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metaphysical or mental influence; it is, that pleasure or happiness induces full pulmonary expansion and free circulation; sorrow, on the contrary, suppressed breathing and remora-hence the instinctive act of sighing to relieve.

We cannot, however, agree with Sir George Lefevre, when he asserts there is little difference between the exhaustion of debauch and that of study; his expression is, “ both are reeling from intoxication !" This is surely rather a licentious figure of speech. Study revives itself in repose, and we usually perfectly recover. There is no liver, or lung, or stomach organically and permanently affected. We may

be closer to the mark even when we assimilate two apparent contrasts—excesses of drink and the exhaustion of total abstinence. Regarding the moral beauty of the creed of Father Mathew who can disbelieve ? But habit may so induce necessity, that the very breath of life will depend on the continuance of that which would be otherwise a poison and a sin. In the case of a very rigid member of the Wesleyan sect, teetotalism, as it is absurdly called, induced so rapid an emaciation and debility, that we found it essential to recommend an instant adoption of his old habits to save his life.

We know, too, the absolute necessity, in many systems, of administering stimuli during our treatment of severe injury. Once when we were taking in at St. Thomas's, one of Barclay's draymen was admitted with severe compound fracture of the tibia and fibula. Observing the prostration and systemic shock, approaching to collapse, we asked the man what had been his usual daily allowance of porter. On his answering from eight to twelve pots per day, we immediately put him on spare diet—six quarts of stout, which probably saved his life, but which would have made

short work in the destruction of a water-bibber. Like a faithful disciple of Cullen, Sir George Lefevre places CHOLERA and DIABETES among the neuroses. But in the one, spasm is not essential; in the other, affection of the nerves may be called rather the exciting cause than the disorder itself. Even in Asiatic, or, as Cullen would term it, Indian cholera, we have seen rice-water motions pass unconsciously and without cramp. Even the adoption of the term cholera for the Indian malady is, we think, a grand error, as it so widely differs from the English disorder. Perhaps the first impression of the malaria may be on the eighth pair ; but if there be a disorder in which the condition of the blood is a point of deep interest, it is this Asiatic flux; —the blood is poisoned and broken up, the serous portion mingled with mucous shreds flowing through the intestinal exhalents, the crassamentum clogging up the vessels in the form of a black pitchy clot. It is, in fact, as we termed it during the former epidemic, a profuse intestinal diaphoresis.

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The patient dies, as it were, in a state of asphyxiated collapse, unless, if reaction take place, he sinks under the secondary form of the disorder, typhoid fever. Sir George Lefevre regards fever as depending on nervous lesion, thus agreeing with Billing and Copland, and differing with Dr. Stephens, who deemed poisoned blood the essence of fever.

It is argued that nervous influence is the onset of fever, because patients feel when the fever comes. Now, if they die of the shock-if, as Armstrong used to say, the causi morbi dropped the patient—this was not fever, its phenomena must require blood. It is true that the blood drawn very early in fever is not buffed ; but if the first symptom be a shiver, the second is a flush; hence there is a conflict, and the triumph of the blood over the nerve.

Regarding the cure of intermittents, much eulogy is passed on the exhibition of three or four doses of calomel, followed up by ten grain doses of sulphate of quinine thrice in a day.

On the subject of atmospheric influence over the neuroses, there are varied opinions. The notion that the wind blowing from certain quarters is unhealthy or distressing, has often been the subject of ridicule, even in the enlightened “Spectator," where a certain malade imaginaire was cured of his whim by the nailing of the vane to the westerly point. But this is really no fallacy. There is a quality in the east wind that blows over the cold wet lands of Holland, which is anything but congenial. We ourselves have often felt assured of the prevalence of an east wind, ere we were well awake in the morning, from a peculiar sensation of malaise. It is certain, also, that the pain in a corn portends rain. An electric cloud passing over our heads will sometimes affect us very suddenly. While we were in Paris, a month ago, a sudden and violent gust of wind blew the gates of Notre Dame against us, exactly at midday. In the evening, on our return to Versailles, an invalid relative, whom we were visiting, told us he had not been so well—that about twelve o'clock his symptoms were suddenly aggravated. Was not the disturbance of atmospheric electricity by the storm the source of the paroxysm?

The full discussion of hysteria, hydrophobia, and tetanus, of the vesaniæ, and of demonomania—the illusions of Tasso, Benvenuto Cellini, &c., would be a very tempting field ; they are kar' etoxnv, imaginary maladies, nervous disorders; but our limits warn us to forbear.

Many of those disorders thus termed, however, have often, we believe, a real, a physical cause. Still there is many a Mr. Aspen, many a Lady Fanciful, who, as she is assured she looks so well when she is ill, not only aims at convincing her friends, but, in the end, even herself, of her real indisposition.

We know that it is a prevalent fashion among the aristocracy to aim

at pallor of the skin ; and we fear that vulgar health is too often chased away by the excessive exhibition of calomel. Thus one of two disorders is often induced-either a sort of ancemiated chlorosis, or a reduction of nervous energy, that may produce not only real disease, but a morbid anxiety to be supposed to suffer.

We do not feel disposed to enter on the therapeutics of the neuroses, inasmuch as Sir George Lefevre's book refers to so many maladies which cannot be blended with that class. We must, therefore, waive discussion on the superior virtues of digitalis macerated in æther, of muriate of ammonia in membranous congestions, of Dr. Malfatti’s aqua lauro cerasi (prussic acid drawn mild, as Sir George Lefevre quaintly terms it) in hysteria, et hoc genus omne. And we must merely hint at the potent influence of emotion of the mind in thwarting medicinal treatment; contenting ourselves with a quotation on the subject from quaint old Burton:

“ The body cannot be cured till the mind be satisfied. Socrates, in Plato, would prescribe no physic for Charmides' headache till first he had eased his troublesome mind-body and soul must be cured together, as head and eyes.

