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No. 63.

EDINBURGH, SATURDAY, MAY 9, 1846.

THE TRIFLERS.

Is this world of ours no one can safely or comfortably be idle. Those who must make their way in it by their own efforts, know that it is a scene of thoroughly earnest exertion, in which much real work must be done in very limited time. That class, even, whose fortunate infancy, rejoicing in hereditary silver spoons, promised nothing but a life of ease and enjoyment, find real pleasure, or indeed pleasure of any kind, to be unattainable without a good deal of hard labour. No one has either time or strength to throw away. And thus, however we may regret that men so exclusively devote that time and strength to merely material objects, we need not be greatly surprised at it. It is exactly in the nature of things that society should present an aspect of toil, and bustle, and anxiety. But the puzzling thing is, that the very busiest of the busy throng, absolutely the most toil-worn of human beings, are often those who do nothing, and seem to have nothing to do. This may perhaps appear to be rather an anomalous sort of statement. Many may be disposed to doubt, and others to deny it altogether. We make it, however, quite advisedly. Facts are, all the world over, facts. and a thing may not be the less true, though it takes us somewhat by surprise.

The family of the Triflers are an ancient and far-spread generation. They are to be found in all the highways and byways of life, though it sometimes requires a good deal of discrimination to detect them. This arises from the ingenious deceptions they are in the habit of practising, not only on others, but also on themselves. Your Trifler never suspects himself; he invariably denies his relationship, and takes fire immediately at any insinuations on the subject. The legitimate members of the family have no sympathy with the rustic philosopher, who thought supreme felicity consisted in swinging all day long on a five-barred gate. On the contrary, they are in their own way a most industrious class of persons. To take their word for it, the mass of important business they have always on hand perfectly overwhelming. Human life is too short for the work they have to do, the questions they have to settle, the stories they have to tell. From morn till dewy eve' their heads or hands are in perpetual motion. A host of curious tasks fall on their shoulders, which never trouble other men. To be sure, these may be very far out of the way of their particular business, or they may relate to matters quite insignificant in the eyes of the world, or they may be of a nature which nobody but themselves can understand. Well, others don't see things as they see them; that's all. They are not understood. If they do not make fortunes for themselves, or benefit their friends or society, it is no fault of theirs; they have done, and thought, and said more than

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PRICE 14d.

thousands who have. There may be some who make much ado about nothing, but they have always had something to take up their attention. And thus, while the world perhaps laughs in its sleeve, and grave people hint about time and talents uselessly thrown away, the Trifler runs on like the squirrel in its miniature tread-mill, mistaking motion for progression, and mere frivolities for serious occupations.

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It was some time before I suspected the true character of my neighbour, Mr Frank Fritter. He is an active-looking little man, very silent, methodical in his habits, scrupulously clean, and always well-dressed. My landlady, who speaks of him with great admiration, declares that he seems always fresh out of a box.' He is perhaps about fifty, well to do in the world, having a comfortable sum in the funds, and no one to care for but himself. Well, Mr Fritter, with all his personal neatness and regularity, is a thorough trifler, who spends his time laboriously doing nothing. All the forenoon you may hear him rumbling about his apartments, with his old housekeeper at his heels, creating a hideous din of drawing, pushing, and hammering. He is incessantly shifting and replacing his furniture, of which he has far more than he needs; his books, which he never dreams of reading, he is continually arranging and classifying; his pictures, though otherwise little esteemed, are seldom allowed to hang for two days in the same place. Somehow, he can never get things put to rights. He cannot take it coolly; his labours are never-ending, still beginning. He is at a loss to comprehend how the time slips through his fingers, and he complains that he can ill spare the two or three hours necessary to dress himself and take a stroll in the afternoon. He is a very harmless person, no doubt, if he would only make less noise next door. A Trifler of this kind, indeed, when he happens to be a bachelor, cannot do much harm to anybody, however he may fret and torment himself. If Mr Fritter will just have the goodness to shift his residence at the next term, I shall never say another word against him.

