Intent on the discovery of some new anæsthetic, which might be more safely entrusted to general use, Dr. Snow began, in 1856, to experiment with amylene. As usual, he went to work cautiously and with precision. First he ascertained the boiling point of the specimen supplied to him; then the point of saturation of air with the vapour at different temperatures; then the effects of inhalation of the vapour by inferior animals, and the quantity required to be inspired, with the air breathed, to produce insensibility. These were the usual steps in all his inquiries of this kind. When he had obtained any substance which would produce insensibility favourably on animals, he pushed it, in one or two experiments, to its extreme in animals of different kinds; and having produced death by the inhalation, both by giving rapidly a large dose, and by giving a small dose for a long period, he observed the mode of death, whether it occurred by cessation of the heart, or by cessation of the respiration primarily. If the agent seemed to promise favourably from these inquiries, he commenced to try it on man; and the first man was invariably his own self. His friends, knowing his unflinching courage in the ardour of his inquiries, often expostulated with him in regard to the risks he ran. It was of no avail. He felt the personal trial a duty, and he did it. I do not believe, as some have supposed, that these personal experiments had any effect in producing his early death; but it is certain that he underwent many risks in the performance of his investigations, and that he held his own life of least consideration when the lives or well-being of others were under consideration.
There is yet another trait in his character which I cannot but notice, and which I would respectfully commend to all physiological inquirers. While he held it as a necessity to use inferior animals for the purpose of experiment, he never touched living thing with the physiologist’s finger without having before him some definite object; and never performed experiment on any animal without providing with scrupulous care against the infliction of all unnecessary suffering. The interests of humanity were, according to his rule, best advanced by the practice of a humanity that was universal.
He paid considerable attention to the subject of local anæsthesia, and tried numerous methods for attaining to a knowledge of a perfect local anæsthetic. He performed experiments with freezing mixtures, with chloroform; and for the production of rapid and efficient benumbing by cold, he tried, in 1854, the effects of applying solid carbonic acid to the skin. At one of the meetings of the Medical Society, he reported at length the results he had arrived at; but he was never satisfied with them, and soon relinquished the inquiry, in order to concentrate his energies on the discovery of what he felt sure must be discovered ultimately,—an anæsthetic which might be inhaled with absolute safety, and which would destroy common sensation without destroying consciousness.
To some extent he succeeded in this latter direction, in his discovery of the physiological effects of amylene; and for some time he was sanguine as to the great safety of the new agent. But the deaths which he has so faithfully recorded as occurring in his own hands from amylene, removed his expectations, and he discontinued its use as soon as he learned the risks which might follow its administration.
By his earnest labours Dr. Snow soon acquired a professional reputation, in relation to his knowledge of the action of anæsthetics, which spread far and wide; and the people, through the profession, looked up to him from all ranks, as the guide to whom to entrust themselves in “Lethe’s walk”. On April the 7th, 1853, he administered chloroform to Her Majesty at the birth of the Prince Leopold. A note in his diary records the event. The inhalation lasted fifty-three minutes. The chloroform was given on a handkerchief, in fifteen minim doses; and the Queen expressed herself as greatly relieved by the administration. He had previously been consulted on the occasion of the birth of Prince Arthur, in 1850, but had not been called in to render his services. Previous to the birth of Prince Leopold, he had been honoured with an interview with His Royal Highness the Prince Albert, and returned much overjoyed with the Prince’s kindness and great intelligence on the scientific points which had formed the subject of their conversation. On April 14th, 1857, another note in the diary records the fact of the second administration of chloroform to Her Majesty, at the birth of the Princess Beatrice. The chloroform again exerted its beneficent influence; and Her Majesty once more expressed herself as much satisfied with the result.
Inquisitive folk often overburthened Snow, after these events, with a multitude of questions of an unmeaning kind. He answered them all with goodnatured reserve. “Her Majesty is a model patient,” was his usual reply: a reply which, he once told me, seemed to answer every purpose, and was very true. One lady of an inquiring mind, to whom he was administering chloroform, got very loquacious during the period of excitement, and declared she would inhale no more of the vapour unless she were told what the Queen said, word for word, when she was taking it. Her Majesty, replied the dry doctor, asked no questions until she had breathed very much longer than you have; and if you will only go on in loyal imitation, I will tell you everything. The patient could not but follow the example held out to her. In a few seconds she forget all about Queen, Lords, and Commons; and when the time came for a renewal of hostilities, found that her clever witness had gone home to his dinner, leaving her with the thirst for knowledge still on her tongue.
