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NATIONAL LIBRARY  OF MEDICINE




          Bethesda, Maryland 
 
 
HUBDftlMML
J
i\ND
PHYSICAL MEMOIRS.
      BY CHARLES CALDWELL, US. D.
Professor of the Institutes of Medicine and Clinical Practice, ID
            Transylvania University.
•RINT-FD *T THE REQUEST OF HIS CLASfr
   LEXINGTON, KY.
fRINTED BY A. G. MERIWETHE^]

        1827, 
 
<
                     MES&OIR IV.

THOUGHTS ON THE PRESERVATIVE AND  RESTORATIVL



        AN  INTRODUCTORY  ADDRESS.
LiENTLPiMEi*.
     BY a writer, who is no less distinguished by the soundness of
his views, and the extent of his attainments, as a philosopher and a
Bcholar, than by his inspiration and classical polish, as a poet, we
are told, that
      " All things subsist by elemental strife,
      " And passions are the elements of life"
   The more extensive the survey we take of the general arrange-
ment and administration of nature, and  the  more successful wo
prove, in discovering the state and condition of things, as they are,
the more thoroughly  shall we be convinced of the truth,  and the
more highly will we appreciate the profundity, of the sentiments
inculcated in these two lines.
   Ws shall perceive, in a particular manner, while thus engaged,
that, throughout creation, as far as we are permitted to examine it,
there exist certain great, antagonist powers, bj the conflicting in-
fluence of which  the balance of things is settled and maintained.
And it is  in reference to this peculiar condition of general exist-
ence, that the universe is truly said to stand self balanced; universal
action and re-action being equal  and  contrary, and giving stability
to the whole;  precisely  as the  human body  stands self balanced,
by the opposite action of antagonizing muscles.  For, we shall see
hereafter, that in living as well  as dead matter  these opposites
prevail.
   Give to one of those powers, in any of the deparments of nature,
nn ascendency over the  other, and the inevitable consequence will
be, wild commotion, disorder, and misrule.  And the extent of the
uproar and desolation thus produced, will  be in proportion to the
violence done to the  equipoise.
   From no other source, as  might he easily proved, do we derive
tempests, and inundations, and those still more terrific and destruc-
tive  occurrences, earth-quakes and  volcanic  eruptions.   To the
same  cause must we attribute the tornado, the  thunder-storm, the
water-spout, the monsoons, the trade-winds, and all minor disburb- 
4
 anjpes in the atmosphere, down to the balmy zephyr, and the grate-
 ful fanning of the sea and land breezes.
   It is thus,  that, when,  in the human  body, the muscles of vol-
 untary  motion escape from the controlling  influence of the  will,
 which is the conservator  of  their equipoise, epilepsy, St. Vitus's
 dance, and other convulsive affections ensue.
   But to proceed, on this subject, more methodically and in detail,
 and present to you, collected from a hasty survey  of various por-
 tions  of nature, illustrations and proofs of the proposition 1  have
 stated.
   If  we  direct our attention to the general organization and econo-
 my of the heavens, we shall there find  every thing governed and
 controlled by the two antagonizing powers of gravitation and pro-
jection, or centripetal ana centrifugal tendencies.   From those two
conflicting  influences proceed directly  that  exquisite balance of
parts, and that beautiful,  sublime,  and  harmonious  movement of
the whole, which have constituted, for ages, the theme of the  poet,
the delight of the  astronomer, the admiration  of the general
philosopher,  and the  wonder of  all created intelligence;  and
which enhance so indescribably  the magnificence and glory of all
those  systems of suns, and planets,  and inferior orbs, that people
infinity, and compose the universe.
   Destroy, on an extended scale, this mighty balance, and a scene
of disorder and ruin will ensue, which nothing but Almighty poscer
can arrest, and nothing but infinite wisdom restore.
   Under such circumstances, all things would either fly abroad, in
lawless confu^on, or tumble together, in a consolidated mass, moons
into planets, and planets and  comets  into suns, while suns them-
selves, thus encumbered and  driven from their positions, would
rush  on  other suns,  in a similar condition, until,  with a force of
collision, which nothing could withstand, the wholevwould fall into
some great central orb, which had  heretofore controlled them, and
thus exhibit,  to the astonishment  and dismay of a universe of
spirit, the crushed and shattered ruins of a universe of mutter.
    " Let Earth unbalanced from her orbit fly,
    " Planets and suns rush lawless through the sky; '
    ** Let Ruling Angels from their spheres be hurled,
    " Being on being  wrecked, and world on world;
    " Heaven's whole foundations to their centre nod,
    •* And Nature trembles to the throne of God."
   Descending from the heavens to the globe we inhabit,  we  here
find all things material retained in their position, and governed ir,
their economy, by the opposite powers of attraction and repulsion
Extinguish the former, and all terrestrial matter will become  dust,
at least, it will fall into loose and incoherent masses of elementary
atoms.  Extinguish the latter, and it will be so far consolidated as
to lose its present properties, and  become incompetent to the per-
formance of its present functions.   Solidity and elasticity, the two
great master properties, which  give  to  matter its character and, 
p
i;« ust>?. and winch are the immediate offspring  of attraction and
zepulsion. will both disappear.
  Augment preternaturallv the force of repulsion, so as to give (o
it an ascendency over attraction, deranging thu- their existing bal-
ance, and, in another respect, the condition and character of mai-
ler will be essentially changed.   The-  atmosphere will  be so far
rarefied and attenuated, as to be no longer fit  for its present uses;
and the waters of the earth will b^  converted into vapour.  The
consequence will be,  the entire extinction of lijc  on our globe, as
well in the vegetable, as the animal kingdom.
   Hence the infinite importance of maintaining, bofwt-ep, attraction
and repulsion, in terrestrial matter, a well adjusted balance.
   I'd inquire into the  causes of those two powers, constitutes no
part of my present intention.   It  will be permitted me,  however,
to observe,  that  with repulsion,  caloric, or the  matter of heat,
would seem to be, in some way, very intimately connected.  Unite
with  water a  superabundance  of  caloric, the elasticity, or repul-
sive influence of  that fluid will he augmented, and the fluid itself
converted into steam.  The same  thing is true of other liquids, as
well as of several metallic substances. •
   If,  on the contrary, you so far compress atmospheric air, by me-
chanical force, as to diminish its repulsion, and reduce it toward the
condition of a solid substance, a large amount oC caloric escapes
from it.   The same is true of metals, and 1 believe also of water,
when diminished in volume by compression; an effect first produ-
ced on it, as far as I am informed, by our celebrated  countryman,
Mr. Perkins, the most able  and distinguished mechanician of the

