But while we might thus proceed to annul many other claims for originality, we ought not to close our eyes to the fallacies to which such investigations are peculiarly exposed. Nothing is more easy than to invest the doubtful sentence of an obscure author with an interpretation best adapted for the support of a favourite theory, and instances might be adduced where the medical antiquarian[[72]] has by violence and distortion forced the most contradictory passages into his service; treating, in short, the oracles of Physic just as Lord Peter treated his father’s will in the Tale of a Tub,—determined to discover the word “Shoulder Knots,” he picks it out, letter by letter, and is even at last obliged to substitute C for K in the orthography.
Nor has Fashion confined her baneful interference to the selection of remedies; she has ventured even to decide upon the nature of Diseases, and to change and modify their appellations according to the whim and caprice by which she is governed. The Princess, afterwards Queen Anne, was subject to Hypochondriacal attacks, which her Physicians pronounced to be Spleen, Vapours, or Hyp, and recommended Rawleigh’s Confection, and Pearl Cordial, for its cure: this circumstance was sufficient to render both the Disease and Remedy fashionable; no other complaint was ever heard of in the precincts of the court but that of the Vapours, nor any medicine esteemed but that of Rawleigh. Some years afterwards, in consequence of Dr. Whytt’s publication on “Nervous diseases,” a lady of Fashion was pronounced to be Nervous—the term became general, and the disease fashionable; and Spleen, Vapours, and Hyp were consigned to oblivion: the reign of Nervous Diseases, however, did not long continue, for a popular work appeared on Biliary Concretions, and all the world became bilious. We have not patience to pursue the history of these follies; a transient glance at the ephemeral productions of the last twenty years would furnish a sad display of the versatility of medical opinions, and of the instability of the practice which has been founded upon them: and they will no doubt furnish the future historian with strong and forcible illustrations.
THE ASSIGNING TO ART THAT WHICH WAS THE EFFECT OF UNASSISTED NATURE, OR THE CONSEQUENCE OF INCIDENTAL CHANGES OF HABIT, DIET, &c.
Our inability upon all occasions to appreciate the efforts of nature in the cure of disease, must always render our notions, with respect to the powers of art, liable to numerous errors and multiplied deceptions. Nothing is more natural, and at the same time more erroneous, than to attribute the cure of a disease to the last medicine that had been employed; the advocates of amulets and charms[[73]] have even been thus enabled to appeal to the testimony of what they call experience, in justification of their superstitions; and cases which, in truth and justice, ought to be considered most lucky escapes, have been triumphantly pronounced as skilful cures; and thus have medicines and practitioners alike acquired unmerited praise, or unjust censure. Upon Mrs. Stephens offering her remedy for the stone to Parliament,[[74]] a committee of professional men was nominated to ascertain its efficacy; a patient with stone was selected, and he took the remedy; his sufferings were soon relieved, and upon examining the bladder in the usual way, no stone could be felt, it was therefore agreed that the patient had been cured, and that the stone had been dissolved; some time afterwards this patient died, and on being opened, a large stone was found in a pouch, formed by a part of the bladder, and which communicated with it. When the yellow fever raged in America, the practitioners trusted exclusively to the copious use of mercury; at first, this plan was deemed so universally efficacious, that in the enthusiasm of the moment, it was triumphantly proclaimed that death never took place after the mercury had evinced its effect upon the system: all this was very true, but it furnished no proof of the efficacy of that metal, since the disease, in its aggravated form, was so rapid in its career, that it swept away its victims long before the system could be brought under mercurial influence, while in its milder shape it passed off equally well without any assistance from art.
