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LETTERS

BROTHER JOHN.

LETTERS

BROTHER JOHN,

LIFE, HEALTH, AND DISEASE.

BY EDWARD JOHNSON, SURGEON.
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rot tiros. HOMER.

LONDON:
SAUNDERS AND OTLEY.

1837.

LONDON:
PRINTED BY UICIIARD WATTS,

Crown Court, Temple Bar.

ADVERTISEMENT.

THE following LETTERS were published, about
twelve months since, in the METROPOLITAN MA-
GAZINE ; and are now reprinted in a regnlar and
improved form.

In presenting1 this New Edition to the Public,
the author has been governed by several conside-
rations. The primary one is, his desire to supply
several things which escaped attention, in first pre-
paring the Letters for the Press, at stated pe-
riods, when his mind was often occupied with the
duties of his profession. Another motive was, his
wish to comply with the solicitations expressed,
not only by the author's personal friends, but also
with those communicated to him by letter from
persons residing in various parts of the kingdom.

The author trusts, that, by exhibiting the va-
rious phenomena of LIFE, HEALTH, and DISEASE —

ADVERTISEMENT.

by describing the LAWS by which they are go-
verned— by illustrating, in a pleasing and familiar
manner, the MECHANISM of the several LIVING
ACTIONS — and divesting the whole of all technica-
lities— he has been able to place before his readers
more correct views than are generally obtained from
volumes of higher pretensions. It has been his aim
so to illustrate the several functions of our organs —
their intimate bearing upon each other, particularly
in the MECHANISM OF NUTRITION — that the reader
cannot possibly fail to understand their real nature
and use; and be enabled to regulate his conduct
(so far as it relates to his mode of living) according
to the dictates of sound reason. He has also been
scrupulously careful not to lay down any rule of
conduct, by means of which HEALTH may be pre-
served or regained, and DISEASE avoided, without
supporting it by a series of arguments, which are
in themselves indisputable.

E. JOHNSON.

224 Blackfriars Road.

CONTENTS.

PREFACE ... p. i— ix.

LETTER I.

SUBJECT introduced, 1 — Supposed course of procedure, if the
construction of Man had been undertaken by a Being less than
Omniscient. 3 — Functions of the Brain considered, 13 —
Faculty of Speech, its results and influence, 16— The terms
Digestion, Indigestion, Dyspepsia, &c. improperly retained in
Medical language, 22 — Substitutes proposed, 25 — ASSIMILATING
ORGANS — Difference between venous and arterial blood, 27 —
Course of the ARTERIES and VEINS described, 29 — Constitution
of the ULTIMATE TISSUE, 30— Character 33 — Richard Coeur-
de-Lion, 36 — RUTSCH'S opinion of the Muscular Fibre, 41.

LETTER II.

Distribution of the ABSORBENTS and NERVES explained, 43 — The
mode of action of an ABSORBENT illustrated, 44 — PUNCTUM
LACHRYMALE, 47 — The course of an ABSORBENT traced — Glan-
dular formations, 49 — MODUS VIVENDI illustrated, 50 — SE-
CRETORY GLANDS — Ruysch's opinion of the nature and forma-
tion of a Gland, 50— The course of an ARTERY traced till it
assumes the structure of a GLAND, 55 — NERVOUS SYSTEM, 58
— Mr. Green's opinion of the great SYMPATHETIC NERVE, GO-
CELLULAR WEB, 65 — Office of the NERVOUS FLUID, 68.

LETTER III.
NATURE OF LIFE, 70 — Distinction drawn between LIFE and

VITALITY, 70 — ORGANISM, 73 — CONTRACTILITY and SENSIBI-
LITY, 74 — Operations of the WILL, 79 — STIMULI, 86.

CONTENTS.

LETTER IV.

Laws of SENSIBILITY, 96 — Particular STIMULI, 97 — Concentration
of SENSIBILITY, 102 — SYMPATHY, 103 — A case of extreme
illness depicted, 109 — A peep into my Lady's chamber, shew-
ing an approximation to the foregoing, 1 1 1 — High degrees of
Sensibility incompatible with healthy Contractility, 113—
What condition of the body favourable to SENSIBILITY, 115 —

MORAL SENSIBILITY, 118.

LETTER V.

Process and Mechanism of Nutrition 121 — depending on the com-
bined action of Absorption, Circulation, Respiration, Secretion —
greater and lesser circle of the Circulation described, 122—
FOOD, traced from its entrance at the mouth until it becomes a
part of the living body, 130—111 effects produced by improper
aliment, 135 — Office of the PYLORIC VALVE, 153 — Certain
facts resulting from the foregoing, 153 — Injurious tendency of
COMFORTS, 155 — Symptoms of Disease, 162 — Quackery, 165
— EXPERIENCE, alone, not to be depended on, 166.

LETTER VI.

Beauty, harmony, precision, prevail throughout nature — confusion
and derangement found only in man, 168 — Estimates of hu-
man life, 171— Disease and premature death, no part of the
original design, 181.

LETTER VII.

Formidable and distressing train of symptoms arising from Assi-
milation imperfectly performed — Two cases illustrative of its
moral influence, 196— On the choice of a Physician, 199 —
Actual condition of the solids and fluids examined in cases of
disordered Assimilation, 200— State of the Ultimate Tissue
particularly, 203— Secretion of air, 211.

CONTENTS.

LETTER VIII.

Subject continued — Unnatural habits of artificial society consi-
dered, 214 — Comforts compared to opiates, 217 — Discomforts,
their use — Incentives to healthy Exertion therefore neces-
sary, 218— Not to be avoided with impunity, 223— Analogy
between animals and plants, 226 — Instances of great hard-
ship and privation unaccompanied by disease, 227.

LETTER IX.

Necessity of temperance in eating, 231 — Formation of fat,
considered as a natural remedy, against indulgence in feeding,
has no other use, 243 — Disrelish or disgust a natural instinct,
as much so as hunger, 243 — Modern Cookery, 245 — Daily
quantity of food depends on amount of labour undergone, 249
• — Stimulants considered — Wine, 250 — its real value exa-
mined, 252— Definition of Poison, 255— Mr. Brodie's experi-
ment, 257 — Maxim of Euripides, 260 — Common fallacies
answered, 262— Eastern Allegory, 263— Exercise, the only
talismanic agent, 265 — Waste must precede Repair, 267 —
Natural means of Disorganization, 270' — How is it that the
Intemperate frequently escape the natural penalty? — replied
to, 275 — Good humour and equanimity of mind the offspring
of healthy exercise, 277— Remarks on training, 282— Solidifi-
cation can only proceed during sleep, 284.

LETTER X.

General Remarks on Civilization.

PREFACE.

SOMETIME since, I received a letter from a near
and dear relative ; in which he stated, that he had
been for a considerable time an invalid, labouring
under a combination of the most dissimilar sym-
ptoms ; all of which, he was assured, are repre-
sented by the term " indigestion." He complained
bitterly, that he could not obtain any satisfactory
information as to the real nature of this Protean
malady, nor as to the probability of his perfect and
permanent recovery. When he questioned his me-
dical attendants on the subject, they evinced every
disposition to satisfy him ; but they could not avoid
making use of phrases which were to him words
without meaning. These phrases were, nevertheless,
only such as are in common and daily use among
all classes — phrases which he himself had frequently
used, and fully supposed he understood ; but which

U PREFACE.

he now found, when he strictly examined them,
really conveyed no definite idea to his mind. He
was told that his "digestion was impaired." He
asked what was meant by that ; and was told, his
" digestive apparatus was deranged in its economy."
My poor brother was still no nearer the mark ; and
his medical attendant, observing his puzzled look,
proceeded to explain and make the matter perfectly
clear, by telling him, that his "secretions were
depraved, his gastric juice deficient, his nutritive
functions feebly performed, and that the tone, the
energy, the nisus formativus — in fact, the vis vita —
was full twenty per cent, below par." The enlight-
ened patient bowed his gratitude for this luminous
explanation ; and sadly re-seated himself in his chair
of sickness— as wise, perhaps, but certainly no wiser,
than he was before.

Now, my brother is neither a profound mathe-
matician, nor a proficient in astronomy, nor a per-
fect chemist ; but he possesses what may be called
a gentlemanly acquaintance with all these. That is
to say, he understands the great general and fun-
damental laws which govern them ; and therefore,
if he be asked a question in any one of these sci-
ences, although he might not be able to answer

it, yet he would readily understand its nature
and purport; and if the problem involved in that
question were explained to him, he would have no
difficulty in comprehending it. But not so with
the science of health and disease, or rather that
which teaches the nature of health and disease : — and
the reason clearly is, because he knows nothing
whatever of the fundamental laws upon which life
depends — nothing whatever of the several actions
which constitute life — nothing whatever of the inti-
mate structure of the living organs. He knows
neither how he lives, nor how he moves, nor how
he breathes — neither the " how " nor the " why"
The very language of the science is a dead letter to
him ; — being borrowed, I verily believe, from every
tongue that was ever spoken, and, for aught I know,
from some that were never spoken at all. It is
true, he has some notion of the general appearance
of a few of the larger organs, because he has seen
similar organs in dead animals. For instance, he
has seen a great reddish mass of flesh, and has heard
it called a liver; and he has been told, that in
the liver the bile is made ; but beyond this vague
and meagre notion he knows literally nothing. As
to how the manufacture is performed — BY what, and
FROM what — or what are the several steps and stages

of the operation — as to all this, which constitutes
the very kernel of the nut, and without which the
shell is nought, he is in worse than Cimmerian
darkness.

Having read my brother's letter, and digested
its contents, I was forcibly struck with the truth of
his remarks, and felt that he really had just cause
for lamentation. I then conceived, that a small
concise work, clearly explaining, in common lan-
guage, the nature of the animal economy — the
mechanics of the internal man — the mechanism of
life, detailing, step by step, what actually takes
place in the performance of each of the functions
concerned in the preservation of life and health,
and how, and by what causes, life is sustained — it
struck me, I say, that such a work would be
highly acceptable to the public, and would supply
a desideratum in the minor scientific literature of
the country.

There is no mystery into which mankind are
more curious to pry than into that of their internal
structure; — and certainly there is none on earth
which so nearly concerns them. There are many
books written with a view to give men a general

PREFACE. V

notion of the laws respecting their property ; and it
seems to me astonishing that there should not be
one, calculated to inform them concerning those
infinitely more important laws which concern their
health. Every gentleman is supposed to know
something — the general principles, at least — of all
the liberal sciences, excepting that particular one in
which alone he has any really great and personal
interest. I do think that such a work as I have
attempted to describe (providing it were well and
plainly written, and all technicalities and unneces-
sary minutiae carefully avoided) would be read with
great attention and interest, and, I trust, profit, by
all classes. It would also be read, I think, by
invalids, in order to acquire some notion as to
their own maladies, and so be better qualified to
understand and practise the rules of regimen pre-
scribed by their medical advisers : and it would
occasionally be consulted, perhaps, by those who
were not invalids, to acquaint themselves with the
best manner of preserving the blessing, of which
they were then in possession. I believe, also, that
such a work would tend more than any other
to induce men to practise those rules of conduct
which are best calculated to preserve and promote
health; because men are ever more ready to do

VI PREFACE.

do this or that, when they can themselves clearly
see and understand its necessity — and the manner
Aoir, and reason why, that necessity exists — than
when they have no other authority than the
dictum of another, however high their respect
for his knowledge and judgment may be. Neither,
as I think, should medical men take offence at
the publication^ of such a work ; as it would have
a direct tendency to ennoble their profession — to
render it purely scientific — and to divest it of that
mystification by which it was formerly so much
disgraced, and of which a portion still remains.
If patients themselves had a clear general acquaint-
ance with their own internal machinery — of the
nature of the several offices intended to be fulfilled
by the several parts of that machinery, and of the
nature of disease in general ; and when, with their
mind's eye, they looked into themselves, and beheld
the complicated and delicate clock-work — every
wheel in motion, every spring in operation — all
acting in concert, and all tending to one purpose, yet
requiring only the slightest imprudent interference
to throw the whole into disorder and irreparable
confusion — when, I say, they saw all this, they
could not but feel and acknowledge, that so beau-
tiful, complicated, and wonderful a machine could

PREFACE. VU

only be regulated by the hand of a mechanician in-
timately acquainted with its minutest structure,
and with the particular uses and manner of hand-
ling the several instruments necessary to rectify
whatever derangement may have accidentally be-
fallen it. It would also materially conduce to
destroy the predilection of the public mind for
quacks and quackery : for who that knows any
thing at all of the animal economy, and of the
nature of disease, can for one instant be gulled
into a belief that any one remedy can be, at all
times, good or proper, even for the same disease,
and for the same patient? A bumper of brandy
will cure the headache, providing that it be caused
by a disordered stomach ; but a glass of brandy,
administered for a headache arising from inflam-
mation of the brain, would, in all human probabi-
lity, destroy the patient. And how is the patient
to know from what cause his headache arises ?

Such a work I have, to the best of my ability,
executed ; — and I have done so in a series of fami-
liar Letters ; because I thought that it would afford
me the best opportunity of employing a plain and
conversational style, which is more necessary when
writing for readers who have no acquaintance what-

Vlll PREFACE.

ever with the subject treated. For the same rea-
son, I have avoided all professional pedantries, all
learned technicalities, all crack-jaw words (when it
could be done consistently with perspicuity); and I
have described just so much, and no more, of the
structure of the body as I thought sufficient to give
the general reader a clear idea of those parts only
which are concerned in the preservation of health.
Thus, in speaking of the heart, I have divided it
into two cavities — a right and a left ; although, in
fact, each of those cavities is again divided into two
others. But, as a knowledge of this fact is not at
all necessary to the understanding the general func-
tions of the heart; and, as the description of this
second division into cavities would necessarily in-
volve a description of mitral, semilunar, and tricus-
pid valves, fleshy columns, tendinous cords, cur-
tains, &c. — all of which would be " caviare to the
general"; I have thought it best to confine myself
to the first grand division — the only one necessary
to be known, in order to acquire a lucid notion of
the course pursued by the blood. I pretend not
herein to teach the anatomical structure of our
organs generally; but only to exhibit the several
changes necessary to nutrition, which are wrought
upon our food within the ULTIMATE TISSUE of

PREFACE. IX

those organs, — and to shew how those changes are
effected.

Such are the nature and objects of the work
which I now present to the public. Whether I
have succeeded in achieving those objects, or not,
must be left to the decision of the reader.

E. J.

Blackfriars Road,
Dec. 15, 1835.

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN,

&c. &c.

LETTER I.

224 Blackfriars Road,

20th Jan. 1836.
MY DEAR JOHN,

IN reply to your Letter, wherein you complain
that you cannot gather any clear notion of the
nature of your malady, because you cannot attach,
in your own mind, any distinct idea to the terms
which your medical attendants seem obliged to use
in their endeavours to explain it to you ; I am
about to give you, in a series of Letters, a plain
and familiar description of the mechanism of your
internal man ; together with a brief history of
those internal motions and actions which constitute
animal life, and any disturbance in the harmony of
which constitutes disease. Thus, I think, I shall
easily enable you to surmount the difficulty of
which you complain. There is another benefit

which I intend should result from these Letters,
u

2 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. .

They will, I hope, enable you to understand what
diet is most proper for man, both in sickness and
in health ; and what are the habits of life which are
most likely to conduce to a sound mind and a sound
body. For if I were requested to teach a man
how to regulate his watch so as to make it keep
true time, I should think the best way to enable
him to do this, would be to make him acquainted
with the internal mechanism of a watch — shewing
him the uses of the several wheels and springs
which keep his watch going. So, I believe, the best
plan to teach men how to regulate their diet and
habits of life, so as to make their health keep true
time, is to make them acquainted with the mechanism
of their internal selves — shewing them the uses of
the several organs and fluids which keep LIFE going.
But, before we descend to particulars, it will be
as well to take a rapid and brief, but general,
survey of the several parts which form the com-
position of the animal, man. I say, the animal ;
because here we have nothing whatever to do with
the higher attributes of his nature* — attributes
which have no connexion with physical structure,
and the phenomena of which are wholly indepen-

* By which I mean — not the mind — not the reasoning fa-
culty ; but the soul — its immortality, &c.

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 3

dent of all physical laws : we are here wholly and
solely concerned simply with the physical animal.

The method I shall adopt, in order to exhihit
some of the principal systems of which the whole
scheme of man is made up, and to shew the relation
which exists between them, and the dependence of
one upon another, may he considered as fanciful.
Perhaps it is so. But it struck me as one well
calculated to render what I wish to say, easily com-
prehensible ; and that circumstance alone is a good
recommendation : for I am not ambitious of fine
writing-, either as it regards accurate arrangement,
philosophical speculation, or learned and elegant
diction: I am only anxious to be understood.

If man had been the work of any being less than
Omniscient, the several single ideas composing the
one complex idea of man must have occurred in
succession ; and the first must have been the idea
of his figure. The first idea could only have been,
as I shall prove presently, merely that of an image
or statue of the particular form and appearance
which man presents. I am, of course, for the pre-
sent, supposing man to have been the first animal
produced, and that his artificer was some Being of
inferior wisdom to that of Him who is, in truth.

Ins real Author.

B 2

4 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

Having conceived the idea of a particular figure,
and determined to construct one, the next point to
be settled, would be the kind of materials of which
to fashion it. Having chosen bone, and shaped
his image according to his preconceived idea, the
first of the series of single ideas forming the one
complex idea would be realized ; and a solid statue
of bone would be the result — a mere image of the
human form.

Contemplating the work of his hands, the desire
of endowing it with powers of locomotion might
then occur to him. In order to accomplish this,
the artificer would find it necessary, first, to divide
the statue into parts, (re-uniting these parts by
means of joints,) and then to contrive a number of
motive instruments, which, being attached to the
jointed statue, might enable it to move : as the
mechanic who wishes to move a heavy weight must
first construct his instruments of motion, such as,
wheels, pulleys, levers, &c. Having effected this
contrivance, the second idea of the series would be
realized — the idea of the muscular system.

But when he had contrived and attached his
muscles, he would find that the particular shape
and general appearance, which he had predeter-
mined his work should bear, was quite destroyed,

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 0

and that these same muscles attached to the outside
of the statue were a terrible disfigurement of its
external beauty and symmetry. To remedy this
evil, it would be necessary to scoop and pare down,
and hollow out, different parts of the image, and
then to fill up these hollows with his muscles ; and
thus restore those parts, which had been so cut
down, to their original size, and again bring his
image to its former shape and dimensions. But still
he would find, notwithstanding his muscles, that his
statue could not yet move, any more than a steam-
engine can move merely because it has ivheels,
unless there be some power to set those wheels in
motion. Hence would arise the third idea of the
series — that of a brain and nerves, whose office it
is to afford motive power to the muscles, which
are of themselves only motive instruments. This
motive power is to the muscles — which are, in fact,
only so many levers — what the mechanic's hand is
to the pulleys, wheels, &c. : it sets them in motion,
and keeps them moving. And here, again, he
would be obliged to hollow out another portion of
the bone, in order to make room for the brain and
spinal marrow, so that their attachment might not
destroy the symmetry of his image. The nerves,
which arise from the brain and spinal marrow, like

6 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

fibres from bulbous roots, and whose office it is to
carry the motive power from these roots to the
muscles, he would of course distribute and conceal
among the numberless little bundles of fibres of
which the muscles are composed.

Again contemplating his production, it would
occur to him, that the materials of which he had
found it necessary to construct it were liable to
decomposition and decay — putrefaction. To sur-
mount this new difficulty, it would be incumbent
upon him to contrive a conservative system : and
hence he would arrive at the fourth idea — that of a
system of nutrition. As the organs of this system
are large and numerous, he would be compelled to
hollow out the whole body of the statue, in order
to make room for them, and put them out of sight ;
leaving no more of the solid image than just suffi-
cient to support and give attachment to the several
new contrivances which, in improving upon his
original idea, he had been obliged to add.

Once more contemplating his work, he would
now be delighted to see his new, animated, and
improved statue moving from place to place, with-
out assistance. His satisfaction, however, would
be somewhat disturbed, by observing the grotesque,
awkward, and uncertain manner in which it pro-

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 7

ceeded, or rather zigzagged ; and, very soon, all his
joy would be suddenly turned into consternation
by beholding his unhappy automaton all at once
break its head against a post, or hop into a river,
and vanish beneath the waters.

Having fished it up from the stream, or
mended its broken head, it would now be tolerably
clear to him that his new creation was not yet per-
fect. He would see that it was absolutely neces-
sary to its safety that it should know when its path
was obstructed by a post or a pond. This would
suggest the idea of the organs of the senses ; being
the fifth idea, and completing that series, of which
the complex one, represented by the words " ani-
mal man," is composed. By the organs of the
senses, his object would be, to establish a certain
relation between it and the rest of the world — to
enable it to acquire ideas (by means of the experi-
ences of these senses) of whatever was likely to
inflict injury or afford pleasure ; that it might seek
the one, and avoid the other.

In considering what senses were necessary, he
would find that five were required. Having scooped
away another portion of what little of the bony
statue yet remained, and so introduced the eye and
ear ; and having found proper places for the addi-

8 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

tion of the organs of taste and smell; and thus
having disposed of /our, out of the five senses re-
quired, he might be supposed to pause, from
suddenly observing that there was yet an imperfec-
tion which had escaped his notice : for he would
see that the external surface of his image was very
unequal, from the many scoopings and hollowings
which it had undergone — that, though these had
been filled up by muscles, &c., they did not fit
with sufficient accuracy to make all smooth — that
some parts were soft, and others hard — that some
were of one colour, and some of another ; — whereas
the image, according to his preconceived idea,
should have been, as to its external appearance,
everywhere even, homogeneous, and soft to the
touch. How was this imperfection to be rectified ?
Having still the fifth sense to add, he resolved, it
may be supposed, to make use of this sense to re-
store the image to its originally predetermined
external appearance of homogeneous beauty. In-
stead, therefore, of making the sense of touch reside
in a single (rryan, he spread it over the entire surface
of a most delicate and beautiful membrane (the
skin) ; and wrapping the image in it, and seeing
that it fitted it with perfect accuracy, he would be
gratified to find that he had killed two birds with

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 9

one stone — that he had given to his image the de-
sired appearance — and, at the same time, found the
means of attaching the fifth sense without any more
hollowing and scooping.

But these organs of sense or feeling, being of
themselves only instruments of feeling (as the mus-
cles of themselves are only instruments of motion),
could be of no use, unless they were supplied by
some other organ with the power of feeling, i. e. the
ability to feel. But he could find no room for any
more organs, nor were more necessary ; for he had
only to take care that certain of the nerves arising
from the brain should be distributed to them ; and
his organs of sense were thus at once supplied with
the power of perfectly fulfilling their respective
offices, by means of a sensibility supplied to them
from the brain through these connecting nerves.
So, again, the organs of nutrition would have been
useless, unless he had taken care that they also
were properly supplied, by means of the nerves,
with motive power. But here a little careful
management was necessary ; for the brain is the
seat of the will. And if the organs of nutrition —
say the heart, for instance — had been subjected to
the influence of the will ; and if his image, in a fit

of the sulks, should take it into his head to will to
B 3

10 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

die, he would have nothing more to do but to will
his heart to stop. Besides, there must have been
a constant and painful exercise of the will kept up,
in order to keep the heart moving ; and whenever
our image fell asleep, that sleep must have been
eternal; for the will being asleep too, the heart
would stand still, and the image would be dead
before he had half finished his nap.

Dreading this fatal mis-hap, our Prometheus
would find himself compelled, therefore, to intro-
duce, among the organs of nutrition, several little
separate brains : from these he would cause to
arise nerves, which he would distribute to the
organs of nutrition; and he would unite these
nerves to others coming from the brain and spinal
marrow, making these points of union a sort of
barriers, beyond which the influence of the will
could not pass.

Having contrived all this to his satisfaction, he
once again, it may be supposed, carefully reviewed
his work ; — and having tipped the fingers and toes
with nails, ornamented and protected the head and
chin with hair, pencilled the eye-brows, and fringed
their lids; and having furnished his. jaws with
teeth, and taught him how to use them; he would
be glad that he had finished his work ; for, I think,

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHX. 11

he would have found it a very troublesome affair.

I do not pretend to say that the several ideas
composing the series would have occurred in the
particular order in which I have arranged them.
I only say, they must have arisen one after another ;
and that of the mere image must have been the
first : for, surely, it seems absurd to suppose that
the idea of a peculiar set of instruments of motion
could occur before the idea of something peculiar
to be moved by them — that the idea of a peculiar
system of nutrition should present itself before the
idea of a peculiar something to be nourished —
the idea of a peculiar source of motive power
before the idea of a something to be put in motion ;
— or that the idea of a peculiar system of organs of
sense, which may justly be termed organs for the
admission of pleasure and avoidance of pain, should
precede the idea of something to be pained or
pleased.

Besides, all the other parts of the body are
subservient to the mere image ; and we can assign
a distinct purpose to every part of the body, except
the bony skeleton. Thus, if one be asked, Why the
muscular system exists? the answer is ready — to
move the bones. Why the nutritive system ? — to
enable the bony edifice, together with its motive

12 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

appendages, to resist decay:— and so of all the
other systems. But if it be asked, Why was the
osseous structure created ? — who shall answer the
question ? Its purpose cannot be simply to support
the soft parts — this is only its secondary and adven-
titious use : for I have just shewn that the soft parts
are subservient to it, and not it to the soft parts.

To the Divine Artificer, however, the source of
all wisdom, and fountain of all that is good and all
that is beautiful, and to whom nothing is impossi-
ble, nothing difficult — to Him the whole complex
idea was present at the same instant of time : and
therefore, foreseeing, in His omniscience, all that
which could only occur to a finite mind step by
step, and little by little, He, from the first, provided
against all exigencies, and fashioned man at once
at he is.

Thus, then, we see that the body may be conve-
niently (at least for our present purpose) divided
into five principal systems. First come the bones :
secondly, the muscles moving these: thirdly, the
brain and nerves, from which the motive power of
the muscles — whether those moving the bones, or
those other hollow muscles which move the fluids,
such as, the heart, the arteries, &c. — is derived :
fourthly, the organs of the senses, by which the

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 13

Being, thus endowed, discriminates between that
which is conducive, and that which is detrimental to
his welfare ; enabling' him to seek the former, and
shun the latter ; and establishing a due connexion
between him and the objects which surround him :
and fifthly, the nutritive organs, nourishing and
sustaining life in the whole.

I have spoken of the motive power of the mus-
cles ; both the solid muscles, moving bones ; and the
hollow muscles, as the heart and arteries, moving
the fluids;-1- and I have said that each of these
derive their motive power from the brain and
spinal marrow (which is but an elongation of the
brain), and those little separate brains which are
placed within the cavities of the chest and abdomen.

The functions of the brain are not well under-
stood : but I believe it to be a gland which elabo-
rates out of the blood sent to it by the heart
— a fluid somewhat analogous, perhaps, in its
nature, to the fluid called electric ; and that this
fluid is carried out of the brain, and distributed
where it is wanted by the nerves. But the brain
is itself derived from the blood, which is circulated
through it by the heart. Whence, then, does the
heart derive its power of propelling the blood
through the brain — its motive power? We have

14 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

just seen from whence— from the brain. But this
is a paradox ! It is so ; — yet it is true.

The heart cannot send blood to the brain, till it
has been stimulated to do so by the brain ; and yet
the brain cannot elaborate the fluid by which it
stimulates the heart to motion, until it has already
received blood from the heart from which to elabo-
rate it, and by which it is itself nourished and
supported. The fact is, that the heart and brain
act on " the reciprocity system " : neither can do
without the other. Their reciprocal influence
moves in a circle. Neither can begin ; both must
exist simultaneously ; and the instant one dies, the
life of the other is extinguished. It is in vain to
seek the origin of this motion, by tracing it back-
ward : we only get from the heart of the embryo
to the heart of the parent — from the brain of the
embryo to the brain* of the parent. Where, then,
are we to look for the origin of this motion ?
There is but one source, my dear John, of all
motion, and all emotion. The motions in our
physical organs, as well as those which sustain the
planetary system, those which constitute chemical

* It will be clear to the physiological reader, that I have here
used the word brain to represent the whole cerebral root — the
brain, spinal marrow, and great sympathetic ganglionic system.

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 15

phaenomena, together with the emotions of the
mind, can only derive their origin from the great
primum mobile of all — the inscrutable FIRST CAUSE.
Ti$ f] rrjs /aircrew? ap^r] ei/ ry "^fvyri ', &r)\ov Bs,
axTTrep ev TO> 6A<j>, Qeo$, KO.I TTO.V £K£ivu>" Ktvei yap,
Trcof 7rat>Ta, TO £v 'HMIN Qetov. " What is the
beginning of motion in the soul 9 It is clear that it
is, as in the universe, the DEITY himself) and all in
Him; for the Divinity moves in us, as it moves all
things" Thus spoke the son of the old heathen
Greek physician of Stagira. It is a sentiment
which would not misbecome the lips of any Chris-
tian of the present day.

We have now taken a view, in the gross, of the
several parts of which man is made up. But, in
contemplating the new Being-, as we have seen him
turned out of the hands of our imaginary Pro-
metheus, has it not struck you, that something
extremely necessary to his safety had been for-
gotten ? Let us suppose, that the first living thing
he meets, after his creation, is a wolf, gaunt with
hunger. He cannot flee from him ; for the wolf
is swifter than he : he cannot resist him ; for the
wolf is stronger than he : he must perish, for want
of u-eapons of defence. In vain do his organs of the
senses warn him of the approach of danger : he can

16 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

neither shun it, nor resist it. What he still wants,
then, to secure him in his existence, are, weapons of
offence and defence.

Here, then, is a new difficulty. How is it to be
overcome ? Man was originally designed, not only
not to become the prey of the rest of the animal
creation, but to hold every other animal under his
own dominion — within his own power — under his
own controul, and at his own service. Nothing
short of Omnipotence could effect it; and I know of
no better proof of the divine origin of man, than
the solution of the following problem;— man and
the beast of prey being given, to give to the weaker
dominion over the stronger. How beautifully,
perfectly, yet simply, has the Almighty Ruler
surmounted this difficulty. Man SPEAKS ! — and
the problem is solved. By virtue of that mira-
culous little system of organs — the organs of
speech — what an immeasurable distance is, at one
instant, interposed between the reasoning powers
of the brute and his own ! These enable him to
add to the stock of knowledge resulting from his
own experience, the whole stock acquired by the
experience of his fellow-man. Thus he obtains
innumerable ideas, which could never have been
collected by the senses of one individual. These

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 17

he combines, analyses, re-combines, compares, ar-
ranges. New ideas give rise to new pursuits, and
new pursuits to new ideas. Thus his stock of
knowledge is continually augmented, as his sources
of ideas are multiplied; till his power, resulting
from his knowledge, is only inferior to that of his
Creator. The lion is lord of the forest ; but man is
lord of the lion. The stag and the antelope out-
strip the wind ; but man outstrips the antelope and
stag. The most powerful of the brute creation
become his obedient slaves. The tiger is hunted
and slain, or entrapped and imprisoned, and his
savage ferocity made subservient to his master's
amusement and profit. Man's superior reason,
therefore — ivhich he owes to his faculty of speech —
constitutes his weapon of offence and defence.

And here, again, I have been forestalled by the
Bard of Teios, — a vastly different personage, to be
sure, from Alexander's tutor, but, nevertheless, one
whose authority must not be disregarded : —
<bvcri<; Kspara ravpots,

O<$OVTO>V,

tV TO V1]KTOV,

<I>PONHMA.

18 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

" Nature hath given (for their weapons of of-
fence and defence) horns to bulls, hoofs to horses,
swiftness to hares, a cavern of teeth to lions; io
fishes, the power of swimming ; to birds, the power
of flying ,- — to man she has given WISDOM." *

I find Geoffrey Crayon supporting the same opi-
nion : — " Man is naturally more prone to subtlety
than open valour, owing to his physical weakness,
in comparison with other animals. They are
endowed with natural weapons of defence — with
horns, with tusks, with hoofs, and talons ; but man
has to depend on his superior sagacity." — Traits of
Indian Character.

I hope it is not necessary to tell you, who know
me so well, that I consider the reasoning faculty as
quite distinct from the soul, which I believe to be
a portion of the divine essence, " divinam parti-
culam aurae," inhabiting the body, but not subser-
vient to any of its functions. Aoyou

* I cannot resist the temptation to quote the two next lines,
as they afford a specimen of, perhaps, the first butt on record.
The old sinner was most likely drunk when he wrote them.

it ovv otd&fft j Ka/./.s; .

" For woman, she had nothing left. What, then, did she give her ?
Beauty." — Is beauty nothing ? — He afterwards tells us that
this same beauty is more terrible, in its effects, than fire and
steel united.

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 19

s, aAA.a n Kpsirrov. " The beginning of
reason is not reason ; but something better."

I have mentioned the reasoning powers of
brutes. No one, I think, of the present day, who
is accustomed to read, and think, and take note of
the habits of animals, will deny their possession of
this faculty. Every thing which remembers, and
regulates its conduct by this remembrance, per-
forms an act of reason. Why should they not
reason ? And that man owes his superiority of
reasoning power to his faculty of speech, is most
strikingly and irresistibly proved by the effect of
the press. What is printing, but an extension of the
powers of speaking? enabling a man, without
moving from his native soil, to put his antipodes in
possession of every new idea he acquires ; so that
what one acquires is acquired by all; thus multi-
plying the still newer ideas to which this newly-
acquired one may give rise, by nearly the whole
number of the reading inhabitants of the world :
for almost every man will probably derive, from
the combination of this new idea with one which
he already possesses, another new idea ; — and this
other new idea is again told to the world through
the press, and its results again multiplied as before.
The first possession of the faculty of speech did not

20 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

elevate man to a greater distance above the brute
than this extension of it has lifted him above his
former self.

It may be objected, that man has a larger brain
than other animals, and that his superior ratio-
cinative powers may be owing to this circumstance.
The objection may be answered in two ways. I
shall first answer it as though it were true : for if
it be true, it does not invalidate my argument :
for if man possesses a larger brain, it is only in
consequence of his possessing the organs of speech.
Because, that man should speak, was a part of his
original design; and the Creator, foreknowing (as
he foreknew, and provided for every other exi-
gency) that the faculty of speech would render a
larger brain necessary for the reception of that
multitudinous host of ideas which his vocal organs '
would enable him to muster — and in order that he
might reap the full advantage which His gift of
speech was calculated to confer upon him — has
given him a magnitude of brain corresponding to
his necessity. If he had not done so, he would
have defeated his own purpose : he would have
given him the means of acquiring ideas, without the
means of turning them to account ; and man, as it
regards his reason, would still have been but one

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 21

remove above his neighbour, the brute. His supe-
rior magnitude of brain, therefore, (if he possess it,)
and his superior ratiocinative faculties, are both
alike the consequence of his vocal organs.

But it is not true that he has a larger brain than
other animals. The ox has a larger than he. I
know it will be said, that the brain of the ox, though
absolutely larger, is yet relatively smaller — that is,
relatively to their respective bulk. But this is
futile. If a larger brain has a capacity for acqui-
ring more knowledge than a smaller one, I see no
reason why its attachment to a larger body should
hinder it from doing so. He (the ox) would, in-
deed, be relatively where he was, in respect to saga-
city—that is, relatively to his bulk ; but he would
be absolutely wiser. The larger the animal, the
wiser he would be. But this is not true: my
lady's poodle is as wise as my lord's coach-horse.

There is a difference, I conceive, nevertheless, be-
tween the human brain and that of the brute. If an
ox were endowed with the faculty of speech, although
it would lift his ratiocinative powers to an eleva-
tion nearly equal to the grandeur of man's, it would
not quite equal it. But this difference is to be
sought for, not in superior magnitude, but in supe-
rior delicacy, elaborateness, and intricacy of struc-

22 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

ture. As this superior quality, like the supposed
superior magnitude of man's brain, is only the con-
sequence of his possessing articulating organs, my
assertion still holds, that his enunciatory apparatus
is the sole cause of his superior ratiocinative capa-
bilities.

Now, my dear John, begging pardon for this long
digression about the talking organs, and with a
devout hope that your amiable wife, when she
learns how much she owes to these little instru-
ments, will be particularly careful never, by over-
tasking, to put them out of tune, I will descend
from generals to particulars.

Many years ago, it was believed, by physicians,
that our food was operated on by the stomach,
pretty much in the same way as shins of beef and
ox-cheeks are dealt with by Papin's digester.
It was supposed to be digested ; that is, simmered,
concocted, or stewed. When a man, therefore,
felt himself strong and active, not oppressed after
meals, and altogether in excellent health and spirits,
this fine state of things was thought to be all owing
to the circumstance of the stewing and simmering
in the stomach having been carried on merrily and
well, till it was done enough; and then, it was
thought, the stomach handed over the stew to the

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 23

bowels, thoroughly and properly cooked. But when
a man, without any one very painful symptom in
particular, felt himself generally indisposed, weakly,
disinclined to action, low-spirited, and oppressed
after eating; it was then said that his food had not
been properly digested — in plain English, not pro-
perly stewed by the stomach ; but that it had been
left by that organ very much in the same state in
which the shins of beef would be found after having
been stewed over a bad tire, and in a cracked di-
gester which let out the steam. He was said to be
afflicted with indigestion ; which signifies the unequal
distribution of particles by stewing, or simply im-
perfect stewing. Or, if his physician chanced to be
somewhat of a pedant, the more learned word
dyspepsia was used, which signifies difficult
boiling.

You see, therefore, that when these queer words,
digestion, indigestion, dyspepsia, digestive, &c. &c.
were first introduced, viz. when physicians looked
upon the stomach as little more than a living stew-
pan, they had each a very distinct and definite
meaning, and were used with perfect propriety. I
mention this merely to account to you for the intro-
duction of these strange words into medical language.
That these words are still used by medical men, is

24 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

of little consequence ; because, although they retain
the old word?, they attach to them new meanings —
meanings which by no means belong to the words,
but which are perfectly understood among them-
selves. But with the rest of mankind the case is
very different : for, as they retain the old words,
they must also retain the old meanings, or else no
meaning at all, which is by far most frequently the
case ; because they cannot be aware of the several
great changes and improvements which medical
philosophy has undergone. When these words,
therefore, were first introduced, they were proper
enough: but, now that physicians have discarded
" Papin's digester," and refuse to recognise any
similarity between the uses of the stomach and
those of the stew-pan — now that we know that " the
stomach is neither a mill, nor a stew-pan, nor a fer-
menting vat, but a stomach, Gentlemen, a stomach "
— now, I say, all these words, as applied to any
condition or action of any part of the body, are per-
fectly senseless, and worse than absurd, because
they are only productive of confusion — they ought,
therefore, to be expelled from medical language ; or,
if retained, they must, and indeed can only be un-
derstood in senses which do not properly belong to
them. But we had better get rid of them altogether ;

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 25

for it is impossible to use them with the slightest
shadow of propriety; and we shall have no difficulty
in finding- substitutes, each of which will carry its
own definite and obvious signification.