   In the general  economy of nature, in  relation to dead matter,
there are presented to us various  other phenomena,  necessary to
preserve the balance and harmony of tilings, which arise from the
action of antagonizing influences.
   Of this description are light and  darkness, as constituting the lead ■
ing characteristics of day and night, and heat and cold, especially as
modified by the different seasons of the year, and  bygratlual vicis-
situdes from other causes.
   That a perpetuation of either the  darkness of night, or the light
of day would be incompatible with the salutary adminUtrrfiion and
the  pleasurable  condition of  things,  must be  obvious to  every
one.   To vs, perpetual  gloom  and perpetual glare would he alike
intolerable.   And that inferior animals would be equally rffended
and injured by them, might be easily proved.   Nor is  it less cer-
tain that great evils would arise from any material derangement of
the existing balance between those two modifications of time.
   This earth, with all its concomitants of night and day, and change
of season, is intended for the accommodation, not of its rocks an.I
Streams, and hills and valleys, and ether  kinds of dead matter, bet
of its living  inhabitants  of the auiirml  and  vegetable   kingdom?. 
6
 And to them the alternations, refered to, are not only grateful an<J
 Useful, but indispensable.
   All  living beings not only require certain periods of action and
 repose, but they also require that those  periods should be nearly
 equal.   Destroy this equality,  and, as respects their accommoda-
 tion, you destroy the  aptitude and  beauty  of the relation.  But to
 those  beings darkness seems essential to salutary repose.  This in-
 ference we are authorized to draw from the  universality of the
 fact, that night is the time they select for their repose.
   If to this rule a few apparent exceptions exist, they are but appa-
 rent, the eyes of those animals that roam by night, and rest by day,
 being  calculated for better  vision during  the former period than
 tbe latter.   To them, therefore, day is the period of darkness.
   To vegetable health and vigour, also, the alternation of flay  and
 night is essential.  That vegetables excluded from light arc pallid,
 feeble, and sickly, is a  fact of universal notoriety    \or is it  less
 true, although not, perhaps, so generally known or attended to, that
 a superabundance of light is  likewise deleterious to them   Vege-
 tables  require sleep as well as animals.  And it is perfectly under-
 stood,  that night is the time of their salutary rep  se.
   But  mere health and vigour, in the abstract, do not constitute the
 only legitimate and essential condition of l.ving existence   It is
 included*in the kind and benificent  ordinations of Heaven, that be-
 ing should  be pleasurable as well as healthful— that enjoyment as
 well as life should he allotted toman and other animals
   But  it is a well known  truth, (that to the whole animal creation,,
 the vicissitudes of night and  day, light and darkness, are peculiar-
 ly delightful.  As relates to ourselves, our own consciousness testi-
 fies to  the fact j while the morning and evening  manifestations of
 pleasure and  gratitude made by inferior animals, give proof of the
same,, in relation "to them.
   Whether, then,  we regard the matter morally or physically, it
 conclusively appears, that to the salutary condition of terrestrial
 things, a well sustained balance between the opposites of  light and
 darkness, Is indispensable.   Derange that balance, and healthful
and desirable existence will be deranged;  destroy it, and that con-
dition of existence will cease.
   That a similar balance  between  the opposites of heat and cold,
 as they are developed and manifested in the succession of the sea-
eons, is also es-ential, will not be doubted.   In confirmation of this.
facts present themselves from every quarter.   Hence the deep dis-
asters both to animals and vegetables, and  sometimes even to dead
matter, which seldom fail to occur,  when, from  any irregularity in
the processes of nature, that balance is seriously interrupted.  The
inconveniences and sufferings resulting from seasons excessively
hot and excessively  cold, it would be riot only superfluous, but
impossible to enumerate.
   Of the preservation of the balance we are now considering, a
very beautiful and impressive example occurs  iu the freezing of 
water,and the dissolution of ice and snow.  In the former process
a large amount of imprisoned and latent heat is set at liberty, and
rendered sensible, to prevent the  occurrence of an excessive and
injurious degree of cold; and in the latter, to prevent any mischief
that might arise from a superabundance of active and sensible ca-
loric, an equal amount of it is suddenly arrested,  and rendered in-
sensible.
  Thus doe9 nature not only proclaim the importance  of the bal-
ance, but devises effectual measures to maintain it.
  To the importance and necessity of a balance between the op-
posites of humidity and dryness, similar remarks are equally appli-
cable.  The calamities arising from the breach of that balance, by
droughts and inundations, are too well known, to render it necessa-
ry that they should be here recited.  They  are already recorded
in the dismal catalogues of want, and famine, and pestilence, the
engulphing of towns  and villages,  with their inhabitants, and all
the other evils that accompany the failure of rain, and  the fearful
sweep of overwhelming waters.  To that breach are to be attribu-
ted the desolations of all the deluges that the earth has  sustained.
   Another balance of great  importance  in  the  economy of our
globe, is that which subsists between elevated or hilly, and depress-
ed portions of land.  Destroy  it, and the most grievous disasters
will ensue
   Hills and mountains are  necessary" to give origin to  rivers and
smaller streams, and valleys and plains are equally requisite to give
them breadth of channel, and moderation of current.   Great val-
leys or excavations  are also  essential to furnish beds for lakes,
seas, and oceans, wit'.iout which, as parent fountains, rivers would
fail, and the earth be denied the supply of waters indispensable to
its economy.
   Were the  whole earth hilly and  mountainous, or could s*uch a
condition of things exist, it would be comparatively  unproductive;
its waters would be confined within deep and narrow and tumultu-
ous channels, not peopled as they are at present, and it would be,
in the main, an  unsuitable  residence, as well for man, as for vari-
ous tribes of inferior  but useful animals  that now inhabit it; and to
whose existence and  welfare  wide valleys and extensive  chaia-
pains are known to be essential.
   Were it, on the contrary, entirely destitute of hills and  moun-
tains, instead  of running,  and  salutary, and important streams, it
would be covered chiefly  with interminable morasses, and vast
sheets of stagnant waters, and inhabited only by an aquatic  race.
As relates to the point I am considering, alter in any  way the exist-
ing arrangements, and you u ill circumscribe  the variety and range
of living beings, create unbounded  difficulty and embarrassment,
and diminish the general amount of enjoyment.  Hence the neces-
sity of maintaining  unalterably an accurate balance between the
elevated and depressed grounds on the surface of the earth.
   There are a Is;*)  certain moral opposites,  between which, in the 
cf
economy of being, it would seem  important that a balance he pni
served.  Of these I  shall  mention  only  virtue and vice, pain or
tniscry, and pleasure or happiness.
  To many it may, perhaps, seem paradoxical in me to allege, that
in the  moral economy of this world.it is requisite that  there should
be a balance between virtue and vice; or that there is a  necessity
for  the existence of vice at all   But, permit me to believe, that,
on a due consideration of the subject, the  paradox will disappear.
  When we recollect that the moral character of the  Creator  and'
Piii!er of this world,  is, in all  respects, perfect, ami that he has the
power to arrange every thing in it precisely  to his will, it follows,
as a corollary (.'ear and irresistible, that, both morally and physic-
ally, ail things in it are as they  ought to be.   To deny this, is to'
chargethe Deity  with a vant of perfection.  It is virtually to assert,
either that he has not the power to order things in the  best possi-
ble  manner; or that, having the power,  he declines to do it,and is,
therefore, the immediate and intentional author of evil.
  Were man to act thus, his conscience, which is the moral repre-
sentative ef the Deity within him, would condemn him for neglect;
and his fellow men would denounce him as a delinquent, if not as
a malefactor,  lie would he considered, by every one, as accessory
to ihe existence, «nd  ail the deplorable consequences of evil  How,
then, can the Creator stand acquitted, before his own tribunal, of
that, on account of which his  creature would  be censured and self-
tondemned?   Or if the  Creator has presented such  an example,
why is the creature bhmeworthy for following it?  But  1 decline
to dwell on this abstract principle, although it is founded on  truth,
and is  perfectly clear, arid pertinent to,my  purpose.
  Were  vice to  be suddeniy  and radically extinguished, I will not
assert  that virtue would  perith with it; but  1  do assert  that it
would  become, comparatively, sickly and uninviting, losing, at once,
both its strength and its lustre.
  It is a principle, as well of our moral as of our physical nature,
that to  be  stmr.g, t;;e must be active.  Indolence  and  inaction
enervate  the  intellect  no less  than the  body.  The strength of
v;-tec. then, depends on its being exercised.  But, extinguish vice,
and where is the object  on  which  several of the virtues can be
exercised?  it is  palpable that no such object  will exist; for the
struggle of vir.ue is  to repress  vice, or  to resist its attack.   With-
out the incentives to this struggle", virtue would sleep.
   Were there no crimes to be  punished, no decision to be effected
between  right and wrong, and no rewards to be adjudged  to the
opposers of crime, justice would be paralyzed in some of its  cardi-
nal functions: and were Iht-.re no guilt and  offence to be  forgiven,
the attribute of mercy zcould be but a ncine.  The very fact that the
Deity possesses the attribute  of mercy, is proof conclusive, that the'
existence of c.ime comports with the scheme of creative wisdom.
But it  comports equally with that scheme,  that the virtuous should
strenuously endenvor to repve-s iU and punish it when it occurs. 
(J
   Were there no  lawless usurpations or other daring crimes of
state, where would be the lustre, where the merit, I might perhaps
say, where the very existence of the virtue of patriotism?—No un-
just incroachments and assaults, of a public nature, where the glo*
ry of virtuous heroism?—No private  wrongs inflicted by injustice
and vicious propensities, where would be fortitude and calm resig-
nation?—No fiery  and licentious passions* backed by duplicity and
the arts of seduction, to withstand, where the consummation of fe-
male honour?
   Had there been no Tarquin, there could have been no Lucretia;
no Caesar, no Brutus; no Gesler.no Tell; no  Charles and Ferdi-
nand, no Bolivar; no corrupt and tyrannical ministry to resist, no
Washington.  Even Adams and Jefferson, whose recent death has
left such a blank in the affections of our country, were indebted for
much of the splendour of their virtues, to the vices they opposed.
   Had it not been for the unnatural vices of his brethren, the bene-
factions and  pious example of Joseph could have had no exis-
tence.
   The conflict between virtue and vice, is a  struggle for suprema-
cy between the animal  propensities of man, on one side, and his
moral and intellectual faculties on the  other.
   In this combat, the higher powers of our nature acquire a purity,
an elevation, and  a masculine  vigour and dexterity  in action, to
which, under peaceful circumstances,  they could never attain.  In
like manner as the gladiator and the  wrestler prepare themselves
for victory by antecedent exertion   Thus, by an operation, and a
course of events,perfectly natural, is good brought out of evil.
   In this war of the -spirit with the flesh," of the higher with the
inferior powers of man, not only his  moral and intellectual, but
even his physical character is, in the issue, ennobled and rendered
illustrious.
   It is in this conflict  that have been elicited, not only some of the
most sublime manifestations of virtue* but many of the most re-
splendent exhibitions of genius and talent, that  have done honour
to our nature.
   The lawless ambition of a Philip, awakened, in the conflict, the
irresislable tiuinders of the  eloquence of a  Demosthenes; the vi-
ces of a Cataline,and the profligate and oppressive exactions  of a
\ e^res, augmented the intensity and  brightened the effulgenceof
the eloquence of a Cicero; Chatham and Burke owed much of their
force, and vehemence, and splendour,  to the  corruptions and enor-
mities, on winch they  poured out the  virtuous but terrible indigna-
tion of their spirits; the crimes of a Hastings aroused to its almost
supernatural  efforts, the intellect  of  a Sherid«n; and but for the
tyrannical usurpations of a wicked ministry and a venal parliament,
the consummate achievements in  eloquence, of a Henry, a Lee,
a i'utledge, and an Adams, would never have ennobled themselves,
theircountry, and their age.  But for the obduracy and gigantic
vices of tho*e whom he went forth to instruct  and  convert, even the
                              B 
10
rtivme eloquence of a Paul of Tarsus, would have been wanting to
the world.  So true is it, that great occasions, of whatever descriDj
tion, make illustrious men.
          " Great Julius on the mountains bred,
          " A Hock, perhaps, or herd had led;
          " He that subdued the icorld, had been
          " But the besfwrestler on the green."
  But the scenes of grandeur,  and the  momentous concerns, all of
them essentially connected with crime,  in which  they were called
forth to  perform their parts, developing completely their stupen-
dous powers,  threw into the  hands of those two  illustrious chief-
tains the temporary sway of the world, and rendered them  the
g!ory of their own times, and the admiration and  wonder of future
a ,"s
  Nor does this straggle with vice awaken alone the genius of those
who mingle in the  conflict.  Its  influence  operates  as a source of
inspiration to the  ardent spirits and elevated intellects,  of coun-
tries the most distant, and ages the most remote.
  To the  incontinency of a Helen, and the inexorable character
«nd sanguinary deeds of an Achilles, are  we  indebted  for the  im-
mortal productions of Homer; the perfidy  of JEneas to the guilty
but i!ij:sred Dido, and his subsequent usurpations and acts of blood,
in the dominions of Turnus,  awakened  the loftiest and noblest ef-
fort of the poet of Mantua; but for the vices of the period in which
he lived, the  rich and tervid  imagination  of  Dante would never
have blazed forth so intensely in his imperishable stanzas;  the un-
authorised invasion of the territory of  the  Saracen,  by the Chris-
tian Crusaders, gave  to us the choicest fruits of the Muse of Tasso;
and had not the transgression of our First Parents lost to them and
to us the Paradise of Eden, the genius  of Milton would not, as an
episode in his matchless poem  commemorative of the event, have
presented us  with an Eden  of fancy,  more  beautiiul in colours,
richer in foliage,  more exquisite in fragrance, more enchanting in
melody, and superior in all that can charm  in  the landscape.
  The virtuous, moreover, derive much of  their  most rational and
sublime enjoyment  from their conflicts with  the vicious.  Aeon-
sciousness of acting worthily and nobly, which, without vice, they
would have no distinguished opportunities to do, is their highest re-
ward. But, as already observed, it is the will  of Heaven,  that man
should enjoy as well as act. By a wise and bemficent  dispensation of
things, then,  vice is rendered tributary  to the  happiness of virtue.
   Morally as well as physically, variety and  excitement are essen-
tial to enjoyment.   Of all intolerable  things  that man has to en-
counter, monotony and apathy are among the most intolerable.
   Were there in  nature but one colour, one sound, one taste, or one
odour, however grateful  it might be in itself, it  would pall on the
sense,and become offensive.   A journey through a barren cham-
pain, or a cheerless desert, is doubly grievous from  the sameness it
presents, and  the privations it imposes;  and  a  calm on the ocean is 
11
as distressing,although not so disastrous, as a tempest.  The aspect
of the dead sea is revolting to the traveller, on account of its dead-
ness
   Thus also in morals, a  changeless  monotony, although it be of
virtue, must  become  a source of misery.  But  such  a monotony
would universally prevail, were  vice  eradicated.   Virtue would
lose its lustre, if not its existence, and the human character much
of its energy, interest, and usefulness.   For want of a suitable
field of action, virtue would stagnate, and  produce, in moral*, some-
what of that impure  and deleterious  condition, that results  frym
stagnation of the atmosphere, or the waters.
   Nor is  this all.   Vice is necessary to awaken in man a relish for
virtue, as darkness heightens hi* relish for light, cold for he u, hun-
ger for food, and sickness for health.   Such is oui constitution, that
vicissitudes between  opposites are  indispensable to our gratifica-
tion, if not to our well being.   Deprive us of these, and our  exis-
tence will become miserable.
   It vyas  the  influence of sentiments like these,  that drew  from
the poet the following beautiful and  philosophical effusion, when,
descanting on human happiness, he exclaims,
       " As much that end a constant course requires,
       " Of showers and sunshine, as of man's desires;
       " \s much eternal springs and cloudless skies,
       " As men forever temperate, calm, and wise.
       " If plagues and earthquakes break not heaven's design,
       •' Why, then, a  Borgia, or a Cataline]
       " —Better for us, perhaps, it might appear,
       " Were there all harmony, all sunshine here;
       " That never air, or  ocean felt the w ind;
       " That never passion discomposed the mind.
       " Bui atf/subsists by elemental strife;
       " And passions are the elements of life."
   But although,  as relates to terrestrial affairs, the existence of
vice appears to fall within the ordination  of nature (which is that
t>f Heaven') it is  its regulated existence.  In excess, it would be ruinous.
Hence the necessity of a well adjusted balance between it and vir-
tue.
   What has been just  said  expressly  of  virtue and vice, may  be
considered as sain, by implication, ofgood  and evil.   For the latter
arc but more abstract and  general  terms,  denoting the origin and
object of the former.   Virtue and vice are but moral good and evil,
or good and  evil as connected  with human  motives  and actions.
They are, therefore, as positively associated with them in their ex-
istence, as they are allied to them in their nature.  In the arrange
ment and  economy of earthly  matters, they are equally essential.
The proposition  can  he easily maintained, that evil is  the foun-
tain, if not of all our knowledge, at least of the most abundant por-
tion of it.   To that effect is  the express declaration of the Holy
Scriptures.   Until after their disobedience,  our First Pajeuts are
represented as comparatively uninformed.   Besides,  we toil after 
1*
1 fW
 knowledge, that we may be  enabled, by means of it, to remove o?
 toaster the various evils and difficulties of life.  Place us perfect-
 ly at our ease, our only business being that of enjoyment, and our
 indolence will so far predominate  over our  curiosity and love ot
 knowledge, that we shall continue  in ignorance.
   By arguments analogous to the foregoing  may we establish the
 importance and necessity of the existence of a balance between
 the opposites, pain and pleasure, or happiness and misery.
   By pain or misery experienced by ourselves, our relish for hap-
 piness is quickened and  augmented.  No one enjoys the pleasure*
 of health so exquisitely as the convalescent from a painful disease.
 Competency or affluence after want, joy after sorrow, safety after
 danger, and hope and fruition after doubt and despair, are peculi-
 arly delightful.  Hence  the  "joy of fear" is a well known expres-.
 sion among the aborigines  of our country;  and hence  the poet
 playfully but philosophically declares, that
          " —SpriDg itself would cease to please us,
          " If there were notbiDg else but Spring."
  This representation accords so perfectly with our daily experi-
 ence, that it is self-estalished.
  Personal suffering has oftentimes a very happy and decisive in-
fluence in the regulation of the propensities, and the  improvement
of character.   By giving to the higher a permanent ascendency
over the lower faculties of human nature, it tends to enlighten and
strengthen the intellect,  and  imparts to the individual more real el-
evation, dignity, and worth. It ameliorates the moral sentiments
generally, but especially those of  fortitude, gratitude, and  piety.
Hence a competent discipline in  the school of adversity, is consid-
ered the mostsalutary that a man can receive.   To those who ex-
perience it, then, a certain amount of suffering is important.
  Nor is it less so, in its influence on those who witness it.   In them
it cultivates and  strengthens charity, benevolence, munificence,
magnanimity, and all the more amiable virtues of our  nature.  It
furnishes  the chief object for the  exercise  of  philanthropy,  and
brightens the flame of patriotism  itself.  For it is when our country
is in a suffering condition, that the latter virtue exhibits its fairest
lustre.  Nor is it unimportant to observe, that misfortune and  mis-
ery quicken the intellect, and enrich it in expedients, by  exciting
it to strenuous and persevering exertions after means of relief.
The miseries and sorrows of human life have afforded, moreover,
to the poet and  the painter, themes and subjects for some of the
most sublime and splendid productions, that have ever done honour
to the pencil or the pen.   The tragic Muse claims, as her birth-
place and residence, the abode of wretchedness, and the  region of
woe; and to the bitter  misfortune of his blindness is  the  world
indebted for one of the  happiest effusions of the genius of Milton.
 Perhaps the same misfortune, by giving more entire concentration
 and intensity to theirintellectual effortSj augmented, not a little, the. 
IS
sublimity, force', and grandeur of the epic productions ofbcthMiltoi*
and Homer.
   Nor is it to be regarded as the least valuable of the advantages
of suffering, that, by weakening our attachment to this world,  its
amusements and delights, it prepares us the  better for our final
departure from it, and reconcite;- us to the death of our friends, as
the termination of their sorrows and pains.
   View the subject, then, in whatever light you may, that cup in
which a portion of  the bitterness of misery is mingled, is best suit-
ed to the pi'.ate and the condition of man.  The sweets of happi-
ness without alloy, would satiate and sicken.
   Nor would undiluted bitterness be a suitable potion.   Conforma-
bly-to that checkered  scene of diversities  and opposites, which
every where surremds us, the  draught mn>t be -nixed, and the two
ingredients so apportioned a* to balance each other.
   Such, then, appears  to be the decree  of Heaven jn relation to
man.  Varied  in his constitution, variety  is essential  to all his en-
joyments.   Singleness and  simplicity  are incompatible with his
nature.   Sirbjected to their  ceaseless influence, he would sicken of
life, and voluntarily renounce it, as the most grievous of burthen?:
Better to be tossed  between  the very extremes of opposites, than
to lie supine and corrupting amid the calm of identity.
   But notwithstanding the interest, which, as topics of contempla-
tion, may  be attached to the several conflicts and balances, of which
J have spoken, there remain to be treated of two others, with which,
as p!t, sirians, we  are more immediately concerned.  They are
the h.ilance* between  life and  death,  on a general scale, and, as
relates more particularly to  mm, hetween the Iwdentia and juvan-
lia, or thing? salutary and things injurious to him.
   A5  respects the first of these, it is requisite,  before commencing
our immediate illustration of it, that we determine, with accuracy,
what we are to understand by the term death.
   The event or condition  designated by that word, is  referable
only  to matter, spirit being an imperishable  substance, of which
death cannot be predicated.  Nor is it predicableof  matter, in the
abstract, but only of compound  and organized  forms  of it; matter,
in its  simple condition, being as indestructible as spirit.
   Death, then, as a general term, means nothing more than a radi-
cal change in the modes of existence of compound bodies, the nexus
or bond that held together their elementary parts having deserted
them.  In reference to man, it is the separation of iiis vital princi-
ple and spirit from his body, and the subsequent resolution of the
latter into its original elements, to be re-employed in  further com-
pounds.  But in this process of separation and resolution, it is to he
distinctly understood, that there is no actual destruction of matter,
any more than  of spirit.
   In death, then, there is no annihilation  of substance, but merely
a separation of  its parts, and a passage of it from  one form and
mode of existence to another.  Were spirit a campound oubstanc^, 
14
there is reason to believe, that it also would die, in the same sense,
in which that term is applicable to matter  The immortality, then,
of spirit, would seem to depend on its simplicity, or uncompounded
condition; it being a law of nature that compounds, especially vital
ones, must change.
  According to this definition  of the* term, the death of terrestrial
beings is  nothing but a succession  of races, a former disappearing,
and giving place to a latter, precisely as one day succeeds to anoth-
er that has passed  away; or one  wave to another, in the  ceaseless
fluctuation of an agitated ocean.   And as it is deemed not  improba-
ble, that, in the boundless circulation of that fluid  throughout  the
universe, some of the same particles of light, returning to the sun,
may issue thence again, and contribute to the illumination of suc-
cessive days, so it can scarcely be doubted, that into the composition
of the different succeeding races of living beings, the same ele-
mentary parts repeatedly enter.   Indeed it would seem  to be  im-
possible that'they should not thus  enter; for the aggregate mas3
of living beings, vegetable  and  animal, that  have existed, since
the first peopling of our globe, must be more than  equal,  in bulk,
to that y.ortion  of  the crust or external  part of the earth, that  is
constantly changing its  condition,  by  becoming a part  of living
bodies, or that is even  capable of becoming a part of them, and
returning again to an inorganic state.
   Hence the  well known lines of a  favourite poet are no less true
than beautiful.
    " All forms that perish other forms supply,
    " (By turns we catch the vital spark and die)
    " Like bubbles on the sea of matter born,
    " They rise, they burst, and to that sea return."
   It manifestly appears, then, that between the two great rival and
antagonizing processes of death and life, or of the  dissolving  and
reorganizing of living  beings, there exists a constant and unrelent-
ing conflict.  To the truth of this, nature bears testimony, as well
in the vegetable as in the animal  kingdom.
   During spring and summer, the process of  life is active and  en-
ergetic, in repairing, among vegetables, the extensive devastations
which death  had perpetrated, during the two preceding seasons
of autumn and winter.  But no sooner has it, within half the year,
completed its work,  in the re-production of flowers, and foliage,
and ripening fruit, than its antagonist advances again to the assault,
and,  in the course of the remaining half,  finishes  afresh the work
of destruction.  And thus successively  and perseveringly with  the
progress of time, do these rivals experience  alternately triumph
and defeat.
   Nor, in the animal kingdom, are the phenomena  exhibited ma-
 terially different.   In  relation to a large proportion  of  the insect
 tribe, the course of  nature is precisely the same, as with respect to
 vegetables.  During spring and  summer,  life  regenerates  what
 death is  to destroy, in the course  of the succeeding autumn and 
winter.   Of other  animals, the span  of life is not  so brief.  But
however protracted it may be, it is destined to be ultimately ter-
minated by death.  If this is not done during the autumn and  win-
ter of each  succeeding year, it is effected, at least, by accident,
disease, or the winter of age.
   It is palpable, then, that between life and  death,  there is an in-
cessant struggle for  the mastery;  and  that  this struggle is main-
tained in relation to the same portions of matter.   The very same
substance which death breaks down from a compound and organiz-
ed condition, and resolves into  its original elements, life re-unites,
reorganizes, and erects into new races of being.  As far as relates
to matter, therefore, a perpetual change of it from being  to being,
in a  process  analogous  to that of metempsychosis, is literally
true.
   I might here change  my mode  of expression,  and pronounce
chemistry and  vitality  to  be the conflicting antagonists of which 1
am speaking   By its specific powers, the latter organizes and con-
structs, while, by means of putrefaction, the latter demolishes and
resolves into  atoms.
   The surface of the earth is the theatre on which those  two  rival
powers perpetually combat   And there alone do they find materials
adapted to their purpose.  It is on living organized matter exclu-
sively, that  death commits his ravages;  and  only in the exterior or
crust of the earth, and the atmosphere  around it,can the elements
of that  description of matter be found.   It is  to maintain  herself
on the  surface, amid light and air, that life sustains a perpetual
conflict.   To death she resigns, without a struggle, the dark and
airless interior, the dreary grave of terrestrial nature.
   That it is essential to the economy of the world, that between
these two great antagonists, there exist a well adjusted balance of
power,  must be obvious  to  every one.  Victory on  either side
would be a ruinous catastrophe.
   Were death to prevail, 1 need scarcely observe that the conse-
quence would he  awful,  beyond what even imagination  can con-
ceive.  A dead world would be a spectacle  ineffably  loathsome
and appalling.   An entire globe converted into a foul and pestilent
charnel-house!  A barren  ball of brute matter,  with nothing in  it
to gratify or attract, but everything to shock, disgust, and repel,
constituting a blot on the escutcheon of creation!  In vegetables
kand animals, all  qualities of beauty and  loveliness—colour, fra-
grance, and symmetry, grace, melody, and sprightlincss entirely
extinguished, or exchanged for their opposites, and every thing oi
usefulness irrevocably expunged!  The whole world of organized
matter already reduced to its primitive elements, a shapeless  mass
of incoherent atoms, or rapidly passing into that condition, through
the process  of corruption!   Such,  corporeally speaking, would be
some of  the  consequences  of the  ascendency of death  on our
globe. 
lf>
   Nor, morally considered, would they  be less deplorable.   Ei:is*;
 from earth organization and life, and intellectual existence,  in its