Mr Solomon Dubious is a Trifler of another kind. He is much more a man of the world, is married, and the father of a family. To be sure, he too is continually shifting, arranging, and deranging, drawing and shoving all day long; but the process takes place, not in his house but in his head. He does with his ideas what my neighbour does with his furniture, and when he lays hold of you, is by far the most troublesome customer of the two. On the simplest matter, he conjures up a host of questions and doubts, and is continually affirming and denying, not from malice or ill-nature, but from sheer indecision and want of reflection. He is continually contradicting and debating with himself; he cannot make a statement without insinuating something to the contrary; and has always two quite opposite opi

nions on the same subject. No sooner does he seem settled at one extreme, than off he jumps to the other; and never seems so happy as when weighing with scrupulous nicety the pro and con, the why and wherefore of the most microscopic questions. He absolutely luxuriates in perplexity and doubt. Every morning in the world he keeps himself and family in suspense with the most frivolous cogitations. Shall he, or shall he not take a walk before breakfast? Yes or no? No or yes? Is it not too early? Is it not too late? What says the weather-glass-will it rain? Then his dress is a constant source of perplexity. This suit is too good for everyday wear-that he is ashamed to be seen in. A coloured cravat is too glaring, a black one too sombre. He has half a mind to stay at home-but then, business must be attended to-though perhaps he would not be missed for a day-and yet he has appointments which it would be uncivil not to keep. At last he gets up, wonders if he has forgotten anything, sits down again, rummages his pockets, turns on his heel, walks round the room; and finally rushes into the street, hat and gloves in hand, in despair at the lateness of the hour. Mr Soloman Dubious is an amiable man, with the best intentions; his talents are respectable, and might be turned to good account either for his family or society; but he is feeble, loitering, and irresolute-in short, he is a Trifler.

At this season of the year I have commonly a good deal of business on hand. The other morning sat down to my desk to write to a correspondent in London, and felt anxious not to miss the post. I had only, however, set down the date and the single word 'Sir,' when my acquaintance Paul Chatterbox walked into the room, wiping his brow with his handkerchief. He seemed from his excited air to have some important news to communicate; but as he was apparently in a hurry, I consoled myself with the hope that I should soon get rid of him. But I quickly found out my mistake. Having deposited his hat on a chair, and hung his cane on the back of it, my visiter gazed on me with a face of most important gravity, and said, 'You wont guess what news I have for you?'

I professed my inability to do so.

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don't think it can be our bell.'-'I am quite sure of it,' said I; and at the same instant the bell rang a second time. Confound it,' said I, 'we should excuse ourselves to visiters at this time of the morning.'-'It is time enough yet, perhaps,' replied she; and she called Mary-you mind our servant Mary-an active girl; but Mary had already answered. Well, who was it, think you? Why, just my old friend Tom Racket-you know Tom-I think you met him at dinner in our house last Christmas. Tom and I were old college chums, and many a droll spree we have had together. Paul,' says he, for we have always been on the most familiar terms, I have a proposal to make, to you. You know my uncle George has a tolerable estate in the Highlands'-a lucky fellow is Tom, I can tell you, for you must know that estate will be his own whenever the old chap slips away. Well,' says he, 'the worthy old cock has thought proper to send me a lot of the most beautiful game you ever clapped your eyes on-venison, hares, grouse-I don't know all what. The fact is, Tom often gets these presents from his uncle, and seldom forgets his friends when he does. You remember-no, you can't remember, to be sure, for you wasn't there;-but, at any rate, some of us had a jolly night of it at Tom's lodging, on-let me see-ay, just Tuesday was a year-I mind it well, indeed I can hardly forget it, for the day before my wife had gone to visit her aunt in Perth, as she generally does once ayear, so that I was in some sort a bachelor for the time being. But that wasn't the case just now; and I wondered what the rogue Tom was after, for he has always some frolic or another in his head-in fact, he can't live without it, as Perkins said once to me, when we were waiting on the omnibus the day we had the excursion to Habbie's How last summer. I saw Tom had some scheme in his noddle, and so I thought did Eliza, though, of course, I said nothing to her nor she to me; when Tom out with it at once, for he is never long in coming to the point, and has no notion of keeping you in suspense, as many people like to do. 'So,' says he, as this is more than a bachelor like me can manage, I just thought if Mrs Chatterbox would take the trouble of getting up a small party, I would put the whole