“ Cælum non curabis sine toto capite,

Nec caput sine toto corpore,

Nec totum corpus sine animâ." A word or two, however, on the prophylaxis of nervous maladies.

The nerves are valuable servants, but they are desperate and despotic masters. Let them once get the whip-hand, and woe betide their slave. Now, have we not an apology to make to them? We either coax and pet and indulge them, as we do spoiled children, or work them to the utmost; and then we wonder that their evil qualities turn the tables on ourselves, and render us slaves to the tempter. Now, in policy, as in argument, it is often wise to pit one of our antagonists against another; thus the brunt of the action is drawn off from ourselves. So we believe we might, with a little management, sometimes pit one passion against another; and to this end we have, for the amusement of a languid hour, formed a sort of Scale of Antagonizing Emotions. But our limits only allow us a parting glance at those excited conditions of the mind which are so often the spring of nervous maladies, real and imaginary, that is, in civilized life; for, in the nosology of the savage, we should reject some of the adynamiæ and spasmi, and perhaps all the vesaniæ. It is true we cannot always

“ Minister to a mind diseased, Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow;"

but, by a little self-denial, mens sana, to a degree at least, may be preserved to us. If, in the effort, even self-interest or self-gratification be sacrificed, the transient tears of regret will, we may hope, be consecrated, and turned to those of joy and thankfulness when the struggle is over.

Intense impression on the mind is a subject replete with interest. The illusions so often induced by it are contrasted in their influence over the system. They may be consolatory, an agreeable and happy deception, and should, in some cases, be even encouraged. We will glance at a story told by Kotzebue, in illustration. It is of a young lady whose lover died. His harp, on which he was wont to accompany her, hung in her chamber. After a period of melancholy and grief, she touched the chords of her instrument : the harp, tuned in accordance, responded. Surprise and terror were at first the consequences ; but these now yielded to a romantic melancholy, with a conviction that the spirit of her lover swept the strings of the harp. Her music became her only consolation, until a scientific friend explained to her the principle of phonic harmonies. From that moment the illusion vanished, and she drooped and died. The nursing of her illusion might have saved her life.

In other cases the cure of severe malady may be effected on the principle of imparted impetus to the nervous system. This is the rationale of the cure of Miss O'Connor of Chelmsford, by Prince Hohenlohe, who was at the moment in Bamberg : of the relief of Miss Fancourt, and of other curious cases, which many would term miraculous.

But if the impression be foreboding of misfortune, of course it should be removed if possible. We could cite many cases of those unhappy prognostics, both from dreams and the prophecy or threat of the gipsy, regarding the termination of operations or of parturition. A young lady, Mrs. W., was warned by an offended gipsy to beware of her first confinement. Her mind brooded over the prophecy, and when her child was born, she sunk and died, from no other probable cause. We have notes before us of many other cases.

Now the brain and nervous system of different persons possess very varied degrees of excitability, constituting the endless varieties of temperament and disposition, thus modelling the character, and influencing the actions of mankind. These varieties depend on so many causes and conditions, congenital, hereditary, and casual—so much are they subject to mutual sympathy and reaction, that their discussion would constitute a complete essay on the passions. We can here only offer a transient glimpse of the influence of mind on body.

The first emotion which influences the mind of a child directly it begins to have wishes and hopes, and the consciousness that these may

not be fulfilled, is the contrast of its previous tranquillity or content, anxiety—a combination, therefore, of hope and fear; yet the preponderance, from the nature of the mind, being greatly in favour of the former.

Anxiety is prospective sorrow, its subjects various. In that which may be termed moral anxiety, as that of a wife or a mother for the safety of her husband and her child, there is a sacredness which excites our deepest sympathy. Others have a more unholy spring : a heart tainted with pride or avarice, those besetting sins which so deform human nature, and to the pains of which there is no end—for pride and avarice are never satisfied—there is no real meaning, but a negative one, in the word enough. These passions are the very báne of existence. Yet how many, even of those who decry them, cherish the serpents in their bosom, trusting to honour or riches for sublunary happiness, forgetting the monitory lines of Young :

“ Why all this toil for triumphs of an hour?

What though we wade in wealth, or soar in fame?
Earth's highest station ends in ‘Here he lies ;'
And .dust to dust' concludes her noblest song."

The feeling of anxiety is one continued heart-ache—it is the dread of something worse than the present. It is progressive in its degree, and therefore more poignant than real sorrow or grief, which is the pain of memory, and which so constantly, from the mere elasticity of the mind, gradually fades and disappears.

For the anxious heart there is often no relief, save from the eloquent lips of sympathetic friendship, or the consolation of religion. If it be not relieved, low nervous fever will be the consequence, with remora of the circulation, inducing local congestions; then, not only are the secretions diminished, but those which are formed are depraved and unhealthy. For so surely as the enlivening passions oxygenize blood, do the depressing emotions accumulate carbon. By this poison a constant morbid and ineffective reaction is going on, which wofully aggravates the original affection. Thus is established a train of nervous maladiesneuralgia, hypochondriasis, melancholy-inducing that corroding action in the brain which, in the words of the Son of Sirach, “consumeth marrow and bone.” In the end, if the brain be long oppressed by its poison-blood, tædium vitæ must be the result, the climax of which may be suicide.

During this progress, the system is in a state of universal malaise—all is going wrong.

Circulation, digestion, assimilation, nutrition, the nurses of the vital principle, fail ; absorption of fat succeeds, and atrophy is the result. In the anxious mother, the secretion of the milk

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