 present form, will be converted  into a blank.  AH  that  is lovely
 and valuable  in it will be subverted.  Sensation will he destroyed,
 judgment, and reason, and talent overthrown, the flame  of genius
 extinguished) as relates to the virtu*, the world  will be  a  desarl,
 and ihe glow of sentiment, and  the  throb of emotion  will  be for;
 ever obliterated.  A condition  of things more  dismal than that
 which issued from the box of Pandora, will  every where arise;
 for when  love, and joy, and gratitude,  chanty,  benevolence,  and
 philanthropy,  and every other  virtuous and amiable  affection,
 shall have forsaken earth, for a more congenial  sphere,  not  even
 hopes the   only  balm and sol'.ce of wretchedness, and  the  chief
 brightener and charmer of life, will remain behind   All  will have
 fled together, from the dismal desolation of an exanimate world.
   Imagine life, on the contrary, to prevail, in the contest, and the
 work of death to he entirely arrested, and  an overwhelming super-
 abundance of organized existence, with its multifarious  train of
 concomitant  disasters will  presently ensue.  In every  habitable
 department of the globe, an unwieldy glut of living beings will, in
 a short time, appear, to the embarrassment and  indescribable dis-
 tress of each other.
   By the crowded and  struggling  mass of  their inhabitants, the
 rivers and smaller streams will be impeded in their channels, and
 the very waters of the ocean ivill scarcely  find room for their usual
 fluctuation.
   Deprived of space for the expansion  of their wings, and their
 light and airy  movements  along  the heavens, the birds and insects
 will flutter and flounder in confusion and  fatal  collision  through
 the atmosphere, and the quadrupeds and  reptiles  will crush and
 trample each other en the ground.  The  only business in which
 man himself can engage, will be to seek a place of security, in the
 universal struggle  and tumult around  him.  Deprived of  all his
 means of  dominion, he will be  the ruler of terrestrial creation  no
 longer.  The  search after sustenance, and  the exercise  of his
 faculties, on a  liberal scale, will be altogether  prohibited, and  he
 will become one of the feeblest and most miserable of beings.
   Of surh a condition of things, the general consequences must  be
 oivious to every one.  Pleasure  and usefulness will be now but
 i  ;nes for  modes of being and action that no longer exist;  and uni-
 versal famine will consummate the catastrophe.
   From these  considerations  it  conclusively appears,  that, under
uny imaginable circumstances, the very  idea of the  immortality of
 man, on this earth, connected with that of an  indefinite multiplica-
 tion of the race, is a palpable absurdity.   It may be correctly pro-
nounced to imply an  impossibility.  Whenever life and  propaga-
tion exist,  death  must have employment, to hold the. luxuriance of
production in check.   Had man never sinned, his immortality would
i,Liv'e been incompatible with his multiplication; aad the perpetuity 
17
ol his residence on earth.  Hence, in the government of creation,
as well as in Political governmental well adjusted system of checks
and balances is essential to safety, efficiency, and success
   Forbidden, by a want of time, to enumerate and expound the en-
tire class of the Icederitia and  juvantia, or deleterious and salutary
agents, I shall  confine  inyself*lo  a brief consideration of disease
and wounds, with the power ivhich living matter possesses to prevent
and remove them; and the balance  in the struggle, which thence
arises and perpetually  subsists.
   Ever since the  commencement of medicine,  as  a science, this
power of living matter has been recognized by  the faithful obser-
vers and interpreters  of nature.   It has  been designated, moreo-
ver, by different names, according to the views entertained of its
origin, character, and  mode of operation.
   It w is the '•'to theion" and the  "cnormonn"  of Hippocrates, and
his follower*, because thev considered it of heavenly origin, and the
spring of life,  the l'Archens,"or  original principle of action, of
Van Helmont,  the "anima me lica rationalis" of Stahl,  the "vis
conservatrix et medicatrix  naturae" of Cullen, and  the " preserva-
tive and  recuperative principle" of more modern writers.
   As  the reality of these powers  has been often denied,  and that-
by physician* whose standing in  medicine gives weight  to their
opinions, the facts  that will be adduced in illustration of their ef-
fects, may be regarded as •arguments in favour  of their existence.
Whatever demonstrates their effect*,  of course establishes their
existence, on  the ground, that  nothing can act which does not exist*
   To prove that there subsists between living and  dead matter, a
state of constant hostility and conflict,  nothing but the commonest
observation is requisite.   Wherever they  are brought  into imme-
diate  contact, the hostility  is  manifested, and the. conflict goes on,
until one or the other is subdued.  And it is particularly worthy of
observation, that the vital  power, when not so deeply overwhelm-
ed, as to  be paralysed, or rendered incapable of regular reaction,
always pursues that course which is best calculated to sustain itself,
and vanquish its antagonist.   Hence the  denomination of uanima
medica rationalis"1 or the reasoning medical soul.
   Thus when any  irritating matter makes its  way into the eye, a
superabundance of tears is immediately secreted and poured upon
the ball, to dilute or wash away the offending  substance.  Next to
that of taking  hold of  the mote, and thus removing it, or brushing
it away in some  other  more rapid mechanical process, this is the
most effectual mode that could be adopted,  for the certain attain-
ment of the object in view.
   When a blistering plaster  is applied to any  part  of the skin, an
immediate secretion of serum takes place, which interposing itself
between  the cuticle and the cutis vera, separates them from each
other, and thus  protects the nerves of the latter from further irri-
tation.  A process  better adapted than this for the attainment of
the object proposed; reason itself  could not devise.  JJlcnce as soon.
                               C 
<8
as the serum is secreted in sufficient quantity, the irritation of the
piaster ceases.  The same thing occurs in cases of burning,  01 se-
vere irritation from hot water.   Serum is secreted, the cuticle de-
tached and protruded in the form of a  blister, and the  true skin
protected from further annoyance.
   Irritate any highly vascular parUff the system,  and the imme-
diate consequence is, a copious flux of blood to the spot,  to dilute,
or wash away the cause of the  irritation, or otherwise repair the
injury produced.
   One of the most memorable contests that  occurs  between living
and dead matter, is witnessed in the stomach, during the  digestion
of food.  Digestion means nothing more,  than such a change in al-
imentary matter,  as to assimilate  it  to the  nature  of the  animal
that  uses it.
   If the  article swallowed be  easily digested or changed in  its
qualities, it offers no serious  resistance to the vital  powers of the
stomach, but yields to the  action of that  organ, and the  digestive
process goes healthfully and harmoniously on.   But if it be too in-
tractable to  he subdued, resolved, and properly assimilated, the
conflict and  commotion  become  serious  and often  alarming.  In
that case, the stomach, unable to master the  indigestible substance,
and reduce it to a state of harmony  with  itself,  adopts the next
most natural and  advisable expedient—that which reason would
approve and inculcate, and prepares to free itself from its delete-
rious action by immediately rejecting  it.*
   Let us suppose  the article swallowed to be a poison, which is no-
thing but a name for a class  of  potently  irritating substances, that
cannot be digested, and  whose stimulous is entirely out of  harmony
with the  susceptihilites of the stomach, or other organ wiih which
they may come in contact.
   The vital powers  are immediately roused to  peculiar and vio
lent action, on an  extensive scale, to guard the system from the im-
pending danger.  Nor could  reason,  had she the entire control, on
the occasion, direct a process  or series of movements, more specifi-
cally appropriate to the end  in view, than that which is instituted.
   To protect Jhe  internal  coat  of the stomach  from immediate in-
jury, a preternatural conflux of blood to it takes place, from which
it secretes a  superabundant quantity of mucous and  aqueous fluids,
for the purpose of diluting and blunting the acrimony of the poison,
and aiding in its expulsion.  This process is precisely  analogous to
that which  occurs for  the relief of the eye, when suffering from
the contact  of an irritating substance.   A secreted mucus,  in the
one ca-e, serves the purpose of secreted tears in the other.  Bui, in
both cases, the object of the secretion is to guard against the action
of a deleterious substance.
   But, for the relief of the stomach  from the irritation of the poi-
son, the process of naKire is  not  yet  complete.  The poison is di-
luted, inviscated, and prepared for expulsion, but not yet expelled.
To effect this, a  violent contraction  of  the stomach takes place. 
19
        accompanied  by a cotemporaneous. and auxiliary operfttion of ar»
        extensive apparatus of muscles and other parts, which continue in
        action, pressing out the contents of the stomach, until the poison is
        ejected.
          Had I leisure, and  were it admissible to enter into the details of
        this interesting and important^irocess, it  would be easj to show it
        to be one of the  most complex and beautiful schemes of the adap-
        tation of organs, and concert of movement, that is any where ex-
        hibited.
          The parts thus thrown into action are not such  as are, from posi-
        tion, or any other apparent cause, most necessarily  or intimately
(       connected with each  other, or with the irritated organ; nor such
        as we would expect, on first principles, to move most readily in con-
        cert;  they are only such as are  best calculated, by their joint ope-
        ration, to resist the poisonous substance, in its  pernicious influence,
        and expel it from the stomach.  Paralyse any one of them, or oth-
        erwise impede its movements, and the preservative process will he
        interrupted.   Destroy several of them, and it  will be extinguished.
          To a case in  which a  deleterious substance irritates the mem-
        brane that lines the internal surface of the lungs, observations pre-
        cisely similar may be  applied.  The mode of action best adapted
        to the removal of the irritation is immediately instituted.
          A preternatural amount of blood rushes te  the part affected, the
        irritating body is inviscated in a quantity of mucus secreted for the
        purpose, and, for the  expulsion of the offending matter, a complica-
        ted  and extensive apparatus of organs is thrown into action.   The
        process excited is coughing or sneezing, in the performance of each
        of which the  same muscles and  other parts  co-operate as instru-
        ments.  And  it is peculiarly worthy of observation, that according
        as either process is best  adapted to expel the  offending substances,
        that process is uniformly employed.   Is coughing best calculated to
        produce the desired effect?  The individual coughs,and cannot re-
        frain  fiom  it.   Is sneezingg most  suitable?,  He sneezes, not of
        choice, but necessity.  Nor is there here  any  more of natural con-
        aexion between the organs that act in concert, nor  between them.
        and the part irritated, th in there is in relation to those that co-op-
    ►   erate in the evacuation of the stomach.
          For the welfare of the human body, it is requisite  that its tempe-
        rature be maintained at the standard of 95° to 98°  of Fahren-
        heit's thermometer.   If materially  above or below this, it is the
        temperature of disease.  Place mart beneath  the fervours of Con-
        go, and, in health, his temperature rises no higher;  remove him to
        the  icy blasts of the extreme  north, and it sinks no lower.
          For the maintenance of this equability of temparature, he is in-
        debted to no chemical process, as some very  distinguished philoso-
        phers have contended; but to  the vital action  of his  own capillary
        vessels—to that salutary and necessary resistance, which the living
        preservative  principle within him offers  to all deleterious agents
        For extreme  beat  and extreme  rold. in common with poisonous 
20
substances, are deleterious, and, if not opposed and checked, u>
their influence, will destroy life.
   Is the temperature of the medium, to which man is exposed, for-
ty degrees below zero, at the touch of which most liquid.- become
solid, and  even mercury freezes?   To counteract thi-, the preser-
vative  principle generates a superabundant quantity ot heat, to sup-
ply the rapid and  perpetual waste of it from the surface of the bo-
dy, by  the cold of the atmosphere.
   Is the natural temperature of the  atmosphere at one hundred
and  tenor twenty degrees;  or is it artifdaily  raised,  as it some-
times has  been, to two hundred  and twenty four; two hundred and
sixty,  or  even to  upwards  of three hundred? and is man, either
from choice or necessity, exposed to its action?
   Here, instead of generating or developing heat, the preservative
principle,  to meet  the  emergency, must pursue an opposite course,
and institute a cooling process.  And such a process it does institute.
For, while the  atmosphere, a few inches from the body, is at the
elevated temperature just designated, that pdrtion of it in contact
with the skin is reduced to about one hundred.   Under no degiee of
heat to which  the  humi'.u body has been exposed, has its tempera-
ture in health, ever exceeded one hundred and one or two degrees.
This is true, even  of those  individuals  who  have entered heated
ovens,  and remained sometime in them, where water boiled in ves-
sels held in their hands, and where eggs were roasting, bread ba-
king, and chickens, beefsteaks, veal cutlets, and shoulders of mut-
ton, broiling around them.
   Such are the facts,  whose  truth, however  extraordinary they
may appear, is not to   be questioned.   But what is their explana-
tion?  I answer, that the only explanation of which they are sus-
ceptible, must be founded on the preservative powers of living mat-
ter.
   Is the system of man endangered in its existence or its health,
from excessive cold?  In opposition to the cold, those powers exert
themselve- for its  preservatiop;  and they effect that preservation,
unless the  cold, from being long  continued, as  well as extreme, be-
come overwhelming.
   Doe- the danger arise from excessive heat?  The same powers,
accommodating to the  exigency their mode of action,  institute a
cooling process, and,  in the struggle  that ensues,  take from the
heat its capacity to injure.
   To defend the body  from  cold, they throw  around it a panoply
of caloric.  To protect it from  heat, an armour of cool atmospher-
ic air   By this conflict is the balance maintained and life saved.
   But it is not only with a view  to the prevention of  disease and
mischief,  that the powers of life successfully exert  themselves.
When those evils have actually occurred, they labour, with equal
success, for iheir removal.
   In all cases of slight disease,  such, for example,  as common ca
tarrb, or ephemeral fever, no medicinal aid is requisite.   Unless 
21
f<veat imprudence lie,  in some  way, perpetrated, nature cures ths
■j ffecu on herself.   This she does by instituting a process specifically
calculated for the end  in view—the very kind of process which
reason  itself would institute, if consulted on  the subject.
  Catarrh consists in a congestion, or preternatural  accumulation
of blood, in the membrane  which lines the internal surface of the
lungs  A soreness of the part, especially on  coughing, is always
experienced.
  In this case, it is the  suggestion of reason,  that the most effectual
measure  for the removal of the congestion, is a preternatural se-
cretion of mucus  from  the dise;■.»■. J  membrane; as by that evacua-
tion the congestion i* u solved.
   But this is the very  measure  which nature adopts,  and which  is;
generally denominated,  the'  breaking  of the cold.  Previously to
the occurrence of this, as already stated, there exists a soreness of
the part affected.  But, with  the commencement of a  free  and
copious secretion, that  soreness  disappears.  Tlie individual dis-
eased will tell you that he '-feels he is getting well, because his cold
is lir-i!;cn"  Of this.'he  real interpretation is,  that nature has in-_
stitute.l the specific process, by which alone the congestion can be'
safe y and certainly resolved
   Is the  congestion, which constitutes the disease, situated in any
other membrane, or part of the body; and  is thai part the liver?
Here again,  nature, with • her accustomed  power and disposition
to  accommodate l.er  action  to  the crisis that exists, brings on a
copious secretion of bile, which,  freeing the liver from  its preter-
natural and deleterious accumulation of blood, removes the disease.
   It may be permitted me to  remark, in  general,  that,  for the re-
moval  of congestion, wherever it  may  be situated,  nature has re-
course to the processes of secretion and absorption; and that she al-
ways 4akes measures to excite these processes in those parts, where
the\ can act with moit effect, in the attainment of the contemplated
end.   In whatever great cavity of  the body the  accumulation ex-
ists, whether the abdomen, the thorax, or the cranium, in the same
cavity is the curative action awakened.   Hence the perfect adapta-
tion which always  obtains between the  means employed, and the
object  to be achieved.
   Is the diseased affection, under which the body labours, a wound,
a contusion, or the fracture of a bone?   In this conjuncture, again,
the recuperative powers institute  the process best  calculated,  in
each case, to remedy the evil.
   To heal a wound, in the simplest way, the parts that are divided
secrete a peculiai fluid, technically denominated,  the matter of ad-
hesion.  That substance, which, in its character,  always conforms
to that of the divided  organ,  closing the  wound and  excluding the
air, prepares the way  for a certain specific  action, which  soon suc-
ceeds, and effects a permanent re-union of the separated parts.
   Is the wound of a character so serious as to have ca;.ied away a
fiortion of the ^  - n on which it  was inflicted; "or has a part been 
22
 fii.:.. ,   .by  deep ulceration?  Here nature institutes an  nclual
 growth of new organic matter,  to fill up the vacuity, and restore
 the defect which  would otherwise  exist.   Nor  could  any thing
 short of this re-productive  process, be  competent to the contem-
 plated end.
   For the resolution of the tumour  produced by  simple contusion,
 absorption is the best adapted expedient; and to that does nature
 usually resort.   But when, as is often the case, the contusion is too
 severe to be resolved by absorption  alone, in aid of this,  ihe pow-
 ers of nature, which are appointed to watch  over the well being of
 the system, institute the peculiar process  of suppuration.  This is
 a secretion of a specific character, wlych never.occurs in health,
 but is calculated to resolve congestion, and to restore health.  Nor
 does nature ever call it forth, except for the resolution of existing
 congestion.   Co operating with absorption, it rarely fails to remove
 the tumour produced by contusion.
   In the fracture of a bone,  where, from  the deep seated, and con-
cealed  position of the injured part, no healing balsam can be applied
 to it, the entire process of re union must be consigned to  the*re-
 storative powers of nature.   Nor, under favourable circumstances,
do they ever prove  incompetent to the end to be attained
  The surgeon,  in  attendance, having brought  into apposition the
 ends of the fractured bone, made  the requisite arrangements for
retainingthem there, and given suitable directions for the dietand
regimen of his the individual injured, has performed the  principal
part of his duty.
  His work being thus terminated, that of nature now begins.  And,
here, to secretion she again  resorts  for the  accomplishment of her
purpose.  But not to a secretion of the same kind of matter, which
 she employs  in the  re-union  of a divided muscle.  It is to  the se-
 cretion of a fluid assimilated, in its nature,  to bone, and, therefore,
 specifically adapted to its re-union.   Nor would it serve for the re-
 union of any other kind of divided substance.  And thus generally,
 whatever may  be the nature  of the separated organ—bone,  ten-
 don, muscle, nerve, or membrane, its re-union depends essentially
 on secretion.  And, in each  case, the secretion is specific; that
 which is adapted to the re-union of one oigan or structure,  bei  g
 raited to that alone, and not to the re union  of either of the others.
 So true i« it, that every cause and mode of operation are specific, as
 well in their nature as their effects.
  The bone being united, to  complete her work, nature has yet to
 institute another process.  And this she does, in general, without
 the aid or interference of art.
  The matter secreted for the. purposes of the union, which is now
 ef^cted, being generally superabundant  in quantity, the bone, at
 the place of junction, is preternaturally large.  This enlargement,
 being not only inconvenient, but injurious in its effects, nature makes
 the necessary arrangement for its  removal.    For  the accomplish-
 ment of this, she employs absorption. 
23
   By the instrumentality of that process*  all superfluous esseot:s
matter is carried away, and, at its place of  union, the bone is redu-
ced to its native dimensions.  Here again the  adaptation of the
means to the end is complete, because the balance between absorp-
tion and its antagonist, secretion, is, on the whole, strictly maintain-
ed.  The latter having predominated during the process of re-un-
ion, the former assumes  the predominancy afterwards, until its ob-
ject is accomplished, and then they go on in harmonious equality.
   In illustration of our general  subject, we might have heretofore
referred to the conflict which perpetually exists, in organic nature,
between those two antagonizing  powers; and the absolute necessi-
ty of preserving their balance.   When secretion, into any of the
close cavities of the body, predominates over absorption, dropsy is
produced.   When that branch of secretion, which  is tributary to
nutrition, is excessive, preternatural obesity prevails.  "When,  on
the contrary, absorption gains the ascendency, ulceration, or emaci-
ation of parts or  of the  whole body  is the consequence.  To the
maintenance of sound health, the preservation of a well adjusted
balance between them is essential.  It is  to the predominance of
absorption, that  we attribute the occasional disappearance of the
dark colour of the African's skin.
   But to witness, in its entire extent, the influence of the recupera-
tive powers of nature, we  must  direct  our attention  to the K.wei
ordeis of living matter.   It is there alone,  in the  restorative action
of the simpler stiui tures, that the undivided energy  of those pow-
ers are manifested.
   If, in the vegetable kingdom, we lop from a tree the whole of its
branches,,leaving the trunk but a mutilated stock, a new and mope
crowded crop of branches will bo, in a short time, protruded.  Or,
take from many kinds of trees, the smallest twig, and plant  it in a
suitable situation, and, in  the lapse of years, it will  equal in size
and luxuriance its parent.   Of various others, split the twigs into
numerous divisions, and out of each division, the restorative pow-
ers will form, in  time, an entire tree.  To the ingrafting and in-
oculation of vegetables,  I might refer, for further facts and argu-
ments confirmatory  of the principle for which I am  contending.
In those processes, the productive powers 'of vegetables are strong-
ly manifested   Nor are they less strikingly exhibited in the dnJi-
culty  which  agriculturists experience in  eradicating from  their
fields many species of noxious plants,   If'the smallest section of ;i
root be suffered to remain on the ground,  its strong re-productive
powers will soon restore  the troublesome weed.   On the operation
and energy of these powers  is founded the propagation oi \ine=,
and various other  plants, by slips and cuttings.
   Ofthelowerordersoftheanimal kingdom,ournotice  shall be brief.
Of the whole tribe of the polypi, and other beings approximated to
them in rank, the  re-productive energies are generally known.
   Bisect one of those  animals, and the  phenomena 'presented by it
are singular and amusing.  The head end will  protucle a tail, mi 
24
the to?7 end a head,  until two complete polypi  are formed out  of
one.  Divide it into 'Vee. or four, or five sections, and the product
will be an equal  nu.uber  of complete  animals.  From the  head-
end split it into three divisions, 'and you will generate a Cerberus—
a three-headed monster  Split from the tail-end, and you produce
a Ba:skaw— a monster with three tails.
   In this process, it  is  remarkable that each  section  which has
neither head nor  tail,  will protrude both; while that which  pos-
sesses  the head will send  out only a tail;  and  that which has the
tail, only a head  Thus, as if it were uudei the guidance of reason,
each section produces precisely what is  requisite to convert it into
a perfect animal, and no more.   An adaptation more beautiful than
thi>. can scarcely be imagined.
  Cut out the eye of a  water newt, and the organ will be re-pro-
produced,  llemove an equal  portion, and in the same way, from
any otherpart  of its body, and no eye will be formed there; be nuse
none is requisite for the purposes of the animal.   The mutilation
will be restored by  the same kind of sunstance that was  taken
away.  Lop off the horns, or even the "head  of a snail, and the
parts will be regenerated.
  The power of the crawfish,  in there-production  of its  claws,
legs, and other avulscd ptirts, lias been long  known.  So  has the
power  of lizards  and  certain  species of the serpent tribe, in the
regeneration of their tails.
  In reference to animals of a higher order, it would  be superflu-
ous to  dwell on the annual lo's and re production of the horns of
the elk, the stag, and other Species of  the^eer family.  Of these
frfcts no one is ignorant ;*and the power of restoration  manifested
in them is strikingly great; because the regenerated organ's are
very large and ponderous, and the progress of growth, during their
re-production,  exceedingly rapid.
  In man, the renovation of ; irtshas been already referred to, so
far as relates to the procc  i of granulation.   It is further manifest-
ed in the reproduction  of the hair and nail-, that have" been lost,
and in the regeneration of portions, gometimes  very large ones,
of bone and muscle,  that have been, in 3ome way, removed.   To
the same principle, although in an  irregular and disordered con-
dition, must be referred'the growth^f*Rll preternatural excrescen-
ces and tumours, and often the. protrusion  of supernumerary par's
by the foetus in utero.
  Of the perpetual struggle'of death and life, in relation to anima-
ted existence in general, 1 have already spoken.   I  shall now very
briefly consider Dial which subsists between them in the individual
system of every living being.
   In lefcronce'to our.-elveSJ it is literally  true, that our own per-
sons constitute a field of incessant conflict between those two o-reat
ii.;ilagonizing p v.vers.
   In every imaginable  point  of time, however  evanescent,  tha'
flits over us, myriads  of '' <* elementary  r>cifion= of our bodies. 
25
worn out, by organic action and age, are dying, passing away, and
giving place to other nero-born and living ones, destined to run the
same career of action and function, and  in  the  same manner, and
from the same causes, die and  be succeeded by others, in constant
succession.  By  the process  of nutrition the living matter is fur-
nished, while the removal of  the dead  is the work of absorption
The contest here,  then, which is apparently between nutrition and
absorption, is really between  life and death.  The particles remo-
ved by the absorbents, from the various parts of our systems, an
as literally dead, as are the bodies of indviduals when they are de-
posited in the tomb.
   Had I leisure  to engage in the analysis, it would be easy to show,
that of all the schemes of antagonizalion which nature has establish-
ed, none is more perfect and beautiful,  than that which exists be-
tween the faculties of the  human intellect.  It is alone by  this sys-
tem of checks and balances, that among those faculties an equipoise
is maintained.   Subvert it, and the  issue will be moral commotion,
as certainly as physical commotion  ensues, when the natural bal-
ance of the atmosphere is destroyed.
   In this respect, then, the economy of our own bodies  is strik-
ingly analogous to that of the  human family at large, or of the
whole kingdom of living  matter   In either instance the contest
between life and death is alike obvious and alike coiistaht.  But  in
the struggle for the mastery between those two antagonists, in re-
lation to the great family of man, old individuals fall, and are suc-
ceeded  by new ones; whereas, in the  contest that exists in single
persons, the death and succession are of elementary portions. In each
case, it is essential that an accurate balance be maintained.
   So numerous and such are the opposite powers, which are in per-
petual conflict around us and within  us. and whose antagonizing in-
fluence appears to be essential to preserve  the stability and harmo-
ny of creation.   Derange any one of them, and disorder  and mis-
rule will inevitably ensue.
   Thus, as heretofore mentioned, the human body, when erect, is
maintained in that position by the  countervailing action  of an ex-
quisite arrangement of antagonizing  muscles.   Paralyse, dissever,
or otherwise  deeply injure, any considerable portion  of them, and
the body will fall,or experience disorderly and painful inflexions.
   Let no one complain, then, of the world in which we reside, be-
cause it is a theatre of contention and strife.  It is necessarily so, in
conformity  to the  positive  arrangement of the Most High;  and
out of this contention arises  all that  is beautiful  aud delightful, sta-
ble and  harmonious, valuable and   sublime.  Analyze any thing
possessing these properties, and you  will find that they spring from
the influence  of opposites.. Extinguish the contrasts and antithe-
ses of nature, and you anmhilate in her all that is impressive and
lovely.
   Gentlemen, your lot has been  cast in a world of strife, where,
by the immutable arrangement of Heaven  itself, warfare of som< 
Lit.
jkjnd constitutes the irreversible order of the day—warfare with
vice, with ignorance, prejudice, superstition, or error, or some oth-
er source of pernicious influence.   And, to  be worthy of the food
that sustains and the clothes that cover you, you mu<t take a part
in the combat.  You will  never find either  that  spot pi earth, or
that moment of time, in  which you will not encounter, within you,
or around you, something to  oppose—your own propensities, the
propensities of others, the ignorance, error, or  prejudices of the
times, or some other circumstance, whose tendency is unfavourable,
and with which it, therefore, becomes in you a duty  to contend.
I Of the system of art 1  have  been  considering and condemning,
one of the very worst features is its recommendation of contentment,
