I remain, Dear Sir,
Very sincerely yours,
ΔΙΟΓΕΝΗΣ.
Dublin, October, 1858. [[5]]
LIFE IN A TUB.[1]
See the wretch that long has tost,
On the thorny bed of pain,
At length repair his vigour lost,
And breathe and walk again.—Gray.
Perhaps there is nothing more characteristic of the march of intellect of the present day, or more indicative of a healthy tone of mind, than the suspicion with which the public in general, and many physicians in particular, are beginning to regard the use of drugs as curative agents—that chiefest engine of the allopathic physician for the relief of suffering humanity.
The freeing of the mind from old and preconceived ideas—from practices, with which we have been familiarized from childhood—the looking with distrust upon a system which since the times of Æsculapius and Hippocrates has held undisputed sway, arrogating to itself the name of Orthodox, and dubbing its opponents as quacks—such a change in public opinion deserves respect or reprobation, according to the causes from which it springs, whether from a calm investigation of the question presented for examination, in which strong arguments, based on natural laws—prescribing a treatment which produces the results aimed at—are found to preponderate in favour of a new system, or from a revolutionary love of novelty, indicative of versatility and want of faith in established institutions, a love of change which would espouse and propagate any doctrine irrespective of its merits, merely because it was new.