From what I have said of the manner and reason
of the introduction of these words, which we have
just ejected from our vocabulary, you will easily
understand how it came to pass that all those
disorders to which the term indigestion is applied
were supposed to exist in the stomach only ; be-
cause you will have observed, that it was in the
stomach, according to the creed of our good fore-
fathers, that all the stewing and digesting were
carried on; and when the, stew was not properly
stewed, they never thought of looking to the fire
or to the cook-maid for the cause ; they only looked
to the stew-pan, which they learnedly denominated
" the digestive or stewing organ."

Now for our substitutes. — For the phrase
" sound digestion " substitute perfect assimilation ;
for " indigestion " substitute imperfect assimilation ;
assimilating organs, for "digestive organs"; assimi-
lation of food, instead of "digestion of food," &c. &c.
The word assimilation is generally used by authors
to designate that process by which the food, after
having undergone all the necessary previous

26 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

changes, ceases to be food, and becomes part and
parcel of the living body; when that which was
flesh of the dead ox becomes flesh of the living
man, or bone, or hair, or skin, &c. &c., according
to the nature of the different parts of the body to
which it is distributed for the purpose of being
assimilated. But, in fact, all the changes which
the food undergoes are assimilating changes, all
tending to that ultimate assimilation which converts
the fluid food into the solid body — in one word,
its solidification. Thus the conversion of food in
the stomach [into chyme (learnedly called chymifi-
cation) is its assimilation to the nature of chyme :
its conversion into chyle (chylification) is its assi-
milation to the nature of chyle : its conversion into
blood (sanguification) is its assimilation to the
nature of blood : and if we wish to particularize any
one of these changes, we have only to name the
organ in which it takes place. Thus, if we wish to
designate those particular changes which take
place in the stomach, commonly called digestion,
we have only to speak of them as " assimilation in
the stomach "; while " assimilation in the lungs " is
the proper term by which to designate that particular
process by which the chyle is converted into blood.
Now that we have got rid of the word digestion,

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 27

with all its stewing derivatives, and banished it
from our own to the cook's vocabulary, to which
alone it properly belongs, you will not be sur-
prised when I tell you, that the stomach and bowels
are by no means the only assimilating organs we
possess. Every organ which is concerned in the
nutrition of the body — and without a healthy state
of which organ, nutrition cannot be properly per-
formed— has a right to be called an assimilating or
nutritive organ. I need not tell you that nutrition
and assimilation are the same thing. Assimilation
completed is nutrition completed ; and the several
assimilating changes in the food are only so many
nutritive steps towards the completion of the pro-
cess of nutrition.

I shall presently take a meal of food, and trace
it, or rather follow it, through all its changes, until
it has become assimilated, that is, until it has
become part of the living body. In doing this,
you will learn what are the assimilating or nutritive
organs, what is the office of each, what the changes
which these organs severally effect in the food, and
in what manner they accomplish these changes.

It will be convenient to state here, that two
kinds of blood are contained in the body, differing

from each other as much as any two things can
c 2

28 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

well differ. The one is of a beautiful, bright,
vermilion colour, teaming with the living prin-
ciple, pregnant with all those elements from which
the whole of the body, and all its fluids, except one,
are elaborated, and in a condition readily and in-
stantly to part with those elements, each at the
proper moment and in the proper place, accord-
ingly as the nutrition of the several parts of the
body requires them. This vermilion blood is, as
it were, in a state of excitement, being surcharged,
not with the principles of electricity, but with the
principles of living matter ; and, as it circulates
through the minute vessels, parts with those living
elements with the readiness and freedom with which
a highly -excited body parts with its electricity.
This blood is conveyed in vessels called arteries.
The other kind of blood is a filthy, thick, purplish,
blackish, inky puddle, unendowed with any good
quality, endowed with many pernicious ones, produc-
tive of much mischief, but incapable of any one good
with which I am acquainted ; save only, that from it
the bile is formed. This blood is contained in ves-
sels called veins. Some of the principal differences
between arteries and veins are the following : The
arteries carry the living blood from the heart to
every point of the body, The veins, like so many

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 29

waste pipes, carry the deteriorated, dirty, and, if I
may so speak, dead and useless blood, from every
point of the body, back to the heart. The arteries,
arising by one large trunk from the heart, become
smaller and smaller as they pursue their course
towards their termination in the veins. The veins,
arising from the innumerable terminations of
arteries, become larger and larger as they proceed
towards the heart. The arteries, therefore, in the
neighbourhood of the heart — from which, as I have
just said, they all arise by one common root (the
aorta] — are large and few; but from the sides of
these there are perpetually given off smaller and
smaller branches ; while, from these smaller, others,
still smaller than they, are continually separating;
and so on, until the whole are finally lost in indis-
tinguishable minuteness.

While the arteries are in this state of wonderful
attenuation, their course is exceedingly tortuous ;
they recoil upon themselves ; and are circumflexed
hither and thither, until there is scarcely a point
in the body which is not occupied by one of these
little vessels. After having thus permeated the
universal body, they lose the characteristics of
arteries, and assume the structure of veins. The
terminations of arteries, therefore, are the beginnings

30 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

of veins. This termination of arteries in veins can
be seen, by the aid of the microscope, in the frog
and salamander. In some fishes it can be seen with
the naked eye. The arteries near their termination,
and the veins near their beginning, are many times
smaller than the finest hairs ; and, in this state of
hairlike minuteness, they constitute that which is
called the ultimate tissue of the arteries and veins ; —
and so, also, the tissue formed by the nerves and
absorbent vessels, while in their last state of minute-
ness, is called the ultimate tissue of the nerves and
absorbents ; and that beautiful network formed by
the interlacing of all these delicate and hairlike
threads, viz. arteries, veins, nerves, and absorbents,
in their minutest condition, is denominated the ulti-
mate tissue of the body ; and this ultimate tissue
constitutes, in fact, nearly the whole of the body: for
all that which appears to our eyes so firm and solid
(not even excepting the bones) almost entirely con-
sists of this astonishing network of minute vessels
and nerves. This network, or ultimate tissue of the
body, owes its compactness to its being firmly com-
pressed and interwoven ; to its being well and accu-
rately filled with fluid (principally blood) ; and to
the circumstance of its being everywhere supported,
held together, contained, and, as it were, closely

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 31

stowed away in the cells of the cellular sub-
stance.

In order to obtain a clear notion of the cellular
substance, its universality and appearance, just
fancy it possible for an anatomist, with a finely-
pointed instrument, to pick away every part of
your body which is not cellular substance: what
remained would be, of course, cellular substance
only, and you would present exactly the appear-
ance of a man made of honeycomb or sponge.
But if this spongy relique of you were perfectly
dried, it would be so light, that the sigh of a
butterfly in love would be sufficient to scatter it to
the four winds of heaven. Notwithstanding it
pervades, therefore, the whole body, its actual
quantity or weight is exceedingly small. If you
doubt the existence of this universal cellular sub-
stance, and would like to see it proved by actual
experiment on your own person, only let me know ;
and I will come prepared with a proper instrument,
and begin to pick away, whenever you please.
Only, my dear John, when I have done picking, I
will by no means undertake to put you together
again.

I trust you have now a tolerably accurate idea
of the ultimate tissue. If you have not, I pray you

32 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

to refer back, and read again ; and every now and
then shut your eyes., and so endeavour to ascertain
whether you clearly understand what you have just
read or not, and by no means proceed to a second
sentence before you have fully understood the first.
Pardon this earnestness ; and if I have been some-
what tedious or tautological, you must pardon that
too, for I am extremely anxious that you should
obtain a distinct conception of the nature of this
amazing part of our structure; otherwise I shall
have lost both my time and labour, and it will be
impossible for you to understand me when I come
to speak of diet, the conduct of life as it relates
to the preservation of health, the origin of dis-
ease, &c. &c., all of which have a direct reference
to this same ultimate tissue. It is, besides, the
most beautiful, the most wonderful, the most im-
portant structure in the human fabric, magnificent
in its very simplicity, stupendous in its very
minuteness; and it is the secret chamber in which
Nature conducts all her hidden operations. Hither
are brought, and dealt with, by that subtle and
mysterious Operator, all the elements necessary to
the production of a Newton, or a Montaigne; a
Howard, or a Robespierre ; a Richard the First of
England, or a Lewis the Eleventh of France ; a

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 33

genius, or a dunce ; a martyr for religion, or a mur-
derer for pelf. The physical .is the father of the
moral man ; and it is quite true, " Qitbd animi
mores temperamenta sequantur" : and no less true is
it, that " Philosophy has been in the wrong, not to
descend more deeply into physical man : — I here it is
that the moral man lies concealed: the outward
man is only the shell of the man within."'' To alter
a man's moral character, you need only alter his
physical condition. Take the brave and hardy
mountaineer from his hills — lap him in luxury — let
him be fed on dainties, and couched on down — let
his lullaby be sounded by the " soft breathing of
the lascivious lute," instead of the wild music of
the whistling wind— you will soon reduce him, first
physically, and then morally, to the rotund but
helpless condition of the turtle-fed, yet imbecile,
alderman. In a few years, replace him on his
mountain-top — set him beside his former compa-
nions— shew him the aggressor against his rights,
the oppressor of his race — bid him meet and repel
the common enemy. Behold ! his courage has
fled ; the love of liberty and independence is dead
within him ; the spirit of freedom sleeps ; he trem-
bles, and yields, preferring the indolence of slavery
to the toil necessary to preserve him free. It may
c 3

34 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

be said, that courage is but one of the moral quali-
ties: true; — but it is one on which many others
depend. Courage results from a consciousness of
physical strength ; and cowardness, from a consci-
ousness of physical weakness. The strong will not
shun danger, because he feels himself competent to
resist and repel it. The weak man, knowing him-
self unable to surmount danger by an exercise of
strength which he does not possess, will resort to
other means of preservation — to petty cunning,
wily stratagem, mean subterfuge, lying, and cir-
cumvention. Thus the virtues which are directly
opposed to these vices all depend upon courage, at
least to a considerable extent; and courage de-
pends on physical strength, the size of the heart
and lungs, the firmness of the heart's structural
fibre, and the liveliness and energy with which cir-
culation and animalization are performed. The for-
titude with which the Indian savage endures torture
at the stake, I shall endeavour to shew, by and by,
is clearly the result of his physical condition. It
may be objected, that we have numerous instances
of undoubted courage in men possessing but little
physical strength : but this objection will not hold.
When the noble scion of a noble house, the nurs-
ling of luxurious ease from his cradle, goes out to

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 35

fight a duel, is it because he loves danger for the
sake of the pleasurable excitement it affords ? No. —
Is it because he is indifferent to danger ? No. —
What is it, then, which urges him on ? It is the/eor
of disgrace ; it is the dread of being hooted from
that sphere of society in which he moves ; it is his
fear of the finger of scorn which impels him : this,
therefore, is not courage — this is fear. If he
refuse to fight, he knows that he will be degraded
from his caste — his views, whether of love or ambi-
tion, will be destroyed. If he fight, he has a chance
of escape; and if he escape, his character, as a man
of courage, is established. His, therefore, is a choice
of two evils; and he chooses to fight, as being the
less evil of the two. If he could avoid both evils,
most assuredly he would do so. But this is not
courage. The mere act of fighting does not con-
stitute bravery. It is the feeling, the inward feel-
ing which he carries with him to the field— it is this
which constitutes true valour. The rankest coward
that ever lived will fight, when he knows that instant
death attends his refusal, or that there is more dan-
ger in running away than in going forward. True
courage loves danger for the sake of the excitement
it affords — loves it for the same reason that men
love wine — loves it, too, for the glory consequent

36 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

on overcoming it. Had Richard the First not
been the giant he was, would he have been the hero
he was ? would he have courted danger as he did,
alone, and single-handed ?

I have said, that many virtues depend on this
single quality of courage. Richard possessed the
ne plus ultra of courage, and he was high-minded
and generous to a fault. He sought to accomplish
all his ends openly, avowedly, and honourably,
because he felt himself able to do so. His brother
John was a coward : and how did he seek to accom-
plish his objects? Why, by every species of low
and cunning villany, not stopping even at murder.
Had John been physically constituted as Richard,
and Richard as John, John had been called " the
lion-hearted," and Richard " the craven coward."

Again, it may be urged, that on the field of battle
men not physically strong have frequently per-
formed feats of gratuitous and uncalled-for daring.
But neither will this objection serve ; for at the time
of performing these deeds of valour their physical
constitution is actually altered. The brain, power-
fully excited by the scenes, the trumpet's clang, the
panoply of war, the martial music, the stir, the life,
the uproar all around, pours into the heart a resist-
less tide, as it were, of nervous energy ; and the

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 37

heart, obedient to the impulse, propels the blood
in a stream of triple force along the arteries, until
every organ of the body is in a state of the highest
excitement, swollen and distended with the living
current. Thus, for a time, the weak become actually
strong; and hence these instances of courage in the
weak. The same thing occurs in anger. A man
under the influence of rage not only appears to
possess, but really does possess, triple the physical
power which he can command when calm.

Not only, therefore, is the body constructed in
the ultimate tissue, but the character is constructed
there also. And as the health and strength of the
body depend upon the healthy performance of the
processes of assimilation in the ultimate tissue of
the body, so also do the health and strength of the
character and mind.

" Who 'd pique himself on inteDect, whose use

Depends so much upon the gastric juice ?"
says Byron.

The moral qualities are therefore, at least to a
great extent, the offspring of physical structure. I
know that moral causes may, and often do, produce
physical disease: but this does not weaken the
argument; for a child may destroy its parent; and

38 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

so the moral qualities, though they result from phy-
sical structure, may nevertheless re-act upon that
structure, to its detriment. The qualities of the
mind, also, may he modified, improved, trained,
and properly directed, hy religion and education.
So, also, may the child of one parent be nurtured
and educated hy another.

One of the most familiar instances of the influ-
ence of physical conformation on moral character
is to be found in the fact, that all the most coura-
geous and ferocious animals have a heart remarkably
large and strong in proportion to their size, while
the weak and timid have hearts proportionally small.
It is as impossible for an animal with a small, flabby
heart to be bold and strong, as for two and two to
equal five ; and equally impossible is it for a man
who is physically constructed to be a coward, by
any act of his own will, or of abstract courage, to
make himself a hero.

I am glad to perceive, by some late publications,
that the truth of this doctrine is beginning to be
admitted ; and I trust it will not be long before
parents can be made to understand, that the only
certain method of assuring to children a vigorous
and healthy mind is, first of all, to allow them the
opportunity of acquiring a vigorous and healthy

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 3D

body. Let them be assured, too, that those who
begin by cramming a child's memory (for judgment
is out of the question) with a quantity of bad
French and worse Latin, together with the terms
and problems of the abstruse sciences — which, after
all, they can only learn to repeat as the parrot
does, by rote, without understanding ; — let them, I
say, be assured, that those who thus begin, by seek-
ing to make a child so very, very wise, will end, in
all human probability, by making him a fool.

I have been seduced by this bewitching subject
into a long digression : — but let us return to the
arteries and veins.

The arteries, ramifying, in every direction, like
the branches of a tree, from their common root in
the heart, and having shot their minute and hair-
like terminations into every part of the body, so
that you cannot insert the point of the finest needle
without wounding one or more of them, cease to be
arteries, and take the structure of veins. These
hairlike veins (which are merely a continuation of
hairlike arteries with an alteration in the structure
of their coats) soon begin to unite two into one, to
form larger veins. These larger veins again pre-
sently unite two or more into one, to form larger
still, until all the veins of the body have united

40 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

together, and so formed two very large ones,
which empty themselves into the heart. One of the
grand distinctions, then, between veins and arte-
ries, is, that while the arteries arising from the heart
are multiplied in number and diminished in size,
until they have reached and distributed their blood
to the ultimate tissue, the veins arising from the
ultimate tissue are constantly becoming diminished
in number and increased in size, until they have
reached and carried their blood to the heart.

Another general distinction between arteries and
veins is, that arteries possess pulsation; that is,
they possess the power of contracting upon (and so
propelling) their blood ; and then of recovering
their size, and contracting again ; and so on. This
alternate contraction and expansion constitute the
pulse. The veins are simply and but slightly
elastic. The veins, therefore, have no pulse, and
consequently little or no power to propel their
blood. The blood in the veins is driven onward
by various extrinsic circumstances; such as, the
contraction of muscles around them, the pulsation
of arteries in their neighbourhood, a dependent
position, &c. The veins, therefore, have valves,
which, when the blood has been squeezed forward,
towards the heart, by the adventitious causes just

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 41

mentioned, prevent its regurgitation, or gravitation
backward.

I have said, that there is scarcely any point in
the body which is not occupied by vessels and
nerves. It follows, therefore, that there is scarcely
any point of it which does not consist of vessels and
nerves; — and this is true. When you look at a
piece of red raw flesh, that which appears to you a
solid mass is, in fact, little else than a wonderful
and compact tissue of nerves and hollow tubes,
firmly compressed and matted together. The only
solid parts are the nervous threads, a little cellular
substance, and the delicate membranes forming the
coats of those hollow tubes ; that is, the blood-
vessels and absorbents ; — and even these are porous
— at least the blood-vessels. Even that which
anatomists call the muscular fibre, and which you
call the grain of the meat, has been asserted, by
Ruysch, to be no more than little bundles of vessels
— minute tubes, like the hairs of your head ; every
one of which you, of course, know is hollow.
Ruysch's opinion is very high authority; for he
possessed a secret which enabled him to carry the
art of injecting minute vessels to a degree of
nicety which has never since been equalled, nor
even approached. But he died, refusing to divulge

42 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

his secret, though large sums of money had been
offered him. — If any man deserved to have con-
fession extorted from him by the rack, it was
Ruysch.

What I have said of the red raw flesh, is also true
of the bones, especially of young animals : for
the internal structure of the bones is honeycombed
and highly spongoid, and their cells are every-
where filled with vessels and nerves. From all this
there results another consequence ; which is this—
that nearly the whole of the body consisting of
tubes, and these tubes being filled with fluid, a very
large proportion of the whole body must consist
of fluid. This, too, is true. If you take a piece
of human muscle (that is, what you call, in meat,
the lean part) of the size and thickness of an ordi-
nary beef-steak, and dry it perfectly, it will become
no thicker than a sheet of paper. In fact, fully
nine-tenths of the body are fluid. — The next large
proportion consists of the solid matter composing
the nerves and the coats of vessels. What remains
is too trifling for consideration.

Au revoir— adieu !

E. JOHNSON.

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 43

LETTER II.

224 Blackfriars

15th Feb. 1836.
MY DEAR JOHN,

IN my last Letter, I told you that every part of
the body is composed, almost entirely, of a delicate
network, formed by the interlacing of minute arte-
ries, veins, nerves, and absorbents ; and I endea-
voured to give you a clear notion of the manner in
which the arteries and veins are distributed — how
they arise, and how they terminate — the differences
which distinguish veins from arteries — and also the
differences which characterize the two kinds of
blood which they contain and convey. I have now
to speak of the absorbents and nerves ; and explain
the manner in which they are distributed through-
out the entire body, so as to perform their share in
making up that wonderful tissue, of which our
organs consist.

There is, arising from every point of your body,
a countless number of little vessels, which are at

44 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

this moment, and every moment of your life, ac-
tively engaged in the pleasant task of eating you
up. They may be compared to a swarming host
of long, delicate, and slender leeches, attached, by
their innumerable mouths, to every point in your
fabric, and having their bodies gradually and pro-
gressively united together, until they all terminate
in one tail ; which tail perforates the side of one of
the large veins at the bottom of the neck, on the
left side ; so that whatever is taken in at their
mouths is all emptied, by the other extremity, into
that vein, where it becomes mixed with the blood
contained in that vein.

Now, my dear John, for a moment turn your
eyes inward — contemplate these greedy little cor-
morants, complacently if you can — observe their
activity — remark their unwearied assiduity — behold
the dogged perseverance, the unerring certainty,
and beautiful precision, with which they are de-
vouring you. See ! mouthful after mouthful is
going — going ! They never tire, nor are they ever
satisfied ; for every atom which each mouth sucks
up, and converts into fluid, is instantly conducted
along the body, towards the tail, by which it is dis-
charged into the above-mentioned vein. Thus,
though for ever feeding, they are for ever hungry.

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 45

It is true, they take but small mouthfuls at a time :
but when it is considered, that these mouths are
millions in number, and that they are never shut,
but are constantly at work, night and day, you
will easily see that the entire body would speedily
be devoured, as it were, and carried away into the
blood, if there were no contrivance to rebuild the
body as fast as these little vessels eat it down and
carry it off.

These vessels, which I have just introduced to
your notice, are the absorbents.

1 have said, that the absorbents arise, by open
mouths*, from every point of the body. Now, if
this be true, it is clear that some of them must arise
from the internal surface of the bowels. And so
they do ; — and those which do so, have an additio-
nal office to perform. Like that of all the other
absorbents, it is their office to decompose, liquefy,
and carry away the solid body into the blood ; but,
besides this, they have to absorb and carry into
the blood the nutritious parts of our food, called
chyle ; and from which chyle, the damage and dila-
pidation committed by the absorbents is to be
repaired.

* This was the doctrine of the .brothers Hunter.

46 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

Now this chyle has somewhat the appearance,
and also some of the properties, of milk ; and the
Latin word for milk is lac — and, therefore, those
particular absorbents which arise from the internal
surface of the intestines, and which have to perform
the additional duty of absorbing, that is, sucking
up, this lac, are, on that account, called lacteals.
As I hare before observed, it is the office of the
other absorbents (and indeed of the lacteals too,
when they have no lac, that is, chyle, to suck up)
to absorb the solid body ; and as fast as they ab-
sorb it, they convert it into a fluid. This fluid has
something the appearance of water; and one of the
Latin words for water is lympha — and, therefore,
this fluid has received the name of lymph ; and on
that account, those particular absorbents, which
never contain any thing but this lymph, are called
lymphatics, in order to distinguish them from the
lacteals, which do sometimes carry something else
than lymph— namely, chyle. For the sake of per-
spicuity, I shall call those absorbents which take
up the chyle, chylous absorbents.

If you place a looking-glass before you, and with
the finger and thumb of your right hand take hold
of the lashes of your lower eyelid, and gently draw
it down so as to expose its edge to your view, you

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 47

will observe, upon that part of its edge next the
nose, a small eminence, and on that eminence a
minute black spot. This black spot is a little
round hole: it is, in fact, the open mouth of an
absorbent — a particular absorbent, called punctum
lachrymale. Tears are secreted for the purpose
of moistening the globe of the eye and under-sur-
faces of the eyelids ; but when there happens to be
more tears secreted than are necessary for this
purpose, then it is the office of that absorbent to
suck up and carry away those superfluous tears.
There is one punctum lachrymale on the edge of
each eyelid.

You can see the mouth of this absorbent with
the naked eye — at least, you can see that there is
something or other there which looks like a black
spot, but which a common microscope demonstrates
to be the mouth of an absorbent. But the mouths
of the absorbents generally are so much more
minute than this, that they cannot be seen in man,
even by the aid of the most powerful microscope.
In some fishes, however, they can be seen with the
naked eye.

Although the punctum lachrymale is much larger
than the mouth of a regular absorbent, it will
serve, nevertheless, to give you an idea of their

48 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

minuteness and general appearance ; or rather, what
would be their general appearance, if they could
be seen.

The absorbents, therefore, arise from every
point of the body. Their course is not straight,
but waving and devious; and, as they proceed
towards their termination, they are perpetually
inosculating, that is, uniting, and again separating.
In this manner they form a wonderful web or net-
work, whose meshes are spread over and through-
out the entire body. They all eventually termi-
nate and empty their contents into the veins at the
bottom of the neck. The office of the lymphatic
absorbents is, to take up molecule after molecule of
the solid body, convert it into the fluid called
lymph, and carry it into the blood. The office of
the chylous absorbents is, to suck up from the in-
testines the nutritious chyle, and convey that also
into the blood. These two sets of vessels, there-
fore, may be compared, not inaptly, to two parties
of labourers; — the one party being occupied in
pulling down the old building, and carrying away
the rubbish ; while the other is equally busy in
bringing new materials, wherewith to rebuild it as
fast as it is pulled down.

You have probably often heard the word

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 49

" disperse" applied by persons to the disappearance
of tumors. Patients often ask their medical atten-
dant whether he wishes any tumor they may happen
to have (an enlarged gland, for instance), to break, or
to be dispersed. The proper term is absorbed; and
when a tumor, by means of friction, or voluntarily,
disappears, it is because it has been sucked up by the
absorbents, and carried into the blood of the veins.
As an absorbent passes onward from its origin
towards its termination, it every now and then
stops, recoils upon itself, and rolls itself up into an
irregularly-shaped ball (varying in size from that
of a millet-seed to that of a hazel-nut), and then pro-
ceeds as before. While the absorbent is in the act
of forming this ball, it is excessively minute, even
beyond the reach of the most powerful miscroscope.
These balls are exceedingly numerous in the me-
sentery— that part which, in a lamb, is called " the
fry" : they are generally to be found in the neigh-
bourhood of large blood-vessels, under the lower
jaw, before and behind the ear, at the bendings of
the knee and thigh, and in the armpit. These little
balls are the absorbent glands ; and there is scarcely
an instance of an absorbent vessel reaching its ter-
mination in the veins without having first formed
one or more of these glands.

50 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

Now, as these glands are merely a congeries of
astonishingly minute absorbent vessels, it is clear
that the lymph and the chyle, which these vessels
convey, must traverse these glands before they can
enter the blood. The chyle and lymph are, in
fact, strained through several of these curious little
sieves ; and this straining produces some necessary
alteration in their nature ; but of what particular
kind, it is not known. I need not tell you, after
what I have already said of the distribution of
arteries and veins, that these latter vessels every-
where accompany, and interweave themselves with,
the absorbent vessels and glands.

Now that you understand the nature of the diffe-
rent offices or functions performed by the lymphatic
and chylous absorbents, you will easily comprehend
what is called the modus vivendi ; that is, the man-
ner how we live ; viz. in a state of perpetual decay
and regeneration — a continual pulling down and
building up again. There is not a square inch iu
your whole body which is the same as it was ten
years ago. That which was you, ten years since, is
now not you, but something else ; — it has been resol-
ved into its original elements, has undergone new
combinations, and is at this moment, perhaps, nou-
rishing in the shape of some goodly water-dock or

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 51

field-thistle; or more humbly, but still usefully,
employed in stopping the bung-hole of a beer-
barrel. " Alexander died; Alexander was buried;
Alexander returneth to dust ; the dust is earth ; of
earth we make loam:— and why, of that loam, where-
to he was converted^ might they not stop a beer-
barrel?"

The fact is, that we are dying every hour, nay,
every instant ; and the only difference between this
death and the final consummation of life (as far as
it regards the body) is, that, in this hourly and
gradual death, the place of every dead molecule is
instantly supplied by a living one ; while, in the
other case, all the parts of the body perish at once
and together, and are not reproduced. You are,
then, a new and a different being, exercising the
same faculties, but doing so with different organs.
You still exercise the faculties of vision, of hear-
ing, and tasting ; but the eye with which you now
see is not the same eye with which you saw ten
years ago : it is a new eye ; and you hear with a
different ear, and taste with another tongue. In-
deed, the eye of to-day is not the same as that of
yesterday ; for a part of the eye of yesterday has
been taken up by the absorbents and carried into

the blood, and has been conveyed out of the blood
D 2

52 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

in the shape of perspiration and breath ; while the
deficiency thus produced in the eye has been sup-
plied by a part of yesterday's dinner ; so that you
are now performing the act of vision with a part of
the pudding which you ate at that meal. This is
not romance, nor speculation, but a literal fact. Is
not this, of itself, sufficient to shew you the vast
importance of the assimilating processes ? Does it
not clearly demonstrate to you the manner in
which faulty assimilation operates, so as to injure
the health and perfection of your organs ? Is it
not manifest, that if your assimilating organs do not
perfectly assimilate your food, that the deficiencies
produced in your eye, by the action of the absor-
bents, will be either not supplied at all, or supplied
with new matter, of an unhealthy quality ; so that
the new eye will not be so good and perfect as the
old one ?

From considering the different functions which
the chylous and lymphatic absorbents perform, you
will readily understand why we grow in youth, and
cease to grow in manhood. It is because, in youth,
the chylous absorbents, which bring new matter
into the system, and the arteries, which convert this
new matter into flesh and blood, are more active
than the lymphatics ; while in manhood the activity

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 53

of all is accurately balanced. In old age, the lym-
phatics are most active.

I forgot to mention before, that the lymphatics
absorb not only at their mouths, but also through
the pores of their coats.

While the manner in which the absorbent glands
are formed is fresh in your memory, I may as well
describe to you how the secretory glands are
formed. This will give you an opportunity of
observing the difference between the two ; both as
it relates to their formation, and to the functions
which they severally perform. We have just seen
that the office of the lymphatic and chylous glands
is to operate some change upon the lymph and chyle,
during their passage through them; the nature of
which is not understood, but which, doubtless, has
the effect of assimilating them more and more nearly
to the substances to which they are destined even-
tually to be assimilated perfectly. But the office of
a secretory gland is to elaborate, or manufacture (if
I may so speak), out of the blood, a new and distinct
fluid ; which new fluid is called a secretion ; as the
bile, the saliva, &c. &c. This term, "secretion" it is
true, is a very absurd term : for secretion signifies
separation ; and separation signifies the state, condi-
tion, or circumstance of existing separately ; but it

54 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

does not signify the thing separated. It is, how-
ever, sometimes better to retain an old word,
though a bad one, than run the risk of obscurity,
by introducing a new word. You are probably
aware that the word "gland" is derived from the
Latin word glans, which signifies an acorn : it was
given them from the supposed resemblance of some
of the glands to the appearance of acorns.

There are several theories to account for the
manner in which a secreting gland is formed. The
most generally accepted, as well as the simplest, is
that of Ruysch. According to Ruysch, secretory
glands are formed by the convolution of minute
hairlike arteries, in the same manner as we have
just seen lymphatic glands formed by the convolu-
tion of lymphatic vessels : — at a certain point of the
convolution, the blood contained in the arteries is
converted into the peculiar fluid which it is the
office of the gland to secrete ; at this point the
arteries lose the structure peculiar to arteries, and
assume that of excretory ducts. An excretory duct
is a small vessel, whose office it is to convey the new
secretion, from the point at which it is formed, to
the parts where its presence is required. But all
this will be made more clear by tracing some
particular artery, until it terminates in the for-

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 55

raation of some particular gland and its excretory
duct.

Within the mouth and its neighbourhood are
numerous glands, called salivary. Their office is, to
secrete the saliva. Three of the salivary glands
are of very considerable size : the rest are very
minute. Let us trace an artery until it forms any
one of1 these single minute glands : say, one of those
called labial, which are situated on the inside of
the lips.

One of the external carotid arteries — say, the
right — gives off several branches smaller than itself.
One of these branches is called the facial artery.
The facial gives off several branches smaller than
itself^ and one of these is called the submental : the
submental gives off several branches smaller than
itself. One of these very small branches goes to
the under lip, becoming, in its course, more and
more minute. Dipping into the substance of the
lip, and still diminishing in size as it traverses and
assists in forming the ultimate tissue of the lip, and
having at length acquired the requisite degree of
hairlike minuteness, it suddenly turns upon itself,
and rolls itself up into a little corpuscle, of the size,
probably, of a mustard-seed. This little body is
the labial salivary gland we have been in search of.

56 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

While the artery is in the act of coiling itself up, it
is becoming still more and more minute ; till,
having reached this second requisite degree of mi-
nuteness, the blood contained in it suddenly ceases
to be blood, and becomes saliva. This change is
produced by the influence of the minute nerve
which accompanies it.

•*At the moment when the saliva is thus produced,
the artery begins to lose the characteristic struc-
ture of arteries, and gradually acquires that of an
excretory duct. The saliva now travels along the
duct, to its termination on the inner surface of the
under lip, where it is discharged from the open
extremity of the duct into the mouth. The excre-
tory duct is extremely short ; for those glands are
mostly situated immediately beneath the skin. The
skin, you are probably aware, covers the inside of
the lips and mouth as well as the outside ; although
on the inside it is much finer, and more delicate.

This is the way in which all secretory glands,
except one, are formed : — that one is the liver. ,

The size of the secretory glands is extremely
different, varying from the wonderful minuteness
of the ceruminous glands of the ear, whose office is
to secrete the wax — and which are, I believe, the
smallest glands in the body — to the great magnitude

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 57

of the liver, which is the largest. But a very large
gland is, in fact, only a vast number of very small
ones conglomerated into one mass, and united, and
as it were glued together, by cellular substance.
Knowing, therefore, how one is formed, you know
how they are all formed. Thus, the three large
salivary glands, of which I have spoken, are only a
conglomeration of such small ones as I have just
described, having all their minute excretory ducts
united, so as to form one, two, and sometimes three
larger ducts. Into these larger ducts the smaller
ones empty themselves; and the large ones, in
their turn, empty themselves into the mouth. The
liver differs from other secretory glands only in
this — that each of the little glandular bodies, of
which it is composed, is formed by the coiling up
of a vein instead of an artery ; and the secretion
of the'liver, that is, the bile, is produced from black
venous blood, instead of vermilion arterial blood.
The little veins which form the glandular structure
of the liver, having converted their blood into bile,
terminate in excretory ducts, like the arteries which
form the salivary glands ; and these minute excre-
tory ducts unite to form larger, which eventually
empty their bile into the gall-bladder and bowels.
Thus, you see, the glands, like every other
D 3

58 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

structure of the body (except the nails, hair,
enamel of the teeth, and scarf-skin), are composed
of arteries, veins, nerves, and absorbents. It is
true, that in the actual formation of the gland there
is only an artery concerned ; but this artery could
not produce the required secretion without the aid
of a nerve : it is, therefore, accompanied by a
nerve ; but this artery and nerve, like the rest of
the body, are constantly undergoing decay and re-
paration; and these cannot be effected without the
presence of lymphatics and arteries. There are,
accordingly, lymphatics arising from the gland,
which are constantly engaged in absorbing it ; and
there are arteries as constantly engaged in repro-
ducing what the lymphatics have removed : and
there are veins also, whose office it is to carry back
to the heart whatever portion of blood has not been
consumed in the work of reproduction.

I have now to speak of the fourth principal struc-
ture which enters into the composition of the ulti-
mate tissue of the body — I mean, the nerves. The
brain accurately fills the cavity of the scull. With
its general appearance you are probably acquainted,
from having seen the brains of animals.

The spinal marrow is a tail-like elongation of the
brain; which elongation passes out of the head,

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 59

through a round hole in the back part of the scull.
So great is its resemblance to a tail, that it has been
called cauda cerebri ; that is, the toil of the brain.

From the brain and spinal marrow there arise
forty-three pairs of nerves ; twelve from the brain,
and thirty-one from the spinal marrow. The
nerves are whitish cords; and every large nerve
consists of a bundle of small ones; and these small
ones consist of bundles of still smaller, as a skein
of thread consists of a number of single threads,
and as every single thread consists of a number of
still smaller threads, viz. the fibres of the cotton.
As a large nerve proceeds from its origin to its
termination, every now and then one or more of
the threads, of which it is composed, parts company,
and takes a course of its own. As these proceed,
one or more of the strands, of which they also are
composed, disjoins itself from the fellowship of the
others, and takes a course of its own ; and so on, un-
til the whole have been separated into microscopic
filaments of undistinguishable minuteness. You
will observe here a remarkable difference in the
manner in which nerves are distributed from that
in which arteries are given off. The branch of an
artery arises directly/Vwn that artery : there is a
communication between them : so that the contents

60 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

of the parent artery flow into the branch which
proceeds from it. The larger veins, also, are formed
by the absolute union of smaller ones ; so that the
contents of the smaller flow into and mingle with
the contents of the larger : but between the large
nerves and the branches which proceed from them
there is no union nor communication whatever ;
they are merely in juxta-position — a bundle of se-
parate threads, bound up together, and inclosed in
one common sheath. When, therefore, a nerve
gives off a branch, that branch merely parts com-
pany, to travel along another road. Every nerve
therefore, however minute, is a distinct thread ;
having one of its extremities fixed in the brain or
spinal marrow, and the other in that point of the
body on which it terminates. If it were • not for
this peculiar arrangement, all our different sensa-
tions would be jumbled into one. If we touched a
round body with one hand, and a square one with
the other, before the two impressions reached the
brain they would become mingled ; so that the idea
which we should derive from these two impressions
would be a sort of hybrid idea of a something
neither round nor square.

There is one pair of nerves, included by me
among those arising from the brain, which pos-

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 61

sesses striking marks of difference from all other
nerves : it is called " the great sympathetic pair." —
I should have observed, that all the nerves are sent
off from the brain and spinal marrow in pairs. —
This pair of nerves has given origin to endless dis-
cussions; some asserting that it arises from the
brain ; others, that it does not ; — some, that it has
one office, some another. Fyfe says, " It is either
formed originally by the reflected branch from the
second of the fifth pair ; and by one or two, and
sometimes three, small filaments, sent down from
the sixth pair, whilst in the cavernous sinus : or,
according to the opinion of some authors, the sym-
pathetic sends off these small nerves to join the
fifth and sixth pairs."

Mr. Green says, " This nerve is so essentially
distinguished from the other nerves of the body,
that it may be described separately, or as a separate
system of nerves."

" It consists," he says, " of a considerable num-
ber of ganglia (hardish knobs), of which the num-
ber and size differ, not only in different individuals,
but in the same individual, on the two sides of
the body ; and of branches, which in part connect
these ganglia, or form junctions with the other
nerves ; and are in part distributed to the internal

62 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

organs. It extends from the base of the scull,
on each side of the vertebral column (backbone),
through the neck, chest, and abdomen, as far as
the coccyx (that is, the lower extremity of the
backbone), forming, from above to below, nume-
rous ganglia : those in the neck are few in number ;
but in the rest of its course it generally forms one
ganglion between every two vertebrae (bones of
the back) : these are severally connected, by one
or more filaments, with each other, and with all
the nerves of the spinal marrow ; and the upper-
most cervical ganglion (ganglion of the neck) is
connected with most of the cerebral nerves (nerves
of the brain). Lastly, it detaches filaments to the
viscera (organs of the belly and chest) ; and those
which are distributed to the abdomen (belly) form
connexions with a numerous set of ganglia in this
cavity, which are placed about the trunks of the
large vessels." — Thus, Mr.Green traces it no higher
than the base of the scull : but an anatomist has
recently, if I mistake not, traced it completely
round the brain ; and thence downward, on either
side of the spine, until that portion of the nerve
which descends on one side of the spine unites
with that descending on the other side, at the ex-
treme lower point of the backbone. During its

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 63

whole course, there are little knobs situated upon
it,' at short intervals ; so that it has something the
appearance of a cord with beads of different sizes
strung upon it — or of a chain — or of a small knotted
rope, with its two extremities joined so as to form
a sort of necklace, as it (the necklace) hangs round
a person's neck, falling gradually to a point in
front. The upper part of the chain encircles the
base of the brain, as the upper part of the necklace
encircles the neck ; and then descends on either
side of the spine, as the necklace descends on either
side of the front of the chest ; — and then the two
descending portions are united at the extreme
point of the spine below. From the little knobs,
or ganglia, numerous nerves are given off, which
unite with almost all the nerves coming off from
the brain and spinal marrow ; and sending nume-
rous filaments, also, to the organs concerned in nu-
trition ; as the heart, lungs, stomach, bowels, liver,
&c. &c. Thus, whether the sympathetic arises
from the brain or not, it is manifest that it is
intimately connected with those which certainly do :
and as the question is not yet settled, I have
chosen to consider it as arising from the brain, in
order that your notions of the functions of the ner-
vous system may be as simple and little perplexed

64 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

as possible. The little knobs, with which the sym-
pathetic is studded, have been considered by some
as so many little independent brains, whose office
it is to supply the organs of nutrition with motive
power : and they say that this arrangement was
made in order to remove these organs beyond the
influence of the will, which has its seat in the brain.
The absolute necessity that these organs should not
be under the controul of the will, and the fact that
they are not, together with the additional fact that
this pair of nerves does not supply them with
motive power, seems, I think, to favour this no-
tion. But, however this may be, it will be suffi-
ciently accurate, for our present purpose, to con-
sider all nervous influence as derived from the
brain, and from the spinal marrow, which is
merely an elongation of the brain.