as among the highest of duties.
  To be so far content with your own situation, and the genera.
state of things, as not to make them subjects of feverish fretiulness
and unmannerly  complaint, is certainly a duty,  as well of a moral
as of a  social character.  But not to be  so far discontented with
them, as to make every  practicable exertion  to amend them  is
equally  a duty.
  All situations in life, however felicitous, are susceptible of amend-
ment.   Every man's particular  condition, moreover, forms a part
of the general condition of his country, and of  the world.  In im-
proving the former,  therefore, he  improves also the latter, to the
performance  of which he is  bound by the strongest and most sa-
cred of ties.
  Under its usual interpretation  of supine satisfaction with the ex-
isting condition of things,  contentment may, indeed, be the poet's.
theme, and the lover's topic of rhetoric and rhapsody.
  " My soul" said the doating Othello,  " hath her content so absolute,
  " That not another comfort like.to this,
  "Succeeds in unknown fate."
   And again,
    " I  cannot speak enough of this content,"
But it should be recollected that  it  is  also the laggard's  virtue,
and never awakens to noble achievements.  To the actively benev-
olent, the useful, and the great, it is a sentiment  unknown.
   Can the virtuous be content when vice is triumphant? or  the vo-
tary of education and  knowledge, when ignorance and baibarism
are predominant around  him?  Is the patriot content, when his
country is in danger, the honest statesman,  when the laws are inef-
ficient,  or defectively executeo, or the chief magistrate, when they
are grossly and  openly  violated?   Is the physician content when
the sick are  in agony, or the  faithful divine,  when profligacy and
vice are abroad in  the land?  or is the general  philanthropist con-
 tent, while  he  beholds in  the condition of his fellow  men, any
 source of  misfortune or misery, which he has it in  his power to re-
 move?
   To these interrogatories the answer must be negative.  So mus
 be the answer to everj interiQgatory, touching the contentment o* 
27
Hny individual or class cf individuals, who are obedient to the dicv
tates of practical duty.
  In a world  where  there  are no conflicts to  encounter, and no
changes to be produced—nothing to oppose and nothing to improve,
contentment may be a virtue.  «But on a theatre where all things
are the reverse of this—where the struggle is  perpetual and gen-
eral—where  literally "all  things subsist by elemental strife" and
the progress of improvement appears to be interminable, it would
be a fatal defect—a radical inaptitude, such as  is ho where  to be
found in  the  institutions of  nature.  Did it exist, it would be a sol-
itary defect in the otherwise faultless constitution of human nature.
   Nor does the  condition which  imposes  on man the necessity to
pursue an active and  sometimes a toilsome course of duty and vir-
tue, detract,  in any measure, from the goodness and benevolence, in
relation to him, of that system of which he forms a part.   On the
contrary, it is indicative of the existence and influence of  those a*
tributes" in the economy of the  earth.   The health of man, his use-
fulness, and general  respectibility and welfare, are promoted by
activity,  and  his happiness  consists, not in apathy,  but continued
and varied excitemept.
   Excitement is  to  his moral nature,  What  respiration and thn
circulation of the blood are to  his physical, its immediate life-spring,
without which it  cannot be sustained.  Let respiration cease, and
the blood stagnate, and gangrene and death will  immediately fol
low.  In like manner, extinguish mental excitement, and the conse-
quence will he a moral stagnation, which  will poison healthy exis-
tence and minister to corruption.          , •
   Hence solitary  imprisonment, where all  varied excitement is shut
nut, and  sensitive existence  reduced to mere monotonous duration,
is considered the most dismal and appalling puni--hment that  male-
factors can experience.  And hence the region of condemned spirits
is supposed,  by many, to bo a  place of solitary confinement, where
each individual,  unconscious  of ought but his  own torments and
  rimes, has those torments  unspeakably  augmented,  by  a dismal
unvarying contemplation of the darkness and  depth of his own
guilt.
   Permit me, gentlemen,'to hope, that a sentiment of discontent
has been the cau-e of your assemblirig within these walls, and pla-
cino- yourselves under the  auspices of Transylvania University—
Discontent with the attainments in medicine, which you have bith-
-rto made, and with the opportunities you have enjoyed of pursu-
ing your studies in that branch of science.  And allow me further
to°hope,  and express my  persuasion, that you  possess and cher
ish an ardent zeal and  inflexible  resolution to  remove,  as  far a^
possible, the  ground of that discontent, by  a judicious, steady, an-J
faithful employment of every  means, for that purpose, that may be
placed within your* reach.
   To effect this,  you must  become strenuous and  persevering par.
ticipators in  the general conflict, of which 1  have spoken   Yn 
28
must earnestly cultivate  the spirit of battle,  and beoomv a corps
militant, if vou wish or expect to be a corps triumphant.  The en-
emies with which, both now and in future years, it will be your bu-
siness, as  votaries of professional knowledge,  to contend, are nu-
merous and formidable.   They are, the  intrinsic difficulty of cer-
tain subjects of research, the prejudices of eaily education, pre es-
tablished errors in your medical opinions, resulting from mistaken
and injudicious instruction,  the  influence and authority of distin-
guished names  in the profession, a defective  acquaintance  with
certain collateral  and auxiliary  branches of science,  and errors
that  may,  and. from the frailty  of  man and  the imperfect condi-
tion of human  knowledge,  inevitably will  be inculcated in this
institution.  With these  foes to your progress  in science you will
be necessarily engaged in perpetual  combat; and in proportion aa
you sutler them to gain an ascendancy,  will your progress be re-
tarded.                                                     .
  But by far the most formidable foes to your advancement, lie in
ambuscade within yourselves, and constitute a portion of your own
nature. They are the love of pleasure, and the love of ease; or, to
designate them dy a more general expression, the love of enjoyment.
I mean the love of enjoyment carried to excess.  This  is the natu-
ral and irreconcileahle enemy  of man.  The inexorability of her
enmity is equalled only by the art and perseverance with which she
carries it into effect.   Like Hannibal, in relation  to the Romans,
she has sworn eternal hostility to the human race.  Nor has  ever
an oath been more sacredly  regarded, or  more  rigidly observed
In the high-wrought character of that being, denominated, in token
of his consummate wickedness, malignity, and art, the Great Enemy
if man, she i* aptly allegorized .   She is the arch enchantress, that
with all that  is attractive in aspect,  and seductive in  manner, al-
lures into  her bowers, and entangles in her toils, inebriates, ener-
vates, and ultimately destroys.  Such are her purposes,  and such
her deportment in relation to (he 'general family of man.
  But it is against youth that her  machinations are more particular
ly directed, because, from their  inexperience, the ardour of  their
feelings, and the impetuosity of  their impulses, on  them can they
be most successfully  practised.   She is the subduing Siren, whose
charms and witcheries can blight in them every virtuous sentiment,
and paralyze every manly exeFtion.   To the lair plant of science,
as it springs from their  intellect, her dulcet voice and seductive
smiles, are as withering and deadly, as  is the asptc poison to the
energies of life, or the breath of the Sirropco, to the  flowers and
foliage that spring from  the plain.
   Even now do.I behold, in imagination, the  artful sorceress insidi-
ously approaching them, with symmetry in  her form, refined and
modest voluptuousness in her mein, grace in her movements,  fasci-
nation in her eye, and  the balm of enlicement.distilling from her
lips, while in one Uand she displays the lute or the castinet, and pre. 
29
sentsrmthe other,  the intoxicating bowl.  Yet, under an aspect
thus enchanting, are her "intents" to use the words of the poet,
                               " savage  wild;
          " More fierce, and more inexorable far,
          " Than empty tigers, or the roaring sea."  -
An enemy  most jeopardous for youth to  encounter, with part of
their nature rebellious in her behalf!
   But to repel the danger, and escape the delicious ruin that threa-
tens them, a single act, and that of a moment, is all that is requi-
site.  Obedient to the higher and nobler faculties of their nature,
those which particularly characterize humanity, let them resolve to
be men; and, not indulging in  a degrading  compliance with the se-
ductive calls of their coarser propensities,  those which they  have
in commoh with humbler natures, descend from  their proper sphere,
to mingle  in enjoyments  of the infeiior animals.   For the youth
»vho pursues the downward course, to  luxuriate in what the world
denominates pleasure, to say nothing of the deep immorality of his
conduct, is marked  with the  revolting characteristics of the brutal
race, compared  to his coequal  in years, who conforms, in deport-
ment, to bis moral  sentiments,  and moves in  the elevated region of
intellect.  If the language  I employ seems impassioned and severe^
experience and  observation prove  it  to be true.  A deep sense of
duty, therefore, impels me to  pronounce it.
   Let no young man indulge in the delusive belief, that he can par-
ticipate, at once, in  devotion to  study, and  the pursuit of pleasure.
The union is unnatural, and, therefore, impossible.  As  well may
he attempt to  act,  and not to act, or to De, and not to be, at the
same time.  Like bodies charged with the  electrical fluid, the love
of pleasure and the love of study  are mutually  repulsive.  A?
easily may oil and water be made to unite,  without an intermedium,
as they to harmonize in the same individual.
   Let him who may counsel in opposition  to  this, be suspected as
unsound or insincere; and  of him who may  attempt, in  his own
career, to reconcile  the two conflicting pursuits, let not the exam-
ple be recommended or imitated.
   Between the love of pleasure and the love of study, every youth
muslmake bis election.   He  must >;choose which of the two  he
will *erve.'''  He "cannot serve God and Mammon."  Nor can he
become, at once, the man of fashion and pleasure,  and the man of
science.
   That any of you, gentlemen, will so far degrade  yourselves, as
to barter the love and pursuit of knowledge for indolence and dis-
sipation, I have no ground, fur a moment, to suspect.  On the con-
trary, I  confidently persuade myself, that you never will.
   You cannot act in a manner so unworthy of yourselves, and of
all the relations in which you stand to society.  In  particular, you
cannot  render yourselves  so  unworthy to be  the successors of
that body  of enlightened  and high-minded youth,  who have been
Vitecedcntlf the  pupils of this institution—a  body  whose, rj'ir>ir 
Spirit was maniinest. sobriety,and honourable ambition, and  who
were strangers to  idleness,  dissipation, and misrule—rtho  would
have felt, in an imputation  of immorality, the pang of a wound;
and  who frowned from their fellowship all that was  undeserving;
who, with the refined sensibility of woman  to feel what was wrong,
had  the resolution of man to combat and repel it. and pursue what
was  right  A choice example of early and distinguished promise^
which you will permit me most cordially  to invite you to imitate,
and  to urge on you a lofty ambition to excel.
   Nor has this  promise,  in your predecessors, of distinction and
usefulness, been violated by any failure  in the practical  result.
For  I feel the pride of a teacher, mingled with the heartfelt grati-
fication  of a man,  in announcing to yo'o, that the physicians  who
have gone forth from this  institution,  are the most eminent, for
their years,  in  the western country.   One of them,  in particular,
who  has  devoted himself to  writing,  is bearing off, from his  com*
petitory' in the Atlantic  States, the palm in almost every prize-
question, in which he contends,  Nor has  the success of another,
who  has more recently  contended in  a similar scheme of elevated
emulation, been less flattering. To secure to them the matured repu-
tation and extended usefulness of advanced years, nothing is requi-
site,  but a steady perseverance in  the career they have begun.
  This, let me asrure you, is no exaggeration—no studied dash in
rhetorick, in behalf of the medical department of Transylvania.
It  i-  sober truth.  It  is history.  As far as  my information on the
subject extends—and I have  not been idle  in pushing  the inquiry—
1 am  authorized to attest it with an uplifted hand.  Let me,  then,
p.-*-S3 on you the glorious fact—the proud  example  of ycir elder
brothers, as an irresistible incentive to arouse in you,  at once, emu-
lation and exertibn. and ei kindle a lofty determination to excel.
   Nor do I fear that the example will be barren in effect.   It is
pot  in the nature  of things that  it  should prove  unproductive.
There will, there must  be a family likeness among the members of
oi:r school.  A common blood warms them, and a common teach-
ing conveys to them  intellectual nourishment, augmented and im-
proved with the progrcs^of time. The younger brothers, therefore,
-will, in some  things, resemble the elder, and, if true  to themselves,
must, in others, excel them.   1 say, they must, because their oppor
tunities  for  attainment are  better.  The  resources  of the school
arc annually enlarged.   Each subsequent  course of lectures is an
improvement on the preceding.  This is no unfounded panegyrick.
It  is  fact, unperverted and unadorned.
   Shall I be toll, thataf difference in the  intellectual endowments
of different-classes, will  neref-'sarily  make a difference in  attain
ment and  efficiency?  I answer, that, on this score, there is hut-
little ground to fear or to  complain.   The  difference,  in native
talent, between man and man, and class  and clas?,'  is much h --
U.au is. co,'r?rr;n^;-" imagined.   The •-rr.r.': dicTPn;,n'"v. '.u the-  issue. 
!n
results chiefly from a corresponding discrepancy, in the  means cm*
ployed, and the efforts to improve.
  The class 1 have now the  honour to address,  possesses intellect
enough for any  purpose contemplated  or wished.   Should it  fail,
therefore, to send forth from its numbers distinguished  members,
it will find no apology  for the failure, in a want of talent.   That
want would be  a misfortune only.   But its failure, should any occur,
will be chargeable  to that, which will be, at once, a misfortune
and a fault
  Native talent, that maybe pronounced distinguished, is no where
wanting  in the  United States.  This  fuct is conclusively  proved,
by the uniform  character of the legislatures of our State and  gen-
eral governments; and by every  other circumstance that bears on
the suhject.  In no  section of our country can a deliberative body
be assembled, that will not be marked by eminence of intellect.
  In relation to every church yaid in  the  Union, it may be said,
Hot alone with  poetic beauty, but  with philosophical truth,
    "• Some village Hamden, that with dauntless breast,
    " T!ie little tyrant of bis field  withstood,
    " Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest,
    "Some Cronawc!: jrniiti»"*=s of biscouptry's blood."
  Or, substituting, in fancy, for the name of the river and the eli
mate,  immortalized ip, the poem, any  of those that belong  to the
United States, we ma/" fearlessly  exclaim, with the Muse of Por-
tugal,
    " On Tagus' banks are Scipios, Caesars bom,
    " And Alexanders Lkboa's clime adorn."
  In £uch a body of \outh as  lam now  addressing, assembled from
mo<.f of the States and climates of the  Union, it is impossible that
there should  not be  a great amount of talent.   1  mean not  to  in-
dulge  either  in fl.ittery or  hyperbole,  in asserting  my  belief, that
therp appear, in my presence, at  this moment, the  native talents of
a Sydenham, or a  Boerhaave. a Cullcn or a Rush; and that to
form, out ot this class, such  physicians,  nothing is wanting but op-
portunity, industry, and .perseverance in study, equal  to theirs.
The advantages with which you are favoured, are and must be, in
many  respects, superior to what they enjoyed, because  you live in
a more enlightened age, and  in a country  much  more propitious
than Euiope to the free  and independent exercise of the intellect.
Among other invaluable privileges of your day and situation, you
a joy  all the benefit of their experience and study, in the  excel-
lent writings, and great example which they have bequeathed to
the world.
   If some of you, therefore, do not become their  equals, ]  might
say, their superiors, the  fault will be your  ovvn.   And  what moi*
powerful incentive can be presented to you, or  what more gloiious
result  predicted, to invigorate your exertions, and as a  recompense
q(, your  toils!  The gifted youth, who will not la!-cur fc :• a reward 
32
so illustrious, sins against nature,  and deserves, amply  deserves^
the humblest and most mortifying situation that can await him.
   But, to ascend to this envious  elevation, in your profession, you
must neither surrender yourselves to  pleasure and amusement, nor
indulge, in  idleness,  while in this school; nor, with the close of
your academical course, consider  youF medical studies at an end.
Oo the contrary, you  must pursue  them unremittingly, to the ter-
mination of your lives, or it is in vain  for you to be aspirants  after
professionalVenown.  Their biographers will teach you, that such
was the  practice of  the  illustrious physicians  whose names  have
been mentioned, and their examples held up to you,  as models of
imitation.  The most ripened age to which either of them attained,
found him as zealously engaged  in pursuit of science, as he  had
been during any other period of his life.  They seemed practically
to consider  themselves as having achieved nothing in their profes-
sion, while  any thing remained that they were able to achieve.
   To conclude.  Considered in its nature, and  all its relations, the
profession you  have selected, as the employment of your lives, is
one of the most momentous that society presents.
   It embraces a knowledge of the entire universe,  both material
and spiritual, as far as  it is operative, either  proximately or re-
motely, on this globe, and the beings that inhabit it.  For, whatev-
er, in any way,  affects man, as an inhabitant of earth, may become
instrumental in  the prevention or production, the mitigation or the
cure of disease. And with all that can be  thus idstrumental, the
physician should be familiar.
   J am aware that this view of the field of knowledge, which  it is
the duty of the enlightened physician to explore,  is much  more
ample than it is generally represented.  But I am equally aware,
that it is not more extensive than truth' represents it.
  To confine the knowledge of the physician to the structure and
healthy functions of  the  human  body, the  symptoms of diseases
and their causes, and the few articles constituting what  is usually
denominated materia medica, with their proportion and combina-
tion, their doses, and  the modes of administering  them, would be
to narrow and  degrade the profession, and  render  it unworthy of
the attention and patronage of the enlightened and the liberal.
  To the knowledge  of these things, he must add, in particular, an
intimate and practical acquaintance with the entire philosophy of
the atmosphere, as influenced by climate, situation, soil, the seasons
of the year, day and  night, humidity and dryness with their  vicis-
situdes, prevailing winds, the electrical fluid, the growth and decay
of vegetables, (he process of putrefaction generally, the  condition
©f countries, or large  tracts of land, in relation to clearing and
•ihivalion,  draining and flooding, the influence of  the  heavenly
bodies, and  such other causes as are known to  produce alterations
in its qualities.   He must be a disciplined and practical meteorolo-
gist, under which phrase I include a knowledge of  the relation of
the atmosphere, in  all its conditions, to the body of man, in heal'], 
S3
 nnd disease.  Without these attainments, the science of eodemicai
 and epidemical complaints must be unknown to him.  With the
 history of medicine, the history of the lives  of distinguished phy-
 sicians of all times and countries, and  the  most approved modern
 doctrines of contagion, its propagation and laws, he should also be
 familiar.
   But this is not all.  The acquirements of the physician must not
 terminate here.   His  acquaintance with  the  world of intellect,
 both in a healthy and a diseased condition,  with its  changes ana
 modifications  in each, and  their effects on the  body, must be as
 thorough and familiar, as his acquaintance  with the world of mat-
 ter.
  • Without  this, no physician  can  ever become eminent.   That
 practitioner of medicine who knows not the nature and constitu-
 tFon of the human intellect, and  its influence in the  prevention,
 production, and rem val of disease, fs, so far, an  ignoramus in his
 piofession, and unworthy to be trusted.  He is unable to avail him-
 self of one of the most  powerful  remedies that is placed at the
 disposal of the educated physician.
  •In its other relations *md effects, medicine is pre-eminently tnulti-
 larious and momentous.
   Without any indulgence in the extravagance of figure,  it may
 be pronounced to be, in no inconsiderable  degree, the solpmn and
 legitimate arbiter  between  life and death.  For often when the
 balance has been  trembling  on  the poise, or has assumed, for a
 moment, a portentous siillncss,  does  it throw its influence  into the
 scale of the former, ami decide the contest.
   In thus prolonging the live- and services, oftentimes of the wise,
 the good, and the great, the amount of its contributions to the pub-
 lic welfare, and  to human happiness, is beyond  calculation.  For
 the  extent and  efficiency  of its influence, in the alleviation  and
 removal of mental suffering generally, it slant's, among all vocations,
 pre-emineat.  In tliisrespect il has no  rival.
   In the advancement of Uterature, medicine'has done much; and
 in the development of the* ciemce-of naluire, including  that of the
 numan "n^llect, it ha* takertfit  vast ascendency over all other pro-
 fe-ssions.  For let metaphysicians und-theologians deny it, as they
 nay, and do homage, as they may,  to  Locke, and Held, and Stew-
 -. rt,  {jfc'lhe objects of their idolatry, had it not been for the proffes-
 'iorf of meduine, even the -day. star of true intellectual philos\)hy
 would  not yet have appeared.  From  the time of Aristotle to (he
 present moment, all that "has issued, in relation  to  that  subject,
 from other sources, is, with a' single exception, J»ut little else than
 the ignis fatmis of  error.  And this exception is found  in the lec-
 .ures oT the late Dr.  hr.mn,  of Edinburgh,  one of  the  most elo-
 ■pient writers, ablest analysts, and most cogent reasoners, that sci-
 •cr:e can boast, or that literature  deplores.  Yet Ac  does  not con
slitute  an actaul exception;  for fie was  educated a  physician.
While  to that great teacher must be conceded the palm of having 
34
delineated the most beautiful picture of the operations of the hu-
man intellect, with an excellent view of their general classification,
association and exciting causes, il belongs to Drs. Gall and Spurz-
heim. with their followers and advocates, to have made known its
real faculties and expounded its genuine philosophy.  Such, with si
march thnt 4S rcsistness, and a rapidity that is  unparalleled in the
spread of opinion, is becoming the  sentiment of the philosophers
of Europe;  and'such, in a short time, will  be the seqtiment of the
unprejudiced philosophers of America.  Nor do I hazard any thing
in asserting, that the perio*d is near at band, when  il will  be held
di*grrtcefui in physicians to l>c ignorant of that  scheme of the struc-
ture and functions of the human brain, to  which I allude—1 mean
Phrenology.                                                 ,
  The  science of politics, including diplomacy, excepted, medi-
cine now predominates over every  other, in giving to our  country
real consideration and  standing abjox.1.   In all parts of Europe,
continental as well as insular, the  medical writings of the Lnited
States, are beginning to be sought after v\ ith'extreme avidity, as a
source of the choicest professional knowledge.   While  the produc
lions of Great Britain are characterized by more learning, and. a
greater depth  of real scholarship, those  of our own country arc
fresher, more vigorous and more  practical, and truer to nature.
The physicians now, like the statesmen, of America, think more for
themselves;  while those of Europe are influenced more by precedent
and authority.   The physicians of the United States are aspiring
topeifect intellectual and professional  independence.  Give  them
but a Jefferson to draught, and an Adams  to defend, a  Declaration
to that effect, and they will Unanimously adopt  it, and  pledge, fru-
its maintenance, their "lives, their fortunes, and their sacred hon-
ours.".. I do noc allude to that lawless independence, which, plung-
ing into the wilds of mental libertinism, sets reason, morality, and
religion at defiance   I mean that entire exemption from all  facti-
tious ami antiquated authority, which  dissolves the  influence of
venerated prejudice^and gives rational freedom to the soul   Per
mit me, however, to add,  that it is not long since this auspicious era
began.
  On the States of the West, embracing the magnificent vallev of
(he Mississippi, in which it  is.  at present, our fortune to  reside,
much of new characjer and const quence has been lately conferred,
by 'die science of medicine.   From its  ample stores, an amonnt of
intellectual capital ff-.s been drawn forth, and thrown into circula-
tion and action  among us, the effects ofiwhich, in meliorating the
condition  of the present and future .generations,  no  powers can
calculate, nor c;ui any fo.ie-ijhl desci  ,.    Phis  state of things, so
pronitioas in its exisiing  influence, and prospectively so gW)riou«,
must pass to the credit and Rr.:,ow.\ of Transylvania,"from  which
alone, the science has been diffused.   Isay alone; for all the medi-
cal knowledge that has reached.us" f:rm the east and other sources,
within the last  -;evcn years, compared to that which ha.: been *lied 
35
abroad from this University, is  but  a candle to a conflagration—a
twinkling star to the meridian sun.   Let the spirit of the cavilling
and the envious call this boasting,  if it please; let it, in affected
derision,  bandy and  repeat  it from  witling  to  witling,  and
from jester to jester, until it  shall have made  of it  the  mo-t  and
the worst,  and sickened even babbling echo  with  the sound; the
intelligent  and the magnanimous will pronounce it to be true
  But, contrasted with  iii.it which is, hereafter, (o be attached to  it.
the real importance of the  profession of medicine  is yet but  in
embryo.   We are but sowing the seeds of that balmy and salutifer-
ous plant, whose  fragrant  blossoms,  and  healing  fruits posterity
wi^l enjoy—beneaih whose  shadow the nations will repose, and
experience from it that.relief from the ravages of  disease, which,
at present, it would he denominated in me visionary to predict.
   It is on account  of the rapidly progressive  knowledge of their
profession, that the lines of the poet are peculiarly applicable  to
physicians;
    " We think our fathers fools, so  wise we grow;
    '.' Our wiser sons we hope will think us so."
   Nor does the profession  of medicine yield to any other, in cul-
tivating and  improving the finest feelings and sentiments of our
nature—those which are styled, in token of their  peculiar excel-
lence and amiability, the virtues of the heart.   From his daily  in-
tercourse  with scenes of sickness  and distress,  the  physician ac-
quires a habitual sympathy with suffering, a  confirmed kindness of
manner in soothing and softening it, and a disciplined and practical
benevolence in giving  it permanent relief, which can scarcely  at-
tach to any other character.   That he becomes, by this  course  of
duty, either hardened  or callous, lo-es, in the slightest degiee,  his
native sensibility  to sorrow  or distress, »or experiences the  least
d.iminotion pf his heartfelt  regret for the loss of human life, it
belongs only to thp ignorant,.or the censorious to allege   It  is in
consideration of its many excellent and highly exalted attributes—
such as attach' not  to  other  vocations,  that the art of healing has
been denominated divine;  and, in ancient mythology, had its origin
among the Gods.
   If, then, such are  the nature and the relations of medicine, and
so elevated  the  standing,  and so -pre-eminent the  usefulness  of
those  who  are  its faithful and  distinguished  votaries—let me
entreat you,  by 'every  consideration that   can make  its  way
to the heart and the conscience of  high minded, virtuous, and hon-
ourable men—by the estimation in  which you hold  yourselves, and
in which you  wish to be held, by your contemporaries and posteri-
ty—by your regard f r your families and •friend-, who  have gen-
erously reposed their affections on  your worth, and their  hopes  on
your reputation—for the school in which  you  arc educated, which
trusts it will behold  in you, in future years,  the evidences of  in-
utility, and the pillars of its  renown—for the profession you  have
chosen, which relies on you for the  maintenance of its  dignity, 
36
and the advancement of its interests—for Western An-fri. a, which
claims you as its chosen and  legitimate  sons, and conlidently looks
to you for that deportment,  and those  attainments  and achieve-
ments, which will be instrumental in bestowing on it  lasting repu-
tation in science and letters—for your country at large,  v\ hich ex-
pects with solicitude, that you will sustain,  with honour to  your-
selves, your several parts, in the great and  multifarious drama,
that is to secure and confirm to her a  pre-eminent standing among
the nations of the earrti—for the general condition of the age you
live in, which is to* throw its influence, and  transmit much  of its
character, to ages that are to come—for the claims of aflPcted and
suffering humanity, which expects, and has a right to expect, that,
by your skill as-physicians, and  your virtues and sympathies, *;'as
moralists and men, her sorrows will be solaced,  and her sufferings
relieved—for your rational enjoyments, as philosophers  here, and
your hopes of more exquisite enjoyments hereafter—By these sev-
eral mid urgent considerations, and such other  impressive  ones,
bearing on the subject, as the richness  of your  own imaginations
may suggest, let me implore you so to deport yourselves,  in the
capacities of pupils, practitioners, and men, as to command the es-
teem of the enlightened and the  meritorious, to awaken the  grati-
tude and  love of the afflicted,  and, as  a still higher reward, to
merit and  receive the smiles of Heaven, announced to  you through
the approbation of your own consciences.
  In a word, be enlightened and  virtuous, enterprising and useful,
and the temple of renown, from  its pinnacle of adamant, will un-
fold its wide-spreading portals to receive you; pursue a course the
reverse of this, and go down, as you inevitably will, to that dreary,
darksome, and pestilent abode, the inexorable gulf of disgrace and
ch'ivion. 
MEMOIR V.
THOUGHTS  ON  OPTIMISM

