantly acted upon
by the fermentative and putrefactive forces, as soon as contractility
has left them: observe, not as soon as life has left. them; for contractility will sometimes remain for a short time after life has
ceased.  Contractility, you must remember, is not life, but one of
the secondary causes from which life results.
Another law of contractility is, that it is in an inverse ratio of
sensibility.  When contractility is vigorous, sensibility is dull; and
when contractility is deficient, sensibility is acute.  This will be
proved, when speaking of the laws of sensibility.
In my next Letter, I shall speak of certain laws and characteristic facts peculiar to sensibility.  Till then, adieu!
E. JOHNSON.
3*




LETTER IV.
Umberslade Hall, near Birmingham.
MY DEAR JOHN,
I am now to speak to you of certain laws, or circumstances, by
which the sensibility of the body is materially influenced.
I have elsewhere noticed, that it is by means of the organs of
our senses that a propel relation is established between ourselves
and the various natural objects with which we are surrounded. It
is by means of these that we are able to appreciate the value of
these objects, and their power of affecting us, whetlher injuriously
or beneficially.  It is by these organs that we are able to discover
the means of avoiding whatever is hurtful, and of selecting and
securing whatever is necessary to our comfort and well-being. The
eye warns us of the approach of danger from before; the ear,
from behind; while the senses of smell, taste, and touch, enable
us to decide upon the qualities of whatever matters are presented
to us for food.  But the medium through which these organs are
enabled to render us these important offices, is their sensibility.
For if the eye were insensible to light, we could not see-the ear
to sound, we could not hear-the nose to odors, we could not
smell-the tongue to flavors, we could not taste —the skin to
touch, we could not feel.  In literal fact, then, you see it is sensibility, after all, which establishes this necessary relation, of
which I have spoken, between ourselves and surrounding objects;
the organs being no more than the instruments by which sensibility
exerts its influence.{ Sensibility, then, is our guardian angel;-it
is, like the sailor's " sweet little cherub,'i an invisible agent, that
forever watches over " our lives and safeties all.'":
( Every organ has a kind of peculiar sensibility of its own.
Thus, the sensibility of the eye is not affected by the stimulus of
sound; nor can the sensibility of the ear take cognizance of the
stimulus of light.  The nose is insensible to the stimulus of
flavors, and the tongue knows nothing of odors.  From this it
follows, that the sensibility of each organ is adapted to be properly




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE,                 59
affected by certain stimuli only.  All others than these will either
not affect it at all, or affect it painfully and injuriously.  Thus
sound, being a stimulus proper to the ear, but improper to the
eye, will affect the ear properly, but the eye not at all. Again,
salt is a stimulus proper to the stomach, and, when it comes in
contact with the membrane which lines that organ, it affects its
sensibility agreeably and healthily; but if you blow salt into your
eye, it will produce the most violent pain; yet the membrane
which lines the stomach is as delicate in its texture as that which,
covers the eye.  Thus, again, there are certain medicines which
exert their influence only on certain organs.  Some will act on the
stomach, some on the bowels only; some on the kidneys, some on
the brain, some on the liver.  If you rub belladonna into the
skin of your leg, it will not affect your leg; but you will be astonished to discover that you have suddenly become blind.  This
once occurred to a patient who was under the care of the late
Mr. Abernethy for a sore leg; Mr. Abernethy having ordered the
sore to be dressed with the extract of belladonna.  The man,
however, recovered his sight.  Mr. Abernethy never dressed sore
legs with belladonna again.  I heard hirn relate this circumstarice
myself.
( Every organ, therefore, has a peculiar sensibility of its own, and
can be properly affected by certain stimuli only-all others, if
they affect it at all, affecting it injuriously: and the evidence of the
impropriety of a stimulus is the pain, or some other inconvenience,
* produced.  Hence arises a corollary; viz., that whatever stimulus
produces pain, or other inconvenience, is an improper stimulus.
The pain, for instance, produced by blowing salt into the eye is
sufficient proof that salt is a stimulus not proper to that organ,
and cannot, therefore, be applied to it without injury.
This peculiar, distinctive, or eclectic, sensibility is impaired by
over-stimulation. Thus we may be deafened by excess of sound,
and blinded by excess of light. Everybody knows, too, that snuff
will produce, in persons not accustomed to it, violent and painful
sneezing; while those who have been accustomed to it for some
time can take the strongest kinds with apparent impunity.  Again,.
persons who have never smoked tobacco will generally be sick
when they first begin to do so; but, after a short time, they can
smoke pipe after pipe without apparent inconvenience.  If a person
not accustomed to drink anything stronger than water were to swallow a glass of whisky, it would almost choke him; while a Scottish




60                 LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISPEiASE,
Highlander will toss off glass after glass, not only without inoonvenience, but with a most pleasant gusto.
Now, what have these persons done —thlese pipe-smokers, and
dram-drinkers?  Why, as far as the orgtans in question are concerned, they have, by blunting their sensibility, actually throwol
dust into the eyes, and partially blinded that very " cherub," whose
sole business it is to watch over their safety.
When a man, for the first time, swallows a glass of raw spirit,
his guardian angel, sensibility, tells himi-not indeed in a language
that can be heard, but in one far more impressive —a language that
can be felt-tells him, I say, as plainly as pain can speak, that
raw spirit is an injurious stimulant.  Yet what does he do?  Why,
turns a deaf ear to the intimation which could be, by possibility,
no other than a friendly one, and obstinately perseveres till the
voice that warned him warns him no more;-and then, with a folly
scarcely less than idiotic, and an impudent hardihood scarcely less
than blasphemous, lie exclaims:-"  Behold! it does me no harm! it
gives me no pain! it causes me no inconvenience!" thus appealing,
in his defence, to the silence of that voice which he has himself
forcibly silenced.  This is abominable!-Let every man drink what
poison he pleases;-of this I do not complain — but let him  not
attempt to defend the practice: for this is to allure othlers into the
same trap which is already closing its iron teeth upon his own
hapless person.
But, luckily for us frail mortals, whlen this natural sensibility has
been only impaired-not uttelly destroyed-it can be restored by
rest, and only by rest; that is, by ceasing to stimulate it.  A few
common and well-known facts will be sufflcient to prove this.  If
a man has taken snuff for ten yeals, and then left it off for ten
years, should he begin again, he will be as much affected by it as
he was at the first pinch.  If a man spend an hour in the belfry
of a church while the bells are ringing, when he comes dow-n he
will be almost deaf for a time: shortly, however,i  he vill recover
his hearing.  If a man look at the sun for a minute or two, whllen
he first looks aside he will not be able to distinguish objects: he
will, however, presently recover accurate vision.  If a man has
drunk  spirit till the lining of his throat has no more sensibility
than the lining of a copper-kettle, let him desist for a few months,
and it will be restored.  If a man have fed on highly-seasoned
soups, piquant ragouts, and other Frenchil abominlkations, until he
can discover no flavor in dryl bread, let him  be sent to Brixton




LIFE, HIEALTH, AND DISEASE.                 61
tread-mill for a month, and he will discover that' a penny loaf is a
delicious morsel.  But I need not multiply instances; —your own
recollection will furnish you with abundant proofs, that the way to
restore impaired sensibility is to allow it to remain for a time unstimulated.
Another peculiarity of general sensibility is, that it can be accumulated in one organ —drawn from  all other parts of the body,
and concentered, as it were, in one.  The insensibility to pain (I
rmean of course comparatively) which madmen possess, is well
known; and several remarkable proofs of this are given by Dr.
Hibbert, in his " Philosophy of Appamitions"-a book which you,
and every one else, ought to read.  We know, too, that persons
under the influence of engrossing  attention may be spoken to, and
even plucked by the skirt-" plucked by the ear," as Horace says
-without their perceiving it.  Thlere are irresistible proofs of this
to be drawn from. natural history, but it would be improper to
mention them in a work like, this.  We know, too, that when any
one part of the body is in great pain, the rest of the body is nearly
insensible to lesser pain.  This fact has given rise in the Tonga
islands to a curious operation for thle cure of traumatic locked-jaw.
It consists in inflicting on the wretched patient, in some part of his
body, a pain, the anguish of which shall be greater and more excruciatinpg ithan the tetanic agoony   thus, as it were, restorino, the
equilibrium of the sensibility; and subduing a great pail, by inflicting, for the time, a, mnuch greater.  rlThe operation is said to
have been successful: but the operators complain, that they can
get few patients to submit to it.  Sensibility, then, can be drawn
from one part of the body, and concentrated in another.
Anothear curious circumstlance connected with sensibility is sympatthy.  All the organs of the body appear to sympathize with one
another.  That the brain and stomach have a strong sympathy
with each other is absolutely certain: thle proof of which is, that
a violenht blow  on the head will produce vomiting; and a deranged
state of the stomach will produce headache.  Whatever, therefore, affects your. stomach injuriously, will also affect your brain
injuriously.  He, therefore, who ill-treats his stomach, does so, not
only at the expense of his bodily health, but at the expense of
his understanding also; thlat is,'at thle expense of his mind's health.
From this law of sympathy, then, it follows, that you cannot injure any one organ of tile body without also injuring, to a certain
extent, the whole of the body, and the mind also.  And, indeed,




62                LIFE, HIEALTH, AND DISEASE.
when we consider the intimate connection which exists between all
the organs of the body, and the reciprocal dependence of all upon
each other-when we remember that all the nerves have one of
their extremities fixed in one or other of the great nervous centres
and their other extremities distributed to every point of the body —
when we recollect that all the organs are made up, not of separate net-works, but of different portions of one and the same universal tissue —when we consider this, there seems nothing surprising in the existence of this sympathy.  The body, although composed of numerous parts, forms, nevertheless, one harmonious
whole; and you cannot remove one part without injury to the
whole.  And again, although each organ performs a distinct function or office, yet it cannot do this without the co-operation of
others.  Thus, the stomach can exert no influence on the food, unless it be well supplied with blood by the heart.  If the brain die,
the heart must cease to pulsate; and if the heart cease to move,
the brain must necessarily perish.  It is not, then, by any means
surprising that an injury to one organ should be felt by another;
— on the contrary, it would be very wonderful if it were not so.
Accordingly, we see that a wound of the foot will often produce
locked-jaw; —the disease, in this instance, being at one extremity
of the body, while the wound that produced it was inflicted on the
other.  If it were necessary to make this mutual dependence of all
the organs on each other still clearer, we have only to recollect,
that it is impossible to injure any one wheel of a watch without injury
to the whole machine —without incapacitating it properly to fulfil
the office for which it was intended.  And man, the master-miracle of nature, is a machine of far mole delicate and complicated
structure than a watch, and therefore more readily deranged.
Now, if no organ concerned in the preservation of health (for it
is of these I am speaking —tlle orgalns of nutrition) can be disordered without disordcering all the othels, how much more certainly
(if this were possible) will it be the case, when the stomach, one of
the most important of these organs, as well as the first which is
called into action in the process of nutrition, is kept in a state of
almost perpetual excitement and unnatural activity.  How can it
be conceived to be possible that the other wheels of the machine
can go arigllt, whllen this, the very first wheel which is put in motion, and on which the motions of all the others depend, goes
wrong?
Let this, then, be engraven an inch deep on the tablet of your




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.                6(3
memory-that you cannot injure one of the organs of nutrition,
without injury to the whole.
I now come to the last law of sensibility which I shall mention;
and it is, where all are important, the most important.  Therefore,
my dear John, draw your chair, put your feet upon the fender,
snuff the candles, adjust your spectacles, and read with attention:
for I deny it —no man can read attentively who has not first fixed
himself in a comfortable position.
This is the law; viz., that sensibility is always in an inverse ratio
of contractility.  When contractility is vigorous, sensibility is low;
and when contractility is feeble, sensibility is always acute; and
as vigorous contractility is synonymous with health and strength,
the greater or less degree of sensibility becomes an infallible test
of the state of the health.
I have already proved that it is the sensibility of our organs
which establishes the necessary relation between ourselves and the
objects which surround us.  From this it follows directly, that it
is upon sensibility that all our pleasures and all our pains depend:
for there is no pleasure and no pain which is not derived to us
from impressions made by external objects upon our feeling-of
which feeling, sensibility is the soul.  I mean the feeling as well
of the mind as the body.
Now, the sensibility of a perfectly healthy man, is so regulated,
as to afford him the greatest possible degree of pleasure with the
least possible amount of pain; that is, consistently with his terrestrial existence.  Indeed, our pleasures are the voluntary and bountiful gift of nature.  For our pains, we have nobody to thank but
our foolish selves.  So good has the great Governor of the universe been to us, that we could not, if we would, escape pleasure;
but in almost every instance, we can avoid pain, if we will: for
pain is only a warning voice, intimating to us that we have got
into a false position-that we are doing something which we ought
not to do, or leaving something undone which we ought to do; —
in a word, that the proper relation between ourselves and surrounding objects has been, for the time, destroyed.  Man, if he
would be content to be what nature made him, need scarcely
know what pain is.
But we have quitted the position which she appointed for uswe have forsaken the habits which she allotted to us-we have
disregarded her tokens-derided her counsels-broken her lawsoverleaped her boundaries —and now that we are paying the pen



64                 LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
alty for our frolic, we stand gaping at each other like fools, and
wonder what is the matter! Why, we are like Rabelais' wooden
legs —we are like square men that have got thrust into round
holes! No wonder we are uneasy-no wonder we suffer pain —
we do n't fit our positiOll.
Nature, then, has endowed us with a certain degree of sensibility; and my object is, to show that we cannot increase this without diminishing our proper amount of pleasure, and augmenting
our proper share of pain —without enfeebling our contractility; in
a word, without injury to our health and strength.
Pain  is invariably the result of impressions too acutely  or
strongly made: and, as sensibility is that property by which impressions are felt, it is perfectly manifest that the more acute sensibility is, the more acutely impressions will be felt.  And thus
those impressions, which in a healthy state of the sensibility afford
only pleasure, become painful; and those which always produce
pain become Inore  painful.  This is so very clear as to render
amplification wholly unnecessary.
In order to prove, that wherever there is a hihll degree of sensibility, there is always a low degree of contractility, i. e. strengthand that, wherever thelre is a low deg ree of strength, there is always
a high degree of sensibility —you need only look t hrougoh  the world.
Let us first approach the couch of sickness.  Tiread lightly; —
for the slightest noise males the poor sufferer start, and gives him
the headache.  Be careful to close the door after you; for the.
faintest breath of air gives him cold.  See hown lie is sliading  his
eyes with his hla! for the fo te few  rays of lig;t iwiich  st uggle
feebly through the venetian blind are painful to him.  Observe
his handl: how whrlite and bloodless!  If you take it in your own,
vrou must handle it a:s you would an infant's-an ordinary pressure will male him cringe ivith pain.  His bankerl lhas just failed,
and reduced Lim to ruin; but you must not benathe  a syllable of
this in his hiearing!-it would kill l:im.  Do you observe that rope
suspended over the bed from  the ceiling, with a small cross-bar
of wood attaclhed to the end of it?  So faint is thle contractility
of his imuscles, thlat lie could not, wvithout this contrivance, raise
hiniself in bed.  Observe hlil, as lie carries his cup of gruel to
his pallid  lips! Marll   hoxv the liquid  quivers in  the  vessel!
Hark, how its edge rattles against his teeth, as lie applies it to his
mouth! The contractile property of the muscles of his arm is so
feeble, that they lhave not power to keep the limb steady, even




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.                    65
while he carries nourishment to his mouth.  His heart, too, contracts
so feebly, that it cannot send the blood faro enough to reach the skin.
It is this tlhat nmakes it so deadly pale; —it is this, too, which make
him shiver on the application of the sliglhtest current of air.
In the above picture you will observe two things: first, that thle
contractility of thle invalid has al-most entirely disappeared, leaving
him powerless;  and, secondly, that his sensibility is so acute, that
those impressions of light, sound, touch, &c., which under ordinary
circumstances were only necessary to the enjoyment of existence,
lhave now become sources of painful suffering'; thus proving that
whenever sensibility is advanced beyond the natural standard, the
sources of pain are multiplied, and those of pleasure diminished;
and thiat wherever sensibility is excessively high, contractility (that
is, strength) is excessively low.
it is true, that this is a case of extreme illness, and that every
departure from health will not produce this extreme state of things.
But it will produce an approximation to it.  In the slighltest departure from healtll, the same effects will be produced; the only
difference being in degree.
To prove thi.s —let us take a peep into "my lady's chamber."
Here you wvill find the same circumstances of heightened sensibility, and depreciated contractility, which you observed in the sick
roomu —only in a less degree.  It is true, that she can bear an ordinary degree of light without pain, and that the sound of your footfall may not give her the headache; but if'you leave the door
ajar, she will most likely take cold; —if the force of your friendship cause you to press 11er hand a little too forcefu-lly, she will
assuredly scream;-and if you steal slyly behind her when she
thinks she is alone, and cry, "Bo to a goose!" she will in all probability fall into hysterics.  If you press her arm strong ly between
your finger and tlumb, you lwill make it black and blue; —while
it would require, in order to produce the same effect on one of
Mi:. Barclay's draymen, little less than the gripe of a blacksmith's
vice.  " The hand of little. employment hath the daintier sense."
So much for her sensibility;-now for her contractility.  Could
she carry a bushel-basket of potatoes upon her head, for a mile,
without resting?  Not she.  Yet why can she not?  It is true,
she is a lady; but, as Burns says,' A man's a man for a' that."
And is not a woman a woman for a' that?  There is mnany a wo



66                LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
man, neither so tall nor so well-proportioned, who would carly a
bushel of potatoes on her head, without resting, from Penny Fields
to Pedlar's Acre, and think herself well rewarded with a shilling.
There must be some better reason for this great difference, than
the mere fact of one being a lady, and the other a woman.  The
true reason is, that tile contractility of my lady's organs, especially
her muscles, has sunk exactly as much below the natural standard
as their sensibility has been elevated above it.
Thus, then, we harve indisputable proof that sensibility and contractility are always in an inverse ratio of each other.  But you
must be careful to observe, that it is not increased sensibility that
gives rise to diminished contractility; but it is diminished contractility that increases sensibility;-increased sensibility being no
more than tile proof of diminished contractility; that is, enfeebled
health and strength.
From this it follows, therefore, that the degree of sensibility
depends upon the degree of contractility; and this is fortunate,
for we have on that very account only to raise contractility, in
order to lower an irritable, acute, troublesome, and unhealthy
degree of sensibility to the natural standard.  This can be easily
done; so easily, that I will undertake, within one month, without
fee or reward, or pill or potion of any kind, and on the peril of
my head, to enable any lady within the pale of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, to carry a bushel of potatoes on
her head from Penny Fields to Pedlar's Acre without resting, and
that with no more pain and labor to herself than may be sufficient
to spare her pocket the expense of sixpenny-worth of rouge.
Now, then, it is quite clear, that whatsoever causes, circumstances, regimen, or conduct, have a tendency to heighten sensibility, must necessarily have a tendency to depress contractility;
since I have proved that a high degree of the former is wholly
incompatible with a high degree of the latter, and therefore cannot
exist in conjunction with it.
The reason why a high degree of sensibility cannot exist in conjunction with a high degree of contractility is this: —the nerves
(which are the seat of sensibility) are more or less actually sensible, according to the greater or less degree of firmness with which
they are compressed on all sides by the parts immediately surrounding them. and in contact with them. Thus the nerves of the
bones, ligaments, and sinews are so firmly compressed on all sides
by the unyielding structure of these parts, that they are almost




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.                67
wholly insensible. You may cut them, lacerate them, without
giving pain.  The muscles (that is, the red flesh) cannot be
wounded without considerable pain, because their structure is not
so firm as that of the bones, sinews, &c.: but it is much more
compact and firm than the structure of the skin, and therefore a
wound inflicted on a muscle will not produce anything like the
acuteness of pain which is felt on wounding the skin.  In the
nerves of the eye and the ear it was necessary that a sensibility of
the very highest degree should exist, in order to enable these
organs to feel the very slight and subtle impressions of light and
sound.  Accordingly, we find that from these nerves all surrounding pressure is removed entirely; these nerves being, as it were,
expanded into a sort of quivering jelly at that part where they are
destined to receive their natural impressions.
Now, a very large portion of the body is, as you know, made
up of a conglomeration of blood-vessels.  The whole body, then,
taken as a whole, will be the more compact and firm accordingly
as these vessels are fully distended with blood;-precisely as
sponge becomes a more compact body when distended with water
than when dry; since, when dry, its cells are filled with air; but
when saturated with water, they are filled with water, which is a
far more compact material than air. If you draw a thread through
a sponge saturated with water, the sides of that thread will be
everywhere compressed and supported by either the solid parts of
the sponge or by the water: whereas, if you draw a thread through
a dry sponge, whenever that thread passes through an empty cell,
its sides will be entirely unsupported and uncompressed. So of
the body;-a nerve passing through the body (which body consists of a congeries of vessels) will have its sides everywhere compressed and supported, so long as those vessels are well filled and
fully distended. But if these vessels be half empty-if their sides
be allowed, as it were, to collapse and fall away fiom the nerves
which they everywhere surround —it is manifest that those nerves
will not be so firmly compressed and well supported, as they were
while all the vessels surrounding them were fully distended.  It is
this half-filled state of the vessels which constitutes that lax and
soft state of the body called flabby.. This loose, flabby, and uncompact state of the body, therefore, is highly favorable to sensibility;
since sensibility is always increased accordingly as surrounding
pressure and support are removed from the nerves.
But a state of the body the very opposite to that just describ



68                 LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
ed is alone favorable to contractility: for I have before proved
t;hat vigorous contractility can only reside in recently organized
matter:  and in order that this recent organization —tlis perpetual
youth as it were —of the several parts of the body may be kept
up, an abundant supply of healthy blood is absolutely indispensable.  Thus contractility in perfection requires a highly distended
condition of the blood-vessels, and consequently, a firm  and compact state of the body —a state exactly the contrary of that just
described as favorable to the Hdevelopment of sensibility.  Hence
arises a most important corollary; viz., that whatever increases
tile natural vigor of the circulation, increases the contractility and
lessens the sensibility of the body; and wlbatever lessens tile sensibility of the body, by increasing its contractility, increases also
the natural vigor of the ci!culation; since the blood is circulated
by virtue of the contractile power of the heayt and arteries.
The degree of sensibility, therefore,. is always not only in an
inverse ratio of the degree of contractility, but also of the circulating powver: and since all the motions of the body are performed by virtue of contractility, and the whole process of nutrition by
the virtue of tle cilculation, this is the same as saying tllhat the
degree of sensibility is alwlays in an inverse ratio of the deg'ree of
health and strenglth; —which is the fact.
A very familiar instance of tile increase of sensibility produced
by lessening the quantity of the blood, is to be found in the fact,
that a dose of cathartic mledicine wholly incompetent to affect the
bowels under ordinary cilcunmstances, will be found quite sufficient
to do so if administered after blood-letting.
I am at this time attending a hluge, strlong, dread-nougoht-lookingo custom-house officer, for a slight attack of paralysis which he
sustained some weeks since.  Since the attack I lhave bled him
nine times, taking away thirty ounces of blood eachl time; he was
also once cupped by Mr. Comley of Osborn street.  Tbu may
easily imagine that a man wvho can bear this, and yet w,;ilk about
the streets without support, must, at least, be no chicken.  Yet so
much has his sensibility —(I spealk now of moral sensibility, which,
after all, is but the physical sensibility of those parts of the nervous
system  whicll are susceptible of moral impressions) —so much, I
say, has this man's sensibility been increased by bleeding', that a
cross wvord is sufficient to make hilm burst into tears.
As moral seilsibility is but tile sensibility of those parts of the
system whilch are capable of being' impressed by moral causes, it
"J""""  ""^' "'  Ylrl~YIV -~ NIZ



LIFE, HEALTHI, AND DISEASE.                   69
follows that the qualities of the mind will be, In a great measure,
regulated by the relative dlegrees of contractility and sensibility
in individuals.  When the brain and nervous system are but ill sup-.
plied with blood, and that blood but feebly circulated, and therefore imperfectly vivified, the sensibility to moral causes or stimuli
will be morbidly acute.  Such a person is easily and morbidly
affected by causes to which others are wholly insensible: a sudden loud knock at the door, for instance, will make himr  start almost from his seat.
II you speak to him  of a contingent evil, however slight and
remote, he views it through a mental telescope, always applying
that end of the instrument to his eye which matgnifies the object
and increases its proximity.  If you speak of a contingent good,
the telescope is instantly reversed; and he views it through the
opposite end, which diminishes its value, lessens its probability,
and renders it only visible at the extreme point of a long perspective.  In  short, he is timid, despondino, infirm  of purpose, imiaginative, and incapable of continued application.
Such a man may be a poet, but not a matlhemlatician.
On the contrary, when contractility is vig-orous, and the circulation consequently energetic, the brain will be abundantly supplied
-with healthy blood; its nervous tissue firmly supported everywhere
within the meshes of that tissue formed by the interlacings of
well-filled blood-vessels; and its sensibility, therefore, -will be, in
a corresponding degree, obtuse.  It requires a strong moral cause
to operate on the mind of suci a man.  "Trifles light as air"
have no power to excite, to irritate, or in any way affect himl: lhe
is, consequently, bold, patient, good-humored, inflexible, unimraginative, and capable of long-continued mental exertion.*
Such a man may become a g'reat mathematician, but never a poet.
I think I could show that all the peculiarities of the human
mind are to be accounted for, as depending upon certain modifications of the two physical properties-contractility and sensibility;
but on this subject I have said enoug-h —alnd, perhaps, you will
add, " and to spare:" therefore, my dear John, for the present, I
bid you farewell.  "Pa.x vobiscuz? i"                E. JorT-soN.
* Why does exercising the memory strengthen the mlemory. Clearly, because it strengthens the brain by increasing the viyor of the circulation
through it. The use of the hammer strengthens the blacksmith's arm in the
saone manner: viz. by increasing the vigor of the circulation through it; and
consequently increasing also its contractility, that is, its strength.