Well, it is hardly possible you can. You are the first into her hands, with a dozen of old port to wash it down, person I have spoken to on the subject.' 'Indeed,' said I.

Fact, depend upon it; but you shall now hear the whole affair."

'I am all attention,' I replied, in a tone of resignation. 'You will be astonished, I suspect.'

'What is it then?'

and we should have a jolly afternoon of it.' Here was a project to be sure! My wife looked at me, and I looked at her-I knew there was no woman better at getting up a small snug party than herself, and she had a great notion of Tom'-&c. &c. &c.

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I looked my watch, and saw that I had only a quarter of an hour left to write my letter. And so,' said I, des'Something so unexpected, that I can hardly credit it perately, you both agreed to accept Mr Racket's promyself.'

I hope,' said I, 'no misfortune has happened.' 'Oh, quite the reverse, as you shall judge. That is to say, not exactly the reverse neither, for indeed the thing is neither what you might call fortunate nor unfortunate.'

I felt that I was done for. I cast a glance of despair on my unfinished letter, and passively submitted to my fate. Chatterbox seemed partly to comprehend me, for he now condescended to come a little nearer the point—that is, to the beginning of his story.

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'You must understand, my dear sir,' said he, that this morning as we sat down to breakfast-it was just about half-past ten-you know we generally breakfast at ten, but to-day my wife was rather late in getting up. We had been at a ball last night, from which we did not get away till long after twelve-we were too late, far too late.' I mended my pen, but in vain.

We had a fine dish of finnan haddocks—a present from my father-in-law; my wife is very fond of them. My dear,' said I, 'let me assist you.'By the by, Paul' says she, Thursday next is a holiday with you, is it not?-how shall we spend the day?'-little thinking, as it turned out, what was going to happen; but, as the proverb says, Man proposes and Heaven disposes. An admirable proverb, by the way, with a very good moral, which is more than can be said for all of them. I was just spreading my bread, when all at once I says to Mrs Chatterbox-Eliza,' says I, 'there is a ring at the bell.'-' I didn't hear it,' said she; I

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'You shall hear, you shall hear,' returned my tormentor. And in point of fact I was remorselessly dragged through all the interminable preliminaries of the agreement, then his deliberations with his wife, then the surprise of the servant Mary, then the preparations resolved on for the dinner, the settling of the day and hour, who were to be invited, and all the reasons for preferring one person to another. The hour of post had long passed away; and so little did I feel consoled for my disappointment by finding that I was to form one of the party on Thursday next, that, though very fond of venison, I half resolved to neglect the invitation.

Mr Paul Chatterbox is a wordy Trifler-he trifles with his tongue.

Generally speaking, Triflers are a good-natured well-disposed sort of animals, not void of knowledge or intelligence; and they would form valuable members of society if they could only learn to distinguish between the frivolous and the important. Many of them are full of fact and anecdote, and can give you the exact dates of all the wet sammers, the rigorous winters, the comets, eclipses festivals, births, deaths, and other events that have happened in their time. These are a kind of living memorandum-books, and would be of no small service occasionally, if, instead of pitching their information at people's heads when it is not wanted, and interlarding it with details of no importance, they would wait till they are consulted, and then speak to the

point. But no sooner is an occurrence alluded to in their presence, than they will give you day and date for it, recall in regular succession all the other remarkable circumstances which took place the same year, tell you where they were themselves at the time, what they were doing, and what they were thinking about, till the original subject of conversation is smothered beneath a mass of matters for which nobody cares a straw. When you are entangled with one of this class, the wisest plan is to let him alone, till he fairly runs himself out. If you venture to question any of his assertions, the chance is that he will run you into such a labyrinth of proofs and collateral illustrations as will make you wish you had held your tongue. You need not try to improve him-the disease is incurable.