The brain itself I believe to be a secretory gland,
of which the nerves are the excretory ducts, and
the nervous fluid the secretion; and it is formed,
like all other secretory glands, by a most wonder-
ful convolution of inconceivably minute arterial
branches. The artery which principally supplies
these branches is the basilary. Thus the brain,
like every other structure, consists of arteries,
nerves, and veins; and there is little doubt but

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 65

that I might add absorbents also ; although these
last have not yet, I believe, been discovered.

I have now given you an account of the general
structure of the body — sufficiently brief and rough,
but nevertheless sufficiently accurate and minute, to
enable you to understand the nature of the seve-
ral functions performed by the several organs of
nutrition, whenever I have occasion to speak of
these functions and these organs. This general
structure is so simple, that you can never forget it.
You have only to remember, that whenever you are
considering and presenting to your mind's eye any
part of the body — whether it be the stomach, the
liver, the heart, the bowels, or the arteries and
veins — whether it be the solid bones, a mass of flesh
an inch thick, or a delicate filmy membrane no
thicker than the gilding of your picture-frames — it
is still the same; it is still nothing more than
a matted congeries of arteries, veins, nerves, and
absorbents, held together by, and wrapped up
in, the meshes of the cellular web. Cellular web is
a better term than cellular substance: for, when
spread out, it has a good deal the appearance of a
spider's web^ and has, moreover, of real substance,
extremely little indeed.

Take four threads of different colours — a scarlet

66 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

one, to represent the arteries; a black one, to repre-
sent the veins ; a white one, for the nerves ; and a
silver one, for the absorbents. Dip them in melted
wax, and then roll them up into a firm ball. This
will give you a rude idea of the manner in which
minute threadlike vessels can be so arranged as to
form a solid mass ; for it is easy to fancy three of
these threads to be hollow tubes filled with fluid,
like arteries, veins, and absorbents. The wax,
which everywhere surrounds them and glues them
together, will afford you some notion of the prin-
cipal office of the cellular web; which is, to hold
the different parts of the intimate structure of the
body together, by entangling them in its meshes,
as the wax unites the threads by virtue of its sticki-
ness. If, instead of dipping the threads into melted
wax, you had dipped them in a solution of phos-
phate of lime (which constitutes the hard part of
bones), the ball, when dry, would have given no
bad representation of the structure of the bones.

Now, suppose the former ball— that formed of
the threads dipped in wax — to be submitted to a
pressure capable of flattening it until it becomes no
thicker than a film of tissue-paper. This will shew
you how the same structure which forms the thick,
solid, and gross parts of the body may be so

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 67

arranged as to form also its most delicate mem-
branes.

A knowledge of the nature and structure of
membranes is of the highest possible importance in
all that regards the regulation of our diet ; for the
stomach and bowels are lined with one of those
most delicate, and therefore extremely irritable
and highly sensible, and easily-offended membranes,
called the " mucous membrane of the stomach and
bowels." It is with this membrane that all which
we eat, and all that we drink, comes directly in
contact. Here, then, is another powerful reason
for caution in what we eat and drink. This mem-
brane is no thicker than gold-leaf; and you know
very well that you can scarcely touch a leaf of gold
without injuring it — without deranging, and even
tearing it. Remember, when you are eating your
dinner, that the membrane, on which every mouth-
ful falls, is no thicker than a leaf of gold.

In contemplating any part of the body — knowing,
as you now do, that it consists of arteries, veins,
nerves, and absorbents — you will please always to
bear in mind what are the offices or functions which
these structures severally fulfil. You will recollect,
that it is the function of the lymphatic absorbents
to eat away the body; that of the arteries (or

68 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

rather the vital blood contained in them) to restore
what the lymphatics have eaten away ; and that of
the veins to carry back to the heart the refuse of
the blood; that is, what remains of it, after the
arteries have done with it When the blood has
parted with its living elements while in the arteries,
the veins carry it away, in order that it may receive"
a fresh supply of these living elements. But the
arteries could not carry the blood from the heart,
nor the veins return it to the heart, if they were
not supplied with the power of moving. This mo-
tive power is afforded them by the nerves — or
rather, a fluid conveyed by the nerves. This fluid,
however, does not, I conceive, travel along the
nerves like a tangible fluid in a tube, but like the
electric fluid along a wire. The nervous fluid,
therefore, is to the organs of the body what steam
is to a steam-engine. And as this fluid is conveyed
by single filaments of nerves, it is clear, that where-
ever there is an artery, vein, or absorbent, there
must also be a nerve to enable those vessels to
convey their fluids, which they do by a motion of
their own, or of neighbouring parts.

You may conceive the universality of the nerves
and blood-vessels, by the fact, that you can scarcely
insert the point of the finest needle into any part of

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 69

your body without producing pain and bleeding ;
which proves that the point of the needle has
wounded both a nerve and a blood-vessel.

We have seen that the nerves all arise from, or
are, at least, intimately connected with the brain
and spinal marrow; and we have seen that the
spinal marrow is but an elongation of the brain.
Now we all know what a powerful effect the emo-
tions, such as fear, anger, &c., have in depressing
and exciting the brain's action. Considering, there-
fore, that all the organs of the body derive their
power of action from a fluid brought to them by
the nerves from the brain, by whose action that
fluid is produced, it is easy to comprehend how
it happens that moral causes can exert so momen-
tous an influence on the health.

Sis memor mei !

E. JOHNSON.

70 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

LETTER III.

224 Blackfriars Road,

15th March, 1836.
MY DEAR JOHN,

I HAVE already described to you as much of the
structure of the body as I believe necessary, in
order to enable you to understand the nature of
the several actions which are perpetually going on
within that structure. It is of these actions that I
have now to speak. But, previously to a description
of the actions peculiar to living beings, it seems
proper to devote a few moments to an inquiry into
the nature of life itself.

Writers on physiology* are accustomed to enu-

* Physiology is an exceedingly improper term. It is used
by the moderns to signify the science of life ; — animal physio-
logy being used for the science which treats of the life of ani-
mals, and vegetable physiology being appropriated to the science
of life in vegetables. But the term Physiology no more de-
notes the science of life, than it does the science of picking
pockets. It means the science of nature ; and it is as strictly
applicable to the laws which govern inanimate matter, as to
those which regulate the actions of living beings. The term,

with

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 7 1

merate the several distinctive differences which
separate the organic from the inorganic kingdom
of nature. These are, generally speaking, well
marked, and sufficiently understood, hy almost every
one ; although almost every one might not proba-
bly be able to give a scientific relation of them.
To dwell upon these, therefore, would be foreign
to my present purpose. But there are a few cha-
racteristics of organic matter, of such vast and
immediate importance to all that relates to the
preservation of health, that I must not omit to take
especial note of them.

with regard to animal life, should be Zoonomy, which signifies
that science which consists in a knowledge of the laws of life,
and nothing else. With regard to the life of vegetables, the
terra should be Phyto-zootomy, which means the science which
makes us acquainted with the laws of plant-life, that is, the
life of plants. " The endless introduction of new technical
terms, on every frivolous pretence," says Dr. FLETCHER (a new-
star in the latro-philosophical firmament, and a bright one
too), " seems adapted much less to benefit than to injure the
cause of philosophy." True : but when the introductions are
not endless, and the pretence not frivolous, an exactly opposite
result will accrue. Nothing has tended so much to mystify
science, and obstruct its progress, as the unsettled state of the
exact meanings of words. Words are, through ideas, the signs
of things : and if one word be used indiscriminately, as the
sign of several things, how is the reader to know which thing
of the several the writer desires to indicate ? Dr. Fletcher
has himself taken occasion elsewhere to complain, and that
loudly, of this improper indiscriminate use of words.

72 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

One of the few attributes I shall mention, as
peculiar to organized matter, is DEATH.

Death — " the dunnest of all duns," — death,

" Sole creditor, whose process doth involve in 't
The luck of finding every body solvent,"

has been so often personified, indeed, as something
horrible — as some " gaunt gourmand, " who is by
every means to be eschewed — that we are apt to
contemplate it as though it were a real entity — a
sort of " raw-head-and-bloody-bones," whose chief
amusement consists in stopping folks' breath. But
I need not tell you, that all this is mere rhetorical
delusion — one of the poet's " fine phrensies." Death
is a sheer abstraction — the mere cessation of life.
As the cessation of sound is called silence — as the
cessation of motion is called rest — so the cessation of
life is called death. Death, therefore, being only
the abstraction of life, it is manifest that things
which never lived can never die.

Another condition peculiar and necessary to all
matter intended to life is, organism — the consum-
mated result of organization. Organism, in the
common sense, is that state of existence in which
the elements composing the germs of matter in-
tended to live are held together by a property
which may be called " vital affinity," or " the affinity

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 73

of vitality," — a property which enables it to resist
the ordinary agencies of chemical affinities to which
common matter is subjected. A seed is an instance
in which a germ of matter intended to live (for a
seed does not live — it merely possesses vitality, or
the aptitude to live) preserves its integrity, in virtue
of the vital affinity, and in defiance of the common
chemical agencies. A melon-seed a hundred years
old, will grow, if planted in a proper soil.

But the term organism is not only used to indi-
cate a peculiar condition of the elements of matter,
but also a peculiar condition of masses of matter.
Here it signifies that state of existence in which
masses of matter grow and preserve their integrity
by virtue of a power which may be said to consist
in the affinities of assimilation — a power withdraw-
ing them from the influence of common chemical
agencies, until they shall have accomplished the final
cause of their organization — a power enabling them
to assimilate other matter to their own nature and
substance *.

* It is perfectly correct to call the assimilating processes by
the term of " affinities of assimilation." For what is affinity,
but an alliance or relation ? And is there not a relation be-
tween the food, and the body which it nourishes ? Is there
not an alliance between them ? And what are the assimila-
ting or nutritive processes or actions, but those actions or
E changes

74 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

Another most important characteristic of living
matter is its contractility ; that is, not contraction,
but the power of contracting : it is the being able
to contract.

Now, Indian-rubber, or a steel spring, may be
said to be able to contract. But then the one of
these can only do it after having been put upon the

changes wrought on the food, by which its alliance to the body
is drawn closer and closer, until they become identical ? And
so it is correct to say, that the proximate atoms of organic
germs are held together by vital affinity ; for this is not equiva-
lent to saying they are brought together by vital affinity. To
say this, would be to assign this affinity as the primary cause
of life; whereas, in fact, the primary cause of life is LIFE
ITSELF : for, in every instance, the seed is the product of a
parent plant. The parent, therefore, must have an existence
antecedent to the seed ; and the life resulting from the seed
has, therefore, necessarily for its cause, the LIFE of which that
seed was the product. If you ask me for the cause of theirs*
life, I answer your question by another. What is the cause
of gravitation ? — of chemical affinity ? — of matter in general ?
— of creation itself ? What, but the " causa causarum " of
the heathen philosopher — the CAUSE of all causes — the DEITY
HIMSELF ? This argument cannot be turned the other way.
It cannot be said, that because the plant is always the product
of a seed, the seed must therefore have had a prior existence:
for the seed is produced by the same economy, in the plant,
which produces the leaves, flowers, &c. ; and to suppose that
the seed could exist before the plant, is to suppose that the
leaves and flowers could exist before the plant. Besides, in
every created being, whether animal or vegetable, except man,
the production of seed appears to be the final cause of its exis-
tence : and the end cannot exist before the means- — the thing
to be achieved before the means necessary to achieve it.

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 75

stretch^ and the other only after having1 been bent :
they can only contract after having been put into
an unnatural condition. In their natural condition
they are, like all other inorganic matter, at rest ;
and can neither contract, nor expand, nor dilate,
without being first submitted to the action of me-
chanical or chemical force. These, therefore, are
merely elastic. But living matter can do much
more than this. When at perfect rest, and in its
natural state, it can contract, shrink, and, in
short, perform spontaneous movements, merely on
being excited, stimulated, or irritated, without the
agency of any mechanical or chemical power. It
does thisjby virtue of a property called contractility.
When you look at a very strong light, the iris, the
coloured part of the eye, being irritated by the
rays of this strong light, contracts, and almost
closes the pupil ; that is, the black spot in the eye,
which is, in fact, a round hole. When your will
directs your arm to move, the muscles of the arm,
stimulated (that is, excited) by your will, contract,
and raise the arm accordingly. When the blood
rushes into the right side of your heart, that part
of the heart contracts, and pushes it into the left
side : then the left side contracts, and pushes it into

the aorta: then the aorta contracts, and pushes it
E 2

76 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

onward ; and so on. All these contractions could
not, of course, be executed, if it were not for the
property of contractility — that is, the ability to
contract.

Now, all the motions of the different parts of the
body, without and within, are performed by these
contractions, and by virtue of this contractility. It
is the main-spring of the watch — it is the chief wheel
in the machine — it is the principal beam, the main
prop, of the building : by it we gather our food —
by it we eat it — by it we swallow it — by it the
stomach sends it on to the bowels: from the
bowels it is carried to the heart by it ; and by it,
having become blood, it is circulated through the
body, for whose nourishment it is destined. Every
time your watch ticks, they say, one human being
is born, and one perishes, in some part or other
of the world. But in the human microcosm,
in that little insignificant world called "man,"
every time his watch ticks there are millions of
molecules of the old body dissolved and carried
away, and their places supplied by as many mil-
lions of new : and all this mainly depends upon
this important property of contractility. When-
ever, therefore, I use the term contractility, you
will know that I mean that power by virtue of

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 77

which the several parts of the body are able to
move, and perform those actions which are proper
to them.

A third property, distinguishing organized from
inorganized matter, is sensibility.

This is exceedingly slippery ground, and ren-
dered still more dangerous by the darkness in
which it is enveloped. I shall therefore hasten off
the ice as quickly as possible, lest some invisible
straw or other should trip up my heels.

" Irritatio," says Glisson, " est perceptio, sed
sensatio est perceptio perceptionis ;" that is, " Irri-
tation is perception, but sensation is the percep-
tion of a perception." Said I not it was slippery
ground ? But Dr. Fletcher, speaking of this defi-
nition of Glisson, says, " for either terseness or
accuracy, it cannot, perhaps, be improved." To me,
however, I confess, it has very much the appear-
ance, not of splitting a hair — that is but a trifle —
but of splitting the very ghost of a hair, which is
no trifle. Lobstein defines sensibility as "facul-
tatem stimulum percipiendi ;" that is, " the faculty
of perceiving a stimulus." You probably know
that any thing which irritates or excites any part
of the body to action is called a stimulus. I think
Lobstein is right. Thus the heart, by virtue of

78 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

its contractility, has the power of contracting ; but
it is by virtue of its sensibility that it perceives
the proper moment for exerting this power — the
precise when to contract; viz. when the blood
stimulates it by its presence, as it rushes into its
cavities. Sensibility, therefore, is that property of
organized matter by which it becomes aware of an
impressing cause — by which it perceives when it is
acted upon by a stimulus.

In vain would the heart be organized — in vain
would it be endowed with contractility (that is, the
power of acting)— were it not also endowed with
sensibility ; that is, the power of knowing when to
act — of feeling the presence of a stimulus. The
several stimuli may be likened to a number of
messengers sent out from " head-quarters," the
heart, in order to tell the several parts of the body
when to act ; and the arteries are the roads along
which they travel — the principal stimuli within the
body being the countless streams of blood continually
flowing through its arteries. You must remember,
however, that this office of stimulation is by no
means the main duty which the blood has to per-
form : it is only an adventitious office — only one
of the numerous functions which the blood per-
orms. Besides the blood, there is another remark-

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 79

able stimulus — another messenger sent to certain
parts of the body, to summon them to action;
which is sent, not from the heart, but from the
brain. This messenger is a strange, incomprehen-
sible being; and his name is WILL.

Comparing organized matter to a musical instru-
ment, and its aptitude to act, i.e. live, to that
instrument's aptitude to sound, one might liken
the stimulus offered by the blood to the per-
former, whose office it is to play upon that in-
strument.

These two properties, sensibility and contracti-
lity) constitute vitality. I say vitality — not life.

And here allow me to caution you against the
common error of confounding vitality with life. The
term " vitality" ho more signifies life, than the word
fiddle signifies music. Vitality signifies, not life,
but livabihty (if I may coin a word) ; that is, the
aptitude or fitness to live; as musicality (if I may
be allowed to coin another word) would denote,
not music, but the aptitude or fitness to give rise
to musical sounds. Vitality is a secondary cause —
a necessary condition of organized matter, in order
to give rise to living actions ; as musicality would
represent a necessary condition in a fiddle, in order
to give rise to musical soutfds. A fiddle may be

80 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

perfect in all its parts, and yet, for want of this
necessary condition, which I have called musicality,
be wholly unable to produce musical sounds. For
instance : — if you were to till the body of Paganini's
best fiddle with sand, and soak its strings in tallow,
Paganini might go mad, perhaps ; but twenty
Pagaiiinis, or one Paganini with a twenty- Paganini
power, which is the same thing, would not be able
to extract from it a single musical tone. Why ?
Because the instrument would have lost that neces-
sary condition which I call musicality — the sand
and the tallow have destroyed it. " En caput ;
sed cerebrum non habet;" — which, being inter-
preted into the vulgar tongue, for the benefit of
" earspoftfc," signifieth, " There is the fiddle ; but
where is its aptitude to discourse most excellent
music 9" I will make this clear in a moment.' The
first condition necessary to life, is organism — that
is the fiddle : the second is vitality, or that condition
or manner of existence necessary to the production
of living actions — that is the musicality, or that
particular mode of a fiddle's existence necessary to
the production of musical sounds ; viz. perfect free-
dom from sand and tallow, and all other impedi-
ments to musical sounds. And, as we have just
seen that a fiddle may exist perfect in all its parts,

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 81

and yet be wholly destitute of musicality, and there-
fore entirely unable to emit sound ; so organized
matter may exist, and yet, for want of vitality, be
wholly unable to lire. I know a man who is the
sole and undisputed proprietor of an extremely fine
wen, situated on the back of his head. If this wen
were shaven off, it would still, for a time, remain
perfectly organized — but it could no longer live.
Why ? Because it would have lost its vitality — that
condition necessary to life, which, in this instance,
would be an endowment derived from its connexion
with the rest of the man's body.

And again : as organism may exist without vita-
lity, so may vitality without life. Seeds are an
example of this. A grain of mustard-seed does not
live : in it there is neither motion nor fluid ; and
it is utterly impossible for a moment to conceive
the existence of life without both these. But it
possesses the aptitude — the ability to live — that is,
vitality ; and if you plant it in a proper soil, it ac-
tually will live, and become possessed both of fluid
and motion. A grain of sand, on the contrary,
possessing neither organism nor vitality, will remain
a grain of sand for ever — plant it in whatever soil
you please : at least, it cannot undergo any changes

but such as are purely chemical or mechanical.
E 3

82 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

As vitality is. not life, then, so neither is it orga-
nism, but merely a condition of the latter, neces-
sary to the existence of the former. Life, then,
being neither organism nor vitality, what is it ?

" Life," says Richerand, " consists in the aggre-
gate of those phenomena which manifest them-
selves in succession for a limited time in organized
beings."

" Life," says Dr. Fletcher, in one of the most
erudite, elegant, and ingenious works that ever fell
from the press — " life consists in the sum of the cha-
racteristic actions of organized beings, performed
in virtue of a specific susceptibility (vitality), acted
up on by specific stimuli." These two definitions are
perfectly consentaneous with each other ; and to
them I have nothing to add. Life, like death, is
not an entity : it is merely an aggregation of
effects. To say what life is, is only to enumerate
all the actions of which a living being is capable ;
not only the visible actions, as of the members, but
also the molecular actions, as those invisible motions
among the proximate molecules of the matter of
which he is composed, and by which his nutrition
is effected. Life is, to organism, contractility,
sensibility, and stimuli, what chemical phenomena
are to chemical affinity — what astronomical pha?no-

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 83

raena are to the centrifugal and centripetal forces,
and the antagonization of these forces by each
other — what the motion of the hands of a watch is
to the main-spring and its elasticity ; viz. the sum
total of numerous effects, of which these four
attributes of organic matter above mentioned are
the secondary causes. These effects we call living
actions — actions, the totality of which constitutes
life.

Organized matter is a harp, of which vitality is
the musical power : stimuli are the fingers of the
performer : and life is the music produced — a hymn,
day and night, in praise of the goodness and power
of HIM, who permits

" This harp of a thousand strings
To keep in tune so long."

Such is life. — Now, what is health ?

As life consists in the aggregate union of all
the living actions, and indifferently, whether those
actions be well or ill performed ; so health consists
in the aggregate union of such only of those actions
by which nutrition is carried on — and not indiffe-
rently, whether they be well or ill performed ; but
exclusively, when they are well performed. And
disease consists, exclusively, in their being (one or
more of them) ill performed.

84 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

You will now readily understand of what tremen-
dous importance to health are the properties con-
tractility and sensibility : for, as health consists in
the due performance of certain actions, and as these
actions depend on contractility and sensibility, it is
clear that they will be feebly or energetically per-
formed, accordingly as these two properties are
themselves energetic or feeble. You will also
see, that the stimulus which the blood offers to
them is of vast importance likewise. This stimulus
is a sort of messenger, sent to summon them to
action. In proportion as the summons is feebly
delivered, it will be faintly heard, and feebly obeyed.
Contractility and sensibility are like a horse that gal-
lops furiously, moves sluggishly, or goes to sleep
entirely, exactly in proportion as the stimulus of the
whip is gently or vigorously applied. Like the horse,
too, the faster they are urged forward by the whip,
the sooner they become tired ; — like him, they may
be driven even to death;— like him, they require rest
and repose. Do not therefore be led to undervalue
the importance of these properties, because of the
playfulness with which 1 have occasionally spoken
of them ; as, for instance, in the allusions to Paga-
nini 'and his fiddle. " Ridentem dicere verum
quid vetat?" What reason on earth is there for

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 85

always telling the truth with a grave face ? Why
should we not sometimes tell it with a smiling eye,
as well as a scowling brow ? Gravity is not wisdom;
nor a smile, folly. Besides, if to smile be a folly,
what then? " Qui vit sans folie, n'est pas si sage
qu'il croit," says Rochefaucauld.

Organism, then, is that arrangement of the com-
ponent parts of matter which fits it to be endowed
with contractility and sensibility. Contractility is
that property which endows it with the power of
executing living motions. Stimuli are impressing
causes, acting on its contractility, and exciting it
(organized matter) to action ; and sensibility is the
property by which it perceives the presence of these
impressing causes.

The muscles of your arm are organized, and they
possess contractility and sensibility; and when you
resolve to raise your arm, your will becomes an
impressing cause, exciting those muscles to action ;
that is, to contract. Their sensibility makes them
aware that this impressing cause, or stimulus, (viz.
the will,) is acting upon them; and they contract in
obedience to it ; and your arm is raised accordingly.

But if the nerves, which convey that stimulus
from the brain to the arm, be paralyzed, you may
will "till the crack of doom"; your arm will not

86 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

stir — it will care no more for your willing, than
did the mules of the abbess of Androuillet for all
that pious old lady's pish-ing and pshaw-ing, and
thumping with her cane on the bottom of the chaise.
There are the organized muscles still; there are
still remaining the contractility and sensibility of
those muscles; and the impressing cause is still in
energetic operation, like the good abbess's cane.
But then this operation is* confined to the wrong
place— the cane is thumping on the bottom of the
chaise, instead of being applied to the crupper of the
mule— the stimulus of the will still exists, it is true,
but then it is in the brain only. From the muscles
of the arm, where its presence is required, it is
absent— absent without leave, like the abbess's
muleteer ; — and your arm will remain as obstinately
immoveable by your side, as did the mules of the
abbess of Androuillet at the foot of the Burgun-
dian hill.

I trust, my dear John, there are now clearly de-
picted on the canvas of your mind four distinct
and well-defined ideas, representing organism, con-
tractility, sensibility, and stimuli ; and that you
plainly perceive their intimate connexion with each
other, and the necessary co-operation of all, in order
to produce the phenomena of life. As to stimuli,

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 87

when you consider the literal meaning of the word,
you will have no difficulty in understanding that
modified sense in which it is used in the language
of science. It means, literally, a long stick with a
sharp point, with which husbandmen were wont to
goad their oxen along, in times and countries when
and where oxen were used for agricultural purposes.
Now these properties, contractility and sensibi-
lity—these important properties, upon which, it is
manifest, life depends ; and without a healthy con-
dition of which the health of the body can no more
be preserved than the true motions of a watch can
be maintained with a broken or otherwise injured
main-spring — these properties, I say, are subject to
certain laws. I am now about endeavouring to
establish these laws ; or rather, I am going to en-
deavour to convince you of their existence. That
they do exist, is a truth that has been well and in-
controvertibly established and admitted among all
men acquainted with the animal economy, the effect
of medicines upon it, &c. &c., ever since Hippocra-
tes practised physic at Athens; and that is more
than two thousand years ago. But it is not suffi-
cient that medical men are aware that these laws
exist; — my object is, to convince you of their exis-
tence. I want you to know what is good, and what

88 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

injurious to your health; not from my dictum, but
from the simple exercise of your own reason.

I beg that you will consider what I am about to
say on the subject of these laws with great attention ;
— examine the proofs and arguments carefully, but
fairly. For I tell you, at the outset, that if you
admit the existence of these laws, you will not
afterwards be at liberty to question or doubt the
truth or propriety of what I shall say with regard
to diet and regimen. For the existence of con-
tractility and sensibility are like the axioms of
Euclid;— they are self-evident truths, of which any
one may convince himself by experiment. For
instance, a dead man may easily be made to move
his limbs, to breathe, to frown, &c., by exciting
the appropriate muscles to contract by means of
galvanism. And the laws to which these properties
are subject, and of which I am now to speak, are,
if I prove them, of the nature of the propositions
of the First Book of Euclid. If these be true, the
propositions of the Second Book must be true also,
of necessity — the truths of the Second Book arising
out of the truths of the First. As, for instance, if
you admit that twice two are four, you must of
necessity, also, admit that the half of four is two.
So, if you admit what I am about to say of these

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. '89

laws, you must also admit the propriety of what I
shall hereafter say as to diet and regimen ; as the
correctness of the latter will depend solely upon the
correctness of the former. As, for instance, if you
admit now that sensibility can be worn out, and
that such and such a regimen is calculated to wear
it out, then, I say, you must also, of necessity,
admit that this particular regimen is injurious to
health. When I come to apply these laws to the
subjects of diet and regimen, I repeat, that either
what I shall say then must be true, or what I am
about to say now must be false.

As all the actions of the body are performed by
contractions, and as these contractions are per-
formed in virtue of the contractile power, that is,
contractility, it is evident that the physical strength
of the body — that strength by which we raise heavy
weights, walk, run, leap, &c — will be in proportion
to the energy of the contractile power. A high
degree of contractile power, then, is synonymous
with strength; and a low degree of contractile power
is synonymous with weakness.

But not only are the motions of the limbs per-
formed by contractions, but also those motions of
the internal organs by which nutrition is effected.
Now, this being the case, and as these internal con-

90 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

tractions are also performed in virtue of the con-
tractile power, or contractility, it is again manifest
that the energy with which these internal motions
are performed (and by which nutrition is effected)
will be also in proportion to the energy of the con-
tractile power : and as health consists in the due
energy (as we have before seen) with which these
motions or actions are effected, it follows, clearly
and logically, that a high degree of contractile
power is synonymous with a high degree of health ;
and that a low degree of contractile power is synony-
mous with feeble health.

Having premised the above short paragraph, I
now proceed to mention to you the first important
law to which contractility is subject, viz. EVANES-
CENCE. Contractility can only exist in perfection
in recently-organized matter. No sooner has a
molecule of matter become organized and assimi-
lated to the living matter, than its contractility
begins to fade — to evaporate, as it were, like breath
which has been breathed upon a highly-polished
surface, such as steel, or looking--glass. Indeed,
it seems to be the evanescent nature of contracti-
lity which has given occasion to that particular
contrivance by which life is supported; viz. by
constant organization and disorganization ; that is,

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 91

perpetual building up by the arteries, and pulling
down by the absorbents. For if contractility could
continue to exist in full energy, in an organized
body, during the whole time that body was destined
to exist, what necessity was there for this constant
renewal — this constant disorganization and re-
organization— this constant pulling down and build-
ing up ?

The evanescent nature of contractility may, I
think, be accounted for thus: — It seems to have
been a predetermined law of nature, that the only
permanent condition of matter should be the in-
organic condition. Nevertheless, certain ends in
the general scheme of creation were to be fulfilled,
which required for their accomplishment the exis-
tence of organized matter. But, in order that orga-
nized matter might not be permanent, and so destroy
or neutralize that original law by which it was
enacted that there should be no permanent condi-
tion of matter except the inorganic, all organized
matter was made subject to the laws of fermentation
and putrefaction, as they are usually called ; whose
office it is, to destroy its organism, and bring it back
to its original inorganic condition. But if this had
been all that was done, the objects for which matter
had been organized could never have been accom-

92 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

plished ; for no sooner would matter have become
organic, than it would instantly have begun to
be disorganized again, by virtue of the laws of
fermentation and putrefaction, to which it has
been made subservient. But the ends to be an-
swered by organized beings required time — re-
quired a continuity of existence, in a perfect state
of organism, for a determinate period. It was
necessary, therefore, that there should be another
contrivance, in order to withdraw organized beings
beyond the influence of the laws of putrefaction
and fermentation for a definite time ; that is, until
the purposes for which it had been organized should
be accomplished. The phsenomena of life exhibit
this contrivance — a number of temporary phseno-
mena, set up in order to withstand the phsenomena
of fermentation and putrefaction for a limited
period. But, since the phaenomena of life result
from contractility, and because contractility can only
reside in full activity in very recently organized
matter, it was necessary, in order to make the
matter of an organized being a fit residence for
vigorous contractility, that it should be continually
renewed; — that, while the whole being, as a being,
grew older and older, the molecules of which he
is composed should, nevertheless, be always young.

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 93

And thus we observe in the aged, in whom the
process of renewal goes on but feebly, and in whom
the laws of fermentation and putrefaction are gra-
dually gaining the ascendancy over the laws of life
— the laws of that contrivance which was instituted
in order to remove living beings, for a time, from
the influence of fermentation and putrefaction — we
observe, I say, in the aged that contractility i&
greatly diminished — it has waned, it has faded —
their strength is greatly reduced — they are no
longer a fit residence for active contractility ; since
this property can only reside, in its perfection, in
very recently-organized matter; whereas, in the
old, organization goes on very slowly and imper-
fectly. On the contrary, in children, contractility
exists in a very high degree ; because, in them, the
process of organization goes on with great rapidity.
A child will romp about on its legs for a whole day,
without feeling fatigue; and can endure exertion
far longer than a man, when we take into consi-
deration the comparatively small size of the child's
muscles.

It is a law, then, of contractility, that in order to
its perfection, it is necessary that the molecules of
the parts in which it resides should be rapidly re-
organized— in a word, that they should always have

49 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

a plentiful supply of healthy and well- vivified blood ;
for it is out of the blood that the solid body is re-
paired—reproduced.

Another proof of the evanescence of contractility
is, the physical weakness which invariably attends
total inaction.

Another law of contractility is this : It is in
PERPETUAL STRIFE with the laws of fermentation
and putrefaction. This law arises necessarily out
of what I have just said; viz. that life is a con-
trivance to withdraw, for a time, organized beings
from the influence of fermentation and putrefac-
tion. It is proved also by the fact, that healthy
living beings cannot putrefy — that the universal
solvent, the gastric juice itself, has no power to
dissolve living animals when accidentally taken
into the stomach — that living beings, in whom life
and strength (that is, contractility) are at a very
low degree indeed, as in putrid fevers, do begin
to putrefy partially — and that all beings who have
lived are instantly acted upon by the fermenta-
tive and putrefactive forces, as soon as contrac-
tility has left them : — observe, NOT as soon as life
has left them ; for contractility will sometimes re-
main, for a short time, after life has ceased. Con-
tractility, you must remember, is not life, but one

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 95

of the secondary causes from which life results.

Another law of contractility is, that it is in an
inverse ratio of sensibility. When contractility is
vigorous, sensibility is dull ; and when contractility
is deficient, sensibility is acute. This will be proved,
when speaking of the laws of sensibility.

It will be as well, perhaps, here to caution you
against confounding the sensibility of science, which
signifies the property of feeling, or becoming sen-
sible of impressing stimuli, with that other kind of
young-lady sensibility which is, I believe, peculiar
to some boarding-schools.

In my next Letter, I shall speak of certain laws
and characteristic facts peculiar to sensibility. Till
then, adieu !

E. JOHNSON.

96 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

LETTER IV.

224, Blackfriars Road.

15th April, 1836.
MY DEAR JOHN,

I AM now to speak to you of certain laws, or cir-
cumstances, by which the SENSIBILITY of the body
is materially influenced.

I have elsewhere noticed, that it is by means of
the organs of our senses that a proper relation is
established between ourselves and the various natu-
ral objects with which we are surrounded. It is by
means of these that we are able to appreciate the
value of these objects, and their power of affecting
us, whether injuriously or beneficially. It is by
these organs that we are able to discover the means
of avoiding whatever is hurtful, and of selecting
and securing whatever is necessary to our comfort
and well-being. The eye warns us of the approach
of danger from before; the ear, from behind;
while the senses of smell, taste, and touch, enable

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 97

us to decide upon the qualities of whatever matters
are presented to us for food. But the medium,
through which these organs are enabled to render
us these important offices, is their SENSIBILITY.
For if the eye were insensible to light, we could not
see — the ear to sound, we could not hear — the nose
to odours, we could not smell — the tongue to fla-
vours, we could not taste — the skin to touch, we
could not feel. In literal fact, then, you see it is
SENSIBILITY, after all, which establishes this neces-
sary relation, of which I have spoken, between our-
selves and surrounding objects ; the organs being
no more than the instruments by which SENSIBILITY
exerts its influence. SENSIBILITY, then, is our
guardian angel ; — it is, like the sailor's " sweet little
cherub," an invisible agent, that for ever watches
over " our lives and safeties all."

Every organ has a kind of peculiar sensibility
of its own. Thus, the sensibility of the eye is not
aifected by the stimulus of sound ; nor can the
sensibility of the ear take cognisance of the
stimulus of light. The nose is insensible to the
stimulus of flavours, and the tongue knows nothing
of odours. From this it follows, that the sensi-
bility of each organ is adapted to be properly
affected by certain stimuli only. All others than

08 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

these will either not affect it at all;, or affect it
painfully and injuriously. Thus sound, being a
stimulus proper to the ear, but improper to the eye,
will affect the ear properly, but the eye not at all.
Again, salt is a stimulus proper to the stomach,
and, when it comes in contact with the membrane
which lines that organ, it affects its sensibility
agreeably and healthily ; but if you blow salt into
your eye, it will produce the most violent pain; yet
the membrane which lines the stomach is as delicate
in its texture as that which covers the eye. Thus,
again, there are certain medicines which exert their
influence only on certain organs. Some will act on
the stomach, some on the bowels only ; some on the
kidneys, some on the brain, some on the liver. If
you rub belladonna into the skin of your leg, it will
not affect your leg; but (excuse the bull !) you
will wake some fine morning, and be astonished
to discover that you have suddenly become blind.
This once occurred to a patient who was under the
care of the late Mr. Abernethy for a sore leg ; Mr.
Abernethy having ordered the sore to be dressed
with the extract of belladonna. The man, how-
ever, recovered his sight. — Mr. Abernethy never
dressed sore legs with belladonna again. I heard
him relate this circumstance myself.

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 1)9

Every organ, therefore, has a peculiar SENSI-
BILITY of its own, and can be properly affected by
certain stimuli only — all others, if they affect it at
all, affecting it injuriously : and the evidence of the
impropriety of a stimulus, is the pain, or some other
inconvenience produced. Hence arises a corollary;
viz. that whatever stimulus produces pain, or other
inconvenience, is an improper stimulus. The pain,
for instance, produced by blowing salt into the eye
is sufficient proof that salt is a stimulus not proper
to that organ, and cannot, therefore, be applied to
it without injury.

This peculiar, distinctive, or eclectic or natu-
ral SENSIBILITY, is impaired by over-stimulation.
Thus we may be deafened by excess of sound, and
blinded by excess of light. Every body knows, too,
that snuff will produce, in persons not accustomed
to it, violent and painful sneezing ; while those who
have been industriously stimulating their nostrils
with it for some time can take the strongest kinds
with impunity. Again, persons who have never
smoked tobacco will generally be sick when they
first begin to do so ; but after a short time they can
smoke pipe after pipe without inconvenience. If a
person not accustomed to drink any thing stronger

than water were to swallow a glass of whisky, it
F 2

100 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

would almost choke him ; while a Scottish High-
lander will toss off glass after glass, not only
without inconvenience, but with a most pleasant
gusto.

Now, what have these persons done — these snuff-
takers, pipe-smokers, and dram-drinkers? Why,
as far as the organs in question are concerned,
they have, by blunting their sensibility, actually
thrown dust into the eyes, and partially blinded
that very " cherub " whose sole business it is to
watch over their safety. Is not this madness?
Is it not the same thing as though a man should
wilfully disable the arm that was only raised to pro-
tect him ?

When a man, for the first time, swallows a glass
of raw spirit, his guardian angel, SENSIBILITY, tells
him — not indeed in a language that can be heard,
but in one ^ far more impressive — a language that
can be felt — tells him, I say, as plainly as pain can
speak, that raw spirit is an injurious stimulant.
Yet, what does the fool do ? Why, turns a deaf ear
to the intimation which could 6e, by possibility, no
other than a friendly one, and obstinately perse-
veres till the voice that warned him warns him no
more ; — and then, with a folly scarcely less than
idiotic, and an impudent hardihood scarcely less

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 101

than blasphemous, he exclaims : — " Behold ! it
does me no harm ! it gives me no pain ! it causes
me no inconvenience ! " thus appealing, in his de-
fence, to the silence of that voice which he has
himself forcibly silenced. This is abominable ! —
Let every man drink what poison he pleases ; — of
this I do not complain : — but let him not attempt
to defend the practice : for this is to allure others
into the same trap which is already closing its iron
teeth upon his own hapless person.