LETTER V.
Umberslade _Hall, near Birmingham.
MY DEAR JOHN,
I have now to speak of the principal actions concerned in the
nutrition of our bodies-that is, in converting our food into ourselves.  These are four in number: absorption, circulation, respiration, and secretion.
If you have read attentively what I have already written concerning the absorbent vessels, and concerning those arteries which
perform the office of secreting the several juices of the body, as
the saliva, &c.;-if, I say, you have read all this with attention,
you will now have no difficulty in understanding what is meant by
the terms absorption and secretion.  I shall now, therefore, briefly
describe the circulation of the blood, and the effect which respiration has upon it: and then I shall endeavor to exhibit to you
these important phenomena of absorption, circulation, respiration,
and secretion, in active operation, by tracing a given portion of
food through all the changes wrought upon it, by virtue of these
four actions, until it has become assimilated to the body.
First, let us trace the circulation of t/he blood.
The blood, of a bright vermilion hue, and richly laden with the
elements of living matter-the new materials for repairing the
wasted body-starting from the left side of the heart, enters the
aorta.  From the aorta it is distributed into branches of the aorta,
and hence into branches of these branches, being divided and subdivided into smaller and smaller streamlets, as it proceeds from
branch to branch.  In this manner it is propelled onwards until it
has been subdivided into as many minute hairlike streamlets as
there are points in the body; there being no point of the body
which is not supplied and nourished by one of these minute
streamlets of blood.
While these countless myriads of currents are thus traversing
the body-each, as it were, intent on reaching some one particular
point or other as the end of its journey —they may be appropri



LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.               71
ately likened to an innumerable swarm of bees; each laden with
stores, and hastening onwards in order to deposit its own particular
share at some point or other of the honeycomb, which they are
all mutually engaged in building or repairing.
When the blood has thus arrived at every point of the entire
body, and each streamlet has fulfilled its office of renovation, by
parting with the new materials which it contained, and depositing
them in the place of the old and worn-out materials which have
been removed, but the instant before, by absorption-when, in a
word, the function of nutrition has been performed, the little hairlike arteries, which brought these several minute streamlets of
blood from the heart to the several points of their destination,
bend back upon themselves, lose the structure peculiar to arteries,
assume that peculiar to veins, and commence their journey back to
the heart.
The little streamlets of blood which fill these little backwardrunning veins having now parted with those living elements-those
fresh materials-which they brought for the renovation of the body,
may be likened, not inaptly, to the same swarm of bees mentioned
before; which, having deposited their precious burdens int various
parts of the honeycomb, are now hastening back for a fresh supply.
The blood, therefore, having fulfilled its functions, quits the arteries, and enters the veins.
I have said, that when the arteries cease to be arteries, and become veins, they bend back upon themselves.  The veins, therefore, in their passage towards the heart, run alongside the arteries,
and parallel with them; and wherever you find an artery bringing
arterial blood from the heart, you will also find, by the side of it,
and generally enclosed in the same sheath with it, a vein carrying
back venous blood to the heart.  Thus the several streams of
venous and arterial blood pass each other on the road, as it were,
like two trains of carriages moving side by side, but in contrary
directions-the one train going out, the other returning home.
As the terminations of arteries form the beginnings of veins, it
follows that the number of the veins, at their commencement, is
equal to the number of the arteries. But these numerous minute
veins, as they travel towards the heart, are every now and then uniting to form larger ones; consequently, the streams of venous blood,
as they approach the heart, are constantly becoming larger and
larger also; and thus the whole quantity of venous blood is eventually collected into two large veins, which empty themselves into




72                LIFE, IIEALTH, AND DISEASE.
the riglht cavity of the heart, like two Fleet ditches emptying
themselves into the Thamles.
We have now completed what is called " tile great circle of circulation;" that is, we have traced the vermilion nutritious blood
from the heart to every point of the body.  We have seen it there
part with its nutritious particles, in order to repair the -waste of the
body; and thus, deteriorated inl quality, altered in color, and rendered oppressive and unwholesome in its properties, we have traced
it back to the same organ from which it set out, viz. the heart.
But, although we have brought it back to the same organ from
which it started, we have not yet brought it back to the same side
of that organ.  It set out from  the left side of the heart; and
we have only traced it back to the right.  Let us therefore
proceed.
When the black deteriorated blood has been brought back from
every part of our structure, and collected into the two large veins,
which I have denominated' Fleet ditches," and has been poured by
them into the right cavity of the heart, the walls of that cavity
contract upon it, anld propel it into a large vessel, termed the pulmonary artery, by which it is conveyed to the lunngs.  In the lungs,
the pulmonary artery is divided and subdivided  into an infinite
number of minute branches, which traverse  every puiit of the lungs.
The black blood, therefore, carried to tht lung's by the pulnmonary
artery, is divided into numberless minute streamlets, lwhich are
conducted, in every direction, through the lung's, by the innumerable hairlike branches of this artery.
The lungs are made up of a countless number of small cells,
through and amonh'  which the little streamllets of black blood are
of course conveyed' and every time we diraw in our breath, these
cells become filled Nwith air; and the air which they then contain
comes in contact wvith the little vessels containing black blood; Land
acting' througlh the delicate coats of these, it operates those changes
in the blood which it was sent to the lungs for the purpose of undergoing.
What the whole of these changes are, is not thoroughly understood: but this much is certain-thlat, whereas tlhe blood  enters
the luiInS  of a black color, and in a condition unfit to etiect thle
nutrition of thle body, it no soonie'r b}ecoi-les e.posed to the inlmuence of tlhe air in t1he cells of the lun(s, thlani it loses its bl:lck
color, acquires tile brilliant hue of vermiilion, andi becomies at once
endlowed wvith all tlhe properties necessary to the nutrition of the




LIFE, HEALTH', AND DISEASE,.                 73
body, and to the production or secretion of the several juices, such
ais the gastric, the pancreatic, &c.
The black blood, then, haaving been exposed, in the air-cells of
the lunogs, to the action of the air, and havinog been by it purified,
reimpregnatecld wtitl nutritious particles, and every way requalified
to fulfil its appointed offices in tile body, is collected into four
veins, called the " pulmonary veins;" by which it is broug'ht back
to the left side of the heart, from whichI it first started.  And thus
the lesser circle of circulation has been accomplished, and the
vwhole circulation of the blood completed.
Allow me to recur, for a moment, to the metaphor of the bees.
I like it: it is a little fanciful, perhaps, but neverthleless appropliate, and0 not ineleogant.
Consider thle lungs, thern, as a bed of sweet flowers, upon whlich
a swarm of bees (the little black streamlets of blood) have settled.
These bees, having laden their tilighs wvith honey, quit thle flowers,
and, taking their fiig'ht thriough ltile garden-gate (the heart), pur'sue their way, by various routes (the arteries), in order to deposit
their little burdens, and distribute them  equally thlioughlhout the
honeycombib   that is, the body.  Havino: cilone this, they take
wying once nolre; and returning i~n the satie direction, but by different routles (tl;e  -eins), they re-enter thle g(ardenl (thle heart),
cand again settle themselves dovwn upon the flowver-bed (the lungs),
in order to collect a flesth supply of honey: that is, of nutritive
property.  Observe: a stream  of ariterial blood i. a bee laden
with honey; —a stream  of,venous blood, a bee despoiled of its
honey.
Norv if, as I hope, you have uniderstood nay former Letters, you
Nwill recollect that the old body is constantly being dissolved, and
carried away, and emptied into tlhe venous blood; and that the
new materials afforded by new  food are also emptied into tihe
venous blood at the same place (viz. just before it enters the
right side of the heart, on its way to the lungs), by the lacteal
absorbents.   The black blood, therefore, when it reaches the
lungs, has, mixed up with it, a portion of the old body in a fluid
state, called'"lymph," andc also a certain quantity of fresh nutriment, also in a fluid state, called " chyle."   But the fresh
nutriment (that is, the chyle) has not yet become blood: it is
merely mechllanically commingled with the blood.  The effect,
thlerefore, which the air exerts on the blood in the lunins, is not
merely to revivify old blood, but likewise to convert the chyle into




4:                LIFE, HEALTI-I, AND DISEASE.
blood.  This conversion of chyle into blood is called "sanguinification."
There is another important office fulfilled by respiration; viz.,
the expulsion from the body of such portions of the lymph as are
no longer fit to remain in it, in the shape of that watery vapor
which we denominate " breath."  The mouth, therefore, is a portal,
through which you receive the materials for a new body, and also
through which you blow away the worn-out materials of the old.
Every time you breathe, you blow away a little bit of your nose,
a little bit of your ears, a fragment of your eyes, a particle of your
brain, an atom of your heart: in short, a part of your whole person.
If you chance to be walking in the fields, a portion, mounting
through the air, assists in forming the clouds; and again, descending in showers of rain, contributes its share towards the formation
of the multitudinous ocean. Another portion falls upon the green
herbage of the meadow, and constitutes a part of the nourishment
upon which that hlerbage subsists.  Thus, not only " all flesh is
grass," but grass, also, is flesh.
I shall now endeavor to exhibit the principal actions concerned
in the nutrition of the body, by tracing a portion of food through
all the necessary changes, until it has ceased to be food, and has
become an integrant part of yourself.
Let us suppose you to be in the act of despatching a hearty
meal, consisting of animal food and various kinds of vegetables.
You first introduce it into your mouth-with your teeth you
masticate it-by means of your tongue, you roll it about your
mouth.  This rollingf about brings it in contact with the several
excretory ducts of the salivary glands; which open on the internal
surface of the mouth, as we have before seen. These ducts, by
virtue of their sensibility, become aware of the presence of a stimulus (the food).  The stimulation which the food in the mouth
exerts upon the ducts is propagated along them to the glands out
of which they issue, and which glands ale thus excited to an increased secretion of saliva. (And this increased secretion of saliva
is the first of that series of actions by which the nutrition of the
body is effected;-and in this, the very first stage, you see exemplified those three important properties of which I have said so
much in my last two Letters-stimulatioan, sensibility and contractility: for it is by virtue of their contractility that the arteries supplying the salivary glands with blood are capable of acting; that
is, of contracting —and so of supplying' the glands with blood, fromn




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.'75
which blood the saliva is to be secreted.  It is by virtue of the
stimulating property of the food that their contractility is roused
into action; and it is by virtue of their sensibility that they are
aware that a stimulus is acting upon them.
The nutritious bolus, then, having been thoroughly masticated
and rolled about the mouth until it has been well mixed up with
saliva, is, by a very complicated movement, mounted upon the
back of the tongue, and by it jerked into the throat, by which it is
propelled downward into the stomach.  Its presence in the stomach stimulates that organ, as it stimulated the glands of the
mouth; and a copious secretion of gastric juice (that is, stomach
juice) is brought about in the same way as a copious secretion of
saliva was effected by its presence in the mouth.  But, as there are
neither teeth nor tongue in the stomach, the food, when there,
cannot be so readily and at once mixed up and kneaded, as it were,
with the gastric juice, as it was by means of those instruments
comminuted and commingled with the saliva in the mlouthh: it is
not, therefore, subjected -all at once to the action of the gastric
juice, but gradually, layer after layer.  While the nutritious bolus
is circumvolving within the cavity of the stomach, the gastric juice,
poured out from the sides of the stomach, above and around it,
falls upon its surface.  When its upper surface or layer has been
sufficiently acted upon by the gastric juice-when, by virtue of the
inherent properties of this juice, it has been converted into a semifluid pecu~liar to itself, and called" chyme"-it floats off and away
from  the rest, towards the lowrer pa'rt of the stomach, where it (the
stomach) is united to the upper extremity of the bowels.  The
upper layer of the alimentary mass having been thus converted
into chyme by the action of the gastric juice, and sent away from
the remainder, the next layer becomes exposed to the action of
this juice;-and having, like the first, become converted into chyme,
floats away after it to the pylorus, that is, the lower extremity of
the stomach. Thus, layer after layer, the whole mass eventually
becomes changed from the nature of food into chyme;-gastric
juice, during the whole time this change is going on, being poured
out from the internal surface of the stomach upon fresh surfaces
of the alimentary mass.  The whole quantity is usually converted
into chyme in about four hours.
Now mark! whatever has beenr the nature and kind of the food
which you have eaten, however heterogeneous the several viands
may be, they must all be reduced to this unique homogeneous




76                LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
semi-fluid, called chyme-they must all lose their own several
natures, and take upon themselves the one sole nature of chyme,
and so become chyme itself-before they can leave the stomach,
and enter the bowels, in order there to undergo the next necessary
change.
Now, if you have eaten any matters at your meal which are
what is called " difficult of digestion," that is, which are not easily
assimilated to the nature of cthyme by the action of the gastric
juice; when these matters become exposed to the action of the
gastric juice, they will necessarily require to be exposed for a
longer time than is natural, because of the difficulty which the
gastric juice experiences in reducing them to chyme. It will be,
therefore, a longer time before these float off from the surface of
the alimentary mass, so as to leave the next layer exposed to the
action of the gastric juice; and the under layers or portions of
food, which are waiting for their turn to he exposed, will be kept
so waiting longer than the wonted space of time.  The consequence
of this is, that they are kept waiting, untouched by the gastric
fluid, until they begin to undergo those changes common to all
vegetable and animal matter, when placed in a warm, moist, and
confined situation; viz., fermentation;-the vegetable matter undergoing the acid fermentation; and the animal, the putrefactive.
For it must be remembered, that the food in the stomach still
continues to be food, still remains unaltered, still continues, therefore, to be obedient to the common laws of fermentation and putrefaction, until it has its nature and identity destroyed, and a new
nature and identity bestowed upon it by virtue of the action which
the gastric juice exerts upon it.  It ferments and putrefies, therefore, in the stomach (if not acted upon by the gastric juice) as
quickly as it would do, on a sultry summer's day, in a small pantry,
with its windows and doors kept shut.  And this shows you the
reason why such matters as undergo putrefaction with the greatest
rapidity, as some fish, and fresh pork, do not well agree with weak
stomachs; for that which putrefies most rapidly in the pantry will
do so in the stomach.
While, therefore, the indigestible matters are slowly submitting
to the action of the gastric juice, the good and wholesome portion
of the food is actually putrefying, and can, therefore, afford no
nutriment.  During the process of fermentation and putrefaction,
moreover, as all the world knows, a number of fetid gases are
given out: these poisonous gases distend the stomach, weaken




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.                 T7
its energies, oppress its sensibility, enfeeble its contractility,
diminish the secretion of gastric juice, and, in a word, disturb,
interrupt, and wholly overturn the whole process of assimilation
in the stomach; and there is tumbled into the bowels-instead of
a bland, smooth, homogeneous, healthy chyme-a filthy, fermenting, yeasty mass, smoking with offensive gases, and consisting of
little else than sour vegetables and putrid meat: for the sensibility
of the pyloric valve-of which I am to speak directly-is overcome by the oppressive influence and expansive nature of the
gases which are distending the stomach.  Is it possible, I ask,
that healthy chyle and sound blood can be formed out of such a
villainous compound of nastiness as this?  But I have here described an extreme case.
As soon as this vile compound reaches the bowels, it will generally be expelled by them with violence: and this is the way in
which bowel complaints are so often produced by some sorts of
fish, and fiesh pork, when eaten by persons whose stomachs are
too weak to furnish a sufficient quantity of gastric juice to reduce
them to chyme before they have had time to run into putrefaction; and the wind which such persons discharge by the mouth,
after eating, consists of the offensive gases above mentioned.
Strong, healthy stomachs, pour out their gastric juice so rapidly
and abundantly, that the whole meal is reduced to chyme before
the process of putrefaction has had time to begin.-Now let us
proceed.
The food, having been properly acted upon by the gastric juice
of the stomach, is now  no longer food, but a bland, smooth,
homogeneous semi-fluid, called chyme; which, quitting the upper
part of the stomach, flows downward to the lower extremitythat part where the stomach is joined to the bowels.  This junction of the lower extremity of the stomach with the upper extremity of the bowels is called "the pylorus:" and the pylorus
is furnished with a peculiar valve, which accurately closes the
communication between the stomach and bowels at all times, excepting when chyme is in the act of passing out of the stomach
into the bowels. This valve is endowed with a singular and most
beautiful kind of eclectic sensibility; which enables it to know, by
the feel, whether the matters which come in contact with it be
pure chyme or not; and nothing can enter the bowels from the
stomach without coming in contact with it.
Now, let us suppose that a portion of food has been reduced to




78               LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
chyme, has flowed down to the lower extremity of the stomach,
and has presented itself at the pyloric valve for admission through
it into the bowels; and let us suppose that there is, floating on
the chyme, a portion of food which has not yet been sufficiently
acted upon by the gastric juice.  I will tell you what happens.
As soon as the pyloric valve feels the presence of the smooth and
bland chyme, it instantly opens, and allows it to pass; but no
sooner does the portion of food which has not yet been reduced
to chyme attempt to follow, than the valve instantly closes the
aperture, and refuses it admission.  This particle of food must,
therefore, return to the upper part of the stomach, to be again
submitted to the agency of the gastric juice, before it can be permitted to escape from the stomach into the bowels.  Is not this a
beautiful exemplification of the importance of the sensibility of
our organs?-and said I not truly, when I called it " our guardian angel?"  For what is the sensibility of the pyloric valve, by
which it is enabled to distinguish between perfect and imperfect
chyme? —what is it, I say, but a watchllan, a sentinel, posted at
the entrance into the bowels, in order to watch over their safety;
to see that nothing be allowed to enter which is likely to disturb
or irritate them; to take care that nothing injurious, nothing offensive, nothing which may be in any way hostile to their safety,
nothing, in fact, which has no business there, be permitted to trespass within the sacred precincts of organs so important to the
health and welfare of the whole being, of which they form so
vital a part?
That imperfectly chymified food cannot enter the bowels without injury to them  is sufficiently proved by the very existence of
this valve. For surely it is foolish to suppose that nature, who
does nothing in vain, would have been at the pains of establishing
so beautiful, so wonderful a contrivance, if the office which it fulfils
were not in the last degree essential!
What mischief, therefore, do those persons inflict upon themselves-what a wide door for the admission of all sorts of evils do
those persons throw open who, perpetually stimulating the pyloric valve by the unnatural stimuli of ardent spirit and highlyseasoned sauces, enfeeble, wear out, and eventually destroy its
sensibility: so that whatever the caprice of the palate throws into
the stomach, is tumbled, right or wrong, assimuilated or unassimilated, good, bad, and indifferent, altogether, without let or hin



LIFE, tlEALTI, A)ND DISEASE.             79
drance, into the bowels! for the sentry-box is deserted-the
watchman is dead.
When I contemplate this state of things, I think I see a whole
a,,irmy of diseases marching in file out of the stomach, through the
pyloric gateway, into the citadel of the bowels.  I see pale-faced
and bloated Dropsy with his swollen legs-livid Asthma struggling for breath-grotesque and tottering Palsy-yellow-visaged
Jaundice-red-eyed Delirium —Fever, with his baked lips and
parched tongue, looking piteously around, and crying, "Water!
water!"-limping Gout, grinning with pain —musing Melancholy
-hideous Insanity! —But let us drop the curtain over a picture
so horrible.  AMy mind's eye aches with looking at it.  Above all
things, my dear John, take care of your pyloric valve!
Now let us get on a step further.
The food having been thoroughly and properly acted upon by
the gastric juice in the stomach, is reduced to a uniform substance,
called "chyme;" and this is the first great change in that succession of changes which is ultimately to convert it into blood. There
is now neither bread nor meat in your stomach —there is nothing
there but chyme; which is neither meat nor bread; but a fluid,
the nature of which is one degree nearer to the nature of blood
than it was before it became chyme.
The chyme then flows to the lower extremity of the stomach;
presents itself at the pylorice valve; and, having been examined, as
it were, by the sensibility of that valve, and reported " all right,"
is admitted into the duodenum.
The first twelve inches of the bowels, reckoning from their junction with the stomach downward, are called the duodenum.
Now, the chyme in the duodenum has precisely the same effect
upon the excretory ducts of the liver and pancreas, which open
into the duodenum, as the food had, in the mouth, upon the excretory ducts of the salivary glands; that is to say, it stimulates the
mouths of these excretory ducts; and this stimulation is propagated alonge the ducts to the glands themselves-the liver and
pancreas. These glands, so stimulated, pour out an increased
quantity of their individual secretions; viz., bile and pancreatic
juice. The surface of the bowel itself, too, (the duodenum), pours
out an increased quantity of fluid, called " the intestinal juice."
The chyme mingling with these juices, another remarkable change
is effected: the chyme is no longer chyme; it has lost its identity;
and the result is, two fluids, of which one is called chyle.




80                LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
This conversion of chyme into chyle, and another fluid,* forms
the second great change, by which that which was once food
(bread and meat), has been advanced two degrees more nearly to
the nature of blood.
I hope you have not yet forgotten that the chylous absorbents
arise, by open mouths, from  the internal surface of the bowels.
As the chyle, therefore, flows along the duodenum, it comes into
contact with the open mouths of the chylous absorbents.  These,
by virtue of their sensibility, become aware of the presence of the
chyle which is stimulating them to action.  They answer the call,
by erecting themselves, protruding themselves forward, dipping,
as it were, their mouths into the chyle, and thlen retracting and
closing them, thus performing an actual suction (if you will allow
the term), by which the chyle is drawn within the calibre of these
beautiful little vessels.
The chyle, thus absorbed, travels along the lacteals (that is, the
chylous absorbents); is filtrated through their glands; is emptied
into the thoracic duct; and by it, is poured into the blood of the
veins about the bottom  of the neck, and is carried by the current
of the blood through the right side of the heart, along the pulmonary artery into the lungs.
While the chyle is traversing the chylous absorbents and their
glands, it undergoes a change, the nature of which is not understood; but it is a change which advances it another degree nearer
to the nature of blood.  By the time, therefore, that youi dinner
-or, rather, that which was once the food which constituted your
dinner-has reached your lungs, it has become almost blood; but
it has not yet become quite blood.
When the chyle has reached the lungs, it is then exposed to the
action of the air which we inhale, in the manner which I described
when speaking of the circulation of the blood.  Here the final
change is effected; and that which was bread and meat has now
entirely lost all its former characteristics.  It was first food, then
chyme, then chyle.  Now it is none of these: it has acquired, by
virtue of the agency of the air in the lungs, the color and all the
other qualities and properties of blood: in a1 word, it has become'blood itself.  Thus, comnparing the animal economy to the economy of vegetable life, one might say, that the stomach and bowels
are the soil; bread and meat are the seed which is sownt therein;
and blood is the fruit which that seed produces —a fruit which is
* This other fluid is also absorbed into the blood by the veins.




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.               81
destined to become the food of the animal. For, as was justly
said by Hippocrates, "there is but one food, although there are
several forms of food."  However various the viands may be
which we put into the stomach, they must all be converted into
one and the same fluid, viz. blood, before they can have any effect
whatever in nourishing or strengthening the body.  Blood, then,
is the sole nourishment on which we subsist; what we eat being
no more than so much seed sown, with the view of producing a
nutritious fruit, by which the body is to be fed, and its health and
strength sustained;-viz. blood.  We are no more nourished or
fed by what we eat, than sheep are nourished by the turnip-seed
which the farmer sows. The turnip-seed soon loses its identity;
but in doing so, it gives rise to a turnip; and it is upon this turnip
that the sheep feeds, and not upon the seed which produced it.
And, in like manner, what we eat loses, like the seed, its nature
and identity; but in doing so, it produces blood; and it is by this
blood that our bodies are fed, nourished, and sustained. For, as
the turnip is not the seed, but the product of the seed, so neither
is the blood bread and meat, but the product of bread and meat;
and it is from this new product that we derive our strength; and
it is this which constitutes our food.  Hence becomes manifest
the utter impossibility of deriving any manner of nourishment or
strength from substances which are incapable of being converted
into blood; for example, ardent spirit; —no mechanism, no chemistry, no power, no magic, is capable of converting brandy into
blood.
Hitherto, then, we have only seen the seed sown, and the proper
fruit produced. We have now to mark the manner by which the
body is fed and nourished by this fruit, viz. the blood. By the
way, I may as well take this opportunity of calling upon you to
take notice how little the quantity which we eat has to do with
the quantity of nourishment which we derive from it; for, as the
stomach, liver, &c. can only furnish at one time, enough of their
several juices to convert a certain portion of what we eat into
chyme and chyle, it is manifest, that only a certain portion can be
converted into blood.  And as blood is the sole aliment from
which we can derive sustentation, it is equally manifest that we
cannot derive any benefit from what we eat, except from that
portion of it which in due course becomes blood.. All that we eat,
therefore, beyond what can be converted into blood, is either
changed into that useless encumbrance called fat, or is left in the
-4*




82               LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
stomach and bowels to run into fermentation; serving no other
purpose than to distend these organs with all sorts of pernicious
and offensive gases.
In order to exhibit the manner in which the body is nourished
-that is, the manner in which the fluid blood is converted into the
solid parts of the body-it will, I think, be better to trace, to this
consummation, only a single drop of blood at a time.:You will,
by this method,' more readily understand it.  But, by a drop I do
not mean a great, round pumpkin of a thing, like a rain-drop, or
a dew-drop; but a delicate minute globule, visible only to the eye
of imagination-like the glow-worm's tear of disappointed love,
when she lighteth her lamp in vain.
You have just seen the fresh chyle taken up by the chylous absorbents, and emptied, by the thoracic duct, into the veins at the
bottom of the neck.  Let us follow a single globule of this chyle.
Hurried along by the current of blood in these veins, it passes
through the right side of the heart, along the pulmnonary artery;
then through one of its branches, into the substance of the lungs.
Here it is acted upon by the air in the cells of the lungs, loses its
characteristics of chyle, and becomes blood.  It now turns round,
as it were, and hurries back again out of the lungs along the pulmonary veins, to the left cavity of the heart.
But before we trace its progress any further, let us suppose
that a hungry absorbent has just carried off a single particle from
the point —the extreme protuberant tip of your organ of smell" the very topmost, towering height o' Johnny's nose."  The carrying off this particle would necessarily leave a little hole.  Now
let us go back for our globule of blood, which we have just traced
fiom the lungs to the left cavity of the heart.
Rejoicing in its new existence, it leaps out of the heart into
the aorta, hence into the carotid artery, thence into the external
carotid, thence into the facial, thence into the superior coronary,
and thence into a minute branch which the superior coronary
gives off; which branch takes its course toward the tip of your
nose.
By the time the artery, along which the little globule of blood
is travelling, has nearly reached the tip of your nose (worthy to
be called proboscis), it has become exceedingly minute, and its
course tortuous; for it is now forming part of the ultimate tissue
of thle tip of the nasal promontory.  The little globule, therefore,
now moves along with diminished rapidity.  Gradually it ap



LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.                83
proaches nearer and nearel; and just when it has arrived exactly
opposite to the little hollow left by the absorbent, becoming suddenly obedient to the secret agency of the nerves, its nutritious
elements dart through the coats of the artery, like rays of light
through glass, into that hollow, and at that instant become part
and parcel of one of the most goodly noses within the four seas.
The artery now turns back, soon loses the characteristics of an
artery, and becomes a vein; by which vein the rest of the little
globule is conveyed back, through the heart, to the lungs, there
to be mingled with fresh chyle, and revivified by the action of the
air in their cells.
This transformation of the fluid blood into the solid body is
called solidification.
Now this is the way in which all the solid parts of your body
are formed and maintained; every inch of it, therefore, once
floated in your arteries, in the shape and quality of blood: and
you see how foolish it is to suppose that there can be any real nutriment in those strong drinks to which the multitude attribute so
many nourishing properties.  What an inscrutably mysterious
power, too, is.manifested in this process! How wonderful, that
so common and simple an affair as a potato should contain within
itself all the elements necessary to the composition of an eye, an
ear, or a tooth!-that this unheeded and unvalued root should be
capable, within a few hours, of being changed, by commixture
with the juices of the body, and by exposure to common air in
the lungs, into blood!-and that from this single fluid, made out
of this single potato, should be produced all those diversified and
heterogeneous matters which make up the total of the bodythe brittle bones, the soft and pulpy brain, the hard and horny
nails, the silky hair, the flesh, the fat, the skin, the bitter bile, the
sweet milk, the salt perspiration —everything in fact, from  the
corn on-my lord's toe, to the down on my lady's cheek-from  the
sweat on the brow of Labor, to the dew on the lip of Beauty!
Does it not seem incredible, that the ear, which can tale cognizance of the faintest pulsations in the air, and appreciate with so
much accuracy the value of musical tones-that the eye, wherewith the astronomer numbers the stars, taking in, at a glance, the
half of heaven's whole orrery —nay, that the very brain, wherewith he tllinls, and muses, and ponders over his problems and his
logarithms and his equations —that the very brain itself of a Newton and a Shakspeare should own no better or nobler source than




84                 LIFE, HEAL'TH, AND DISEASE.
that of a despised potato    And, then, to think that that brain
must die —must rot, and be resolved into its parent earth!  Yet
this is but the simple truth; and thus, like Ixion's, revolves forever the wheel of all existence —round, and round, and round —in
an eternal circle of successive changes.
I shall now take leave to call your attention to certain facts
which necessarily result from what I have said; and of which I
wish you to take especial note.
First, then, you will observe, in following the food from  the
mouth, through  all its intermediate changes until it has become
blood, that almost all those intermediate changes are wrought upon
it by the agency of the several fluids, juices, or secretions which
it meets with in the mouth, stomach, and bowels; and that, consequently, its due conversion into healthy blood depends upon the
healthy quality and abundant quantity of these secretions.  But
these secretions, like everything else in the body, are formed out
of the blood; and their quality and quantity will, consequently,
depend upon the quantity of vermilion blood wherewith the organs in which they are produced are supplied.  And the quantity
of blood with which these organs are furnished must depend upon
the vigor and activity of the heart and arteries, whose office it is
to convey it.  Thus, then, it becomes clearly manifest, that a vig,orous circulation is absolutely necessary to the assimilation (vulgarly called digestion) of our food.  Whatever causes and habits
of life, therefore, are calculated to give strength and activity to the
circulation —as, for instance, exercise-is clearly of the first iimportance to the nutrition, and, therefore, to the health and strenotth
of the body; and whatever causes and habits have a tendency to
depress the energy of the circulation — to allow the blood to creep
languidly throug'h the body, instead of dancing along its channels
cheerily and eneirgetically-as, for instance, cushioned laziness,
wVhich rides when it should walk-must, of necessity, ]Iave the
direct effect of impaiiring assimilation, and therefore of enfeebling
the strength and sappingo the very foundations of health.
But the energy of the circulation must exclusively depend upon
the energy of the heart and arteries: and the enetgy of these, as
has been already shown, depends necessarily upon the energy of
their contractility; and energetic contractility depends on an energetic ciiculation, and is incompatible with a high degree of sensibility.  Hence it directly follows, that whatever  causes are calculated to increase sensibility —to make  us tender, if you will tolerate




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.                  85
a vulgar expression —have an immediate and powerful effect in impeding the conversion of our food into blood, and, therefore, of
impairing the process of nutrition.  Hence arise the incalculable
mischiefs of a daily indulgence in what are miscalled the comforts
of life; but which are, in reality, most pernicious and unnatural
luxuries. A few of these are, table-indulgences, lounging on coucles,
iwarm carpeted rooms, window-curtains, bed-curtains, blazing fires,
soft beds, flannel under-clothes (I speakli of the healthy, not of the
sickly invalid), novel reading, hot suppers, and, though last, by no
means least, that precious piece of foolery, called passive exercise
-that is, lolling along at ease in a stuffed and cushioned carriage.
Not that I would totally abolish any one of these, except, perlhps, hot suppers and soft beds; but that I wish, by proving to
you their evil influences, to induce you to use them as sparingly
as the conventional habits of society will permit: though I confess, for my own part, I see no reason why any mann  should feel
himself called upon to injure his health-to blur the beauty of
God's noblest work —solely to gratify the capricious whim of that
many-headed monster, that blatant beast, called society.
Again, the brain itself is the product of the blood-it is as lite.
rally and truly made of blood, as the most beautiful china vase is
made of clay.  Hence the qualities of the brain —the mental energies, as they are called —courage, the powers of abstract thinking,
fortitude, patience, generosity, and, above all, good-humor,* can
only exist in conjunction with, and owe their very being to, a vigorous circulation.  Hence it seems scarcely too much to say, that
thought itself is produced from the blood; since there can be no
energy of thought without energy of brain, and no eneigy of brain
without energy of circulation through that brain.
THOUGHT is an act of the WILL.  It is an act by which certain
ideas ale, to the exclusion of all others, summoned to present
themselves to the mind's eye, that judgment may marshal them,
compare them, and newly combine them.  Thus, in solving a
mathematical problem, the will suffers no ideas to intrude, save
only the necessary ones of lines, angles, &c.
But the will is one of the energies of the brain; and we have: If you go in search of good-humor, you must look to find it playing on
the ruddy cheek and laughing in the unclouded eye of athletic strength.
The sensibility of the athlete is too obtuse to be easily irritated. The skin of
his mind is thick: and causes capable of excoriating others have only power
to tickle the athlete.




so                LIFE, IHEALTH, AND DISEASE.
just, seen that these energies can only fully exist in conjunction
with a vigorous circulation.'When the circulation, therefore, is
languid, the  oill wtill be languidly exerted —i  will be unable
either to command the presence of the ideas required, or to discard those whose presence is troublesome, and which only tend to
perplex and interrupt the process of thought.
When a nman with such a brain sits down to think, he finds that
all sorts of ideas, wholly irrelative to the subject on which he
wishes to think, are perpetually thrusting themselves into his mind
" against the stomach of his will;" and so excluding those which
a feeble and irresolute will is vainly endeavoring to summon and
retain.  If lie be reading a book, he will find, every now and then,
that though his eye has been tracing the words and lines, and his
hand has been mechanically turning over the leaves-he will find,
I say, that his mind has been wandering far away, and knows no
more of what he has just been reading than the man in the moon.
In a word, he has no power of abstract thought-no power to fix
his attention. This state of mind is called reverie.
Herein consists the difference between thought and imagination.
Thought, as I said before, is an act of the woill; and that act, to
be efficient, requires a vig'orous circulation.  It is the office of the
wcill to decide, as it were, as to what ideas shall be admitted into
the brain, and what refused admittance.  But imagination resembles a dream, in which the will is asleep; it is a condition of the
brain, in which all sorts of heterogeneous ideas, in despite of the
wvill, come and go, in a tumultuous disorder, without let or
hindirance, as in a dream.  In this state of the brain, the contractility of its arterial tissue is feeble, and therefore the circulation through it is feeble; and therefore the will, which I have
shown to depend on a strong circulation, is also feeble.  In this
state, the brain may be likened to an ideal theatre, without either
check-takers or money-takers, and with all its doors thrown open,
at which doors a multitudinous throng of ideas, of all colors and
costumes, collected from all the corners of the earth and every
domain of nature, are perpetually making their "exits and their
entrances."  And as the little pieces of colored glass in a kaleidoscope wvill often arrange themselves into figures more beautiful
than any art can imitotte, so, on the stage of this imaginary theatre, parties of these ideas will frequently frolic and gamrbol themselves into groups more grotesque, more picturesquely beautiful,
than any effort of thought and judgment can accomplish.