This, in fact, is the case with the whole family of Triflers when the habit has become confirmed; and society loses

more useful members in this way than is generally suspected. But as some philosopher has said, there is a good and a bad side to every thing. Others may learn from the example of the Trifler to estimate the value of time, the necessity of viewing things in their true proportions, the importance of well-timed application to useful pursuits, and of directness and perspicuity in thought, word, and action. Above all, the Trifler compels us practically to cultivate the virtue of patience.

THE COLD WATER CURE. QUE readers must be aware, that of late a great deal has both been said and written on what is now technically termed the Cold Water Cure.' The system, like every similar one in its infancy, or indeed like any thing which threatens innovation, has met with considerable opposition from the sturdy defenders of things as they are.' While its foes have injured it by their reckless opposition, many of its friends have done it equal injury by an injudicious advocacy, and by holding it up to public notice as a cure, equally certain and sudden, for all the ills to which flesh is heir.' While we disapprove, however, of such extravagant views of its merits, there are too many convincing proofs of its efficacy in cases of long confirmed disease, not originating in organic causes, to allow us to regard it with indifference. The length of the following epistle must be our excuse for briefness in reference to prefatory notice-nor, in good truth, is much required. When an old favourite appears upon the stage who in his senses would venture to try the patience of the applauding spectators by the tedious prattle' of a formal eulogistic address about his well known merits? When Harriet Martineau defends mesmerism, or

the reason assigned (at least a reason) why Paul Clifford would not renounce the 'stand and deliver' system of his times, namely, the health he gained by spurring at a hard gallop over wide extended heaths-all united to convince us that Sir Edward knew the meaning of dyspepsia. We had no idea, however, until he told us, that things were so bad with him. His style now, however, has got as vigorous and healthy as his person; may the cure be lasting. Poor Ferguson, indeed, praised long before the merits of Caller water'-a liquid, which to his own, and probably his country's loss, he used too sparingly. But Sir Edward follows up his preachings anent the fluid by suitable practice. Burns's praise of Scotch drink will scarce do after this; but let Sir Edward speak

CONFESSIONS AND OBSERVATIONS OF SIR EDWARD LYTTON

BULWER.

I have been a workman in my day. I began to write and to toil, and to win some kind of a name, which I had the ambition to improve, while yet little more than a boy. With strong love for study in books-with yet greater desire to accomplish myself in the knowledge of men, for sixteen years I can conceive no life to have been more filled by occupation than mine. What time was not given to action was given to study; what time not given to study, to action-labour in both! To a constitution naturally far from strong, I allowed no pause or respite. The wear and tear went on without intermission-the whirl of the wheel never ceased. Sometimes, indeed, thoroughly overpowered and exhausted, I sought for escape. The physicians said Travel,' and I travelled; Go into the country,' and 1 went. But in such attempts at repose all my ailments gathered round me-made themselves far more palpable into the other world of books, or thought, or reverie-to and felt. I had no resource but to fly from myself to fly live in some state of being less painful than my own. long as I was always at work it seemed that I had no leisure to be ill. Quiet was my hell.

As

At length the frame thus long neglected-patched up for a while by drugs and doctors-put off and trifled with as an intrusive dun-like a dun who is in his rights-brought in its arrears-crushing and terrible, accumulated through long years. Worn out and wasted, the constitution seemed wholly inadequate to meet the demand. The exhaustion of toil and study had been completed by great anxiety and grief. I had watched with alternate hope and fear the lingering and mournful deathbed of my nearest relation and dearest friend-of the person around whom was entwined the strongest affection my life had known-and when all was over, seemed scarcely to live myself.

repetition and the increased feebleness of my frame, might at any time be fatal. Though free from any organic disease of the heart, its action was morbidly restless and painful. My sleep was without refreshment. At morning I rose more weary than I laid down to rest.