But, luckily for us frail mortals, when this natu-
ral SENSIBILITY has been only impaired— not utterly
destroyed — it can be restored by rest, and only by
rest; that is, by ceasing to stimulate it. A few com-
mon and well-known facts will be sufficient to prove
this. If a man has taken snuff for ten years, and
then leave it off for ten years, should he be fool
enough to begin again, he will be as much affected
by it as he was at the first pinch. If a man spend an
hour in the belfry of a church while the bells are
ringing, when he comes down he will be almost
deaf for a time : shortly, however, he will recover
his hearing. If a man look at the sun for a minute
or two, when he first looks aside he will not be
able to distinguish objects : he will, however, pre-
sently recover accurate vision. If a man has drunk

102 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

spirit till the lining of his throat has no more sen-
sibility than the lining of a copper-kettle, let him
desist for a few months, and it will be restored.
If a man have fed on highly-seasoned soups, piquant
ragouts, and other French abominations, until he
can discover no flavour in dry bread, let him bo
sent to Brixton tread-mill for a month, and he will
discover that a penny-loaf is a delicious morsel.
But I need not multiply instances; — your own re-
collection will furnish you with abundant proofs,
that the way to restore impaired sensibility is to
allow it to remain for a time unstimulated.

Another peculiarity of general sensibility is, that
it can be accumulated in one organ — drawn from
all oilier parts of the body, and concentered, as it
were, in one. The insensibility of pain (I mean,
of course, comparatively} which madmen possess, is
well known ; and several remarkable proofs of this
are given by Dr. Hibbert, in his " Philosophy of
Apparitions" — a book which you, and every one
else, ought to read. We know, too, that persons
under the influence of engrossing attention may be
spoken to, and even pulled by the skirt — " plucked
by the ear," as Horace says — without their perceiv-
ing it. There are irresistible proofs of this to
be drawn from natural history but it would be

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 103

improper to mention them in a letter like this. We
know, too, that when any one part of the body is in
great pain, the rest of the body is nearly insensible
to lesser pain. This fact has given rise to a curious
operation for the cure of traumatic locked-jaw. It
consists in inflicting on the wretched patient, in
some part of his body, a pain, the anguish of
which shall be greater and more excruciating than
the tetanic agony : thus, as it were, restoring the
equilibrium of the sensibility; and subduing a
great pain, by inflicting, for the time, a much
greater pain. The operation is said to have been
successful : but the operators complain, that they
can get few patients to submit to it. Sensibility,
then, can be drawn from one part of the body, and
concentered in another.

Another curious circumstance connected with
SENSIBILITY is SYMPATHY. All the organs of the
body appear to sympathize with one another. That
the brain and stomach have a strong sympathy
with each other, is absolutely certain : the proof of
which is, that a violent blow on the head will
produce vomiting ; and a deranged state of the
stomach will produce headache. Whatever, there-
fore, affects your stomach injuriously, will also
affect your brain injuriously. He, therefore, who

104 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

ill-treats his stomach, does so, not only at the
expense of his bodily health, but at the expense of
his understanding also ; that is, at the expense of
his mind's health.

From this law of sympathy, then, it follows, that
you cannot injure any one organ of the body with-
out also injuring, to a certain extent, the wholf
of the body, and the mind also. And, indeed,
when we consider the intimate connexion which
exists between all the organs of the body, and the
reciprocal dependence of all upon each other —
when we remember that all the nerves have one of
their extremities fixed in the brain or spinal mar-
row, and their other extremities distributed to
every point of the body — when we recollect that
all the organs are made up, not of separate net-
works, but of different portions of one and the
same universal tissue — when we consider this, there
seems nothing surprising in the existence of this
sympathy. The body, although composed of nu-
merous parts, forms, nevertheless, one harmonious
whole ; and you cannot remove one part without
injury to the whole. And again, although each
organ performs a distinct function or office, yet it
cannot do this without the co-operation of others.
Thus the stomach can exert no influence on the

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 105

food, unless well supplied with blood by the heart.
If the brain die, the heart must cease to pulsate ;
and if the heart cease to move, the brain must
necessarily perish. It is not, then, by any means sur-
prising that an injury to one organ should be felt by
another ; — on the contrary, it would be very won-
derful if it were not so. Accordingly, we see that a
wound of the foot will often produce locked-jaw ; —
the disease, in this instance, being at one extremity
of the body, while the wound that produced it was
inflicted on the other. If it were necessary to
make this mutual dependence of all the organs on
each other still clearer, we have only to recollect,
that it is impossible to injure any one wheel of a
watch without injury to the whole machine — with-
out incapacitating it properly to fulfil the office for
which it was intended. And man, the master-
miracle of nature, is a machine of far more delicate
and complicated structure than a watch, and there-
fore more readily deranged.

Now, if no organ concerned in the preservation
of health (for it is of these I am speaking — the
organs of nutrition) can be disordered without dis-
ordering all the others, how much more certainly
(if this were possible) will it be the case, when the
stomach, one of the most important of these organs,

JOG LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

as well as the first which is called into action in the
process of nutrition, is kept in a state of almost
perpetual excitement and unnatural activity. How
can it be conceived to be possible that the other
wheels of the machine can go aright, when this, the
very first wheel which is put in motion, and on
which the motions of all the others depend, goes
wrong ?

Let this, then, be engraven an inch deep on the
tablet of your memory — that you cannot injure ONE
of the organs of nutrition without injury to the
whole.

I now come to the last law of sensibility which I
shall mention; and it is, where all are important
— the most important. Therefore, my dear John,
draw your chair, put your feet upon the fender,
snuff the candles, adjust your spectacles, and read
with attention : for I deny that any man can read
attentively who has not first fixed himself in a
comfortable position.

This is the law ; viz. that SENSIBILITY is always
in an inverse ratio of CONTRACTILITY. When CON-
TRACTILITY is vigorous, SENSIBILITY is low; and
when CONTRACTILITY is feeble, SENSIBILITY is always
acute ; and as vigorous CONTRACTILITY is synony-
mous with health and strength, the greater or less

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 107

degree of SENSIBILITY becomes an infallible test of
the state of the health.

I have already proved that it is the SENSIBILITY
of our organs which establishes the necessary rela-
tion between ourselves and the objects which sur-
round us. From this it follows directly, that it is
upon SENSIBILITY that all our pleasures and all our
pains depend: for there is no pleasure and no
pain which is not derived to us from impressions
made by external objects upon our feeling — of
which feeling, SENSIBILITY is the soul. I mean,
the feeling as well of the mind as the body.

Now, the SENSIBILITY of a perfectly healthy man
is so regulated, as to afford him the greatest possible
degree of pleasure with the least possible degree of
pain ; that is, consistently with his terrestrial exis-
tence. Indeed, our pleasures are the voluntary and
bountiful gift of nature. For our pains, we have
nobody to thank but our foolish selves. So good
has the great Governor of the Universe been to us,
that we could not, if we would, escape pleasure;
but, in almost every instance, we can avoid pain, if
we will : for pain is only a warning voice, intima-
ting to us that we have got into a false position —
that we are doing something which we ought not
to do, or leaving something undone which we ought

108 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

to do ; — in a word, that the proper relation between
ourselves and surrounding objects has been, for
the time, destroyed. Man, if he would but be con-
tent to be what nature made him, and if it were
not for his cat-like pugnacity, need scarcely know
what pain is.

Nature, then, has endowed us with a certain de-
gree of SENSIBILITY : and my object is, to shew that
we cannot increase this without diminishing our
proper amount of pleasure, and augmenting our
proper share of pain — without enfeebling our CON
TRACTILITY; — in a word, without injury to our
health and strength.

Pain is invariably the result of impressions too
acutely or strongly made : and, as SENSIBILITY is
that property by which impressions are felt, it is
perfectly manifest, that the more acute SENSIBILITY
is, the more acutely impressions will be felt. And
thus those impressions, which in a healthy state of
the SENSIBILITY afford only pleasure, become pain-
ful ; and those which always produce pain become
more painful. This is so very clear, as to render
amplification wholly unnecessary.

In order to prove, that wherever there is a high
degree of SENSIBILITY, there is always a low degree
of CONTRACTILITY, i.e. strength— and that, wherever

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 109

there is a low degree of strength, there is always a
high degree of SENSIBILITY — you need only look
through the world.

Let us first approach the couch of sickness.
Tread lightly ; — for the slightest noise makes the
poor sufferer start, and gives him the headache.
Be careful to close the door after you; — for the
faintest breath of air gives him cold. See how he
is shading his eyes with his hand ! for the few rays
of light which struggle feebly through the Venetian
blind are painful to them. Observe his hand :
how white and bloodless ! If you take it in your
own, you must handle it as you would an infant's —
an ordinary pressure will make him cringe with
pain. His banker has just failed, and reduced him
to ruin ; but you must not breathe a syllable of this
in his hearing ! — it would kill him. Do you observe
that rope suspended over the bed from the ceiling,
with a small cross-bar of wood attached to the end
of it ? So faint is the contractility of his muscles,
that he could not, without this contrivance, raise
himself in bed. Observe him, as he carries his cup
of gruel to his pallid lips ! Mark how the liquid
quivers in the vessel ! Hark, how its edge rattles
against his teeth, as he applies it to his mouth ! The
contractile property of the muscles of his arm is so

110 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

feeble, that they have not power to keep the limb
steady, even while he carries nourishment to his
mouth. His heart, too, contracts so feebly, that it
cannot send the blood far enough to reach the skin.
It is this which makes it so deadly pale ; — it is this,
too, which makes him shiver on the application of
the slightest current of air.

In the above picture you will observe two things :
first, that the CONTRACTILITY of the invalid has
almost entirely disappeared, leaving him powerless ;
and secondly, that his SENSIBILITY is so acute, that
those impressions of light, sound, touch, &c., which
under ordinary circumstances were only necessary
to the enjoyment of existence, have now become
sources of painful suffering ; thus proving, that
whenever SENSIBILITY is advanced beyond the
natural standard, the sources of pain are multiplied,
and those of pleasure diminished;— and that where-
ever SENSIBILITY is excessively high, CONTRACTILITY
(that is, strength) is excessively low.

It is true, that this is a case of extreme illness,
and that every departure from health will not pro-
duce this extreme state of things. But it will pro-
duce an approximation to it. In the slightest de-
parture from health, the same effects of things
will be produced ; the only difference being in
degree.

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. HI

To prove this — let us take a peep into " my lady's
chamber." Here you will find the same circum-
stances of heightened SENSIBILITY, and depreciated
CONTRACTILITY, which you observed in the sick-
room— only in a less degree. It is true, that she
can bear an ordinary degree of light without pain,
and that the sound of your foot-fall may not give
her the headache ; but if you leave the door ajar,
she will most likely take cold; — if the force of your
friendship cause you to press her hand a little too
forcefully, she will assuredly scream ; — and if you
steal slily behind her, when she thinks she is alone,
and cry, " Bo to a goose !" she will in all probabi-
lity fall into hysterics. If you press her arm
strongly between your finger and thumb, you will
make it black and blue ; — while it would require,
in order to produce the same effect on one of Mr.
Barclay's draymen, little less than the gripe of a
blacksmith's vice. "The hand of little employ-
ment hath the daintier sense."

So much for her SENSIBILITY ; — now for her
CONTRACTILITY. — Could she carry a bushel-basket
of potatoes upon her head, for a mile, without
resting? Not she. Yet why can she not? It is
true, she is a lady ; but, as Burns says,
"A man's a mail for a' that."

112 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

And is not a woman a woman for a' that ? There
is many a woman, neither so tall nor so well propor-
tioned, who would carry a bushel of potatoes on her
head, without resting, from Pedlar's Acre to Penny
Fields, and think herself well rewarded with a
shillino-. There must he some better reason for

O

this great difference, than the mere fact of one
being a lady, and the other a woman. The true
reason is, that the contractility of my lady's organs,
especially her muscles, has sunk exactly as much
below the natural standard as their SENSIBILITY has
been elevated above it.

Thus, then, we have indisputable proof that
SENSIBILITY and CONTRACTILITY are always in an
inverse ratio of each other. But you must be
careful to observe, that it is not increased SENSI-
BILITY that gives rise to diminished CONTRACTILITY;
but it is diminished CONTRACTILITY that increases
SENSIBILITY \ — increased SENSIBILITY being no
more than the proof of diminished CONTRACTILITY ;
that is, enfeebled health and strength.

From this it follows, therefore, that the degree
of SENSIBILITY depends upon the degree of CON-
TRACTILITY : and this is fortunate, for we have on
that very account only to raise CONTRACTILITY, in
order to lower an irritable, acute, troublesome, and

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 113

unhealthy degree of SENSIBILITY to the natural
standard. This can be easily done; so easily, that
I will undertake, within one month, without fee or
reward, or pill or potion of any kind, and on the
peril of my head, to enable any lady within the
pale of the United Kingdom of Great Britain
and Ireland to carry a bushel of potatoes on her
head from Pedlar's Acre to Penny-Fields without
resting, and that with no more pain and labour to
herself than may be sufficient to spare her pocket
the expense of sixpenny-worth of rouge.

Now, then> it is quite clear, that whatever causes,
circumstances, regimen, or conduct, have a tendency
to heighten SENSIBILITY, must necessarily have a
tendency to depress CONTRACTILITY ; since I have
proved that a high degree of the former is wholly
incompatible with a high degree of the latter, and
therefore cannot exist in conjunction with it.

The reason why a high degree of SENSIBILITY
cannot exist in conjunction with a high degree of
CONTRACTILITY is this : — the nerves (which are the
seat of sensibility) are more or less acutely sensible,
according to the greater or less degree of firmness
with which they are compressed on all sides by the
parts immediately surrounding them and in contact
with them. Thus the nerves of the bones, ligaments.

114 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

and sinews are so firmly compressed on all sides by
the unyielding structure of these parts, that they
are almost wholly insensible. You may cut them,
lacerate them, without giving pain. The muscles
(that is, the red flesh) cannot be wounded without
considerable pain, because their structure is not so
firm as that of the bones, sinews, &c. : but it is
much more compact and firm than the structure of
the skin, and therefore a wound inflicted on a
muscle will not produce any thing like the acuteness
of pain which is felt on wounding the skin. In
the nerves of the eye and ear it was necessary that
a SENSIBILITY of the very highest degree should
exist, in order to enable these organs to feel the
very slight and subtile impressions of light and
sound. Accordingly, we find that from these nerves
all surrounding pressure is removed entirely; these
nerves being, as it were, expanded into a sort of
quivering jelly at that part where they are destined
to receive their natural impressions.

Now, a very large portion of the body is, as you
know, made up of a conglomeration of blood-
vessels. The whole body, then, taken as a whole,
will be the more compact and firm accordingly as
these vessels are fully distended with blood ;— pre-
cisely as sponge becomes a more compact body

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 115

when distended with water than when dry ; since,
when dry, its cells are filled with air; but when
saturated with water, they are filled with water,
which is a far more compact material than air. If
you draw a thread through a sponge saturated with
water, the sides of that thread will be everywhere
compressed and supported by either the solid parts
of the sponge or by the water : whereas, if you
draw a thread through a dry sponge, whenever that
thread passes through an empty cell its sides will
be entirely unsupported and uncompressed. So of
the body; — a nerve passing through the body (which
body consists of a congeries of vessels) will have its
sides everywhere compressed and supported, so long
as those vessels are well filled and fully distended.
But if these vessels be half empty — if their sides be
allowed, as it were, to collapse and fall away from
the nerves which they everywhere surround — it is
manifest that those nerves will not be so firmly
compressed and well supported as they were while
all the vessels surrounding them were fully dis-
tended. It is this half-filled state of the vessels
which constitutes that lax and soft state of the body
called flabby. This loose, flabby, and uncompact
state of the body, therefore, is highly favourable to
SENSIBILITY ; since SENSIBILITY is always increased

116 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

accordingly as surrounding pressure and support
are removed from the nerves.

But a state of the body the very opposite to that
just described is alone favourable to CONTRAC-
TILITY : for I have before proved that vigorous
CONTRACTILITY can only reside in recently orga-
nized matter ; and in order that this recent orga-
nization— this perpetual youth, as it were — of the
several parts of the body may be kept up, an
abundant supply of healthy blood is absolutely
indispensable. Thus CONTRACTILITY in perfection
requires a highly-distended condition of the blood-
vessels, and, consequently, a firm and compact state
of the body — a state exactly the contrary of that
just described as favourable to the development of
SENSIBILITY. Hence arises a most important corol-
lary; viz. that whatever increases the natural vigour
of the circulation, increases the CONTRACTILITY and
lessens the SENSIBILITY of the body; and whatever
lessens the SENSIBILITY of the body, by increasing
its CONTRACTILITY, increases also the natural vigour
of the circulation ; since the blood is circulated by
virtue of the contractile power of the heart and
arteries.

The degree of SENSIBILITY, therefore, is always
not only in an inverse ratio of the degree of CON-

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 117

TRACTILITY, but also of the circulating power : and
since all the motions of the body are performed by
virtue of CONTRACTILITY, and the whole process of
nutrition by the virtue of the circulation, this is
the same as saying that the degree of SENSIBILITY
is always in an inverse ratio of the degree of
health and strength ; — which is the fact.

A very familiar instance of the increase of SEN-
SIBILITY, produced by lessening the quantity of the
blood, is to be found in the fact, that a dose of
cathartic medicine wholly incompetent to affect the
bowels under ordinary circumstances, will be found
quite sufficient to do so if administered after blood-
letting.

I am at this time attending a huge, strong, dread-
nought-looking custom-house officer, for a slight
attack of paralysis which he sustained some weeks
since. Since the attack, I have bled him nine times,
taking away thirty ounces of blood each time: he was
also once cupped by Mr. Gomley of Osborn Street.
You may easily imagine that a man who can bear
this, and yet walk about the street without support,
must, at least, be no chicken. Yet so much has
his sensibility — (I speak now of moral SENSIBILITY,
which, after all, is but the physical SENSIBILITY of
those parts of the nervous system which are suscep-

1 18 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

tible of impressions by moral causes) — so much, I
say, has this man's SENSIBILITY been increased by
bleeding, that a cross word is sufficient to make
him burst into tears.

As moral SENSIBILITY is but the SENSIBILITY of
those parts of the system which are capable of being
impressed by moral causes, it follows that the
qualities of the mind will be, in a great measure,
regulated by the relative degrees of CONTRACTILITY
and SENSIBILITY in individuals. When the brain
and nervous system are but ill supplied with blood,
and that blood but feebly circulated, and therefore
imperfectly vivified, the SENSIBILITY to moral
causes or stimuli will be morbidly acute. Such a
person is easily and morbidly affected by causes to
which others are wholly insensible : a sudden loud
knock at the door, for instance, will make him start
almost from his seat.

If you speak to him of a contingent evil, however
slight and remote, he views it through a mental
telescope, always applying that end of the instru-
ment to his eye which magnifies the object and
increases its proximity. If you speak of a con-
tingent good, the telescope is instantly 'reversed; and
he views it through the opposite end, which dimi-
nishes its value, lessens its probability, and renders

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 1 19

it only visible at the extreme point of a long per-
spective. In short, he is timid, desponding, infirm
of purpose, imaginative, and incapable of continued
application.

Such a man may be a poet, but not a mathe-
matician.

On the contrary, when CONTRACTILITY is vi-
gorous, and the circulation consequently energetic,
the brain will be abundantly supplied with healthy
blood ; its nervous tissue firmly supported every-
where within the meshes of that tissue formed by
the interlacings of well-filled blood-vessels ; and its
SENSIBILITY, therefore, will be, in a corresponding
degree, obtuse. It requires a strong moral cause
to operate on the mind of such a man. " Trifles
light as air," have no power to excite, to irritate, or
in any way affect him : he is, consequently, bold,
patient, good-humoured, inflexible, unimaginative,
and capable of long-continued mental exertion*.
Such a man may become a great mathematician,
but never a poet. I think I could shew that all the

* Why does exercising the memory strengthen the memory ?
Clearly, because it strengthens the brain by increasing the
vigour of the circulation through it. The use of the hammer
strengthens the blacksmith's arm in the same manner ;
viz. by increasing the vigour of the circulation through it ;
and consequently increasing also its contractility, that it, its
strength.

1 20 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

peculiarities of the human mind are to be accounted
for, as depending upon certain modifications of the
two physical properties — CONTRACTILITY and SEN-
SIBILITY; but on this subject I have said enough,
— and, perhaps you will add, " and to spare :"
therefore, my dear John, for the present, I bid
you farewell. " Pax vobiscum /"

E. JOHNSON.

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 121

LETTER V.

224 Slackfriars Road,

15th May, 1836.
MY DEAR JOHN,

T HAVE now to speak of the principal actions con-
cerned in the nutrition of our bodies — that is, in
converting our food into ourselves. These are four
in number : ABSORPTION, CIRCULATION, RESPIRA-
TION, and SECRETION.

If you have read attentively what I have already
written concerning the absorbent vessels, and con-
cerning those arteries which, when convoluted and
conglomerated into those little balls called glands,
perform the office of secreting the several juices of
the body, as the saliva, &c. ; — if, I say, you have
read all this with attention, you will now have no
difficulty in understanding what is meant by the
terms ABSORPTION and SECRETION. I shall now,
therefore, briefly describe the circulation of the
blood, and the effect which respiration has upon it :
and then I shall endeavour to exhibit to you these
important phaenomena of ABSORPTION, CIRCULATION,

122 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

RESPIRATION, and SECRETION, in active operation,
by tracing a given portion of food through all the
changes wrought upon it, by virtue of these four
actions, until it has become assimilated to the body.

First, let us trace the CIRCULATION OF THE
BLOOD.

The blood, of a bright vermilion hue, and richly
laden with the elements of living matter — the
new materials for repairing the wasted body —
starting from the left side of the heart, enters the
aorta. From the aorta it is distributed into
branches of the aorta, and hence into branches of
these branches, being divided and subdivided into
smaller and smaller streamlets, as it proceeds from
branch to branch. In this manner it is propelled
onwards, until it has been subdivided into as many
minute hairlike streamlets as there are points in the
body ; there being no point of the body which is
not supplied and nourished by one of these scarcely
conceivable minute streamlets of blood.

While these countless myriads of currents of
blood are thus traversing the body — each, as it
were, intent on reaching some one particular point
or other as the end of its journey — they may be
appropriately likened to an innumerable swarm of
bees ; each laden with stores, and hastening onward

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 123

in order to deposit his particular share at some
point or other of the honey-comb which they are
all mutually engaged in building or repairing.

When the blood has thus arrived at every point
of the entire body, and each streamlet has fulfilled
its office of renovation, by parting with the new
materials which it contained, and depositing them in
the place of the old and worn-out materials which
have been removed, but the instant before, by the
absorbents — when, in a word, the function of nutri-
tion has been performed; the little hairlike arte-
ries, which brought these several minute streamlets
of blood from the heart to the several points of
their destination, bend back upon themselves, lose
the structure peculiar to arteries, assume that pe-
culiar to veins, and commence their journey back
to the heart.

The little streamlets of blood which fill these
little back ward- running veins having now parted
with those living elements — those fresh materials —
which they brought for the renovation of the body,
may be likened, not inaptly, to the same swarm of
bees mentioned before ; which, having deposited
their precious burdens in various parts of the
honey-comb, are now hastening abroad for a fresh

supply.

09

124 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

The blood, therefore, having fulfilled its func-
tion, quits the arteries, and enters the veins.

I have said, that when the arteries cease to be
arteries, and become veins, they bend back upon
themselves. The veins, therefore, in their passage
towards the heart, run alongside the arteries, and
parallel with them ; and wherever you find an
artery bringing arterial blood from the heart, you
will also find, by the side of it, and enclosed in the
same sheath with it, a vein carrying back venous
blood to the heart. Thus the several streams of
venous and arterial blood pass each other on the
road, as it were, like two trains of carriages
moving side by side, but in contrary directions —
the one train going out, the other returning home.
As the terminations of arteries form the be-
ginnings of veins, it follows that the number of the
veins, at their commencement, is equal to the
number of the arteries. But these numerous
minute veins, as they travel towards the heart, are
every now and then uniting, to form larger ones :
consequently, the streams of venous blood, as
they approach the heart, are constantly becoming
larger and larger also; and thus the whole quantity
of venous blood is eventually collected into two
large veins, which empty themselves into the right

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 125

cavity of the heart, like two Fleet ditches disem-
boguing- into the Thames.

We have now completed what is called " the
greater circle of circulation"; that is, we have
traced the vermilion nutritious blood from the
heart to every point of the body. We have seen
it there part with its nutritious particles, in order
to repair the waste of the body : and thus, deterio-
rated in quality, altered in colour, and rendered
oppressive and unwholesome in its properties, we
have traced it back to the same organ from which
it set out ; viz. the heart. But, although we have
brought it back to the same organ from which it
started, we have not yet brought it back to the
same side of that organ. It set out from the left
side of the heart ; and we have only traced it back
to the right. Let us therefore proceed.

When the black deteriorated blood has been
brought back from every part of our structure,
and collected into the two large veins, which I have
denominated " Fleet ditches," and has been poured
by them into the right cavity of the heart, the
walls of that cavity contract upon it, and propel it
into a large vessel, termed the pulmonary artery,
by which it is conveyed to the lungs. In the lungs,
the pulmonary artery is divided, and subdivided,

126 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

into an infinite number of infinitely minute
branches, which traverse every part of the lungs.
The black blood, therefore, carried to the lungs
by the pulmonary artery, is divided into number-
less minute streamlets, which are conducted, in
every direction, through the lungs, by the innu-
merable hairlike branches of the pulmonary artery.

The lungs are made up of a countless number of
small cells, through and among which the little
streamlets of black blood are of course conveyed :
and every time we draw in our breath, these cells
become filled with air ; and the air which they then
contain comes in contact with the little vessels con-
taining black blood ; and acting through the deli-
cate coats of these, it operates those changes in
the blood which it was sent to the lungs for the
purpose of undergoing.

What the whole of these changes are, is not
thoroughly understood: but this much is certain
— that, whereas the blood enters the lungs of a
black colour, and in a condition unfit to effect the
nutrition of the body, it no sooner becomes exposed
to the influence of the air in the cells of the lungs,
than it loses its black colour, acquires the brilliant
hue of vermilion, and becomes at once endowed
with all the properties necessary to the nutrition

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 127

of the body, and to the production or secretion
of the several juices ; such as, the gastric, the pan-
creatic, &c.

The black blood, then, having been exposed, in
the air-cells of the lungs, to the action of the air,
and having been, by it, purified, re-impregnated
with nutritious particles, and every way requalified
to fulfil its appointed offices in the body, is col-
lected into four veins, called the "pulmonary veins";
by which it is brought back to the left side of
the heart, from which it first started. And thus
the lesser circle of circulation has been accom-
plished, and the whole circulation of the blood
completed.

Allow me to recur, for a moment, to the meta-
phor of the bees. I like it : — it is a little fanciful,
perhaps, but nevertheless appropriate, and not
inelegant.

Consider the lungs, then, as a bed of sweet
flowers, upon which a swarm of bees (the little black
streamlets of blood) have settled. These bees,
having laden their thighs with honey, quit the
flowers, and, taking their flight through the garden-
gate (the heart), pursue their way, by various
routes (the arteries), in order to deposit their little
burdens, and distribute them equally throughout

128 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

the honey-comb ; that is, the body. Having done
this, they take wing once more ; and returning in
the same direction, but by different routes (the
veins), they re-enter the garden-gate (the heart),
and again settle themselves down upon the flower-
bed (the lungs), in order to collect a fresh supply
of honey ; that is, of nutritive properties. Observe :
a stream of arterial blood is a bee laden with
honey ; — a stream of venous blood, a bee despoiled
of its honey.

Now, if, as I hope, you have understood my for-
mer Letters, you will recollect that the old body is
constantly being dissolved, and carried away, and
emptied into the venous blood, by the lymphatic
absorbents ; and that the new materials afforded by
new food are also emptied into the venous blood
at the same place (viz. just before it enters the
right side of the heart, on its way to the lungs), by
the lacteal absorbents. The black blood, therefore,
when it reaches the lungs, has mixed up with it
a portion of the old body in a fluid state, called
" lymph," and also a certain quantity of fresh nutri-
ment, also in a fluid state, called " chyle." But the
fresh nutriment (that is, the chyle) has not yet
become blood : it is merely mechanically commingled
with the blood. The effect, therefore, which the

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 129

air exerts on the blood in the lungs, is not merely
to revivify old blood, but likewise to convert the
chyle into blood. This conversion of chyle into
blood is called " sanguification."

There is another important office fulfilled by
respiration ; viz. the expulsion from the body of
such portions of the lymph as are no longer fit to
remain in it, in the shape of that watery vapour
which we denominate " breath." The mouth, there-
fore, is a portal, through which you receive the
materials for a new body, and also through which
you blow away the worn-out materials of the old.
Every time you breathe, you blow away a little
bit of your nose (would it were a larger piece!),
a little bit of your ears, a fragment of your eyes, a
particle of your brain, an atom of your heart ; in
short, a part of your whole person. If you chance
to be walking in the fields, a portion, mounting
through the air, assists in forming the clouds ; and
again, descending in showers of rain, contributes
its share towards the formation of the multitudinous
ocean. Another portion falls upon the green her-
bage of the meadow, and constitutes a part of the
nourishment upon which that herbage subsists.
Thus, not only " All flesh is grass," but grass,

also, is flesh.

G 3

130 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

I shall now endeavour to exhibit the principal
actions concerned in the nutrition of the body, by
tracing a portion of food through all the necessary
changes, until it has ceased to be food, and has be-
come an integrant part of yourself.

Let us suppose you to be in the act of despatch-
ing a hearty meal, consisting of animal food and
various kinds of vegetables. You first introduce it
into your mouth — with your teeth you masticate it
— by means of your tongue, you roll it about your
mouth. This rolling about brings it in contact with
the several excretory ducts of the salivary glands;
which open on the internal surface of the mouth,
as we have before seen. These ducts, by virtue of
their SENSIBILITY, become aware of the presence of
a stimulus (the food). The stimulation which the
food in the mouth exerts upon the ducts is propa-
gated along them to the arteries, which, as we have
before seen, form the salivary glands, by being
coiled up into those little knots, so called. The
arteries, thus stimulated, are excited to increased
action; they bring a greater quantity of blood to
the glands : and those parts of the arteries which
constitute the glands, being also excited to greater
action, and having an increased supply of blood,
separate from that blood an increased quantity of

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 131

that juice or secretion which is called "saliva. " And
this increased secretion of saliva is the first of that
series of actions by which the nutrition of the body
is effected; — and in this, the very first stage, you
see exemplified those three important properties of
which I have said so much in my two last Letters

— STIMULATION, SENSIBILITY, and CONTRACTILITY :

for it is by virtue of their contractility that the
arteries supplying the salivary glands with blood,
and also constituting the gland itself, are capable
of acting; that is, of contracting — and so of supply-
ing the gland with blood, from which blood the
saliva is to be secreted. It is by virtue of the sti-
mulating property of the food that their contracti-
lity is roused into action; and it is by virtue of
their sensibility that they are aware that a stimulus
is acting upon them.

The nutritious bolus, then, having been thorough-
ly masticated and rolled about the mouth until it
has been well mixed up with saliva, is, by a very
complicated movement, mounted upon the back of
the tongue, and by it jerked into the throat, by
which it is propelled downward into the stomach.
Its presence in the stomach stimulates that organ,
as it stimulated the glands of the mouth ; and a
copious secretion of gastric juice (that is, stomach-

132 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

juice) is brought about in the same way as a co-
pious secretion of saliva was effected by its pre-
sence in the mouth. But, as there are neither
teeth nor tongue in the stomach, the food, when
there, cannot be so readily and at once mixed up,
and kneaded, as it were, with the gastric juice, as
it was by means of those instruments, comminuted
and commingled with the saliva in the mouth : it
is not, therefore, subjected all at once to the action
of the gastric juice, but gradually, layer after
layer. While the nutritious bolus is circumvolving
within the cavity of the stomach, the gastric juice,
poured out from the sides of the stomach, above
and around it, falls upon its surface. When its
upper surface or layer has been sufficiently acted
upon by the gastric juice — when, by virtue of the
inherent properties of this juice, it has been con-
verted into a semi-fluid peculiar to itself, and called
"chyme" — it floats off and away from the rest, towards
the lower part of the stomach, where it (the stomach)
is united to the upper extremity of the bowels. The
upper layer of the alimentary mass having been thus
converted into chyme by the action of the gastric
juice, and sent away from the remainder, the next
layer becomes exposed to the action of this juice; —
and having, like the first, become converted into

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 133

chyme, floats away after it to the pylorus, that is,
the lower extremity of the stomach. Thus, layer
after layer, the whole mass eventually becomes
changed from the nature of food into chyme ; —
gastric juice, during the whole time this change is
going on, being poured out from the internal sur-
face of the stomach upon fresh surfaces of the ali-
mentary mass. The whole quantity is usually con-
verted into chyme in about four hours.

Now mark ! Whatever has been the nature and
kind of the food which you have eaten, however
heterogeneous the several viands may be, they
must all be reduced to this unique homoge-
neous semi-fluid, called chyme — they must all lose
their own several natures, and take upon themselves
the one sole nature of chyme, and so become
chyme itself— before they can leave the stomach,
and enter the bowels, in order there to undergo
the next necessary change.

Now, if you have eaten any matters at your meal
which are what is called "difficult of digestion," that
is, which are not easily reduced to chyme by the
action of the gastric juice ; when these matters
become exposed to the action of the gastric juice,
they will necessarily require to be so exposed for a
longer time than is natural, because of the difficulty

134 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

which the gastric juice experiences in reducing
them to chyme. It will be, therefore, a longer time
before these float off from the surface of the ali-
mentary mass, so as to leave the next layer exposed
to the action of the gastric juice ; and the under
layers or portions of food, which are waiting for
their turn to be exposed, will be kept so waiting,
longer than the wonted space of time. The con-
sequence of this is, that they are kept waiting,
untouched by the gastric fluid, until they begin to
undergo those changes common to all vegetable
and animal matter, when placed in a warm, moist,
and confined situation; viz. fermentation; — the
vegetable matter undergoing the acid fermentation;
and the animal, putrefactive. For it must be remem-
bered, that the food in the stomach still continues
to be food, still remains unaltered, still continues,
therefore, to be obedient to the common laws of fer-
mentation and putrefaction, until it has its nature
and identity destroyed, and a new nature and identity
bestowed upon it by virtue of the action which
the gastric juice exerts upon it. It ferments and
putrefies, therefore, in the stomach (if not acted
upon by the gastric juice) as quickly as it would
do, on a sultry summer's day, in a small pantry,
with its windows and door kept shut. And this

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 135

shews you the reason why such matters as undergo
putrefaction with the greatest rapidity, as some
fish, and fresh pork, do not well agree with weak
stomachs ; for that which putrefies most rapidly in
the pantry will do so in the stomach.

While, therefore, the indigestible matters are
slowly submitting to the action of the gastric juice,
the good and wholesome portion of the food is
actually putrefying, and can, therefore, afford no
more nutriment than if you had dined on putrid
carrion. During the process of fermentation and
putrefaction, moreover, as all the world knows, a
number of fetid gases are given out : these poi-
sonous gases distend the stomach, weaken its
energies, oppress its sensibility, enfeeble its con-
tractility, diminish the secretion of gastric juice,
and, in a word, disturb, interrupt, and wholly over-
turn the whole process of assimilation in the
stomach ; and there is tumbled into the bowels —
instead of a bland, smooth, homogeneous, healthy
chyme — a filthy, fermenting, yeasty mess, smoking
with offensive gases, and consisting of little else
than sour vegetables and putrid meat: for the
sensibility of the pyloric valve — of which I am
to speak directly — is overcome by the oppressive
influence and expansive nature of the gases which

136 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

are distending the stomach. Is it possible, I ask,
that healthy chyle and sound blood can be formed
out of such a villainous compound of nastiness
as this?

As soon as this vile compound reaches the
bowels, it will generally be expelled by them with
violence : and this is the way in which bowel com-
plaints are so often produced by some sorts of fish,
and fresh pork, when eaten by persons whose sto-
machs are too weak to furnish a sufficient quantity
of gastric juice to reduce them to chyme before
they have had time to run into putrefaction ; and
the wind which such persons discharge by the mouth,
after eating, consists of the offensive gases above
mentioned. Strong, healthy stomachs pour out
their gastric juice so rapidly and abundantly, that the
whole meal is reduced to chyme before the process
of putrefaction has had time to begin. — Now let us
proceed.

The food, having been properly acted upon by the
gastric juice of the stomach, is now no longer food,
but a bland, smooth, homogeneous semi-fluid, called
chyme ; which, quitting the upper part of the sto-
mach, flows downward, to the lower extremity — that
part where the stomach is joined to the bowels.
This junction of the lower extremity of the stomach

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 137

with the upper extremity of the bowels is called
" the pylorus " : and the pylorus is furnished with a
peculiar valve, which accurately closes the commu-
nication between the stomach and bowels at all
times, excepting- when chyme is in the act of passing
out of the stomach into the bowels. This valve is
endowed with a singular and most beautiful kind of
eclectic sensibility ; which enables it to know, by
the feel, whether the matters which come in contact
with it be pure chyme or not; and nothing can
enter the bowels from the stomach without coming
in contact with it.

Now, let us suppose that a portion of food has
been reduced to chyme, has flowed down to the
lower extremity of the stomach, and has presented
itself at the pyloric valve for admission through it
into the bowels ; and let us suppose that there is,
floating in the chyme, a particle of food which
has not yet been sufficiently acted upon by the gas-
tric juice. I will tell you what happens. As soon
as the pyloric valve feels the presence of the smooth
and bland chyme, it instantly opens, and allows it
to pass ; but no sooner does the particle of food
which has not yet been reduced to chyme at-
tempt to follow, than the valve instantly closes
the aperture, and refuses its permission : this par-

138 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

ticle of food must, therefore, return to the upper
part of the stomach, to be again submitted to the
agency of the gastric juice, before it can be permitted
to escape from the stomach into the bowels. Is not
this a beautiful exemplification of the importance of
the sensibility of our organs ? — and said I not truly,
when I called it " our guardian angel"? For what
is the sensibility of the pyloric valve, by which it is
enabled to distinguish between perfect and imper-
fect chyme ? — what is it, I say, but a watchman, a
sentinel, posted at the entrance into the bowels, in
order to watch over their safety; to see that no-
thing be allowed to enter which is likely to disturb
or irritate them; to take care that nothing inju-
rious, nothing offensive, nothing which may be in
any way hostile to their safety, nothing, in fact,
which has no business there, be permitted to tres-
pass within the sacred precincts of organs so impor-
tant to the health and welfare of the whole being,
of which they form so vital a part ?