LIFE, IIEALTH, AND DISEASE.                87
Energy of will, therefore-firmness of purpose —the power of
abstract thinking and reasoning-are all incompatible with a lively
imagination; because the three former require an energetic circulation, while the last depends on a circulation of a contrary character.
There can be little doubt, I think, that insanity has its cause in
some injury to the vigor of the circulation through some part of
the brain.
That the doubts and fears and anxieties of the lover have a
depressing effect on the circulation, is a fact long since established.
The pensive dreamy sadness, the absent mind, the fondness for
solitude, the long-drawn impassioned sigh so characteristic of love,
is equally characteristic of a languid circulation.
The same condition exists in the poet; and the mental characters of all three will be found to possess no small similarity. So
great indeed is this resemblance, that those who begin by being
poets or lovers, not unfrequently end by becoming madmen. They
are all three (generally) weak, wavering, wayward beings, incapable of abstracting their minds at pleasure, unable to control their
thoughts;-and it may almost be said of all three alike, that they
have scarcely any will or purpose of their own.  Hence
"The lunatic, the lover, and the poet,
Are of imagination all compact;"
and hence it is true, that the poet does not sit down to think what
he shall write, but to write what he thinks.  But the word
"'think," in the last instance, is improperly used; he sits down in
order to describe the ideas which his mind's eye beholds dancing
in antic and ever-varying groups on the stage of his own brain's
theatre-to.:-" body forth
The forms of things unknown;
Turn them to shapes; and give to airy nothings
A local habitation and a name."
Hence, too, every true lover is a poet, and every true poet a lover.
Finally, my dear John, you will observe that everything connected with life-all the actions, the energies, and beauties of the
body-all the actions, energies, and beauties of the mind, as well
as the body and mind themselves, are under the dominion of the
circulation of the blood, from which both mind and body must inevitably derive each its tone and character.  So that " the body




88               LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
and the mind are like a jerkin and a jerkin's lining;-rumple the
one, and you rumple the other."
I have now described to you as much of the structure of the
body, and its functions, as I conceive to be necessary, in order to
enable you to understand what I have presently to say on the subject of diet and regimen.  And you must now know quite enough
to be heartily convinced of the unmitigated folly of those persons,
who, without knowing anything of the structure of living parts, or
of their actions, or of those delicate springs, contractility and sensibility, which originate and sustain those actions —who, I say,
being as ignorant as idiotism of all that concerns the nature of life
and living things, are nevertheless perpetually tinkering their
stomachs with quack remedies;-thus stupidly presuming to mend
a machine, of the very nature and structure and actions of which
they are as uninformed as infant Hottentots.
The health of the body depends upon the healthy performance
of the nutritive actions; and disease consists in the unhealthy performance of these actions, or of one or more of them.  Medicines,
therefore, with very few exceptions, such as those which seem to
cure by chemically combining with and neutralizing the poison in
the system which produced the disorder-medicines, with these
few exceptions, have no power over disease, excepting as they
have the power of increasing or diminishing the activity of the
nutritive actions —absorption, secretion, circulation, &c.
When a man examines his patient, the question with him is not,
Has lhe got a fever; or this, that, or the other disease?  The
question is, Which of the living actions is going wrong? and how
is it going wrong?  Is it going too fast or too slow?  The patient has, perlhaps,,a foul tongue, -dry skin, a quick pulse.  But
these are not the disease: these are the symptoms-the outward
signs of the disorder within.  He has nothing to do with these
except as signs by which he ascertains the cause producing them.
The question, therefore, is not what is good for a foul tongue, a
hot skin, Hand a quick pulse: but what medicine possesses the
power of controlling that particular living action —a disturbance
in which has produced, in this particular instance, the symptoms
in question.  I say, in this particular instance; because, in others,
the same symptoms will be produced by a disturbance in a different living action.  The same symptoms, therefore, frequently require different treatment; because the cause of those symptoms
is different, although the symptoms themselves are the same.  I




LIFE, IIEALTH, AND DISEASE.               89
will give you a familiar instance.  One man has a foul tongue, a
quick pulse, and a dry skin, produced by inflammation of one of
the membranes of his brain: he- therefore requitres leeches to his
head.  Another man has the same symptoms, from inflammation
of the mucous membrane of thle bowels: he requires leeches too —
not to the head, but to the abdomen! Again, if a medical man
finds his patient in pain, he does not forthwith run home for a
dose of opium, because opium has sometimes the power of relieving pain; but he first ascertains which of the vital actions, which,
being disturbed, is producing that pain.  If it arise from spasm,
opium may be of service; but if it arise from inflammation, opium
will do harm, instead of good.  If it were only necessary to attend to symptoms, and not to the cause of those symptoms, then
the proper remedy for a foul tongue would be a scraper.  One
man has a headache from inflammation of the brain; another from
flatulence of the stomach: —brandy will kill the one, and cure the
other.
Again: cough im-ay be produced by tubercles in the lung's-by
inflammation of their mucous membrane-by inflammation of their
coverings-by inflammation of their parenchymatous substanceby disease of the heart —by disease of the liver-by an accumulation of water in the chest-of matter in the chest, &c., &c.
I will tell you what happens every day.  One of the faculty of
ninnies gets a cough; and meeting with another, he is assured that
so, or so, or so, is a "fine thing forl a cough."  The " fine thing for
a cough" is straiglhtway procured.  Shortly, lie has occasion to call
on his tailor; and his tailor incontinently recommends him another
" fine thing."  The following week, his tinker brings home amended
saucepan; and then the tinker's "fine thing" must have a trial
also.  Then comes the butcher, and the baker, each armed at all
points with " the finest thing in the world for a cough."
But, somehow or other, the cough still goes on-" ugh, ugh,
ugh," barking away as before.  Having frittered away a month or
two in these follies, lie then does just what he should hlave done at
first-he walks off to the doctor, who finds that the cough was
produced by inflammation of the covering of the lungs, which the
abstraction of a little blood and a blister would, at the onset, have
removed at once; but that, now, coagulable lymnph has been poured
from the inflamed surface, the covering of the lungs is adhering to
the lining of the chest, and the patient has contracted a deadly disease, which no art can remedy.  The tinker and the tailor, when




90               LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
informed of this, lift up their hands and eyes, and cry, " Dear me!
who could have thought it?" and then march away to their other
customers; to whom, if they happen to have coughs too, they
v-ery composedly recommend "their fine thing's for a cough" over.ajgain.
Is it not perfectly astonishing, that a carpenter, or a bricklayer,
who would never think of pretending to mend your shoes, should,
nevertheless, have no hesitation whatever in offering  his services to
mend your health?  If you carry your kettle to be mended to any
one but a tinker, he will tell you honestly that he knows not how
Lo do it.  But you shall travel fiom Dan to Beersheba, and, should
you meet a thousand passengel's by the way, not a soul of them
but will undertake; should you complain of being unwell, to cure
you on the spot.
Now, all this folly and mischief is attributable to no less a personage than that respectable old lady, said to be the mother of
Wisdom-I mean Experience. -It happens thus:-Mr. Noaks gets
a pain in his bowels-his neighbor Styles experienced a similar
pain last week, took brandy, and got well.  Relying on this experience, he recommends brandy to Noaks.  Noaks talkes a glass,
and feels better-another glass, and feels better still-a third cures
him.  Next year his son complains of a pain in his bowels; and
his father, mindful of the experience of himself, and eke his neighbor Styles, administers to his son, in full confidence, a bumper of
brandy.  The son gets rather worse; but then his father recollects
that the first glass did not cure his own pain, and so he gives his
son another, and advises him to go to bed.  Next morning, however, the pain being no better, some other neighbor assures the
father that le has often experienced wonderful relief, whenever he
has had a pain in the bowels, from gin and peppermint.  So the
father gives the son a bumper of gin and peppermint. But, although brandy, and gin and peppermint, might have cured the
colic-pains of his two neighbors, it would not be found to be quite
the thing for the inflammation which is already raging among his
poor son's bowels.  At last the doctor is called in, who finds that
his patient has been laboring for thirty or forty hours under a disease which will often kill its victim in twenty-four; and that however mild it might have been at its onset, it has now, by the aid
of brandy and gin, been urged on to incurable violence.
Experience may be the mother of Wisdom, for aught I know;
but she is certainly the mother of Mischief also.  Experience may




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.              91
teach a man to make bricks, and to lay bricks; but, without the
scientific knowledge necessary to inform him how to use her, she
can never teach him the practice of physic. Money is of no use
to a man, unless he knows how to lay it out: and experience is
unprofitable, unless a man knows how to apply it. And as money
may be laid out to the injury of the spender, so experience, misapplied, becomes a curse in the hands of its possessor. Farewell!
E. JOHNSON.




LETTERI VI.
Uimberslade Hall, near Birminghamn.
iMY DEAR JOHN,
I have now given you what I hope you have found to be a
tolerably clear notion of the several actions concerned in nutrition
-and of the nature of life and health.
I have now to point out to you what I believe to be the chief
causes and sources of disease.
WThen a man, who thinks as well as sees, suffers his eye to range
over the various minor systems which compose the one great
scheme of the universe-when he looks at the planetary system,
and beholds worlds whirling amid worlds in countless numbers,
with inconceivable rapidity, yet infallible precision-when he dwells
on the vegetable system, and sees myriads of plants rising from
the same eartlh, living in the same air, warmed by the same sun,
watered by the saone rain, yet each differino from each, and affording year after year, forever, each its own peculiar product, with
unerring exactitude-the vine the grape, the oak the acorn, the
brier the rose, the foxglove its bells of blue, the holly its berries
of red; —when, with more inquisitive glance, he penetrates the
thicker veil with which nature has curtained the chemical world,
and watches the several phaenomena resulting from  chemical
operations-combustion, putrefaction, vegetable fermentation, &c.,
and observes the unfailingo exactitude with which all these render
obedient homage to the one great law of affinity; —then, when he
looks inward, and contemplates his own system —beautiful as the
most beautiful, and not less worthy of Omnipotent Wisdom than
the most wolrthy-when he looks inward, I say, and beholds there
all confusion and imperfection —when he perceives that, of all the
systems of nature, that of man alone is liable to derangement, and
is the only one of all which ever fails of fulfilling its intentionswhen he sees that while all others always go right, his own goes
almost always wrong; wlhen, moreover, lhe reflects that his own
system  is the work of the same Almighty hand which fashioned




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.                 93
and gave being to all the others-when the eye remarkls all this,
the mind cannot but be irresistibly struck with the anomaly; and
the tongue cannot but exclaim, "W Why is this so?  How is it that
the system of man —of man, the master-miracle of creation —how
comes it that the system of man is forever going wrong, while all
around him goes right?  The natural average of human life, we
are told on high authority, is "' three-score years and ten."  How
happens it, then, that 1" about one-fourth of the children that are
born, die within the first eleven months of life; one-third within
twenty-three months; and one-half before they reach their eighth
year? —that two-thirds of mankind die before the thirty-ninth
year, and three-fourtlhs before the fifty-first? —so that, as Buffon
observes, of nine children that are born, only one arrives at the
ag'e of seventy-three; of thirty, only one lives to the age of
eighty; while, out of two hundred and ninety-one, only one lives
to the age of ninety; and, in the last place, out of eleven thousand
nine hundred and ninety-six, only one drags on a languid existence
to the age of a hundred years.  The mean term of life is, according to the same author, eight years in a new-born child.  As the
child grows older, his existence becomes more secure; and after
the first year, he may- reasonably be expected to live to the age
of thirty-three.  Life becomes gradually firmer up to the age of
seven; when the child, after going through the danger of dentition, will probably live forty-two years and three months.  After
this period, the sum  of probabilities, which had gradually increased, undergoes a progressive decrease; so that a child of
fourteen cannot expect to live beyond thirty-seven years and five
months; a man of thirty, twenty-eight years more; and, in the
last place, a man of eighty-four but one year more.  Such is the
result of observation, and of calculations on the different degrees
of probability of human life, by Halley, Graunt, Kersboom, Wargentin, Simson, Deparcieux, Dupre de St. Maur, Buffon, D'Alembert, Barthez, Dupre, and M. Mourgues."-De Lys' Richercand. —
Hlow is it, that of the whole number of children, so few, so very
few, live long enough to falfil the finial cause of human existence?
Now if, in contemplating the system of man in connection with
the other systems of nature, we be able to discover any one very
striking difference wherein his system differs from all others, may
we not fairly presume that this difference between them is the cause
of the remarkable and otherwise unaccountable anomaly above
mentioned?




94                LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
We need not look far, nor ponder long, in order to discover the
difference which distinguishes the system of man from that of all
others; —and it is indeed a momentous one!  It is this: that while
all the other systems of the universe are sustained and governed
by immutable laws, as gravitation, chemical affinity, instinct, &c.,
&c., the system of man depends solely for support upon laws, the
perfect or imperfect fulfilment of which has been left dependent on
the capricious conduct of man himself.  For the laws which sustain
the human system are the laws of nutrition; and these are forever
subject to disturbance by man's misconduct.  For instance: a
man may voluntarily half starve himself-or by his folly he may
bring himself into a position in which he is unable to procure sufficient food-or he may take greatly too much —or he may select
for food such substances as are incapable of being assimilated to
his own structure-or he may annul the laws of nutrition entirely
by taking aliment of a poisonous quality. Now, it is perfectly
manifest, that under any of these circumstances the laws of nutrition must be seriously modified-injuriously disturbed.  And it is
equally clear, that these circumstances, in the instances supposed,
are the result of human conduct. The systems of the lower animals are also sustained by the same laws of nutrition; and these
laws are also liable to be modified by the conduct and habits of
these animals: but, then, the conduct and habits of brutes are
themselves dependent on instinct, which is unerring: whereas the
conduct and habits of man depend on his own caprice-the use or
abuse of his reason, which is not unerring.
The grand distinction, therefore, between all the other systems
of nature and that of man seems to be, that while the former are
sustained by unerring laws, the latter i's supported by laws which
ale subservient to the erring conduct of man, with relation to the
manner of his nutrication* and mode of existence.
Now, it is to this "erring conduct with relation to the manner
of his nutrication and mode of existence," that I look, as the cause
and source of human disease.
To every system  nature has allotted a determinate position:
and she has established a fixed relation between each system, and
all the other systems by which each is surrounded; and from their
allotted position none can swerve-their own allotted relation to
* Be careful not to confound the term' nutrication," with the term " nutrition." Nutrication signifies the supplying the mouth with food; nutrition,
the assimilation of that bood to our own structure.




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.                 95
surrounding objects none can disturb-none, except man.  But
man, as I hope to prove to you hereafter, has removed himself
from his natural position-has broken down his natural relation to
the external world'  and so brought himself within the sphere of
the operation of causes injurious to his well-being, which could not
otherwise have reached him.
All planetary phenomena, as we lhave just seen, as well as those
of brute life, of chemistry, of vegetable life, mechanics, and physics
in general, owe their infallibility to the infallibility of the lavws
which sustain them: and I think it cannot be doubted, that the
fallibility which distinguishes the system  of man from all others,
has its origin in the fallibility of the laws on which it depends for
support, or rather the fallibility of that conduct and mode of existence on which those laws depend for their perfect or imperfect
fulfilment.  If the immutable law of g'ravitation-which, as it were,
bridles the planets, guiding and restraining each in its proper path
— had to depend for its energy and constancy upon the caprice of
man, is it not easily conceivable —nay, is it not absolutely certain
— that the system  of the planets would have been liable to as
many disorders as is the humano-animal system?  Should we not
speedily have had a repetition of those scenes, in which the North
Pole glowed with summer heat —when the lazy Bootes ran sweating away with his wagon, and the Moon could not but express her
astonishment on seeing her brother's curricle and four in the very
act of trespassing on her own highway?-should we not have had
hot fits and cold fits —fevers and agues —disordered functions and
diminished secretions?  Would not the Moon occasionally have forgotten her function of reflection, and the Sun his secretion of light?
By a parity of converse reasoning, had the system of man been
made to rely for its sustentation on some immutable law —like that
of gravitation-had the nutrication of the body been effected by
some invariable law over which man possessed no control —had
he himself nothing to do with the feeding his body, and had he
possessed no power to alter. his allotted position and relation in the
universe-in a word, were we fed by chemical affinity, and held in
our places by some physical law —then the actions which constitute the life and the health of the human machine would have
been as unerringly executed as the revolutions which constitute
the health and the life of the planetary scheme.  A  well-constructed watch,b; if properly defended from  external injury, will
indicate the hours of the dacly as infallibly as the AMoon will revolve




96                LIFE, HEALTIH, AND DISEASE.
in her orbit in her given month: so, also, under like circumstances,
would those movements and revolutions of the fluids wlhich constitute the life of the human  machine be executed with the same unfailing precision, provided only that the law of nutrication be properly fulfilled, and its proper position among tLhe other systems of
the universe duly observed.  All things were created with a. view
to the fulfilment of a final cause; and it is insulting' to the Creator
to suppose that He has attempted to attain to a final cause by
means which are inefficient for its accomplishment. —But it may
be denied that other systems are infallible.  It may be said, that
there are occasionally celrtain signs observable in the heavens which
seem to indicate that then and there a world has gone to pieces.
Be it so.  But who shall say that it has gone to pieces before it
has fulfilled its final cause —before it had existed its appointed
term! I am not attempting to prove that man is not " born to die"
— I am only endeavoring to show that he was not by nature subjected to disease and prematume death.  I claim  for the system
of man no more than is readily conceded to other systems.  I claim
for him only the same degree of perfection, the same importance,
the same consistency, which are so clearly observable in all thle
other works of the Almighty Architect of the universe.  I cannot
believe that it forimed a part of the original scheme, that one half
of mankind should die before they have attained the age of eight
years —that is, before they have lived long- enough to fulfil any one
conceivable intention —in fact, before they are themselves fully
folrmed.
If any man die while any one of his organs is unimpaired, he
dies prematurely, and before he has fulfilled the final cause of his
existence.  For nature is an economist in everything: she creates
nothing in vain: she never falls short, nor does she ever exceed
the object in view: she hulsbands her resources, and never wastes
her energies.  But to create an eye or an ear with the power of
seeing or hearing for eighty years, and to attach that eye or that
car to a body capable of existing only sixty years, would be an obvious waste, a most unnecessairy expenditurle of energy.  This
would be like loading a blunderbuss to shoot a sparrow.  What
would you say to that architect who should employ fifty men for
fifty days in erecting a column of stone to support a bird-cage or a
pepper-box?  The means, my dear John, which nature employs,
are always exactly proportioned to the end-not dn atom too little,
not an atom too much.




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.                  97
If this reasoning be not admitted, then we are driven to the conclusion, that the human system contains within itself, as part of its
primitive design, and wholly independent of man's conduct, the
principles of disease and premature death.  But that somne individuals do escape both these-both disease and premature death
— the evidence of our senses daily assures us.  In these individuals,
therefore, either these principles do not exist, or they exist to no
purpose.  These principles, therefore, can only form a part of the
primitive design of some individual systems; or, if they do form Ca
part of the original scheme of all, they are clearly only effective in
some.  But, surely, to suppose this, is to make such a haphazard
affair of human life-is to convert this " harp of a thousand strings"
into such an ill-contrived and discordant kettle-drlul —is to reduce
it to a thing of such mere contingency, that no one but the infidel
proselyte to the doctrines of blind chance could reconcile it either
to his reason or his conscience to believe it.
But that disease and premature death formled no part of the
original design of man, is superabundantly proved by the innumerable contrivances which nature has instituted, in every part of
the machine, to repel them; and the mighty efforts which she
makes, under disease, to escape them.
My inference, then, is this: that the vital actions constitute a
system of nature, which is, like her other systems, perfect in itself; that, as the planetary system depends for its health (tlat
is, the due performance of its functions) on the law of gravitation,
so the health of the vital actions depends on man's conduct, with
relation to the manner of his nutrication and mode of existence;
and that, as the planetary system  is incapable of derangement
while the law of gravitation remains unchanged, so neither is the
systemn of man capable of disorder, otherwise than by some misconduct in his manner of feeding and his habits of life.  Beyond
the influence which] results from our conduct in these two respects,
we possess no more control over the motions constituting health,
than we do over those of the heavenly bodies;" everything being
effected by the inherent powers of the nutritive system  itself,. by
virtue of the laws which govern that systemn  adcl to suppose that,
while all other systems are fulfilled of necessity, the system. of
human nutrition is fulfilled pcr' actscL'rd, and may or lnmay not answer its intention, just as it may happen, is to suppose that which
is in direct opposition to the evidence of our senses, as it regards




98                LIFE, HEAL'IH, AND DISEASE.
the uniformity, simplicity, and perfection of nature; and is, therefore, directly opposed to right reason and common sense.
The instance of hereditary diseases does not invalidate this argument: because, although  the inherited  disease be not contracted by any error of diet and conduct in the inheritor, yet, I
contend, it must have been originally derived from such a source,
to the parent who first became the subject of it.  For instance:
a man, from  high and gross feeding, contracts gout; his sons,
however temperate, may nevertheless be afflicted with gout by inheritance; that is, supposing gout to be an hereditary disease, as
some assert. Here you see, notwithstanding the temperance of
the son, his gout was evidently the result of error in diet: not, indeed, on his own part, but on the part of his parent. And it
must be remembered, that I am speaking, not of individual disease, but of disease in general.
A  child may be born with some imperfection in one of the
valves of the heart: but this imperfection is the result of some
imperfection in the action of those vessels whose office it was to
form this valve: and this second imperfection could only be derived from some imperfection in the health of the parent, induced
by the causes in question.  Death from  dentition, again, is the
result of a morbid irritability, produced partly by the imperfect
health of the parent, and partly by the operation on the infant of
the same causes which enfeebled the health of its parent; viz.
improper diet, and improper habits.
I know there are a few diseases which result from climate, situation, soil, &c.; but these are so few, as rather to prove the rule,
than overturn the argument.
What I wished, therefore, to prove, and what I hope I have
proved, is, that disease and premature death formed no part of
the original design of man: and that for the long funereal list of
disorders to which we are subject, with the exception of a very
few, we are indebted solely to ourselves.
It seems to me, that there is but one legitimate cause of death;
and that is, old age; —and here, as ever, nature shows herself a
kind and watchful mother.  There is nothing painful in death front
old age; it makes its advance with'a gradual and stealthy step,
which is scarcely noted; and the old man drops into the tomb almost insensibly; conscious, indeed, that it cannot be far distant,
but still ignorant of the moment when it may open to receive him.
By imperceptible degrees, the living principle becomes more and




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.                99
more feeble; the heart's pulsations less and less frequent; the
fluids circulate with diminished rapidity —a change is wrought in
their quality; they perform their several offices imperfectly; the
food is slowly assimilated; we have bone where we ought to find
cartilage; we have flaccidity where we ought to find firmness and
tension; bones, which before were separated, now become consolidated; the fluids lubricating the joints are deficient; the ligaments regulating their extent of motion are indurated.  Thus, the
old man moves with difficulty, and his respiration is hurried and
unequal on very slight exertion.  The least essential parts of the
body forsake him first: his hair becomes white, and falls off; the
teeth loose, and drop out; his vision becomes impaired, his hearing imperfect, his judgment inaccurate, his temper querulous: a
little while, and he becomes perfectly helpless; his brain loses its
sensibility; his memory deserts him; already the twilight of death
is around him; and shortly the night of the grave closes over him,
and he is no more seen.  Lastly, comes Oblivion with her sponge,
and wipes his name froml off the tablet of human recollection; and
the bustling hero of this little drama is heard of, and thought of,
and finally even dreamed of, no more.
I lay this down, therefore, as a fundamental truth, that we bring
disease upon ourselves, by using an improper diet, and by exercising improper habits of life; and that the only way to preserve
vig'orous health, and strength of mind and body, is to bring ourselves to the use of a proper diet, and the exercise of proper
habits of life, as nearly as the tyranny of custom will admit. But,
before we can do this, we must first ascertain what diet and habits
are those which are proper to man.
Now, my dear John, when the mother of a newly-born infant
dies, the physician recommends a wet-nurse for the nourishment
of the infant. In the absence of a wet-nurse, he recommends that
ass's milk should be given to it: —in the absence of this, cow's
milk; —in the absence of cow's milk, he recommends mild farinaceous food.  He does not recommend cold boiled beef and ale.
But why does he not recommend cold boiled beef and ale?
Because he knows that these are unnatural food for newly-born
infants. —Why does lie recommend mild farinaceous food, in preference to beef and ale? Because this, though not the natural
food of infants, is, nevertheless, not so unnatural as beef and ale.
But why does he prefer, for the infant's support, cow's milk before
farinaceous food? Because cow's milk is more naturally allied to




100               LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
the food of infants than farinaceous food; that is, it approaches,
in its own nature, more nearly to the mother's milk than farinaceous food does.-But why does he prefer ass's milk to cow's
milk?  Because ass's milk is still more naturally allied to an infant's natural food than even cow's milk.-But why does he prefer
a wet-nurse to all the other means of nourishment?  Because
human milk, though not the mother's, is the most natural of all.
But why does he recommend that mode of nourishing the infant
which is the most natural?  Because he believes that that mode
which is the most natural is also the most proper.
Thus you see that the physician, in selecting the food most
proper for a newly-born infant, takes no other guide than Nature
herself.  Uninfluenced, in this case, by his own appetites, passions,
and prejudices, he sees with a clear vision, and understands with
an unclouded mind.  i-He does not hesitate for an instant-the
question requires no time for consideration-it is so simple and so
manifest that it will not bear a doubt, or an argument, for a moment.
"Human milk," says he to all inquirers, "is the most natural food
of infants, and therefore, beyond all doubt, question, or cavilling,
the most propelr."  He would laugh in the fcace of any one who
should dare to question this fact.  " Nature," he would exclaim,
"is the highest of all authorities-it is the authority of God himself."  Yet only turn the tables, and inquire of this same physician,
what he conceives to be the diet most proper for himself.  Only
mark! how instantly the case is altered.  See how he shifts, and
turns, and doubts, and quibbles! How he endeavors to distort or
discolor truth, and twists sense into nonsense and nonsense into
sense.  His vision is no longer clear, his understanding no longer
unclouded.  His perception of truth is instantly obscured by the
mists which are exhaled from his own passions, personal prejudices,
and appetites.  He so loves his soup-so delights in a ragout!
A bumper of hock is so refreshing, and port is so invigorating!
They make him  so happy-so comfortable —he cannot believe
they are injurious-at least, not in his own particular case! He
no longer takes nature for his g'uide  her authority no longer suffices-and her voice, which, in the case of selecting the infant's
food, was the voice of God, becomes, in his own particular case,
the voice of a lying spirit.  Pitiful sophister! miserable prevaricator! as though Truth could change her essence, and Nature
her immutable laws, in order to tickle the palate and accommodate
the propensities of a wretched gourmand.




