He went to work accordingly, but it was because it was a last resort, and he must do so. It was not because he had much faith in me. Some of his friends, it seems, had directed his attention this way; but when I came to talk of the starvation plan of cure, to which I so much inclined, both they and he revolted. However, he made a faint beginning.
I had foreseen most of the difficulties I had to contend with, and was prepared to meet them. Thus, knowing full well that if I laid down the laws of diet in great strictness, either as regards, quality or quantity, he would be discouraged and do nothing at all, I permitted him to use almost all kinds of food, and only insisted on a rigid adherence to the great law, and avoiding medicine. These two points I made much of, and explained them fully.
For example: I told him that all kinds of cookery or preparations which prevented the necessity of teeth labor, such as soaking in milk, forming into toast, mashing, or in any way softening, were wrong, and must be avoided. Also, that all additions to our food, whether of foreign bodies, such as pepper, mustard, vinegar, salt, etc., or of more concentrated substances, such as molasses, sugar, honey, butter, gravy, etc., should, for the same reason as well as others, be shunned as much as possible.
When, therefore, said I, the question comes before your mind, whether you may or may not eat a particular thing, consider first, whether its use would be a violation of the general laws I have laid down for you. I gave him many specific directions, at first, and yet continued to urge it upon him to reason for himself.
But it seemed, for a long time, a hopeless case. He kept writing to me, to know if he might eat toast, bread and butter, soup, milk, etc., or to know why it was that he ought not to make additions of foreign or concentrated substances, as of pepper, mustard, molasses, syrup, etc. I have before me sixteen letters from him, in most of which his pleadings abound, up to the very last but one. This fifteenth letter, dated December 27, more than six months after my interview with him and first prescription, has the following inquiries:—
"Will a diet do for me that admits of any pastry?—of pies, of any kind? What kind of puddings, pies, and cake will answer? What kind of meats? What food shall I be obliged to avoid to keep my passions in check? What am I to eat this winter—next spring—next summer? How much at a time? Can I eat tripe—corned beef—oysters—lean pork steak? What kinds of meat and fish will do for me to eat? Any salt fish? Is milk bad in case of liver disease? Is there any objection to baked sour apples and milk, or to sour apples after using a little milk or bread? Will you allow me to eat any simple thing between meals?"
And in this same letter, after six months' instruction, as aforesaid, he undertakes to tell me what his habits of living are, which, despite of all said and done, in the way of personal counsel and nearly twenty letters, strangely reads thus:—
"I use some milk three times a day, and almost always soak my toasted bread in milk. Since I have been out in the open air, I have usually had some wild game, or a piece of beef steak, or raw eggs, twice a day. My suppers, lately, have been toasted bread, of any convenient kind (usually Graham), with milk, about a tumbler full, at a time, or three-fourths full. I usually eat two apples, with or after each breakfast and dinner. I use considerable cream soaked into my bread, when I can obtain it, and some molasses. Now, which is the best for me to use on my bread, at supper time—cream, milk, molasses, or a little butter?—or with my other meals? Is there any objection to my using all these now, in proper quantities? Will a little plain sauce do with my supper? Why do you so strongly object to cream toasts, or cream on bread? Is chewing gum from spruce trees injurious?—or birch bark? Any objections to eating two sour apples after breakfast and dinner?"
Now the great difficulty with this young man was, that he had but little faith, either in me or in principles—though if I would direct him, from step to step, like a child, he would obey me, for the moment: though, like a child, too, he would forget my directions at almost the next moment, and ask for information on the very same point.
Was not such a trial almost too great? However, he was destined to survive it, to live on in spite of it, notwithstanding my after fears. In March, 18—, he wrote me as follows:—