That imperfectly chymified food cannot enter
the bowels without injury to them is sufficiently
proved by the very existence of this valve. For
surely it is foolish to suppose that nature, who
does nothing in vain, would have been at the
pains' of establishing so beautiful, so wonderful

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 139

a contrivance, if the office which it fulfils were
not in the last degree essential !

What mischief, therefore, do those persons inflict
upon themselves — what a wide door for the admis-
sion of all sorts of evils do those persons throw
open — who, perpetually stimulating the pyloric valve
by the unnatural stimuli of ardent spirit and highly-
seasoned sauces, enfeeble, wear out, and eventually
destroy its sensibility ; so that whatever the caprice
of the palate throws into the stomach, is tumbled,
right or wrong, assimilated or unassimilated, good,
bad and indifferent, altogether, without let or
hindrance, into the bowels !— for the sentry-box is
deserted — the watchman is dead.

When I contemplate this state of things, I think
I see a whole army of diseases marchmg in file out
of the stomach, through the pyloric gateway, into
the citadel of the bowels. I see pale-faced and
bloated Dropsy with his swollen legs — li vid Asthma
struggling for breath — grotesque and tottering
Palsy — yellow-visaged Jaundice — red-eyed Deli-
rium— Fever, with his baked lips and parched
tongue, looking piteously around, and crying
" Water ! water ! " — limping Gout, grinning with

pain— musing Melancholy — hideous Insanity!

But let us drop 'the curtain over a picture so hor-

140 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

rible. My mind's eye aches with looking at it. —
Above all things, my dear John, take care of your
pyloric valve !

Now let us get on a step further.

The food having been thoroughly and properly
acted upon by the gastric juice in the stomach, is re-
duced to a uniform substance, called "chyme"; and
this is the first great change in that succession of
changes which is ultimately to convert it into blood.
There is now neither bread nor meat in your sto-
mach,— there is nothing there but chyme; which
is neither meat nor bread ; but a fluid, the nature
of which is one degree nearer to the nature of blood
than it was before it became so.

The chyme then flows to the lower extremity
of the stomach ; presents itself at the pyloric valve ;
and, having been examined, as it were, by the SEN-
SIBILITY of that valve, and reported " all right," is
admitted into the duodenum.

The first twelve inches of the bowels, reckoning
from their junction with the stomach downward,
are called the duodenum.

Now, the chyme in the duodenum has precisely
the same effect upon the excretory ducts of the
liver and pancreas, which open into the duodenum,
as the food had, in the mouth, upon the excretory

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 141

ducts of the salivary glands ; that is to say, it sti-
mulates the mouths of these excretory ducts : and
this stimulation is propagated along the ducts to
the glands themselves — the liver and pancreas.
These glands, so stimulated, pour out an increased
quantity of their individual secretions; viz. bile, and
pancreatic juice. The surface of the bowel itself,
too (the duodenum), pours out an increased quantity
of fluid, called " the intestinal juice." The chyme
mingling with these juices, another remarkable
change is effected : the chyme is no longer chyme ;
it has lost its identity ; and the result is, a milky
fluid, called " chyle," destined to become blood ; and
an excrementitious matter — the dross, if I may so
speak — destined to be expelled from the body by
the bowels.

This conversion of the chyme into chyle forms
the second great change ; by which that which was
once food — bread and me&t — has been advanced
two degrees more nearly to the nature of blood.

I hope you have not yet forgotten that the chy-
lous absorbents arise, by open mouths, from the
internal surface of the bowels. As the chyle,
therefore, flows along the duodenum, it comes into
contact with the same open mouths of the chylous
absorbents. These, by virtue of their sensibility,

* 142 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

become aware of the presence of the chyle, which
is stimulating them to action. They answer the
call, by erecting themselves; protruding themselves
forward ; dipping, as it were, their mouths into the
chyle ; and then retracting and closing them, they
thus perform an actual suction (if you will allow
the term), by which the chyle is drawn within the
caliber of these beautiful little vessels.

The chyle, thus absorbed, travels along the
lacteals (that is, the chylous absorbents); is nitrated
through their glands ; is emptied into the thoracic
duct ; and, by it, is poured into the blood of the veins
about the bottom of the neck, and is carried by the
current of the blood through the right side of the
heart, along the pulmonary artery, into the lungs.

While the chyle is traversing the chylous absor-
bents and their glands, it undergoes a change,
the nature of which is not understood ; but it is a
change which advances it another degree nearer to
the nature of blood. By the time, therefore, that
your dinner — or, rather, that which was once the
food which constituted your dinner — has reached
your lungs, it has become almost blood: but it
has not yet become quite blood.

When the chyle has reached the lungs, it is then
exposed to the action of the air which we inhale,

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 143

in the manner which I described when speaking
of the circulation of the blood. Here the final
change is effected; and that which was bread and meat
has now entirely lost all its former characteristics.
It was first food, then chyme, then chyle. Now it
is none of these : it has acquired, by virtue of the
agency of the air in the lungs, the colour and all
the other qualities and properties of blood : in a
word, it has become blood itself. Thus, comparing
the animal economy to the economy of vegetable
life, one might say, that the stomach and bowels are
the soil; the food is the seed which is sown therein ;
and blood is the fruit which that seed produces — a
fruit which is destined to become the food of the
animal. For, as was justly said by Hippocrates-,
" there is but one food, although there are several
forms of food." However various the viands may
be which we put into the stomach, they must all be
converted into one and the same fluid, viz. blood,
before they can have any effect whatever in
nourishing or strengthening the body. Blood,
then, is the sole nourishment on which we subsist ;
the food which we eat being no more than so much
seed sown, with the view of producing a nutritious
fruit, by which the body is to be/ec/, and its health
and strength sustained ; — viz. blood. We are no

144 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

more nourished or fed by the food we eat, than
sheep are nourished by the turnip-seed which the
farmer sows. The turnip-seed soon loses its iden-
tity ; but in doing so, it gives rise to a turnip ; and
it is upon this turnip that the sheep feeds, and not
upon the seed which produced it. And, in like
manner, the food which we eat loses, like the seed,
its nature and identity ; but in doing so, it produces
blood ; and it is by this blood that our bodies are
fed, nourished, and sustained. For, as the turnip
is not the seed, but the product of the seed, so
neither is the blood food, but the product of the
food ; and it is from this new product that we derive
our strength. Hence becomes manifest the utter
impossibility of deriving any manner of nourish-
ment or strength from substances which are inca-
pable of being converted into blood ; for example,
ardent spirit : — no mechanism, no chemistry, no
power, no magic, is capable of converting brandy
into blood.

Hitherto, then, we have only seen the seed sown,
and the proper fruit produced. We have now to
mark the manner by which the body is fed and
nourished by this fruit. By the way, I may as well
take this opportunity of calling upon you to take
notice how little the quantity which we eat has to

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 145

do with the quantity of nourishment which we
derive from it : for, as the stomach, liver, &c. can
only furnish, at one time, enough of their several
juices to convert a certain portion of what we eat
into chyme and chyle, it is manifest, that only a
certain portion can be converted into blood. And
as blood is the sole aliment from which we can
derive sustentation, it is equally manifest that we
cannot derive any benefit from what we eat, ex-
cept from that portion of it which in due course
becomes blood. All that we eat, therefore, beyond
what can be converted into blood, is either changed
into that useless encumbrance called fat, or is left in
the stomach and bowels to run into fermentation ;
serving no other purpose than to distend these or-
gans with all sorts of pernicious and offensive gases.
You will also see, now, how true it is, that to
talk about strong stomachs is, in fact, only to talk
strong nonsense : for you have been reading for
the last ten minutes to but little purpose, if you
have not remarked, while tracing the food from its
existence as food to its existence as blood, that the
stomach answers no other purpose than simply
that of a bag, whose office it is to receive the food,
to detain it for a given time, and then empty it
into the bowels. The strength which is requisite

146 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

to assimilate our food in the stomach, to convert it
into healthy chyme, is not the strength of the
stomach^ but the strength of the arteries, whose
office it is to bring to the stomach an abundant
supply of blood, from which an abundant supply of
gastric juice may be secreted and poured upon the
food; and the strength of the heart, whose office
it is to propel the blood into those arteries ; and
the strength, if I may so speak, of the nerves,
whose office it is to ascertain the presence of food in
the stomach, to communicate the information to the
heart and arteries, and thus to make these organs
aware of the instant necessity which there is that
they should exert themselves, in order that a ready
supply of blood may be furnished — in order that a
ready supply of gastric juice may be secreted— in
order that the food may be readily and speedily re-
duced to chyme. The strength of the stomach, then,
has about as much concern with the chymincation
of our food as the strength of an iron pot has to do
with the boiling of potatoes. My dear John, never
talk of the strength of your stomach, since it would
argue marvellously little for the strength of your
understanding : discard the phrase from your voca-
bulary : " I pray you, avoid it altogether." False
phrases give rise to false notions ; and false notions,

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 147

to false applications. For instance — must not wrong
notions of disease necessarily occasion the exhi-
bition of wrong remedies ? They have done so ;
and hence it is that our excellent progenitors
conceived the beautiful idea of strengthening the
stomach ; — and forthwith that most unhappy organ
(which is to the rest of our organs what the coster-
monger's ass is to the rest of the animal creation —
the focus, as it were, towards which every species
of abuse and cruelty is directed) was smothered,
and deluged and drowned, in all sorts of villainous
infusions and decoctions and solutions — the bitterer
and beastlier, the better ; and bark and wine, bark
and milk (precious compound!), chamomile-tea, the
filings swept from the floor of a blacksmith's shop,
and, in short, almost every thing in the animal, ve-
getable, and mineral creation — provided always that
it was very nauseous — was, in its turn, esteemed
"the sovereignest thing on earth "for a weak sto-
mach. But conceive my meaning rightly. I do
not deny the utility of these drugs in certain dis-
eases : — bark, for instance, cures the ague, but not
by strengthening the stomach : — and my object, in
these Letters, is to give you a right notion of
things, and not a wrong one ; which I should cer-
tainly do, if I were to allow you to suppose that the
H 2

148 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

benefit occasionally derived from these remedies
depended upon any power which they possess of
strengthening the stomach. If we are weak, nothing
but a copious supply of blood, furnished to all our
organs, can strengthen us. I tell you, nature has
appointed but that one source from which we can
derive strength ; and in order that that source
might never fail us — in order that sufficient blood
might always be derived from the food we eat — she
placed us in a situation favourable to the conversion
of our food into blood : she established a fixed re-
lation between ourselves and the rest of the world :
she taught us, by the very manner in which she
fashioned us, what were the habits proper to our
nature : she said, " Here shall you stand, and thus
shall you do ; and while you are content to remain
thus, all will be well : disobey, and you will surely
suffer." But we have quitted the position ap-
pointed us ; we have forsaken the habits which she
allotted to us ; we have disregarded her tokens, de-
rided her counsel, broken her laws, overleaped her
boundaries : and, now that we are paying the penalty
of our frolic, we stand gaping at each other, like
fools, and wonder what is the matter. — The matter !
why, we are like Rabelais' wooden-pegs — we are
like square men, who have thrust ourselves into

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 149

three-cornered holes : — no wonder we are uneasy —
we don't fit. Is it possible that a square man can
be jammed into a three-cornered hole, without
being most uncomfortably pinched? But of this
I shall have more to say at a future time; when
I hope to ring such a peal in your ears, as shall
make you heartily ashamed of the lazy and luxu-
rious life you lead. But to proceed : —

In order to exhibit the manner in which the body
is nourished — that is, the manner in which the fluid
blood is converted into the solid parts of the body —
it will, I think, be better to trace, to this consumma-
tion, only a single drop of blood at a time. You will,
by this method, more readily understand it. But,
by a drop, I do not mean a great, round, pumpkin
of a thing, like a rain-drop or a dew-drop ; but a
delicate, minute globule, visible only to the eye of
imagination — like the glowworm's tear of disap-
pointed love, when she lighteth her lamp in vain.

You have just seen the fresh chyle taken up by
the chylous absorbents, and emptied, by the tho-
racic duct, into the veins at the bottom of the neck.
Let us follow a single globule of this chyle.

Hurried along by the current of blood in these
veins, it passes through the right side of the heart,
along the pulmonary artery ; then through one of its

150 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

branches, into the substance of the lungs. Here it
is acted upon by the air in the cells of the lungs,
loses its characteristics of chyle, and becomes blood.
It now turns round, as it were, and hurries back
again out of the lungs, along the pulmonary veins,
to the left cavity of the heart.

But before we trace its progress any further, let
us suppose that a hungry absorbent has just carried
off a single particle from the point — the extreme
protuberant tip of your organ of smell — " the very
topmost, towering height o' Johnny's nose" The
carrying off this particle would necessarily leave a
little hole. Now let us go back for our little glo-
bule of blood, which we have just traced from the
lungs to the left cavity of the heart.

Rejoicing in its new existence, it leaps out of the
heart into the aorta, hence into the carotid artery,
thence into the external carotid, thence into the
facial, thence into the superior coronary, and thence
into a minute branch which the superior coronary
gives off; which branch takes its course toward the
tip of your nose.

By the time the artery, along which the little
globule of blood is travelling, has nearly reached
the tip of your nose (worthy to be called proboscis),
it has become exceedingly minute, and its course

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 151

tortuous ; for it is now forming part of the ulti-
mate tissue of the tip of the nasal promontory.
The little globule, therefore, now moves along
with diminished rapidity. Gradually it approaches
nearer and nearer; and just when it has arrived
exactly opposite to the little hollow left by the ab-
sorbent, becoming suddenly obedient to the secret
agency of the nerves, its nutritious elements dart
through the coats of the artery, like rays of light
through glass, into that hollow, and at that instant
become part and parcel of one of the most goodly
noses within the four seas. The artery now turns
back, soon loses the characteristics of an artery,
and becomes a vein ; by which vein the rest of the
little globule is conveyed back, through the heart,
to the lungs, there to be mingled with fresh chyle,
and revivified by the action of the air in their cells.

This transformation of the fluid blood into the
solid body is called solidification.

Now this is the way in which all the solid parts of
your body are formed and maintained : every inch
of it, therefore, once floated in your arteries, in the
shape and quality of blood : and you see how foolish
it is to suppose that there can be any real nutri-
ment in those strong drinks to which the multitude
attribute so many nourishing properties. What an

152 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

inscrutably mysterious power, too, is manifested in
this process ! How wonderful, that so common and
simple an affair as a potato should contain within
itself all the elements necessary to the composition
of an eye, an ear, or a tooth ! — that this unheeded
and unvalued root should be capable, within a few
hours, of being changed, by commixture with the
juices of the body, and, by exposure to common air
in the lungs, into blood ! — and that from this single
fluid, made out of this single potato, should be
produced all those diversified and heterogeneous
matters which make up the total of the body — the
brittle bones, the soft and pulpy brain, the hard
and horny nails, the silky hair, the flesh, the fat,
the skin, the bitter bile, the sweet milk, the salt
perspiration — every thing, in fact, from the corn
on my lord's toe, to the down on my lady's cheek
— from the sweat on the brow of Labour, to the
dew on the lip of Beauty ! Does it not seem in-
credible, that the ear, which can take cognisance of
the faintest pulsations in the air, and appreciate with
so much accuracy the value of musical tones —
that the eye, wherewith the astronomer numbers
the stars, taking in, at a glance, the half of heaven's
whole orrery — nay, that the very brain, wherewith
he thinks, and muses and ponders over his problems

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN". 153

and his logarithms and his equations — that the very
brain itself of a Newton and a Shakspeare should
own no better or nobler source than that of a
despised potato ! And, then, to think that that brain
must die — must rot, and be resolved into its parent
earth ! Yet this is but the simple truth ; and thus,
like Ixion's, revolves for ever the wheel of all
existence — round, and round, and round — in an
eternal circle of successive changes.

I shall now take leave to call your attention to
certain facts which necessarily result from what I
have said ; and of which I wish you to take espe-
cial note.

First, then, you will observe, in following the
food from the mouth, through all its intermediate
changes until it has become blood, that almost all
those intermediate changes are wrought upon it by
the agency of the several fluids, juices, or secretions
which it meets with in the mouth, stomach, and
bowels; and that, consequently, its due conversion
into healthy blood depends upon the healthy quality
and abundant quantity of these secretions. But
these secretions, like every thing else in the body,
are formed out of the blood ; and their quality and
quantity will, consequently, depend upon the quan-
tity of vermilion blood wherewith the organs in
H 3

154 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

which they are produced are supplied. And the
quantity of blood with which these organs are
furnished must depend upon the vigour and activity
of the heart and arteries, whose office it is to convey
it. Thus, then, it becomes clearly manifest, that a
vigorous circulation is absolutely necessary to the
assimilation (vulgarly called digestion) of our food.
Whatever causes and habits of life, therefore, are
calculated to give strength and activity to th e circu-
lation— as, for instance, exercise — is clearly of the
first importance to the nutrition, and, therefore, to
the health and strength of the body ; and whatever
causes and habits have a tendency to depress the
energy of the circulation — to allow the blood to
creep languidly through the body, instead of dancing
along its channels cheerily and energetically — as,
for instance, cushioned laziness, which rides when it
should walk — must, of necessity, have the direct
effect of impairing assimilation, and therefore of
enfeebling the strength and sapping the very foun-
dations of health.

But the energy of the circulation must exclusively
depend upon the energy of the heart and arteries ;
and the energy of these, as has been already shewn,
depends necessarily upon the energy of their con-
tractility ; and energetic contractility depends on

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 155

an energetic circulation, and is incompatible with
a high degree of sensibility. Hence it directly
follows, that whatever causes are calculated to
increase sensibility — to make us tender, if you will
tolerate a common expression — have an immediate
and powerful effect in impeding the conversion of
our food into blood, and, therefore, of impairing
the process of nutrition. Hence arise the incal-
culable mischiefs of a daily indulgence in what
are miscalled the comforts of life ; but which are,
in reality, most pernicious and unnatural luxuries.
A few of these are, table-indulgences, lounging on
couches, warm, carpeted rooms, window-curtains,
bed-curtains, blazing fires, soft beds, flannel
underclothes (I speak of the healthy, not of the
sickly invalid), novel reading, hot suppers, and,
though last, by no means least, that precious piece
of foolery, called passive exercise — that is, lolling
along at ease in a stuffed and cushioned carriage.
Not that I would totally abolish any one of these,
except, perhaps, hot suppers and soft beds; but
that I wish, by proving to you their evil influences,
to induce you, to use them as sparingly as the con-
ventual habits of society will permit: though I
confess, for my own part, I see no reason why any
man should feel himself called upon to injure his

156 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

health — to blur the beauty of God's noblest work —
solely to gratify the capricious whim of that many-
headed monster, called SOCIETY.

Again, the brain itself is the product of the blood
— it is as literally and truly made of blood, as the
most beautiful china vase is made of clay. Hence
the qualities of the brain — the mental energies, as
they are called — courage, the powers of abstract
thinking, fortitude, patience, generosity, and, above
all, good-humour*, can only exist in conjunction
with, and owe their very being to, a vigorous cir-
culation. Hence it seems scarcely too much to say,
that thought itself is produced from the blood;
since there can be no energy of thought without
energy of brain, and no energy of brain without
energy of circulation through that brain.

THOUGHT is an act of the WILL. It is an act by
which certain ideas are, to the exclusion of all
others, summoned to present themselves to the
mind's eye, that judgment may marshal them, com-
pare them, and newly combine them. Tims, in

* If you go in search of good-humour, you must look to
find it playing on the ruddy cheek and laughing in the un-
clouded eye of athletic strength. The sensibility of the athlete
is too obtuse to be easily irritated. The skin of his mind is
thick ; and causes capable of excoriating others have only
power to tickle the athlete.

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 157

solving a mathematical problem, the WILL suffers
no ideas to intrude, save only the necessary ones
of lines, and angles, &c.

But the WILL is one of the energies of the brain ;
and we have just seen that these energies can only
fully exist in conjunction with a vigorous circulation.
When the circulation, therefore, is languid, the
WILL will be languidly exerted — it will be unable
either to command the presence of the ideas re-
quired, or to discard those whose presence is trou-
blesome, and which only tend to perplex and in-
terrupt the process of thought.

When a man with such a brain sits down to
think, he finds that all sorts of ideas, wholly irre-
lative to the subject on which he wishes to think,
are perpetually thrusting themselves into his mind,
" against the stomach of his will "; and so excluding
those which a feeble and irresolute WILL is vainly
endeavouring to summon and retain. If he be
reading a book, he will find, every now and then,
that though his eye has been tracing the words and
lines, and his hand has been mechanically turning
over the leaves — he will find, I say, that his mind
has been wandering far away, and knows no more
of what he has just been reading than the man in
the moon. In a word, he has no power of abstract

158 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

thought — no power to fix his attention. This state
of mind is called reverie.

Herein consists the difference between thought
and imagination. Thought, as I said before, is an
act of the WILL ; and that act, to be efficient, re-
quires a vigorous circulation. It is the office of
the WILL to decide, as it were, as to what ideas
shall be admitted into the brain, and what refused
admittance. But imagination resembles a dream,
in which the WILL is asleep : it is a condition of the
brain, in which all sorts of heterogeneous ideas, in
despite of the WILL, come and go, in tumultuous
disorder, without let or hindrance, as in a dream.
In this state of the brain the contractility of its
arterial tissue is feeble, and therefore the circulation
through it is feeble ; and therefore the WILL, which
I have shewn to depend on a strong circulation, is
also feeble. In this state, the brain may be likened
to an ideal theatre, without either check-takers or
money-takers, and with all its doors thrown open, at
which doors a multitudinous throng of ideas, of all
colours and costumes, collected from all the corners
of the earth and every domain of nature, are per-
petually making their " exits and their entrances."
And as the little pieces of coloured glass in a kale-
idoscope will often arrange themselves into figures

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 159

more beautiful than any art can imitate, so, on the
stage of this imaginary theatre, parties of these
ideas will frequently frolic and gamhol themselves
into groups more grotesque, more picturesquely
beautiful, than any effort of thought and judgment
can accomplish.

Energy of WILL, therefore — firmness of purpose
— the power of abstract thinking and reasoning —
are all incompatible with a lively imagination;
because the three former require an energetic cir-
culation, while the last depends on a circulation of
a contrary character.

There can be little doubt, I think, that insanity
has its cause in some injury to the vigour of the
circulation through some part of the brain.

That the doubts and fears and anxieties of the
lover have a depressing effect on the circulation, is a
fact long since established. The pensive dreamy
sadness, the absent mind, the fondness for solitude,
the long-drawn impassioned sigh so characteristic of
love, is equally characteristic of a languid circulation.

The same condition exists in the poet ; and the
mental characters of all three will be found to
possess no small similarity. So great, indeed, is
this resemblance, that those who begin by being
poets or lovers, not unfrequently end by becoming

160 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

madmen. They are all three (generally) weak,
wavering, wayward beings, incapable of abstracting
their minds at pleasure, unable to controul their
thoughts ; — and it may almost be said of all three
alike, that they have scarcely any will or purpose
of their own. Hence,

" The hmatic, the lover, and the poet,
Are of imagination all compact :"

and hence it is true, that the poet does not sit
down to think what he shall write, but to write what
he shall think. But the word " think," in the last
instance, is improperly used : he sits down in order
to describe the ideas which his mind's eye beholds
dancing in antic and ever-varying groups on the
stage of his own brain's theatre — to

" body forth

The forms of things unknown ;

Turn them to shapes ; and give to airy nothings

A local habitation and a name."

Hence, too, every true lover is a poet, and every
true poet a lover.

Finally, my dear John, you will observe that
eyery thing connected with life — all the actions, the
energies, and beauties of the body — all the actions,
energies, and beauties of the mind, as well as the

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 161

body and mind themselves, are under the dominion
of the circulation of the blood, from which both
mind and body must inevitably derive each its tone
and character. So that "the body and the mind
are like a jerkin and a jerkin's lining ; — rumple the
one, and you rumple the other."

I have now described to you as much of the
structure of the body, and its functions, as I con-
ceive to be necessary, in order to enable you to
understand what I have presently to say on the
subject of diet and regimen. And you must now
know quite enough to be heartily convinced of the
unmitigated folly of those persons, who, without
knowing any thing of the structure of living parts,
or of their actions, or of those delicate springs,
contractility and sensibility, which originate and
sustain those actions — who, I say, being as ignorant
as idiotism of all that concerns the nature of life
and living things, are nevertheless perpetually
tinkering their stomachs with quack remedies ; —
thus stupidly presuming to mend a machine, of the
very nature and structure and actions of which
they are as uninformed as infant Hottentots.

The health of the body depends upon the healthy
performance of the nutritive actions; and disease
consists in the unhealthy performance of these

162 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

actions, or of one or more of them. Medicines,
therefore, with very few exceptions, such as those
which seem to cure by chemically combining with
and neutralizing the poison in the system which
produced the disorder — medicines, with these few
exceptions, have no power over disease, excepting
as they have the power of increasing or diminishing
the activity of the nutritive actions — absorption,
secretion, circulation, &c.

When a man examines his patient, the question
with him is not, Has he got a fever ; or this, that,
or the other disease ? The question is, Which of
the living actions is going wrong? and how is it
going wrong ? Is it going too fast, or too slow ?
The patient has, perhaps, a foul tongue, a dry skin,
a quick pulse. But these are not the disease :
these are the symptoms — the outward signs of the
disorder within. He has nothing to do with these,
except as signs by which he ascertains the cause
producing them. The question, therefore, is not
what is good for a foul tongue, a hot skin, and a
quick pulse ; but what medicine possesses the power
of controlling that particular living action — a dis-
turbance in which has produced, in this particular
instance, the symptoms in question. I say, in this
particular instance; because, in others, the same

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 163

symptoms will be produced by a disturbance in a
different living action. The same symptoms, there-
fore, frequently require different treatment; because
the cause of those symptoms is different, although
the symptoms themselves are the same. I will
give you a familiar instance. One man has a foul
tongue, a quick pulse, and a dry skin, produced by
inflammation of one of the membranes of his brain :
he therefore requires leeches to his head. Ano-
ther man has the same symptoms, from inflamma-
tion of the mucous membrane of the bowels : he
requires leeches too — not to the head, but to the
abdomen.' Again, if a medical man finds his pa-
tient in pain, he does not forthwith run home for
a dose of opium, because opium has sometimes the
power of relieving pain ; but he first ascertains which
of the vital actions, which, being disturbed, is pro-
ducing that pain. If it arise from spasm, opium
may be of service ; but if it arise from inflammation,
opium will do harm, instead of good. If it were
only necessary to attend to symptoms, and not to
the cause of those symptoms, then the proper re-
medy for a foul tongue would be a scraper. One
man has headache from inflammation of the brain ;
another from flatulence of the stomach: — brandy
will kill the one, and cure the other.

164 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

Again : cough may be produced by tubercles in
the lungs — by inflammation of their mucous mem-
brane— by inflammation of their coverings — by
inflammation of their parenchymatous substance —
by disease of the heart — by disease of the liver —
by an accumulation of water in the chest — of mat-
ter in the chest, &c. &c.

I will tell you what happens every day. One
of the faculty of ninnies gets a cough ; and meet-
ing with another, he is assured that so, or so,
or so, is a " fine thing for a cough." The
" fine thing for a cough " is straightway pro-
cured. Shortly, he has occasion to call on his
tailor; and his tailor incontinently recommends
him another "fine thing." The following week,
his tinker brings home a mended saucepan ; and
then the tinker's "fine thing" must have a trial
also. Then comes the butcher, and the baker, each
armed at all points with " the finest thing in the
world for a cough." But, somehow or other, the
cough still goes on—" ugh, ugh, ugh," barking away
as before. Having frittered away a month or two
in these follies, he then does just what he should
have done at first— he walks off to the doctor, who
finds that the cough was produced by inflammation
of the covering of the lungs, which the abstraction

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 165

of a little blood and a blister would, at the onset,
have removed at once ; but that, now, coagulable
lymph has been poured from the inflamed surface,
the covering of the lungs is adhering to the lining
of the chest, and the patient has contracted a deadly
disease, which no art can remedy. The tinker
and the tailor, when informed of this, lift up their
hands and eyes, and cry, " Dear me ! I am really
very sorry, but who could have thought it?" —
and then march away to their other customers ; to
whom, if they happen to have coughs too, they very
composedly recommend their "fine things for a
cough" over again.

Is it not perfectly astonishing, that a carpenter,
or a bricklayer, who would never think of pretend-
ing to mend your shoes, should, nevertheless, have
no hesitation whatever in offering his services to
mend your health ? If you carry your kettle to be
mended to any one but a tinker, he will tell you
honestly that he knows not how to do it. But
you shall travel from Dan to Beersheba, and, should
you meet a thousand passengers by the way, not a
soul of them but will undertake, should you com-
plain of being unwell, to cure you on the spot.

Now, all this folly and mischief is attributable to
no less a personage than that respectable old lady,

166 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

said to be the mother of Wisdom — I mean Expe-
rience. It happens thus : — Mr. Noaks gets a pain
in his bowels — his neighbour Styles experienced a
similar pain last week, took brandy, and got well.
Relying on this experience, he recommends brandy
to Noaks. Noaks takes a glass, and feels better —
another glass, and feels better still — a third cures
him. Next year, his son complains of a pain in his
bowels ; and his father, mindful of the experience of
himself, and eke his neighbour Styles, administers
to his son, in full confidence, a bumper of brandy.
The son gets rather worse; but then his father
recollects that the first glass did not cure his own
pain, and so he gives his son another, and advises
him to go to bed. Next morning, however, the
pain being no better, some other neighbour assures
the father that he has often experienced wonderful re-
lief, whenever he has had a pain in the bowels, from
gin and peppermint. So the father gives the son
a bumper of gin and peppermint. But, although
brandy, and gin, and peppermint, might have cured
the colic-pains of his two neighbours, it would not
be found to be quite the thing for the inflammation
which is already raging among his poor son's
bowels. At last the doctor is called in, who finds
that his patient has been labouring for thirty or

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 167

forty hours under a disease which will often kill
its victim in twenty-four; and that however mild
it might have been at its onset, it has now, by the
aid of brandy and gin, been urged on to incurable
violence.

Experience may be the mother of Wisdom, for
aught I know ; but she is certainly the mother of
Mischief also. Experience may teach a man to
make bricks, and to lay bricks; but she can never
teach him the practice of physic. Money is of no
use to a man, unless he knows how to lay it out :
and experience is unprofitable, unless a man knows
how to apply it. And as money may be laid out to
the injury of the spender, so experience, misapplied,
becomes a curse in the hands of its possessor.
Farewell !

E. JOHNSON.

168 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

LETTER VI.

224 Blackfriars Road,

15th June, 1836.
MY DEAR JOHN,

I HAVE now given you what I hope you have
found to be a tolerably clear notion of the intimate
structure — that is, the ultimate tissue of the body
— of the several actions concerned in nutrition —
and of the nature of life and health.

I have now to point out to you what I believe
to be the chief causes and sources of disease.

When a man, who thinks as well as sees, suffers
his eye to range over the various minor systems
which compose the one great scheme of the uni-
verse— when he looks at the planetary system, and
beholds worlds whirling amid worlds in countless
numbers, with inconceivable rapidity, yet infallible
precision — when he dwells on the vegetable system,
and sees myriads of plants rising from the same
earth, living in the same air, warmed by the same
sun, watered by the same rain, yet each differing

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 169

from each, and affording, year after year, for ever,
each its own peculiar product, with unerring exac-
titude— the vine the grape, the oak the acorn, the
brier the rose, the foxglove its purple bells, the
holly its berries of red; — when, with more inqui-
sitive glance, he penetrates the thicker veil with
which nature lias curtained the chemical world, and
watches the several phenomena resulting from che-
mical operations — combustion, putrefaction, vege-
table fermentation, &c., and observes the anfailiny
exactitude with which all these render obedient
homage to the one great law of affinity; — then,
when he looks inward, and contemplates his own
system — beautiful as the most beautiful, and not
less worthy of Omnipotent Wisdom than the most
worthy — when he looks inward, I say, and beholds
there all confusion and imperfection — when he per-
ceives, that, of all the systems of nature, that of
man alone is liable to derangement, and is the only
one of all which ever fails of fulfilling its intention
— .when he sees, that while all others always go
right, his own goes almost always icrony ; — when,
moreover, he reflects that his own system is the
work of the same Almighty hand which fashioned
and gave being to all the others— when the eye
remarks all this, the mind cannot but be irresistibly

170 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

struck with the anomaly ; and the tongue cannot
but exclaim, "Why is this so?" How is it that
the system of man — of man, the master-miracle of
creation — how comes it, that the system of man is
for ever going wrong, while all around him goes
right ? The natural average of human life, we are
told on high authority, is "threescore years and
ten." How happens it, then, that "ahout one-
fourth of the children that are born die within the
first eleven months of life; one-third within twenty-
three months ; and one-half before they reach their
eighth year ? — that two-thirds of mankind die be-
fore the thirty-ninth year, and three-fourths before
the fifty-first?— so that, as Buffon observes, of nine
children that are born, only one arrives at the age
of seventy-three; of thirty, only one lives to the
age of eighty; while, out of two hundred and
ninety-one, one only lives to the age of ninety ;
and, in the last place, out of eleven thousand nine
hundred and ninety-six, only one drags on a lan-
guid existence to the age of a hundred years. The
mean term of life is, according to the same author,
eight years in a new-born child. As the child
grows older, his existence becomes more secure ;
and after the first year, he may reasonably be ex-
pected to live to the age of thirty-three. Life

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 171

becomes gradually firmer up to the age of seven;
when the child, after going through the dangers of
dentition, will probably live forty-two years and
three months. After this period, the sum of pro-
babilities, which had gradually increased, under-
goes a progressive decrease; so that a child of
fourteen cannot expect to live beyond thirty-seven
years and five months; a man of thirtVj twenty-
eight years more ; and, in the last place, a man of
eighty-four but one year more. Such is the result
of observation, and of calculations on the different
degrees of probability of human life, by Halley,
Graunt, Kersboom, Wargentin, Simson, Depar-
cieux, Dupre de St. Maur, Buffon, D'Alembert,
Barthez, and M. Mourgues." — De Lys* Richerand.
— How is it, that of the whole number of children,
so few, so very few, live long enough to fulfil the
final cause of human existence ?

Now if, in contemplating the system of man in
connexion with the other systems of nature, we be
able to discover any one very striking difference
wherein his system differs from all others, may we
not fairly presume that this difference between
them is the cause of the remarkable and otherwise
unaccountable anomaly above mentioned?

We need not look far, nor ponder long, in order
i 2

172 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

to discover the difference which distinguishes the
system of man from that of all others; — and it is
indeed a momentous one ! It is this : that while all
the other systems of the universe are sustained and
governed by immutable laws, as gravitation, che-
mical affinity, instinct, &c. &c., the system of man
depends solely for support upon laws, the perfect
or imperfect fulfilment of which has been left de-
pendent on the capricious conduct of man himself.
For the laws which sustain the human system
are the laws of nutrition; and these are for ever
subject to disturbance by man's misconduct. For
instance: a man may voluntarily half starve him-
self— or by his folly he may bring himself into a
position in which he is unable to procure sufficient
food — or he may take greatly too much — or he
may select for food such substances as are inca-
pable of being assimilated to his own structure —
or he may annul the laws of nutrition entirely by
taking aliment of a poisonous quality. Now, it is
perfectly manifest, that under any of these circum-
stances the laws of nutrition must' be seriously
modified — injuriously disturbed. And it is equally
clear, that these circumstances, in the instances
supposed, are the result of human conducf. The
systems of the lower animals are also sustained by

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 173

the same laws of nutrition ; and these laws are also
liable to be modified by the conduct and habits of
these animals : but, then, the conduct and habits of
brutes are themselves dependent on instinct which
is unerring ; whereas the conduct and habits of man
depend on his own caprice — the use or abuse of
his reason, which is not unerring1.

The grand distinction, therefore, between all the
other systems of nature and that of man seems to
be, that while the former are sustained by unerring
laws, the latter is supported by laws which are
subservient to the erring conduct of man, with
relation to the manner of his nutri cation* and
mode of existence.

Now, it is to this " erring conduct, with relation
to the manner of his nutrication and mode of
existence," that I look, as the cause and source of
human disease.

To every system nature has allotted a determinate
position ; and she has established a fixed relation
between each system, and all the other systems by
which each is surrounded ; and from their allotted

* Be careful not to confound the term " nutrication" with
the term " nutrition." Nutrication signifies the supplying the
mouth with food : nutrition, the assimilation of that food to
our own structure.

174 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

position none can swerve — their own allotted rela-
tion to surrounding objects none can disturb — none,
except man. But man, as I hope to prove to you
hereafter, has removed himself from his natural
position — has broken down his natural relation to
the external world ; and so brought himself within
the sphere of the operation of causes injurious to
his well-being, which could not otherwise have
reached him.

All planetary phenomena, as we have just seen,
as well as those of brute life, of chemistry, of vege-
table^ life, mechanics, and physics in general, owe
their infallibility to the infallibility of the laws which
sustain them : and I think it cannot be doubted,
that the fallibility which distinguishes the system of
man from all others has its origin in the fallibility
of the laws on which it depends for support, or
rather the fallibility of that conduct and mode of
existence on which those laws depend for their
perfect or imperfect fulfilment. If the immutable
law of gravitation — which, as it were, bridles the
planets, guiding- and restraining each in its proper
path — had depended for its energy and constancy
upon the caprice of men, is it not easily conceiv-
able— nay, is it not absolutely certain — that the
system of the planets would have been liable to as

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 175

many disorders as is the humano-animal system ?
Should we not speedily have had a repetition of
those scenes, in which the North Pole glowed with
summer heat —

" Quseque polo posita est glacial! proxima serpens,
Frigore pigra prius, nee formidabilis ulli,
Incaluit, seiisitque novas fervoribus iras?"

— when the lazy Bootes ran sweating away with his
wagon, and the Moon could not but express her
astonishment on seeing her brother's curricle and
four in the very act of trespassing on her own
highway ? — should we not have had hot fits and cold
fits — fevers and agues — disordered functions, and
diminished secretion ? Would not the Moon occa-
sionally have forgotten her function of reflection,
and the Sun his secretion of light ?

By a parity of converse reasoning, had the sy-
stem of man been made to rely for its sustentation
on some immutable law — like that of gravitation —
had the nutrication of the body been effected by
some invariable law over which man possessed no
controul — had he himself nothing to do with the
feeding his body, and had he possessed no power to
alter his allotted position and relation in the uni-
verse—in a word, were we fed by chemical affinity,
and held in our places by some physical law —

176 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

then the actions which constitute the life and the
health of the human machine would have been as
unerringly executed as the revolutions which con-
stitute the health and the life of the planetary
scheme. A well-constructed watch, if properly
defended from external injury, will indicate the
hours of the day as infallibly as the moon will
revolve in her orbit in her given month : so also,
under like circumstances, would those movements
and revolutions of the fluids which constitute the
life of the human machine be executed with the
same unfailing precision, provided only that the
law of nutrication be properly fulfilled, and its
proper position among the other systems of the
universe duly observed. All things were created
with a view to the fulfilment of a final cause ; and it
is insulting to the Creator to suppose that He has
attempted to attain to a final cause by means which
are inefficient to its accomplishment. — But it may
be denied that other systems are infallible. It may
be said, that there are occasionally certain signs
observable in the heavens which seem to indicate
that then and there a world has gone to pieces.
Be it so. But who shall say that it has gone to
pieces before it had fulfilled its final cause —
before it had existed its appointed term ? I am not

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 177

attempting- to prove that man is not " born to die "
— I am only endeavouring to shew that he was not
by nature subjected to disease and premature death.
I claim for the system of man no more than is
readily conceded to other systems. I claim for
him only the same degree of perfection, the same
importance, the same consistency, which are so
clearly observable in all the other works of the
Almighty Architect of the universe. I cannot
believe that it formed a part of the original scheme,
that one half of mankind should die before they
have attained the age of eight years— that is, before
they have lived long enough to fulfil any one con-
ceivable intention — in fact, before they are them-
selves fully formed.