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.                101
Surely, if that food which is unnatural to infants is also improper to infants, so also must that food which. is unnatural to
man be also improper! And if this be true of food, must it not
also be true of habits?  If nature be a paramount and indisputable authority, must she not be so in one instance as well as another?
Look through the universe — not at this or that particular part
of it, but look everywhere; search minutely through all the kingdoms of nature; explore the natural world; examine curiously
the artificial world-whatever you behold, whether animate or inanimate, moving' or at rest, large or small, you will find it has been
placed in a sphere of its own, and surrounded by circumstances
peculiar to itself; from which sphere and circumstances it cannot
be removed, without detriment to the integrity of its natural perfection.  In fact, all things-the very stocks and stones-have
"habits" proper to themselves; and you cannot compel them into
new habits, without injury to their primitive perfect condition.
Everything has its determinate position, and fixed relation to all
other things.  It is this whliich constitutes that wonderful harmony
which so astonishes and delights those who love to contemplate
the works of nature.  If, indeed, it were not so, nothing but the
most inextricable confusion must necessarily be the immediate
result.
Everything, then, has its natural sphere of existence-its natural
habits; and you cannot compel it out of its sphere, without injury
-to the perfection of its being.  I know I may be asked, if the marble, chiselled into the statue, be not an improvement upon the
rugged mass?  I answer, No —decidedly not.  The marble is
not improved: it has been made to contribute to the enjoyment
of man, it is true; but this is improving the condition of man, not
the condition of the marble.  For, in the first place, the marble
itself is unchanged, except in figure; and it has been wrested from
the security of concealment in its quarry, and exposed to injuries
and accidents from which it would otherwise have been exempt;
its very existence as marble has been rendered precarious; —a
barrel of vinegar may be spilled upon it, and so its very nature be
changed, and its identity destroyed.  In the next place, looking
upon the whole quarry as one object, of which the statue forms
only a small }part, and supposing (as whlo sliall dare to question
it?) that the entire quarry wvas intended by nature to answer some
useful purpose in the general scheme, I ask, has not the capacity




102               LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
of the entire quarry, to fulfil its allotted purpose, been diminished
by the forcible abstraction of a part of it?  If you fell a mahogany
tree, in order that it may be wrought into billiard-tables, and sideboards, and dining-tables, I ask you again, have you committed no
injury upon that tree?  Have you abstracted nothing from the
beauty of that scene in which that tree made a prominent object?
Have you in no way interfered with the purposes for which that
tree had its being?  Or will you choose rather to suppose that
nature planted mahogany trees for the express purpose of veneering
side-boards and dining-tables?  Did they answer no intention, did
they effect no useful object, before these same side-boards and
billiard-tables were invented?  " Oh! but," says man,' All things were made for my use."
We have such a consummate opinion of our magnificent selves
that whatever we find capable of being made to contribute to our
own enjoyments, we instantly conclude, with a pompous vanity,
not a whit less ridiculous than that of the frog in the fable, was
made and sent expressly for our own behoof.
With what a proud sense of superiority do we look d(own upon
the inferior animals!-yet how slight an accident is sufficient to
degrade the most towering genius beneath the level of the most
inferior?  A stone in his path trips up his heels; or a little tumor
forms upon his brain; or a few ounces of water collect between
its membranes or in its ventricles; and, behold, the vaunted philosopher, the lord of the creation, has suddenly become a drivelling
idiot!  "Toi, qui dans ta folie prends arrogamment le titre du roi
de la nature-toi qui mesures et la terre et les cieux-toi pour qui
ta vanite s'imagine que le tout a ete fait, parceque tu es intelligent,
il ne faut qu'un leger accident, qu'un atome deplace, pour te de
grader, pour te ravir cette intelligence dont tu parois si tier!"'~
But let us admit for an instant, that all this were so-that nature planted mahogany trees on purpose to veneer Crockford's
Rouge-et-Noir tables; this detracts not an iota from  the truth of
what I have asserted; because it must still be admitted, on every
* Translation.-" Thou! who in thy folly arrogatest to thyself the title of the
King of nature-thou! who measurest both the earth and the heavens-thou,
for whom thy vanity makes thee imagine that all things were make because
thou art intelligent-there needs bhut a slight acci(lent —but a single atom displaced, in order to degrade thee, and ravish from thee that intelligence of
which you seem so proud!"




LIFE, Ii EALtII, AND DISE~ASE.            103
hand, that the tree, as a tree, " has had foul wronsg.)"  No one
can deny that a tree, which has been cut down and cut up piecemeal, has suffered injury as a tree —has lacl the integrity of its
perfection, as a tree, destroyed.  My assertion, therefore, is still
sound-that you cannot withdraw  any object from  its natural
sphere, without detriment to that object.
Here is a limestone:  it would have remained perfect limestone, probably forever, had it been left in its natural position, the
quarry.  But I have withdrawn it from its natural sphere-I have
broken its natural relation to surrounding objects-I have thrown
it in the fire, and exposed it to a shower of rain-and, behold! it
crumbles into dust.
Here is a " winking Mary-bud:" -had I left it in the field whence
I abstracted it, it would have gone on winking as prettily as any
MIary-bud of them all; but I have planted it in tallow, and bathed
it in ink, and, behold, it is dead!  Poor flower!  How piteously
thou lookest-dropping ink, instead of dew, upon thy greasy bed!
I would not serve another so to enlighten the darkness of fifty
brother Johns 1
Here is a watch:-I wear it in my fob-I place it beneath my
pillow, or in my bed-room watch-pocket —and it never fails to indicate the time.  But if I attach it to a mill-sail, or conceal it in
an oven, or bury it in an iceberg, what sort of time will it keep?
Go visit the Zoological Gardens —observe the extreme care
which is found necessary, in order to keep the animals in health.
And in what does this care consist?  Manifestly in approximating
their present circumstances, as nearly as possible, to the circumstances'in which nature intended them to live.  Yet, with all their
care and extreme attention, there are still animals which they have
not yet been able to preserve alive-much less in health! You
cannot withdraw the leopard from his jungle and his tropical climate, and turn him adrift on the plains of Siberia, with impunity
to himself; nor will the cedars of Lebanon flourish on the barren
hills of the frozen north.
As it is with habits, so with food.  All animals cannot subsist
upon the same food indifferently; nor all vegetables upon the same
soil. A dog will not thrive on oats, nor a horse on beef, nor a cat
on green gooseberries.
Seeing then, that every other system in the universe has its natural sphere of existence-its natural habitudes, from which it cannot be removed without injury-it seems only in accordance with




104               LIFE, HEALTII, AND DISEASE.
strict analogy, to suppose that man also has a sphere of existence
and certain habitudes natural to himself; and that he cannot withdraw himself from this sphere and these habitudes, without injury
to the perfection of his nature.
What is the conclusion to be drawn from these premises?  It is
this: that " that manner of nutrication, and that lmode of existence,"
which is most natural to man, is also most propel' to man.
E. JouxsoNT.




LETTER VII.
U(mberslade Hall, near Birmingham.
MY DEAR JOHN,
In my sixth Letter I showed you that those habits and that
diet are most proper for man, which are most natural to him.  I
illustrated this doctrine (with regard to food) by instancing the
case of a physician when called upon to give his advice as to the
best manner of nourishing a motherless infant.  I showed that, in
such cases, he takes nature for his exclusive guide, and, without
hesitation, recommends a wet-nurse.  And why? solely because
human milk is the natural nutriment of infants, and therefore the
most proper.  And if this be so with regard to diet, so is it also
as regards habits and general regimen.  The wisdom and provisions of nature are the wisdom and provisions of God; and shall
the capricious inventions of art be put in competition with His
contrivances?  It may be said that the ingenuity which teaches
man the practice of arts was given him also by God.  But who
does not see the weakness and fallacy of such reasoning?  Who
does not see that, if this mode of reasoning were true, it would
apply, with equal force, in favor of the ingenuity which teaches a
man to pick his neighbor's pocket, or swindle him of his property
by the cunning art of forging his signature?
Well, then, my dear John —in order to ascertain what are the
habits and diet most proper for man, we hlave now to inquire what
are the most natural to him.
This, dear John, is a curious subject, and it embraces a most
extensive field of philosophical speculation: it is, nevertheless, one
concerning which I would have you entertain right notions; as
otherwise, a good portion of my time and labor have been thrown
away. Since, unless you can be m'ade to comprehend what is
most natural to you, you cannot possibly understand what is most
proper for you.
You cannot talie for your guide the opinion of medical men.
For if you consult twenty, you will hear twenty different opinions;
5




106              LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
and which of the twenty can satisfy you that his, and his only, is
the correct one?  Neither do I ask you to rely on mine.  I would
have you trust to the ilse dixit of none.  I would have you governed by the evidence, and guided by the light, of your own
reason alone.  For this is not a mattel of speculative science, nor
of normal art.  It is a matter, simply and exclusively, of common
sense.
It has been asserted that man has no natural condition; but
that, into whatever state he brings himself, and with whatever
circumstances he surrounds himself by the exercise of his ingenuity,
that state, and those circumstances, constitute the sphere in which
he was designed to exist.  The same opinion has lately been expressed by a Medical Author;' in one of our periodicals, with
respect to diet.-" In short," says he, " whatever kind of food the
ingenuity of man has been able to discover, that kind of food is
proper for him."  If the phrase had been, " the right exercise of
his reason," I should have ag'reed with him; but the term  "ingenuity" embraces, not only the use of reason, but also its abuse.
If this doctrine be sound, there is no article of diet, however
notoriously unwholesomre, which mnay not claim to be considered
as the proper food of man.  And if it be asked, "Why?" the
answer is ready: —" Because it was discovered by man's ingenuity."
The ingenuity of the poor old women who earn a miserable
subsistence by selling apples in the street, has discovered that the
cravings of hunger may be more deeply allayed by a glass of gin
than by bread and meat;-i-herefore, it was the design of Nature,
with regard to these poor souls, that their appetites should be so
appeased! Monstrous!
To me it appears, that man was designed to exist in that condition which the right exercise of sound reason shows to be most
consistent with his nature.
The design of nature, with regard to the proper mode of existence amongst brutes, is rendered evident by her having bound
them within the limits of their proper sphere by the force of an
irresistible instinct.  But to man was given reason, in the place of
instinct; leaving him to use it or abuse it, at his option; otherwise she would have defeated her own design of making him a
free agent.
It seems to me, therefore, that man has a natural condition;
viz. that which a right exercise of sound reason leads him to
adopt, as being most agreeable to his nature.  He has also, there



LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE1                10t
fore, natural habits, and a natural manner of nutrication; viz.
those which right reason points out, and well-founded experience.
approves.
I ask, is the present condition of society-are the present
habits and manners of man-natural to him?  This is to say, are
they the result of a right exercise of sound reason?  Are they
congenial with his nature?  Or do they result from the abuse of
his reason —from panmpered passions, meretricious appetites, and
vicious propensities?
No one will deny, that the ultimate aim of all men's pursuitsthe final goal, towards which all mankind are running, or fancy
they are running-the philosopher's stone, of which all are in
search-the ultidca linea of all human hopes and human effortsis, ha]ppiness.
The right exercise of a sound reason, therefore, would certainly
induce mankind to choose that path which experience has proved
will conduct him to happiness, and would warn him against those
which the experience of ages has shown will not lead him to happiness.
The question is thus brought to turn upon this single hinge:
Has man, as he now exists in a high state of refinement, chosen
the right path?  Does it conduct him  to happiness?  Or, admitting that perfect happiness is incompatible with a sublunary
existence, does it ensure him  the largest possible proportion of
happiness of which his terrestrial existence is susceptible? If
not, then he has not chosen the right path-he has not exercised
a sound reason in his choice; inasmuch as he has chosen to travel
in a road which will not conduct him to the object of his journey.
To prove that man, in a high state of intellectual culture, is not
happy, really seems a work of supererogation;-it is only to iterate the most universally-acknowledged of all truisms; it is merely
to prove that which no one thinks of denying. Throughout all
highly-civilized societies, and in all cultivated languages, the unhappiness of man has ever been a standing proverb in the mouths
of all men, and a fruitful theme of declamation and lamentation,
both with the philosopher, the worldling, the poet, and the
preacher.-" All is vanity and vexation of spirit!"
A state of discontent is unquestionably a state of unhappiness:
-and, contrariwise, I think you must be compelled to admit that
contentment is happiness: for it is clear that he only can be contented who is in possession of the entire sum of all that he de



108               LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
sires.  But the entire sum of all that man desires is happiness.
It is a logical sequgitur, therefore, that he only can be contented
who is in possession of happiness; and he only happy who is contented: —and this makes happiness and contentment synonymous
terms.
There can be little happiness, therefore, where there is little contentment.
But look through society at large, as at present constituted.
Do you observe content or discontent to be its grand characteristic?  It is idle to deny, for it is impossible to conceal, that
universal discontent is one of its most prominent features.  From
the monarch to the menial, "nemo coztentits"-none are contented; and therefore none are happy.  Our whole lives are consumed in the pursuit of an unattainable object. —What is that
object? Happiness. —But why is it unattainable by us? Simply,
because we are running after it, along paths which do not lead
to it.
Look again through society; and observe our innumerable Institutions for the relief of human misery-our Hospitals and Dispensaries-our Philanthropic Institutions-our Asylums for the
Destitute-our Penitentiaries —our Mad-houses —our receptacles
for reformed prostitutes, foundling children, and other unfortunates! Can that be a happy or natural state of thingls, which
makes necessary such institutions as these?  It is ludicrous to
hear people boast of these establishments, as so many proofs of
the blessings conferred by civilization; whereas they are, in fact,
standing monuments of its shame and disgrace.  Is it a credit to.us, that we live in a state of society in which sickness and suffering are so rife, that thousands of public Hospitals and Dispensaries are required to admninister relief to the diseased?  Is it a
credit to us, that destitution is of such frequent occurrence, that:public buildings are necessary to receive the destitute?  Is it a
credit to us that we live in a state of things, the tendency of
which is so frequently to overturn the human reason, that it has
become necessary to provide public buildings for the reception of
the mad?  Can that be a meritorious condition, which makes it
necessary to provide a AMendicity Society in order to restrain beggary; and a Humane Society for the prevention of suicide?
Yet, once again, look through society.  Looh at our hosts of
lawyers, and others engaged in the lawv-all of whom  live, and
thrive, chiefly from  the proceeds of vice, dishonesty, and crime!




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.                   109
Lookl at our police-station-houses, our spunging-houses, our treadmills, our prisons, our hulks, our convict-ships, and our' colonies
for the reception of transported felons! Look at all this;-and
then deny, if you can, that " there is something rotten in the state
of Denmark!"
There is one more contemplation which must, I think, carry
weight with it, in showing how clearly and immediately crime and
misery result from an artificial state of society.  One of the first
and greatest essentials to a highly-civilized condition of society is
money, and if you reflect, for a few minutes, how innumerable
have been the crimes, and consequent punishments and sufferings,
which are traceable, in one way or other, up to money alone as
their cause, the contemplation will be found to be perfectly appalling!
It is clear, therefore, that the present condition of highly-civilized man is not conducive to happiness; but that, on the contrary, it is the prolific parent of multitudinous misery.  It is not,
therefore, a condition which the right exercise of sound reason lhas
led him to adopt, or wmhich experience has approved: therefore, it
is not his natural condition-it is not in accordance with the design
of Nature-it is not the condition in iwhich he was intended to
exist.
We have just seen that the present condition of man is not consistent with his moral nature, inasmuch as it is not conducive to his
happiness.  Let us now inquire whether it be in consonance with his
physical nature: that is, whether a high degree of civilization and
refinement be conducive to his physical health and strength.
If you survey the several grades of society, you will find that
the class of men who enjoy the highest degree of health and
strength is precisely that which is the farthest removed from n
high degree of refinement; it is that which approaches the most
nearly, in its habits and condition, to primeval simplicity: I mean,
the tillers of the soil-the agricultural  laborers.  This alone is
surely a strong argument that the habits of refined society are not
friendly to health and strenoth.  Again: as a proof that a high
degree of civilization is hostile to health, are not our' numerous and
crowded Hospitals, our multitudes of thronged Dispensaries, and
our countless multitudes of medicine venders, and medical practitioners, quite sufficient?
Man, in a state of primeval simplicity, inhabiting the temperate
latitudes, living almost entirely in the open air, supporting life by




110               LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
the simplest fare, his mind undisturbed by the harassing anxieties
consequent on ambitious pursuits, and the thousand other perturbing causes inseparably connected with a highly cultivated state of
society, enjoys almost an entire immunity from  disease.  But,
from the moment he begins to emelrge from the primitive simplicity of his habits, and seeks to live by his wits rather than by the
sweat of his brow, from that moment his intellectual and physical
energies are at perpetual war with each other; since he can only
increase the former at the expense of the latter.  As he advances
in refinement and knowledge, he retrogrades in physical strength.
And, to me, I confess, this fact alone would be an unanswerable
proof, that a highly intellectualized state of society, like that in
which we live, was never designed for man.  It seems to me insulting to the wisdom of the Creator, to suppose that it should be
so.  If it had been intended that man's chief care should be the
culture of his mind, it seems to me, I repeat, most insulting to
Omniscient W~isdom  and Omnipotent Power, to suppose that He
would have so constituted him, that the very means which he
must use to cultivate his mind are such as he cannot adopt without injury to his physical health, and even considerable risk to life
itself.
It is certainly a natural law, that man shall preserve his health;
-this being neither more nor less than a part of the law of selfpreservation.  But if it be also a natural law, that man shall cultivate his intellect, then this absurd consequence arises; viz. two
natural laws, obedience to one of which necessarily involves an infraction of the other:-for nothing can be more notoriously true,
than that the close confinement, sedentary habits, and perpetual
tension of the mental faculties necessary to study, and the cultivation of the intellect, are highly detrimental to bodily health.  We
lknow, too, that feebleness of body has a direct tendency to enfeeble the mind: thus, the same causes which directly enfeeble
the body have the effect, indirectly, of enfeebling the mind.  The
very means, therefore, which are necessary to educate and polish
the mind, have also a strong tendency to injure it.  "Intellectual
cultivation,"  says Dr. James Johnson, "sows the seeds of physical
deterioration; —and the evils thus inflicted on the flesh fail not to
grow up, and ultimately retaliate, with interest, on the spirit."
I am not singular in my opinion, that a high degree of civilization is inimical to health.  Dr. Southwood Smith, in his Philosophy.of Health, says "The usual, the permanent, the natural condi



LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.               III
tion of each organ, and of the entire system, is pleasurable." And,
commenting on this passage, Dr. James Johnson observes: "This
might be true, if we were in a state of nature; but in our present
condition, there is scarcely such a thing as perfect health."  Elsewhere the same able author, Dr. J. Johnson, observes: "The
great evil —the root of innumerable evils —the Proteiform malady,
]Dyspepsy-the hydra-headed monster of countless brood and
Medusa mien, is the progeny of Civilization."  In another part of
his "(Economy of Health," he says, and most truly, that the
" besetting sin of the present generation.... is that of reading
and thinking."
The immense consumption of drugs is another strong proof of
the sickly health of society in general, in its present boasted era
of refinement.  I am sure I am within the boundary of truth when
I assert, that, throughout England, there is not more than one man
in a hundred who does not find it necessary, at least once in the
year, "to take medicine," that is, to carry the master-piece of
God's creative wisdom to the doctor, to have it mended.-Why, I
would discard my tinker if my saucepan required mending so
often!-" There are many millions in this country," says the author just quoted, " to whom physic is, daily, as indispensable as
food!-To the luxurious epicure it may seem incredible, that
within the boundaries of the British Isles there are thousands,
among the opulent classes, who would give half their wealth to be
able to do without food altogether —who would gladly give up the
pleasure of eating, for an immunity from the misery of digesting."
— Again, he says: "Tlle state of civilization at which we have arrived produces such a wide range of'hopes deferred,' and expectations blighted, that their effects are detected, by the experienced eye, at every step, even in the streets." —Again: "The
results are read, by the observant physician, in the countenance,
the complexion, the gait, the whole physical and moral constitution of the female; —results which require a new vocabulary; and
would be totally unintelligible by Celsus, or even by Sydenham,
could they rise from  their graves, to survey the progress and
effects of Civilization."
If further proof be wanted, to show that a highly-cultivated
condition of society is prejudicial to health, we have it in the very
structure of his body, and in the economy of its living actions.  I
have already shown you, that a vigorous circulation is necessary
to vigorous contractility-that is, health and strength; and that




112                LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
vigorous contractility is incompatible with a high degree of sensibility.
No one, I think, will venture to deny, that cultivation and refinement have the direct effect of heightening man's sensibility.
The very word "1 refinement" seems necessarily to imply a superior degree of sensibility.  One can hardly conceive a high degree
of refinement unaccompanied by a high degree of sensibility also;
for the very meaning of the term  "refinement" seems to be a condition from which everything calculated to offend a delicate sensibility is removed.
Besides, one of the first effects of civilization is, to substitute the
labor of the brain for the labor of the hands and feet.  But the
labor of the hands and feet-exercise-is necessary to the existence of a vigorous circulation and an energetic contractility; which
are both incompatible with a high degree of sensibility.  Exercise,
therefore, has the effect of blunting the sensibilities; and, by a
parity of reasoning, a deficiency of exercise has the contrary effect
— that of heightening the sensibility of man.  " This deficiency of
exercise in the open air," says Dr. James Johnson, " may be considered as the parent of one half of female disorders, by multiplying and augmenting the susceptibilities to all external impressions!
The pallid complexions, the languid movements, the torpid secretions, the flaccid muscles, and disordered functions (including glandular swellings), and consumption itself, attest the truth of this
assertion."
The substitution, thecrefore, of mental for bodily labor, which is one
of the very first effects of civilization, manifestly tends to heighten
our sensibility.  "The superior cultivation of intellect-now so
eagerly7 aimed at, as the means of rising in the world, indeed of
gettino tihrouTrh it-rfenders the feelings more acute, the sympathies more act;ive-the - whole moral man, in short, more  morbidily
sensitive to moral impressions.  These impressions  are annual"ly
multiplying  in number and augmenting, in intensity.  The pr'incipal sources from whence they flow, in a thousand streams, on suffering humnllity, are these:-the fiury of politics; the hazards and
aixieties of commerce; the jealousiets, the envies, the rivalries of
piofessions; the struggles and contentions of trade; the privations,
discontents, and despair of poverty; —to which might, perhaps, be
added the telrrors of superstition, and tie hatreds of sectarianism.'"*
* 0JEconomy of Health, p. 9-1.




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.                  113
In another part of the same excellent work, the author observes:
"Thus, then, a nervous temperament, a morbid sensibility, pervades the whole frtame of society, more or less —a super-sensitiveness, that inflicts pains and penalties on trifling and occasional indiscretions."
It is true that refinement multiplies our pleasures, but oh! by
how much the more does it multiply our miseries! It is true that
it multiplies wants, the gratification of which is productive of much
delight.  But who would be at pains to catch the itch, solely that
he might enjoy. the luxury of scratching?
Now, if it be true, that civilization and intellectual cultivation
have the effect of raising the sensibility of man beyond the natural
standard, then it cannot be denied that they are also prejudicial to
his health and strength; since I have proved that energetic contractility, which is but another term for health and streng'th, cannot exist in conjunction with a high degree of sensibility.
Thus, then, it appears, that the present superlatively intellectualized state of refinement is an unnatural condition; inasmuch, as
it is one, which a right exercise of sound reason, and the authority
of experience, unite to prove to be neither in conformity with the
moral, or physical, or structural nature of man.  And I have already shown you, that whatever is unnatural is also improper.  His
present condition, therefore, is not his proper one.
But if the present condition of man be unnatural and improper,
what state is that to which right reason and experience would point
as the natural and propel' one; that is to say, as the one most in
accordance both with his physical and moral nature?-From  what
has gone before, the answer is manifest; viz., that state in which
high civilization and excessive intellectual cultivation do not exist:
— in a word, a state of patriarchal simplicity.  It would be easy
to show that the patriarchal condition is also most suitable to man's
moral nature; that is, most conducive to his happiness.  But this
does not properly belong to my subject; which has for its object
his physical health and strength only.
Now let us shortly recapitulate.
In my Sixth Letter, I endeavored to show that the human system, like all the other systems of Nature, has a natural determinate
position, and natural habits; and that if it be suffered to remain
in its natural position, and in the exercise of its natural habits, it
will be found to be, like them, perfect -in itself.  I also endeavored
to sllow, that if any of the other systems of the universe be re



114             LIFE, HEALTH', A-ND DISEASE.
moved from their natural position and natural habits, it cannot be
done without injury to them.
I-n this Letter, it has been my object to show that man has
been removed from his natural position, and from the exercise of
his natural habits; and that from this cause arise the disease and
misery to which we find him  subjected.  And the arguments
which I have used to prove this have been, at the saine time,
sufficient (at least in my estimation) to show what his natural
position and natural habits really are; and therefore, also to show
what habits are most proper for him-most in accordance with his
nature-and, therefore, best calculated to secure to him the perfeet enjoyment of health, strength, and happiness.
The knowledge of what those habits are, which are most proper
for man, must constitute vour rule of conduct with regard to your
own. For instance, if you be convinced, from all I have said, that
the primeval condition is the one best calculated to secure health
and strength, 7you need no other guide than that conviction.  You
have only to reflect on what that condition was-its habits and
diet; and then endeavor to reduce your own, as nearly as conventional customs will allow, to that standard.  Let your habits
be more hardy-your fare more frugal.  Eat only that you may
live; and do not live only that you may eat.  Diminish the activity of the mind, and increase that of the body.  Work more and
think less.  Avoid the excitement of music, cards, wine, assemblies, politics, religious controversies, &c.; or share in them with
the utmost moderation.  The only legitimate excitement is that
of exercise in the open air.
Let me not hear you tauntingly inquire, in common with those
fools who mistake derision for argument, and a sneer for wit, and
who are fain to cover their own folly and ignorance with the cloak
of unmeaning sarcasm —let me not hear you inquire, with such
small fry as these, whether I would have society go back to barbarism, live in the woods, and feed on acorns?  I have nowhere
expressed or hinted at any such foolish desire; nor have I given
the slightest cause for such a question.  By all that I have said
as to the evils arising from a high degree of civilization, this has
been my sole object, viz., to place in your hands an infallible test
by which you may prove-an accurate gauge by which you may
measure —the propriety or impropriety of any one habit or article
of diet, concerning the healthfulness of which you may wish to be
informed.  The traveller in the desert, the prairie, or the wilder



LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.              115
ness, who takes the Polar star for his guide, does not expect to
scale the heavens and reach the star itself.  He finds it, nevertheless, an unerring guide towards the object he has in view.  Your
object is health.  Take the manifest ordinances of Nature for your
Polar star, and you shall surely reach it.
I know, my dear John, very well, that the general tenor of
this Letter is so much at variance with the preconceived opinions
of mankind, that those who are too lazy to think for themselves,
and those who think in chains, and those who are afraid to think,
and those who know not how to think, will not stop to ask themselves whether it can be true; but taking it for granted that it
must be false, because in opposition to the general opinion, will
pass it over as a piece of mere extravagance.  I write not for such
as these.  But to you-who are not, I hope, of their number —
I say, that a proposition being opposed to the general opinion
forms no argument whatever against it; because there is hardly
any man so ignorant as not to know that there is scarcely any one
well-ascertained truth which was not once in opposition to the
general opinion.  Leave the general opinion, then, to those who,
rather than examine closely into things, are content to take them
for granted:-but you, dare to think for yourself;-and, in doing
so, rest not satisfied with a shining surface, but look through and
beyond the surface.  I want yotu to look through the gloss, and
the glare, and the glitter, and the gingerbread gilding, wherewith
Civilization, like a painted courtezan, carefully conceals her deformities.  I want you not to swallow the gilded nut whole; but
to crackl it, in order that you may see the rottenness and bitterness
which lurk within. Depend upon it, the Refinement of which we
make so loud a boast, is no better than a cheat-a smiling impostor,
who. comes to us with a wreath of roses round her brow, and
Pleasure's wine-cup in her hand, while she conceals poison and
the dagger beneath her spangled robe.
I am, dear John, yours truly,
E. JOHNSON.