At this time, about the January of 1844, I was thoroughly Lytton Bulwer the water cure, in their own matchless shattered. The least attempt at exercise exhausted me. The style, in letters written with the specific intention, it is not nic irritation of that vast surface we call the mucous memnerves gave way at the most ordinary excitement a chrolikely that officious reviewers, when they preface the produc- brane, which had defied for years all medical skill, rendered tion by making references to the former works of such per-me continually liable to acute attacks, which from their sons-when they prate of Pelham, or talk about the Crofton Boys-would fare much better than the person in the case supposed. Taking it for granted, therefore, that our readers know already all about Lytton Bulwer that can be known, we shall permit them at once to sit down to what, if they do not confess it 'good,' they are scarce the readers we fancied, or scarce the judges of what is rich, racy, and sparkling in writing, that we have occasionally ventured in secret to guess. One word, however, since we have unconsciously committed the very blunder we have been deprecating, must be allowed as ere we part. We always guessed, even when ignorant of Sir Edward's personal history, that in reference to health he was scarce very well. His description of the horrors consequent upon having dined too eagerly on mutton chops-the blue pills which during his visit to the country to get health had to be swallowed by Pelham

Without fatiguing you and your readers further with the longa cohors of my complaints, I pass on to record my struggle to resist them. I have always had a great belief that in ninety-nine cases out of the hundred I hold that he in the power of the will. What a man determines to dosucceeds in doing. I determined to have some insight into a knowledge I had never attained since manhood-the knowledge of health.

I resolutely put away books and study, sought the airs which the physicians esteemed the most healthful, and adopted the strict regimen on which all the children of Esculapius so wisely insist. In short, I maintained the same general habits as to hours, diet (with the exception of wine, which in moderate quantities seemed to me indis

pensable), and, so far as my strength would allow, of exercise, as I found afterwards instituted at hydropathic establishments. I dwell on this to forestall in some manner the common remark of persons not well acquainted with the medical agencies of water-that it is to the regular life which water-patients lead, and not to the element itself, that they owe their recovery. Nevertheless, I found that these changes, however salutary in theory, produced little if any practical amelioration in my health. All invalids know, perhaps, how difficult, under ordinary circumstances, is the alteration of habits from bad to good. The early rising, the walk before breakfast, so delicious in the feelings of freshness and vigour which they bestow upon the strong, often become punishments to the valetudinarian. Headach, languor, a sense of weariness over the eyes, a sinking of the whole system towards noon, which seemed imperiously to demand the dangerous aid of stimulants, was all that I obtained by the morning breeze and the languid stroll by the sea-shore. The suspension from study only afflicted with intolerable ennui, and added to the profound dejection of the spirits. The brain, so long accustomed to morbid activity, was but withdrawn from its usual occupations to invent horrors and chimeras. Over the pillow, vainly sought two hours before midnight, hovered no golden sleep. The absence of excitement, however unhealthy, only aggravated the symptoms of ill health.

native shores, and who proffered the proverbial salubrity of Malvern air and its holy springs to those who, like me, had ranged in vain from simple to mineral, and who had become bold by despair-bold enough to try if health, like truth, lay at the bottom of a well.