If any man die while any one of his organs is
unimpaired, he dies prematurely, and before he has
fulfilled the final cause of his existence. For nature
is an economist in every thing : she creates nothing
in vain : she never falls short, nor does she ever
exceed the object in view: she husbands her re-
sources, and never wastes her energies. But to
create an eye or an ear with the power of seeing or
hearing for eighty years, and to attach that eye or
that ear to a body capable of existing only sixty

years, would be an obvious waste, a most unneces-
i3

178 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

sary expenditure of energy. This would be like
loading a blunderbuss to shoot a sparrow. What
would you say to that architect who should em-
ploy fifty men for fifty days in erecting a column of
stone to support a bird-cage or a pepper-box ? The
means, my dear John, which nature employs are
always exactly proportioned to the end— not an atom
too little, not an atom too much.

If this reasoning be not admitted, then we are
driven to the conclusion, that the human system
contains within itself, as part of its primitive design,
and wholly independent of man's conduct, the
principles of disease and premature death. But
that SOME individuals do escape both these — both
disease and premature death — the evidence of our
senses daily assures us. In these individuals, there-
fore, either these principles do not exist, or they
exist to no purpose. These principles, therefore,
can only form a part of the primitive design of
some individual systems ; or, if they do form a part
of the original scheme of all, they are clearly only
effective in some. But, surely, to suppose this, is to
make such a hap-hazard affair of human life — is to
convert this " harp of a thousand strings" into such
an ill-contrived and discordant kettle-drum—is to
reduce it to a thing of such mere contingency, that

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 179

no one but the infidel proselyte to the doctrines of
blind chance could reconcile it either to his reason
or his conscience to believe it.

But that disease and premature death formed no
part of the original design of man, is superabun-
dantly proved by the innumerable contrivances
which nature has instituted, in every part of the
machine, to repel them ; and the mighty efforts
which she makes, under disease, to escape them.

My inference, then, is this; — that the vital actions
constitute a system of nature, which is, like her
other systems, per feet in itself; — that, as the planetary
system depends for its health (that is, the due per-
formance of its functions) on the law of gravitation,
so the health of the vital actions depends on man's
conduct, with relation to the manner of his nutrica-
tion and mode of existence ; — and that, as the plane-
tary system is incapable of derangement while the
law of gravitation remains unchanged, so neither is
the system of man capable of disorder, otherwise
than by some misconduct., in his manner of feeding,
and his habits of life. Beyond the influence which
results from our conduct in these two respects, we
possess no more controul over the motions consti-
tuting health, than we do over those of the heavenly
bodies ; every thing being effected by the inherent

180 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

powers of the nutritive system itself, by virtue of
the laws which govern that system : and to suppose,
that, while all other systems are fulfilled par neces-
site,, the system of human nutrition is fulfilled par
hazard, and may or may not answer its intention,
just as it may happen, is to suppose that which is in
direct opposition to the evidence of our senses, as it
regards the uniformity, simplicity, and perfection
of nature ; and is, therefore, directly opposed to
right reason and common sense.

The instance of hereditary diseases does not
invalidate this argument : because, although the
inherited disease be not contracted by any error of
diet and conduct in the inheritor, yet, I contend, it
must have been originally derived from such a
source, to the parent who first became the subject
of it. For instance : a man, from high and gross
feeding, contracts gout : his sons, however tempe-
rate, may nevertheless be afflicted with gout by
inheritance ; that is, supposing gout to be an here-
ditary disease, as some assert. Here you see, not-
withstanding the temperance of the son, his gout
was evidently the result of error indict; not, indeed,
on his own part, but on the part of his parent.
And it must be remembered, that I am speaking,
not of individual disease, but of disease in general.

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 181

A child may be born with some imperfection in
one of the valves of the heart : but this imperfection
is the result of some imperfection in the action of
those vessels whose office it was to form this valve :
and this second imperfection could only be derived
from some imperfection in the health of the parent,
induced by the causes in question. Death from
dentition, again, is the result of a morbid irritabi-
lity, produced partly by the imperfect health of the
parent, and partly by the operation on the infant of
the same causes which enfeebled the health of its
parents ; viz. improper diet, and improper habits.

I know there are a few diseases which result
from climate, situation, soil, &c. ; but these are so
few, as rather to prove the rule, than overturn the
argument.

What I wished, therefore, to prove, and what I
hope I have proved, is, that disease and premature
death formed no part of the original design of man ;
and that, for the long and direful list of disorders
to which we are subject, with the exception of a
very few, we are indebted solely to ourselves.

It seems to me, that there is but one legitimate
cause of death ; and that is, old age ; — and here, as
ever, nature shews herself a kind and watchful
mother. There is nothing painful in death from

182 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

old age : it makes its advance with a gradual and
stealthy step, which is scarcely noted ; and the old
man drops into the tomb almost insensibly; con-
scious, indeed, that it cannot be far distant, but still
ignorant of the moment when it may open to receive
him. By imperceptible degrees, the living prin-
ciple becomes more and more feeble ; the heart's
pulsations less and less frequent; the fluids circulate
with diminished rapidity — a change is wrought in
their quality ; they perform their several offices im-
perfectly ; the food is slowly assimilated ; we have
bone where we ought to find cartilage ; we have
flaccidity where we ought to find firmness and
tension ; bones, which before were separated, now
become consolidated ; the fluids lubricating the
joints are deficient ; the ligaments regulating their
extent of motion are indurated. Thus, the old
man moves with difficulty, and his respiration is
hurried and unequal on very slight exertion. The
least essential parts of the body forsake him first :
his hair becomes white, and falls off; the teeth loosen,
and drop out ; his vision becomes impaired, his
hearing imperfect, his judgment inaccurate, his
temper querulous : a little while, and he becomes
perfectly helpless ; his brain loses its sensibility,
his memory deserts him ; already the twilight of

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 183

death is around him ; and shortly the night of the
grave shall close over him, and he is no more seen.
Lastly, comes Oblivion with her sponge, and wipes
his name from off the tablet of human recollection ;
and the bustling hero of this little drama is heard
of, and thought of, and talked of, no more.

I lay this down, therefore, as a fundamental
truth, that we bring disease upon ourselves, by using
an improper diet, and by exercising improper habits
of life ; and that the only way to preserve vigorous
health, and strength of mind and body, is to bring
ourselves to the use of proper diet, and the exercise
of proper habits of life as nearly as the tyranny of
custom will permit. But, before we can do this, we
must first ascertain what diet and habits are those
which are proper to man.

Now, my dear John, when the mother of a newly-
born infant dies, the physician (and every one else
possessing common sense) recommends a wet-nurse
to be procured for the nourishment of the infant.
In the absence of a wet-nurse, he recommends
that ass's milk should be given to it: — in the
absence of this, cow's milk : — in the absence of cow's
milk, he recommends mild farinaceous food. He
does not recommend cold boiled beef and ale.
But why does he not recommend cold boiled

184 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

beef and ale ? Because he knows that these are
extremely unnatural food for newly-born infants. —
Why does he recommend mild farinaceous food, in
preference to beef and ale ? Because this, though
not the natural food of newly-born infants, is,
nevertheless, not so unnatural, but more natural
than beef and ale. — But why does he prefer, for the
infant's support, cow's milk, before farinaceous food ?
Because cow's milk is more natural to infant's than
farinaceous food ; that is, it approaches, in its own
nature, more nearly to the mother's milk than fari-
naceous food does.— But why does he prefer ass's
milk to cow's milk ? Because ass's milk is still more
natural than cow's milk. — But why does he prefer
a wet-nurse to all the other means of nourishment ?
Because human milk, though not the mother's, is
the most natural of all. But why does he recom-
mend that mode of nourishing the infant which is the
most natural? Because he believes that that movie
which is the most natural is also the most proper.

Now, if that food which is unnatural to infants
is also improper to infants, would it not seem that
whatever food is unnatural to man is also improper ?
And if this be true of food, must it not also be true
of habits ?

Look through the universe — not at this or that

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 185

particular part of it, but look everywhere ; search
minutely through all the kingdoms of nature ; ex-
plore the natural world ; examine curiously the
artificial world — whatever you behold, whether
animate or inanimate, moving or at rest, large or
small, you will find it has been placed in a sphere
of its own, and surrounded by circumstances pe-
culiar to itself; from which sphere and circum-
stances it cannot be removed, without detriment to
the integrity of its natural perfection. In fact, all
things — the very stocks and stones — have " habits "
proper to themselves ; and you cannot compel them
into new habits, without injury to their primitive
perfect condition. Every thing has its determi-
nate position, and fixed relation to all other things.
It is this which constitutes that wonderful harmony
which so astonishes and delights those who love to
contemplate the works of nature. If, indeed, it
were not so, nothing but the most inextricable con-
fusion must necessarily be the immediate result.

Every thing, then, has its natural sphere of exis-
tence— its natural habits ; and you cannot compel
it out of its sphere, without injury to the perfection
of its being. I know I may be asked, if the marble,
chiselled into the statue, be not an improvement
upon the rugged mass ? I answer, No — decidedly

186 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

not. The marble is not improved : it has been
made to contribute to the enjoyment of man, it is
true ; but this is improving the condition of mar?,
not the condition of the marble. For, in the first
place, the marble itself is unchanged, except in
figure ; and it has been wrested from the security of
concealment in its quarry, and exposed to injuries
and accidents from which it would otherwise have
been exempt; — its very existence as marble has been
rendered precarious ; — a barrel of vinegar may be
spilled upon it, and so its very nature be changed,
and its identity destroyed. In the next place,
looking upon the whole quarry as one object, of
which the statue forms only a small part, and sup-
posing (as who shall dare to question it ?) that the
entire quarry was intended by nature to answer
some useful purpose in the general scheme, I ask,
Has not the capacity of the entire quarry, to fulfil
its allotted purpose, been diminished by the forcible
abstraction of a part of it ? If you fell a ma-
hogany-tree, in order that it may be wrought into
billiard-tables, and side-boards, and dining-tables, I
ask you again, have you committed no injury upon
that tree ? Have you abstracted nothing from the
beauty of that scene in which that tree made a
prominent object? Have you in no way interfered

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 187

with the purposes for which that tree had its being?
Or will you choose rather to suppose that nature
planted mahogany-trees for the express purpose of
veneering- side-boards and dining-tables ? If so,
how is it they do not grow wherever side-boards
and billiard-tables are used ? Why hare they been
planted where side-boards and billiard-tables are,
or were till lately, unknown ? And did they answer
no intention, did they effect no useful object, before
these same side-boards and billiard-tables were
invented ? " Oh ! but," says man,

" All things were made for my use."

We have such a consummate opinion of our mag-
nificent SELVES, that whatever we find capable of
being made to contribute to our own enjoyments,
we instantly conclude, with a pompous vanity, not
a whit less ridiculous than that of the frog in the
fable, was made and sent expressly for our own
behoof.

With what a proud sense of superiority do we
look down upon the inferior animals! — yet how
slight an accident is sufficient to degrade the most
towering genius beneath the level of the most in-
ferior ! A stone in his path trips up his heels ; or
a little tumor forms upon his brain; or a few

188 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

ounces of water collects between its membranes or
in its ventricles ; and, behold, the vaunted philo-
sopher, the lord of the creation, has suddenly be-
come a drivelling idiot ! " Toi qui dans ta folie
prends arrogamment le titre du roi de la nature —
toi qui mesures et la terre et les cieux — toi pour qui
ta vanite s'imagine que le tout a etc fait, parceque
tu es intelligent, il ne faut qu'un leger accident,
qu'un atome deplace, pour te degrader, pour te
ravir cette intelligence dont tu parois si fier !"

But let us admit, for an instant, that all this were
so — that nature planted mahogany-trees on purpose
to veneer Crockford's Rouge-et-Noir tables: this
detracts not an iota from the truth of what I have
asserted; because it must still be admitted, on
every hand, that the tree, as a tree, " has had foul
wrong." No one can deny that a tree, which has
been cut down and cut up piecemeal, has suffered
injury as a free — has had the integrity of its per-
fection, as a tree, destroyed. My assertion, there-
fore, is still sound — that you cannot withdraw any
object from its natural sphere, without detriment to
that object.

Here is a limestone : — it would have remained
perfect limestone, probably for ever, had it been
left in its natural position, the quarry. But I have

LETTERS TO BKuTIIEK JOHV. 189

withdrawn it from its natural sphere — I have broken
its natural relation to surrounding- objects — I have
thrown it in the fire, and exposed it to a shower of
rain — and, behold ! it crumbles into dust.

Here is a "winking Mary-bud": — had I left it
in the field whence I abstracted it, it would have
gone on winking as prettily as any Mary-bud of
them all: but I have planted it in tallow, and,
watered it with ink, (never mind the bull,) and
behold, it is dead ! — Poor flower ! How piteously
thou look'st — dropping ink, instead of dew, upon
thy greasy bed ! I would not serve another so, to
enlighten the darkness of fifty brother Johns !

Here is a watch: — I wear it in my fob — I place
it beneath my pillow, or in my bed-room watch-
pocket — and it never fails to indicate the time.
But if I attach it to a mill-sail, or conceal it in an
oven, or bury it in an iceberg, what sort of time
will it keep?"

Go visit the Zoological Gardens — observe the
extreme care which is found necessary, in order to
keep the animals in health. — And in what does this
care consist ? Manifestly, in approximating their
present circumstances, as nearly as possible, to the
circumstances in which nature intended them to
live. Yet, with all their care and extreme atten-

190 -LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

tion, there are still animals which they have not
yet been able to preserve alive — much less in
health ! You cannot withdraw the leopard from his
jungle and his tropical climate, and turn him adrift
on the plains of Siberia, with impunity to himself:
nor will the cedars of Lebanon nourish on the bar-
ren hills of the frozen North.

As it is with habits, so with food. All animals
cannot subsist upon the same food indifferently :
nor all vegetables upon the same soil. A dog will
not thrive on oats, nor a horse on beef; nor a cat
on green gooseberries. Nay, all animals, even of
the same species, will not thrive equally well on
the same food. There is a race of horses — some-
where, I think, in Tartary — who are fed wholly on
camel's milk. If it be attempted to make them
subsist on coru, they sicken, and die.

Seeing, then, that every other system in the
universe has its natural sphere of existence— its
natural habitudes, from which it cannot be removed
without injury — it seems only in accordance with
strict analogy, to suppose that man also has a
sphere of existence and certain habitudes natural
to himself; and that he cannot withdraw himself
from this sphere and these habitudes, without in-
jury to the perfection of his nature.

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 1!)|

What is the conclusion to be drawn from these
premises ? It is this ; — that " that manner of nutri-
cation, and that mode of existence," which is most
natural to man, is also most proper to man.

E. JOHNSON.

192 '"* LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

LETTER VII.

224, Slackfriars Road,

15th Sept. 1836.
MY DEAR JOHN,

IN this Letter, I shall endeavour to give you a
practical instance of the manner in which the pre-
sent habits of society act in the production of dis-
ease— their modus operandi.

There is a condition of the body in which no
actual disease — at least, no denominated disease —
can be said to exist ; and yet in which the whole of
the living actions are deteriorated — in which no
one individual organ can be pointed out as the seat
of disorder, but in which all the organs perform
their offices in an irregular and unhealthy manner,
and that without any evident assignable cause. No
part of the machine goes right. In the morning,
instead of waking refreshed with new vigour, and
ready at once to enter with alacrity on the business
of the day, the patient is oppressed with a painful
drowsiness, which he finds it almost impossible to

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 193

shake off. When he has, at length, dragged him-
self out of bed, he moves about with a feeling of
weariness, greater than he felt when he went to
rest. Tired, languid, and lazy, he feels as though
he could almost give half he is worth for one hour
more of sleep. His tongue and mouth are either
parched, like the surface of dry toast; or foul,
clammy, and exceedingly disagreeable to himself.
He is unable to eat any breakfast; but is glad of
a cup of tea or coffee, to cleanse his mouth and
throat: and this is no sooner swallowed, than
he begins to be annoyed with acid eructations, and
perhaps sickness. In an hour or two he feels bet-
ter, and gradually improves till dinner-time. At
dinner his appetite is capricious : sometimes he can
eat heartily ; at others scarcely at all. First, he
finds one article of food disagree with him ; then
another; until, at last, there is scarcely any one
article of diet which he dares take. After dinner,
lassitude and drowsiness again attack him ; and he
falls asleep, or sits gaping in his chair, till tea-time,
unless imperative necessity compel him to action.
After tea, he again feels better; — and, indeed, from
tea to eleven or twelve o'clock is the only time in
which he can be said to be himself. His nights
are past either in a deep and dreamless sleep, or,

194 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

more properly, stupor; or else he is restless and
watchful ; and has his short snatches of sleep per-
turbed by frightful dreams and the hideous night-
mare. After slight exertion he feels dispropor-
tionate fatigue ; and after a slight meal he feels as
though he had eaten too much. There is a constant
sense of want and sinking, or faintness, about the
region of the stomach, which frequently induces
him to take a glass of wine or spirit ; and the sud-
den, but delusive, and temporary relief which he
experiences from this is, I believe, one of the most
frequent incentives to habitual dram-drinking.
This is another of the fatal effects often resulting
from too implicit a reliance on experience. He is
almost ashamed to consult a medical man, for he
scarcely knows of what to complain: he accuses
himself of laziness — he drenches himself with physic:
— he is sometimes inclined to believe that it is all
fancy ; and he determines to fight against it, and to
eat and drink like other people, and think no more
about it. It is generally in the evening, when he
feels a great deal better, that he takes this doughty
resolution: — but it will not do. The morning
comes, and with it the feverish tongue, the lethar-
gic drowsiness, the weary limb, the languid spirit,
and lassitude and listlessness, which make his life

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 195

literally burthensome. He is, indeed, in a mise-
rable condition. Food does not strengthen him —
sleep does not refresh him — mirth does not cheer
him — society has no charms for him — pleasure no
allurement : for him every thing- seems to have lost
its interest. He can think of nothing but himself:
his own wretched feelings are perpetually solicit-
ing his attention, and forcibly abstracting his mind
from every other contemplation. Like the owl, he
mopes all day, and is only aroused into active ex-
istence at night ; — and even then, should he dare to
suffer himself to be tempted to indulge in a glass
of wine, or a slight supper with his friends, he is
haunted the whole time, and his comfort poisoned,
by the dread of additional suffering to be endured
in the morning. He becomes hipped, nervous,
melancholy, desponding. If his friends are not
perpetually sympathizing with him, he fancies they
have no regard for him. If they be merry, he
imagines that they are exulting over him. He feels
every smile as a personal cruelty, and the voice of
mirth rings in his ear like the voice of the death-
bell. His friends appear to have forsaken him * —

* " Is it not strange," exclaimed the elegant but dyspeptic
Rousseau, " that all the world should be leagued together to
oppress the son of a poor watchmaker ! "
K 2

196 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

Heaven itself seems to neglect him. Thus forsaken
and neglected, can we wonder that the weight of all
this wretchedness is more than he can bear; and
that he finally welcomes suicide, as the only possible
relief from an intolerable load of imaginary op-
pression ? This is, indeed, a dark picture : but if
you doubt its accuracy, I can hardly do better than
refer you to the Coroners' Reports.

There are two other states of the mind, produced
by this unhappy condition of body, which are very
singular. The one is a sense of dread and terror, as
though the patient had committed some great crime :
the other is an unaccountable, and almost irresistible
desire to do something horrible and wicked. I
have seen numerous instances of these states of the
mind, manifestly depending solely upon the condi-
tion of the body I have just attempted to describe.
Of the latter — an irresistible longing to do some-
thing wicked — two cases occurred to me lately. A
tailor awoke his wife at midnight, in great terror,
and earnestly besought her to get up and put out
the night-light ; otherwise, he said, he felt that he
must set fire to the house. He had been lying
awake, he said, looking at it for the last two hours,
and had restrained himself with the utmost diffi-
culty from using it to tire the house : the feeling

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 197

had gradually been growing- stronger and stronger,
until he felt it had become irresistible.

In the other case, a girl, about seventeen years
of age, was drinking- her tea before the fire. There
was a large looking-glass over the mantel-shelf.
Suddenly she exclaimed, in a frightened tone of
voice, " Oh, mother ! mother ! for God's sake, take
the cup and saucer out of my hand ! " She did so,
and asked what was the matter. The girl drew a
deep breath, and said, She did not know ; but all
at once she felt, that if the cup and saucer were not
taken from her, she must have thrown them at the
looking-glass over the mantel-shelf. She dared
not, for weeks afterward, look at that glass, while
she had any thing in her hand. Both patients were
in a very ill state of health.

I have no doubt that many of the extraordinary
cases of shop-lifting, of which we hear, result from
the same physical causes — a desire to do something
wicked, without object or motive of any kind,
depending solely on a morbid condition of the
health, and entirely unconnected with moral de-
pravity.

These are the characteristics of that bane of
artificial life, commonly called " indigestion." The
whole of these symptoms may not always be present

198 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

at one time, nor do they always exist with the same
degree of intensity ; but they are, more or fewer
of them, and in a greater or less degree, its unfailing
characteristics: and there are few persons, ex-
cepting those who earn their livelihood hy hodily
labour, who do not occasionally fall into this condi-
tion to a greater or less extent;— and not a few have
their whole lives embittered by it.

Now this, my dear John, is that condition of
body, to avoid or to remedy which is the object of
all dietetic rules : for it is that from which almost
all other diseases spring. If, from having neglected
this previous state of things, you become affected
with any distinct disease, as fever, cough, pain, &c.,
the best and only advice I have to give to you
is this : " Go at once and put yourself under the
care of that medical man — (not of him who wears
the smartest coat, drives the smartest equipage,
and trims his whiskers after the smartest fashion ;
nor of him who smiles with the sweetest grace,
speaks in the kindest tone, has the whitest hand,
and the softest voice) — whose general conversa-
tion bespeaks him a man of talent, a scholar — and,
not a coxcomb, but a gentleman." In choosing
a medical man, and in endeavouring to satisfy
yourself as to his talent, you should not question

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 199

him on matters connected with his own profession ;
because you are no judge therein — you have no
means of knowing whether he answers you wisely or
foolishly: but talk to him on matters of general
learning and philosophy — on subjects with which
you are yourself acquainted : you will thus easily
fathom the depth of his understanding : and you may
be quite sure, if he shew that he possesses a mind
capable of reasoning on the principles of science in
general, that he cannot be ignorant of that parti-
cular science which he has made his especial study.
For the practice of medicine is not an art, but a
science : it cannot be learned by rule or by rote,
as bricklayers learn to lay bricks, or a tallow-
chandler to make candles. In the treatment of
almost every disease, there is much to which no
rule will apply; and the correct or incorrect manage-
ment of which must entirely depend upon the phi-
losophical powers and general reasoning capabi-
lities of the mind of the practitioner who has the
treatment of the case under his care.

But in that state of the body, that generally
enfeebled condition of health, of which I have been
speaking, every man must be his own physician :
for its cure or prevention must depend upon the
will of the sufferer — upon the manner and habits of

200 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

his life ; which, in most instances, he may regulate
— at all events, modify — as he pleases.

Now let us inquire, as to what is the actual state
of parts — the actual condition of the solids and
fluids of the body — in these distressing circum-
stances of the health. I believe it to consist in
sanguineous congestion in the ultimate tissue of all
the organs concerned in the nutrition of the body.

Every thing tends to prove that man was des-
tined to lead a life of bodily action. His formation —
his physical structure generally, and that of his
joints particularly — his great capacity of speed and
laborious exertion — the divine injunction that he
" shall live by the sweat " (not, mark you ! of his
brain,) but "of his brow" — the circumstances under
which he first appears upon the earth — the bodily
imbecility and enfeebled health invariably conse-
quent upon a sedentary life — all go to prove that
he was destined to lead a life of physical activity.
But the circulation of the blood, by which all the
actions concerned in nutrition are effected, is car-
ried on with an increased rapidity under bodily
exertion. If, therefore, a state of physical activity
be natural and proper to man, so must that rapid
condition of the blood's circulation be natural and
proper also; because the one is a natural conse-

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 201

quence of the other. From this it follows, that the
degree of velocity and vigour with which the hloocl
flows through the body, during inaction, is proeter-
naturally diminished : one of the essential means
destined to propel it has been withdrawn; and a too
languid circulation is a necessary result. But, as
during that increased rapidity of circulation conse-
quent on exertion there is also an increased secre-
tion and excretion of perspiration and pulmonary
halitus ; so, when the circulation is languid, these
are deficient : and as these are separated from the
blood, so, when they fail to be separated, the greater
must be the volume of blood remaining. Thus
one of the principal natural means for reducing the
blood's volume being removed, there must be ac-
cumulation somewhere ; and as the larger arteries
are not permanently dilatable while the veins and
capillary arteries are so, this accumulation or con-
gestion must take place in the veins and capillary or
hairlike arteries.

The blood is propelled through the ultimate
tissue chiefly by the power of the heart and large
arteries, acting upon the blood, as it were, from
behind. When the power of these, therefore, is
but feebly exerted, it is manifest that the blood will

not be driven through the ultimate tissue with the
K 3

202 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

requisite degree of velocity. Under these circum-
stances, the blood creeps sluggishly, and, as it
were, lazily along the minute vessels composing the
elementary tissue : they become gorged ; and this
engorgement operates as a still further impediment
to the free flow of the blood.

But there is another most important evil result-
ing from this semi-stagnation of blood in the ulti-
mate tissue. Arterial blood, when not moving
with the due degree of velocity, becomes deterio-
rated in its properties : — for if you enclose a living
artery between two ligatures, the blood so insu-
lated assumes the black colour and other proper-
ties of venous blood.

The blood, therefore, when not circulated with
sufficient energy through the ultimate tissue, be-
comes deteriorated in quality — and this, too, pre-
cisely where it is of the utmost importance that it
should be of the very highest degree of purity : —
for, as you now know, it is in the ultimate tissue
of our organs that all those operations are effected
on the blood on which the nutrition of the body
depends. The blood, when the circulation is driven
on with a due degree of healthy vigour, maintains
its vermilion hue and arterial character, not only
as far as the extremities of the hairlike arteries,

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 203

but even for some way along the beginning's of the
veins. But when the propelling power from behind
— that is, the power of the heart and larger arte-
ries— is not sufficiently energetic, the circulation
through the elementary tissue is so slow, that the
blood loses its vermilion hue and arterial characte-
ristics before it has reached the extremities of the
hairlike arteries; and thus that part of the tissue
which ought to be filled with arterial blood is
gorged only with venous blood, from which the
proper secretion necessary to the nutrition of the
body cannot be separated, either in due abundance,
or of a healthy quality. All that blood which, under
exertion, is driven to the surface of the body, to
the skin, to the muscles, and along the superficial
veins, is, during inaction, sleeping and creeping, in
muddy and sluggish currents, along the tortuous
and delicate vessels composing the ultimate tissue of
the internal organs — impeding their action, dis-
tending their coats, and oppressing their sensibility.
The whole circulating system may be divided
into three portions : The heart, and large arteries,
whose office is merely to convey the blood to the
elementary tissue; — the elementary tissue itself; —
and the large veins, whose office is merely to convey
the blood back to the heart. Now, the principal

204 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

force by which the blood is propelled from the heart
through the whole of these three portions of the
system, back to the heart again, is the contractile
power of the heart and large arteries. When,
therefore, this power of the heart and large arteries
is feebly exerted, as during inaction, although it is
sufficiently strong to carry the blood to the ulti-
mate tissue, it is nevertheless not strong enough to
carry it through it ; at least, not to carry it through
with the same rapidity with which it is brought to
it. The result is evident : the ultimate tissue being
thus filled faster than it is emptied, there must
accrue accumulation ; that is, congestion in the deli-
cate and most important vessels which compose this
tissue ; and also in the larger veins, whose office it
is to convey the blood from this tissue to the heart.
For if the propelling power of the heart and larger
arteries be but feebly exerted within the tissue
itself, it must be still more feebly exerted on vessels
which are situated beyond it, and, consequently,
farther removed from the propelling force.

One of the chief conditions of the body, there-
fore, in that general ill state of health usually de-
nominated " indigestion " or " dyspepsia," is con-
gestion of blood in the ultimate tissue of our organs
— the brain, the lungs, the spinal marrow, the sto-

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 205

mach, the ganglionic system, the liver, bowels, &c.
&c. — all the organs concerned in the nutrition of
the body. There is congestion of the brain : the
veins of this organ do not carry away the black
deteriorated blood with sufficient expedition ; they
(the veins) become distended ; and thus, occupying
more room than they ought to do, exert a very
considerable degree of pressure upon the surround-
ing parts— the origin of nerves, &c. But, besides
the great evil resulting from this general pressure
on, and within the brain, there is another evil pro-
duced, by the accumulation of venous blood in the
brain, equally important. For it is a well-ascer-
tained fact, that this black venous blood has a direct
influence in diminishing contractility and sensibility
— it is even capable of utterly destroying them : it
is at open war with life — it exercises a destructive
and paralyzing influence on the living powers, and,
wherever it accumulates, poisons the life of the part.
Comparing the human machine to a watch, and
contractility and sensibility to the elasticity of the
main-spring, upon which the motions of the watch
depend, then, I say, venous blood has a positive
and direct influence in weakening this elasticity;
and the several actions constituting life are injured
by congestion of venous blood, as the movements

206 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

of a watch would be injured by any cause which
weakened the elasticity of its main-spring. The
watch would lose time — its movements would be too
feeble— it would go too slow. So with the human
machine : its actions are enfeebled — its nutrition
is languidly and imperfectly performed— it goes
too slow. The indication of time is the final cause
of the movement of the watch ; and the nutrition
of the body is the final cause of the nutritive actions.
Both these final causes depend upon the healthy
existence of the first cause— the elasticity of the
main-spring in the watch, and contractility and sen-
sibility in the body. It is manifest, therefore, that
whatever weakens the energy of the first cause
must have a direct tendency to interfere with, and
prevent the fulfilment of, the final cause ; that is, in
the human machine, the nutrition of the body. It
is this destructive influence of venous blood on the
life of our organs which has caused me purposely
to speak of it with so much bitterness, whenever
I have had occasion to mention it. I did so in
order that your mind might be thoroughly im-
pressed with a sense of the great and necessary
distinction to be drawn between venous and arte-
rial blood. It is difficult to make this impression
on the mind of a person not conversant with

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 207

physiology. Both fluids go by the general name of
blood; and this increases the difficulty, weakens the
distinction, and produces confusion in the mind.
It seems difficult to be understood how blood can,
at once, be the support of life, and yet destructive
to it. Blood is blood ; — and people generally are
not aware that there are two sorts of blood in the
body. Blood is blood : — true ; but arterial blood is
not venous blood ; and there is not more difference
between champagne and ditch-water, than between
these two kinds of blood : — one nourishes the body ;
the other poisons it.

One of the most common symptoms of the dis-
ordered condition of the body, now under conside-
ration, is the appearance of small, black, irregularly-
shaped specks, resembling little pieces of broken
cobweb, floating before the eyes. This arises from
congestion of venous blood in and about the nerve
of vision — the optic nerve. This nerve is com-
pressed by the gorged veins entering into its own
structure, and also of the veins immediately sur-
rounding it. The energies of this nerve are par-
tially paralyzed by the debilitating and devitalizing
influence of the venous blood which has accumu-
lated within and around it. This nerve, too, like
every other part of the body, is in a state of per-

208 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

petual disorganization and reparation. The dis-
organization goes on as usual ; but the reparation
(that is, its nutrition) does NOT go on as usual : its
nutrition is imperfectly performed. The capillary
arteries entering into the structure of its elemen-
tary tissue are filled with a blood, from which the
nutritious particles, necessary to repair the waste
which it perpetually undergoes, cannot be separated
in sufficient abundance : its structure, therefore,
becomes flaccid, and its energies consequently en-
feebled. If this state of the nerve go on increasing —
if these little black specks go on multiplying and
increasing in size, until they form but one black
speck — that is, complete darkness— you then have,
at once, the disease called amaurosis, " blindness,"
resulting from palsy of the optic nerve.

Imperfect hearing, and ringing in the ears, are
also very common symptoms of indigestion. These
arise from a condition of the nerves of hearing —
the auditory nerves — similar to that which I have
just described as incidental to the nerve of vision.
All the nerves of the body, with the questionable
exception of one, arise from the brain and spinal
marrow ; and all are liable to be thus injuriously
affected by venous congestion in the elementary
tissue of these two organs. It is to this condition

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 209

of the nervous system that are to be attributed all
those oppressive feelings of lassitude, ennui, mental
imbecility, &c., so prominently characteristic of the
hypochondriacal dyspeptic.

Then we have, too, congestion in the lungs, in-
terfering with those important changes which should
be effected on the blood in those viscera.

Then we have congestion in the stomach. In
this viscus the food is destined to undergo the first
important change towards final assimilation; that
is, nutrition. This change is effected by admixture
with the gastric juice. The gastric juice is se-
creted ; that is, separated from the blood — that is,
formed or manufactured, as it were, by the arteries
entering into the composition of the elementary
structure of that organ. But, in order that this
juice may be secreted in sufficient quantity, it is
necessary that the elementary tissue of its blood-
vessels should be plentifully supplied with pure
arterial blood : whereas, in congestion, this tissue,
as I have before shewn, is gorged with venous
blood. The necessary quantity of gastric juice,
therefore, cannot be formed; and that portion
which is secreted is not of a healthy sort. The
direct result of all this is, that the very first neces-
sary change which should be wrought upon the

210 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

food, in order that it may nourish our bodies, is
very imperfectly effected — the chyme is of unsound
quality. The next result is this : — the chyme, by
admixture with certain other juices which it meets
with in the bowels, is destined to become chyle.
But the chyme, being of vicious quality, the chyle
which is formed from it must be also vicious ; at
all events, it must be deficient in quantity. Cer-
tainly, it is impossible to suppose that as much
perfect chyle can be elaborated out of bad chyme
as out of good : you might as well hope to make
as much good butter out of bad cream, or out of
cream and water, as out of pure cream. The
chyle, therefore, is deficient in quantity : but it is
this chyle which is destined to become blood. The
chyle, therefore, being deficient, the blood resulting
from it must also be deficient. But the blood is,
in fact, as I have shewn you before, the real food
on which the body feeds, by which it is nourished
and its strength supported; and this food being
scantily supplied, the strength, of course, is but
ill supported.

I have said that the chyme is converted into
chyle by admixture with certain juices which it
meets with in the bowels. But the same causes which
we have seen producing a deficiency of gastric juice

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 211

produce also a deficiency in those juices, by com-
mixture with which the chyme is converted into
chyle. Here, then, is another cause which tends
to diminish the quantity of chyle ; and, conse-
quently, blood — the nourishment which we ought
to derive from our food.

But there is yet another mischievous result
accruing1 from a congested condition of the stomach
and bowels, besides that of deficient and unhealthy
gastric juice. In that condition of the health which
I am endeavouring to describe, the stomach and
bowels actually secrete AIR. It is a thoroughly-
established fact, that air, windy flatus, is actually
formed from the blood, and poured into the stomach
and bowels by those arteries which ought to form
only gastric juice. Now this wind not only does
no good in the stomach and bowels, but it does a
vast deal of harm: for, besides the evil effects
which it produces by its pernicious qualities, it vio-
lently distends these organs, stretching, and sepa-
rating, and thus greatly weakening and destroying,
the firmness and compactness of their ultimate
tissue.

To give you a still further and clearer idea of
the manner in which the secretions of the body may
be altered in their quality, as well as diminished in

212 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

quantity, I have only to direct your attention to a
foul tongue. Look at the tongue of a sick man :
instead of being bathed in the natural, pellucid, and
fluid secretion of the mouth (saliva), it is covered
with a thick, and filthy, and pasty fur, which is
actually solid. Is it possible to conceive that the
offices intended to be fulfilled by the saliva can be
properly effected, or effected at all, by the nasty,
pasty filth which you behold in this mouth, instead
of saliva 9 This filth is secreted from the blood ;
and poured into the mouth by those arteries which
ought to secrete only that thin, clear, pellucid
fluid, called saliva. Now this is an example of
vitiated secretion which you can actually see, and
which cannot, therefore, be doubted or questioned.
Can you have any difficulty in believing that the
other secretions of the body, which are all formed
from the blood, may, in like manner, be equally
altered and vitiated? Can you, moreover, have
any difficulty in believing that the body must, of
necessity, be badly nourished in this state of the
secretions, seeing that it is by the agency of these
very secretions that our food is converted into
blood, which blood is the sole source from which
our bodies derive nutrition and support ?

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 213

I have now described to you what I believe to
be the actual condition of the body in that sickly
state of the health usually denominated " indiges-
tion"; a condition from which few persons in the
upper and middling ranks of life are wholly and
perfectly free. And you will observe, that all the
mischief arises from depressed contractility, and
heightened sensibility, which are themselves the
immediate offspring of excessive refinement.

I am, my dear John,

Yours truly,

E. JOHNSON.

214 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

LETTER VIII.

224 Slackfriars Road,

15th Oct. 1836.
MY DEAR JOHN,

IN my last Letter, I stated to you, that I believe
sanguineous congestion, in the ultimate tissue of
our organs, constitutes that morbid and multi-
form disease usually denominated " indigestion," or
" dyspepsia."

The immediate cause of this congestion I believe
to be a sleepy, feeble, and inefficient circulation,
occasioned by the peculiar habits of artificial society,
and the indolent and mole-like life we lead.

Indeed, when one considers the amazing exer-
tions which the human body is manifestly con-
structed for the purpose of undergoing — when one
sees, every day, the extraordinary powers and won-
derful activity which it is capable of exerting— and
then, when one reflects upon the comparative sloth
in which the lives of those are passed who are the

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 215

victims of this disease— I mean the upper and mid-
dle orders, and such of the lower whose occupations
are sedentary — when all this is considered, I say,
one is astonished, not that the health of the ma-
chine should suffer, but that it should continue
to exist at all. It seems really wonderful that
organs of such elaborate and delicate workmanship
should be able to perform their functions at all, under
circumstances so diametrically opposite as those of
action and inaction. Which of these two condi-
tions, however, is the better suited to the body,
daily and hourly experience shews; since robust
health, and great physical strength, are only to be
met with in the ranks of those who earn their
livelihood by bodily exertion ; and since that sickly
habit of body, concerning which I am speaking, is
solely incident to those whose lives arc inactive.