     INTRODUCTORY  ADDRESS.
                                           \
          " Let us, since life can little more supply,
          Than ji.st to look about us, and to die,               *■
          Expatiate freo c4er all this scene of m^n;
          A mighty maze! but Dot^rithout a plan—.
          —Eve nature's walks,shoot folly as it flies,
          And  catch the manners living: as they, rise;
          La.ijL «vliere we must, be candid where we can;
          But  vindicate the ways of God to ai v>."

  Gextlt.mkn,
            The impressions we receive  from without, and the
sensations we experience within, whether they be  corporeal, intel-
lectaal, or mixt, and even the emotions, and fancies, that flit through
our minds, derive their character much more essentially from the
condition  of our-systems, than from  the nature  of the causes by
which they are produced.
  I am perfectly aware,that to most individuals who have not made
it previously a subject of consideration, this proposition will appear,
at first view, at least problematical, if not unfounded.  But a mo-
mentary analysis will prove it to be true.
  The impression that affords to one person pleasure, gives pain to
another; 'the conception that is delightful to one, is revolting to an-
other; and even to the  same individual, the saihe  impression is
pleasurable and painful, under different circumstances
  To the inflamed eye, the  delicate hue of the rose and the  violet,
the blue of the  heavens, the tints of the rainbow, and all mixtures
of colours that  had  previously  been most grateful, are irritating
and offensive;  by the disordered stomach, the choicest  viands are
rejected with loathing; to the morbidly  sensitive nerve, of touch,
impressions at other,times  the most soothing and acceptable, are
productive of agony;  and to the wounded heart and sorrowing spi-
rt, recollections that were once rendered  dear by all that is m>>: t
precious in friendship, in love, and in gratified ambition, are deep-
ly afflictive.
  Nor is this all.  It is not  in consequence of changes produced in
us by disease alone,  that our sensations  are so different under simi-
lar circustanccs.  U, en when health is unbroken,  and 'othinghas" 
38
occurred to embitter existence, this discrepancy of sensation is the
necessary effect of the changes that occur in the human system, in
the progress of life.
   What was  delightful  to the child, becomes indifferent  to the
youth;  in his meridian perfection, the  man looks, without emotion,
on whyit constituted an element of his youlhfuljelicity; and, in the
fi (tfulness of age, he condemns, as worthless, what he was once in
the habit of praising asjnost excellent.
   To the  querulous .octogenarian,  it is  not alone the zephyrs of
spring that have lest their balm, the flowers their fragrance, the
heavens their  zure, the* woodlands their music, and even woman
herself, her power to fascinate.  In his indiscriminate' condemna-
tion, he complains  of the whole rising generation, of society in  gen,
eral, and even  of  the world  at large,, its productions and  entire
economy, as deeply deteriorated from their former condition.   The
women are less  fair and  less virtuous, and  the men feebler,  less
brave, and more dishonourable.  The  winters are colder, and the
summers more irregular, dry, and scorching, than in anterior times.
  But the complaipt is unfounded.   Far from deterioration, society
and all things terrestrial are improved.  The change which offends
the venerable but  mistaken co.mplainer,  is not in the world, but in
himself; not in the  causes that  impress him from  without,  but in his
susceptibility in  relation to the  impression.
  The breezes  of  Spring are as mild and balmy,  and the (lowers
as fresh and fragrant as formerly; the heavens have lost nothing of
their wonted  beauty, nor  the woodlands of the variety and melody
of their song; of the heart that feels, woman is slill the lovely en-
chantress, and society and the worlds possess, as formerly, their at-
tractions and their  woith.   Bqt the octogenarian is grown  old,  and,
with his int^lectual sprightlincss  and  corporeal  activity, has.los{
his powers to feel and to enjoy.  His nerves and  brain, no  less than
Lis muscles, his  organs  of feeling  and thought,  in  common'with
those of motion, are disqualified, by age, for the*extent and  pleas-
antness of their  youthful  functions.  Uejs changed and deteriora-
ted in his corporeal organisation, whiie'nature, in all her depart
meats, remains perfect.
  The successive mutations in  our sensibilities  and sources of en-
joyment, arising.outof the deferent periods of life, the poet hat;
thus very graphically depicted.
        " Behold the child, br.nature's  kindly law,
        " Pleased  with a  rattle, tickled with a straw;
        "  Some livelier plaything gives bis  youth delight,
        "  A little lou<ier,  but as empty quite;
        "  Scarfs, garters, gold, amiibe bis riper stage,
        " And heads and prayer boots arc  the toys of age.
        •'  .Pleased  wiih ibis bauble still, as  that, before,
        "  Till tif\i be sleeps, and life's poor play is o'er."