I was not then aware that other institutions had been established in England of more or less fame. I saw in Dr Wilson the first transporter—at least as a physician-of the Silesian system, and did not pause to look out for other! and later pupils of this innovating German school. I resolved then to betake myself to Malvern. On my way through town I paused, in the innocence of my heart, to inquire of some of the faculty if they thought the water cure would suit my case. With one exception, they were unanimous in the vehemence of their denunciations. Granting even that in some cases, especially of rheumatism, hydropathy had produced a cure-to my complaints it was worse than inapplicable-it was highly dangerous—it would probably be fatal. I had not stamina for the treatment

it would fix chronic ailments into organic disease-surely it would be much better to try what I had not yet tried. What I had not yet tried! A course of prussic acid! Nothing was better for gastric irritation, which was no doubt the main cause of my suffering! If, however, I were obstinately bent upon so mad an experiment, Dr Wilson was the last person I should go to. I was not deterred by all It was at this time that I met by chance, in the library these intimidations, nor seduced by the salubrious allureat St Leonard's, with Captain Claridge's work on the ments of the prussic acid under its scientific appellation of Water Cure,' as practised by Priessnitz at Gräfenberg. hydrocianic. A little reflection taught me that the memMaking allowance for certain exaggerations therein, which bers of a learned profession are naturally the very persons appeared evident to my common sense, enough still re- least disposed to favour innovation upon the practices which mained not only to captivate the imagination and flatter custom and prescription have rendered sacred in their eyes. the hopes of an invalid, but to appeal with favour to his A lawyer is not the person to consult upon bold reforms sober judgment. Till then, perfectly ignorant of the sub-in jurisprudence. A physician can scarcely be expected ject and the system, except by some such vague stories to own that a Silesian peasant will cure with water the and good jests as had reached my ears in Germany, I re- diseases which resist an armament of phials. And with solved at least to read what more could be said in favour regard to the peculiar objections to Dr Wilson, I had read of the ariston udor, and examine dispassionately into its in his own pamphlet attacks upon the orthodox practice merits as a medicament. I was then under the advice of sufficient to account for-perhaps to justify-the dispoone of the first physicians of our age. I had consulted half sition to depreciate him in return. the faculty. I had every reason to be grateful for the attention, and to be confident in the skill, of those whose prescriptions had, from time to time, flattered my hopes and enriched the chemist. But the truth must be spoken -far from being better, I was sinking fast. Little remained to me to try in the great volume of the herbal. Seek what I would next, even if a quackery, it certainly might expedite my grave, but it could scarcely render life-at least the external life-more unjoyous. Accordingly I examined, with such grave thought as a sick man brings to bear upon his case, all the grounds upon which to justify to myself-an excursion to the snows of Silesia. But I own that in proportion as I found my faith in the system strengthen, I shrunk from the terrors of this long journey to the rugged region in which the probable lodging would be a labourer's cottage, and in which the Babel of a hundred languages (so agreeable to the healthful delight in novelty -so appalling to the sickly despondency of a hypochondriac) would murmur and growl over a public table spread with no tempting condiments. Could I hope to find healing in my own land, and not too far from my own doctors in case of failure, I might indeed solicit the watery godsbut the journey! I who scarcely lived through a day without leech or potion-the long gelid journey to Gräfenberg -I should be sure to fall ill by the way-to be clutched and mismanaged by some German doctor-to deposit my bones in some dismal churchyard on the banks of the Father Rhine.

While thus perplexed, I fell in with one of the pamphlets written by Dr Wilson of Malvern, and my doubts were solved. Here was an English doctor, who had himself known more than my own sufferings, who, like myself, had found the pharmacopeia in vain-who had spent ten months at Gräfenberg, and left all his complaints behind himwho fraught with the experience he had acquired, not only in his own person, but from scientific examination of the cases under his eye, had transported the system to our

Still my friends were anxious and fearful; to please them I continued to inquire, though not of physicians but of pa tients. I sought out some of those who had gone through the process. I sifted some of the cases of cure cited by Dr Wilson. I found the account of the patients so encouraging, the cases quoted so authentic, that I grew impatient of delay. I threw physic to the dogs, and went to Malvern.

It is not my intention to detail the course I underwent. The different resources of water as a medicament are to be found in many works easily to be obtained, and well worth the study. In this letter I suppose myself to be addressing those as thoroughly acquainted with the system as myself was at the first, and I deal therefore only in generals.