LETTER  V  I II.
Uinberslade Hall, near Birminghalm.
MY DEAR JOEIN,
In this letter I shall endeavor to give you a practical instance
of the manner in which the present habits of society act in the
production of disease-their 9modu.s ope;randi.
There is a condition of the body in which no actual disease —at
least, no denominated disease-can be said to exist; and yet in
which the whllole of the living actions are deteriorated-in which
no one individual organ can be pointed out as the seat of disorder,
but in which all the organs perform  their offices in an irregular
and unhealtllhy manner, and that without any evident assignable
cause.  No palt of the machine goes right.  In t;he morning, instead of waking refreshed with new vigor, and ready at once to
enter with alacrity on the business of the day, the patient is oppressed with a painful droiwsiness which he finds it almost impossible to shake off.  VWht1en he has, at length, dragged himself out
of bed, he moves about with a feeling of weariness, greater than
he felt when he went to  rest.  Tired, languid, (land lazy, he feels
as though he could almost give half he is worth for one hour nmore
of sleep.  His tongue and mouth are either parched, like the surface of dried toast; or foul, clammy, and exceedingly disagreeable
to himself.  He is unable to eat any breakfast; but is glad of a
cup of tea or coffee, to cleanse his mouth and throat: and this is
no sooner swallowed, than he begins to be annoyed with acid eructations, and perhaps sickness.  In an hour or two he feels better,
and gradually imploves till dinner-time.  At dinner his appetite is
capricious: sometinmes he can eat heartily; at others, scarcely at
all.  First, he finds one article of food disagree with him; then
another; until, at last, there is scarcely one article of diet which
he dares take.  After dinnei, lassitude and drowsiness again attack him; and he falls asleep, or sits gaping in his chair, till teatimne, unless imperative necessity impels him to action.  After tea,
he again feels better: —and, indeed, firom tea to eleven or twelve




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.                 i. 1
o'clock is the only time in which he can be said to be himself. His
nights are passed either in a deep and dreamless sleep, or, more
properly, stupor; or else he is restless and watchful; and has his
short snatches of sleep perturbed by frightful dreams, and hideous
nightmare. After slight exertion he feels disproportionate fatigue;
and after a slight meal, he feels as though he had eaten too much.
There is a constant sense of want and sinking, or faintness, about the
region of the stomach, which frequently induces him to take a glass
of wine or spirit; and the sudden, but delusive, and temporary
relief which he experiences from this is, I believe, one of the most
frequent incentives to habitual drlam-drininking-another of the fatal
effects often resulting from too implicit a reliance on experience.
He is almost ashamed to consult a medical man, for he scarcely
knows of what to complain: he accuses himself of laziness —he
drenches himself with physic: he is sometimes inclined to believe
that it is all fancy, and he determines to fight against it, and to eat
and drink like other people, and think no more about it.  It is
generally in the evening, when he feels a great deal better, that
he takes this doughty resolution: -but it will not do.  The morning comes, and with it the feverish tongue, the lethargic drowsiness, the weary limb, the languid spirit, the lassitude and listlessness, which makes his life literally burdensome.  He is, indeed, in
a miserable condition.  Food does not strengthen him —sleep does
not refresh him-mirth does not cheer him-society has no charms
for him-pleasure no allurement: for him everything seems to have
lost its interest.  He can think of nothing but himself: his own
wretched feelings are perpetually soliciting his attention, and forcibly abstracting his mind from every other contemplation.  Like
the owl, he mopes all day, and is only aroused into active existence at night;-and even then, should he dare to suffer himself to
be tempted to indulge in a glass of wine, or a slight supper with
his firiends, he is haunted the whole time, and his comfort poisoned,
by the dread of additional sufferings to be endured in the morning.
He becomes hipped, nervous, melancholy, desponding.  If his
friends are not perpetually sympathizing with him, he fancies they
have no regard for him.  If they be merry, he imagines that they
are exulting over him.  He feels every smile as a personal cruelty,
and the voice of mirth rings in his ear like the voice of the death-bell.
His friends appear to have forsaken him'-Hea ven itself seems to
* "Is it not strange," exclaimed the elegant but dyspeptic Rousseau,  that




18              LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
have forgotten him. Thus apparently abandoned and neglected,
can we wonder that the weight of all this wretchedness is more
than he can bear; and that he finally welcomes suicide as the only
possible relief from an intolerable load of imaginary oppression.
There are two other states of the mind produced by this unhappy condition of body, which are very singular. The one is a
sense of dread and terror, as though the patient had committed
some great crime: the other is an unaccountable and almost irresistible desire to do something horrible and wicked.  I have seen
numerous instances of these states of the mind, manifestly depending solely upon the condition of the body I have just attempted
to describe. Of the latter-an irresistible longing.to do something wicked-two cases occurred to me lately.  A tailor awoke
his wife at midnight, in great terror, and earnestly besought her to
get up and put out the night-light; otherwise he said, he felt that
he must set fire to the house. He had been lying awake, he said,
looking at it for the last two hours, and had restrained himself
with the utmost difficulty from using it to fire the tenement.
The feeling had gradually been growing stronger and stronger,
until he felt it had become irresistible.
In the other case, a girl, about seventeen years of age, was
drinking her tea before the fire.  There was a large looking-glass
over the mantel-shelf.  Suddenly she exclaimed, in a frightened
tone of voice, "Oh, mother! mother! for God's sake, take the
cup and saucer out of my hand!"  She did so, and asked what
was the matter.  The girl drew a deep breath, and said, she did
not know; but all at once she felt, that if the cup and saucer were
not taken from her, she must have thrown them at the lookingglass over the mantel-shelf. She dared not, for weeks afterward,
look at that glass, while she had anything in her hand. Both
patients were in a very ill state of health.
I have no doubt that many of the extraordinary cases of shoplifting, of which we hear, result from the same physical causes —
a desire to do something wicked, without object or motive of any
kind, depending solely on a morbid condition of the health, a
prurient curiosity to see whether they could do it undetected, a
morbid and itching wonder, and entirely unconnected with moral
depravity.  The opportunity to steal breeds the desire to steal;
and while speculating within themselves as to whether they could
all the world should be leagued together to oppress the son of a poor watchmaker."




LIFE, HEALTH, AN'D DISEASE.               119
do it without discovery-while saying to themselves: "Now I
could do it-now-and now"-a-   sudden and hurried impulse
prompts the act, and thus the thought becomes father to the deed.
These are some of the characteristics of that bane of artificial
life, commonly called "indigestion."  Another group of symptoms indicative of congestion-congestion of the capillary carteries
of the great nervous centres —a bloocl-shotten condition of the
nerves and nervous centres-consists of extreme excitability, a
disposition to give the greatest importance to the merest trifles,
indecision of character, irritability of temper, inability to read or
write, for any considerable time together, or to concentrate the
mind and fix the attention, sense of weight and oppression on the
top of the head, constriction across the brow, constipation, flushing of the face, especially after eating, terror on being left alone,
indisposition to go into society, or to mix with strangers, distension
of the stomach and bowels, sickness and headache, foul tastes in
the mouth, flatulence, failure, in some shape or other, of the eyesight, sense of great heat on the top of the head, agitation and
palpitation of the heart, waking out of sleep with a sense of
terror, inability to bear rapid motion on horseback, or great exertion of any kind —these form another group of symptoms which
too often harass both the mind and body of the poor dyspeptic.
The whole of these symptoms may not always be present at one
time, nor do they always exist with the same degree of intensity;
but they are, more or fewer of them, and in a greater or less degree, its unfailing characteristics: and there are few persons,
excepting those who earn their livelihood by bodily labor, who do
not occasionally fall into this condition to a greater or less extent;
-and not a few have their whole lives embittered by it.
Now this, my dear John, is that condition of body, to avoid or
to remedy which is the object of all dietetic rules; for it is that
from which almost all other diseases spring.  If from having neglected this previous state of things you become affected with any
distinct disease, as fever, cough, pain, &c., the best and only advice I have to give you is this  " Go at once and put yourself
under the 6eare of that medical man —(not who wears the smartest
coat, drives the smartest equipage, and trims his whiskers after
the smartest fashion; nor who smiles with the sweetest grace,
speaks in the kindest tone, has the whitest hand, and the softest
voice)-but whose general conversation bespeaks him a man of
talent-a scholar-and, not a coxcomb, but a gentleman.  In




120               LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
choosing a medical man, and in endeavoring to satisfy yourself as
to his talent, you should not question him  on matters connected
with his ovwn profession; because you are no judge therein —you
have no means of knowiag whether he answers you wisely or foolishly; but talk to him on matters of general learning and philosophy-on subjects with which you are yourself acquainted: you.
will thus easily fathom the depth of his understanding: and you
may be quite sure, if he show that he possesses a mind capable
of reasoning on the principles of science in general, that he cannot
be ig'norant of that particular science which he has made his especial study.  For the practice of medicine is not an art, but a science: it cannot be learned by rule or by rote, as bricklayers learn
to lay bricks, or a tallow-chandler to make candles.  In the treatment of almost every disease, there is much to which  no rule will
apply; and the correct or incorrect management of which mnust
entirely depend upon the philosophical powers and general reasoning capabilities of the mind of the practitioner who has the
treatment of the case under his care.
Now let us inquire, as to what is the actual state of parts —the
actual condition of the solids and fluids of the body-in these distressing circumstances of the health.  I believe it to consist in
sanguineous congestion in the ultimate tissue of all the organs
concerned in the nutrition of the body —-and, as a necessary consequence, in a deficiency and depravity of all the necessary secretions.
Everything tends to prove that man was destined to lead a life
of bodily action.  His formlation —his physical structure generally,
and that of his joints particularly —his great capacity of speed and
laborious exertion —the divine injunction that lihe " shall live by the
sweat" (not, mark you! of his brain,) but " of his brow"-the circumstances under which he first appears upon the earth-the bodily imbecility and enfeebled health invariably consequent upon a
sedentary life —all go to prove that he was destined to lead a life
of physical activity-of hardihood and exertion —and not of ease
and luxuiy, nor excessive mental labor, which is incompatible with
much and continued physical exertion.  The circulation of the
blood, by which all the actions concerned in nutrition are effected,
is carried on with an increased rapidity under bodily exertion.  If,
therefore, a state of physical activity be natural and proper to man,
so must that rapid condition of the blood's circulation be natural
and proper also; because the one is a natural consequence of the,




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.               121
other, and the former cannot possibly exist without the latter being produced.  The natural pulse of man, therefore, is the rapid
Vulse of bocdily exertion.  From this it follows, that the degree of
velocity and vigor with which the blood flows through the body,
during inaction, is preternaturally diminished: one of the essential
means destined to propel it has been withdrawn; and a too languid
circulation is a necessary result.  But, as during that increased
rapidity of circulation consequent on exertion, there is also an increased secretion and excretion of perspiration and pulmonary halitus; so, when the circulation is languid, these are deficient: and
as these are separated from  the blood, so, when they fail to be
separated, the greater must be the volume of blood remaining.
Thus one of the principal natural means for reducing the blood's
volume being removed, there must be accumulation somewhere;
and as the larger arteries are not permanently dilatable while the
veins and capillary arteries are so, this accumulation or congestion
must take place in the veins and capillary or hairlike arteries.
The blood is propelled through the ultimate tissue chiefly by the
contractile power of the heart acting upon the blood, as it were,
from behind.  When this power, therefore, is but feebly exerted,
it is manifest that the blood will not be driven through the ultimate
tissue with the requisite degree of velocity.  Under these circumstances, the blood creeps sluggishly, and, as it were, lazily along
the minute vessels composing the elementary tissue: they become
gorged; and this engorgement operates as a still further impediment to the free flow of the blood.
But there is another most important evil resulting from  this
semi-stagnation of blood in the ultimate tissue. Arterial blood,
when not moving with the due degree of velocity, becomes deteriorated in its properties: —for if you enclose a living artery between
two ligatures, the blood so insulated assumes the black color and
other properties of venous blood.
The blood, therefore, when not circulated with sufficient energy
through the ultimate tissue, becomes deteriorated in quality-and
this, too, precisely where it is of the utmost importance that it
should be of the very highest degree of purity:-for, as you now
know, it is in the ultimate tissue of our organs that all those operations are effected on the blood on which the nutrition of the body
depends.  The blood, when the circulation is driven on with a due
degree of healthy vigor, maintains its vermilion hue and arterial
character, not only as far as the extremities of the hairlike arteries,




122,IFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
but even for some way along the beginnings of the veins. But
when the propelling power from behind-that is, the power of the
heart-is not sufficiently energetic, the circulation through the elementary tissue is so slow, that the blood loses its vermilion hue
and arterial characteristics before it has reached the extremities of
the hairlike arteries; and thus that part of the tissue which ought
to be filled with arterial blood is gorged only with venous blood,
from which the proper secretion necessary to the nutrition of the
body cannot be separated, either in due abundance, or of a healthy
quality.  All that blood which, under exertion, is driven to the
surface of the body, to the skin, to the muscles, and along the superficial veins, is, during inaction, sleeping and creeping, in muddy
and sluggish currents, along the tortuous and delicate vessels composing the ultimate tissue of the internal organs-impeding their
faction, distending their coats, and disordering their sensibility.
The whole circulating system may be divided into three portions: the heart and large arteries, whose office is merely to convey the blood to the elementary tissue;-the elementary tissue
itself; —and the large veins, whose office is merely to convey the
blood back to the heart. Now, the principal force by which the
blood is propelled from the heart through the whole of these three
portions of the system, back to the heart again, is the contractile
power of the heart itself.  When, therefore, this power of the
heart is feebly exerted, as during inaction, although it is sufficiently
strong to carry the blood to the ultimate tissue, it is nevertheless
not strong enough to carry it through it: at least, not to carry it
through with the same rapidity with which it is brought to it.'The result is evident: the ultimate tissue being thus filled faster
than it is emptied, there must accrue accumulation; that is, congestion in the delicate and most important vessels which compose
ithis tissue; and also in the larger veins, whose office it is to convev the blood from this tissue to the heart.  For if the propelling
power of the heart be but feebly exerted within the tissue itself,
it must be still more feebly exerted on vessels which are situated
beyond it, and, consequently, farther removed from the propelling
force.,
One of the chief conditions of the body, therefore, in that general ill state of health usually denominated " indigestion," " bilious
disorder," " dyspepsia," is congestion of blood in the ultimate tissue of our organs —the brain, the lungs, the spinal marrow, the
stomach, the ganglionic system, the liver, bowels, &c.-all the




LTFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.             -123
organs concerned in the nutrition of the body, but especially of the
arterial and venous capillaries of the nerves and nervous centres.
There is congestion of the brain: the veins of this organ do not
carry away the black deteriorated blood with sufficient expedition;
they (the veins) become distended; and thus, occupying more
room than they ought to do, exert a very considerable degree of
pressure upon the surrounding parts-the origin of nerves, &c.
But, besides the great evil resulting from this general pressure on,
and this great irritation set up within, the brain and nerves (like
the irritation produced by a blood-shotten eye), there is another
evil produced, by the accumulation of venous blood in the brain,
equally important.  For it is a well-ascertained fact, that this
black venous blood has a direct influence in diminishing contractility
and sensibility-it is even capable of utterly destroying them; it
is at open war with life it exercises a destructive and paralyzing
influence on the living powers, and, wherever it accumulates,
poisons the life of the part. Comparing the human machine to a
watch, and contractility and sensibility to the elasticity of the mainspring, upon which the motions of the watch depend, then, I say,
venous blood has a positive and direct influence in weakening this
elasticity; and the several actions constituting life are injured by
congestion of venous blood, as the movements of a watch would
be injured by any cause which weakened the elasticity of its mainspring. The watch would lose time —its movements would be too
feeble-it would go too slow.  So with the human machine: its
actions are enfeebled-its nutrition is languidly and imperfectly
performed-it goes too slow.  The indication of time is the final
cause of the movement of the watch; and the nutrition of the
body is the final cause of the nutritive actions.  Both these final
causes depend upon the healthy existence of the first cause-the
elasticity of the main-spring in the watch, and contractility and
sensibility in the body.  It is manifest, therefore, that whatever
weakens the energy of the first cause must have a direct tendency
to interfere with, and prevent the fulfilment of, the final cause:
that is, in the human machine, the nutrition of the body.  It is
this destructive influence of venous blood on the life of our organs
which has caused me purposely to speak of it with so much bitterness, whenever I have had occasion to mention it.  I did so in
order that your mind might be thoroughly impressed with a sense
of the great and necessary distinction to be drlawn between venous
and arterial blood.  Congestion in the venous capillaries of the




124               LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
nervous system produces torpor, lassitude, and oppression of
spirits.  Congestion in the arterial capillaries produces preternatural excitability, restlessness, irritability of temper, headache, heat
on the top of the head, and all those symptoms classed under the
head of irritation, whether of mind or body.
It is difficult to make this impression on the mind of a person
not conversant with physiology.  Both fluids go by the general
name of blood; and this increases the difficulty, weakens the distinction, and produces confusion in the mind. It seems difficult
to be understood how blood can, at once, be the support of life,
and yet destructive to it.  Blood is blood:-and people generally
are not aware that there are two sorts of blood in the body.
Blood is blood:-true; but arterial blood is not venous blood:
and there is not more difference between champagne and ditchwater, than between these two kinds of blood.
One of the most common symptoms of the disordered condition
of the body, now under consideration, is the appearance of small,
black, irregular-shaped specks, resembling little pieces of broken
cobweb, floating before the eyes.  This arises from congestion of
venous blood in and about the nerve of vision —the optic nerveand retina.  This nerve is compressed by the gorged veins entering into its own structure, and also of the veins immediately surrounding it.  The energies of the nerve are partially paralyzed
by the debilitating and devitalizing influence of the nervous blood
which has accumulated within and around it.  This nerve, too,
like every other part of the body, is in -a state of perpetual disorganization and repalation.   The disorganization  goes on as
usual; but the reparation (that is, its nutrition) does not go on as
usual: its nutrition is imperfectly performed.   The capillary
arteries entering into the structure of its elementary tissue are
filled with a blood, from which the nutritious particles, necessary
to repair the waste which it perpetually undergoes, cannot be
separated in sufficient abundance: its structure, therefore, becomes
flaccid, and its energies consequently enfeebled.  If this state of
the nerve go on increasing-if these little black spots go on multiplying'and increasing in size, until they form  but one black
speck-that is, complete darkness-you then have at once the disease called azaurosis, " blindness," resulting from palsy of the
optic nerve and retina.
Imperfect hearing, and ringing in the ears, are also very common symptoms of indigestion.  These arise from  a condition of
----- -J —~ —-~ ~ —— ~n




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.                 125
the nerves of hearing —the auditory nerves —similar to that which
I have just described as incidental to the nerve of vision.  All
the nerves of the body, with the questionable exception of one,
arise from the brain and spinal marrow; and all are liable to be
thus injuriously affected by venous congestion in the elementary
tissue of these two organs.  It is to this condition of the nervous
system that are to be attributed all those oppressive feelings of
lassitude, ennui, mental imbecility, &c., so prominently characteristic of the hypochondriacal dyspeptic.
Then we have, too, congestion in the lungs, interfering with
those important changes which should be effected on the blood in
those viscera.
Then we have congestion in the stomach.  In this viscus the
food is destined to undergo the first important change towards
final assimilation; that is, nutrition.  This change is effected by
admixture with the gastric juice.  The gastric juice is secreted,
that is, separated ftrom the blood —that is, formed or manufactured,
as it were, by the alteries entering into the composition of the
elementary structure of that organ.   But, in order that this
juice may be secreted in sufficient quantity, it is necessary that
the elementary tissue of its blood-vessels should be plentifully
supplied with pure arterial blood: whereas, in congestion, this
tissue, as I have before shown, is gorged with venous blood. The
necessary quantity of gastric juice, therefore, cannot be formed;
and that portion which is secreted is not of a healthy sort.  The
direct result of all this is, that the very first necessary change
which should be wrought upon the food, in order that it may
nourish our bodies, is very imperfectly effected —the chyme is of
unIsound quality.  The next result is this: —the chyme, by admixture with certain other juices which it meets with in the bowels,
is destined to become chyle. But the chyme, being of vicious
qualityP, the chyle which is formed from  it must be also vicious;
at all events, it must be deficient in quantity.  Certainly, it is impossible to suppose that as much perfect chyle can be elaborated
out of bad chyme as out of good: you might as well hope to
mnake as much.. good butter out of bad clream, or out of cream
and water, as out of pure cream.  The chyle, therefore, is deficient in quantity: but this chyle is destined to become blood.
The chyle, therefore, being' deficient, the blood resulting from  it
must also be deficient.  But the blood is, in fact, as I have shown
you before, the real food on which the body feeds, by which it is




126               LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
nourished, and its strength supported; and this food being scantily
supplied, the strength, of course, is but ill supported.
I have said that the chyme is converted into chyle by admixture.
with certain juices which it meets with in the bowels. But the
same causes which we have seen producing a deficiency of gastric
juice, produce also a deficiency in those juices, by comnmixture
with which the chyme is converted into chyle.  Here, then, is another cause which tends to diminish the quantity of chyle; and,
consequently, blood —the nourishment which we ought to derive
from our food.
But there is yet another mischievous result accruing from  a
congested condition of the stomach and bowels, besides that of
deficient and unhealthy gastric juice.  In that condition of the
health which I am endeavoring to describe, the stomach and bowels actually secrete air.  It is a thoroughly-established fact, that
air, wind, fiatus, is actually formed from  the blood, and poured
into the stomach and bowels bv those arteries which ought to
form only gastric juice.  Now this wind( not only does no good in
the stomach and bowels, but it does a vast deal of harmn: for, besides the evil effects which it produces by its pernicious qualities,
it violently distends these organs, stretching, and separating, and
thus greatly weakening and destroying, the firmness and compactness of their ultimate tissue.
To give you a still further and clearer idea of the manner in
which the secretions of the body may be altered in their quality,
as well as diminished in quantity, I have only to direct your attention to a foul tongue.  Look at the tongue of a sick man: instead
of being bathed in the natural, pellucid, and fluid secretion of the
mouth (saliva), it is covered with a thick, and filthy, and pasty
crust, which is actually solid. Is it possible to conceive that the
offices intended to be fulfilled by the saliva can be properly effected, or effected at all, by the nasty, pasty filth which eou behold in his mouth, instead of saliva?  This filth is secreted from
the blood; and poured into the mouth by those arteries which
ought to secrete only that thin, clear, pellucid fluid called saliva.
Now this is an example of vitiated secretion which you can actually see, and which cannot, therefore, be doubted or questioned.
Can you have any difficulty in believing that the other secretions
of the body, which are all formed from tile blood, may, in like
manner, be equally altered and vitiated? Can you, moreover,
have any difficulty in believing that the body must, of necessity,




iriJS, HLEALTIH, AND DISSEX               127
be badly nourished in this state of the secretions, seeing that it is
by the agency of these very secretions that our food is converted
into blood, which blood is the sole source from which our bodies
derive nutrition and support?
I liave now described to you what I believe to be the actual
condition of the body in that sickly state of the health usually
denominated "indigestion;" a condition from  which few persons
in the upper and middling ranks of life are wholly and perfectly
free.  And you will observe, that all the mischief arises primarily
from depressed contractility and excessive sensibility, which are
themselves the immediate offspring of excessive refinement.
E. JOIINSON,




LETTER IX.
Umblerslade Hall, near Birmingharnm.
MY DEAR JOHN,
In my last Letter, I stated to you, that I believe sanguineous
congestion, in the ultimate tissue of our organs, especially of the
brain and other parts of the nervous system, constitutes that morbid
and multiform disease usually denominated "' indigestion," or "dyspepsia."
The immediate cause of this congestion I believe to be a sleepy,
feeble, and inefficient circulation, occasioned by the peculiar habits
of artificial society, the direct effect of which is to impair the contractile vigor of our organs.
Indeed, when one considers the amazino exertions which the
human body is manifestly constructed for the purpose of undergoing-when one sees, every day, the extraordinary powers and
wonderful activity which it is capable of exerting-and then, when
one reflects upon the comparative physical inaction in which the
lives of those are passed who are the victims of this disease-I
mean the upper and middle orders, especially of females, and such
of the lower whose occupations are sedentary-when all this is
considered, I say, one is astonished, not that the health of the
machine should suffer, but that it should continue to exist at all,
It seems really wonderful that organs of such elaborate and delicate workmanship should be able to perform their functions at all,
under circumstances so diametrically opposite as those of action
and inaction. Which of these two conditions, however, is the better
suited to the body, daily and hourly experience shows; since robust
health, and great physical strength, are almost only to be met
with in the ranks of those who earn their livelihood by bodily exertion; and since that. sickly habit of body, concerning which I
am  speaking, is almost solely incident to those whose lives are
physically inactive.
Who ever heard of a bilious post-boy, or dyspeptic ploughman?
It is not amongst carpenters, and bricklayelrs, and sawyers, and




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.               129
agricultural laborers, that you will meet with the dyspeptic; but
in the halls and saloons of the great, the dusky counting-houses
and gas-illumined shops of the trader, and in the ghost-like and
dwarfish ranks of the pale and spectral silk-weaver.  Indeed, of
the many hundreds of those who have come under my observation
during thirteen years, I never remember to have seen a single silkweaver who was not more or less dyspeptic.
Another important cause of languid and inefficient circulation is,
the manner in which we surround ourselves with what are called
comforts.  We clothe ourselves in flannel, and envelop ourselves
in great coats abroad; and when at home, we close the doors, let
down the window-curtains, draw a chair to the fire, bury our feet
in the wool of the hearth-rug, and make our servants wear slippers
that they may not disturb us.
Now, these same comforts exert an opiate influence on the
system —an influence directly lulling and somniferous.  I surely
shall not be called upon to prove this.  Who has not himself experienced that almost irresistible disposition to sleep, which an easy
chair, a warm room, a good fire, and silence, induce? And who
will not sleep more soundly in a darkened room, on a down-bed,
surrounded by curtain drapery, and well covered with blankets,
than on a straw mattress, scantily covered, uncurtained, in a garret?
Those, therefore, who surround themselves with these seductive
"comforts," place themselves precisely in the situation of opiumeaters.  They submit their bodies to the same influence, and suffer
the same evils, although the cause be different.  " Comforts" are
opiates-anodynes —narcotics; as certainly so as opium  itself,
although not in so powerful a degree. They lower the tone of
the nervous system, and lessen the contractile energy with which
the circulation is carried on.  The lover of "comforts," therefore,
must neither censure nor ridicule the eater of opium: he is himself guilty of the same fault, and will certainly reap the same harvest.  I say, their fault is the same: they both are producing the
same effect, only by different means: they are both travelling to
the same point, only by different roads.
Like hemlock, then —like the deadly nightshade-like opium,
and other poisonous narcotics —" comforts," as we are pleased to
term them, but whose proper name is " luxury," have the direct
effect of lowering the tone and lessening the activity of the living
actions; and of inducing that condition of the body called lassitude, excessive sensibility, &c.
6*