Who ever heard of a bilious post-boy, or dys-
peptic ploughman ? It is not amongst carpenters,
and bricklayers, and sawyers, and agricultural
labourers, that you will meet with the dyspeptic;
but in the halls and saloons of the great, the dusky
counting-houses and gas-illumined shops of the
trader, and in the ghost-like and dwarfish ranks of
the pale and spectral silk-weaver. Indeed, of the
many hundreds of those who have come under my

216 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

observation during1 the last thirteen years, I never
remember to have seen a single silk-weaver who
was not more or less dyspeptic.

Another important cause of languid and ineffi-
cient circulation is, the manner in which we sur-
round ourselves with what are called comforts.
We clothe ourselves in flannel, and envelope our-
selves in great coats abroad ; and when at home,
we close the doors, let down the window-curtains,
draw a chair to the fire, bury our feet in the wool
of the hearth-rug, and make our servants wear slip-
pers that they may not disturb us.

Now, these same comforts have a directly oposite
influence on the system — an influence directly
lulling and somniferous. I surely shall not be
called upon to prove this. Who has not himself
experienced that almost irresistible disposition to
sleep, which an easy chair, a warm room, a good
fire, and silence, induce ? And who will not sleep
more soundly in a darkened room, on a down bed,
surrounded by curtain drapery, and well covered
with blankets, than on a straw mattrass, scantily
covered, uncurtained, in a garret.

Those, therefore, who surround themselves with
these seductive "comforts" place themselves pre-
cisely in the situation of opium-eaters. They

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 217

submit their bodies to the same influence, and suf-
fer the same evils, although the cause be different.
" Comforts " are, opiates — anodynes — narcotics ; as
certainly so as opium itself, although not in so
powerful a degTee. The lover of "comforts,"
therefore, must neither censure nor ridicule the
eater of opium : he is himself guilty of the same
fault, and will certainly reap the same harvest. I
say, their fault is the same : they both are producing
the same effect, only by different means : they are
both travelling to the same point, only by different
roads.

Like hemlock, then— like the deadly nightshade —
like opium, and other poisonous narcotics — " com-
forts," as we are pleased to term them, have the
direct effect of lowering the tone and lessening the
activity of the living actions ; and of inducing that
condition of the body called sleep, which, when too
frequently or too much indulged, is highly, most
highly, injurious to the health.

Light, and wet, and wind, and cold, and noise,
&c. &c., are what are enumerated among the dis-
comforts of life. But these, and the like of these,
are the natural whips and spurs which keep the
living actions, as it were, awake: they form a part
of man's natural condition : they form a part of the

218 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

means which nature has contrived to keep up the
activity of the machine — to prevent its going- to
sleep, like a lazy horse, when he no longer hears
the whip, or feels the spur. These discomforts, as
they are called, are to be considered as so many
incentives to exertion ; for by exertion they not
only (at least, many of them) cease to be discom-
forts, but become real pleasures. What, for instance,
can be more delicious than the bright and frosty
freshness of the air to the active skater? What
more luxurious than water to the athletic swimmer?
These discomforts are component parts of the
system of this world : and man was made, and ex-
pressly fitted, to inhabit this world. In his con-
struction, nature intended that his system should be
adapted to the system of the world, and not that
the system of the world should be altered in order
to be adapted to his own. Yet this is what we are
perpetually labouring to do, in surrounding our-
selves with these same comforts : for every com-
fort is, in fact, no more than the absence of some
supposed discomfort. But, as I have shewn, these
discomforts form a component part of the general
system of the world : and, therefore, to get rid of
them, is to alter that system from its original order.
But, as the system of man was adapted to the system

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN, 219

of the world at the creation, it follows, that to alter
the system, or rather circumstances, of the world
posteriorly to the creation, is, in fact, to destroy the
adaptation then made and effected by the Author
of our existence — to destroy the relation then in-
stituted between ourselves and the things and cir-
cumstances wherewith we are surrounded. But
thus it is: — instead of being satisfied with Nature's
adaptation of our system to the world, we seek to
alter the world, and the order and circumstances of
things, in order to adapt them to our system.
Thus the sweet breath of heaven is carefully exclu-
ded by windows, and shutters, and curtains ; and
the cold most assiduously dispelled by fire and
flannel. The rain must not wet us ; the wind must
not blow upon us; cold must not approach us.
Thus we surround ourselves with new circum-
stances, in the place of those which were ex-
pressly constructed and contrived.

Nature always husbands her means, and ever
produces the greatest possible number of effects
from the fewest possible causes. Accordingly,
seeing that the system of man was destined to
inhabit the world, she seized upon certain parts of
the system of that world, and made them subservient
to the existence of her new creation. Thus, air is
L 2

220 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

absolutely necessary to the existence of man. She
might hav£ constructed him so as to live without
air; but then some other contrivance must have
been adopted ; and to have instituted a contrivance
which did not exist, in order to effect a purpose
that might be well effected by a contrivance
already existing (viz. air), would have been to
waste her means, and unnecessarily exhaust her
energies ; which she never does. And as air, which
is one of the component parts of the system of the
world, is absolutely necessary to the existence of
man, so the other so-called " discomforts " of life,
such as, cold, wet, hard fare, hard lodging, which are
also component parts of the system of the world,
are absolutely necessary to the perfection of his
HEALTHY existence.

As in the case of air ; so, in the case of other dis-
comforts of life, Nature, it is true, could have
fulfilled her task without them : she might have
contrived other means to preserve the health of the
human machine : but these were ready-made to her
hand; and she made use of them at once, as she
always does, rather than waste her energies by the
invention of new ones.

Thus are all the systems of things, animate and
inanimate, dovetailed into each other. One sup-

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 221

ports another, and is itself by others supported.
This is the invariable conduct of Nature. If
she had to prevent two houses from falling, she
would not get a prop for this and a prop for
that ; — no ; she would make one house prop up the
other.

It is this propping and dovetailing of one system
with another which constitutes what I mean by the
relation of one system to another ; as, for instance,
our own system to that of the world ; and which
makes it so impossible to destroy, or in any way
interfere with, that relation or adaptation, without
mischief to the individual system ; which is thus, as
it were, withdrawn from the support of the rest,
and without injury to the beauty and harmony of
the whole.

Now, the things which we are accustomed to
consider " discomforts " are the very contrivances
by means of which our system is interwoven, as it
were, with and into the system of the world which
we inhabit, and are absolutely necessary to secure
this connexion. I will explain this.

You will, I hope, remember, that there are four
conditions absolutely necessary to the existence of
all living things ; viz. organism, contractility, sensi-
bility, and STIMULI. The principal of these stimuli

222 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

is the blood : but this is by no means the only one.
There are many others; such as, light, heat, elec-
tricity, and the excitement produced through the
medium of our organs of hearing and seeing, &c. :
but, besides these, there are also others. And what
are these others, my dear John? Why, precisely
the very circumstances of our natural existence
which are now under discussion : — I mean, the very
self-same "discomforts" aforesaid. They form
a part of the necessary and natural stimuli. As
" comfort " (that is, the absence of all " discom-
fort ") has the effect of lulling the system to sleep
and sloth ; so " discomfort," which is the opposite
of " comfort," produces an opposite effect ; viz. that
of rousing the system to energy and action. He
who sleeps on the hill side, unsheltered, is not likely
to sleep too long.

It was ordained that the human heart should
continue to pulsate for a certain number of years.
In order to accomplish this, it was necessary to
afford to it a perpetual supply of stimulus, to a given
amount. If the blood alone were capable of sup-
plying this necessary given amount, then, when the
being to whom this heart belonged came to be
placed in the world which he was destined to in-
habit, and within the operation of these other stimuli,

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 223

he would immediately suffer by excessive stimulation,
being sufficiently stimulated by the blood before
he became submitted to the action of these addi-
tional stimuli. But, foreseeing this evil, Nature
has so ordered it, that the stimulating properties of
the blood are alone insufficient; and this insuffi-
ciency of stimulation is made up to the necessary
amount by the adventitious stimuli afforded by the
nature of the circumstances with which he is sur-
rounded, and which he is pleased to denominate
" discomforts." To remove these circumstances,
therefore, is to remove a certain number of the
stimuli which are absolutely necessary to the healthy
activity of the living actions.

You will now clearly understand what I meant,
when I said that our so-called " discomforts " are
the necessary whips and spurs which keep the living
energies awake. You will also now see how it is,
that what we call " comforts " operate upon us like
opiates; — since, to acquire a "comfort," is only to
remove a "discomfort"; and to remove what keeps
us awake, is the same thing as to administer what
will send us to sleep.

The indulgences, therefore, wherewith even
young and healthy men indulge themselves — the
" comforts," as they call them, of flannel, warm

224 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

clothing, closed doors, carpeted rooms, soft beds,
hot food, are infinitely worse than absurd ; because
the opposites of all these luxuries, so far from being-
injurious to health, are absolutely necessary to
it. We actually kill ourselves with "comforts"
It is absolutely disgusting to see the excessive care
and caution with which great fellows, with rough
beards on their chins, and with fists large and strong
enough to fell an ox, and legs long enough to be-
stride the Thames — I say, it is neither more nor less
than disgusting to see these lackadaisical women
in the likeness of men, or, rather, these monsters,
which are neither men nor women — I say, it is
literally disgusting, and degrading too — degrading
to our nature, to our being — degrading to the phy-
sical energies of Nature's master-work — to see the
care and pains-taking with which these abortive mon-
strosities, the progeny of a morbid and excessive re-
finement, protect their delicate and precious persons
from a few drops of rain, or a little mist, or a little
unusual inclemency of the weather, of whatever kind.
I got into a coach, a mile from London, the
other day, because there was no room outside.
The weather was dry, but cold and sharp. In the
corner of the coach there sat a mighty combina-
tion of bone and muscle and thew and sinew, all

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 225

assisting in the formation of what should have
been a man. He was, at least, six feet high, and
"bearded like the pard "; and seemed as well able
to carry the coach as the coach was to carry him.
As soon as I entered the vehicle, I let down the
window ; but before I had quite succeeded in doing
so, there issued, from amidst the cloaks, and coats,
and shawls, and wrappings, and mufflings, in which
this great thing had enveloped itself, a voice of sup-
plication and woe : " For God's sake, do not let the
window down ! I am so susceptible — so extremely
susceptible!"

Look at the delicate and fragile plant in your
garden ! see how it is buffeted by the wind, and
alternately scorched by the sun, and deluged by
the rain, and frozen by the frost, and spattered by
the mud, and brushed and bruised by the passen-
ger's foot ! yet how greenly and healthily it grows !
Take it into your parlour, and warm it by the fire,
and curtain it with flannel, and defend it from the
cold, and the wind, and the rain, and the rude con-
tact of the traveller's foot, and the other " discom-
forts" of its out-of-door existence. — What think
you? will it continue to flourish as greenly and
healthily as before? " Oh ! but," say you, "there is

a difference between a man and a cabbage ! " A dif-
L 3

226 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

ference ! Why I know there are many differences !
A man does not bear leaves, and look green ;— and a
cabbage has neither arms nor less : and thousrh it

o o " o

has as good a heart as many who rejoice in the
name and nature of man, still that heart contains
no blood. But what of all this ? To constitute an
analogy, it is not necessary that there should be
agreement in every particular. At this rate, there
would be no analogy between man and woman, nor
even between man and man ; for there are, probably,
no two men in existence exactly alike. But, in all
that concerns our present purpose, the man and the
plant are perfectly analogous ; they are both li ving
beings, destined to exist under certain circum-
stances— living systems, destined to occupy a certain
position within the circumference of that circle
of existences which constitutes the universal whole.
We have seen, and we know, that we cannot re-
move the one (that is, the plant) from its pre-
scribed position, without great injury to its health :
why, then, do we presume that we may, neverthe-
less, remove the other with impunity ? Those who
are not conversant with animal and vegetable phy-
siology will be astonished, upon examination of
the subject, to find how little, indeed, is the real
and essential difference between plants and animals.

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 227

In all, life is the same; more or less complex, but
still the same; consisting, in all, of a number of
effects, resulting from, and depending upon, the
four grand conditions of matter, before mentioned ;

viz. ORGANISM, CONTRACTILITY, SENSIBILITY, and
STIMULI.

To shew that the "discomforts" of life, or hard-
ships, as they are called, have no influence in pro-
ducing disease, but, on the contrary, serve only to
harden the system against it, Dr. J. Johnson has
most aptly quoted some remarkable historical illus-
trations. " One of the earliest and most memo-
rable illustrations," says he, " will be found in the
celebrated retreat of the TEN THOUSAND GREEKS,
under Xenophon and Cheirisophus, after the fall of
Cyrus on the plains of Cunaxa. This band of
auxiliaries were left without commanders, money,
or provisions, to traverse a space of twelve hundred
leagues, under constant alarms from the attacks of
barbarous and successive swarms of enemies. They
had to cross rapid rivers, penetrate gloomy forests,
drag their weary way over vast and burning
deserts, scale the summits of rugged mountains,
and wade through deep snows and pestilent mo-
rasses, in continual danger of death — or capture,
which was far worse than death. This retreat is

228 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

nearly unparalleled in the annals of war, for diffi-
culties and perils. During two hundred and fifteen
days of almost uninterrupted and toilsome march,
often in the face of the enemy, often between two
enemies, and engaged in front and rear at the same
moment, the army lost an uncertain, but not a great
number of men; partly by the darts and arrows
of the barbarians ; partly by desertion ; partly by
drowning in rivers, or sinking in morasses ; partly
by perishing in the snows of the Armenian moun-
tains ; — but not ONE BY SICKNESS ! " He mentions,
also, the case of Byron and his crew : " Although
nine-tenths of the original crew appear to have
perished by drowning or starvation, Byron makes
no mention of sickness, during any period of the
long and unparalleled series of sufferings to which
that ill-fated ship's company was doomed." The
retreat of Sir John Moore through the mountains of
Spain— the sufferings of the crew of the " Bounty,"
under Capt. Bligh— and the retreat of the French
from Moscow — are also quoted, in proof of the
same principle.

Another prevalent cause of indigestion is the
depressing influence of anxiety. In the present
day, with men engaged in business, the mind is
scarcely ever free from care : for business is not

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 229

now, as formerly, a simple matter of buying- and
selling, and living by the profits: it is now, rather,
a matter of speculative gaming. Every tmder,
almost, is a speculator; and his mind is, conse-
quently, kept perpetually vibrating between hope
and fear ; for he knows and feels that the turning of
a straw may make him, or mar him, for ever.
Never was the maxim, " Habe rem" &c. more
religiously observed than in the present day. No
man is satisfied to live and rear his family to tread
in his own steps. Every man is striving to be
wealthy. Men seem to have forgotten that the
end of existence is happiness. They appear to
have adopted the belief, that they were created for
no other earthly purpose than the accumulation of
money. They seem content to pass through life
without enjoyment; to exist in any way, no matter
how miserably, so long as they can but achieve
this— apparently, to them, the sole object of their
existence : thus utterly losing sight of the end, in
the eagerness of their pursuit after what is, in
reality, only the means to that end.

Another cause of that degenerate state of health
of which I have been speaking, is, eating too much.
All other animals eat because they are hungry, and
drink because they are thirsty : man eats because

230 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

it is meal-time; and, having eaten to satiety,
uses stimulating drinks, in order to enable him to
eat more ; and then, feeling himself uncomfortably
distended, drinks again, with a view to relieve the
sense of oppression under which he finds himself
labouring. Man, I believe, is the only animal who
eats in order to induce himself to drink ; and drinks
in order to induce himself to eat. No other ani-
mal than himself requires any relish, saving only
that of hunger and thirst

I believe I have now enumerated what I consider
the principal causes of that disordered condition of
the health, called "indigestion": and you will ob-
serve, that they all arise from the artificial condition
of society in which we live. In my next Letter, I
shall point out what I believe to be the only means
of avoiding and remedying it.

I am, my dear John,

Yours truly,

E. JOHNSON.

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 231

LETTER IX.

224 Slackfriars Road,
15th Dec. 183G.
MY DEAR. JOHN,

As I have placed excessive eating amongst the
causes of depreciated health, so must I now men-
tion temperance in food as one of the prime reme-
dies for it, and preventives against it. Learn,
therefore, now, " Quce virtus et quanta sit vivere
parvo."

When we consider that the manner in which life
is supported is by a perpetual wasting of the body,
and a perpetual reproduction of it out of the blood
— and when we remember that the simple and sole
object in eating is to make up to the blood the
deficiency thus occasioned in it— it must be mani-
fest to us, that the exact amount of food required
daily is precisely just so much as shall be sufficient
to restore to the blood just as much as the blood

232 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

has lost in supplying the waste which the hocly lias
undergone during twenty-four hours of life.

To make this more simple and clear, let us sup-
pose, for argument's sake, that the waste of the
body in twenty-four hours is just twenty-four
ounces. Now, when these lost twenty-four ounces
of the hody have been restored to it out of the
blood, then the blood will have lost twenty-four
ounces : and the object of eating being wholly
and exclusively to supply this deficiency thus pro-
duced in the blood, it is perfectly evident that the
quantity of food required in twenty-four hours is
precisely so much as shall be capable of conversion
into twenty-four ounces of blood; that being the
exact supposed quantity which the blood had lost in
supplying the waste of the body in twenty-four hours.

I do not mean to say that twenty-four ounces do
indeed form the precise quantity of daily waste ;
but it seemed necessary to fix on some definite and
specified quantity, in order to illustrate more plainly
the principle of eating. There is, in fact, no fixed
quantity of waste ; for the quantity must always be
in proportion to the extent of bodily exertion : and,
for the same reason, the quantity of food daily ne-
cessary can neither be fixed, definite, nor specified.

Now, if a man eat more food than is necessary to

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 233

supply the loss which the blood has suffered, one of
these two things must happen ; — it must either he
assimilated, or not assimilated; or, to use the com-
mon, erroneous language, digested, or not digested.
If it be assimilated — that is, converted into blood —
then it is clear that there will be more blood in the
vessels than there ought to be. Let me illustrate
again. Suppose the case of a healthy man — so
healthy, that he cannot be healthier. Let us suppose
the whole quantity of blood in his body to be
thirty pounds. Let us further suppose, that, in
twenty-four hours, one pound of his blood is lost
in supplying the waste of the body. Now, if this
man eat, in one day, so much food as will produce
a pound and a half of blood, what follows ? Why,
that his blood has lost a pound of its volume, and
gained a pound and a half in its stead: or, in
other words, that the whole quantity of blood has
been augmented by just haff a pound; — so that his
system now contains just half a pound too much. If
this man were to go on adding half a pound to his
stock of blood — and if it were possible for him to
escape apoplexy or some other deadly disease — and
if Nature, foreseeing that her children would turn
out to be gormandizers, had not, in some measure,
guarded against the evil— it is plain that his blood-

234 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

vessels must soon actually burst under the disten-
sion. But Nature has, though only in part, made
a provision against this evil : for when, after
having supplied the waste of the body, there is still
remaining an undue quantity of blood in the
vessels, the vessels relieve themselves, and reduce
the quantity of blood, by the secretion of fat ; thus
restoring the blood's volume to a due standard.

How beautiful is the economy of Nature ! The fat
of the body may be most aptly likened to honey in
the comb — a store laid by for a season of want.
For whenever the supply of food becomes insuffi-
cient for the supply of the body's waste, this/ai is
again taken up by the lymphatics, and carried into
the blood ; becomes itself blood ; and thus supplies
that deficiency in the blood's volume which would,
in a season of want, be produced by scarcity of food.

But the fat, as fat, is of no use whatever to the
boo*y : it does not add to its strength : on the con-
trary, it is an incumbrance to its machinery, and,
in more ways than one, is an evil. The fat, quasi fat,
does not form a necessary part of the body, any
more than the padding and wadding of a fashionable
coat form a necessary part of the coat. The pad-
ding of the coat does not add an iota to the strength
and quality of the original texture of the cloth;

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 235

and the coat would be just as good without it. All
that the padding does, is to add to the beauty of its
appearance. So of the fat : it contributes nothing
to the health and strength of the body ; nor does it
form a necessary part of the body : it might be all
cut away without detriment to the body, and even,
if it were not for the skin which covers it, almost
without pain : it has nothing whatever to do with
the body, saving only as it adds to the beauty of sym-
metrical proportion — to external appearance: it
has no more concern with the health and strength
of the body, than the coat-padding has with the
texture of the cloth whereof the coat is made.

I know, that in the leanest persons there is still
a certain portion of fat deposited in particular parts,
as behind the eye, &c. ; but this is merely for the
purpose of giving to the tout ensemble of the body
a certain appearance of symmetry and beauty of
outline. What, for instance, has the fat behind the
eye to do with the power of seeing ? But, without
it, the eye would have the disagreeable and sinister
appearance of being sunken too deeply in the head.

He, therefore, who eats too much, even though
he assimilates what he eats, and should be fortunate
enough to escape apoplexy and some other deadly
diseases, does not add a single iota's worth to his

236 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

strength : he only accumulates fat, and incurs the
evils thereunto appertaining; one amongst the many
of which I will mention — I mean, the accumulation
of fat about the heart; making him puff and blow
like a grampus, and interfering, to a most dan-
gerous degree, with the heart's action.

But neither does he add to the size and weight
of his body, properly so called. He may indeed
add to the size and weight of his body's fatty enve-
lop, as the tailor may add to the padding of the
coat; but both the one and the other, properly so
called, still remain unaltered.

A man's strength resides in his arterial current
— in his muscles, and bones, and tendons, and liga-
ments— in his brawn and sinew ; and his degree of
strength depends upon the vigour, size, and sub-
stance of these : and if he were to eat a heca-
tomb of oxen every morning for his breakfast,
and, like Gargantua, swallow a windmill for his
dinner and a church for his supper, he could not
add to their size and substance one atom, nor alter
their original healthy dimensions — no, not in the
estimation of a single hair.

Remember, then, my dear John, that it is a most
miserable and mischievous fallacy to suppose that
the more a man eats, the stronger he grows. If a

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 237

man requires daily one pound of food to supply his
daily waste, recollect, that although he may eat
double that quantity, yet he will be not one atom
stronger, nor longer, nor broader, than if he had
eaten no more than the one necessary pound. He
may have enveloped himself in an extra layer of
fat — he may have added another portion of padding
to the coat; but he himself, like the coat, will
remain in statu quo, with the chance of being found,
some morning, " kilt dead " by a fit of apoplexy.
He who eats more than he wastes, with the view of
making himself stronger, is guilty of precisely the
same folly as he who should continue to pour
water into a vessel which is already full, with the
view of filling it fuller.

But, in some constitutions, if a man eat greatly
too much, the secretion of fat may not be suflicient
to relieve the overburthened vessels. Now, if this
man should escape the usual disease resulting from
plethora, then there is, in literal fact, a very great
danger that some one or other of his vessels may,
indeed, actually burst; and so destroy him, by bleed-
ing from the lungs, or some other active and deadly
haemorrhage. What warranty have you that your
constitution is not one of this kind ?

We arrive, therefore, at this inevitable conclusion,

238 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

viz. that he who eats more than is necessary to
supply his waste, even although the whole be well
and truly digested, not only does not increase his
strength thereby, but really incurs the danger of
destruction from several probable causes, and is
constantly walking heedlessly in the " valley of the
shadow of death."

But, if the other and more frequent circumstance
happen — if what is eaten be not properly assimilated
— then that which remains unassimilated becomes a
source of great irritation and numerous morbid
symptoms, as I have explained to you in a former
letter : it ferments in the stomach and bowels, as
it would do in any other close, warm place ; and the
gases given out during this fermentation, and the
acids generated thereby, are neither more nor less
than poisons, and, of course, highly injurious to
health.

If, therefore, a man, under these circumstances,
eat more than is necessary, nothing can be more
manifest than that he only adds to the evil he
wishes to remove. For, since his assimilating
powers can only assimilate just sufficient to supply
the body's waste— and, in these circumstances, not
even so much — it is surely most clearly evident,
that, by adding to the quantity eaten, he only adds

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 239

to the quantity which is destined to be left unassi-
milated, and therefore to give out a still greater
portion of those poisonous gases and acids above
mentioned; — and an increased quantity of these
poisons must produce an increased quantity of mis-
chief to the health. And thus it becomes plain,
that, so far from growing stronger, he will only be-
come weaker, and worse nourished, the more he eats.

Thus, from the very nature of the animal sy-
stem— from the very manner in which life is sup-
ported— it is manifestly impossible to add to the
natural standard of health and strength by increas-
ing our quantity of food — whether that food be well
assimilated or not : and it is equally clear, that
when the health is weak, and the assimilating
powers therefore feeble, that eating more is not
the proper remedy : for, certainly, the assimilating
powers, which are not equal to the assimilation of
one pound of food, must be still more unequal to
the assimilation of two. And it is also plain, that,
under these circumstances, the proper way to im-
prove the health is to diminish the amount of daily
food; since those powers, which are inadequate to
the assimilation of a pound, may, nevertheless, be
equal to the assimilation of eight ounces.

1 have said, that the quantity of food taken daily

240 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

should be just sufficient to restore to the blood
what the blood has lost in restoring the waste of
the body, and that it should always be proportioned
to the degree of bodily exertion undergone.

You might here very properly inquire, how we
are to know the exact amount of this daily waste, so
as to apportion the quantity of food thereto. Are
we to weigh ourselves every morning, in order to
ascertain this important fact ? No, my dear John :
Nature has not left any part of her master-miracle
incomplete ; which it would have been, assuredly,
had she not provided us with infallible means of
knowing, not only when, but how much, we ought to
eat and drink.

When you are excessively thirsty, and when you
are in the act of quenching your thirst with a
draught of cold water (which I shrewdly suspect is
but seldom), tell me, How do you know when you
have drunk enough? One token, by which you
know this, is, the cessation of thirst; — and this, of
itself, should be sufficient; — and, in truth, so it is,
when you drink water > I dare say. But there is
still another ; and one which not only informs you
when you have drunk enough, but which also pre-
vents you from drinking more. While you are in
the act of drinking, and before your thirst has been

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 241

allayed, how rich, how sweet, how delicious is the
draught, though it be but water ! But no sooner
has your thirst been quenched, than, behold, in an
instant, all its sweetness, all its deliciousness has
vanished ! In a moment, how insipid it has be-
come ! It is now distasteful to the palate — posi-
tively disagreeable — it has lost its relish. To him,
then, who requires drink, water is delicious: — for
him who does not require drink, water has not only
no relish, but impresses the palate disagreeably, by
its very insipidity. Carry this a step farther. To
a man labouring under the very last degree of
thirst, even foul ditch-water would be a delicious
draught ; but his thirst having been quenched, he
would turn from it with disgust. In this instance
of water-drinking, then, it is clear that the relish
depends, not on any flavour residing in the water,
but on a certain condition of the body. If, there-
fore, we only took drink when drink was required,
pure water would be sufficiently delicious : but we
seek to give to our drink certain exciting and racy
flavours, as a substitute for that relish which should,
of right, reside in ourselves; — and we do this in
order to enable ourselves to drink when drink is
not required. It is absurd, therefore, to say that
you cannot drink water because you do not like itt

242 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

for this only proves that you do not want it; since
the relish with which you enjoy drink depends upon
the fact of your requiring drink, and not at all
upon the nature of the drink itself.

Now, apply all this to eating, instead of drinking.
Place before a hungry ploughman stale hread and
at pork, flanked by a jug of cold water. While his
hunger remains unappeased, he will eat and drink
with an eager relish: but when his hunger has
been satisfied, the bread and meat and water will
at once have lost what he before supposed to be
their delicious flavour. I say " supposed "; because,
in fact, the relish only existed in his own appetite
— in the condition of the nerves of the palate, pro-
duced by hunger. And it is to produce artificially,
and when it is not required, this condition of the
palatal nerves that we use highly-flavoured food ;
for, in eating, we seem to have entirely lost sight of
the true object of food ; and only eat for the sake of
the enjoyment which the act of eating affords us.
— But to return to the ploughman.

When his appetite has been fully appeased, his
food seems to have lost, at once, all its flavour : the
attempt to eat more would now produce a feeling of
disgust; and, if he were to persist, would, in all
probability, make him sick.

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 243

If, then, we ate only simple and natural food,
plainly cooked, there would be no danger of eating
too much ;— the loss of relish, and the feeling of
disgust, consequent upon satisfied hunger, would
make it impossible. And I affirm, that there is just
as much reason to believe that this sense of disgust
is as much, and as truly, a natural token, intended
to warn us that we have eaten enough, as the sense
of hunger is a token that we require food.

Hunger is an instinct; — disgust is an instinct.
Instinct signifies an inward pricking, an internal
sensation, prompting us to some external action.
It is by virtue of this, that the infant is enabled,
untaught, to perform the complicated action of
sucking. Nature has supplied us liberally with
these instincts — instincts teaching us, not only what
to do, but also what to leave undone. These warn-
ing sensations may be called Nature's code of in-
stinctive laws for the regulation of man's conduct,
as it regards the preservation of his health. Thus
hunger teaches us when to eat ; — thirst, when to
drink ; — and disgust or disrelish, when we have
eaten and drunken enough. Weariness teaches us
when to rest : and that feeling (to which I can give
no name) which induces the healthy child to

run, and leap, and toss its arms, and shout — which
M 2

244 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

causes the horse in his meadow to curvet and
cabriole, and exult in his strength — it is this feeling,
call it what you please, which teaches us that we
have rested enough, and that the time for action
has come. Drowsiness teaches us that we require
sleep : the internal sensation, whatever it be, which
awakens us, teaches us that we have slept enough.
But I need not multiply instances. The voice of
Nature is, in fact, never silent; — for when we are
doing what she requires, in obedience to her laws,
and when, therefore, it is not necessary to warn us,
even then her encouraging voice is heard in the
pleasure which we feel.

In the infancy of creation —

" When the world was in its prime ;

When the fresh stars had just begun
Their race of glory ; and young Time
Told his first birthdays by the sun ;" —

while man was yet content to listen with respect
to the lessons of his parent Nature — he regulated
his conduct solely by these instinctive laws. But
Refinement, with her harlot smile and syren voice,
stole upon his retirement, and he no longer heeded
the plain lessons of his simple teacher. The Appe-
tites and Passions usurped her throne ; and incon-
tinently set themselves to work, to alter, amend, and

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 245

modify her laws. But, unfortunately, they were all
in such a merry mood, that they spilled the ink
over the page, and rendered the greater part of
the manuscript almost illegible, for ever.

To illustrate this : — I have said, that as hunger
instructs us when to eat, so disrelish teaches us
when we should desist. But by what labour, and
pains, and contrivances, has the unnatural art of
cookery endeavoured to annul this law ? For what
are the spices, and sauces, and gravies, and kick-
shaws of the cook, but so many provocatives, to
induce him to eat more who has already eaten
enough? — to provoke him to drink who is not
athirst — and him to eat who is not hungry ? The
very ne-phm-ultra of the cook's art is to destroy this
sensation of disrelish ; which is almost as necessary
to our health as hunger itself. According to Dr.
Fordyce, " it is a universal maxim " in the Black
Art — that is, the art of cookery — " never to em-
ploy one spice, if more can be procured." Now,
pray open both your eyes, and mark the object of
this ; — " the object, in this case," says he, " being, to
make the stomach bear a large quantity of food
without nausea !" So that the object of modern
cookery is, to cram into the stomach as much as it
can possibly hold, without being sick. — Said I not

246 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

well, when I called modern cookery the " Black
Art" ? Yet this is one of the elegancies of modern
refinement ! We stimulate our palates with wine,
that we may relish more food; and then swallow
more food, that we may relish more wine : —

" We swallow firebrands in place of food ;
And daggers of Crete are served us for confections."

And this is feeding, according to the improved
method— according to the rules and regulations of
refined society ! Why, the very hog that revels in
the red garbage of the shambles — all hog, and beast,
obscene, and filthy as he is — is, nevertheless, not
beast enough for this ! What difference does it
make, in the true spirit and very reality of the
thing— what real difference, I say, does it make —
whether you force down your throat more food than
you want, by means of a glass of wine, or by means
of a long stick, as they cram Norfolk turkeys ?
" The rose, by any other name, would smell as
sweet;" and cramming is cramming, call it by what
name you please, and effect it how you will.

But it may be said, that if it were not for these
provocatives, persons with delicate stomachs would
not be able to eat at all. Nonsense. He who says
this, is ,either a fool or a Jesuit. If they do not

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 247

eat, it is not because they have no appetite. What
they want, then, is not food, but an appetite for
food. They want one thing, but seek another.
The stomach " asks for an egg, and they give it a
stone." Let them use the necessary and natural
means to procure an appetite, and they will require
no other provocative: but they are "corrupt!
judices," and " male verum examinent."

" Leporem sectatus, equove

Lassus ab indomito ; vel si Romans fatigat
Militia assuetum grsecari ; seu pila velox,
Molliter austerum studio fallente laborem,
Seu te discus agit ; pete cedentem aera disco.
Cum labor extuderit fastidia, siccus, inanis,
Sperne cibum vilem ; * * * *
***** cum sale panis
Latrantem stomachum bene leniet. * *

* * * * Tu pulmentaria quaere
SUDANDO."

Let me say a word or two on the subject of
hunger. In the upper and middle ranks of life, I
believe that true, genuine, honest, schoolboy hun-
ger is almost wholly unknown. Is this because
hunger is a feeling not proper to men as well as
boys ? Ask the shipwrecked sailor. No : it is
because here also, as in the instance of disrelith

248 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

before mentioned, modern habits have stepped in,
and amended — should I not rather say, monyrel-
ized p — the natural feeling. It is true, that when

" The tocsin of the soul— the dinner-bell"—

calls to dinner, we feel a something which we call
hunger : but it is not hunger : it is a sense of want,
of the same nature as that which the dram-
drinker feels when the hour for his dram comes
round. It is the customary excitement which we
miss and want : it is this, and not food, which the
stomach is then craving. There is not one in a
score, of those of whom I speak, who, when the
tocsin sounds, although he may complain that he
wants his dinner, could sit down with no other
drink than water, and dine on bread and cold
meat. Yet, surely ! surely ! bread and cold meat
are all that genuine and natural hunger should
require ? What would you say to the beggar at
your door, who should tell you that his stomach was
so delicate that he could not eat cold bread and
meat ?

But if they could get it down, it would not allay
the feeling which they call hunger. Why ? Because
that feeling is, in truth, not hunger, but a feeling
which a pint of wine would allay more readily than

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 249

food. Thus we eat for the sake of the stimulus
which our highly-dressed dinners afford us ; seeming
to forget entirely that nourishing the body has any
thing to do with the matter. But to return.

The rule, therefore, which is to regulate your
quantity of food, is to be found in that sensation of
disrelish which invariably succeeds to satisfy appe-
tite ; provided always, that your food be plain, and
your drink water. If you be content to live thus,
you will never eat too much, but you will always
eat enouah. But if you would rather incur the
penalty of disease, than forego the pleasure of
dining daintily, all I can say is, you are welcome to
do so :— but do not plead ignorance : blame only
yourself.

One of the means, therefore, of preserving the
health, is a spare diet; — I say "spare," because the
upper and middle classes, together with that nu-
merous class of persons consisting of manufactu-
rers, whose employment is sedentary, such as
weavers, tailors, shoemakers, milliners, &c. &c. ;
with counting-house clerks, and journeymen trades-
men of the better order, such as mercers, linen-
drapers; and, indeed, shopkeepers of all grades,
whose chief work consits in chaffering behind a
counter;— I say "spare diet," because these persons
undergo but little bodily labour, and the bodily
M 3

250 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

waste is, consequently, small : they require, there-
iore, a correspondent small quantity of food: and
if they be not careful to distinguish between true
hunger and that feeling of want and languor which
arises solely from a distressed state of the nervous
system, resulting from the nature of their employ-
ment, and from their " cabin'd, cribbed, confined "
and sedentary habits, they will be constantly falling
into the error of eating too often and too much :
because, mistaking this feeling for hunger, they
will eat with a view to relieve it ; — and for a short,
a very short time, the stimulus afforded by the pre-
sence of food will relieve it. But if they do this,
they will commit the grievous error of perpetually
adding to the mischief which they seek to remedy :
for this distressed state of the nervous system is
peculiarly unfavourable to assimilation ; and if they
eat too often, or too much, they will inevitably be-
come miserable dyspeptics. What they want is,
excitement, not food. And how is this excitement
to be procured? and of what nature should it
consist ? Be patient, my dear John ; I will tell
you presently.

STIMULANTS.

Are stimulants — by which I mean ardent spirits,
wines, and strong ales — are stimulants necessary?
Are they pernicious? or are they neither the one

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 251

nor the other ? I assert, that they are, in every
instance, as articles of diet, pernicious ; and even,
as medicines, wholly unnecessary ; since we possess
drugs which will answer the same intentions, in, at
least, an equal degree. But it is only as articles of
diet that we are here to consider them.

Wine, spirit, and ale, are all alike, as it regards
the fact of their being stimulants : they only differ
somewhat in kind and degree.

I shall speak, for the present, only of wine, for
the sake of convenience. But whatever I shall say
of wine, is to be considered as equally true of the
others : and if what I have taught you, in my pre-
ceding Letters, be true, what I shall say now of sti-
mulants must be true also.

If wine be productive of good, what is the nature
and kind of good which it produces? Does it
nourish the body ? We know that it does not ; for
the life of any animal cannot be supported by it.
Besides, if you have understood what I have said as
to the nature, manner, and mechanism of nutrition,
you will see at once, from the very mode in which
the body is nourished, that whatever is capable of
nourishing, must be susceptible of conversion into
the solid matter of the body itself. But fluids
taken into the stomach are not capable of being

252 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

transmuted into solids, but pass off by the kidneys,
as every body knows.

If, indeed, the fluid drink contains solid matters
suspended in it, then these solid matters can be
assimilated to the solid body, and so are capable of
nourishing- it ; as in the instance of broths, barley-
water, &c. &c. : but the fluid, in which these solid
particles were suspended, must pass out of the body
by the kidneys.

If, then, it be said, that although wine is incapable
of nourishing the body wholly and by itself alone,
it may yet contain some nourishment, it is clear
that this nourishment must depend upon whatever
solid particles are suspended in it.

Now, if you evaporate a glass of wine on a shallow
plate, whatever solid matter it contains will be left
dry upon the plate ; and this will be found to amount
to about as much as may be laid on the extreme point
of a penknife blade; and a portion — by no means
all, but a portion of this solid matter, I will readily
concede, is capable of nourishing the body — a por-
tion which is about equal to one-third of the flour
contained in a single grain of wheat.

But, still, I am entitled to ask what good you
propose to yourself by drinking wine ? Because,
if you really drink it for the sake of the nutriment

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 253

it affords you, then, I say, why not eat a grain of
wheat, instead of drinking a glass of wine ; from
which grain of wheat you would derive just thrice
as much nourishment as you would from the glass
of wine ? Why go this expensive, and, as it were,
roundabout way, in order to obtain so .minute a por-
tion of nutritious matter, which you might so much
more readily obtain by other means ?

Wine, therefore, possesses no power to nourish
the body ; or, at least, in so minute a degree as to
make it* as an article of nourishment, wholly un-
worthy notice.