The first point which impressed and struck me was the extreme and utter innocence of the water cure in skilful hands-in any hands indeed not thoroughly new to the system. Certainly, when I went, I believed it to be a kill or cure system. I fancied that it must be a very violent remedy-that it doubtless might effect great and magical cures but that if it failed it might be fatal. Now, I speak not alone of my own case, but of the immense number of cases I have seen-patients of all ages-all species and genera of disease-all kinds and conditions of constitution, when I declare, upon my honour, that I never witnessed one dangerous symptom produced by the water cure, whether at Dr Wilson's or the other hydropathic institu tions which I afterwards visited. And though unquestionably fatal consequences might occur from gross mismanage ment, and as unquestionably have so occurred at various establishments, I am yet convinced that water in itself is so friendly to the human body, that it requires a very extraordinary degree of bungling, of ignorance and presumption, to produce results really dangerous; that a regular practitioner does more frequent mischief from the misapplication of even the simplest drugs, than a water doctor of very moderate experience does, or can do, by the misapplication of his baths and friction. And here I must

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observe, that those portions of the treatment which appear to the uninitiated as the most perilous, are really the safest, and can be applied with the most impunity to the weakest constitutions; whereas those which appear, from our greater familiarity with them, the least startling and most innocuous, are those which require the greatest knowledge of general pathology and the individual constitution. I shall revert to this part of my subject before I conclude. The next thing that struck me was the extraordinary ease with which, under this system, good habits are acquired and bad habits relinquished. The difficulty with which, under orthodox medical treatment, stimulants are abandoned, is here not witnessed. Patients accustomed for half a century to live hard and high, wine-drinkers, spirit-bibbers, whom the regular physicians have sought in vain to reduce to a daily pint of sherry, here voluntarily resign all strong potations, after a day or two cease to feel the want of them, and reconcile themselves to water as if they had drank nothing else all their lives. Others, who have had recourse for years and years to medicine-their potion in the morning, their cordial at noon, their pill before dinner, their narcotic at bedtime, cease to require these aids to life as if by a charm. Nor this alone. Men to whom mental labour has been a necessary-who have existed on the excitement of the passions and the stir of the intellect who have felt, these withdrawn, the prostration of the whole system-the lock to the wheel of the entire machine-return at once to the careless spirits of the boy in his first holiday.

Here lies a great secret; water thus skilfully administered is in itself a wonderful excitement: it supplies the place of all others—it operates powerfully and rapidly upon the nerves, sometimes to calm them, sometimes to irritate, but always to occupy. Hence follows a consequence which all patients have remarked-the complete repose of the passions during the early stages of the cure; they seem laid asleep as if by enchantment. The intellect shares the same rest; after a short time mental exertions become impossible: even the memory grows far less tenacious of its painful impressions, cares and griefs are forgotten; the sense of the present absorbs the past and future; there is a certain freshness and youth which pervade the spirits, and live upon the enjoyment of the actual hour. Thus the great agents of our mortal wear and tear -the passions and the mind-calmed into strange restnature seems to leave the body to its instinctive tendency, which is always towards recovery. All that interests and amuses is of a healthful character; exercise, instead of being an unwilling drudgery, becomes the inevitable impulse of the frame braced and invigorated by the element. A series of reactions is always going on-the willing exercise produces refreshing rest, and refreshing rest willing exercise. The extraordinary effect which water taken early in the morning produces on the appetite is well known amongst those who have tried it, even before the water cure was thought of-an appetite it should be the care of the skilful doctor to check into moderate gratification; the powers of nutrition become singularly strengthened, the blood grows rich and pure-the constitution is not only amended-it undergoes a change.