130              tIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
Light, and wet, and wind, and cold, and noise, &c., &c., are what
are enumerated among the discomforts of life.  But these, and
the like of these, are the natural whips and spurs which keep the
living actions, as it were, awake; they form  a part of man's
natural condition: they form  a part of the means which nature
has contrived, to keep up the activity of the machine —to prevent
its going to sleep, like a lazy horse, when he no longer hears the
whip, or feels the spur.  These discomforts, as they are called,
are to be considered as so many incentives to exertion; for by exertion they not only (at least many of them) cease to be discomforts, but become real pleasures. What, for instance, can be more
delicious than the bright and frosty freshness of the air to the
active skater? What more luxurious than water to the athletic
swimmer?
These discomforts are component parts of the system of this
world: and man was made, and expressly fitted, to inhabit this
world.  In his construction, nature intended that his system
should be adapted to the system of the world, and not that the
system of the world should be altered in order to be adapted to
his own sensual and animal glatification —his own love of luxury.
Yet this is what we are perpetually laboring to do, in surrounding
ourselves with these same comforts: for every comfort is, in fact,
no more than the absence of some supposed discomfort.  But, as
I have shown, these discomforts form  a component part of the
general system of the world: and, therefore, to get rid of them,
is to alter that system from its original order.  But as the system
of man was adapted to the system of the world at the creation,
it follows, that to alter the system, or rather circumstances, of the
world posteriorly to the creation, is, in fact, to destroy the adaptation then made and effected by the Author of our existence —to
destroy the relation then instituted( between ourselves and the
things and circumstances wherewith we are surrounded.  But
thus it is: —instead of being satisfied with Nature's adaptation of
our system to the world, we seek to alter the world, and the order
and circumstances of things, in order to adapt them  to our system.  Thus the sweet breath of heaven is carefully excluded by
windows, and shutters, and curtains: and the cold most assiduously dispelled by fire and flannel. The rain must not wet us;
the wind must not blow upon us; cold must not approach us.
Thus we surround ourselves with new circumstances, in the place




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.              131
of those to live among which we were expressly constructed and
contrived.
Nature always husbands her means, and ever produces the
greatest possible number of effects from the fewest possible causes.
Accordingly, seeing that the system of man was destined to inhabit the world, she seized upon certain parts Of the system of
that world, and made them subservient to the existence of her
new creation.  Thus, air is absolutely necessary to the existence
of man. She might have constructed him so as to live without
air; but then some other contrivance must have been adopted;
and to have instituted a contrivance which did not exist, in order
to effect a purpose that might be as well effected by a contrivance
already existing (viz. air), would have been to waste her means,
and unnecessarily exhaust her energies, which she never does.
And as air, which is one of the component parts of the system of
the world, is absolutely necessary to the existence of man, so the
other so-called 1" discomforts" of life, such as cold, wet, hard falre,
hard lodging, which are also component parts of the system of
the world, are absolutely necessary to the perfection of his healthy
existence.
As in the case of air, so in the case of other discomforts of lite,
Nature, it is true, could have fulfilled her task without them: she
might have contrived other means to preserve the health of thile
human machine: but these were ready-made to her hand; and
she made use of them at once, as she always does, rather than
waste her energies by the invention of new ones.
Thus are all the systems of things, animate and intnimate, dovetailed into each other.  One supports another, and is itself by
others supported.  This is the invariable conduct of Nature.  If
she had to prevent two houses from falling, she would not get a
prop for this and a prop for that;-no; she would make one house
prop up the other.
It is this propping and dovetailing of one system withl another
which constitutes what I meaa by the relation of one system to
another; as, for instance, our own system  to that of the world;
and which makes it so impossible to destroy, or in any way interfere with, that relation or adaptation, without mischief to the individual system; (which is thus, as it were, withdrawn from the
support of the rest) without injury to the beauty and harmony of
the whole.
Now, the things which we are accustomed to consider:" dis



132               LIFE,  IIEALT-H, AND DISEASE.
comforts" arejthe very contrivances by means of which our system
is interwoven, as it were, with and into the system  of the world
which we inhabit, and are absolutely necessary to secure this corn
nection.  I will explain this.
You will, I hope, remember, that there are four conditions absolutely necessary to the existence of all animals; viz., organism,
contractility, sensibility, and stimuli.  The principal of these stimuli is the blood: but this is by no means the only one.  There are
many others; such as light, heat, electricity, and the excitement
produced through the medium of our organs of hearing and seeing,
&c.: but, besides these, there are also others.  And what are these
others, my dear John?  Why, precisely the very circumstances of
our natural existence which are now under discussion:-I mean, tle
very self-same "'discomforts" aforesaid.  They form a part of the
necessary and natural stimuli.  As "G comfort" (that is, the absence
of all " discomfort") has the effect of lulling the system to lassitude and sloth; so "'discomfort," which is the opposite of "5 comfort," produces an opposite effect; viz., that of rousing the system
to energy and action.  He who sleeps on the hill-side, unsheltered,
is not likely to sleep too long.
It was ordained that the human heart should continue to pulsate
for a certain number of years.  In order to accomplish this, it was
necessary to afford to it a perpetual supply of stimulus. to a given
amount. If the blood alone were capable of supplying this necessary given amount, then, when the being to whom this heart belonged came to be placed in the world which he was destined to
inhabit, and within the operation of these other stimuli, he would
immediately suffer by excessive stimulation, being sufficiently stimulated by the blood before he became submitted to the action of
these additional stimuli.  But foreseeing this evil, Nature has so
ordered it, that the stimulating properties of the blood are alone
insufficient; and this insufficiency of stimulation is made up to the
necessary amount by the adventitious stimuli afforded by the nature of the circumstances with which he is surrounded, and which
he is pleased to denominate "discomforts."  To remove these circnmstances, therefore, is to remove a certain number of the stimuli
which are absolutely necessary to the healthy activity of the living actions.
You will now clearly understand what I meant, when I said that
our so-called "discomforts" are the necessary whips and spurs
which keep the living energies awake.'You will also now see how




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.               13[3
it is, that what we call "'comforts" operate upon us like opiates;
-since, to acquire a " comfort" is only to remove a "6 discomfort;"
and to remove what keeps us awake, is the same thing as to administer what will send us to sleep.
The indulgences, therefore, wherewith even young and healthy
men indulge themselves-the " comforts," as they call them, of
flannel, warm clothing, closed doors, carpeted rooms, soft beds,
hot food, are infinitely worse than absurd: because the opposites
of all these luxuries, so far fiom being injurious to health, are absolutely necessary to it.  We actually kill ourselves with "comforts."  It is absolutely disgusting to see the excessive care and
caution with which great fellows, with rough beards on their chins,
and with fists large and strong enough to fell an ox, and legs long
enough to bestride the Thames-I say, it is neither more nor less
than disgusting to see these lackadaisical women in the likeness of
men, or, rather, these monsters, which are neither men nor women
-I say, it is literally disgusting, and degrading too —degrading to
our nature, to our being-degrading to the physical energies of
Nature's master-work-to see the care and pains-taking with which
these abortive monstrosities, the progeny of a morbid and excessive refinement, protect their delicate and precious persons from a
few drops of rain, or a little mist, or a little unusual inclemency of
the weather, of whatever kind.
I got into a coach, a mile from London, the other day, because
there was no room outside.  The weather was dry, but cold and
sharp.  In the corner of the coach there sat a mighty combination
of bone and muscle, thewv and sinew, all assisting in the formation
of wlhat should have been a man.  He was, at least, siM feet high,
and "' bearded like the pard;" and seemed as well able to carry
the coach as the coach was to carry him.  As soon as I entered
the vehicle, I let down the window; but before I had quite succeeded in doing so, there issued, from amidst the cloaks, and coats,
and shawls, and wrappings, and mufflings, in which this great
thing had enveloped itself, a voice of supplication and woe: " For
God's sake, do not let the window down! I am so susceptible —
so extremely susceptible!"
Look at the delicate and fragile plant in your garden! see
how it is buffeted by the wind, and alternately scorched by the
sun, and deluged by the rain, and frozen by the frost, and spattered by the mud, and brushed and bruised by the passenger's
foot! Yet how greenly and healthily it grows! Take it into




134               LIFE, HIEALTH, AND DISEASE.
your parlor, and warm it by the fire, and curtain it with flannel,
and defend it from the cold, and the wind, and the rain, and the
rude contact of the traveller's foot, and the other "discomforts"
of its out-of-door existence. —What think you? will it continue to
flourish as greenly and healthily as before?  "Oh! but," say you,
"there is a difference between a man and a cabbage!"  A difference! Why I know there are many differences! A  man does
not bear leaves, and look green; a cabbage has neither arms nor
legs; and though it has as good a heart as many who rejoice in
the name and nature of man, still that heart contains no blood.
But what of all this?  To constitute an analogy, it is not necessary that there should be agreement in every particular.  At this
rate there would be no analogy between man and woman, nor
even between man and man; for there are, probably, no two men
in existence exactly alike.  But, in all that concerns our present
purpose, in all essentialities, thie man and the plant are perfectly
analogous: they are both living beings, destined to exist under
certain circumstances-living systems, destined to occupy a certain position within the circumference of that circle of existence
whllich constitutes the universal whole.  We have seen, and we
know, that we cannot remove the one (that is, the plant) from its
prescribed position, without great injury to its health; why, then,
do we presume that we may, nevertheless, remove the other with
impunity?  Those who are not conversant with animal and vegetable physiology will be astonished, upon examination of the subject, to find how little indeed is the real and essential difference
betwveen plants and animals.  In all, life is the same; more or less
complex, but still the same; consisting, in all, of a number of
effects, resulting from, and depending upon, the four grand conditions of matter before mentioned; viz., orgqaism, contractiity,
sensibililty, and stimu ii.
To show that the " discomforts" of life, or hardships, as they
are called, have no influence in producing disease, but, on the contrary, serve only to harden the system  against it, Dr. J. Johnson
has most aptly quoted some remarkable historical illustrations.
" One of the earliest and most memorable illustrations," says he,
"' will be found in the celebrated retreat of the tern thousand Greeks,
under Xenophon and Cheirisophus, after the fall of Cyrus on the
plains of Cunaxa.  This band of auxiliaries were left without commanders, money, or provisions, to traverse a space of twelve hundred leagues, under constant alarms from the attacks of barbarous




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.              135
and successive swarms of enemies. They had to cross rapid rivers,
penetrate gloomy forests, drag their weary way over vast and
burning deserts, scale the summits of rugged mountains, and
wade through deep snows and pestilent morasses, in continual
danger of death-or capture, which was far worse than death.
This retreat is nearly unparalleled in the annals of war, for difficulties and perils. During two hundred and fifteen days of almost
uninterrupted and toilsome march, often in the face of the enemy,
often between two enemies, and engaged in front and rear at the
same moment, the army lost an uncertain, but not a great number
of men: partly by the darts and arrows of the barbarians; partly
by desertion; partly by drowning in rivers, or sinking in morasses;
partly by perishing in the snows of the Armenian mountains;-but
not one by sicckness " He mentions also, the case of Byron and
his crew.  "Although nine-tenths of the original crew appeared
to have perished by drowning or starvation, Byron makes no mention of sickness, during any period of the long and unparalleled
series of sufferings to which that ill-fated ship's company was
doomed."  The retreat of Sir John Moore through the mountains
of Spain —the sufferings of the crew of the " Bounty," under Captain Bligh-and the retreat of the French from MIoscow-are also
quoted, in proof of the same principle.
Another prevalent cause of indigestion is the depressing influence of anxiety.  In the present day, with men engaged in business, the mind is scarcely ever free from care: for business is not
now, as formerly, a simple matter of buying and selling, and living by the profits: it is now, rather, a matter of speculative gaming. Every trader, almost, is a speculator; and his mind is, consequently, kept perpetually vibrating between hope'and fear; for
he knows and feels that the turning of a straw may maie him, or
mar him, forever. Never was the maxim, "Habe rem," &c., more
religiously observed than in the present day.  No man is satisfied
to live and rear his family to tread in his own steps.  Every man
is striving to be wealthy.  Men seem to have forgotten that the
end of existence is happiness.  They appear to harve adopted the
belief, that they were created for no other earthly purpose than
the advancement of their condition in the ranks of society.  They
seem content to pass through life without enjoyment; to exist in
any way, no matter how miserably and morbidly, so long as they
can achieve this-apparently, to thlem, the sole object of their




] 36              LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
existence: thus utterly losing sight of the end, in the eagerness
of their pursuit after the means.
Another cause of that degenerate state of health of which I
have been speaking, is eating too much.  All other animals eat
because they are hungry, and drink because they are thirsty: man
eats because it is dinner-time; and, having eaten enough, uses
stimulating drinks, sweet puddings and piquant pastries, variety
of food, in order to enable him to eat more; and then, feeling
himself uncomfortably distended, drinks again, with a view to relieve the sense of oppression under which he finds himself laboring.  Man, I believe, is the only animal who eats in order to induce himself to drink; and drinks in order t::: induce himself to
eat.  No other animal than himself requir;es any relish, saving only
that of hunger and thirst.
I believe I have now enumerated what I consider as the principal causes of that disordered condition of the' health, called " indigestion:" and you will observe, that they all arise from the artificial condition of society in which we live.  In my next Letter I
shall point out what I believe to be the only means:of avoiding
and remedying it.
I lnow it will be said in objection to what I have advanced
against our luxurious modes and habits of life, that the Almighty
has bestowed upon us a superior intellect for the purpose of:enabling us to surround ourselves with these comforts (which are: denied to the inferior animals), and in order that we might indulge
in all iznnocenzt gratifications.  Yes —but these habits are NOT innocent. How can they be innocent if (as they unquestionably and
avowedly do) they injure our health, shorten our lives, and entail
a sickly constitution on our offspring?
I am, dear John,
Yours ever,
E. JOHNSON.




LETTER X.
Uiberslade Hail, necar Birminyhgam.
MY DEAR JOHN,
As I have placed excessive eating among the cause of depreciated health, so must I now mention temperance in food as one of
the prime remedies for it, and preventives against it. Learn,
therefore, now, " Quac virtu.s et qtctnta sit vivere parvo."-What
and how great is the advantage of living upon little.
When we consider that the manner in which life is supported is
by a perpetual wasting of the body, and a perpetual reproduction
of it out of the blood-and when we remember that the simple
and sole object in eating is to make up to the blood the deficiency
thus occasioned in it-it must be manifest to us, that the exact
amount of food required daily is, precisely just so much as shall
be sufficient to restore to the blood just as much as the blood has
lost in supplying the waste which the body has undergone during
twenty-four hours of life.
To make this more simple and clear, let us suppose, for argument's sake, that the waste of the body in twenty-four hours is
just twenty-four ounces.  Now, when these lost twenty-four
ounces of the body have been restored to it out of the blood, then
the blood will have lost twenty-four ounces: and the object of
eating being wholly and exclusively to supply this deficiency thus
produced in the blood, it is perfectly evident that the quantity of
food required in twenty-four hours is precisely so much as shall
be capable of conversion into twenty-four ounces of blood; that
being the exact supposed quantity which the blood had lost in
supplying the waste of the body in twenty-four hours.
I do not mean to say that twenty-four ounces do indeed form
the precise quantity of daily waste; but it; seemed necessary to
fix on some definite and specified quantity, in order to illustrate
more plainly the principle which ought to guide us in eating.
There is, in fact, no fixed quantity of waste: for the quantity must
always be in proportion to the extent of bodily exertion: and, for




138              LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
the same reason, the quantity of food daily necessary can neither
be fixed, definite, nor specified.
Now, if a man eat more food than is necessary to supply the
loss which the blood has suffered, one of these two things must. happen:-it must either be assimilated, or not assimilated  or, to
use the common erroneous language, digested, or not digested.
If it be assimilated-that is, converted into blood-then it is
clear that there will be more blood in the vessels than there ouglht
to be. Let me illustrate again. Suppose the case of a healthy
man-so healthy that he cannot be healthier.  Let us suppose the
whole quantity of blood in his body to be thirty pounds.  Let us
further suppose, that in twenty-four hours, one pound of his
blood is lost in supplying the waste of the body.  Now, if this
man eat, in one day, so much food as will produce a pound and
balf of blood, what follows? Why, that his blood has lost a
pound of its volume, and gained a pound and half in its stead: or, in
other words, that the whole quantity of blood has been augmented
by just half a pound;-so that his system now contains just half a
pound too much.  If this man were to go on adding half a pound
to his stock of blood-and if it were possible for him to escape apoplexy or some other deadly disease-and if Nature, foreseeing that
her children would turn out to be go'urmandizers, had not, in some
measure, guarded against the evil-it is plain that his blood-vessels
must soon actually burst under the distension. But nature has,
though only in part, made a provision against this evil: for when,
after having supplied the waste of the body, there is still remaining
an undue quantity of blood in the vessels, the vessels relieve themselves, and reduce the quantity of blood, by the secretion of fat;
thus restoring the blood's volume to a due standard.
But the fat, quasi feat, is of no' use whatever to the body: it
does not add to its strength: on the contrary, it is an incumbrance
to its machinery, and, in more ways than one, is an. evil. The fat,
quasi fat, does not form a necessary part of the body, any more
than the padding and wadding of a fashionable coat form a necessary part of the coat.  The padding of the coat does not add an
iota to the strength and quality of the original texture of the cloth;
and the coat would be just as good without it.  All that the padding does, is to add to the beauty of its appearance.  So of the fat:
it contributes nothing to the health and strength of the body; nor
does it form a necessary part of the body: it might be all cut
away without detriment to the body, and even, if it were not for




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.              139
the skin which covers it, almost without pain: it has nothing
whatever to do with the body, saving only as it adds to the beauty
of its symmetrical proportion-it has no more concern with the
health and strength of the body, than the coat-padding has with
the texture of the cloth whereof the coat is made.
I know that in the leanest persons there is still a certain portion
of fat deposited in particular parts, as behind the eye, &c.; but
this is merely for the purpose of giving to the tout ensennble of the
body a certain appearance of symmetry and beauty of outline.
What, for instance, has the fat behind the eye to do with the
power of seeing? But, without it, the eye would have the disagreeable and sinister appearance of being sunken too deeply in the
head.
He, therefore, who eats too much, even though he assimilates
what he eats, and should be fortunate enough to escape apoplexy
and some other deadly disease, does not add a single iota's worth
to his strength: he only accumulates fat, and incurs the evils
thereunto appertaining-one amongst the many of which I will
mention-I mean, the accumulation of fat about the heart-making
him puff and blow like a grampus, and interfering, to a most dangerous degree, with the heart's action.
But neither does he add to the size and weight of his body,
properly so called. He may indeed add to the size and weight of
his body's fatty envelope, as a tailor may add to the padding of
the coat; but both the one and the other, properly so called, still
remain unaltered.
A man's strength resides in his arterial current-in his muscles,
and bones, and tendons, and ligaments-in his brawn and sinew;
and his degree of strength depends upon the vigor, size, and substance of these; and if he were to eat a hecatomb of oxen every
morning for his breakfast, and, like Gargantua, swallow a windmill for his dinner and a church for his supper,:he could not add
to their size and substance one atom, nor alter their original healthy
dimensions-no, not in the estimation of a single hair.
Remember, then, my dear John, that it is a most miserable and
mischievous fallacy to suppose that the more a mall eats, the
stronger he grows.  If a man require daily one pound of food to
supply his diurnal waste, recollect, that although he may eat
double that quantity, yet he will be not one atom  stronger, nor
longer, nor broader, than if he had eaten no more than the one
necessary pound. He may have enveloped himself in an extra




140               LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
layer of fat-he may have added another portion of padding to the
coat; but he himself, like the coat, will remain in stata quo, with
the chance of being found, some morning, dead of an apoplexy.
He who eats more than he wastes, with the view of making himself stronger, is guilty of precisely the same folly as he who should
continue to pour water into a vessel which is already full, with the
view of filling it fuller.
But, in some constitutions, if a man eat greatly too much, the
secretion of fat may not be sufficient to relieve the overburthened
vessels. Now, if this man should escape the usual disease resulting from plethora, then there is, in literal fact, a very great danger
that some one or other of his vessels may, indeed, actually burst;
and so destroy him, by bleeding from  the lungs, or some other
active and deadly h lemorrhage.  Tell me, John, what warranty
have you that your constitution is not one of this kind?
We arrive, therefore, at this inevitable conclusion, viz., that he
who eats more than is necessary to supply his waste, even although
the whole be well and truly assimilated, not only does not increase
his strength thereby, but really incurs the danger of destruction
from several probable causes, and is constantly walking heedlessly
in the " valley of the shadow of death."
But, if the other and more frequent circumstance happen-if
what is eaten be not properly assimilated-then that which remains
unassimilated becomes a source of great irritation and numerous
morbid symptoms, as I have explained to you in a former letter:
it ferments in the stomach and bowels, as it would do in any other
close, warm place; and the gases given out during this fermentation, and the acids generated thereby, are neither more nor less
than poisons, and, of course, highly injurious to health.
If, therefore, a man, under these circumstances, eat more than
is necessary, nothing can be more manifest than that he only adds
to the evil he wishes to remove.  For, since his assimilating powers
catn only assimilate just sufficient to supply the body's waste-and,
in these circumstances, not even so much —it is surely most clearly
evident, that by adding to the quantity eaten, he only adds to the
quantity which is destined to be left unassimilated, and, therefore,
to give out a still greater portion of those poisonous gases and
acids above-mentioned;-and an increased quantity of these poisons
must produce an ilncreased quantity of mischief to the health.
And thus it becomes plain, that so far from growing stronger, he
Twill only become we~ek-, -,'r! norse nourished, the more he eats.




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.              1.41
Thus, from the very nature of the animal system-from  the
very manner in which life is supported-it is manifestly impossible
to add to the natural standard of health and strength by increasing our quantity of food-whether that food be well assimilated
or not: and it is equally clear, that when the health is weak, and
the assimilating powers thereof feeble, that eating more is not the
proper remedy.  For, certainly, the assimilating powers, which
are not equal to the assimilation of one pound of food, must be
still more unequal to the assimilation of two. And it is also plain,
that, under these circumstances, the proper way to improve the
health is to diminish the amount of daily food; since those powers,
which are inadequate to the assimilation of a pound, may, nevertheless, be equal to the assimilation of eight ounces.
I have said, that the quantity of food taken daily should be
just sufficient to restore to the blood what the blood has lost in
restoring the waste of the body, and that it should always be proportioned to the degree of bodily exertion undergone.
You might here very properly inquire, how we are to know the
exact amount of this daily waste, so as to apportion the quantity
of food thereto.  Are we to weigh ourselves every morning, in
order to ascertain this important fact?  No, my dear John: Nature has not left any part of her master-miracle incomplete;
which it would have been, assuredly, had she not provided us with
infallible means of knowing, not only when, but how much, we
ought to eat and drink.
When you are excessively thirsty, and when you are in the act
of quenching your thirst with a draught of cold water (which I
shrewdly suspect is but seldom), tell me, how do you know when
you have drunk enough?  One token, by which you know this, is
the cessation of-thirst;-and this, of itself, should be sufficient;and, in truth, so it is, when you drink water, I dare say.  But
there is still another; and one which not only informs you when
you have drunk enough, but whvich also prevents you from drinking more.  While you are in the act of drinking, and before your
thirst has been allayed, how rich, how sweet, how delicious is the
draught, though it be but water! But no sooner has your thirst
been quenched, than, behold, in an instant, all its sweetness, all
its deliciousness has vanished! In a moment, how insipid it has
become! It is now distasteful to the palate-positively disagreeable-it has lost its relish.  To him  then who requires drink,
water is delicious: —for him who does not require drink, water has




142              LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
not only no relish, but impresses the palate disagreeably, by its
very insipidity. Carry this a step farther. To a man laboring
under the very last degree of thirst, even foul ditch-water would
be a delicious draught; but his thirst having been quenched, he
would turn from it with disgust. In this instance of water-drinking, then, it is clear that the relish depends, not on any flavor residing in the water, but on a certain condition of the body.  If,
therefore, we only took drink when drink was required, pure
water would be sufficiently delicious: but we seek to give to our
drink certain exciting and racy flavors, as a substitute for that
relish which should, of right, reside in ourselves;-and we do
this in order to enable ourselves to drink when drink is not required.  It is absurd, therefore, to say that you cannot drink
water because you do not like it, for this only proves that you do
not want it; since the relish with which you enjoy drink depends
upon the fact of your requiring drink, and not at all upon the
nature of the dirink itself.
Now, apply all this to eating, instead of drinking.  Place before a hungry ploughman stale bread and fat pork, flanked by a
jug of cold water.  WVhile his hunger remains unappeased, he
will eat and drink with an eager relish: but when his hunger has
been satisfied, the bread and meat and water will at once have
lost what he before supposed to be their delicious flavor.  I say
" supposed;" because, in fact, the relish only existed in his own
appetite —in the condition of the nerves of the palate, produced
by hunger.  And it is to produce artificially, and when it is not
required, this condition of the palatal nerves that we use highlyflavored food; for, in eating, we seem to have entirely lost sight of
the true object of food; and only eat for the sake of the enjoyment
which the act of eating affords us. —But to return to our ploughman.
When his appetite has been fully appeased, his food seems to
have lost at once all its flavor: the attempt to eat more would
now  produce a feeling of disgust; and, if he were to persist,
would, in all probability, make him sick.
If, then, we ate only simple and natural food, plainly cooked,
there would be no danger of eating too much;-the loss of relish,
and the feeling of disgust consequent upon satisfied hunger, would
make it impossible. And I affirm, that there is just as much
reason to believe that this sense of disgust is as much, and as
truly, a natural token, intended to warn us that we have eaten
enough, as the sense of hunger is a token that we require food.




LIFE, HEALTII, AND DISEASE.               143
Hunger is an instinct; —disgust is an instinct.  Instinct signifies
an inward pricking, an internal sensation, prompting us to some
external action.  It is by virtue of this, that the infant is enabled,
untaught, to perform the complicated action of sucking.  Nature
has supplied us liberally with these instincts —instincts teaching
us, not only what to do, but also what to leave undone. These
warning sensations may be called  Tature's code of instinctive
laws for the regulation of man's conduct, as it regards the preservation of his health.  Thus, hunger teaches us when to eat:thirst, when to drink:-and disgust or disrelish, when we have
eaten and drunken enough. Weariness teaches us when to rest:
and that feeling (to which I can give no name) which induces the
healthy child to run, and leap, and toss its arms, and shout —which
causes the horse in his meadow to curvet and capriole, and exult
in his strength —it is this feeling, call it what you please, which
teaches us that we have rested enough, and that the time for action
has come. Drowsiness teaches us that we require sleep: the internal sensation, whatever it be, which awakens us, teaches us that
we have slept enough. But I need not multiply instances. The
voice of Nature is, in fact, never silent;-for when we are doing
what she requires, in obedience to her laws, and when, therefore,
it is not necessary to warn us, even then her encouraging voice is
heard in the pleasure which we feel.
In the infancy of creation-' When the world was in its prime;
When the fresh stars had just begun
Their race of glory; and young Time
Told his first birthdays by the sun;"while man was yet content to listen with respect to the lessons of
his parent Nature-he regulated his conduct solely by these instinctive laws. But Refinement, with her harlot smile and syren
voice, stole upon his retirement, and he no longer heeded the plain
lessons of his simple teacher. The Appetites and Passions usurped
her throne; and incontinently set themselves to work, to alter,
amend, and modify her laws.  But, unfortunately, they were all
so drunk when they undertook the task, that they spilled the ink
over the page, blotted the manuscript, and rendered it nearly
illegible forever.
To illustrate this: —I have said, that as hunger instructs us
when to eat, so disrelish teaches us when we should desist.  But




144              LIFE, HEALTH, ANTD DISEASE.
by what labor, and pains, and contrivances, has the unnatural art
of cookery endeavored to annul this law?  For what are the
spices, and sauces, and gravies, and kickshaws of the cook, but so
many provocatives to induce him  to eat more who has already
eaten enough?-to provoke him to drink who is not athirst —and
him to eat who is not hungry?  The very ne-p27us-ultrc of the
cook's art is to destroy this sensation of disrelish; which is almost
as necessary to our health as hunger itself.  According to Di.
Fordyce, "it is a universal maxim" in the Black Art-that is, the
art of cookery —"never to employ one spice, if more can be procured."  Now, pray open both your eyes, and mark the object of
this; —" the object in this case," says he, " being, to make the
stomach bear a large quantity of food without nausea i"  So that
the object of modern cookery is, to cram  into the stomach as
much as it can possibly hold, without being sick.  Pi'oh pzdor!
Said I not well, when I called modern cookery the "Black Art?"
Yet this is one of the elegances of modern refinement! We
stimulate our palates with wine, that we may relish more food;
and then swallow more food, that we may relish more wine:"We swallow firebrands in place of food;
And daggers of Crete are served us for confections."
And this is feeding according to the improved method-according
to the rules and regulations of refined society! Why, the very
hog that i'evels in the garbage of the shambles-all hog, and beast,
obscene and filthy as he is-is, nevertheless, not beast enough for
this!  What difference does it make, in the true spirit and very
reality of the thing-what real difference, I say, does it makewhether you force down your throat more food than you want, by
means of a glass of wine, or by means of a long stick, as they cram
Norfolk turkeys?  "The rose by any other name would smell as
sweet;" and cramming is cramming, call it by what name you
please, and effect it how you will.
But it may be said, that if it were not for these provocatives,
persons with delicate stomachs would not be able to eat at all.
Nonsense.  He who says this, is either a fool or a Jesuit.  If they
do not eat, it is because they have no appetite.  What they want,
then, is not food, but an appetite for food. They want one thing,
but seek another.  The stomach " asks for an egg, and they give
it a stone."  Let them  use the necessary and natural means to




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.                   145
procure an appetite, and they will require no other provocative:
but they are " corrupti judices," and " male verum examinant."
-— " Leporem sectatus, equove
Lassus ab indomito; vel si Romana fatigat
iIilitia assuetum grmecari; seu pila velox,
1Molliter austerum studio fallente laborem,
Seu te discus agit; pete cedentem aera disco.
Cum labor extuderit fastidia, siccus, inanis,
Sperne cibum vilem;   *    *    *
*k   *    *        curm sale panis
Latrantem stomlachull bene leniet.
*    *    Tu pulmentaria quera
8UDANDO. "'
Let me say a word or two on the subject of hunger.  In the
upper and middle ranks of life, I believe that true, genuine, honest, schoolboy hunger is almost wholly unknown.  Is this because
hunger is a feeling not propel to men as well as boys'?  Ask the
shipwrecked sailor.  No: it is because here also, as in the instance
of disrelish before mentioned, modern habits have stepped in, and
amended-should I not rather say mongrelized?-the natural feeling.  It is true, that when'The tocsin of the soul-the dinner-bell"calls us to dinner, we feel a something wvhich we call hunger: but this
is not hunger; it is a sense of want, of the same nature as that which
the dram-drinker feels when the hour for his dram  comes round.
It is the customary excitement which we miss and want: it is this,
and not food, which the stomach is then craving.  There is not one
in a score, of those of whom I speak, who, when the tocsin sounds,
although he may complain that he wants his dinner, could sit down
with no other drink than water, and dine on bread and cold meat.
Yet, surely! surely! bread and cold meat are all that genuine and
natural hunger should require  What wvould you say to the beg* Translation. " After having wearied yourself with hunting, or backing
an unbroken colt-or. if the Roman military exercises be too fatiguing for the
effeminacy of your Greek habits-if either the tennis-ball or quoits please you
better, seek the quoit-ground or tennis-court-and when exercise shall have
banished fastidiousness, then, hungry and parched with thirst, despise common fezre if vou wvill. Bread and salt is fully sufficient to soothe a barking
stomach.  Seek t!hou no sauce other than SWatIlTING."?