Let us then, before we decree the honours of a cure to a favourite medicine, carefully and candidly ascertain the exact circumstances under which it was exhibited, or we shall rapidly accumulate examples of the fallacies to which our art is exposed; what has been more common than to attribute to the efficacy of a mineral water, those fortunate changes of constitution that have entirely or in great measure, arisen from salubrity of situation, hilarity of mind, exercise of body, and regularity of habits, which have incidentally accompanied its potation. Thus, the celebrated John Wesley, while he commemorates the triumph of ‘Sulphur and Supplication’ over his bodily infirmity, forgets to appreciate the resuscitating influence of four months repose from his apostolic labours; and such is the disposition of the human mind to place confidence in the operation of mysterious agents, that we find him more disposed to attribute his cure to a brown paper plaister of egg and brimstone, than to Dr. Fothergill’s salutary prescription of country air, rest, asses milk, and horse exercise.[[75]] The ancient physicians duly appreciated the influence of such agents; their temples, like our watering places, were the resort of those whom medicine could not cure, and we are expressly told by Plutarch that these temples, especially that of Esculapius, were erected on elevated spots, with the most congenial aspects; a circumstance which, when aided by the invigorating effects of hope, by the diversions which the patient experienced in his journey, and perhaps by the exercise to which he had been unaccustomed, certainly performed many cures. It follows then that in the recommendation of a watering place, something more than the composition of a mineral spring is to direct our choice,—the chemist will tell us, that the springs of Hampstead and Islington rival those of Tunbridge and Malvern, that the waters of Bagnigge Wells, as a chalybeate purgative, might supersede those of Cheltenham and Scarborough, and that an invalid would frequent the spring in the vicinity of the Dog and Duck, in St. George’s Fields, with as much advantage as the celebrated Spa at Leamington; but the physician is well aware that by the adoption of such advice, he would deprive his patient of those most powerful auxiliaries to which I have alluded, and above all, lose the advantages of the “Medicina Mentis.” On the other hand, the recommendation of change of air and habits will rarely inspire confidence, unless it be associated with some medicinal treatment; a truth which it is more easy and satisfactory to elucidate and enforce by examples than by precept—let the following story by Voltaire serve as an illustration.—“Ogul, a voluptuary who could be managed but with difficulty by his physician, on finding himself extremely ill from indolence and intemperance, requested advice:—‘Eat a Basilisk, stewed in rose-water,’ replied the physician. In vain did the slaves search for a Basilisk, until they met with Zadig, who, approaching Ogul, exclaimed, ‘Behold that which thou desirest;’ ‘but, my Lord,’ continued he, ‘it is not to be eaten; all its virtues must enter through thy pores, I have therefore enclosed it in a little ball, blown up, and covered with a fine skin; thou must strike this ball with all thy might, and I must strike it back again, for a considerable time, and by observing this regimen, and taking no other drink than rose-water for a few days, thou wilt see, and acknowledge the effect of my art.’ The first day Ogul was out of breath, and thought he should have died from fatigue; the second he was less fatigued, and slept better: in eight days he recovered all his strength; Zadig then said to him, ‘There is no such thing in nature as a Basilisk! but thou hast taken exercise and been temperate, and hast therefore recovered thy health!’ But the medical practitioner may perhaps receive more satisfaction from a modern illustration; if so, the following anecdote, related by Sydenham, may not be unacceptable. This great physician having long attended a gentleman of fortune with little or no advantage, frankly avowed his inability to render him any farther service, adding at the same time, that there was a physician of the name of Robinson, at Inverness, who had distinguished himself by the performance of many remarkable cures of the same complaint as that under which his patient laboured, and expressing a conviction that, if he applied to him, he would come back cured. This was too encouraging a proposal to be rejected; the gentleman received from Sydenham a statement of his case, with the necessary letter of introduction, and proceeded without delay to the place in question. On arriving at Inverness, and anxiously enquiring for the residence of Dr. Robinson, he found to his utter dismay and disappointment, that there was no physician of that name, nor ever had been in the memory of any person there. The gentleman returned, vowing eternal hostility to the peace of Sydenham; and on his arrival at home, instantly expressed his indignation at having been sent on a journey of so many hundred miles for no purpose. “Well,” replies Sydenham, “are you better in health?”—“Yes, I am now quite well, but no thanks to you,”—“No,” says Sydenham, “but you may thank Dr. Robinson for curing you. I wished to send you a journey with some object of interest in view; I knew it would be of service to you; in going you had Dr. Robinson and his wonderful cures in contemplation; and in returning, you were equally engaged in thinking of scolding me.”
AMBIGUITY OF NOMENCLATURE.