The safety of the system, then, struck me first-its power of replacing, by healthful stimulants, the morbid ones it withdrew, whether physical or moral, surprised me next. That which thirdly impressed me was no less contrary to all my pre-conceived notions. I had fancied that whether good or bad, the system must be one of great hardship, extremely repugnant and disagreeable. I wondered at myself to find how soon it became so associated with pleasureable and grateful feelings, as to dwell upon the mind among the happiest passages of existence. For my own part, despite all my ailments, or whatever may have been my cares, I have ever found exquisite pleasure in that sense of being, which is, as it were the conscience, the mirror of the soul. I have known hours of as much and as vivid happiness as perhaps can fall to the lot of man; but among all my most brilliant recollections, I can recall no periods of enjoyment at once more hilarious and serene than the

hours spent on the lonely hills of Malvern-none in which nature was so thoroughly possessed and appreciated. The rise from a sleep as sound as childhood's-the impatient rush into the open air, while the sun was fresh and the birds first sang-the sense of an unwonted strength in every limb and nerve, which made so light of the steep ascent to the holy spring-the delicious sparkle of that morning draught-the green terrace on the brow of the mountain, with the rich landscape wide and far belowthe breeze that once would have been so keen and biting, now but exhilarating the blood, and lifting the spirits into religious joy; and this keen sentiment of present pleasure rounded by a hope sanctioned by all I felt in myself, and nearly all that I witnessed in others-that that very present was but the step, the threshold, into an unknown and delightful region of health and vigour-a disease and a care dropping from the frame and the heart at every stride. I staid some nine or ten weeks at Malvern, and business, from which I could not escape, obliging me then to be in the neighbourhood of town, I continued the system seven weeks longer, under Dr Weiss of Petersham; during this latter period the agreeable phenomena which had characterised the former, the cheerfulness, the bien aise, the consciousness of returning health vanished, and were succeeded by great irritation of the nerves, extreme fretfulness, and the usual characteristics of the constitutional disturbance to which I have referred. I had every reason, however, to be satisfied with the care and skill of Dr Weiss, who fully deserves the reputation he has acquired, and the attachment entertained for him by his patients; nor did my judgment ever despond or doubt of the ultimate benefits of the process. I emerged at last from these operations in no very portly condition. I was blanched and emaciatedwashed out like a thrifty housewife's gown; but neither the bleaching nor the loss of weight had in the least impaired my strength; on the contrary, all the muscles had grown as hard as iron, and I was become capable of great exercise without fatigue; my cure was not effected, but I was compelled to go into Germany. On my return homewards, I was seized with a severe cold, which rapidly passed into high fever. . Fortunately I was within reach of Doctor Schmidt's magnificent hydropathic establishment at Boppart. Thither I caused myself to be conveyed: and now I had occasion to experience the wonderful effect of the water cure in acute cases. Slow in chronic disease, its beneficial operation in acute is immediate. In twenty-four hours all fever had subsided, and on the third day I resumed my journey, relieved from every symptom that had before prognosticated a tedious and perhaps alarming illAnd now came gradually, yet perceptibly, the good effects of the system I had undergone; flesh and weight returned; the sense of health became conscious and steady; I had every reason to bless the hour when I first sought the springs of Malvern. And here I must observe, that it often happens that the patient makes but slight apparent improvement when under the cure, compared with that which occurs subsequently. A water-doctor of repute at Brussels, indeed, said frankly to a grumbling patient, I do not expect you to be well while here; it is only on leaving me that you will know if I have cured you.'

ness.

It is as the frame recovers from the agitation it undergoes, that it gathers round it power utterly unknown to it before-as the plant watered by the rains of one season, betrays in the next the effect of the grateful dews.

I had always suffered so severely in winter, that the severity of our last one gave me apprehensions, and I resolved to seek shelter from my fears at my beloved Malvern. I here passed the most inclement period of the winter, not only perfectly free from the colds, rheum, and catarrhs, which had hitherto visited me with the snows, but in the enjoyment of excellent health. And I am persuaded, that for those who are delicate, and who suffer much during the winter, there is no place where the cold is so little felt as at a water cure establishment. I am persuaded also, and in this I am borne out by the experience of most water-doctors, that the cure is most rapid and effectual

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