"Now, my friends, I can talk to you. I did not like talking to starving men, lest they should be ready to eat me up; and you will say, they would have enough to do to do that. But there are no cannibals at York, or I might have been eaten up long ago. Still, I regret to say that I have a disease preying upon my vitals; and except you can prescribe a cure, Doctor, I am afraid it is all up with me."
"We can prescribe no cure, without understanding the nature of the complaint."
"But it is that which puzzles the faculty in York. They say I have no bodily complaint; that it is all upon the nerves; and therefore it is, that in applying to my friend, Doctor Turnbull, to know if he knew any physician in London celebrated for his knowledge of the treatment of nervous cases, he mentioned you as the author of a book upon the nervous system; and I desired my secretary to write to you. You have well done to come to us, and we hope to receive benefit from your advice."
"I am obliged to Doctor Turnbull, for the mention of my name; but I must make some inquiries about your bodily health?"
"How is your appetite?" "Good."
"How is your sleep?" "Good."
"How is your sight?" "Good."
"How is your pulse?" "Try it."
"What do you say yourself?" "It is good."
"Have you any fever?" "None."