This unnatural cookery,—this mingling medicine with viands naturally healthful, and torturing the compounds thus formed into sources of irritation, has more to do with that sensuality which has come upon us like a flood,—much of it in new forms,—than many are aware. And I am much mistaken if modern societies for moral reform, popularly so called, might not thank the over-refined cookery of a gross and highly stimulating diet, for that necessity which impels to their own field of labor.
One thing more might have been mentioned in its proper place—the tendency of high living to eruptions on the skin. These, in their various forms of pimple, carbuncle, boil, etc., are becoming quite the order of the day. Mr. Y.'s family had a full share of them, especially those of them who were scrofulous. I have already mentioned the appearance of Mr. Y.'s face, and have alluded to the change which took place after his fall. But I should have spoken of the eruptions on his face, which, at times, were such as almost made him ashamed to enter the pulpit.
You will see, from the tenor of these remarks, that I have laid the guilt, in this sad affair, just where I believe it ought to rest. I have not sought to exculpate one individual or party, at the expense of another equally guilty, but rather to do justice to all.
Only one thing remains, which is to confess my own guilt. Have I not great reason to fear that my advice was not sufficiently pointed and thorough? I might have gone to Mr. Y. and told him the truth, the whole truth. What if it had given offence? Would not the prospect of doing good, rather than of giving offence, have been worth something? In any event, I do regret most deeply my unfaithfulness, even though it arose from delicacy and diffidence, for that very delicacy and diffidence were far enough from being grounded on the love of God. They were grounded much more on the love of human approbation. No man was ever more free from it than our Saviour. Ought I not to have used the same plainness that he would have used? Had I rebuked Mrs. Y. as kindly and as faithfully as he rebuked Martha at Bethany, how much, for ought I can ever know, might have been saved, not only to the cause of health and conjugal happiness, but also to that of piety.
CHAPTER LXXVI.
DR. BOLUS AND MORPHINE.
A telegraphic communication was made to me one day, nearly as follows: "B. J. W. is very sick, and is not expected to live through the day. Please come on immediately."
The distance was about one hundred and fifty miles, and the mode and means of conveyance neither very direct nor rapid for these latter times. It was more than probable that Mr. B. J. W. would be dead before I could reach the place. However, as he was a particular friend, and as there was some hope, I concluded to set out.