whilst in the present day the medical profession may in Europe be said to have arrived nearly at its zenith; other sciences may have kept pace with it in their marvellous and beneficial discoveries, but none can so much claim the thankful gratitude of mankind in general. Health is universally acknowledged to be the most precious of all temporal blessings, and, consequently, the pillars that maintain and prop up health have a prior claim to all others; and that man must be blind indeed, both spiritually and bodily, who does not see and acknowledge in this boon to suffering humanity the invisible hand of the Almighty Benefactor, as clearly intelligent to the man of God now, as were then the words, “Arise, take up thy bed and walk,” to the hopeless palsied patient. In short, every cure and every relief afforded to the sick and dying, are so many miracles of mercy. A man meets with an accident—he is mortally wounded in battle—crushed by a railway accident—burnt in a fire—all but drowned in water—sick of a fatal malady lingering with vain hopes and vainer love of life—the marked victim of consumption—these all have their immediate and most excruciating tortures benumbed or alleviated by the skill of the physician; or, if there is hope of life, the whispering of that hope falls from their lips like precious balm of Gilead imbuing them with courage and patience to undergo suffering, for great beyond measure is the tenaciousness to life. If, on the other hand, the skilful practitioner believes his patient doomed, and pronounces the last verdict, still he can proclaim to him the sweet hope of mercy—mercy eternal and boundless—for the penitent sinner, and help him to collect his scattered thoughts from wandering to that world which he must now speedily leave; he may whisper to him that there is still time for hope,
and to hope for mercy, and he may assist him to spend these last precious moments in penitence and prayer.
What has long ceased to be a marvel amongst nations advanced in civilisation, is still regarded in the light of a miracle by the untutored portion of the world. Those who have penetrated into the remotest and least-known regions, have adduced evidence in support of this; and it is natural that a savage should regard with superstitious awe and reverence, a man endowed by education with even such every-day attainments as would barely pass muster in England, France, or America; and it is as natural, that this awe and reverence should gradually give place to affection and gratitude when, by the interposition of medical skill, the sick and suffering man experiences a speedy transition from pain and disease to the rapturous bliss of a state of convalescence,—and this transition brought about, too, by what, to him in his ignorance appears a magical influence. His faith in that man’s power is so great, that, if he only drop a word in proper season, the untutored mind of the comparative savage has sufficient natural energy to grow inquisitive about what so materially regards himself; and he soon feels persuaded that one from whom he has already received such convincing proofs of disinterested kindness can never be capable of doing him an injury; and this leads him to reflect; and reflection is the first grand foundation-stone, which, when once firmly set, can readily be built upon, and become, with God’s blessing, a house upon a rock. Throughout all ages since the foundation of the Christian faith, those missionaries who have penetrated into barbarous countries, have invariably found the great utility of being acquainted, however slightly, with a knowledge of medicines and their proper application. The very word hakeem is a
passport to the Oriental heart and good-will. How else could Europeans, in the garb of monks, and furnished only with staff and wallet, have traversed those vast and unknown regions of China, Tartary, Thibet, etc., and have escaped scatheless to make known to the world their travels and adventures in lands and amongst people whose very name was a mystery to civilised Europe? That physicians are honoured by these people, and even in some instances gratefully remembered, is certain. This truth is placed beyond a doubt by the fact of a Chinese poet having celebrated the name, fame, and good deeds of a skilful European oculist in a lengthy poem, part of which was translated into English and published some few years since in London, taken, I believe, from the notes of the late Rev. Mr. Abed, a distinguished American settled at Singapore. And it is owing to the fact of monks, professionally physicians, having been with impunity permitted to travel through unknown lands, that Europeans are indebted for the introduction of the silkworm from China into their own country, an indefatigable monk having ingeniously contrived to convey the eggs carefully packed in the hollow of his staff over thousands of miles, and through apparently insuperable dangers and difficulties from China to Turkey.
I have now, I hope, succeeded in proving to the reader the necessity that exists of incorporating the medical with the clerical profession in the persons of those good Christians, valiant soldiers of Christ, who are cheerfully willing to devote their lives and talents to the furtherance of the Gospel as missionaries in foreign parts; and I shall now endeavour to explain my views, hopes, and wishes, as connected more immediately with the spread of the Truth in Syria and
throughout the East. Many thousands of pounds have been already lavished upon futile attempts to convert the heathen, and many excellent Christians are now to be found in England ready with open hands to further a good cause; but as I never intend to participate in any worldly gain to be drawn directly or indirectly from what I am about to recommend to their serious attention and consideration, they must at least acquit me of any selfish motives, for my career in life is not in my own power; and though I have learned to prize England and the many treasured friends and privileges I here possess most highly, yet, I cannot forget my mother country altogether, and trust and hope I may be able, at intervals, to revisit its sunny shores for a while, and during my absence from it my every thought shall be how best to promote the spiritual welfare of my beloved brethren there.
The plan I propose as best calculated to insure, within a few years, the happiest results to Syria, is as follows, viz:—
Firstly.—That a society be formed in England, composed of benevolent ladies and gentlemen, who shall have for their aim the establishment of a charitable hospital and schools at Beyrout, and that, for the furtherance of this object, subscription-lists be opened at some of the principal banking establishments all over Great Britain.
Secondly.—That the donations thus collected shall be paid into the Bank of England.
Thirdly.—That when the sum subscribed shall have amounted to about two thousand pounds, a pious, experienced middle-aged medical man, be sent to Beyrout, accompanied by a chemist; there in co-operation with some intelligent native (such as Asaad Kayat, the