  ^similarities of original and  permanent temperament consti-
tc.-t another cause. ;\ hy.  among the human family, di«imiJv feel 
J9
 ings and conceptions prevail.   It is not to be expected, nor can ?t
 possibly occiir, that the frigid hyperborean, and the child of the
 South, whose soul,  like his native sky,  is tired  by the fervors  of a
 tropical sun, can be in any thing identified, except in the general out-
 line of  their figure, and the number and general character of  their
 •intellectual faculties.   In  every attribute,  liable to. modification
 from external causes, they must be unlike.
p  But, for the discrepances of feeling and  thought, that so strik-
 ingly diversify the human family, there  exists yet another cause*
 which is all but omnipotent.   It is the difference qf education. Ac-
 cording as this process  is conducted on true or false principles, bv
 which is to be understood* principles in  harmony with,  nature, or op-
 posed to her, it improves and ornaments, or deteriorates and deforms,
 the intellect of man.
   An education true to nature, and liberal in its compass, expands
 and elevates the  mind,  and unfolds to.the possessor of it, creation
 as it is.                             '  •-»
   But an education of an opposite  character—«nd I  regret to sav
 that such forms of  education too "generally  prevail—whose object
 is to oppose, restrict, and subdue nature,  instead of strengthening
 and directing her,  presents to  the mind a view of creation,  facti-
 tious and false.   The former is creation,  as it came from the hand
 of its immaculate author, in  its  totality  and kind as spotless and
 perfect as himself.   The latter is creation, as man, in his ignorance
 and presumption, has metamorphosed it, impressing on it the image
 of his own imperfections
   These two schemes o*f  education,  so  opposite  to each other, in
 their principles and result, constitute what may be donominated the
 school of nature,  and the school of art.   The tendency of the for-
 mer is to truth and  usefulness; of the latter, to error and its neces-
 sary concomitants.   The  one  accelerates  the march of science,
 (he other retards it.                         .          .
   The  members  of these two.schools, as  already intimated, tfifici
 abundantly from  each other,  in many  of-their sentiments, but it*
 none more abundantly,  than  in the  views  they  entertain of this
 earth, as  a  place of residence,  and of the state  and  condition oi
 man as an inhabitant of it.      ^  *
   Respecting one point of primary importance, the pupils and ad-
 vocates of both schools concur in opinion.   They consider the pre-
 sent abode of man as nothing hut a place-of transitory probation, pre-
 paratory to another and more exalted state of being, that shall expe-
 rience no change, but that of endless progression in knowledge and
 felicity.   But of the ro»»l  condition and character of this place of
 trial, their views are opposite.
   While the disciples of the school of nature regard  this earth as
 the home of the children of a benificent  parent,   whose  provision
for their wants, their  comforts, and even  tbeir wishes, has been
most bounteous, and whose paternal dispensations in relation to them
are characterized only by wi'-dom and love:  who has  prepared for 
4v)
 'hem a dwelling in all respects  njost exquisite'.y adapted to tbru
 nature; where, m a degree almost  infinite, the agreeable predomi-
 nates over the disagreeable, good  over evil,  pleasure  over pain,
 virtue over vice, and genera! enjoyment and  happiness, over suf-
 fering and misery: where the chief duty of^ man is. by industry and
 vir'ue, to rerfder himself in the highest degree.useful to society, to
 cherish gratitude to Heaven for  favours received from it, to mani-
 fest,*l)y his actions and general deportment, practical piet) towaida
 hi< God, and to  enjoy* with cheerfulness,  But in moderation, the
good things that are  nrotlnd him—I allude to the go.od things of
 sense  as well as of i■■ifcllecl.—While the pupils  of the school of na-
 ture, f sty. regard  this earth,  in ils  entire econorrry, as.a place ot
.practical virtife:  and de'is-htful enjoyment, where man himself can
 ih much both to merit and obtain  rewar i, where  all things are in
 requisite h; rmony  ;tn«i order, worthy in every way of the Archi-
 tect who arranged thernj  and  where it is not only the privilege
 but the duty of our race  to  enjoy as well as to act,  the disciples of
 (he scliool of Art would Seem to  discredit all this, to be even shock-
 ed at such opinions,  as heretical and impious, and to adopt, as op
 thodox, the reverse of the tablet.
 '  To those sons  or error,  for so I must denominate them,  "This
 goodly  frame of earth" to  use the language of the Great Drama*
 ti.-f, ••seems a steiile promontory;  and this most excellent canopy,
 the air, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof, fret-
 ted with golden fires, appears no  other to  them,  than a foul and
 pestilent congregation of vapours."
   And as to man, however  "noble in reason! infinite in faculties'
 in form and moving, however   express and admirable! inaction
 however like  an ahgel!  in  apprehension however like a God! al-
 though he  is the beauty of the world, and the paragon of animals"1
 —To those sons  1 say,  of the  school of Art and error, man. with
 all these elevations find elegancies, aptitudes and excellences about
 hi:n,  appears to be nothing but the  "quintessence of dust!''
   To drop the language  of the poet, and  express myself  in  that
 which more resembles their own, those  modern Heraclyiuses seom
 to regard this earth  as a spot in creation  blighteJlby the peculia,
 milediciion of Heaven;  as the abode of whatever is most dc^ene
 rate and onwoi I by ; as a garden overrun with weeds, or a w:L!erne?s
 bristling with hi iars and  thorns; as.a phre ' of =oi row. a h. use of
 mourning,ami a vale of tears!  where evil and deformity, pain and
 uii^ry. vice and corruption, not  only predominate "over their oppo-
 p'.res, hot reiffi almost-alone!;—where, in fact, every thing is revolt-
 ing, and ik.-tiling attractive!
   do dorp, m their estimation, is the depravity and degradation of
 mm, that some of his chief duties consist  in self-abhorrence, self
 r.straint, self condemnation, and self-puru rhment.   In none of the
 pleasure- cf sense mu-t he.  iudulge, under the most fearful of pen-
 alises  They let lure him to vice and criminality, and the.cnjoy
 meat of then: plunges !;lminfe irremediable wn| 
41
   Such is the picture which those miserable complainers delight to
 draw of this fi\ir eaith, the goodly  inheritance which a kind and
 beneficent parknt  has bestowed on his children.  Were the pic-
 ture true, the original would be unworthy of him whose hand mould-
 ed it into its present form, and gave to it its present condition in the
 universe.   It would constitute such a blot  on the escutcheon of
 ;reation, that it ought to  be immediately brightened or expunged*
   Placed in a situation, where, from every quarter, danger would
 threaten, and wretchedness present to him her embittered chalice,
 man might  be driven, by  apprehension, to tremble and adore; but
 neither could the.beamings of hope ever brighten his countenance,
 nor his bosom glow^vith the filial emotions  of sincere veneration,
 gratitude, or love.
   These opposite views of the condition of this earth, and of man
 as an inhabitant  of it, entertained  by the two schools of philoso*
 phy, of which 1 have spoken, must arise from views equally oppo-
 site, of the character of its omnipotent Author apd Ruler,, and of
 his administration of its government.
   It is the vindictive, inexorable, and profligate tyrant alone, that,
 when  free  from restraint, intentionally renders his dominions the
 constant abode of vice and misery; and  none but the indolent and
 the reckless will suffer them to become so, having the power to pre-
 vent it.
   The paternal and beneficent monarch delights in the virtue and
 comfort, the felicity and joy of his subjects, and  provides and pre-
 pares the means and measures, that certainly produce them. These
 are sentiments which canQpt in a spirit of verity be contradicted,
 because  they arc founded in  the  nature of things, and because all
 history and  all experience testify to  their truth.
   If,  then,  this earth be the tragical and hateful scene of sorrow,
 suffering, and  moral deformity, that the  school  pf. art and .error
 represents it, the cause'must be sought for,, either in the neglect, or
 the jealo'is revengeful, and inexorable character of him who fram-
 ed and administers  its government.  And such are some of the at-
 tributes which (hat  school ascribes to him.
   Ufit if, o.-i the  contrary,  this earth  is, as  the disciples of the
 school of nature depict it, and as it exhibits itself to sound and un-
 prejudiced  o! servation, a scene  of enjoyment rather  than suffer-
 ing; nbere virtue,  happiness, and beauty predominate immeasura-
 bly over vice, deformity,  and wretchedness; and where harmony
 and oriicr predominate equally over discord and confusion; then are
 beneficyr.ee, clemenry  and love, the moral attributes of the Deity,
 v. hich are  manifested  in  the  government of it.   And such is the
 character, which the. school bestows on him.  It  proclaims him to
 be a father,  beneficent, kind, and merciful; not a tyrant, whose de-
light is in groans.
   It will not be denied that a knowledge, founded on observation,
of the real condition of this earth,  as the  home of  sentient and
intellectual  beings,  of the character of Him who  framed and gov"-
                              F 
42
erns it, and of the real relation in which he stands to the family of
mantis among the most important of human attainments.   Permit
m"e, tfien, to hope, that you will indulge and  accompany me, in a
few observations, intended for the illustration of these topics
  To become acquainted  with the inhabited globe^in the light
here contemplated, we must look at it as it is; and consider it as a
■whole.   Partial views %f it must necessarily mislead,  because they
conceal  its general relations.
  In examining, under  the influence  of  this principle, and  on a
scale commensurate  with  the  occasion, the earth,  as a residence
for all sentient existence, we are bound  to recollect, that beauty an I
deformity, pleasure and rein, are but relative terms.   They relate
to the different structures and susceptibilities of different kinds of
living matter.  To substances that  cannot feel,  nothing can be ei-
ther beautiful or deformed, pleasing or painful.  And that which
is beautiful and agreeable to one order of sentient existence, i* de-
formed and disagreeable to another; and nothing, perhaps, is either
beautiful and pleasing, or unsightly and  displeasing, to all.   Nor
is there, therefore, any being organized and fitted to- feel, that does
not find  something to awakejj  rtgreeable sensations.   As far as our
actual knowleidge extends;, every being encounters much more that
is calculated  to please then to offend ; and, by the rules of fair anal-
ogy, we  are  not only authorized, but bound to infer, that the same
thing is true, with regard to beings  to which our knowledge docs
not extend.
  Look abroad through nature, as unfolded to our view, and, com-
paring deliberately the beautiful with  the deformed, and the agreea-
ble with the disagrceable generally, settle the account, as relates to
man, and thebaiance will be, infinitely in favour of  the pleasitig,
Con-idered on a general scale, scarcely-a fraction exclusively paiu-
;ul to him wiiyje  found in the estimate.
  That  thU is  no gratuitous  ass.rtion,  appears  satisujictorily
from the illustration and  proof, of which it is susceptible.
  When we take a comprehensive  survey of risible nature, what
are the  objects that most  prominently present themselves?  1 an-
swer, not painful or  offensive ones, but such as awaken in  us emo-
tions of delight.
  They are, by day, the golden  sun, the  light-giver,  and life-awa-
bener in numerous worlds, moving in his majesty, pouring forth his
unmeasured radiance, and  dispensing, like a God, his varied benifi-
cences,  to the system which he illuminates.  The lofty arch of the
heavens, in itsspotless azure, exhibiting, at once, the  most beautiful
of figures, the most  magnificent  of canopies, and the most  delight-
ful of colouiv   The expanded ocean, calm or tumultuous, in either
case, a  world  of sublimity and  beauty.   The dark blue of the
mountains  with  their summits glittering in  perennial snows, or
wreathed in  fantastic garlands ot clouds, the thunder-cloud itself,
sweeping acres* the heavens, in its terrible  but beauteous magnifi- 
43
cencc, the majestic river, the wide-spreading lake, and thestupen*
doos cataract.
   By night, when the sun has withdrawn his effulgence, and dark-
ness hi* deprived the objects of day of their splendours and love-
liness, that no blank mayflceur in the volume of visual delight, the
boundless pageant of the starry heavens is disclosed to our view,
where the enraptured eye may range interminably from orb to orb,
that are  visible, while the  fired  imagination wings its way to mil-
lions of others which the eye cannot reach.
   Such are a few  of the more  magnificent objects of beauty and
sources of pleasure, which  nature exhibits to the eye of the intelli-
genr observer   Nor are innumerable others  wanting, which,al-
though numbler in character, are, perhaps, no  less abundant in the
gratification they afford.
   Among these  may be recounted  the waving,  forest, interminable
anil lonely,  with the bright green of its foliage, contrasted with the
depth and  Urkne-s of its shadow; the extensive landscape, diver-
sified by hill .ind dale,'and grove and stream, and enlivened and
ornatneute.l by flocks and herds, and human dwellings; the grass-
covered I i>vn.$ilyered bv the moon-beams, orspangled by the pearly
d* w-j of the morning; the flower-enamelled meadow, the^pw in the
he tvens. a'id, in everv  direction, engaged in their subsistence, their
p:i-Lio •-, or their loves, the feathered and the insect tribes, elegant
in form, graceful in movement,  and gorgeous in  all  that*colouW
can Lf-^tow.
   All  this, and infinitely more,  which  cannot now be recited, does
nature offer to the eye  of man,  to gratify and improve him.  Nor,
when  his intellect is unperveited, and in perfect  accdad  with the
harmonies of creation, does she exhibit any thing exclusively offen-
sive or painful, to poison his delights.  She surrounds him  withro*-
ible objects  essentially  and  unconditionally pleasurable.  If any  be
directly the reverse of  this, he renders them sohim-elf.
   For the gratification  of  his other  external senses, it were easy,
had 1 leisure to  dwell on the subject, to show, that nature has been
equally  kind and abundant in her provisions.   The ample resour-
ces for his intellectual  enjoyments will be considered  hereafter.
   But in a discussion like the present,  our observations should not
relate exclusively to the human family.   If animals of an  inferior
order are worthy of the attention of a superintending Providence
—and we are assured that not even a sparrow falls to the ground
without  the notice of Heaven—they are certainly, in an equal de-
gree, worthy  of ours   In  making a correct estimate of the aggre-
gate happiness of sentient being on this globe,  theirs must be neces-
sarily included in the account.   Let us'contemplate them, then, for
a moment, and judge from  their actions, notes, and general appear-
ance and deportment,  of their  real  condition.  These constitute
as correct manifestations of their feelings, as our articulate language
does of ours,               m 
44
  If we commence our examination with the inhabitants of the wa-
ters, we shall find the entire appearance of that class ot  bein:r in-
dicative of health and plenty,  while  the vivacity and sportivimcsa
of their movements are expressive of joy.  Their life seems to be
devoted chiefly to the gratification of the three master propensities
of animated nature,  the desire of food,  the pas.-b'n  of love, and
the feeling that urges to the care of their young.  Add to this, the
playful gambols in which they so repeatedly engage, from the mere
love of motion, and the pleasure of existence, which every voya«
ger has often  seen the monsters of the deep  eagerly practising
around his vessel, and you have  nearly completed the history  of
their simple lives. And it  testifies, in every  page, that their exis-
tence is a scene of gratification but little interrupted.
  To the condition of the world  of quadrupeds, similar  remarks
Are equally applicable.  To gratify their appetite for food, which
to them is savory, and which they procure in abundance, fo indulge
in their loves which are ardent and engrossing, to rear and educate
their young, an employment which evidently affords them the live-
liest pleasure, and to luxuriate,  by sprightly and sportive action,
in the  bounding joys of healthful existence, bestows  on that class
of beings a life of delight, counterbalanced by nothing of real sor-
row, and by but momentary sensations of actual pain.
  Might we, from their movements and  sports, pronounce  on the
feelings of a large portion of the insect  tribes, we would say that
their lives seem to consist in little else  than an intoxicated not of
rapturous enjoyment.   And transient as is the period  of individual
being among them, from the immensity of their numbers and the
rapidity of their increase, they^constitute no inconsiderable propor-
tion of terrestrial existence.  However brief the span of individ-
ual life among them, their race is perpetual.
  But, in  this survey,  which is necessarily  in a high degree brief
and  imperfect, the joys hnd felicities  of the  feathered race most
forcibly attract us.  Of that class of being, the entire life seems
a carnival of delight.  To  this effect, the warmth and fidelity  of
their loves, the strength of (heir  social attachments, their affection
towards their young, the sprighlliness of their movements, and the
cheerfulness of their  notes,  conclusively testify.  Compared with
the entire amount of their pleasures, the momentary pains they
may occasionally  sutler, are but a  drop  to the ocean—a speck o'n
the brightness of the meridian sun.
  With the sensitive  nature of frosrs and reptiles, our acquaintance
is very limited.  But the knowledge we possess on  the subject is
sufficient to convince us, that the sum of their  enjoyment is in a
high degree, paramount to that of their suffering.
  Shall I  be told that the wars of animals constitute a  fearful draw-
back on their pleasures; and that the death which awaits them  is
a full counterbalance  to their preceding felicities?
  1 answer, that this view  of the subject  is altogether unfounded,
and arises from a  very defective knowledge of the premises.  Had 
? leisure to discuss "!:r triple, it were easy  to demonstrate, that, tor
the animal kingdom, war and death bv violence are not evils.  On the
contrary, they prevent suffering,  infinite  in amount beyond what
they indict.   They are dispensations, there,ore, not of cruelty, but
of kitiJpcss; not of resentment, in |iic Ituler of the universe, but
of mercy  and love.
   Unle*^ the  entiie economy of the globe,  including, of  course,
their own economy, were altered to suit it. a slate of peace and
immortaliri among animals on earth, connected with the power of
indefinite  propagation, would  necessarily prove the souice of a
scene of suffering, that no language can describe, and no imagina-
tion conceive.   1  may safely add, that unless the change in the
general economy of things were previously or  cotemporaneously
effected, such a state would be impossible.
   This remark applies to man, as forcibly as to animals of the in-
ferior orders.   On this globe, as well as on every other, where the
condition of thing-* it similar, death is the indispensable condition
of existence, unci  is a part of the dispensation  essential to happi-
ness^  Abrogate the condition, and misery will be (he issue.
   Ngr do earthquakes  and tempests inundations, pestilence and
famine, on the frightful ravages of which those whodilj'er from me \i:
sentiment, dwell so emphatically in support  of their opinions, con-
stitute an objection, in any degree valid, to the fundamental princi-
ple for which I am contending.  It would be no paradox in me to
assert, because bo .h history and  philosophy sustain the assertion,
that the occurrences refer,ec! to.  tend to arnphfv human existence,
and, therefore, to augment the amount of human happiness, rather
than to diminish the one, or detract from the other,  l&deatb forma
a necessary part in the optimum of the economy of this earth, so
do the physical causes   by which it  is produced.  At any.  rate, so
limited in compass, and so rare in occurrence, are the events al-
luded to, that, when considered on  a general scale, a» well in ex-
tent as in duration, they can have no appreciable effect in reducing
the sum of the happiness of  being.  They only seem to have such
an effect  to those immiduals, who, examining  creation with '• a
microscopic eye," behold  a part and not the  whole.  In  the estima-
tion of the catholic philosopher, their influence  is lost.
   But, dropping this general view of things, which is by far too ex-
tensive and multifarious, to be competently considered, in a dis-
course like the present, let us briefly examine the condition  of man,
in his present state of  existence, and as an inhabitant of this earth.
If I am not greatly mistaken, we shall find subsisting between him
and all things with which he is connected, such an entiie consonan-
cy and perfect aptitude, both physical and moral, as will convince
us, that, far from being, as many have pronounced him, an anomaly,
or a contradiction in creation, he  constitutes, in his character and
situation,  one of the most beautiful harmonies that nature exhibits.
   In hi« general configuration of body, a* well as  in the structure
of particular parts of it, man is what he ought to be.   Alter cither 
4G
 of them, ami you deteiiorate his nature, and detract from his effi-
 ciencies.  And in the most  perfect accordance whith these, is the
 character of his intellect.   Change that again, and you again di-
 minish his powers and excellences
   That man is to he lord of terrestrial creation, would seem to be
 the express ordination of IleaVcn.  And for the functions  ami  res-
 ponsibilities  of that station, are hi* aptitudes, both corporeal and
 intellectual, as perfect as they  can be rendered.
   On the superior beauty and symmetry of his figure, his  majectic
 port, His lofty  bearing and  dignified  movement, his  countenance
 beaming with intelligence and energy, and his general aspect and
 attitude of command—On these attributes, to which even the in-
 ferior animals pay  observance and homage,  I  forbear to dwell.
 Yet t'.hey enter, most obviously,  as legitimate elements, into  his
 general fitness  for the station he occupies.   Deprive him of any of
 them, and you lessen that fitness.
   Nor do I  mean to insist on that peculiar hardihood and pliability
 of constitution, which  on him  alone, of all terrestrial^ beings, be-
 stow !he capability  to become an inhabitant of every climate.  Yet
 without this, his aptitude  for his lofty destination would be incom-
 plete.
   To enumerate a.mong his peculiar fitnesses, as  some have done,
 his strength, his swiftness, and the excellency of his external sens-
 es, would be an error.   In these  respects,  he is surpassed not a
 little, by many of the animals that are subject to his control.
   But although inferior to many  other animals, in swiftness, strength,
 and aculeness of sense, he surpasses them all, in an immeasurable
 degree, in his powers of invention and reason, and in the extent-variety,
 complexity, and delicacy, of his corporeal movements   And from the
 union of these, arises his fitne.ss for authority and command—from
 the capacity of his  intellect to  devise and direct, and the prompt-
 ness  of his hand to obey, and its adroitness to execute.   Remove
 these, and you  disqualify  him to rule.  Alter them,  and he must
 rule,  if at all, in another sphere.
   To be more specific.   Intellect is superio/ to brute strength, and
 is intended, in the ordinations  of nature,  to govern it.   That, in
 part,  therefore, man maintains  his ascendency over other animals
 by virtue of bis intellect, particulaily  by that compound intellectu-
al  process,  invention and reason, is universally acknowledged.
 But the part which  his corporeal  capacities achieve,  in the estab-
 lishment and maintenance of his lordly ascendency, is not, perhaps,
 fo clea: ly understood, nor so generally recognized.  Yet extinguish
 his corporeal capacities,  and the  influence of his unassisted intel-
 lect over the brute  creation, will  dwindle  to  a name.   Scarcelv,
  ndced, will the  very terms  that express  it, be retained  in our
 language.*
   1 repeat, that the corporeal  efficiencies of man, subservient to
 his power and authority as a rulcj-, consist in the boundless extent.
 x,'i-iety, aii.1  complexity, and the almost iiionccivable velocity ■>: 
■17
the movements he is qualified to perform.  These movements  arc
the result chiefly  of the  peculiarity of his osseous and muscular
structure.  Arid, in proportion as any of the inferior animals re-
semble him in this, do they resemble him also in their capacity for
motion, and efficient action.
  The chief  corporeal instruments of man,  in the performance of
the movements to which I allude, are his hand  and arm.   These
are the  executive officers  of his intellect, excited to action in obe-
dience to his  will.  By  these does he construct  the bow,  the net,
the hook, the line, the trap, the knife, the  ship, the boat,  the har-
popn, the gun,  the chain,  the hatchet and  the sword, and all  the
other varied machinery lie employs in  Ids functions of rule,  and
which render his power irresistable,and absolute.
  By these also does he cultivate his field, erect his dwelling, pur-
sue  his  arts  and  manufactures' in all their variety, and  procure
for himself whatever he enjoys, of necessity or comfort, luxury or
elegance.  By them also dues he first prepare the pen, the paper,
and  the press, by whose instrumentality he communicates to distant
countries,  and  transmits   to  future ages,  his  feelings   and  his
thoughts.  In a word, to  their executive efficiency are  to be at-
tributed all the architectural magnificencv, the monumental splen-
dour, and the whole pride of art, and  permanency of record, that
unfold to us the glory of other times, that constitute our own glory,
und can alone transmit it  to future ages.
   Were I interrogated, then, as to the organs or parts of the body,
which contribute most essentially and immediately to qualify man
for the  elevated station of terrestrial lord, I would reply decidedly,
the cerebral apparatus, the  arm, and the hand. Without the union and
co-operation of jhese, he would be impotent-; with them, he  is all but
omnipotent on earth.  As  a being destined for terrestrial sovereign-
ty, they are alike essential to him; to be deprived of either of them,
would equally disqualify  him .for his high  destination; and when
harmoniously united, and  aided by the co-operation of his other
organs, they constifute an  adaptation to his  standing and functions,
which, in exquisiteness and perfection, nothing can surpass.
   Another fertile source of man's aptitude, to rule, is his knowledge
of fire, and his power of employing it in manufactures and arjs.
   To this he is  indebted exclusively for the uses of iron, gunpow-
der  and steam, three agents, whose joint and irresistible influence
is alone sufficient,  (o confer on him dominion  over all things  ter
rest rial.
   Take from him, in particular, the command of iron, on which h'
is dependent  for the other two, and you render him, at once, com
pjiralively  feeble.   To  be thoroughly convinced of the  truth of
this, only cast  your eyes around you, wherever you may  be situ
ated, and see how  few there are of those immediate merfns, which
give to  man the necessities and comforts, the elegances  and effi
ciencies of life, that are not.  d'rectlv  or indirectly, derived fy-■•v.
that metal. 
w
   Were fhoro time to dwell on  the  subject, it would he easy io
prove, that to tiic knowledge and  command of iron is to be  attrib.
ute.l chicilv thp superiority not only of man over the-animal king-
dom, but of one nation over another,and even of the  modern over
the  ancient  world.   Take  from  any n.ition, even now the  most
powerful, the advantages of the employment  of that metal, and
yon annihilate its standing.
   This source of Knowledge and efficiency, then, constitutes,  in
human nature, one of  its paramount qualifications for control.
   The last aptitude of man, in his capacity of ruler, which  I  shall
here specify, is his courage and firmness.   Without these, he could
never employ, with the requisite effect, against inferior, but formi-
dable animals, bis other faculties.   Without them, far from  subdu-
ing and controlmg those animal?, he would fly from them, or trem-
ble in their piesence,  and  become their prey.
   As regards their influence in giving a fitness to rule, whether it
be over men or inferior animals,  I do apprehend, that, in the an-
alysis of the subject,  the  faculties of courage and firmness  rarely
receive the con'sideration they deserve,  l'hcy are no less essential
than invention i{*elf   They  are necessary to  the efficient applica-
tion of the fruits of invention.  In various degrees, corresponding
to their grades of discernment,  all animals, possessed  of intellect,
recognise their influence, and submit to their sway.
   Approach, with intrepidity a»d firmness, even  man who is your
enemy, and you may subdue and govern him.   Meet hi:n under the
witheringspell of timidity, and you will fall under his assault, or
become his prisoner.      '
   The horse is conscious of the boldness of the rider, and submits
fo therir;  while the timid  horseman rarely  escapes mortification
or di-MSi?./.
   Tf.e enraged or insolent dog shrinks and retreats from those wlm
defy him, and convince him, by their manner, that Phcy are not
afraid;  and even the-lion, powerful as-hc  is,  and courageous as ho
is esteemed, is cautions of  attack,  when  the individual threatened
boldly confronts him. Animals of  the cat kind  generally  make
frhcir attack by stealth; and  most of them may be more or less
overawed by the fearless approach and unwavering countenance of
man. * Under such circumstances, even  the tiger has  declined to
make his fatal spring
   Hence, to fit him the more perfectly for the high prerogative of
dominion, man  is unquestionably the boldest of all the inhabitants cf
earth.   He alone,  perhaps,  when not impelled bv anger or neces-
sity, but aclnated"sule!y by the love of battle  and "the glory  of con-
quest, engages m a doubtful and  perilous combat, with a perfect
knowledge of the danger  incurred.
   Otheranimals do not, deliberately and cheerfully, meet  in con-
-flict with their equals or superiors;  but man engages, of choice, in
the strife of death, wb-:u  -„,. 0(|.;s ;.1£r;iin,, hinx H,e ag;i nunt|j.cci to
one.. 
49
  Other animals  fight to  give  vent  to their rage, to  master and
destroy a victim  for the gratification  of  their hunger, in self de-
fence, in defence  of their young, or from some other interested and
powerful propensity   But  man fights for pastime, from a love of
conquest, to gratify his love of battle, or  merely to show that he
is not afraid.   He is the only hero on  earth.  Even the  boasted
courage of the lion, as instances innumerable might be adduced to
testify, is greatly inferior to human courage.
  As well, therefore¥from his pre-eminence in courage, as from aft
his other exalted prerogatives  and efficiences, man is specifically
adapted to the station he holds,  in the government and  control of
terrestrial beings  And when engaged in the exercise of this con-
trol, his enjoyment is pleasurable,  because jt is natural.  He feels
that he is moving in the sphere  which was assigned  to  him,  in
that arrangement of divine wisdom, which located every  thing
according W> its endowments, and thus established the harmony of
creation.   Degrade him  from it, placing him in subordination to
the inferior animals, his aptitudes will be subverted, bis situation
unnatural, his  feelings painful, and his condition miserable.
   Put man possesses other feelings, passions, and faculties, besides
a love of dominion and rule. The gratification of these contributes
to his  happiness, while an entire  frustration  of them would render
fiim wretched.  Nor is this all.   The  temperate  indulgence ot
them not-only  confers on him" legitimate pleasure, but preserves
his health, extends his usefulness, and strengthens his virtue
   In relation to him, therefore, a system of perfect  optimism re-
 quires, that  he should  possess opportunities for the  exercise  and
 due gratification of all the faculties appertaining to his nature.   A
stateof things prohibitory of this, would  be inconsistent alike with
 wisdom and benevolence;  not to say with justice itself.
   Let us briefly, then, analyse the intellect of man, take a view of
the  faculties of which it is composed, and, examining their relation
 to nature around him, ascertain  the opportunities of enjoyment he
 posse-es.  If optimism prevail, the  reciprocal  adaptations be-
 tween him and all the objects on which he necessarily acts, or which
*ec-sanly act on him, will be found to  be perfect.  But if it be
 wanjing, a want of fitness in the relations  specified, and  a preva-
 lence  of discord, will testify to the fact.
   M  the basis of the intellectual being of man, because they are
 m0':; essential to his individual existence, lie the love of existence in.
 t'>e~abstract, without anv reference to  thfe means of maintaining it,
 the instinct or desire  to breathe, and  the appetites of hunger and
 thirst    These propensities are wisely implanted in him, to remind
 him of his- exigencies and constitutional wants, -<nd urge him to
 minister to  his  personal subsistence.  Did he  cat and drink and
 rehire only in obedience  to reason, the pressure  of business and
 of other engrossing  engagements  and  occupations,  would often
 rrp-te in him forgetfulr-s and neglect, to the injury of his he:iltb. 
50
and the diminution of his usefulness, if not to the actual destruction
of his life
  To place this indispensable duty, therefore, under  the  watchful
monitory of acute sensations and  powerful  propensities,  was, as
already suggested,  an act at once of  wisdom  and goodness  essen-
tial to existence.   It was the best ordination that could be made on
the subject.  And  the gratification of the  propensities  is amply
secured, by the inexhaustible treasures of the atmosphere, and the
abundance  of suitable food and drink,  which  the earth,  the air,
arid the waters afford to industrv and enterprise.   In reference to
them, therefore, the aptitude is complete.
  Next to hunger, thirst, and the respiratory instinct, whose  object
is the preservation of individual existence,  would seem to lie the
propensity  of physical love,  the function of which secures the pre-
servation of the race   For the gratification of this,  which consti-
tutes  no inconsiderable amount  of  the pleasures of existence, suita-
ble and abundant provisions are made.
  The love of "ff^pring, which  differs materially from every other
description of love, constitutes  another propensity, of equal inter-
est and momfnt with the last.  It co operates with that in  effecting
the preservation md  permanency of the  human race;  because
wilhout it,  as a delightful and irresistable incentive to the  arduous
and incessant toil? and duties of the parental  relation, man would
necessarily  perish in  his infancy.   It finds  its gratification in the
possession and the care of offspring; and it  not only augments the
happiness,  but contributes,  in a high degree,  to the activity, the
energies, and the usefulness of  man.
  Another  intellectual family  of  great importance, in the affairs
of the human family, is the  propensity of adhesiveness, or general
attachment.
  This constitutes  the social principle,  the  great bond  of union,
which binds man to man, and holds the mass of society  together.
It is the centripetal force, which, in  morals,  serves the same pur-
pose with the power of gravitation in thephysica  world.   Modifi-
cations  of  it we find in  sentiments of general  .-ympbthy, in par
timlai friendship,and in attachments to domestic animals and  inani-
mate  objects.   Without it, human society could not exist,  but-the
family of man would be a disjointed chaos, th:?* could never act in
concert,  and could never,  therefore, achieve  a national  object.
It is this propensity  which renders gregarious certain descriptions
of inferior animals.   The means of its gratification, as must be ob-
vious to every one, are suitable and abundant.
  Two other faculties, which, although radically different,  mav be
treated of together, are the two active propensities, to iombat and
to destroy.  These  are, and,  in a  world like this,  ought to be, ele-
mentary parfs of the  human intellect.  Properly trained  and  di-
rected, they are essential to  strength and efficiency of chuactn
It is thtir excess and abuse  only that lead to  mischief. 
51
  When kept under due subordination and rule, the spirit of totxr
lat  is only the spirit of self defence, and of resistance of aggression
and wrong.   Deprived of this, in the midst of a state of things,
where  nggres-iou. and wrong are perpetrated, the human character
would  be impotent and ineffective.   Endowed with it,  it possesses
the requisite energy to encounter and subdue the multiplied evils
and obstacles of life.  Wherever such adverse and actively hostile
occurrences exist, adaptation tequires, that a propensity to combat
them should also exist.
  To attain and secure the end held in view, the combat must often
be pushed to a. destructive issue.  Hence the  necessity  of the  pro-
pensity to destroy.
  JVor is this all.   Besides many nuisances which must he destroyed,
on account of their evil tendencies, man  must, with a  view to his
subsistence, take away the lives of interior animals, before he
feeds on them.   He must also destroy whole  families of noxious
veget.ihlcs,  to promote the growth, and  improve the  qualities of
such as are useful.   Deprived entirely of the destructive faculty,
he would not  only  be a feeble member of  society, but must, in a
short time, be himself destroyed.   If forno other reason, it is es-
sential ue should possess it, to make the requisite opposition to the
same faculty in  the inferior animals.
  To combat or be  wronned, perhaps enslaved; and to destroy or be
destroyed, are alternatives of  terrestrial existence, to which all men
must submit.
  Even those humane and conscientious votaries of religion, who,
en account of the prohibition  enjoined by their peculiar doctrines,
ab-tain from the use of animal food, are  compelled, notwithstand-
ing, in self-defence, to destroy many noxious animals, and subsist
almost entirely by the destruction of vegetable life.
  Hence the aptitude between  man^  condition on earth, and his
possession of the propensities to combat  and destroy,   is  palpable
an-; perfect
  Another component part of the human  intellect, both important
and striking, is the  propensity to construct.  This  is the character-
istic faculty of the  mechanician.   All men possess it,  in a certain
degree, and some pre eminently.
  It is manifested in the erection of houses, bridges, and architec-
ture generally;  in  the  productions  of sculpture, engraving, and
modeling, and in the construction of common mechanical  instru-
ments, and all the higher descriptions of machinery.
  The invaluable  adaptation constituted by  man's possession of
this propensity,  is attested by  the destitution and misery that would
mark his condition, were he deprived of it.   In that ca-e, he would
bt unprovided alike with all the necessaries,comforts,and elegances
of  life.
  He would want the monuments of the fine arts to gratify his taste,
clothes to cover and to  ornament him,  houses to protect him, and
all  the implements  and engines, that now  minister to his wishee, 
.*>ii
    augment his powers, and render him, at once, formidable and happy.
    Admitting that,  under such circumstances, he could subsist at all,
    his entire being would present the most deplorable example of imbe-
    cility and wretchedness.                      •  •
       While this faculty bestows on man inexpressible  blessings,  the
    means for its exercise and gratification  are inexhaustible.  In all
    respects, therefore, the adaptation is complete.
       A further characteristic of the human intellect, of great moment,
    is the propensity  to acquire.  This is the source of individual projh
    crty—the chief reason why every man feels inclined to assert his
    exclusive title to the product of  his industry, and the issue of his
    good fortune, and to appropriate them to his own use.
       Those who contend that a sense of property is the result of a
    compact or conventional arrangement, are mistaken.    As well may
    it be contended, that the desire to eat, or drink, or resist aggression,
    and the feelings of friendship and enmity, are thus artificially pro-
    duced.
       The desire to  accumulate property  is an  original, instinctive,
    and specific propensity, as every  one must  be convinced, who ob-
    serves correctly,  or faithfully consults his own feelings.   If it were
    not so,  it could never be  implanted by conventional rules.   Such
    rules, or rather the practice of conforming to them, may strengthen
    existing propensities, but can never create new ones
f       If the propensity to  acquire were  not specifically  different from
    all others, it would not be productive of results  specifically  dif-
    ferent.
       That it is not the growth of any  of the  artificial  arrangements
    of social life, appears  from innumerable considerations that might
    be adduced.
       Long  before he feels the  influence  of such arrangements, the
    child contends for his right to his top, his marbles, and all his other
    instruments of amusement and play.
       The dog fights  for his bone,  the house-martin for his box, the
    king-bird lor his tree, and the stork, the hawk,  and the eagle for
    their nests, not merely when they contain their eggs,or theiryoung,
    but as their property in perpetuity.
       In fact,  the  rule is  a general one, i..at the  infeiior  animals,
    especially those  of the higher orders,  manifest very decidedly, a
    sense of property.
       The propensity to acquire and accumulate, then, is not only natu-
    ral, but highly important to the  welfare of man.   Without it, h»s
    incentive to industry  would be feeble, and  his subsistence precari-
    ous, as he would  be destitute of provisions for times of sickness,
    periods of s arcity, and other contingencies that  he.might have to
    encounter.   But urged to exertion by the desire of possessions, his
    industry and perseverance enable him to attain them.
       Hence, again, a twofold adaptation.   One arising  from man's en-
     dowment with the propensity we are considering;  and  the other,
     from the facility  and certainty with wjiich it can be  gratified   hi 
hs
ine same individual arrangement of wisdom and benevolence, fh6
possessor  is, at once, delighted and benefitted—delighted with his
success, and benefitted by the issue of it.
   Another component part  of our intellectual nature, is a pro*
pensity to keep  secret—to conceal from others certain things which
we know,or mean to perform.
   Of the  existence of this disposition, every one must be sensible,
who faithfully examines his own feelings, or observes with accuracy
the conduct of  those,  with whom he habitually and familiarly asso-
ciates.
   Nor is it  more  ceptiiin that we do possess this propensity, than
that we ought to possess it.  It not onl) contributes to our success
an I  comforV in  life, but is. on many occasions, essential to our safe-
ty and existence.  Without it, in the  hunting and fishing states of
society, the life of man would be in  perpetual jeopardy; and he
would be unable to procure, by his labours, the means of subsis-
tence.
   Without it, in a pastoral state,  he would not  be a match for the
subtjeties of the fox, the wolf, the panther, and other animals that
prey on his flocks.
   When engaged in war, it is often, at once, his buckler, shield, and
sword   Without it there, he would be  impotent.   He could neith-
er secure himself, nor advantageously attack his foe.   It is the real
spirit of stratagem.   Hence  the chieftain who possesses it,  in the
highest degree, is usually the most 'dangerous and successful war-
rior.
   Nor,.in civil and cultivated life, is this  propensity less essential
to the influence and efficiency of public characters.
   Without a certain amount  of concealment in those  whoadminis-
Jer them, the affairs of a slate could  never prosper.   Were rulera
and Statesmen always to publish to the world their projected mea-
sures, they would certainly  be  impeded,  if not defeated,  in the
arrangement and  execution of them   but a spirit of secrecy,