146               LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
gar at your door, who should tell you that his stomach was so
delicate that he could not eat cold meat and bread?
But if they could get it down, it would not allay the feeling
which they call hunger.  Why?  Because that feeling is, in truth,
not hunger, but a feeling which a pint of wine would allay more
readily than food.  Thus we eat for the sake of the stimulus
which our highly-dressed dinners afford us; seeming to forget entirely that nourishing the body has anything to do with the matter.
But to return.
The rule, therefore, which is to regulate your quantity of food,
is to be found in that sensation of disrelish which invariably succeeds to satisfied appetite; provided always that your food be
plain, and your drink water.  If you be contentto live thus, you
will never eat too much, but you will always eat enough.  But if
you would rather incur the penalty of disease than forego the pleasure of dining daintily, all I can say is, you are welcome to do so:
-but do not plead ignorance: blame only yourself.
One of the means, therefore, of preserving the health, is a spare
diet;-I say "G spare," because the upper and middle classes, together with that numerous class of persons consisting of manufacturers, whose employment is sedentary, such as weavers, tailors,
shoemakers, milliners, &c., &c., with counting-house clerks, and
journeymen tradesmen of the better order, such as mercers, linen
drapers; and, indeed, shopkeepers of all grades, whose chief work
consists in chaffering behind a counter;-I say " spare diet," because these persons undergo but little bodily labor, and the bodily
waste is, consequently, small: they require, therefore, a correspondent small quantity of food; and if they be. not careful to distinguish between true hunger and that feeling of want and languor
which arises solely from a distressed state of the nervous system,
resulting from  the nature of their employment, and from  their
" cabin'd, cribbed, confined," and sedentary habits, they will be
constantly falling into the error of eating too often and too much:
because, mistaking this feeling for hunger, they will eat with a
view to relieve it;-and for a short, a very short time, the stimulus
afforded by the presence of food will relieve it.  But if they do
this, they will commit the grievous error of perpetually adding to
the mischief which they seek to remedy: for this distressed state
of the nervous system is peculiarly unfavorable to assimilation;
and if they eat too often, or too much, they will inevitably become miserable dyspeptics,  Wh!at they want is, excitement, not




LIFE, HEALTH, A"I DISEASE.                I47
food. And how is this excitement to be procured? and in what
should it consist? Be patient, my dear John; I will tell you
presently.
STIMULANTS.
ARE stimulants-by which I mean ardent spirits, wines, and
strong ales-are stimulants necessary?  Are they pernicious? or
are they neither the one nor the other?  I assert that they are,
in every instance, as articles of diet, pernicious; and even as medicines, unnecessary; since we possess drugs which will answer the
same intentions, in, at least, an equal degree. But it is only as
articles of diet that we are here to consider them.
Wine, spirit, and ale, are all alike, as it regards the fact of
their being stimulants; they only differ somewhat in kind and
degree.
I shall speak, for the present, only of wine, for the sake of convenience. But whatever I shall say of wine, is to be considered
as equally true of the others: and if what I have taught you, in
my preceding Letters, be true, what I shall say now of stimulants
must be true also.
If wine be productive of good, what is the nature and kind of
good which it produces?  Does it nourish the body?  We know
that it does not; for the life of any animal cannot be supported
by it.  Besides, if you have understood what I have said as to the
nature, manner, and mechanism of nutrition, you will see at once,
from the very mode in which the body is nourished, that whatever
is capable of nourishing, must be susceptible of conversion into the
solid matter of the body itself.  But fluids taken into the stomach
are not capable of being transmuted into solids, but pass off by the
kidneys, as everybody knows.
If, indeed, the fluid drink contains solid matters suspended in it,
then these solid matters can be assimilated to the solid body, and
so are capable of nourishing it; as in the instance of broths, bareIy-water, &c., &c.; but the fluid in which these solid particles
were suspended, must pass out of the body by the kidneys.
Nothing, therefore, can contribute to the nourishment of the body
which is not itself solid, or in which solids are not contained.
Milk, the moment it reaches the stomach, is converted into curds
and whey.  The whey passes off by the kidneys-the solid curd
nourishes the body.




148              LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
If, then, it be said, that although wine is incapable of nourishing
the body wholly and by itself alone, it may yet contain some nourishment, it is clear that this nourishment must depend upon whatever solid particles are suspended in it.
Now, if you evaporate a glass of wine on a shallow plate, whatever solid matter it contains will be left dry upon the plate; and
this will be found to amount to about as much as may be laid on
the extreme point of a penknife blade; and a portion —by no means
all, but a portion of this solid matter, I will readily concede, is
capable of nourishing the body-a portion which is about equal
to the flour contained in a single grain of wheat.
But still I am entitled to ask, what good you propose to yourself by drinking wine?  Because, if you really drink it for the
sake of the nutriment it affords you, then, I say, why not eat a
grain of wheat, instead of drinking a glass of wine; from which
grain of wheat you would derive just as much nourishment as you
would fiom the glass of wine?  And by eating which, instead of
drinking the wine, you would avoid the mischief which must necessarily be inflicted on your stomach by the deleterious spirit contained in the wine. Why go this expensive, and, as it were,
roundabout way, in order to obtain so minute a portion of nutritious matter, which you might so much more readily obtain by
other means-and without the necessarily accompanying evil inflicted by the spirit contained in the wine?
Wine, therefore, possesses no power to nourish the body; or, at
least, in so minute a degree as to muake it, as an article of nourishment, wholly unworthy notice.
Does it strenogthen the body?-Let us see.
I have proved to you, in my former Letters, that health and
strength depend upon a high degree of contractility: and I have
proved, also, that a high degree of contractility can only exist
when the body is rapidly and well nourished. Whatever, therefore, is capable of strengthening the body, must do so by increasing the contractility of its fibre: and whatever is capable of heightening contractility, must do so by-a vigorous and rapid nutrition
of the body.  But we have just seen that wine possesses scarcely
any nutritious virtues at all.  How then can it strengthen the
body? It cannot:-it is manifestly, demonstratively, glaringly
impossible.  But to nourish and strengthen it, are the only two
good things which any kind of nutriment is capable of contributing
to the body.  I have just proved that wine possesses no power to




LIFE, HEALTIH, ANBD DISEASE.              149
effect either of them: it follows, therefore, as a direct necessity,
that it is productive of no good at all.
Is wine certainly pernicious?
I have already proved that it is unnecessary: and it has ever
been universally held, by medical philosophers, that whatever is
unnecessary is detrimental.  The simple fact then that wine is unnecessary, is a sufficient proof that it is injurious.  Nor is the truth
of this medical maxim at all wonderful.  The finest hair introduced
amongst the machinery of a watch is sufficient to derange its movements.  And when one considers the exquisite delicacy of those
properties on which life and health so mainly depend-I mean,
contractility and sensibility, as well as that of the whole nervous
system —one cannot certainly feel surprised that anything brought
into contact with them, which is not strictly proper to them, should
disorder the nicety of their delicate functions.  But I have other
proofs.
You will admit, at once, that the practice of drinking is followed
by a high degree of morbid sensibility:-witness the nervous and
tremulous anxiety of the dMbazuc/e on the morning following a debauch.  But I have longS since shown you, that increased sensibility and vigorous contractility are incompatible; and that whatever
augments sensibility, must lhave the efect of lowering contractility.
But health and strength depend on vigorous contractility.  If
wine, therefore, heightens sensibility, it must diminish contractility; and thus, by impairing that property, impair the health and
strength which depend on that property.
Again, if you will allow it to be true, that it is the sensibility of
our organs which establishes the due relation between ourselves
and external objects-teaching us what is good for us, and what
injurious, by the pleasure or pain which the several external objects confer or inflict-then it again follows, pal n'cessite, that
wine is hurtful; because wine, when tasted for the first time by
unsophisticated palates, always impresses them disagreeably.  To
him who swallows a glass of raw spirit for the first time, the effects
are painful to a high degree-almost suffocating.  And no child
would like wine or beer, unless taught to do so by precept, example, or hbabit.
Again: What is poison? Is it, not any substance which, when
taken into the system, has the effect of disordering some one or
more of the actions which make up the sum of life; and which,
if taken in sufficient quantity, will destroy life itself?  This is the




150              LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
true definition of poison.  Is it not, also, the strictly true definition
of ardent spirit?  Spirit has the effect of disordering the nervous
system to so great a degree, as to produce intoxication; exciting
the brain, sometimes to madness, always to folly, in an extraordinary manner. Is not this to disorder the functions of life? And
if it be taken in sufficient quantity-if a man swallow a pint of
overproof rum  at a draught —will it not kill him?  It will.
Wherein, therefore, does spirit differ from poison?  Only in the
dose.
Aye, but (you may say) it is only poisonous when taken in sufficient quantity! True: —neither is prussic acid, neither is arsenic,
neither is mercury, neither is opium. All these poisons are daily
given by medical men, without destroying life.  Why?  Because
they are not given in sufficient quantity.  But will you, therefore,
contend that they are not poisonous?
It is the effect of prussic acid to lower the nervous system below the natural standard.  It is the effect of ardent spirit, first to
excite the nervous system above, and then to depress it below, the
natural standard also. Both these effects are poisonous —both
will destroy life, if carried far enough: neither will destroy life,
if not carried far enough.  Prussic acid, therefore, and ardent
spirit, are equal poisons: though neither will destroy life, unless
taken in sufficient quantity.  But would you willingly continue to
swallow prussic acid daily, merely because you admire its delicious
flavor, comforting yourself the while, by saying, that it could do
you no harm, because you did not take it in sufficient quantity to
destroy life? And, above all, would you do so, knowing it to be
unnecessary?-Yet have I not proved that wine, spirit, and ale
are unnecessary?
But if you be impenetrable to rational argument, you dare not
deny the result of direct experiment.  Observe: —" Sir Benjamin
Brodie found, that by the administration of a large dose of alcohol
(ardent spirit) to a rabbit, the pupils of the eyes became dilated,
its extremities convulsed, and the respiration laborious; and that
this latter function was gradually performed at longer and longer
intervals: and that it, at length, entirely ceased. Two minutes
after the apparent death of the animal, he opened the thorax
(chest), and found the heart acting with moderate force and frequency," (now mark what follows!) " circulating dark-colored
blood.  The same phenomena resulted from the injection of two
drops of the essential oil of bitter almonds" (the active principle




LlFE, HEAL'H, AND DISEASI1:,        ].51
of which is prussic acid), " diffused in half an ounce of water,
into the bowels of a cat."*
Here, then, we have direct and irrefragable proof that ardent
spirit is not only a poison, but a poison of the very same nature
as prussic acid —producing the same effects —killing by the same
means, ~iz., by paralyzing the muscles of respiration, and so preventing the necessary change of tile black blood into vermilion
blood;-about which black and vermilion blood I have said so
much, in my Letters.
The strength (that is, the intoxicating power) of wine and ale
depends upon the ardent spirit which they contain.
A  great deal of mischief has arisen from  the mlisapplication
of the term  "strength" to the intoxicating power of "strong
drinks," as they are called.  Potions are said to be "strong;"
and thence, I have no doubt, first arose the silly notion that they
possess the power of strengthening the body-of communicating
some portion of their own strength, I suppose, to the body of the
potator.'People seem to suppose that by swallowing strong
drinks they actually swallow strength as though strength were
some tangible substance, which can be chewed, swallowed, and
assimilated, like a potato.  We say that onions have a "strong
smell;" and we might as well expect to derive strength from
smelling onions, as to do so by drinking fluids which have a strong
flavor. We call them strong because they affect us strongly.
And this, of itself, is another proof of their mischievous tendency;
— for whatever affects us strongly, cannot be "chip-in-porridge;"
and if it be not good and necessary, it must, of necessity, be not
only simply injurious, but very highly so.
But, after all, my dear John, mankind in general know how to
live, as well as I can tell them.  They do not err from ignorance.
They are spell-bound by passion-seduced by pleasure, and hoodwinked;- but they are hood-winked willingly.  They know that
spirit, wine, ale, &c., are unnecessary, and even hurtful.  All
writers, in every age, have written in favor and praise of temperance, both in eating and drinking.  Universal experience proves
its necessity, if we would possess the " mens sana in corpore sano."
Individual experience proves it equally:-the horrible sensations
felt in the morning after a debauch-the frequent necessity which
most men have been under of desisting wholly from intoxicating
drinks in order to recover their lost health-the utter loathing
* Paris's Phca'oneacologia, vol. 1, p. 244. Sixth Edition.




152               LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
with which he who is not habitually a toper regards, next day,
the beverage which intoxicated him —and fifty thousand other
tokens, too clearly evident to be mistaken.  The very word "intoxicate" signifies " to  shoot with poisoned arrows."  If men
really thought that daily doses of wine, and spirit, and ale, were
necessary to improve their health and strength, those who could
afford it would give them  to their favorite hunting horses and
their pet dogs. Yet they do not this. The training jockey does
not mix wine, or brandy, with the daily allowanee of water to the
horses he has under training for the course.  All men know that
luxurious feeding is injurious to health, and rigid temperance beneficial. All teachers have taught it, and all experience proves it.
EaSr T I, said Euripides, hundreds of years ago,
E r at IrN1  L 3pOT1070ot   7rXyU  (VO 1, 1'01'OlV,
WATIrpO7    9 acK7, rcwarooS 05' Upj1,Xoov.
That is: " What need has man of more than two things only —
bread and water?"  But the fact is, my dear John, the rogues
like it, and will have it, right or wrong;-or, if they be blind,
they are, at all events, determined not to be cured of their blindness.  They had rather not see the evils they incur, than sacrifice
the pleasure of incurring them.  What they really want, is some
rule which shall enable them to continue to enjoy the table and
the bottle, and yet escape the consequent evils.  They want a sort
of impenetrable armor —a kind of philosopher's stone —some
magic elixir, which shall confer oi them  a talismanic immunity
from the evils of intemperance. They would fain discover some
Styx, wherein to baptize themselves, and become invulnerable to
disease.  If a thousand men were to read this Letter, there probably would not be one but would see, and feel, and acknowledge,
that its doctrines are true; but it is no less probable that every
man of them would close it when he had done, and call for his
brandy-and-water with as much composure as though he was
doing the most sensible thing in the world.  Or perhaps they
would each remark:  "Well! I have drunk brandy-and-water for
these twenty years, and I do not see that it has done me any
harm; so I shall e'en go on as heretofore."  Yet, if an impertinent countryman insult him  in the street, he must pocket the
affront, and slink off, or suffer all the trouble and inconvenience
consequent on sending him to the station-house, instead of quietly
knocking him down where he stands.  Why is thli:s?  W7hy! be



LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.               153
cause his brandy, and wine, and luxurious habits, and full feeding,
have rendered him no match for the hardy countryman.  Yet he
presumes to say, that his brandy-and-water has done him no harm,
forsooth! —' I have drunk a gallon of beer every day," once
boasted a certain hostler, " for the last thirty years, and I never
was in better health than I am at this moment."  The F;lext day a
fit of apoplexy laid him dead in the ditch.
But does there really exist any such philosopher's stone as I
have mentioned above?  Are there any means by which a man may
enable himself to indulge freely in the pleasures of the table with impunity?  I believe such means do exist-not of escaping with absolute impunity, but certainly with comparative impunity. And I
believe, moreover, that I shall confer a more acceptable benefit by
pointing out these means, than if I were to write a wagon-load of
volumes, all crammed with dietetic rules from " title-page to colophon."  But do not, my dear John, like the "proflnum vulgus,"
despise the means which I shall point out to you, because of their
simplicity.  The world seldom attach much value to things which
are plain and easily understood; only bestowing reverence on
things which they can by no means understand-things complicate, mysterious, and incomprehensible. But be you wiser. The
dervish, in the Eastern allegoriy, well aware of this weakness, knew
that it would be in vain to reconmmenll the sultan, for the cure of
his disease, simply to take exercise.  He knew that mankind in
general require to be cheated, gulled, cajoled, even into doing that
which is to benefit themselves.  He did not, therefore, tell the sultan, who consulted him, to take exercise; but he said to him,
" Here is a ball, which I have stuffed with certain rave, costly, and
precious medicinal herbs."  (If they had not been costly and
precious, the sultan would have thought nothing of them.)  " And
here is a bat, the handle of which I have also stuffed with similar
herbs.  Your highness must take this bat, and with it beat about
this ball, until you perspire very freely.  You must do this every
day."  His highness did so; and, in a short time, the exercise of
playing at bat and ball with the dervish cured his malady.
Now, my dear John, this same exercise which cured the sultan,
is precisely the talisman which I am about to recommend to your
adoption, as the chief means of remedying bad health, and of preserving that which is already good.
Ever yours,
E. JOHNSON.




LETTER XI.
Uinberslade Hall, near Bimrningham.
MY DEAR JOHN,
Before I enter into particulars, I beseech you to recollect what
I have said to you in one of my former Letters; viz., that if you
admitted the truth of what I then said, you would not afterwards
be at liberty to dispute the truth of what I am about to say now;
any more than he who admits the truth of the doctrines taught in
the First Book of Euclid, can afterwards deny the truth of those
taught in the Second;-because, if the one be true, the other, of
necessity, must be true.
Before you proceed further, therefore, do me the favor to re-peruse carefully and attentively my Fourth and Fifth Letters.  In doing this, pay particular attention to the definition of life-the manner
in which it is supported; viz., by the perpetual wasting and regeneration of the body out of the blood-to the definition of health
-to the description of the functions performed by the contractility
and sensibility of our oroans-to stimuli-to the uses of the circulation of the blood-to the different characters of the two sorts of
blood contained in the body, &c., &c.  By the way, all the subjects are not embraced in those three Letters; but, as it is absolutely necessary that all these should be well understood before
you can clearly comprehend the full force of what I am now going
to say, you had better carefully re-peruse the whole, before you
proceed further.
Supposing, then, that you have done this, and done it understandingly; and supposing that you assent to the several definitions which I have given of life, health, nutrition, contractility,
sensibility, stimuli, &c.; and supposing that you see no reason to
doubt the accuracy of my statements relative to the offices performed by the absorbents, secreting glands, circulation of the
blood, &c.; I now proceed to point out to you my reasons for
recommending exercise as a talismanic agent in the prevention and
cure of disease; entreating you always to remember, that by dis



Wi FE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.             155
ease I here mean solely that depreciated state of the living actions
— that sickly condition of the body —in which there is no structural lesion of the organs-in which no single organ is affected by
any accidental disorganization, or defined and denominated disease
-but in which all the nutritive actions are feebly performed, and
in which the general tone of the health and strength is universally
lowered: in a word, I mean that anomalous state of the health
usually termed "i cldigestion," or "clyspepsia."   And if I can
teach you how to avoid this, I shall have taken a large stride towards teaching you how to escape almost all other disorders,
especially chronic disorders: for, for the most part, it is general
disorder which produces local disease, and not local disease which
produces general disorder.  But to proceed:Life, in the wide and physiological acceptation, consists of all
the actions of which living beings are capable; not only the internal actions, as of the heart, vessels, &c., &c., but also of the
external actions, as of the limbs in running, leaping, &c. But in
a medical point of view, when speaking of life, the internal actions
only are indicated —those invisible and inappreciable molecular
motions which are constantly going on in the ultimate tissue of
our organs, and by which nutrition is effected.
All physiologists agree that life consists in the constant wasting
and reproduction of the body, particle by particle —by a perpetual
analysis of the old particles composing our organs, and a perpetual
synthesis of new particles derived from the blood-by a perpetual
pulling down of the old materials, and a perpetual replacement
of them  by new-by perpetual disorganization, and perpetual
reorganization.
The operation by which life is supported may be illustrated by
the operation by which motion is supported and communicated by
two cog-wheels acting on each other.  Keep your eye steadily
fixed upon the point at which the cogs of the two are interlocked.
What do you observe?  Why, that, at every instant, the empty
space which is presented by one wheel, is instantly filled up by a
tooth of the other wheel, to be almost instantly emptied again,
and again re-filled.  Thus it is, that at every point of the body,
and at every instant, little empty spaces are made, which are immediately filled by the nutritive arteries, to be again emptied, and
again filled.
Another postulate necessary to my forthcoming arguments and
which is also indisputable, is this —that you cannot increase the




156               LIFE, HtIEALTI1, AND DISEASIE.
size of your natural body, the substance of your natural fibre, by
eating.  This is certainly true.  For if it were otherwise, the
magnitude of the body would be equally enlarged at every point.
If you increased its transverse diameter, you must also increase
its longitudinal diameter.  You could not make it broader without
also making it longer.  But this is contrary to known facts, for no
man can make himself taller by eating; nor add, in the slightest
degree, to the length of his fingers and toes.  Yet the bones are'
nourished by the self-same food as the rest of the body, and by
the same processes of assimilation.
By eating, therefore, you may superinduce fat over the body;
bbut the magnitude of the solid body itself cannot be increased.
You will be pleased, too, to recollect, that I have already shown
you (Third Letter), that energetic contractility can only reside in
recently-organized matter; and that, therefore, rapid reorganization is absolutely essential to energetic contractility.  And I have
also, in one of the foregone Letters, proved to you, that all the
living actions, external and internal, are performed by virtue of
contractility; and that health and strength depend-absolutely
depend-upon an energetic contractile power.
Now, then, obser-ve the force and tendency of the following
sorites.
Health and strellgth depend upon energetic contractility —
Energetic contractility depends upon rapid reorg'anizationRapid reorganization depends upon rapid disorganization —
Therefore, health and strength depend upon rapid disorganization.
The first process, therefore, in that chain of processes by which
life is not only supported, but in which life really consists, is —
what? —Eatilng?-No: —it is the wasting, the pulling down, the
disorganization of tile body.  You must waste it, before you can
nourish it.  To the unreflective, this will seem  paradoxical.  Yet
a moment's thloul'ht, without the parade of logic, should be sufflcient to convince us of its truth.  For does not appetite, in the
natural order of things, precede the act of eating?  And what is
appetile, but a sensation warning us that the body has suffered
waste, and calling' upon us to repair it?
I say, that reorganization depends upon disorganization: because
havinog shown that the body's fibre cannot be enlarged, it is clear.
that no new materials can be added until a corresponding portion
of the old materials has been removed.  It must, therefore, be




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.               157
pulled down, before it'can be built up-impaired, before it can
be repaired- disorganized, before it can be reorganized.
Now, the natural means by which the body is disorganized are,
the exhalation from the lungs —perspiration from the skin —the
several other excrements —and the formation of the several secretions required for the assimilation of our food-as, the gastric juice,
bile, &c., &c.
You know how greatly bodily exertion augments perspiration,
and increases the rapidity of breathing —and therefore, necessarily,
the quantity of pulmonary halitus, or "breath," as it is called.
Very well;-in like manner, also, it increases all the other secretions —those several fluids on which the assimilation of our food
wholly, and solely, and absolutely depends.
Bodily exertion, therefore, promotes, and that most rapidly and
powerfiully, the disorganization of the body; and is, in fact, as far
as I know, the only means of promoting it: as idleness is the infallible means of retarding it-that is, of retarding those processes,
the activity of which are an absolute sine-qua-non to health and
strength.
By a former syllogism, it has been proved that health and
strength depend upon the rapid disorganization of the body: and
I have just shown that rapid disorganization can only be effected
by rapid exertion, or bodily labor.  Hence legitimately arises another important syllogistic truth; thus:Health and strength depend on rapid disorganizationRapid disorganization depends on rapid exertionTherefore, health and strength depend, primarily, on rapid
exertion.
From the whole, then, there results this general conclusion:that there can be no such thing as perfect health and strength,
without bodily exertion-lthat it is contrary to the very scheme
of man's existence-that it is not in the nature of things —and that
the philosophy of life and health, the light of science, the testimony of all ages, and the irresistible force of irrefutable argument,
prove it to be impossible.
But there is another powerful argument, proving the necessity
of bodily exertion.  You must have observed, in reading my
former Letters, that everything-no matter what-that everything
which is done in the body, is done by virtue of the circulation of
the blood.  You must have remarked, that all the phenomena
constituting life and health are effected, directly or indirectly, by




15 8              LIFE, HEAL'TH, AND DISEASE.
the circulation; —that almost thought itself is the result of it:most certainly the power of thinking is greatly modified by it.
Seeing, then, that the blood's fluxion is the all-efficient agent
by which all the living phenomena are effected, it surely can require no great stretch of faith to feel convinced at once, that if
this agent be allowed to doze at its post, infinite mischief must ensue; and that whatever is capable of keeping its energies in constant activity, is of the very highest value to the welfare of the
system.  And further, that whatever circumstances-such as
sloth, and the other habits which I have enumerated as conducive
to a languid circulation-whatever circumstances are calculated to
lull its energies to repose, are in the highest degree- detrimental.
And the influence which bodily labor exercises over the circulation, everybody knows;-it is felt in every pulse of the body.
Besides, the heart is a muscle, similar in its nature to the muscles
of the arm or leg.  Exercise, therefore, has the same influence in
strengthening the heart (and, of course, through it, the circulation)
as it has in strengthening the muscles of the leg or arm; and most
men are well acquainted with its influence in this respect.
But there is yet another view of the subject, which I shall now
open to you.
You know that our relation to external things is established by
virtue of the sensibility of our organs, and that the degree of sensibility depends upon the degree of mobility of the nerves. I have
also shown you how this mobility, and consequently our sensibility,
is increased by a languid circulation, and how it is diminished by
a vigorous one —by which the blood is driven energetically into
all the capillary vessels, causing their coats to be well distended,
so as to exert a constant land steady lateral pressure upon the
nerves which run between them.
The circulation, therefore, is a resisting power —a power directly opposed to sensibility.  And this resisting power may be
carried so far as to produce absolute insensibility; as in those
cases of apoplexy, in young, athletic, healthy men, which is the
result of plethora —that is, of having too much blood, and too
poowerful a circulation.
The circulating and sensitive, therefore, are two antagonizing
powers.  And, as sensibility is the power by which we receive the
consciousness of impressions, so the sanguineous circulation is the
power by which we resist the consciousness of impressions.
Now, the same impressions will produce both pleasure and pain:




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.               159
the difference being only in the force of the impressing cause.
The same impressing cause which, slightly exerted, would yield
pleasure, will, if its force be sufficiently increased, be productive
of pain.  This requires no illustration.  But, to increase our impression-receiving power is the same thing as to increase the force
of the impressing cause. By increasing, therefore, our sensibility,
we virtually increase the force wherewith external objects impress
us. And thus it is, that persons whose sensibility is morbidly
acute, derive only pain from those causes from which the robust
and healthy receive only pleasure. The natural relation between
themselves and the external world is destroyed; and they are
living in a sphere for which they have become no longer fittedwith which they no longer possess the necessary and natural affinity.  They are now  "three-cornered men, thrust into round
holes" —they do not fit their position. This morbid sensibility is
a source of immeasurable calamity. To all it is the cause of continual irritation and painful sensation; to some it is an exhaustless
fountain of misery: witness the lives of J. J. Rousseau, Gilbert,
Zimmerman, Cowper, and numerous others; amongst whom, I
think, I might mention the late Lord Byron.
But sensibility being the impression-receiving power, and the
sanguineous circulation being the impression-resisting power, we
have only to increase the latter, in order to diminish the former;
and so restore the necessary and natural balance. And this brings
me to the point at which I wished to arrive; viz., bodily exertion;
this being the only means I know of invigorating thepower of the
circulation.
This manner of considering the circulating and sensitive powers
furnishes a ready answer to that hackneyed and silly question:
"How is it that we see men arrive at a good old age, who have,
all their lives, been drunkards?"
Let me observe by the way, that these instances are extremely
rare: and that they only appear to be frequent, because they are
obtruded on our notice as remarkable occurrences.  An instance
of this kind is never allowed to escape our observation; because
man is ever eager to catch at anything which may offer itself as
an excuse for indulging in those habits to which his inclination
urges him.  Every such instance is, therefore, carefully registered;
while the thousands who drop daily, like rotten sheep, into premature graves, the victims of intemperance, are neither minded nor
marked.  "He died," say they, " of this, or that, or the other




160               LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
disease;" —never stopping to inquire how  that disease was incurred.
But the true reason why a few can commit habitual intemperance
with comparative impunity is, because, in these persons, the. impression-receiving power (sensibility) is naturally exceedingly dull,
while the impression-resisting power (viz. the circulation) is naturally extremely vigorous. Their blood, propelled by a large and
powerful heart, and rapidly and thoroughly oxidized by capacious
lungs, is driven, with energetic force, to every point of the body;
thus not only enabling it to resist the impressions of the deleterious matters introduced into the stomach, but also rapidly to repair
whatever slight injuries are really inflicted.
There is yet another reason why bodily exercise is indispensable
to health. The blood is wholly incapable of fulfilling any of its
multifarious and all-important offices (except the secretion of bile)
until it has been oxidized in the lungs. The more rapidly, then,
that it is driven through the lungs, the larger will be the proportion of it which is oxidized, and so rendered fit to fulfil its function
of nourishing the body-the greater will be the proportion contained in the arteries, where alone it is of use, and the smaller will
be the quantity of black blood left in the veins, where it is of no
use, except as before excepted.
I believe it is possible, by very rapid exertion, to fill almost
every vein in the body with arterial blood. I have not room here,
to detail the observations which have led me to this conclusion;
but I do not speak unadvisedly. Nor Avould the secretion of bile
be stopped by this state of things; for it has been proved, that
although, under ordinary circumstances, it is secreted from venous
blood, yet it can be secreted from arterial.
Now, I do not mean to say that it would be advisable for you
to arterialize the whole of your blood.  And there is no fear of
it; for it would require greater exertion than any man would,
or even could, voluntarily, underg'o.  But be assured of this, that
the greater the quantity of arterial blood, and the less the quantity
of black venous blood, contained in your body, the stronger, aye,
and the hcappier and more light-hearted you will be-and the only
means of arterializing the venous blood, is bodily exertion.  The
elasticity of mind and joyousness of heart, which exercise proverbially affords, are the direct results of an increase in the quantity
of arterial, and a decrease in the quantity of venous, blood. The
increase of animal spirits, as well as the increase of animal




LIFEr, HEALTH'', AND DISEASE.             161
strength, must always correspond with the increase of arterial
blood.
As we breathe for the purpose of oxidizing the black blood, then
the ofteneri we are compelled to breathe, the better; because every
time we breathe, a portion of black blood becomes oxidized, and
fit for use.  The increased rapidity of breathing consequent upon
exertion is an increased rapidity in the function of oxidizing the
blood-one of the most important of all the living actions.  During exertion we drink, as it were, oxygen from the air.  And this
oxygen is the only stimulating drink which we can take, with advantag'e to ourselves, for the purpose of invigorating our strength,
and elevating our animal spirits.  It is the wine and spirit of life
-the true eact de vie-with an abundance of which Nature has
supplied us ready made —and it is the only one proper to man.
If you be thirsty, drink water —if low spirited, drink oxygen.
That is to say, take active exercise, duling which you will inhale it.
Besides all this, every time the blood has completed its circle
of circulation, a part of the great office of nutrition has been accomplished.  The more rapidly the blood, therefore, is, by natural
means, circulated through the body, the more rapidly does the
process of nutrition go on.
You may compare the living actions to the actions of a handcornmill, the heart representing the first wheel, which puts into
motion all the other wheels: and bodily exertion may represent
the man who turns the crank, attached to the first wheel.  Now,
the more rapidly the man turns the crank, the more rapid will be
the motion of the first, second, third, and all the other wheels; and
the more rapidly will the corn be ground.  At the same time, if
the crank be turned with inconsiderate furyr, the machinery may
be deranged, and the mill broken.-So, bodily exertion is not to be
furious.  A horse may be ridden to death;-and, therefore, bodily
exertion may be carried too far.
I have said, that persons of sedentary habits become frequently
sensible of a feeling of want-a sinking at the stomach, as they
express it; which they seek to relieve by eating or drinking.  I
have said, too, that although these persons require the excitement
of a stimulus, yet food or wine does not furnish the stimulus required, but, on the contrary, only adds to the evil.  What they
want is oxygen.
You know I have all along mentioned four things as necessary
to life; one of which, you cannot have forgotten, is stimuli.  But




162               LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
I shall disuse the word "stimuli;" because being used in the
plural, it is awkward to introduce it correctly without periphrasis;
and I will use the word " excitement" instead.
The exciting properties of arterial, that is, oxidized blood, I have
just been describing to you, while showing you how rapid exercise
produces its exhilarating effects; viz., by increasing the quantity
of arterial blood, and driving it, in rapid currents, through all the
countless avenues of the brain and body. It is to the lively leaping of the living current, pregnant as it is with the exhilarating
wine of life-oxygen-that we owe all the bounding buoyancy, the
elastic light-heartedness, which rapid motion and rapid exercise impart.  In one of the volumes of Byron's works is the following
note:- " A young French renegado confessed to Chdteaubriand,
that he never found himself alone, galloping in the desert, without
a sensation almost approaching to rapture which was indescribable." —The circumstance of this man being alone in a desert had
little to do with his rapturous sensations: he owed them to the
rapid circulation and oxidation of his blood, produced as the joint
effects of rapid exercise and rapid motion.  The fox-hunter owes
his pleasure to the same causes; and also the impunity with which
he breakfasts on ale and brandy, and sleeps on half-a-dozen bottles of wine, and rises without a headache.
I cannot help inserting here a short extract from a very grateful letter I lately received from Stourbridge: " It is with gratitude,"
says the writer, " that I send these few lines to show that you
hlave not written in vain.  Before I read your work I had generally bad health-ever since, my health has been excellent, and I
feel a happiness within me which I cannot describe. My employment is sedentary,' chaffering behind a counter,' from seven in the
morning till eight at night, yet I ihanage to get a run or a walk
of seven or eight miles before business, and can walk fourteen
miles before breakfast with ease, which gives me good appetite,
good-humor, and good health."
Excitement, therefore, my dear John, is necessary; we cannot
be healthy without it: and you and I only quarrel about the kind
of excitement. This natural necessity for, and craving after, excitement is evinced in the numberless habits to which we addict
ourselves, in order to obtain it. The habits of drinking and smoking owe their favor to the temporary excitement they afford. The
reason why we crave after these unnatural kinds of excitement is,
because we have lost a part of the excitement which is natural




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.                163
and necessary to us. It results from a languid and lazy circulationa deficiency of oxygen-a gorged state of the venous system with
black, devitalizing blood; and a deficiency of that stimulating and
vivifying blood, whose color is vermilion, and which is proper to
the arteries.  Those distressing sensations of sinking, and want,
and languor, and low-spiritedness, of which dyspeptics complain,
accrue to them from the same causes.  They are deficient in excitement-they want excitement; they want to have their brains,
and heart, and whole system, stimulated, spurred, by the exciting
properties of vermilion oxidized blood, driven merrily and forcefully to every point of the universal tissue.
We require a stimulant, then, certainly; but the only stimulant
which will serve our purpose is arterial blood in energetic circulation: and the only means to procure this is bodily exertion.
" Exercitizonr naturce cdormnientis stimulatio, membroru m solatizn,
morborun nmedela, fug5a vitio'urn, mnedicina laknguorumn, destructio
onniZ? iiJ10 malorm2."  " Exercise is the awakener of dozing nature,
the solace of the limbs, the healer of diseases, the chaser of vices,
the medicine of listlessness, the destruction of all evils."
One word more for bodily exertion, as the means of increasing
bodily strength;-and without health there cannot be strength.
Observe the manner in which horses are trained for the course.
They are made to undergo more and more exertion, day by day,
until the requisite degree of strength has been achieved.  Reflect
on this:-they strengthen these horses by making them daily undergo severe labor.  They do hot rest them, in order to strengthen
them; they work them, in order to strengthen them. "Aye,
but," says some wiseacre, "a horse is a horse, and a man is a
man."  Blockhead!-What then?  We have but to exchange the
race-course for the prize-ring, and the argument still remains in
full force.  Besides, have I not already shown that the actions
which constitute the life, health, and strength of a horse, are precisely the same as those which constitute the life, health, and
strength of man?
The prize-fighters will also furnish us with an example of the
fact before stated; viz. that the high degree of contractility consequent upon an energetic circulation is hostile to, and incompatible
with, much sensibility; these fellows becoming almost insensible
to blows, unless dealt with an energy capable of felling' an ox.
They furnish an example, too, of another fact, which I have already stated (p. 85, in a note); viz., that well-filled arteries and




164               LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
a vigorous circulation are highly conducive —I believe absolutely
necessary-to equable and amiable temper; for these men are
generally remarkably easy and well-tempered fellows.  On the
contrary, if you seek a perfect example of pettish, irritable, quarrelsome, unforgiving, querulous, snappish, cat-like, unsoothable,
spiteful, and sulky temper, you will find it in the Spitalfields'
weaver —the poor, dyspeptic weaver, (' cabin'd, cribbed, confined,"
and cramped in his loom  for sixteen hours a-day, in a room ten
feet square; whose utmost exertion is, to throw a shuttle, four
ounces in Aweight, backwards and forwards, about the length of
his arm; and whose longest peregrination is from his own cabin
to the counter of the gin-shop, and from the counter of the ginshop to the door of his own cabin.
The fortitude of the Indian at the stake arises from the same
circumstances of a highly energetic circulation,  From  his habits
of life, his circulation is always vigorous, and his sensibility obtuse;
but at the moment of torture, its energy is still further augmented,
and his sensibility still further blunted, by the enthusiasm  and
exultation which he feels in maintaining the honor of his tribe, and
in disappointing his enemnies, who, he knows, are eagerly watching
for any symptom  of wincing.   His circulation in impetuosity resembles a spring-tide; and his body becomes almost insensible to
pain.
Again, when the circulation through the brain is highly excited
by intense thought, the nerves arising from the brain become almost insensible to the impressions natural to them; —the ear hears
not; the eye sees not; the olfactory nerves take no cognizance of
odors.
SLEEP.
SoLIDIFICATION-that is, the conversion of blood into the solid
parts of the body -goes on only during sleep.  The chief end,
indeed, and object and intention of sleep, would seem  to be this
final assimilation of our food-this solidification of the blood into
the several solid parts of the body.
The accomplishment of this miraculous change seems to have
required the perfect concentration of all the energies of the system
tupon itself. It seems to have required, that the attention (if I
may so speak) of the brain and nervous system should not be distracted by any other object.  It seems to have required that every



LITFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.              [165
thing, both within and without the body, should be hushed into
profound repose during the accomplishment of this nightly wonder,
in order that nothing might disturb or interfere with the exquisite
and miraculous processes employed to effect it.  To this end, the
portals of sensation are closed-the eye sees not-the ear hears
not —the skin feels not-the very breathing is scarcely audiblethe pulsations of the heart are scarcely perceptible: all the living
energies are now concentrated into the greatest possible intensity,
like rays of light into a focus; and directed, with almost complete
exclusiveness, towards this simple object.
In the day, therefore, we make blood:-in the night, that blood
is converted into solid matter.  In the day, we garner up the
building materials;-in the night, we repair the building.  The
hour of rising, therefore, ought to be the time at which our physical strength is at the greatest;-and with perfectly healthy persons this is the case.  The languor which sickly persons feel
in the morning arises from the process of repair not having been
fully accomplished: the building has not been repaired, and
therefore its strength has not been restored.  The apparent additional strength which is felt, during the day, after eating, is only
apparent; —it is merely excitement derived from the stimulus of
food; in the first instance in the stomach: and after that food
has been assimilated, of new blood in the system.
From  all this, we learn two important truths: first, that we
should take our severest exercise in the early palt of the day:
secondly, we learn how and why it is that late suppers are improper.-When you retire to bed with a full stomach, before the
process of solidification can commence, the food which the stomach
contains must be assimilated. The two operations of solidification
and assimilation of food into blood cannot go on together; because, as I have just shown you, the process of solidification requires the concentration of all the living energies for its accomplishment.  The commencement of this plocess, therefore, must
be postponed until the assimilation of the supper to blood has
been completed.  But all the living energies, except that of solidification, are diminished in intensity during sleep.  The secretion
of the gastric and other juices, therefore, necessary for the assimilation of the supper to blood, will go on but slowly, and the completion of the process will be exceedingly protracted; and thus,
so much of the season of sleep will be employed in the assimilation of food, that a sufficient portion of it will not be left for the
6;




166               LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
solidification of blood.  But this is not all the mischief; for the
process of assimilation of the supper into blood has not only abstracted from the process of solidification a portion of that season
(the season of sleep) which ought to have been exclusively
devoted to its own accomplishment, but it has also robbed it of a
portion of those living energies, the whole of which were due to
itself; viz., that portion which has been consumed in the secretion
of those juices necessary for the conversion of the supper into
blood.  When, therefore, the hour of rising arrives, it finds the
body still unrepaired and unrefreshed; and the individual still
overpowered with sleep, and disinclined to rise.
To conclude:-If you would preserve your health, therefore,
exercise, severe exercise —proportioned, however, to your strength
-is the only means which can avail you.  Recollect, the body
must be disorganized, wasted, sweated, before it can be nourished;
-recollect the tale of the Dervish and the Sultan; —recollect the
mode of training horses for the course, and men for the prize-ring.
With plentiful bodily exertion, you can scarcely be ill; —without
bodily exertion, you cannot possibly be well.  By " well," I mean
the enjoying as much strength as your system  is capable of; and
if you are in search of some charm, some talisman, which will
enable you to indulge considerably in the pleasures of the table
with comparative impunity, you will find it in bodily exertion, and
in bodily exertion only.
But by exertion or exercise, I do not mean the petty affair of a
three-miles' walk: I mean what I say-bodily exertion, to the
extent of quickened breathing and sensible perspiration, kept up
for three or four hours out of the twenty-four; —say, four or five
miles before breakfast, four or five before dinner, four or five early
in the evening; or to save the evening for other purposes, a
healthy man may walk ten or a dozen miles before breakfast, with
an advantage to himself which will, in a week or two, perfectly
astonish him.  Most men, even the' operative manufacturers and
shopkeepers, may do this, if they will take the trouble to rise
early enough;-and, fortunately, the exercise taken before breakfast is worth all that can be taken afterwards.
It would be easy to show, that the health and strength of the
mind is as much under the control of the circulation as is the health
and strength of the body. —But I have already exceeded my
limits.
Rules of diet, therefore, are of little use; and that little, only




LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.              167
to those who cannot take the necessary degree of bodily exercise.
The stomach of a healthy man will dissolve polished steel of the
finest temper.  What difference can it make to such an organ,
whether it receives roast or boiled meat, eggs, oysters, cheese, butter, bread, or potato? and whether these articles have been thoroughly and minutely broken down by the teeth, or only imperfectly so?  Sir Richard Jebb, when his patients asked him what
diet they should use, was in the habit of replying, "Why, my
dear madam, do n't eat the fender and fire-irons, because they are
decidedly unwholesome; but of any other dish you may freely
partake."
But, to those who, from any cause, cannot take bodily exertion,
some attention to diet may be necessary. Even here simplicity
and quantity, rather than quality, form  the grand consideration.
They cannot well take too little food; and wine and other strong
drinks are wholly inadmissible.  And let them only reflect on the
mechanism of nutrition; on the mlanner in which our food nourishes us-what becomes of it after we have eaten it; and they
cannot but clearly see that this advice is sound and wholesome
doctrine.
Authorities without proof are of little value; otherwise, I could
quote them in abundance, from all sorts of authors, in all ages of
the world.  But if you will not believe the evidence of such arguments as I have already adduced, neither would authorities convince you, though their name were Legion.  I shall, however, conclude this Letter with four.
"The pith of nearly all that has been written on hygiene," says
Dr. J. Johnson, " or the prevention of diseases-and of the Protean
disorder among the rest —might be included under two heads, almost in two words —temperance and exercise."  Again: "Disorders of the body, in these days, are engendered and propagated,
to a frightful extent, by moral commotions and anxieties of the
mind. And if I have proved that corporeal exertion, especially
when aided by any intellectual excitement or pursuit, can obviate the
evils that ensue to soul and body from these causes, I shall do some
service to the community. The principle in question is neither
Utopian, nor of difficult application: it is within the reach of high
and low —rich and poor-the learned and unlettered.  Let moral
ills overtake any of these, and he is in the high way to physical
illness. To prevent the corporeal malady, and to diminish, as much
as possible, the mental affliction itself, the individual must tread in




168              LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.
the steps-haud passibus cequis-of Xenophon and Byron.  He
must keep the bocy active and the stomach empty."
"Exercise," says Hakesworth, "gives health, vigor, and cheerfulless, sound sleep, and a keen appetite.  The effects of sedentary thoughtfulness are, diseases that embitter and shorten lifeinterrupted rest —tasteless meals —perpetual languor —and ceaseless anxiety."
"Temperance," says Burton, "is a bridle of gold; and he who
can use it aright, is liker a god than a man."
But-I beg your pardon-I must make another short quotation,
which has this moment occurred to me:-one which, though exceedingly short, embodies in itself the truth and wisdom of a hundled volumes: it is the following brief aphorism  of the late Mr.
Abernethy: with which I shall conclude:-" If you would be well,
live upon sixpence a day, and earn it."
I am, my dear John,
Yours very truly,
E. JOHNSON.




APPENDIX,
SINCE the publication of the eighth edition of this work, a new mode
of treating certain diseases has been introduced into this country under
the name of Hydropathy.
Shortly after its introduction, I received several letters, wherein it was
stated, that if the opinions expressed in my work on Life, Health, and
Disease were sincere, they (the writers of these letters) thought I was
bound to advocate the Hydropathic treatment, because, they said, the
principles and doctrines involved in that treatment are identical with the
principles and doctrines taught by me in that work.  I also received,
shortly after the receipt of these letters, a note from Captain Claridge,
requesting leave to call on me. "For," said he, in his note to me, "I
have just been reading your work on Life, Health, and Disease, from
which I perceive that you are a ready-made Hijdropafivist.'   After my
conversation with Captain Claridge, I immediately started for Greefenberg, where I spent one entire winter. During my residence there, I
had the most amnple opportunities of observing the effects of the treatment
as practised by Priessnitz. I soon became most thoroughly convinced
that the Hydropathic method, though not capable of curing all diseases
as some visionary enthusiasts believed, nor of entirely taking the place
of medicine and the lancet, to the total exclusion of both; yet that, as a
whole, it formed a system infinitely superior to all other systems of cure,'a nd more generally applicable, safe, and successful.  I found, too, that
it was particularly useful in precisely those cases in which drugs were
avowedly of no use at all-as chronic rheumatism, chronic debility, spinal
weakness, indigestion, constipation, consumptive diathesis, and a whole
hlost of nervous affections, head diseases, and irregular and undenominated ailments which defy classification. I returned home determined to
advocate and adopt it-and I thank God that I have hitherto been enabled
to do so with a success beyond my most sanguine expectations.
The chief object of this work has been to recommend exercise, and a
more fiee exposure of our persons to the influences of the weather, as
remedial and conservative measures of high value. And I have explfained how these operate upon' the body-viz. by accelerating the disorganization and reorganizaliqz of the body-by more rapidly expellirng the old.




1t;70                      RAPPENDIX.
and worn-out material, and supplying its place by new. Now this is precisely the mode in which the Hydropathic treatment operates, as demonstrated by Liebig in his great work on Animal Chemistry,-and as also
shown by me in my "Theory and Principles of Hydropathy."  Frequent
cold bathing and sweating have precisely the same effect on the body as
exercise. They accelerate what Liebig calls the CHANGE OF MATTER
-that is, the daily disorganization and reorganization of the elements of
the blood and vital organs. But, in addition to frequent cold bathing and
sweating, Exercise, and almost constant exposure to the weather, form
most important elements in the Hydropathic treatment.
Not to have adopted, therefore, this treatment, would have been, in my
case, to become a renegade from my own principles and doctrines.
As practised by Priessnitz, however, there is much in the treatment
which is unscientific, and something which is both absurd and dangerous
-at all events, to English constitutions —which differ widely from the
German. I do not say this to detract aught from his merit, which is undoubtedly great. But I presume it will not be denied by any one that,
had Priessnitz had the advantage of a medical education, or indeed any
education at all, his treatment would have been much more perfect, and
his success much more uniform and certain.
There is no part of that treatment which is wholly new. The wet
sheet, wet body-bandages, sweating, cold bathing, exercise, and free exposure to the weather, have each, in its turn, been recommended by various writers and practitioners before. The great merit of Priessnitz consists in his having accumulated all these various remedial measures into
one great system, bringing them all simultaneously to bear upon the patient as one treatment-which treatment must (in chronic cases), and
for the time being, constitute the business of the patient's life.
There is another point on which the Hydropathic treatment has a strong
analogy with the doctrines taught in this work-I mean its total rejection
of all Alcoholic Stimulants as beverages.
As might have been expected, the Hydropathic treatment, on its first
introduction, met with the most violent opposition on the part of medical
men. One physician to one of our largest Metropolitan Hospitals gave a
lecture to his pupils, which lecture was expressly devoted to instructing
them in what they were to say, and how they were to act, should any
of their patients, when they got into practice, consult them as to the propriety of trying this new treatment. They were not to run it down-not
to ridicule it-because that, said he, would be the certain way to induce
them to resort to it. On the contrary, they were to speak of it with respect-to acknowledge that it was useful in certain cases, and certain constitutions-but always to conclude by assuring the patient that in his or
her particular case it would be highly improper and extremely dangerous.
And this is the ruse-this the quirk —practised by the great bulk of medical men up to the present moment. They have ceased to rail at itceased to laugh at it. They admit that they sometimes recommend it.




APPENDIX.                          171
But they always conclude by assuring -the patient that his own case is
one in which i; is totally inadmissible.
I am rejoiced to perceive however that many among the more intelligent and higher standing in the profession are beginning not only to acknowledge its value, but even to introduce it into their practice.  In the
last number of the British and Foreign Medical Quarterly, Professor
Forbes (its Editor) has a long article, written with the most manly frankness, by himself, on the subject of the Hydropathic treatment. In this
article he has, in the most unequivocal language, boldly declared his conviction that it is a treatment of great power and value in a multitude of
cases, both chronic and acute —and moreover -that it is not a whit more
dangerous than the ordinary drug practice, in the hands of properly educated medical men.  " If it shall appear, however," says Professor
Forbes, "as we believe it will, on further examination, that the external
application of cold water is capable of being beneficially applied in the
cure of diseases in modes of greater eicacy, and to a much greater extent,
than has been hitherto practised by medical men, there remains only one
course for the members of the profession to pursue, viz. to adopt the improvementS."
Again: " Let us then consider a little further the consequence of repeated applications of cold, supposing, for the sake of argument, it is used
with due reference to the constitutional powers, so as to create an increased activity of the vital functions.  It appears to us that this is exactly the thing needed in the treatment of a great many cases of chronic
ailments."
" In conclusion, we will venture to place on record the following, as
among the more important impressions which have remained on our mind
after a careful examination of the whole subject. In a large proportion
of cases of gout and rheumatism, the water-cure seems to be extremely
efficacious. After the evidence in its favor, accessible to everybody, we
think medical men can hardly be justified in omitting, in a certain proportion of cases, at least a full trial of it. No evidence exists of any special
risk from the water practice in such cases."
" In that very large class of complex disease, usually known under the
name of chronic dyspepsia, in which other modes of treatment have failed,
or been only partially successful, the practice of Friessnitz is well deserving of trial."
"; In many chronic nervous affections and general debility, we should
anticipate great benefit from this system."
" In chronic diarrhcea, dysentery, hamorrhoids, the sitz-bath appears to
be frequently an effectual remedy."
"We find nothing to forbid the cautious use of drugs in combination
with Hydropathic measures.  On the contrary, we are convinced that a
judicious combination of the two is the best means of obtaining the full
benefit of each. The water-cure contains no substitute for the lancet,
active purging, and many other means necessary for the relief of sudden




172                           APPENDIX.
and dangerous local maladies.  The banishment of drugs from his practice was necessary, and perhaps natural, on the part of Priessnitz: the
like proceeding on the part of qualified medical men, superintending wcater
establishments in this country, evinces ignorance, or charlatancly, or both."9
"XVTith careful and discreet management, in the hands of a properly
qualified medical practitioner, the water-cure is very rarely attended with
danger."
" Notwithstanding the success of the founder of Hydropathy (Priessnitz), its practice by non-professional persons can neither be fully advantageous nor safe."
"Many advantages would result from the subject being taken up by
the medical profession.  The evils and dangers of quackery would at
once be removed from  it. Its real merits would soon be known.  The
tonic portion of its measures might then be employed in conjunction with
special remedies of more activity, which, no doubt, would often prove exceedingly beneficial."
"Finally, it must always be rememlbered that the distinction between
quacks and respectable practitioners is one, not so much of remedies used,
as of sliill and honesty in using them.  Therefore, let our orthodox
brethren be especially anixious to establish and to widen, as far as possible, this distinction between themselves and all spurious pretenders."
I need hardly add that I quite agree with these conclusions of Professor
Forbes; especially that Iivdropathy can never operate to the total exclusion of either drugs or the lancet-although undoubtedly it will diminish,
to a very important extent, the frequency of the use of both-and that it
cannot be either safely or advantageously practised by non-professional
persons.
THE END,




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Alexander, Prof. J. A.
THE EARLIER AND LATER PROPHECIES OF ISAIAH. In
2 Vols. Roy. Svo. cloth, $5 50.                                             i
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AN ELEMENTARY TREATISE ON OPTICS, Designed for the
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4             John  WTiley's List of Late Publications.
Beckford, Wm., Author of "i Vathek."
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e Evangelist.
Bible.
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Bradford, Win. J. A.-Notes on the North West;
Or, Valley of the Upper Mississippi: comprising the country between
Lakes Superior and Michigan, East; the Illinois and Missouri Rivers,




John  Wiley's List of  Late P'ublications.                       5
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Cellini, Benvenuto, a  Florentine  Artist,. 
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6               John Wiley's List of Late Publications.
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John  Wiley's List of Late Publications,                     7
Cheerer, Rev. George B.-Continued.
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Addressed to the Emperor Charles V. written during the Conquest, and
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8      ~       John  Wiley's L-tst of Late Publications.
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Tablet.
Cruikshank, —-The Bottle,                                                              I
In 8 plates.  Price 25 cts.
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He Hart, Capt. W. C.-Courts Martial. 
Observations on Military Law, and  the  Constitution  and  Practice of
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Diary of Lady Willoughby.
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