From the literary and general history of Dr. Snow, let us turn for a few pages to his history personal. I will take the mean of the last eight years of his life,—the period in which I knew him,—as the period from which to draw particulars. He was of middle size, and, some years since, slender; but of late he had become of slightly fuller build. His long life in comparative student loneliness had made him reserved in manner to strangers; but with private friends he was always open, and of sweet companionship. With his increased popularity he became less reserved to strangers; and within the last few years he so far threw off restraint as to visit the opera occasionally. But he moderated every enjoyment, and let nothing personal stand in the way of his scientific pursuits. He was the impersonation of order. He had his time and place for everything; he kept a diary, in which he recorded the particulars of every case in which he administered chloroform or other anæsthetic, with comments on the results of the administration, and hints as to dangers avoided or chanced. He kept a record of all his experiments, and short notes of observations made by his friends. He rose early, and retired early to rest,—at eleven o’clock. He seemed, whenever he was waited on, as though he had nothing in hand, and were always open to an engagement.
Anything and everything of scientific interest arrested his attention, and his kindliness of heart was at all times in the foreground. When I was living at Mortlake, he would run down, on request, after his day’s duties were over, to a post-mortem, to see a poor patient, or to take part in an experiment, returning as cheerily as though he had been to receive the heaviest fee. I name this as but one example of his kindly nature; there are many who could corroborate the example in like personal manner.
He laid no claim to eloquence, nor had he that gift. A peculiar huskiness of voice, indeed, rendered first hearings from him painful; but this was soon felt less on acquaintance, and the ear once accustomed to the peculiarity, the mind was quickly interested in the matter of his discourse, for he always spoke earnestly, clearly, and to the point. In the societies he spoke very often, and gave expression to views, on which he had spent great thought, with a generous freedom which, in so far as the fame of his originality was concerned, had been better held in reserve. It had been better, that is to say, for him to have carefully elaborated some of his views in the closet, and published them fully, than to have sent them forth in the hurry of debate. Had he lived, he would possibly have collected many stray labours thus put forward, and have given to them the matured consideration which they deserved. One of his views, on which he would have bestowed great attention, refers to the origin of various morbid growths, as cancer. He believed that these morbid formations are all of local origin; that they arise in the parts of the body where they are found, from some perversion of nutrition; and that the constitutional effects are secondary to and dependent on the local disorder. He had made many observations on this important subject, notices of which are to be found scattered, here and there, in the proceedings of the Medical Society of London, but no connected record was ever completed.
His private conversation was both instructive and amusing; he was full of humorous anecdotes, which he told in a quiet, and irresistibly droll style; and when he laughed, his goodnatured face laughed in every feature.[[1]] His anecdotes were never given in set form, but were elicited by some circumstance or other which might happen to suggest them. Once, when a friend of ours related at dinner some of the economical measures of an odd old doctor who was known to some of the company, he gave us an anecdote, showing how a man may work too hard for his money. “When I was a very young man,” he said, “I went for a brief period to assist a gentleman who had a large parochial practice. I found his surgery in a very disorderly state, and thinking on my first day with him that I would enhance myself in his opinion by my industry, I set to work, as soon as his back was turned, to cleanse the Augean stable. I took off my coat, cleared out every drawer, relieved the counter of its unnecessary covering, relabelled the bottles, and got everything as clean as a new pin. When the doctor returned, he was quite taken by storm with the change, and commenced to prescribe in his day book. There was a patient who required a blister, and the worthy doctor, to make dispensing short, put his hand into a drawer to produce one. To his horror, the drawer was cleansed. Goodness! cried he, why where are all the blisters? The blisters, I replied, the blisters in that drawer? I burnt them all; they were old ones. Nay, my good fellow, was the answer, that is, the most extravagant act I ever heard of; such proceedings would ruin a parish doctor. Why, I make all my parochial people return their blisters when they have done with them. One good blister is enough for at least half a dozen patients. You must never do such a thing again, indeed you must not. I did not, for he and I soon found a good many miles of ground between us, though we never had any more serious misunderstanding.”