suitably regulated  renders them secure.
   The propensity  to conceal, then,  constitutes essentially a com-
ponent part of  that scheme of adaptations, with which man is con-
nected.   Remove this propensity, and the scheme will be defective.
   1  am aware that there are many prejudiced and mistaken, if not
superficial  thinkers,  who pronounce  several of the propensities
here enumerated, to be absolute blots in the human character, whose
natural tendency is to the inevitable perpetration of crime.  They
even refer to them as evidence, not to be refuted, of the moral coiv
ruption of man, and of his constitutional proneness to vice, rather
than to virtue.                                    «
   To an enlightened  and liberal audience,  particularly  to such of
them, as may have made the subject a matter of attentive conside-
ration, I need scarcely observe,  that  these sentiments have not in
truth a shadow of foundation.   There  is not belonging essentially 
54
to mar. a single propensity, whose natural and necessary tendency it
to crime
   The natural tendency of the whole of them is praiseworthy; and
their natural effect,  salutary.   It is the unnatural and excessive in-
dulgence of them that runs into crime.  Man, as will presently ap-
pear, possesses, constitutionally, the power and the means to avoid
such indulgence.   He is not, therefore, as a necessary result of the
mere possession of the propensities,  constitutionally prone to the
perpetration of vice.  In  themselves, the propensities are physical
excellencies.   By abuse alone do they become criminal in theii char-
acter, and blameworthy in their effects.
   The same is true of every  faculty  of man  whether moral, or
more strictly intellectual.   In itself it is an excellency.  In its reg-
ulated exercise, it  is useful and laudable.   In its excess and abuse,
it degenerates into crime; or,   at least, becomes faulty    Even of
the sentiments of veneration and benevolence, of whi- h 1 shall have
occasion to speak hereafter, the excess ceases to be a virtue.  So true
is the maxim, and so extensively applicable to every  thing connect-
ed with human nature, "76zi tutissimus in medio "   Whether^our
voyage  be  moral or physical, on earth or  through th'e heavens, a
middle course will prove the safest.
   From the  physical propensities of man,  all of which he posses-
ses in common with  the  inferior animals, we shall proceed to an
analytical view of bis moral sentiments, which constitute a higher
order of faculties, and several of which belong exclusively to him-
self.                           .  ,    '
   The first of these 1 shall mention is self-esteem, which  degene-
rates, when  in excess, into pride and haughtiness.
   ■This, which is necessarily a component part of  the human intel-
lect, when correctly  regulated, is  both honourable and useful. The
want of it would constitute  a serious  defect.  It begets dignity of
•character and deportment, and maintains habitually  a uniform sen-
timent of self-respect.  By cherishing in man a practical feeling of
his own rank and  value,  it elevates Ids views to the region they
should occupy, ;iids him in the government of his animal propensi-
ties, and serves as a barrier against degradation and vice.   While
under the influence of cultivated self esteem, man cannot descend to
grovelling practises  or  gross criminality.  In the composition of
the human intellect, therefore, the sentime'nt is not only valuable
but necessary.
   A second  sentiment belonging toman, is the  love  of approbation.
   Tiiis constitutes a lively and powerful incentive  to  honourable
and praiseworthy actions.  It calls into exercise all the other fac-
olliis <•; thg intellect, with a  view to  the  attainment, by meritori-
ous performances, of the  approbation  so earnestly desired.  The
individual who possesses this sentiment in a high degree, is usually
marked by industry, at leant, if not by activity, energy, and perse-
verance.  Provided, therefore, he makes  a judicious selection of 
55
the attainments or achievements, by means of which he would eli-
cit admiration, he seldom fails to become respectable and useful.*
  As relaVs to lofty punuits and great exploits, love of approbation
is love of fame.  While an excess of it is  vanity, and exposes the
possessor to ridicule, if not to something worse, an entire want of it
would be a deep defect  in the human character.
  Another component part of the intellect, is the sentiment of cau-
tiousness, or the impulse to take care.
  This serves as an instinctive counterpoise to imprudence and rash-
ness, even anteriorly to the warning of experience, and the admoni-
tion of judgment.*
  To the youthful, it is an invaluable substitute for experience, and
always coincides  with the experience of age.  Its exepss is timidi-
ty, th-3 effects of which  are doubt and vacillation, feebleness and in-
efficiency.   An entire want of it would entail  on man an unbroken
series of difficulties, dangers and sufferings.
   When counterbalanced and directed by a suitable combination of
the other faculties, it  constitutes a chief ingredient in the virtue
of prudence
   A sentiment of benevolence, the necessity and  importance of which
no one will  question, constitutes  another comppnent part of (he hu-
man intellect.. By this is to be understood, not  only an instinctive
kindness of feeling, but a native disposition to  do kind actions, from
the pleasure accompanying the performance of them—in one sense
of the phrase,"to  follow virtue, even for virtue's sake."
   This sentiment constitutes a moral want, which nothing hut acts
of beneficence can satisfy.  It is the living fountain of pity, charity,
philanthropy,  and  general humanity.   When strong, it seeks for
objects on w hicb  to act, as hunger seeks for grateful food.
  The indulgence of this sentiment in practical kindness is fraught
with a twofold delight—to the performer, and the recipient, of the
beneficent act  Without it the wealthy and the capable would be
deprived of an abundant source  of virtuous gratification, in confer-
ring their favours,  and the needy and feeble, of the support and
protection their condition requires.  It constitutes one of the most
delightful bonds that connect together the  human family.   It ren-
ders that great association,  in the most* delightful sense of the exs
pression, a  band  of brothers  Eradicate it, and an entire class of
the most amiable and estimable  affections will  disappear, and a ve-
ry large amount of the pleasures of existence be irrevocably ex-
tinguished.   An age of  iron, more inexorable, fierce, and frightful,
than any that poets have  painted orimagined, will then, as .a dii-
mal reality, prevail.
  Of a still higher order is the  sentiment of veneration, which en-
ters also, a >  a component part,  into the  human intellect.  The
direction of this  most excellent of virtues, is upward.  It  points-
from the itxljvidual who entertains  it, to some higher order of tx-
istence, from whjch benefit  has  been, or may  be,  received.  The
emotion of gratitude, therefore,  constitutes a part of it. 
se
   In its most exalted  modification, this sentiment prints »fora ::m
 to the Deity, forming  the natural and more immediate bond, that
 binds the latter m feeling, to the former.   It is in this form that it
 receives more especially the denomination of piety in the abstract
 Under another modification, its object  is some human benefactor,
 of elevated standing.  Is it a parent?  The sentiment is filial pie-
 ty.  Is it a patriot and statesman, who has been the saviour of his
 country?  It is public  esteem,  in the highest degree, and of the
 most sacred character—that esteem  which  springs at once from
 the judgment and the affections.
  That this sentiment constitutes a part of the human intellect, no
 one will deny, who has carefully examined'his  own feelings, or
 faithfully directed his  attention to the  manifestations of the feel-
 ings of others.   Nor  will its importance, as an  ingredient in the
 character of man, be called  into question.
  It is the natural and  genuine source of practical religion.  Reli-
 gious exercises spring  from it,  as beneficence does from the senti-
 ment of benevolence, or an effort to please, from the love of appro-
 bation.
  Here, as in every other case, practical effort is the necessary ef-
 fect of desire.  But a feeling or  sentiment ungratified, becomes a
want;  want is the immediate source of desire; and desire search-
es anxiously for the means of gratification.
  In the present instance, the feeling'we are considering, is  a scn'i-
ment of veneration.' That sentiment becomes a want of an object
to venerate.  That want awakens a desire, which gee's immediate-
ly in,search of the object to be venerated, with a solicitude as real,
 although not, perhaps, as painfully keen, as that which actuates the
hungry in search of food, or the thirsty, of water.
  Man, then, as at present composed, is constitutionally religious.
 He is as really inclined to a worship, of some kind, as he is to the
gratification of any other instinctive desire.   Entirely to prohibit
him from worship, both public and private, in  seyilimcnt and in  act,
 would  render him miserable.            «
  Nor, consistently with the nptuudes and  harmonies of the uni-
verse, can the case be otherwise.  As a Deity exists who ought to
 be worshiped,  those aptitudes and harmonies positively require,
that man should possess a disposition to worship.   Extinguish that
 disposition, the harmony is destroyed, and no force of education will
ever make him a worshiping being.  Education can improve, but it
cannot create.  It can cultivate, but not implant.
  Remove entirely from the  human race, the appetites of hunger
and thirst, and, notwitha/idmg all that education can do, man will,
in time, forget and cease to eat and drink.  To render them effi-
cient and useful, nature must be, in every  instance, the foundation
of education and art, in  all their schemes and modifications,  lie-
move this foundation, they piss  into an empty name, and  are use-
ful no longer.. 
37
  Nor to this does religion constitute an exception.  Unless it be
Tooted in the nature of man, it can never flourish.   As well may
you attempt, by art, to make the blood circulate, or the nerves
feel.  As tvell attempt to implant religion in inanimate matter, as
in an intellect that has no appetency for it.  The one is as suitable a
recipient for it, as the other.
  In a word, to prove successful, every effort made to  ameliorate
the condition of man, must be made in conformity to the principles
of his nature.  All efforts, in opposition to these, or apart from
them, must inevitably fail   Hence the fatal mistake of  those, who
represent every human  propensity as essentially and radically at
war with  religion.  The sentiment  is injurious to the cause and
the character of religioii, and is a calumny on human  nature   It
lironounces religion to be an institution perfectly factitious—a mere
creation of art. and,  therefore, a cheat.  For every thing unnatural
{5 false; and, a* far as it exercises an influence on man, a cheat.
  The well known fact, that every nation, however ignorant, rude,
and barbarious, believes  in the  existence of a Great First  Causet
cherishes towards it  a sentiment of veneration, and practises, pub-
licly or privately, some  form of adoration or  worship, amounts to
proof, that man is, constitutionally and naturally, a religtous being.
Of all the aptitudes, then, connected with human nature, the senti-
ment we are considering constitutes one  of themost beautiful and
important.   Without it, a wide and deplorable chasm would pre-
vail in creation—such  a chasm, as  the  labours of education  and
art would  be unable to close.                ,.-,/.
  Thecharacter of the God that is worshiped, is derived from written
Revelation, and the  contemplation of the  systematized universe.
   The form of worship is altogether conventional.  But the ab-
stract sentiment, to venerate and worship,  makes a part in the compo-
sition of the human intellect.
   Another component part of the intellect is the sentiment of hope.
 This, like the sentiment of veneration, looks forward and upward.
 It contemplates, with a  buoyancy bordering on confidence, the at-
 tainment,  at a future period, of some good  not now possessed, or
 the  effecting of  some  amelioration of the  present  condition of
 being.                             .     , .      .      .   ,
   In the administration  of human affairs, this  sentiment is always
 important; and, on  many occasions, indispensable.   Without it, the
 spring of  action  would lose its elasticity, and cease to  be efficient;
  ind man would sink into inaction and despair.
   In conjunctures of difficulty, darkness, and danger, the sentiment
 of hope like the vestal fire, which  was  never extinguished, is the
 living spirit which sustains the soul, and the cheering radiance on
 the light house ahead,  that encourages to exertion, and indicates
 the way to safety and repose.
   To its supporting and animating influence, all men owe much ot
 their comfort and  success.  For while, by  unfolding  the gddea 
5S
 prospect of future good, it confirms in the soul the resolution to at-
 tain it, it dispense- the boon of present enjoyment
   By its etherial influence, the discomfited chieftain, throwing off
 the incubus of mortification and misfortune, looks, with the eager-
 ness and joy of expectancy,  through  the night of defeat, to a
 morning of victory, and braces his soul and prepares his means
 for  the approaching conflict   Annihilate its agency, his expectancy
 and exertions are paralyzed together, and his ruin consummated.
   Obedient to the same influeuce, the hero and  the  patriot perse-
 veres in his toils, while the  storms of adversity are  thickening
 around him, and the hand of fate seems ready to arrest him,  until
 he triumphs in the freedom and independence of his  country.  In
 confirmation of  this, we may  point to the conduct and glorious ex-
 arnii'p- of  an Alfred and  a Bruce, a Bolivar and a Washington;
 names that  will he, themselves, hereafter, the bright stars  of hope
 to oose patriots and chieftains, who, in after times, shall embark in
 the  godlike  enterprise, of erecting the  temples of freedom  and
 ju-tice on the ruins of  tyranny and lawless oppression
   Nor must we forget the influence of this witching sentiment on
 the humbler but not less useful labours of the philosopher, the poet,
 and  the votary of letters.   In  the retirement of their closets, hung
 around, perhaps, with cobwebs,  chilled by penury, lighted  only
 by a sinjfle and sickly taper, and rendered still  more cheerless by
 the want of patrons, and  the neglect of the world—even into these
 uncomfortable abodes, does hope find her way, and, with the benig-
 nity  and solace of a  ministering angel,  encourages the occupants
 to perseverance  in  their  toils, by pointing to independence  and
 deathless reputation, as their glorious reward.
  When  we mean to represent the condition of human nature, or
 human affairs, as the  worst that can be'imagined—as ruined be-
 yond the possibility  of amendment, we call it hopeless—a sound at
 which the blood curdles,  the heart sickens, and soul stands  ap-
 palled.
  At all times,  and in  all countries, this cheering and  delightful
 sentiment has been held ia  the same exalted estimation, and con-
 sidered the  most unvarying  attendant of human nature.   Hence
 the beautiful Grecian allegory, in which hope alone is represented
 as retained  in the  fatal  box, as a counterpoise  to all  the evils,
 physical and moral, that had been suffered to escape from it.
  That the  endowment of man with it,  then, not  only comports
 very perfectly with the general adaptations of nature in  relation
 to him, but is essential to them, will not be doubted by any one who
 may faithfully examine the subject.
  Another component part of the human  intellect, of great excel-
lency and an elevated oider, is a sentiment of conscientiousness, or
abstract justice and right
  As relates to the nature and  extent of its functions, this sentiment
might be denominated, the Moral sense.   Although its more imme-
diate object  would seem to be the merit or demerit of the actions of 
59
the  possessor of it, it, notwithstanding, takes cognizance of the
same qualities in the actions of others.   It is a quick and inslinc-
live perception,  accompanied with an approval or disapproval*of
justice or injustice, good or evil, virtue  or vice,  in the conduct of
man.  Although it acts often anteriorly to the decision of judgment
and reason, it is always in accord with if, whether, in the abstract,
it be right or  wrong.  It is greatly under the control of education
and discipline.
   The moral  sense of the savage will approve, where that of the
civilized man  will disapprove.   A similar difference, in the exercise
of  it, will occur, in ihe christian, the  Hindoorand the Mahometan.
   But this argues no defect in the sentiment itself.   Its function is,
not to acquire a knowledge of what is either right or  wrong; but to
approve  or disapprove, according  to  the knowledge  already pos-
sessed.   Knowledge is received through  other channels which will
be hereafter considered.
   Like other  instinctive faculties, then, the sentiment of conscien-
tiousness is, in itself, perfect.   In all its decisions, it is as true to its
purposes, as gravitation to the center,  or the needle to the pole.
Reason and judgment often err; but it ;s never corrupted   It never
turus traitor to  what  the  knowing and reflecting laculties present
 as moral
    It may be  put to silence, or  its  voice stifled,  for a time, amidst
 the tumult of the propensities; but  it  can never  be driven to a
Tiolationof its purity, by approving or disapproving, in opposition
 to its nature.   Whatever  may be the practice or  vocation of the
 individual, robbery,  murder,  debauchery, or theft, its decision,
 when fairly given, will be in favoui of  virtue.  The highwayman
 and the assassin may accomplish  their purposes of cupidity and
 blood;  but they can never accomplish the more arduous  purpose,
 of secuiing the approbation of an  offended conscience.
    Notwithstanding, then, the prevalent doctrine of man's depravity,
 his imperfection lies much more in his knowing and reasoning, than
 in his feeling faculties  He  is  much more frequently deluded, at
 least for the  moment, than corrupt.  I mean  in his moral faculty.
 No one  has  ever  yet loved  vice for its own sake; or given  his
 approbation  and sanction to a vicious  action, because it was vicious.
 As well,  physically  speaking,  may you talk of loving  natural de-
formity, filth, and putridity, on account of their nauseous and revolt-
 ing qualities.   For  vice,  and  moral corruption and deformity, are
 the same  You  love what strikes you as amiable; and you ap-
 prove of what you believe to be virtuous.   The reverse of this never
 can occur.
    If this view of the subject be correct, the question, so often agi-
 tated, of disinterested virtue, is easily solved.
    It is often  contended, that conscience  is liable to be greatly mod-
 ified by the influence of education.
    This sentiment is correct.   Education has no  direct influence
 over conscience.  It reaches  it only through the  medium of the 
GO
judgment.  According to the character of our education, we judge
differently of human actions   But conscience never  appi "bates
what judgment represent?  as  wrong, and never fails to approbate
what it represents as right.   It is strictly, therefore, a sense or
sentiment delighted with morality  and virtue,  real or imagined,
precisely as the sense of vision is  delighted with  harmonious col-
ours, or that of hearing with agreeable sounds.
   An individual who performs a benificent, a just, a magnanimous,
or any other kind of virtuous action,  is so far interested in it, as to
be gratified first, in acting in conformity to a principle of his nature,
and in afterwards receiving for the deed, when performed, the appro-
bation of his sentiment  of conscientiousness.   As respects the  first
of these sources of pleasure, he is interested in the same manner,
as he is  in the enjoyment of a sweet  rather than  of a  bitter taste,
of an agreeable rather than a disagreeable sound, and of a fragrant
rather than an offensive odour.  But in neither case is  there a cal-
culation  of consequences, before the gratification  is experienced;
nor does the  enjoyment arise,  in any  measure, from   such calcu-
lation.
   Nor  does  the   individual   act  from any recollection or  con-
sciousness, at  the moment, that the deed is to  be  grateful to  him.
He enjoys his reward of pleasure, in the performance,  because he
obeys an impulse of his nature  Were he, under similar circum-
stances, to repeat the acta hundred times, he would never do it once
from a  remembrance of the gratification it had previously afford-
ed him.
   We are delighted  with that   which is sweet, or fragrant, or
feasant to the eye, because it is in harmony with an external sense,
And vre are delighted with virtuous actions, because they harmon-
ize with  an internal sentiment.  As the sense,  in one case,  so does
the sentiment, in  the other, act independently  of  reason and judg-
ment.  Or, it  ought rather to be said, that  both the sense and the
sentiment are capable of judging, each for itself, somewhat  accord-
ing to anterior education and  discipline.   For, in different states
of society, among different races of men, and in different countries,
we find  prevailing as striking  discrepancies, in  relation to  sources
of physical beauty and delight, as in regard to  objects pf moral
approbation.
   The  sentiment of conscientiousness, then, being pleasurable, in
its exercise, and important in its result, and acting, in many cases,
with a promptitude and celerity essential to the safety and benefit
to be derived  from it, where the  tardy  movements of reason and
judgment would be inadequate to  the attainment of the object con-
templated—for these reasons,the sentiment is  in perfect harmony
with the condition of man.  Extinguish it,  and  that harmony will
be so far subverted.
   We find, on examination, as  another component part of the humap
intellect, the sentiment of firmness. 
61
   In modifying the conduct and character of man, the influence of
this is eminently powerful   It gives to  him that steadiness, perse-
verance, and inflexibility of purpose,  without which no great ob-
ject can ever be achieved.  It is but another .name for moral cour-
age, which is  as essential  to the successful transaction  of civil af-
fairs, as physical courage is in conducting the affairs of war.
   The sentiment of firmness is the foundation of the cardinal vir-
tue of fortitude.   Deprived of it, man would be, in adversity, un-
dignified and  pusillanimous; and,  in every  situation, mutable, va-
cillating, inefficient, and unsuccessful.   Without it, no one has ever
been illustrious; nor, in great affairs,'and in pressing and perilous
times, can reliance be placed on him who wants it.  To the human
intellect it is. in some measure, what the bones are to the human bo->
dy.  It gives if strength to stand erect, under the pressure of adver-
sity, and to breast the  current of trying  events, and  portentous
and threatening affairs.
   It is only of the individual, who participates largely of this sen-
timent, united with that of conscientiousness,, the"Justum et tena*
cem propositi  virum" that it may be truly said, in the words of the
favourite poet of Augustus;
                   " Si fractus illabitur orbis,
                   ,l Impavidum ferient nume."
        *'. Should the whole frame of nature round him break,
        " lb  ruin and confusion hurled,
        " He unconcerned would bear the mighty crack,
        " Aod staDd secure amidst a falliDg world."
   To that system of aptitudes,  ttien, intended and calculated to
fender man efficient and great, the sentiment of firmness essential-
ly  belongs.
   But we have  not yet completed our representation of the intel-
lectual aptitudes of man   Nor'shall  we,  within the limits of the
pivsfnt address, he able to complete  it, in that  detail, and with
th'.sf illustrations, whi h the subject requires.
   We have hitherto spoken  only <»f those  faculties that belong to
the class of  feelings, whose functions are, to  lead  to action, and to
Suggest and recommend certain principles  and modifications of ac-
tion, but not to discover and unfold the various objects to which it
qught to be directed,  and the particular ends it should be calcula-
ted to attain.
    The faculties we have enumerated are not the avenues through
which is  received a  knowledge  of the external world; I mean a
knowledge of matter, its properties, relations, affections, and pow-
ers.
   But that man, as lord of terrestrial  creation, may be competent
to-the performance of the duties  of his station,  such knowledge it
is essential  he should  possess.  Nor  is he  unprovided  with the
means to acquire it.
   It is to be distinctly understood, that in cultivating a knowledge.
of the external world, the external senses  are employed by the -r 
62
 tellect as immediate and indispensable instruments.  Withoat them,
 the intellect would be not only impotent, but an absolute blank.
   But there are powers and affections of matter, which the exter-
 nal senses alone cannot compass.  My reason for this assertion is,
 that the inferior animata possessing all those senses in nearly as
Aigh perfection as man, and some of them in  much  higher  perfec-
 tion, have no knowledge of them   But this would not be the ca«e,
 were the organs of external sense alone,  competent to the attain-
 ment of this description of knowledge.  Besides, all the attributes
 of matter are not objects  of sense.  Nor, as a general  rule, are
 idiots at all defective in the  external senses, although entirely des-
 titute of intellectual powers.
  The faculties of the intellect, whose  end is real knozvledge, are,
 like those of feeling, of which we have already spoken, divided  in-
to two families, the knowing and reflecting.  And these, had we lei-
sure to treat of them in detail, could be easily shown  to constitute
a part,  essential and beautiful, of that great sysiem of adaptation
and harmony, that subsists  between man, and  creation around him.
  The knowing faculties take cognizance of things, and  pursue
branches of knowledge, as they are in  themselves, apart from  each
other; the  reflecting,  in their relations, pozvers, and consequences.
To confer on man his present efficiency, I need scarcely add, that
knowledge on all these topics is indispensable.
  For the attainment of every distinct kind or description of know-
ledge, it is obvious that there must be appropriated a distinct fac-
ulty of the intellect^ for, that the same faculty should perform two
functions specifically different from each other, being in opposition
to all we know of the established order of things, may be pronoun-
ced impossible.  It is certainly unnatural, a term which, correctly
interpreted, is tantamount to impossible.  As well may the eye hear,
taste, and smell, or the ear see, smell and taste.  Each specific or-
 g in performs one specific function, and  no more   Nor, withoat a
radical  change in the principles of nature,  can it ever be otherwise.
   Some of  the  affections  or  predicates of matter, and attri-
butes of the  external world, of which  il is  requisite  that  man
should have a knowledge, are form, space, resistance, and  weight,
 colour, locality, order, duration, number, tune, individuality, and lan-
guage.  Examine  the subject deliberately and analyse it fairly, and
you will satisfactorily perceive, that, without a knowledge of these
 things, he would not only be less powerful and efficient than he is,
 but that he would be utterly impotent.
   Without a knowledge of form, where  would be the sculptor, (he
 architect, or the artist or mechanic of any description?—of space
 and colour, the landscape painter, or the  painter of any kind?—of
 locality, the  geographer, astronomer,  or traveller?—of number,
 the accountant and the mathematician?—or of tune, the musician?'
 Unless things were known in their individual character, they could
 never be compared  or arranged;  and without a knowledge  of lan-
 3<iage,  neither science, civil government, nor sound social order 
63
could exist; but the  world be a scene of intellectual barrenness,
and lawless misrule.
  For acquiring a knowledge of these several subjects, which are
all specifically different from  each other, we know that man is en-
dowed with the requisite faculties; because, in reality he possesses
the knowledge, which  could not be the case, were the faculties
wanting.   Besides, for the Deity to  have given existence to these
attributes of being, and buried them in darkness,  for want of corres-
ponding faculties in some terrestrial inhabitant to  take cognizance
of tbem, would have been a work of supererogation, altogether in-
consistent with his wisdom and perfections.  But in those preroga-
tives of his nature, there is no defect.   Hence, true to his  scherjle
of aptitudes and  optimism, as the attributes exist, there  exist also,
in man, intellectual faculties adapted to a knowledge of them. ■
   To qualify him for an acquaintance with the relations and mutual
influences  of tl.»:igs, -and, at the same  time, for the proper appli-
cation and use of it, he was endowed with the faculties of compari-
son, causality, wit, and imitation, and enabled to exercise his pow-
ers, in the process of reasoning.  In this endowment, provision is
made at once for his gratification and his interest.   Hence, in re-
lation to him,  the twofold adaptation of present pleasure, and ulti-
mate good
   But the lapse of time admonishes  me' to close this  imperfect an-
alysis.   Permit me to hope, that, as far as I have pursued it, the
#ystem of adaptations which I intended to illustrate by it, has been
fairly unfolded, and satisfactorily sustained.  Had 1 leisure to pur-
sue it through its ultimate details, and  present to you a complete
development of the entire human character,  including person and
intellect, in its constitution, powers, and relations, the issue would
be an array of evidence, which nothing could resist, that, as relates
to man, the scheme of optimism is, in all things, complete—that, as
far as he  is concerned, "all partial evil is universal good"—and
that, with the  poet, whose  words have  just been recited,  we may
legitimately ask,  under  a perfect confidence that to the  question
proposed no satisfactory answer can be rendered,
     " If storms and earthquakes break not Heaven's design,
     " Why, then, a Borgia or a Catalinel"
   Is any one inclined to inquire into the uses of the study and con-
templation of that magnificent scheme of aptitudes and optimism,
which creation presents, and of which 1 have ventured very curso-
rily to speak?
   i answer, they are in number almost infinite, and, in  value, be-
yond price.
   The entire science of cause and effect, whether physical, moral,
or intellectual, consists exclusively in a knowledge  of aptitudes.  In
every  department of nature, the aptitude of things, in  their re-
fcuious to  each other, is thm-sto.'* and condition as they are—the 
64
 Ctness  of the precedent to produce the  consequent,  and of afj
 collateral of direct  influences, to produce, each, its specific ellect.
   It is alone through the adaptations which every where prevail,
 that the resplendent orrery of creation revolves, and the magnifi-
 cent scheme of the universe goe"s  on.  Chaos itself was  nothing
 but matter  without its adaptations.   Nor was the calling of order
 out of chaos any thing but the establishment of universal aptitudes.
 Subvert those aptitudes, and chaos will return.  Even the attri-
 butes of the. Most High  are but aptitudes in him for his post in the
 universe.  Abrogate any one of them, and that post can be suitably
 tilled by him no longer.
   Is any one  inclined  to allege, that although the  aptitudes here
 specified are  objects  of  sublime and delightful contemplation, they
 arejoo abstract, elevated, and remote, to be practically useful?
   I answer, that happiness, which is  the legitimate  end  of Odr
 being, and the object of  our  daily exertions  and foils,  consists  in
 nothing but sensations and emotions  of innocent and rational delight.
 All, theiefore, that  contributes to  these,  is essentially, useful; or
 happiness itself must cease to be prized.
   But let us descend, for a moment, to the consideration of subjects,
 which, being much more  familiar to us. their real utilities are more
 readily  perceived, and  more easily appreciated.  We shall  not,
 here, after the strictest search, be able to find, in a single instance,
 an existing utility  of which  we can avail ourselves, for which  we
are not indebted to a knowledge of  aptitudes.
   Examples and illustrations to  this  effect, may be derived, in
abundance, from the  mechanical arts.  Let  the process selected for
 eur examination be the erection of  a house, or the construction of
 a steam-boat, or a ship.
   For the accomplishment, in either case,  of the end  in view, a
 regulated scheme of  aptitudes is  essential. And  many   of the
 adaptations, in relation to one of the structures,  will be found to
 be the reverse, with  regard to the others.
   In point of position,  the house must  be adapted to stand  on the
 ground, the  ship and the  boat, to float in the water.   The  two lat-
 ter must  be enn-tituted of wood, while stone or brick is most suita-
 b e to the former  ' According to  the different situations they are
 to occupy, and the. different  ends to which they  are to be appro-
 priated, their  figure,  structure, mode of connexion,  and furniture
 must be different, each adapted to its character anil uses.   Of the
 instruments  and ergines employed in the construction of these fab
 ricks, the figure, intention, and  manner of operating of  many  are
 different, while the specific fitness of each to the  purpose to  be  at-
 tained by it, is perfect.
   In adaptation to these  varieties in situation, material, structure,
 and instruments, there must be, in the mechanicians and workmen
 empToyed, corresponding differences in  knowledge, training,  and
 habits of acticn. 
65
  That practical chemistry may be successful and  efficient, there
must occur in it  a like series of reciprocal aptitudes  between the
agents, the apparatus, the mode of using them, and the knowledge,
dexterity, and skill of the experimenter.
  The science and practice of theology, legislation, and law, con-
sist entirely of so many intended schemes of moral and intellectual
adaptations appropriate to each.  And, as far as these adaptations
are fallacious Or violated, do error and injustice, with their abund-
ant train of concomitant evils and incongruities prevail.
  But if there be on   earth a vocation, in which, more than in all
others, a perfect knowledge of adaptation is indispensable, it is the
profession of medicine.  Without such knowledge here, all theory
is error  and all  practice, mistake and mischief.
  Health is the result of a state of perfect  aptitude between the
various agents that impress the living body, and the susceptibilities
of the body  to  receive  impression.  Derange this aptitude, and
disease must ensue.
  And when the body is  distempered, health can be restored only,
by the influence  of such remediate substances, as are in perfect
harmony  with the condition  of the system.  Administer articles
which are not  thus in harmony, and the complaint will be  aggra-
vated.
   It is  the indispensable duty, then, of every practitioner of the
healing art, to study  faithfully the multiplied  harmonies that  exist
between man, both in health and disease, and creation around him.
And it is the  knowledge of nature  thus acquired,  that mainly dis-
tinguishes the educated, accomplished, and successful physician,
from the technical formalist, and  the empty pretender.
  But the paramount  advantage, to mankind at large, of habitually
contemplating the harmonies of creation,  consists, in a particular
manner, in the moral  effect it produces on the mind.
  Human nature, being abundantly pliable, is susceptible of being
modeled into# a  variety of shapes, according to the impressions to
which it  is subjected,  and the training, which, from an early period,
it receives.  For evidence confirmatory of this, we need  only look
into the striking  diversities presented by our race,  in  different
ages, countries, states of  society, and occupations in life.
  f»y virtue of that invaluable principle, which confers on educa-
tion its plastic influence,  the intellect and character of man become
assimilated to the theatre,on  which he acts, and the scenes that
constitute the subject  of his contemplation.
  Is the scene irregular  and rough, tempestuous and full of peril?
Man, in adaptation to it,  is bold, hardy, adventurous, and rugged.
For  facts conclusively in evidence of this, we have only to  look
into the sturdy characters  of the hunter, the mariner, the bandit,
and the soldier.
  Is the scene  placid and peaceful, harmonious and full of order?
Analogous, in all respects, will be the characters of those, who are
the perpetual actors in it.  In confirmation of this, we  might cite 
60
the gentle habits of the shepherd, the husbandman, and all who
live retired fr-m the collisions of life.  So powerful,  moreover, is
the influence of example, and the force of the imitative  principle
in man, that while vicious and profligate scenery demoralizes him,
presentations of virtue and goodness improve him.   On this  prin-
ciple is founded the exhibition of painting and statuary in places of
worship.
   What, then, must be the effect, on his intellect and character, of
contemplating creation, as a mighty  mirror, in which he beholds,
perpetually before  him, the attributes of the Creator?—as an
interminable scheme of  optimism and perfection, in every portion
of which  are displayed as much of order and  harmony, aptitude
and co-operation of parts,  as can prevail in the more immediate
mansions of Heaven?—as  a temple rich in every excellence and
beauty, which the Most High himself erected  and furnished, and
in every compartment of which he makes his abode, thus proclaim-
ing and rendering it worthy of  his presence?—as an  exhibition of
all that is good and perfect, unalloyed by  an example  to the  con-
tra ry ?
  What, I say, must be the  effect of such a living  and realized
picture of nature as this (which  is, in trnth, the correct one) per-
petually operating on the intellect of man? Must  it  not be to as-
similate his intellect to itself?—to swell it  to its own grandeur?—
to infuse into it it*own spirit of order and harmony?—and to impress
on il generally its  own excellencies?  Must it not,  on  the  well
knowji  principles of human nature, tend,  in a  very high  degree,
to affix  on it the impress  of its own qualities, and its own  per-
fections?
  If there be any force and efficacy in  example,  or  influence in
impressions to communicate to the thmg impressed their own  im-
age—or if there exist between parent and offspring a hereditary
resemblance, then must these  questions be affirmatively answered.
If, as we are given to believe, the spirits of the  righteous  improve
in righteousness, by constantly dwelling on the perfections of the
Deity, in his celestial abode, surely to contemplate the same  per-
fections, in the scenery around us. which  he condescends to make
his earthly abode, cannot be otherwise than the richest source of
earthly improvement.
  Is it  possible for an individnal, who beholds in creation a scheme
of optimism, to be so likely, by vicious conduct, to mar that scheme,
or to render himself unworthy of it, as  he would be, if bis views,
on the subject,  were  the reverse?—as if he beheld  in it a scene
of disorder and evil, both  physical and moral?  To this question
both the  feelings  and  the judgment of  every one  reply in  the
negative.   What appears  to us perfect and  beautiful, we are re-
luctant to derange,  or, in any way, deform.  It is only where im-
perfections already  prevail, that we feel at liberty and inclined t#
augment them. 
6?
  Even in presence of the excellencies of our own race, the profli-
gate are restrained,  and the virtuous ameliorated.  What, tbeo,
must be the necessary  effect of the  unceasing operation of the
excellencies of Heaven!  But, when contemplated in a becoming
and  liberalized spirit,  it is from the mirror of nature that those
excellencies are reflected.
  Nor is this all   The  belief that creation is  a scheme of per-
fection, exalts, in a degree that is almost infinite, our estimation of
its almighty author, augments our love and gratitude towards him,
and adds not a little to our own happiness, by the joyous persuasion,
that we live under the auspices of a paternal government, where
every measure is benificent,  and  every  arrangement perfect, and
whose  only end is the felicity of all   If the voice of nature and
reason, which we are bound to reverence as the voice of God, open-
ly proclaims to us, that the good of the governed is  the only le-
gitimate end of human government, surely the government of Heaven
cannot he less just, Jess pure, or less benevolent.
  To contend, as many  no, that the Deity has framed and directs
the scheme  of the  universe, with an exclusive  view to his own
glory and aggrandizement, regardless of the beings he has created,
as a part of it. is virtual  blasphemy   It  is to rob him of every
estimable attribute, and pronounce him the very essence of heart-
ies.- selfishness
   When, within  the dominion of an earthly potentate, we find a
defective and unwise system of laws, insufficient for the preserva-
tion of order, the suppression of crime,  the encouragement of vir-
tue, and the promotion and protection of the general welfare, we
are compelled to believe that the supreme authority, by whatever
title it  may be known,  is  either ignorant,  feeble, inattentive, or
profligate   Put if, on the contrary, the laws are, in every instance,
perfectly adapted to the wants of the subjects, and the exigency
of  occasions—if aptitude, order, and harmony every where pre-
vail,  we  conceive of the lawgiver as equally  perfect.  And, in
either case, the correctness of our decision is amply supported by
reason and experience.   Between the code  of laws and the  legis-
lator, and the administration and the ruler, there must, in the na-
ture of things, exist a resemblance.
   Believing the Author  and Ruler of the universe, then, to be, in
all his  attributes,  without  defect, whence are  we  so daring as to
predicate  imperfection  of either the laws he has established, the
administration he  directs, or the subjects he has created to people
his government?  To say nothing of the fallacy, and, as relates to
us, the gross irreverence and impiety  of the imputations, which
such sentiments attach to  the Deity, they are self contradictory,
and unworthy of the enlightened period and country, in which wg
reside.
   As already intimated, everv system  of laws, government, and
 organization, whether divine or human, indicates, as certainly, the
 character of the lawgiver  and governor, as the fruit does of the 
68
 tree that produces it, or the stream of the  fountain from which it
 flows.  If the source be pure and perfect, so must be  the issue, ur
 there is a dissolution of the  established connexion between cause
 and effect, and chaos  has returned.   Unless  he change his  nature,
 it is not possible for the Deity to establish  ought but a system of
 optimism   To deny this, is  to slander Heaven   In  human law?,
 imperfections prevail.  But  the ordinances of God are as  perfect
 as himself.   And those ordinances embrace the  government  no
 less of the minutest earthly, than of the grandest heavenly things.
   It will be born in mind, that, in uttering these sentiments, I speak
 of things on a general, not a partial and limited scale.   I allude to
 God's entire administration of" the universe, embracing all duration,
 as well as all created being; not to temporary appearances in a mere
point  or corner of it.
   To those  who examine creation with microscopic eyes, 1 do not
here address myself.  My business is exclusively  with liberal and
wide-grasping theologians and real  philosophers.  And   to such
characters, of all  times and  all countries, 1 fearlessly appeal for
opinions corroborative of those I have delivered.
   A belief in optimism is enjoined alike by religion and philosophy.
because it is a  belief in the perfections of the Most High.  And
those  perfections are  equally proclaimed by the voice of  written
and of natural revelation.
  Asa  body of youth,then, ambitious to become  accomplished in
the vocation you have selected, and to render yourselves worthy of
the name of physician;  and who are destined to be acting your
parts  (I trust distinguished ones) in the drama of life,  when on the
present corps of actors the curtain shall have fallen—as such  a body,
let me earnestly recommend to you the diligent  study of those apti-
tudes and harmonies, which  nature every  where exhibits, in the
correct knowledge and application of which  consist the  science
 and practice of  the healing art, and without which you must sub-
 mit to be regarded, by the truly enlightened, as sciolists in philoso-
 phy, and pretenders in medicine. 
0
                   memoir vx<