It has been already stated that we are to a great degree ignorant of the Simples used by the ancient Physicians; we are often quite unable to determine what the plants are of which Dioscorides treats. It does not appear that out of the 700 plants of which his Materia Medica consists, that more than 400 are correctly ascertained; and yet no labour has been spared to clear the subject of its difficulties; Cullen even laments that so much pains should have been bestowed upon so barren an occasion.[[76]] The early history of botany presents us with such a chaos of nomenclature, that it must have been impossible for the herbarist and physician to have communicated their mutual lights; every one was occupied with disputes upon words and names, and every useful inquiry was suspended, from an inability to decide what plant each author intended; thus, for instance, the Herba Britannica of Dioscorides and Pliny, so celebrated for the cure of the soldiers of Julius Cæsar on the Rhine, of a disease called ‘Scelotyrbe’, and supposed to resemble our sea scurvy, remains quite unknown, notwithstanding the labours of our most intelligent commentators.[[77]] It seems also very doubtful whether the plant which we denominate Hemlock was the poison usually administered at the Athenian executions,[[78]] and which deprived Socrates and Phocion of life. Pliny informs us that the word Cicuta, amongst the ancients, was not indicative of any particular species of plant, but of vegetable poisons in general; this is a circumstance to which I am particularly anxious to fix your attention; it is by no means uncommon to find a word which is used to express general characters, subsequently become the name of a specific substance in which such characters are predominant; and we shall find that some important anomalies in nomenclature may be thus explained. The term ‘Αρσενικον,’ from which the word Arsenic is derived, was an ancient epithet, applied to those natural substances which possessed strong and acrimonious properties, and as the poisonous quality of arsenic was found to be remarkably powerful, the term was especially applied to Orpiment, the form in which this metal more usually occurred. So the term Verbena (quasi Hebena) originally denoted all those herbs that were held sacred on account of their being employed in the rites of sacrifice, as we learn from the poets;[[79]] but as one herb was usually adopted upon these occasions, the word Verbena came to denote that particular herb only, and it is transmitted to us to this day under the same title, viz. Verbena, or Vervain, and indeed until lately it enjoyed the medical reputation which its sacred origin conferred upon it, for it was worn suspended around the neck as an amulet. Vitriol, in the original application of the word, denoted any crystalline body with a certain degree of transparency (Vitrum); it is hardly necessary to observe that the term is now appropriated to a particular species: in the same manner, Bark, which is a general term, is applied to express one genus, and by way of eminence, it has the article, The, prefixed, as The Bark: the same observation will apply to the word Opium, which in its primitive sense signifies any juice (οπος Succus) while it now only denotes one species, viz. that of the Poppy. So again, Elaterium was used by Hippocrates, to signify various internal applications, especially purgatives of a violent and drastic nature (from the word ‘Ελαυνω,’ agito, moveo, stimulo), but by succeeding authors it was exclusively applied to denote the active matter which subsides from the juice of the wild cucumber. The word Fecula, again, originally meant to imply any substance which was derived by spontaneous subsidence from a liquid, (from fæx, the grounds or settlement of any liquor); afterwards it was applied to Starch, which is deposited in this manner by agitating the flour of wheat in water; and lastly, it has been applied to a peculiar vegetable principle, which like starch[[80]] is insoluble in cold, but completely soluble in boiling water, with which it forms a gelatinous solution; this indefinite meaning of the word fecula has created numerous mistakes in pharmaceutic chemistry; Elaterium, for instance, is said to be a fecula, and in the original sense of the word it is properly so called, inasmuch as it is procured from a vegetable juice by spontaneous subsidence, but in the limited and modern acceptation of the term, it conveys an erroneous idea; for instead of the active principle of the juice residing in fecula, it is a peculiar proximate principle, sui generis, to which I have ventured to bestow the name of Elatin. For the same reason, much doubt and obscurity involve the meaning of the word Extract, because it is applied generally to any substance obtained by the evaporation of a vegetable solution, and specifically to a peculiar proximate principle, possessed of certain characters, by which it is distinguished from every other elementary body—See Extracta. On the other hand, we find that many words which were originally only used to denote particular substances, have, at length, become subservient to the expression of General Characters; thus the term Alkali, in its originally sense, signified that particular residuum which was alone obtained by lixiviating the ashes of the plant named Kali, but the word is now so generalized that it denotes any body possessed of a certain number of definite properties.
Another source of botanical ambiguity and error is the circumstance of certain plants having acquired the names of others very different in their nature, but which were supposed to possess a similarity in external character; thus our Potatoe,[[81]] (Solanum Tuberosum) when it was first imported into England by the colonists in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, gained its appellation from its supposed resemblance to an esculent vegetable at that time in common use, under the name of the Sweet Potatoe (Convolvulus Battatas,) and which, like Eringo Root, had the reputation of being able to restore decayed vigour, thus Falstaff—
“Let the sky rain Potatoes, hail kissing Comfits, and snow Eringoes.”
Merry Wives of Windsor, Act 5, Scene 5.