THOUGHTS OX THE TEACHING AND DIFFUSION OF THE

            SCIENCE CF MEDICINE

         IN  WESTERN AMERICA,

    E^ OSASILSS (SXIDWEEffli SB* Se
  That remoteness of time and place magnifies greatly, in the es-
timation of the  multitude, both men, institutions and events, is a
tu ?;.  A'hich has long siuce passed  into  a proverb.   Hence the un-
jumIv elevated conceptions which the  mass of the moderns forms
of the anciepN; and hence the  extravagant and unfounded antici-
pati-.-ns with which m<>st of us deceive ourselves, in relation to dis-
ti.'iguished men. establishments, and other objects, especially if they
be in to:e:pn countries, or in very distant parts of our own  coun-
try. t.-< fne we have approached them, and become familiar with
tll«:r.:.
  But no sooner  have we thus approximated  these objects of our
Feneration, and acquired of them a knowledge sufficiently intimate,
th'-m we find them on a level with, or perhaps inferior to,  those in
th  midst of which  we have ourselves been bred.
  What youthful American has ever visited Europe, and been in-
troducedlo individuals whose fame had dazzled him in his native
land, without experiencing a sentiment of disappointment?—with-
out saying silently to himself, "Is this all!"—"has all the greatness
of these far famed personages dwindled thus suddenly to so mode-
rate a span!"
  And could we be introduced  into the  society of the powerful and
renowned of former  days—the  Philips, Alexanders, Aristotles,
Epaminondases,  Caesars, Pompeys,  and Ciceros, of the  ancient
world, our anticipations would be no less signally disappointed. We
would find these  idols of their own,  and objects of the admiration
of after-times, in no degree superior to numbers of our cotempora-
ries.  On the contrary, we would not fail to  discover them  to he.
in many respects,greatly  inferior—inferior certainly in acquire',
and not superior in native greatness. 
70
   This propensity to the admiration,  and excessive estimation of
 remote things, growing perhaps out of the natuie of man, is, as re-
 lates to certain topics,  very strongly manifested by the people of
 these western states.   Although il does not peculiarly belong to the
 inhabitants of a new country, there are reasons why it is very pow-
 erfully, not to say, unusually operative in them.
   But, without too curiously analyzing this  feature of the human
 intellect, it is my purpose, on the  present occasion, cursorily to ad-
 vert to some of its effects.  And, to render  this address the  more
 suitable, these effects shall bear a relation to our ovvn profession.
   If not a general opinion, it is certainly  one which is entertained
 by many, and often expressed, in  the valley of the Mississippi, thatj
 provided a medical education could be attained on as easy terms,
 in the Atlantic schools, or in those of Europe, it would be pretera-
*ble to one received in a school of the west.   And further, that ou»
 most valuable and important knowledge  in medicine is to be deri-
 ved from books written at a distance  To demonstrate the palpa-
 ble fallacy, and the pernicious tendency of these opinions, consti-
 tutes one of the objects of the present discourse.  'Nor do 1 consid-
 er the task, although of no small importance,  either  intricate  or
 weighty.   On the contrary, it is so light and easy that a tyro might
 perform it.   The youngest  pupil  within  the reach of my voice,
 could scarcely fail in it were he to make  the  attempt-   A very
 brief and  simple exposition of the subject will prove the truth of
 this representation.
   Considered on that ground, which, in most other instances, is re-
 garded as constituting the relation of cause and effect, disease may
 be  safely  pronounced  the production of the  circumstances and
 agents in the midst of which  it makes its appearance.   If the cir-
 cumstances be, in their nature, common and general,  disease will be
 common and general;  if  they be peculiar,  it wilbof necessity, cor-
 respond with them in its  character.  Resting on observation, and
 sanctioned  by the recognized principles of etiology, this truth has
 grown into an axiom in medicine.
   But so diversified is the condition of the  globe we inhabit, that
 no two portions of it, especially if they be large and remote from
 each other, are precisely  or even nearly alike.  Peculiarities of
 situation,  exposure,  elevation, temperature, soil,  vegetable and
 animal  productions,  prevailing winds, the nature and  influence of
 adjacent tracts of country, the  amount of rain  that falls, or  some
 other cause  or combination  of causes, confer  on  each portion a
 character of  its own.   Hence the  multiplied  varieties in the aspect
 of disease, which present themselves to the  eye of the attentive
 observer,  every section of country, of any  extent,  being marked
 with a modification peculiar to itself.
   In different regions the diseases  of autumn differ materially  in
 their symptoms and character.   So do those of the other seasons
 of the vear. 
?1
  The yellow fever of the United  States and  the pestilence of
Asia are essentially the same disease.  But local influences diver-
sify, not a little, several phenomena which pertain to both, and add
to each, symptoms that do not belong  to the other.  Hence many
writers pronounce them to be different complaints.
  The Mai d* Aleppo is so denominated,  because it is peculiar to
Aleppo, and a few districts of the surrounding country.   In certain
parts" of Cochin China there prevails a disease of the lower extreme
ities, not to be found  in any other region.  In the island of Barba-
does there also exists a very peculiar and obstinate affection of the
same parts of the system, which some writers have denominated
the Ba^badoes leg.
  But to dwell further on a  detail  of facts, to  prove,  that, like
vegetables and animals,  diseases are different indifferent placesy
would be a waste of time.  The truth is already so conclusively at-
tested, that it also must be received as amaxim.
  Nor is it to be  regarded as a truth that is merely speculative; if,
indeed, any thing that is  true  ought to be so regarded.   In practical
no less than in scientific medicine,  it is highly important, inasmuch
as every peculiar modification of disease calls for a corresponding
peculiarity of treatment.
  Unless  the treatment be thus  skilfully varied, and  accurately
adapted to  the character of the complaint,  it is likely to prove in-
jurious rather than salutary.   For want of that  aptitude which is,
in all cases, essential to a successful  result, it will certainly fail in
the  production of the contemplated effect.  Hence physicians that
have practised with distinguished  and well deserved reputation, in
one district of country, have been found, until taught by experience,
not only much less successful, but even exceedingly unfortunate in
their practice, when transferred  to another, more especially to a
distant and dissimilar one.
   It is well known that the ablest physicians of Europe are igno-
rant of the treatment of  the diseases of America.   The most skil-
ful of them, therefore,  that  hare ever migrated  to  the  United
States, have proved, on their first arrival, very inefficient practi-
tioners—novices  comparatively in the management of our com-
plaints.   Native physicians greatly, perhaps, their inferiors in tal-
ent  and attainment, have been not a little superior to them in suc-
cessful practice.  To  render them  competent to  their duty,  and
equal to themselves, a farther apprenticeship of some duration, to
observation and experience, has been/ound essential.
   Nor, as respects country practice, is  this less palpably and pro-
verbially true, with regard to members of the profession, who have
been conversant  only with the diseases of a large and populous ci-
ty.   However able, successful, and  eminent they may  be, within
the sphere to  which their practice has been  confined,  it is there
alone that they are qualified  to excel.   Remove them to a distant
tract of country, where  they will have to encounter/liseases of a
different character, and, frustrated, or greatly embarrassed, in their 
72
 first efforts to restore health, they will soon discover, that  to be-
 come again  successful practitioner*,  and attain the rank they had
 antecedently  held, they must, for the acquisition  of  the. requisite
 knowledge, apply either to a new course of experience  of their own,
 or to information communicated by the practitioners of the place,
 who have themselves derived their  knowledge  from experience.
 formatter abundantly confirmatory of these remarks, reference is
 confidently made to observation and reason, no less than to  the re-
 cords of the profession of medicine.
   If, then, it is true, that the physicians  of large and populous ci-
 ties are not prepared to practise successfully themselves, in the pre-
 vailing diseases of the country, it follows, of course, that, as relates
 to the same  complaints, they cannot be well prepared to communi-
 cate practical  instruction to others.  On the  contrary, it is plain
 that they  must be signally unprepared.  Nor can  the cause of this
 be hidden from the most superficial inquirer.  They aie totally
 destitute of  the requisite experience, the  only source of competent
 practice.
   Versed in  the treatment of all the modifications of city diseas-
 es, which, as well on account of the  influence of peculiar external
 causes, as of the peculiar temperaments of those  who are the sub-
jects of them, are necessarily themselves peculiar in character, ci-
 ty physicians are and  must be, in reference to them, the best quali-
 fied teachers.  But, for reasons the very opposites of these, they
 cannot be well qualified and  successful  teachers, as respects the
 practice in diseases of the country.   If.  in the former case, a ful-
 ness of experience alone gives to them their competency, an entire
 want of it cannot fail to wilhold it in  the  latter.
  A city practitioner meditates to write  and  publish a treatise on
 the  diseases that prevail in  a distant tract of country.  For the
 sake of example and illustration, let it be a physician of Philadel-
 phia. Xew V;;rk, or Baltimore, who purposes thus to  write on the
 di-^ases of the Western or Southern State?.  Provided he  be en-
 lightened, discreet,  and conscientious,  what are the means and
 measures by  wni.-h h-3'attempts to prepare himself for the task?
  Does he, to obtain a competent knowledge of the subject which
 is to be considered, either draw on his own personal resources, or
 consult the  medical  writings  of Europe, or  of  the  middle and
 Northern Atlantic States?.   We know  that he does not.   He ap-
 plies to  practitioners  of observation, experience,  and  talent re-
 aiding in the  region whose diseases he would describe.  Or, if'he
 be a public teacher of medicine, he  applies to his pupils from that
 region, who have mingled in its diseases, and  receives from them
 the materials ot Ids book.  Thus do remote practitioners, or pupils
 from a distance, teach him to teach others how to treat certain re-
 mote comphmts, to  which he is a stranger!   Yet, as the world
 now goes, he is still the  reputed teachi,-, and those  who supply him
 *vuth the  elements of hi-;  kuculedgo, continue  to be fie iwghi 
T3
 In the words of the dramatist, " there is something more than nat«
 ural in this, if our philosophy could find it out."
   Phat this expedient  has been  often practised in the Atlantic
 cities, 1 know to betrue~ And 1 also know, that, in the further words
 of the author just quoted, " it is a custom much more honoured in
 the breach than the performance.*"  It is not  an honest  mode of
 diffusing knowledge.   No physician can, to any useful effect, write
 or lecture practically on a disease, unless he  has been practically
 conversant with it—unless he has actually grappled with it, and
 learnt the mode of subduing it by experience.  As well may a chem-
 ist attempt to describe and analyze, in imagination, a mineral, of
 which  he has only heard, as a physician to treat curatively of an
 unseen complaint.   Yet thus necessarily blindfold  and abortivemust
 be the  labours of the physicians of our large northern and eastern
 cities, when they speak or write in  relation  to the diseases of the
 West and the South—when they  treat of that which they  have
 never seen, and with which it  is impossible for them to be compe-
 tently  acquainted.
   It will not  be denied that his want of experience unfits  a country
 practitioner to be  an able, or even a commonly skilful teacher of
 medicine in a large city.  And that such want would be urged as an
 objection against his appointment to such a station, cannot be doubt-
 ed.   For a reason perfectly  similar, and no less  conclusive,  mere
 city practitioners cannot  be competent teachers  in remote country
 diseases; nor ought they  to be relied for  that  purpose. Other
 things  being alike,  hose  who have practised extensively in the
 country, must be mo»t abundantly qualified as teachers for the coun-
 try,  it is the voice of common sense,  as well as the result of all
 observation,  that, as relates to medical instruction, this must be ne-
 cessarily received as a maxim.
   The general principles of medicine may be taught and learnt in
 any situation.  But suitable  adaptations  of practice  to  peculiar
 modifications of disease can be learnt only by actual experience, in
 the treatment of such modifications, and efficiently taught by  none
 but th >se  who have thus acquired  experience.  To pretend to (he
 acquisition of this knowledge in any other way  is no better than
 imposture.  No physician, then, whose sphere of observation has
 been confined exclusively to the large  cities of the Atlantic states,
 more especially to those that lie  northward  from the Potowmac,
 has a competent knowledge of  the peculiarities  and treatment of
 the prevailing diseases of  the West and the South.
  Such, I repeat, is the fruit of observation, and the plain and pos-
 itive dictate of reason and common sense; and all  opinions and pre-
 tended arguments that may be  arrayed in opposition to them, will
 be discovered, on examination, to be spurious and unfounded—the
 offspring of prejudice, interest, or  want of information.
  Between the prevailing  diseases of Western America and those
of the Atlantic states, southward of the Potowmac, the similarity
i% striking—so striking, that  a  physician possessed of a  thorough,
                               K 
14
knowledge of the complaints of one of those sections of country j
can soon render himself master of the complait ts of the other.
  It is not unknown to me,  nor i« it a fragment of knowledge ot
recent date, that, in opposition to the sentiments here set forth, it
is openly contended by some, and believed, perhaps, by  many, that
medicine can be taujrht to good effect only in a large and populous
city;  and that, consequently, In no other place can a great and dis-
tinguished medical school be erected and maintained.
  This dogma—for such is its onlv appropriate name--is  mucli
more the issue of the pride,  pomp, and prejudice of a « large and
populous city" than of either extensive reading, accurate observa-
tion, or deliberate reflection.                            .
  Faithful and accredited records,  to which reference  might  be
easily made, and which cannot fail  to be within the knowledge of
every one versed in the history of our profession, teach us, that in
towns  neither "• large nor populous'' very distinguished schools of
medicine have existed, and  do exist.  Nor can one substantial rea-
son be assigned, why such existence should not he permanent. But,
Were the present a suitable occasion to discuss the subject, reasons
not to be subverted, might'be  readily adduced, why a large, popu-
lous,  and commercial city is a much  less suitable seat for either a
school of medicine or any other school for the instruction of youth,
than a town of a size  and population greatly inferior
  In no other place but a crowded city,  say some, can subjects be*
procured insufficient abundance for all the forms of anatomical  hv
slruction.
  This is a mistake, as the  records of the school of Transylvania
prove.  This institution  is  now in the ninth year of its existence;
and,  notwithstanding  the  trembling apprehensions of its timid
friends, and the evil  bodings and calumnious misrepresentations of
some of its enemies, it has  never, for a single hour, been in want
of a subject for the purposes  of anatomy.  On the contrary, that
of Philadelphia,  perhaps,  excepted,  it is confidently  believed to
have been more amply supplied, than any other school  in the Uni-
ted States.  Of this statement, contradiction is fearlessly set at  de-
fiance.  Besides, the qualifications of its pupils, on their examina-
tion for degrees,  abundantly show,  that, in no other institution of
our country are there found more  thoroughly disciplined anatom-
ists.
   As respects anatomical instruction, another very injurious errot
prevails, even among those whose duty it is to be better informed.
   Individuals who are either ignorant of the subject, or who think
themselves likely to be in some way  benefited by misrepresentation
and deception, propagate the opinion, that, during their attendance
on public lectures, medical  pupils ought to engage extensively in
anatomical dissection.
   As relates to pupils who can afford  to spend from four to  six
 vears, but not less, in the study of their profession, and to attend"
 public lectures during each winter  of the time, this opinion is cor- 
75
 sect.   Such pupils, having a sufficiency of leisure to enable them
 to do it, without interfering  with their other studies, ought to pur-
 sue anatomical dissection, as a part of their discipline.
   But  few students in any part of the United Slates,  and scarcely
 one in  Western America,  are thus fortunate   In the latter section
 of our  country a vast majority of pupils are obliged to rest content
 with one or two courses of public lectures, one, perhaps, in fifty, be-
 ing able to attend three.  And after having attended two courses, it
 is the wish and expectation  of almost every  one to receive a de-
 gree in medicine.
   As our schools are now administered,  a course of lectures occu-
 pies a  period  of four  months.   After eight  months of public  in-
 struction, then, the pupil  anticipates  the honour of a doctorate in
 his  profession.
   To all who are acquainted with the great extent and multifarious
 character 01 the  science of  medicine, this statement,brief  as it ia,
 must carry conviction, that, during the very limited period in which
 he is engaged  in  the pursuit of public instruction, the western pu-
 pil has no leisure  for anatomical  dissection.  Compelled to  attend
 lectures from  six to eight hours in the day, the remainder  of  his
 time is not sufficient to enable him  to do  more than leflect on, as-
 sort, and digest what he has thus received. He cannot, then, devote
 himself to dissection without neglecting almost entirely other modes
• of discipline,  which are  essential  to the accomplishment of the
 end he has in view.  That all  this is true, appears alike as the is-
 sue of  experience, and the declaration of  common sense.
   It is  further asserted, with what spirit, and  for what object, I
 aeither know nor care,  that without the  resources of a large city,
 instruction in surgery  cannot  be imparted, with competent effect,
 to a medical class.
   In refutation of this, I again fearlessly offer the example of Tran-
 sylvania.  Let the comparison be made,  and it will be found, that
 in proportion to the  size of its classes, this 9chool has  produced,
 since the date  of  its establishment, a  greater number of surgeons,
 qualified to operate with respectability  and success, than any oth-
 er in the United States.
   Should any  one choose to  cavil and find fault with this represen-
 tation, and pronounce it vainglorious, as being uttered  by a profes-
 sor of Transylvania University, let him enjoy his fancied triumph,
 in the conceit  that he has detected roe proclaiming my ovvn prais-
 es.  But, to the  enlightened and  ingenuous, in whose estimation I
 am ambitious to stand  well, it is permitted me to say, that I. claim
 to myself no credit for the surgical instruction so abundantly  impar-
 ted  in  this institution.  The honour  of that  belongs to another.
 But it belongs  to me, should any occasion occur to demand it, to as-
 sert and maintain, that the  statement 1 have given is founded in
 truth.  Nor need the friends of our school be under any  apprehen-
 sion, that I will either shrink from the  task, or fail in  its perform-
 ance.   And I will further state, on grounds which 1 am also prepa- 
76
red to maintain,  that by far the  most respectable  and successful
young practitioners of the healing art, in all its branches, that have
settled in the valley of the Mississippi, within the last seven or
eight years, have been educated in Transylvania.   When an alum-
nus of Transylvania, and one of any other school have  ootempora*
rily commenced practice  in the  same town or neighborhood, the
Transylvanian has uniformly taken the ascendency. To this rule 1
do not know a single  exception
   Why should not the pupils of this institution be accomplished in
surgery?  The public instruction they receive by  lecture is unsurr
passed; and it will be found, on computation, that, for the last four
or five years, the  professor of that branch has performed  before
bis class as many important surgical operations, as have been ex-
hibited, during the same  period, to any class in the United  States.
From the reports  that have been communicated to  me from other
schools, I conscientiously believe that he has performed more.   But
be this as  it may, it can be easily made appear, that by  far the
ablest and most successful young surgeons, that have settled in the
valley of the Mississippi, since the year 1820, have been educated
in Transylvania.
  But I have not yet done with the reports that have been circula-
ted, and the efforts that have been made to injure our school.
  Large  and  w.ell filled hospitals and infirmaries, which exist only
in large cities,  are asserted to be essential to the excellency and
success of schools of medicine.
  That such institutions have their uses, 1 am  far from  denying.
On the contrary,  I acknowledge, that, in some  respects, those uses
are signally great.  But  I do deny that they  are  either vitally or
even  highly  important to schools of medicine, as  they are now
administered in the United States.   Assertions the  contrary of this,
can  be demonstrated  to  be  impositions on  the credulity  of the
public; calculated only to allure pupils to schools by promised ad*
vantages which they never receive.
  Were the sessions of our medical colleges  protracted  through-
out the year, or even for the term of eight or ten months, infirma-
ries and hospitals might be rendered  Useful  to them.   The pupils
would then have  leisure to visit, with regularity, and as often as
might be necessary,  interesting cases of disease, from  their com-
mencement to their close.  Thus might they acquire a competent
and  practical acquaintance with  their character  and  treatment.
They  might, moreover,  under such  regulations,  attain,  in  the
schools, some knowledge of the diseases of  summer and autumn,
by far the most important that present themselves to the physicians
of the West and the South.
  But under no arrangement that man can devise, will  mere hos-
pital or infirmary practice be ever rendered  highly  useful to phy-
sicians who  pursue their profession in the country.  Nor,  to.any
one competently  acquainted  with the subject, can the reason of
this be otherwise  than obvious. 
77
   Both the subjects and diseases of a large hospital, in a large city,
are essentially different from those with which a phvsician  in the
country is concerned.   This truth is so  palpable, and so generally
known, that to dwell on it, either in illustration or proof, would be
a waste .if time.  Nor, to physicians of intelligence, are the grounds
and  causes of it  less familiar.  To such physicians it is further
known, that  both hospital diseases  and hospital practice are alto-.
gether peculiar—different alike from the common diseases  which
physicians encounter, and  the usual practice they are obliged to
pursue, both in cities and in the country.   Hence there exists in
three different situations a like number of striking and well defined
modifications  of disease and treatment; one in hospitals, another
in cities,  and  the third  in country situations.   Nor does an experi-
mental and practical acquaintance with one of these modifications,
quality the  practitioner  for success in  the  others.  A competent
knowledge of each he can acquire  only by being conversant with
each.
   Administered  as  the schools of medicine in  the United  States
now are. to none but resident pupils is the practice of their hospi-
tals  of the smallest service.
   As already stated, the great body of their pupils attend but four
months in  the year, to  receive  instruction from public lectures,
during the whole of which time they have no leisure for any thing
else, except to read  and study bv candle light   From such attend-
ance on hospital practice  as would be at all beneficial to them, their
other and more  important engagements absolutely prohibit them.
Hence, during the entire session, the most industrious and best in-
formed pupils rarely enter the wards of an  infirmary
   Nor is this all.   The session is held during the winter months,
that being the most suitable time for the teaching of anatomy.
   The acute complaints of summer and autumn, the knowledge of
which is by far the most important to the country practitioners of
the West and South, have terminated; and the only diseases which
the wards of the hospitals and infirmaries now  present, are those
of intemperate and  debilitated  paupers.   They  are such compli-
cated chronic affections as but very utrely occur in country prac-
tice—In the practice of a great majority of physicians they nevev
occur
   Nor are they, for the most part, under the power of medicine.
They present themselves only to baffle our art, because they  exist
in constitutions  shattered by  inveterate  habits  of  irregularity.
Could it even be attained, therefore, experience in the treatment
of them would avail but little   As an acquaintance with transcen-
dentalism teaches us what  knowledge  we . have no powers  to ac-
quire, such experience would inf)rm us of certain diseases  which
we cannot cure,  and nothing further
   In proof that infirmary  and  hospital patients are utterly unsuita-
ble, as subjects of experimental knowledge,  to country  practition-
ers, or indeed to  practitioners  of any description, the following 
78
 extract must be deemed conclusive.  It  is taken from Jackson^s
 Clinical  Reports,  American  Journal of Medical Science,  No  1,
 p. 87.
   "The Alms house of thiscity (Philadelphia)  includes under the
 same roof,an infirmary or hospital for medical and surgical cases,
 a poor-house for indigent, and a work-house for vagabonds.  This
 last circumstance gives to  it somewhat of a disieputable charac-
 ter,  and few who have remains  of  a sense of decency  and self-
 respect, and  desire to be esteemed respectable, will seek  refuge in
 its wards  unless compelled by absolute necessity.  The  majority
 of the patjents are individuals of the very  lowest orders of society,
 many of them the victims of the grossest habits of depravity, and
 nearly all suffering  more or less from intemperance,
  A  large proportion of the diseases are chronic  in character, the
 consequences of the abuse of ardent  spirits, of exposure  to the
 inclemencies of the seasons, of  deficient or improper alementa-
 tion, &c.
  Acute diseases are rarely  seen in the first week, more  usually
 they are not brought into the house until the second,  or third or
 fourth week from the commencement,  and it is .very  seldom the
 patient has not, from his habits, more or less affected the  integrity
 of his  constitution.  It frequently happens,  that  the  patient  on
 admission, both  in acute and  chronic diseases, has advanced into
 the last stage, is absolutely in  a hopeless condition, disorganization
ef some of the tissues or organs has taken place,  and often he is in
 a^ticulo mortis.  It is a common practice, but which merits severe
reprehension, to send patients,  as soon  as they are despaired  of,
into the Alms house, there to  die; and  it has frequently happened
 that  they have expired on the way,  or before they could be got
 into the ward.
  It has been an occurrence m one week, for three patients to be
 sent from an  institution of this city  into the Alms-house, of whom
 one died in the yard, another on the staircase, and  a  third  in half
 an hour  after being placed  in  a  bed   The Alms house infirmary
 can be  regarded as little better than a hospital of the incurable and
 the dying.   It is uncommon for a week to pass without the admission
 of patients in the last extremity."
  To render  the matter still worse, when the  hospital physician is
 walking his round of examination and prescription, the wards are
 usually so thronged  by  the class, and such a degree of disorder pre-
 vails, that nothing can be attended to with calmness or  advantage.
To observe accurately  or fhink seriously, in  the  midst of  such a
 bustle, is altogether impossible.  Hence, as already mentioned, the
 most industrious and judicious pupils, finding that they can employ
 the hour to much more advantage in their private rooms, are rare-
 ly found in the jostling crowd.  Such are the boasted advantages
 of hospital and infirmary practice to  a large class  in the  medical
 ichool! 
n
  To show the  light  estimate set on  such practice, under such
disadvantages, by the pupils of sschools of medicine in other coun-
tries, the following anecdote, which  occurred some years ago, in
one of the Edinburgh infirmaries, may not be altogether unworthy
to be told.
 • The ward of the building was so crowded with pupils, that the
great body of them not only could  not approach the patients, to
inquire into their cases, but could not even hear a single remark of
the prescribing physician.
  In this state of things, that some show of communicating informa-
tion might be kept up, the class was marshaled, four  or five abreast*
in a column extending to such atdistance, that,  amidst the din of
numbers, the professor's  lungs  could  throw his voice along but a
very small portion  of it.  To remedy this evil, tellers were  sta-
tioned at suitable  points of the  column, whose business  was to
splice their voices to that of the professor, as a sailor ties one rope
to the end of another, catch, as they flitted past them, his uttered
remarks and prescriptions, and hand or rather tongue them along,
with suitable gravity, to their more distant comrades.  Things be-
ing thus arranged, and an attempt made to enforce order  and at-
tention, by a stentorian vociferation  of the word "silence!" by the
master teller, the cuitain rose, and the farce began.
   Professor   " Patient no better,"
    1st Teller. " Patient no better,"
   2d  Ditto   " Patient  no better,"
   3d  Ditto.  " Patient no better," and  so on  to the end  of the
column.
   Professor.  "Pulse tense and quick,"
   1st Teller.  "Pulse tense and quick,"
   2d  Ditto.  "Pulse tense and quick,"                   *r
   3d  Ditto.  " Pulse tense and quick," and thus as before.
   Professor.  "Tongue furred,"
   1st Teller. "Tongue furred,"
   2d  Ditto.  "Tongue furred,"
   3d  Ditto.  "Tongue furred," and so to the end.
   Professor.  "A pimple on the nose,"
   1st Teller. "A pimple on the nose,"
   2d  Ditto.  "A pimple on the nose."
 But here a sad catastrophe occurred, which, ever since, the family
 of Esculapius have had reason to lament.   The third teller  hap-
 pening to be a mirth-making and fun-loving young Virginian, and
 able to tolerate no longer a scene so ludicrous, exclaimed, in a deep
 and soleipn tone, which shook at once the walls with its  force, and
bis companions with laughter,
   " A pintle* on the nose,"
 and thus interrupted  the sage and  momentous  instructions of the
 morning.  And I sincerely trust that  there  will never be wanting
*A vulgar Scotch-Irish terra for penis. 
80
 some young American, of sufiicient discernment and independence,
 thus to interrupt and treat as it deserves, every such scene of sob
 emn mummery, wherever it may be presented.
   For the substantial truth of this anecdote, Idare  refer to a very
 distinguished professor in one of our Atlantic schools, whom 1 have
 heard narrating it with great good  humour, and peculiar point, and
 who< I believe, was  a  member of the class in which the event oc-
 curred.   And, what is more to my purpose, the professor used it
 in derision  of (he futility  of hospital practice in a large pchool of
 medicine*  Yet the school to which he is now an ornament, boasts
 of such practice.
   That this representation of the utter uselessness of hospital prac-
 tice to a large class is neither unfounded nor too  highly coloured,
 is perfectly known to every pupil who has  attempted  a winter at-
 tendance  in any of the infirmaries of the Atlantic  cities.' Howev-
 er curious or interesting the inexperienced  pupil  may  deem the
 ■reputed instruction, when communicated to  him by  the physician ia
 attendance, he  finds it  wholly unavailing in  his  future practice.
 No  well  trained  practitioner, of the  age of thicty,  pursuing his
 profession in the country, ever remembers or attempts to remem-
 ber ought that he had heard, in hospital prescriptions, at the'age of
 twenty-one
  But there exist yet other reasons why an attendance on the prac-
tice  of large hospitals and infirmaries cannot be useful to students
 of medicine destined to pursue their profession  in the country.
  Those  institutions are furnished with  a  sufficient number  of
 faithful and trust-worthy  attendants, experienced nurses, *»nd every
 Other convenience that experience  can indicate, invention devise^
 and  money procure.
  Hence modes  of treating diseases are  adopted in them, which,
 were they even  proper and requisite, would be altogether imprac-
 ticable in  country situations, where no nich  supply of nurses, atten-
 dants, and conveniences  exist.  Instead of such modes, therefore,
 country practitioners are compelled  to  avail themseves of other
 expedients.   And of those expedients  which are  pru.tically efii-
•cient, a knowledge can he attained oiiginally  by experience alone •
 and  taught only by those  who have  thus attained it.
  To the  truth  of all this,  physicians who have long resided and
 practised  in the country,  will abundantly testify.
  In further corroboration  of the sentiments here  advanced, there
 are,  at this moment,  in the. town of Lexington, letters from pupils
 in one of  the Atlantic scbools, setting forth, in the strongest terms,
and  with feelings of disappointment and dissatisfaction, the futility
 and  uselessutss of the much vaunted  hospital  practice  of the in-
 stitution.
  The reason, then, why  attendance on infirmary practice, by large
glasses, is  still announced a* highly important, and  even essential
 in a  medical education. I leave to be rendered by  others.  A re-
 luctance to offend forbids  me to disclose  it.  For t!.e credit of the 
til
profession I ardently hope  that  the  practice  will be abandoned.1
Magnanimity and ingenuousness have no concern in it.   And if it
can be shown  to be consistent with  honesty and truth, the task of
doing it is resigned to others.   I shall not attempt it.
  On this topic I shall only add, that wherever professors  highly
qualified unite in  the. project of erecting a distinguished school of
medicine, with resolution,  perseverance, and  continued harmony,
whether it be in a large or a small town, provided similar projects
be  not  too numerous in the  same region, the effort will be suc-
cessful.
  But if, on the contrary, the attempt be  not thus made by  able
teachers, and perfect harmony be not thus maintained, though  the
seat of the school were-London, Paris, Constantinople, or Peking, the
effort will fail.   So true is it, that powerful, discreet,  and enter-
prizing individuals, and not large cities and crowded hospitals, con-
stitute the soul of  such  institutions.  But to return to  the more im-
mediate object of this address.*
  In the diseases  of the great valley  of the Mississippi there is
much that is peculiar, which can be learnt only by observation and
experience.  As yet a full and correct account of it makes no  part
of the records of medicine.  Nor can  it ever be reduced to a re-
cord form, except by the practical physicians of the place   On
this subject, as on many others, Western  America must instruct
   * Let no one, on account of the preceding sentiments, charge me
 with  hostility to either hospital practice or anatomical dissection.
 The accusation, if  made, will he malicious and groundless.  I am
friendly to both.   But it is to  both under proper and favourable cir-
 cumstances.   It is to the reality of both, and  not to empty pretension
 in relation to  them.  I am friendly to such arrangements as  will
 allow pupils .actually  to profit by  dissection and an attendance on
 the practice of hospitals.  But  1  am hostile, and  will always so
 express myself and so act, to the alluring of students to schools by
 proffered advantages which can never be  realized, and  splendid
 promises known to be  baseless, and which  must, therefore, necessa-
 rily terminate in disappointment.   1 am, in fact, friendly to honesty
 and fair dealing in  schools of medicine, as well as in other institu-
 tions, and inimical to the debasing of an honourable  and  elevated
 profession, by management and trick.
   Let a general arrangement be set on foot, by which the term of
 medical  pupilage  will be necessarily extended,  and ample time
 afforded for further attainment in anatomy, and all  other branches
 of the profession, and  I will not be either  last or most lukewarm in
 recommending its adoption.
   But while I have an intellect to think, a tongue to  speak, or a
 hand  to write, I will oppose, denounce, and, as far as possible, expose
 and defeat, every scheme of medical teaching, in which I recognize
 trickery and delusion, and where hollow  pretension is given  as a
 substitute for solid  realitv.
                               I, 
82
herself.  From'her sister of the East she can derive no assistance.
The book of nature is her only resource; and that she finds written
i'!i every thing around her, in characters so  plain and  prominent,
that she can easily decipher them.   Nor, if she be true to herself,
will she any longer allow the precious volume to  remain unread.
  A Journal  of medicine  and science is now  established in this
place, as a repository to receive, and a channel to communicate to
the public, such interpretations of  portions of the book of nature,
;;s may  be placed  under the  control of its editors, and as may be
(teemed  by them worthy of  preservation.  And from the  impor-
tance of the fountain  which is thus opened, and  the balmy and
healing streams which will  certainly issue from  it, should the pro-
ject prove successful,  1 cannot permit myself to doubt, for a mo-
ment, that the supplies  they will receive to aid  them, in their en-
terprise, will be valuable and abundant.
  As from every point of the  mighty valley, to which he has given
his  name, currents  hasten  to swell the treasures of our prince of
rivers, 1 firmly trust, that, from every portion of the same region,
where  the wilderness has yielded to  civilized  man, currents  of
knowledge will ultimately flow,  to fill the repository the editors
have  established  for the  benefit of a profession, the interests  of
which it is at once their duty and their  ambition to promote.   And
to this effect my confidence is the stronger, inasmuch as all  those
on whom they rely for tribute will be equally interested in the en-
terprise with themselves—in  whatever honours or more substan-
tial benefactions it may eventually bestow on medicine in the  West.
For, of all the maxims that time has established, none is more true,
and few mote important, than that expressed in the three words
u qui docet, discit"—he that teaches others, teaches himself.
  Nor is this all.  The  common treasury being  filled will throw
back the influence  of its aggregate  wealth on each one whose
tribute has aided in its  augmentation.
  In simpler language.  I feel persuaded that the time has  arrived
whoa a Journal of medicine  may be  conducted and maintained
with perfect  facility,  and  rendered  pre eminently useful, in this
portion  of Western America.
  Through such a channel  alone can the knowledge  of important
improvements and discoveries in the medical profession, whether
made in Europe,or in the ec-.tern section of the  United States, be
diffused with the requisite celerity, certainty,  and ease, among the
physicians of these extended and secluded regions of our  country.
  It is now known, by experience, that all  other  modes of commu-
nicating such information are too precarious, slow,  and costly, to
meet the exigencies, and subserve  the  interests of Western  prac-
titioners.  To be circulated in so short a time,  that, added  to its
truth, it may have the  freshness and  influence of novelty to  re-
commend it, and to such an extent as may meet the demands and
expectations of the profession, it must be committed to the pages of
a western Journal,. 
m
  Without the aid of such a  medium it can reach but a small
portion of the physicians  of this  great  interior section of the
Union   With such aid, it may be  possessed by them all—a con-
sideration that cannot be too highly prized by the votaries of sci-
ence, and the friends of humanity; and for the accomplishment  of
which, all efficient and available means should  be  brought  into
action.
  But, if  competently conducted, as I feel confident it  will he, i'-s
highest value will not be imparted to our Journal by filling its pages
with matter derived  from  distant  sources.   The .medical profes-
sion of the West has knowledge  of its own,  which, if placed on
record, and skilfully managed, is by far the most- important for its
own purposes.  The physicians of the West  are alone competent
to the treatment of the  diseases  of the West.   They  are, there-
fore, alone competent  to  iustruct themselves  on  sundry topics
of the  utmost m*oment,as relates to  their profession.
  Long experience has given to many  of them  an amount of sci-
ence and practical  knowledge, which, if diffused through,the press,
would  be, in a high degree, honourable to themselves and useful to
the public.  It would convert into  common  property, cause to be
circulated more widely, and render much more operative and ben-
eficial, an abundant  amount of intellectual capital which has been
hitherto too much  locked up in  individual coffers.  Of such a con-
dition of things, the vast importance and felicitous consequences to
the medical profession, in the regions of the Mississippi,  are too
obvious to need a  recital.
  But  if,  by entering into an energetic confederacy, the physicians
of the West and  South can be induced to throw into a commoa
stock the  information they possess on professional subjects,  it is not
themselves alone that will  be benefitted by the measure.  The ag-
gregate blaze of knowledge which will be thus  formed by the in-
numerable minor  lights that will lend their radiance,  will throw
its lustre on the most distant portions, not only of our own, but  of
foreign countries.   Thus will the West reciprocate with the East
a share of the benefactions it has been  so long deriving from that
quarter, without having yet made any adequate return.
  To a scheme of co operation like this, the physicians generally
of Western America would seem to be invited by considerations
which  they ought not to resist.
  A sentiment of gratitude for  benefits received, a due regard fai-
th e honour and interests of their  profession at large, hut especially
as confined to their own country and the region where they re-ide.
feelings of local patriotism  urging them to the aggrandizement of
their native  or adopted portion of our  union, the welfare of the
human family as connected with the preservation and the  restora-
tion of health, and the powerful incentive of personal reputation—■
such are the motives, which, added to their immediate interests, in-
vite the  physicians  generally of the valley of the  Mississippi  to
co-operate in the establishment of a Journal of medicine.        • 
81
   But to the numerous pupils, in particular, of the school of Trai.-
 sylvania, who are scattered over such an extensive portioji of that
 valley,  or residing elsewhere,  I would venture  to  address myself
 on a different ground. By remembrances, and other considerations,
 which rarely fail to find their  way to the hearts of the youthful,
 and even of those  who  are advanced  in years, I would ask from
 them matter  to enrich the pages  of the work that is established at
 the place where they were educated.
   United to other inducements to incline them  to patronize it, a
 Journal so immediately associated  with their alma mater, cannot
 easily, and, in public estimation, will not, be separated entirely from
 their own standing and character;  and must, therefore, naturally
 and neccssarilv have a hold on their affections.
   By the pledge, then, of those affections, called forth during the
 glow of the spring-time of life, when they were in quest of educa-
 tion, by  the tender and high estimation and  regard in which they
 hold that education,  and by their attachment to the fountain from
 which it was  derived—as  they  arc   anxious that the former be
 deemed efficient and valuable,  and the latter maintain her honoura-
 ble standing among  the institutions of America, and  continue to
 proven  blessing to  the great  community of the'West and  the
 South—By  these considerations, I say,  and such other kindred
 ones as may suggest  themselves to their own intellect, I would so-
 licit them to unite their labours with those of  the  Editors, to enrich
 and sustain  a  Journal, in the character and fate of which those sev-
 eral feelings and interests are deeply concerned.
   Since  the period at which many of them went forth from under
 the auspices of Transylvania, clothed  in the honours  that belong
 to their  profession^ sufficient time  has  elapsed to enable them to
 collect materials to illustrate and confirm the principles they imbi-
 bed during  the course of their  pupillage, to draw fresh  and addi-
 tional knowledge from the  great store house of nature, in the midst
 of which they dwell, and  fully to mature  it by experience and re-
 flection.  They are  prepared, therefore, to send back to the source
 Where they  received the seed, some portion of the rare and ripen-
 ed fruits they  have  been cultivating,  to be publicly dispensed for
 the benefit of  their race.
   Nor do I  permit myself  to doubt, for a moment, either the cor-
 rectness and warmth of their filial feelings, their resolution to main-
 tain the honour of their education,  or their ambition to contribute
 to the advancement of their profession, and to the amelioration of
 the condition of man.  On their ready and energetic Co operation,
 therefore, in the maintenance of the Journal, 1 calculate with a con-
 fidence, which nothing but actual disappointment can shake.
   The distinguished and justly honoured efforts which some of the
 pupils of Transylvania have already made, for  the advancement
 of the interests of  medicine,  and  of  the  scientific reputation of
^Vestern America, while they can scarcely  fail  to serve as incen-
tives to  others, to engage  in a career  of laudable emulation, are 
Hi)
regarded as earnests of further and still  richer contributions frona
the same quarters.  Nor will the sons  of Transylvania, wherever
they rrtay reside, fail to pour  the riches of their intellect into the
Transylvania Journal, in preference to any other that our country
may present.
  But although expectation points most naturally to the physicians
of the West and the South, and hope reposes especially on their la-
bouis^ there are other sources, whence valuable  and abundant ma-
terials may be drawn.   Under the able and liberal direction of its
distinguished Editors,  the  Transylvania  Journal, rising like a new
and brilliant luminary in the West, will claim the attention of eas-
tern writers, and become a point of occasional  attraction for im-
portant communications'from the most distant portions of the Uni-
ted States. 
1  A'/  7 >/i --i





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