Well, then, Does it strengthen the body ? — Let
us see.

I have proved to you, in my former Letters, that
health and strength depend upon a high degree of
contractility : and I have proved, also, that a high
degree of contractility can only exist when the body
is rapidly and well nourished. Whatever, therefore,
is capable of strengthening the body, must do so by
increasing the contractility of its fibre : and what-
ever is capable of heightening contractility, must do
so by a vigorous and rapid nutrition of the body.
But we have just seen that wine possesses scarcely
any nutritious virtues at all. How then can it
strengthen the Body? It cannot: — it is manifestly,

254 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

demonstratively, glaringly impossible. But to nou-
rish and strengthen it, are the only two good things
which any kind of diet is capable of contributing
to the body. I have just proved that wine pos-
sesses no power to effect either of them : it follows,
therefore, as a direct necessity, that it is productive
of no yood at all.

Is wine certainly pernicious ?

I have already proved that it is unnecessary ; —
and it has ever been universally held, by medical
philosophers, that whatever is unnecessary is detri-
mental. The simple fact, then, that wine is unne-
cessary, is a sufficient proof that it is injurious.
Nor is the truth of this medical maxim at all won-
derfuL The finest hair introduced amongst the
machinery of a watch is sufficient to derange its
movements. And when one considers the exqui-
site delicacy of those properties on which life and
health so mainly depend — I mean, contractility
and sensibility, as well as that of the whole nervous
system — one cannot certainly feel surprised that
any tiling brought in contact with them, which is
not strictly proper to them, should disorder the
nicety of their delicate functions. But I have
other proofs.

You will admit, at once, that the practice of

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 255

drinking is followed by a high degree of morbid
sensibility :— witness the nervous and tremulous
anxiety of the debauche on the morning following
a debauch. But I have long since shewn you, that
increased sensibility and vigorous contractility are
incompatible: and that whatever augments sensi-
bility must have the effect of lowering contractility.
But health and strength depend on vigorous con-
tractility. If wine, therefore, heightens sensibility,
it must dimmish contractility ; and thus, by impair-
ing that property, impairs the health and strength,
which depend on that property.

Again, if you allow it to be true, that it is the
sensibility of our organs which establishes the due
relation between ourselves and external objects —
teaching us what is good for us, and what injurious,
by the pleasure or pain which the several external
objects confer or inflict — then it again follow^s, par
necessite, that wine is hurtful ; because wine, when
tasted for the first time by unsophisticated palates,
always impresses them disagreeably. To him who
swallows a glass of raw spirit for the first time, the
effects are painful to a high degree — almost suffo-
cating. And no child would like wine or beer,
unless taught to do so by precept, example, or
habit

256 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

Again : What is poison ? Is it not any substance
which, when taken into the system, has the effect
of disordering some one or more of the actions
which make up the sum of life ; and which, if taken
in sufficient quantity, will destroy life itself? This
is the true definition of poison. Is it not, also, the
strictly true definition of ardent spirit ? Spirit has
the effect of disordering the nervous system to so
great a degree, as to produce intoxication ; exciting
the brain, sometimes to madness, always to folly,
and quickening the pulse in an extraordinary man-
ner. Is not this to disorder the functions of life ?
And if it be taken in sufficient quantity— if a man
swallow a pint of over-proof rum at a draught — will
it not kill him? It will. — Wherein, therefore, does
spirit differ from poison ? Only in the dose.

Aye, but (you may say) it is only poisonous
when taken in sufficient quantity ! True: — neither
is prussic acid, neither is arsenic, neither is mercury,
neither is opium. All these poisons are daily
given by medical men, without destroying life.
Why? Because they are not given in sufficient
quantity. But will you, therefore, contend that
they are not poisons ?

It is the effect of prussic acid to lower the ner-
vous system below the natural standard. It is the

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 257

effect of ardent spirit, first to excite the nervous
system above, and then to depress it below, the
natural standard also. Both these effects are poi-
sonous— both will destroy life, if carried far enough:
neither will destroy life, if not carried far enough.
Prussic acid, therefore, and ardent spirit, are equally
poisons; though neither will destroy life, unless
taken in sufficient quantity. But would you will-
ingly continue to swallow prussic acid daily, merely
because you admired its delicious flavour ; comfort-
ing yourself the while, by saying, that it could do
you no harm, because you did not take it in suffi-
cient quantity to destroy life? And, above all,
would you do so, knowing it to be unnecessary ? —
Yet have I not proved that wine, spirit, and ale,
are unnecessary?

But if you be impenetrable to rational argument,
you dare not deny the result of direct experiment.
Observe : — " Mr. Brodie found, that by the admi-
nistration of a large dose of alcohol (ardent spirit)
to a rabbit, the pupils of its eyes became dilated,
its extremities convulsed, and the respiration labo-
rious; and that this latter function was gradually
performed at longer and longer intervals ; and that
it, at length, entirely ceased. Two minutes after
the apparent death of the animal, he opened the

258 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

thorax (chest), and found the heart acting with
moderate force and frequency," (now, mark what
follows !) " circulating dark-coloured blood. The
same phenomena resulted from the injection of
two drops of the essential oil of bitter-almonds "
(the active principle of which is prussic acid),
" diffused in half an ounce of water, into the
bowels of a cat."*

Here, then, we have direct and irrefragable
proof that ardent spirit is not only a poison, but a
poison of the very same nature as prussic acid —
producing the same effects — killing by the same
means, viz. by paralyzing the muscles of respira-
tion, and so preventing the necessary change of the
black blood into vermilion blood; — about which
black and vermilion blood I have said so much, in
my early Letters.

The strength (that is, the intoxicating power) of
wine and ale depends upon the ardent spirit which
they contain.

A great deal of mischief has arisen from the mis-
application of the term " strength" to the intoxi-
cating power of " strong drinks," as they are called.
Potions are said to be "strong"; — and thence, I
have no doubt, first arose the silly notion that

* Paris" a Fharmacologia, Vol. I. p. 244. Sixth Edition.

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 259

they possess the power of strengthening the body —
of communicating1 some portion of their own
strength, I suppose, to the body of the potato.
People seem to suppose that by swallowing strong
drinks they actually swallow strength ; as though
strength were some tangible substance, which can
be chewed, swallowed, and assimilated, like a potato.
We say that onions have a "strong smell"; and we
might as well expect to derive strength from smell-
ing onions, as to do so by drinking fluids which
have a strong flavour. We call them strong, be-
cause they affect us strongly. And this, of itself, is
another proof of their mischievous tendency ; — for
whatever affects us strongly, cannot be " chip-in-por-
ridge"; and if it be not good and necessary, it must,
of necessity, be not only simply injurious, but very
much so.

But, after all, my dear John, mankind in gene-
ral know how to live, as well as I can tell them.
They do not err from ignorance. They are spell-
bound by passion — seduced by pleasure, and hood-
winked ; — but they are hoodwinked willingly. They
know that spirit, wine, ale, &c., are unnecessary,
and even hurtful. All writers, in every age, have
written in favour and praise of temperance, both
in eating and drinking. Universal experience

260 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

proves its necessity, if we would possess the " mens
sana in corpore sano" Individual experience
proves it equally: — the horrible sensations felt
in the morning after a debauch — the frequent ne-
cessity which most men have been under of de-
sisting wholly from intoxicating drinks in order to
recover their lost health — the utter lothing with
which he who is not habitually a toper regards,
next day, the beverage which intoxicated him — and
fifty thousand other tokens, too clearly evident to
be mistaken. The very word " intoxicate " is a
Greek word, signifying " to shoot with poisoned
arrows." If men really thought that daily doses
of wine and spirit and ale were necessary to im-
prove their health and strength, those who could
afford it would give them to their favourite hunting
horses and their pet dogs. Yet they do not
this. The training jockey does not mix wine or
brandy with the daily allowance of water to the
horses he has under training for the course. All
men know that luxurious feeding is injurious to
health, and rigid temperance beneficial. All teach-
ers have taught it, and all experience proves it.
E-n-e/ T/, said Euripides, hundreds of years ago,

Bporoicrt "nKrjv Svoiv }j.o.oi\>,
Trcofiaror

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 261

that is : " What need has man of more than two
things only — bread and water?" But the fact is,
my dear John, the rogues like it, and will have it,
right or wrong ; — or, if they be blind, they are, at
all events, determined not to be cured. They had
rather not see the evils they incur, than sacrifice
the pleasure of incurring them. What they really
want, is some rule which shall enable them to con-
tinue to enjoy the table and the bottle, and yet
escape the consequent evils. They want a sort of
impenetrable armour — a kind of philosopher's stone
— some magic elixir, which shall confer on them a
talismanic immunity from the evils of intemperance.
They would fain discover some Styx, wherein to
baptize themselves, and become invulnerable to
disease. If a thousand men were to read this Let-
ter, there probably would not be one but would
see, and feel, and acknowledge, that its doctrines
are true ; but it is no less probable that every man
of them would close it when he had done, and call
for his brandy-and-water with as much composure
as though he were doing the most sensible thing
in the world. Or perhaps they would each remark :
" Well ! I have drunk brandy-and-water for these
twenty years, and I do not see that it has done me
any harm ; so I shall e'en go on as heretofore."

262 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

Yet, if an impertinent countryman insult him in the
street, he must pocket the affront, and slink off, or
suffer all the trouble and inconvenience consequent
on sending him to the Station-house, instead of
quietly knocking him down where he stands himself.
Why is this ? Why ! because his brandy, and wine,
and luxurious habits, and full-feeding, have ren-
dered him no match for the hardy countryman.
Yet he presumes to say, that his brandy-and-water
has done him no harm, forsooth ! — " I have drunk
a gallon of beer every day," once boasted a certain
hostler, " for the last thirty years, and I never was
in better health than I am at this moment." The
next day, a fit of apoplexy laid him dead in a ditch.
But does there really exist any such philoso-
pher's stone as I have mentioned above? Are
there any means by which a man may enable him-
self to indulge freely in the pleasures of the table
with impunity? I believe such means do exist —
not of escaping with absolute impunity, but certainly
with comparative impunity. And I believe, more-
over, that I shall confer a more acceptable benefit
by pointing out these means, than if I were to write
a wagon-load of volumes, all crammed with dietetic
rules from "title-page to colophon." But do not,
my dear John, like the " profanum vulgus," despise

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 2G3

the means which I shall point out to you, because
of their simplicity. The world seldom attach much
value to things which are plain, and easily under-
stood ; only bestowing reverence on things which
they can by no means understand — things com-
plicate, mysterious, and incomprehensible. But be
you wiser. The dervish, in the Eastern allegory,
well aware of this weakness, knew that it would be
in vain to recommend the sultan, for the cure of
his disease, simply to take exercise. He knew that
mankind in general require to be cheated, gulled,
cajoled, even into doing that which is to benefit
themselves. He did not, therefore, tell the sultan,
who consulted him, to take exercise ; but he said
to him, " Here is a ball, which I have stuffed with
certain rare, costly, and precious medicinal herbs."
(If they had not been costly and precious, the sultan
would have thought nothing of them.) " And here
is a bat, the handle of which I have also stuffed
with similar herbs. Your highness must take this
bat, and with it beat about this ball, until you
perspire very freely. You must do this every day."
His highness did so ; and, in a short time, the exer-
cise of playing at bat and ball with the dervish
cured his malady.

Now, my dear John, this same EXERCISE which

264 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

cured the sultan is precisely the talisman which I
am about to recommend to your adoption, as the
only means of remedying bad health, and of pre-
serving that which is already good.

Before I enter into particulars, I beseech you to
recollect what I have said to you in one of my for-
mer Letters ; viz. that if you admitted the truth of
what I then said, you would not afterwards be at
liberty to dispute the truth of what I am about to
say now ; any more than he who admits the truth of
the doctrines taught in the First Book of Euclid
can, without making a fool of himself, afterwards
deny the truth of those taught in the Second ; —
because, if the one be true, the other, of necessity,
must be true.

Before you proceed further, therefore, do me
the favour to re-peruse carefully and attentively
my Fourth and Fifth Letters. In doing this,
pay particular attention to the definition of life
— the manner in which it is supported ; viz. by
the perpetual wasting and regeneration of the
body out of the blood — to the definition of
health — to the description of the functions per-
formed by the contractility and sensibility of our
organs — to stimuli — to the uses of the circu-
lation of the blood — to the different characters

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 265

of the two sorts of blood contained in the body,
&c. &c. By the way, all the subjects are not em-
braced in those three Letters; but, as it is abso-
lutely necessary that all these should be well under-
stood before you can clearly comprehend the full
force of what I am now going- to say, you had
better carefully re-peruse the whole, before you
proceed further.

Supposing, then, that you have done this, and
done it understandingly ; and supposing that you
assent to the several definitions which I have given
of life, health, nutrition, contractility, sensibility,
stimuli, &c. ; and supposing that you see no reason
to doubt the accuracy of my statements relative to
the offices performed by the absorbents, secreting
glands, circulation of the blood, &c.; I now proceed
to point out to you my reasons for recommending
EXERCISE as a talismanic agent in the prevention
and cure of disease ; entreating you always to re-
member, that by disease I here mean solely that
depreciated state of the living actions— that sickly
condition of the body — in which there is no struc-
tural lesion of the organs — in which no single organ
is affected by any accidental disorganization, or de-
nned and denominated disease — but in which all
the nutritive actions are feebly performed, and in

•

266 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

which the general tone of the health and strength
is universally lowered ; — in a word, I mean that
anomalous state of the health usually termed " in-
digestion " or " dyspepsia.*' And if I can teach you
how to avoid this, I shall have taken a large stride
towards teaching you how to escape almost all other
disorders, especially chronic disorders : for it is
general disorder which produces local disease, and
not local disease which produces general disorder.
But to proceed : —

Life, in the wide and physiological acceptation,
consists of all the actions of which living beings are
capable ; — not only the internal actions, as of the
heart, vessels, &c. &c., but also of the external ac-
tions, as of the limbs in running, leaping, &c. . But
in a medical point of view, when speaking of life,
the internal actions only are indicated — those invi-
sible and inappreciable molecular motions which
are constantly going on in the ultimate tissue of
our organs, and by which nutrition is effected.

All physiologists agree that life consists in the
constant wasting and reproduction of the body,
particle by particle — by a perpetual analysis of the
old particles composing our organs, and a perpetual
synthesis of new particles derived from the blood —
by a perpetual pulling down of the old materials, and

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 267

a perpetual replacement of them by new — by perpe-
tual disorganization, and perpetual re-organization.

The operation by which life is supported may
be illustrated by the operation by which motion is
supported and communicated by two wheels acting
on each other. Keep your eye steadily fixed upon
the point at which the cogs of the two are inter-
locked. What do you observe ? Why, that, at
every instant, the empty space which is presented
by one wheel, is instantly filled up by a tooth of
the other wheel to be almost instantly emptied
again, and again re-filled. Thus it is, that, at
every point of the body, and at every instant, the
absorbents are making little empty spaces ; which
are immediately filled by the nutritive arteries, to
be again emptied by the absorbents, and again
filled by the arteries.

Another postulate, necessary to my forthcoming
argument, and which is also indisputable, is this, —
that you cannot increase the size of your natural
body, the substance of your natural fibre, by eating.
This is certainly true. For if it were otherwise,
the magnitude of the body would be equally
enlarged at every point. If you increased its
transverse diameter, you must also increase its

longitudinal diameter. You could not make it

N2

268 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

broader without also making1 it longer. But this is
contrary to known fact: for no man can make him-
self taller hy eating; nor add, in the slightest degree,
to the length of his fingers and toes. Yet the bones
are nourished by the self-same food as the rest of
the body, and by the same processes of assimilation.

By eating, therefore, you may superinduce fat
over the body; but the magnitude of the solid
body itself cannot be increased.

You will be pleased, too, to recollect, that I
have already shewn you (I think in the Third
Letter, but am not sure) that energetic contrac-
tility can only reside in recently-organized matter ;
and that, therefore, rapid re-organization is abso-
lutely essential to energetic contractility. And I
have also, in one of the foregone Letters, proved to
you, that all the living actions, external and inter-
nal, are performed by virtue of contractility ; and
that health and strength depend — absolutely depend
— upon an energetic contractile power.

Now, then, observe the force and tendency of
the following categorical syllogism.

Health and strength depend upon energetic con-
tractility—

Energetic contractility depends upon rapid re-
organization—

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 269

Rapid re-organization depends upon rapid dis-
organization—

Therefore, health and strength depend upon
rapid disorganization.

The first process, therefore, in that chain of pro-
cesses by which life is not only supported, but in
which life really consists, is — what? — Eating? —
No ; — it is the wasting, the pulling down, the dis-
organization of the body. You must waste it, before
you can nourish it. To the unreflective, this will
seem paradoxical. Yet a moment's thought, without
the parade of logic, should be sufficient to convince
us of its truth. For does not appetite, in the natu-
ral order of things, precede the act of eating? And
what is appetite, but a sensation, warning us that
the body has suffered waste, and calling upon us to
repair it?

I say, that re-organization depends upon dis-
organization : because, having shewn that the body's
fibre cannot be enlarged, it is clear that no new
materials can be added until a corresponding por-
tion of the old materials has been removed. It
must, therefore, be pulled down, before it can be
built up — impaired, before it can be repaired — dis-
organized, before it can be re-organized.

Now, the natural means by which the body is

270 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

disorganized, are, the exhalation from the lungs —
perspiration from the skin— the several other ex-
crements— and the formation of the several secre-
tions required for the assimilation of our food ; as,
the gastric juice, bile, &c. &c.

You know how greatly bodily exertion augments
perspiration, and increases the rapidity of breathing
— and therefore, necessarily, the quantity of pul-
monary halitus, or " breath," as it is called. Very
well ; — in like manner, also, it increases all the other
secretions — those several fluids on which the assi-
milation of our food wholly, and solely, and abso-
lutely depends.

Bodily exertion, therefore, promotes, and that
most rapidly and powerfully, the disorganization of
the body ; and is, in fact, as far as I know, the only
means of promoting it ; as idleness is the infallible
means of retarding it — that is, of retarding those
processes, the activity of which are an absolute
sine-qud-non to health and strength.

By a former syllogism, it has been proved that
health and strength depend upon the rapid disorga-
nization of the body : and I have just shewn that
rapid disorganization can only be effected by rapid
exertion, or bodily labour. Hence, legitimately,
arises another important syllogistic truth ; thus : —

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 271

Health and strength depend on rapid disor-
ganization—

Rapid disorganization depends on rapid exertion—

Therefore, health and strength depend on rapid
exertion.

From the whole, then, there results this general
conclusion; — that there can be no such things as
perfect health and strength, without bodily exertion
— that it is contrary to the very scheme of man's
existence— that it is not in the nature of things —
and that the philosophy of life and health, the light
of science, the testimony of all ages, and the
irresistible force of irrefutable argument, prove it
to be impossible.

But there is another powerful argument, proving
the necessity of bodily exertion. You must have
observed, in reading my former Letters, that every
thing — no matter what — that every thing which is
done in the body, is done by virtue of the circula-
tion of the blood. You must have remarked, that
all the phenomena constituting life and health are
effected, directly or indirectly, by the circulation; —
that, almost, thought itself 'is the result of it;— most
certainly, the power of thinking is greatly modified
by it.

Seeing, then, that the blood's fluxion is the all-

272 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

efficient agent by which all the living phenomena
are effected, it surely can require no great stretch
of faith to feel convinced at once, that if this agent
be allowed to dose at his post, infinite mischief must
ensue ; and that whatever is capable of keeping
its energies in constant activity, is of the very
highest value to the welfare of the system. And
further, that whatever circumstances — such as, sloth,
and the other habits which I have enumerated as
conducive to a languid circulation — whatever cir-
cumstances are calculated to lull its energies to
repose, are, in the highest degree, detrimental.
And the influence which bodily labour exercises
over the circulation, every body knows ; — it is felt in
every pulse of the body. Besides, the heart is a
muscle, similar in its nature to the muscles of the
arm or leg. Exercise, therefore, has the same
influence in strengthening the heart (and, of course,
through it, the circulation) as it has in strength-
ening the muscles of the leg or arm: and most
men are well acquainted with its influence in this
respect.

But there is yet another view of the subject,
which I shall now open to you.

You know that our relation to external things is
established by virtue of the sensibility of our

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 273

organs, and that the degree of sensibility depends
upon the degree of mobility of the nerves. I have
also shewn you how this mobility, and consequently
our sensibility, is increased by a languid circulation,
and how it is diminished by a vigorous one — by
which the blood is driven energetically into all the
capillary vessels, causing their coats to be well
distended, so as to exert a constant and steady
lateral pressure upon the nerves which run between
them.

The circulation, therefore, is a resisting power —
a power directly opposed to sensibility. And this
resisting power may be carried so far, as to produce
absolute insensibility; as in those cases of apoplexy,
in young, athletic, healthy men, which is the result
of plethora — that is, of having too mv.ch blood, and
too powerful a circulation.

The circulating and sensitive, therefore, are two
antagonizing powers. And, as sensibility is the
power by which we receive the consciousness of
impressions, so the sanguineous circulation is the
power by which we resist the consciousness of im-
pressions.

Now, the same impressions will produce both
pleasure and pain ; the difference being only in the
force of the impressing cause. The same impressing
N 3

274 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

cause which, slightly exerted, would yield plea-
sure, will, if its force be sufficiently increased, be
productive of pain. This requires no illustration. —
But, to increase our impression-receiving power is
the same thing as to increase the force of the im-
pressing cause. By increasing, therefore, our sen-
sibility, we virtually increase the force where-
with external objects impress us. And thus it is,
that persons whose sensibility is morbidly acute
derive only pain from those causes from which
the robust and healthy receive only pleasure. The
natural relation between themselves and the exter-
nal world is destroyed; and they are living in a
sphere for which they have become no longer fitted
— with which they no longer possess the necessary
and natural affinity. They are now " three- cor-
nered men, thrust into round holes" — they do not
fit their position. This morbid sensibility is a
source of immeasurable calamity. To all, it is the
cause of continual irritation and painful sensation :
to some, it is a fountain of exhaustless misery:
witness the lives of J. J. Rousseau, Gilbert, Zim-
mermann, Cowper, and numerous others; amongst
whom, I think, I might mention the late Lord Byron.
But sensibility, being the impression-receiving
power, and the sanguineous circulation being the

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 275

impression-resw#zn<7 power, we have only to increase
the latter, in order to diminish the former ; and so
restore the necessary and natural balance. And this
brings me to the point at which I wished to arrive ;
viz. bodily exertion ; this being- the only means I
know of invigorating the power of the circulation.

This manner of considering the circulating and
sensitive powers furnishes a ready answer to that
hackneyed and silly question : " How is it that we
see men arrive at a good old age, who have, all their
lives, been drunkards?"

Let me observe, by the way, that these instances
are extremely rare ; and that they only appear to
be frequent, because they are obtruded on our
notice as remarkable occurrences. An instance of
this kind is never allowed to escape our observation ;
because man is ever eager to catch at any thing
which may offer itself as an excuse for indulging in
those habits to which his inclination urges him.
Every such instance is, therefore, carefully regis-
tered; while the thousands who drop daily, like
rotten sheep, into premature graves, the victims of
intemperance, are neither minded nor marked.
" He died," say they, " of this, or that, or the other
disease ;" — never stopping to inquire how that dis-
ease was incurred.

276 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

But the true reason why a few can commit ha-
bitual intemperance with comparative impunity is,
because, in these persons, the imjjression-receiving
power (sensibility) is naturally exceedingly dull»
while the impression-resisting power (viz. the cir-
culation) is naturally extremely vigorous. Their
blood, propelled by a large and powerful heart,
and rapidly and thoroughly oxidized by capacious
lungs, is driven, with energetic force, to every point
of the body ; thus not only enabling it to resist the
impressions of the deleterious matters introduced
into the stomach, but also rapidly to repair what-
ever slight injuries are really inflicted.

There is yet another reason why bodily exercise
is indispensable to health. The blood is wholly
incapable of fulfilling any of its multifarious and
all-important offices (except the secretion of bile)
until it has been oxidized in the lungs. The more
rapidly, then, that it is driven through the lungs,
the larger will be the proportion of it which is
oxidized, and so rendered fit to fulfil its function
of nourishing the body — the greater will be the
proportion contained in the arteries (where alone
it is of use)-, and the smaller will be the quantity
of black blood left in the veins (where it is of no
use, except as before excepted).

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 277

I believe it is possible, by very rapid exertion,
to fill almost every vein in the body with arterial
blood. I have not room, here, to detail the obser-
vations which have led me to this conclusion ; but
I do not speak unadvisedly. Nor would the secre-
tion of bile be stopped by this state of things ; for
it has been proved, that although, under ordinary
circumstances, it is secreted from venous blood,
yet it can be secreted from arterial.

Now, I do not mean to say that it would be
advisable for you to arterialize the whole of your
blood. And there is no fear of it ; for it would re-
quire greater exertion than any man would, or even
could, voluntarily undergo. But be assured of this,
that the greater the quantity of arterial blood, and
the less the quantity of black venous blood, con-
tained in your body, the stronger, aye, and the
happier and more light-hearted, you will be ; — and
the only means of arterializing the venous blood is
bodily exertion. The elasticity of mind, and joyous-
ness of heart, which EXERCISE proverbially affords,
are the direct result of an increase in the quantity
of arterial, and a decrease in the quantity of venous,
blood. The increase of animal spirits, as well as
the increase of animal strength, must always cor-
respond with the increase of arterial blood.

278 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

As we breathe for the purpose of oxidizing the
black blood, then the oftener we are compelled to
breathe, the better ; because every time we breathe,
a portion of black blood becomes oxidized, and tit
for use. The increased rapidity of breathing con-
sequent upon exertion is an increased rapidity in
the function of oxidizing the blood, — one of the
most important of all the living actions.

Besides all this, every time the blood has com-
pleted its circle of circulation, a part of the great
office of nutrition has been accomplished. The more
rapidly the blood, therefore, is, by natural means,
circulated through the body, the more rapidly does
the process of nutrition go on.

You may compare the living actions to the
actions of a hand-cornmill, — the heart representing
the first wheel, which puts into motion all the other
wheels : and bodily exertion may represent the man
who turns the crank attached to the first wheel.
Now, the more rapidly the man turns the crank, the
more rapid will be the motion of the first, second,
third, and all the other wheels; and the more ra-
pidly will the corn be ground. At the same time,
if the crank be turned with inconsiderate fury, the
machinery may be deranged, and the mill broken. —
So, bodily exertion is not to be furious. A horse

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 279

may be ridden to death ; — and, therefore, bodily
exertion may be carried too far. But there is no
danger of a man undergoing too much exertion
voluntarily, and for his health's sake. Pain and
fatigue will always operate as sufficient, nay, even
irresistible, restraints.

I have said, that persons of sedentary habits
become frequently sensible of a feeling of want —
a sinking at the stomach, as they express it ; which
they seek to relieve by eating or drinking. I have
said, too, that although these persons require the
excitement of a stimulus, yet food or wine does not
furnish the stimulus required, but, on the contrary,
only adds to the evil.

You know I have all along mentioned four things
as necessary to life ; one of which, you cannot have
forgotten, is STIMULI. But I shall disuse the word
" stimuli " ; because, being used in the plural, it is
awkward to introduce it correctly without periphra-
sis ; and I will use the word " excitement " instead.

The exciting properties of arterial blood I have
just been describing to you, and shewing you how
rapid exercise produces its exhilarating effects ; viz.
by increasing the quantity of arterial blood, and
driving it, in rapid currents, through all the count-
less avenues of the brain and body. It is to the

280 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

lively leaping of the living current that we owe all
the hounding buoyancy, the elastic light-hearted-
ness, which rapid motion and rapid exercise imparts.
In one of the volumes of Byron's works is the
following note : — " A young French renegado con-
fessed to Chateaubriand, that he never found him-
self alone galloping in the desert without a sensa-
tion almost approaching to rapture which was inde-
scribable."— The circumstance of this man being
alone in a desert had little to do with his rapturous
sensations : he owed them to the rapid circulation
and oxidation of his blood, produced as the joint
effects of rapid exercise and rapid motion. The
fox-hunter owes his pleasure to the same causes;
and also the impunity with which he breakfasts on
ale and brandy, and sleeps on half-a-dozen bottles
of wine, and rises without a headache.

Excitement, therefore, my dear John, is neces-
sary; we cannot be healthy without it: and you
and I only quarrel about the kind of excitement.
This natural necessity for, and craving after, ex-
citement is evinced in the numberless habits to
which we addict ourselves, in order to obtain it.
The habits of drinking, snuff- taking, smoking, all
owe their favour to the temporary excitement they
afford. The reason why we crave after these un-

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 281

natural kinds of excitement is, because we have lost
a part of that excitement which is natural and
necessary to us. It results from a languid and lazy
circulation — a gorged state of the venous system
with black, devitalizing blood ; and a deficiency of
that stimulating and vivifying blood, whose colour
is vermilion, and which is proper to the arteries.
Those distressing sensations of sinking, and want,
and languor, and low-spiritedness, of which dyspep-
tics complain, accrue to them from the same causes.
They are deficient in excitement — they want excite-
ment ; they want to have their brains, and heart,
and whole system, stimulated, spurred, by the ex-
citing properties of vermilion blood, driven merrily
and forcefully to every point of the universal tissue.

We require a stimulant, then, certainly ; but the
only stimulant which will serve our purpose is ar-
terial blood in energetic circulation : and the only
means to procure this is bodily exertion. " Exer-
ritium natures dormientis stimulatio, membrorum
solatium, morborum medela, fuga vitiorum, meditina
lanyuorum, destructio omnium malorum"

One word more for bodily exertion, as the means
of increasing bodily strength; — and without health
there cannot be strength.

Observe the manner in which horses are trained

282 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

for the course. They are made to undergo more
and more exertion, day by day, until the requisite
degree of strength has been achieved. Reflect on
this : — they strengthen these horses by making them
daily undergo severe labour. They do not rest them,
in order to strengthen them ; they work them, in
order to strengthen them. " Aye, but," says some
wiseacre, " a horse is a horse, and a man is a man."
Blockhead ! — What then ? We have but to exchange
the race-course for the prize-ring, and the argument
still remains in full force.

The prize-fighters will also furnish us with an
example of the fact before stated ; viz. that the high
degree of contractility consequent upon an ener-
getic circulation is hostile to, and incompatible with,
much sensibility; these fellows becoming almost
insensible to blows, unless dealt with an energy
capable of felling an ox. They furnish an exam-
ple, too, of another fact, which I have already
stated (p. 156, in a note); viz. that well-filled arteries
and a vigorous circulation are highly conducive
— I believe absolutely necessary — to equable and
amiable tamper; for these men are remarkably
easy and well-tempered fellows. On the contrary,
if you seek a perfect example of pettish, irritable,
quarrelsome, unforgiving, querulous, snappish, cat-

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 283

like, unsoothable, spiteful, and sulky temper, you
will find it in the Spitalfields1 weaver — the poor,
dyspeptic weaver, "cabin'd, cribbed, confined," and
cramped at his loom for sixteen hours a day, in a
room ten feet square ; whose utmost exertion is, to
throw a shuttle, four ounces in weight, backwards
and forwards, about the length of his arm; and whose
longest peregrination is from his own cabin to the
counter of the gin-shop, and from the counter of
the gin-shop to the door of his own cabin.

The fortitude of the Indian at the stake arises
from the same circumstances of a highly energetic
circulation. From his habits of life, his circulation
is always vigorous, and his sensibility obtuse ; but
at the moment of torture, its energy is still further
augmented, and his sensibility still further blunted,
by the enthusiasm and exultation which he feels in
maintaining the honour of his tribe, and in disap-
pointing his enemies, who, he knows, are eagerly
watching for any symptom of wincing. His circu-
lation in impetuosity resembles a spring-tide ; and
his body becomes almost insensible to pain.

Again, when the circulation through the brain is
highly excited by intense thought, the nerves
arising from the brain become almost insensible to
the impressions natural to them;— the ear hears

284 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

not ; the eye sees not ; the olfactory nerves take no
cognisance of odours.

SLEEP.

Solidification — that is, the conversion of blood
into the solid parts of the body — goes on only
during sleep. The chief end, indeed, and object
and intention of sleep, would seem to be this final
assimilation of our food — this solidification of the
blood into the several solid parts of the body.

The accomplishment of this miraculous change
seems to have required the perfect concentration
of all the energies of the system upon itself. It
seems to have required, that the attention (if I may
so speak) of the brain and nervous system should
not be distracted by any other object. It seems to
have required, that every thing, both within and
without the body, should be hushed into profound
repose during the accomplishment of this nightly
wonder, in order that nothing might disturb or
interfere with the exquisite and miraculous pro-
cesses employed to effect it. To this end, the por-
tals of sensation are closed — the eye sees not — the
ear hears not — the skin feels not — the very breath-
ing is scarcely audible— the pulsations of the heart
scarcely perceptible: all the living energies are

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 285

now concentrated into the greatest possible inten-
sity, like rays of light into a focus ; and directed,
with almost complete exclusiveness, towards this
simple object.

In the day, therefore, we make blood ; — in the
night, that blood is converted into solid matter.
In the day, we garner up the building materials ; —
in the night, we repair the building. The hour of
rising, therefore, ought to be the time at which our
physical strength is at the greatest ; — and, with per-
fectly healthy persons, this is the case. The languor
which sickly persons feel in the morning arises
from the process of repair not having been fully
accomplished : the building has not been repaired,
and therefore its strength has not been restored.
The apparent additional strength which is felt,
during the day, after eating, is only apparent; — it
is merely excitement derived from the stimulus of
food; in the first instance, in the stomach; and,
after that food has been assimilated, of new blood
in the system.

From all this, we learn two important truths :
first, that we should take our severest exercise in
the early part of the day : secondly, we learn how
and why it is that late suppers are improper. —
When you retire to bed with a full stomach, before

286 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

the process of solidification can commence, the food
which the stomach contains must be assimilated.
The two operations of solidification and assimila-
tion of food into blood cannot go on together ;
because, as I have just shewn you, the process of
solidification requires the concentration of ALL the
living energies for its accomplishment. The com-
mencement of this process, therefore, must be
postponed until the assimilation of the supper to
blood has been completed. But all the living
energies, except that of solidification, are dimi-
nished in intensity during sleep. The secretion of
the gastric and other juices, therefore, necessary
for the assimilation of the supper to blood, will go
on but slowly, and the completion of the process
will be exceedingly protracted ; and thus, so much
of the season of sleep will be employed in the assi-
milation of food, that a sufficient portion of it will
not be left for the solidification of blood. But this
is not all the mischief; for the process of assimilation
of the supper into blood has not only abstracted
from the process of solidification a portion of that
season (the season of sleep) which ought to have
been exclusively devoted to its own accomplishment,
but it has also robbed it of a portion of those living
energies, the whole of which were due to itself;

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 287

viz. that portion which has been consumed in the
secretion of those juices necessary for the conver-
sion of the supper into blood. When, therefore,
the hour of rising arrives, it finds the body still
unrepaired and unrefreshed ; and the individual still
overpowered with sleep, and disinclined to rise.

To conclude : — If you would preserve your health,
therefore, exercise, severe exercise — proportioned,
however, to your strength — is the only means which
can avail you. Recollect, the body must be dis-
organized, wasted, sweated, before it can be nou-
rished;— recollect the tale of the Dervish and the
Sultan ; — recollect the mode of training horses for
the course, and men for the prize-ring. With
plentiful bodily exertion, you can scarcely be ill ; —
without bodily exertion, you cannot possibly be
well. By "well," I mean the enjoying as much
strength as your system is capable of: and if you
are in search of some charm, some talisman, which
will enable you to indulge considerably in the
pleasures of the table with comparative impunity,
you will find it in bodily exertion, and in bodily
exertion only.

But by exertion or exercise, I do not mean the

288 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

petty affair of a three-miles' walk : I mean what
I say, — bodily exertion, to the extent of quickened
breathing and sensible perspiration, kept up for
three or four hours out of the twenty-four ; — say,
four or five miles before breakfast, four or five
before dinner, four or five early in the evening ;
or, to save the evening for other purposes, a
healthy man may walk ten or a dozen miles before
breakfast, with an advantage to himself which will,
in a week or two, perfectly astonish him. Most
men, even the operative manufacturers and shop-
keepers, may do this, if they will take the trouble
to rise early enough ; — and, fortunately, the exercise
taken before breakfast is worth all that can be
taken afterwards.

It would be easy to shew, that the health and
strength of the mind is as much under the controul
of the circulation as is the health and strength of
the body. — But I have already exceeded my limits.

Rules of diet, therefore, are of little use; and
that little, only to those who cannot take the neces-
sary degree of bodily exercise. The stomach of a
healthy man will dissolve polished steel of the
finest temper. What difference can it make to such
an organ, whether it receive roast or boiled meat,
eggs, oysters, cheese, butter, bread, or potato ? and

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 289

whether these articles have been thoroughly and
minutely broken down by the teeth, or only imper-
fectly so? Sir Richard Jebb, when his patients
asked him what diet they should use, was in the
habit of replying, " Why, my dear madam, don't
eat the fender and fire-irons, because they are deci-
dedly unwholesome ; but of any other dish you may
freely partake."

But, to those who, from any cause, cannot take
bodily exertion, some attention to diet may be
necessary. Even here simplicity and quantity,
rather than quality, form the grand consideration.
They cannot well take too little food ; and wine and
other strong drinks are wholly inadmissible. And
let them only reflect on the mechanism of nutrition;
on the manner in which our food nourishes us —
what becomes of it after we have eaten it ; and they
cannot but clearly see that this advice is sound and
wholesome doctrine.

Authorities without proof are of little value ;
otherwise, I could quote them in abundance, from
all sorts of authors, in all ages of the world. But if
you will not believe the evidence of such arguments
as I have already adduced, neither would authori-
ties convince you, though their name were Legion.
I shall, however, conclude this Letter with four,
o

290 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

" The pith of nearly all that has been written
on HYGIENE," says Dr. J. Johnson, " or the pre-
vention of diseases — and of the Protean disorder
among the rest— might be included under two heads,
almost in two words— TEMPERANCE and EXERCISE."
Again : " Disorders of the body, in these days, are
engendered and propagated, to a frightful extent,
by moral commotions and anxieties of the mind.
And if I have proved that CORPORAL EXERTION,
especially when aided by any intellectual excite-
ment of pursuit, can obviate the evils that ensue
to soul and body from these causes, I shall do
some service to the community. The principle in
question is neither Utopian, nor of difficult appli-
cation : it is within the reach of high and low —
rich and poor — the learned and unlettered. Let
moral ills overtake any of these, and he is in the
high way to physical illness. To prevent the cor-
poreal malady, and to diminish, as much as possible,
the mental affliction itself, the individual must tread
in the steps — haud passibus eequis — of Xenophon
and Byron. He must KEEP THE BODY ACTIVE, AND

THE STOMACH EMPTY."

" Exercise," says Hawkesworth, " gives health,
vigour and cheerfulness, sound sleep, and a keen

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 291

appetite. The effects of sedentary thoughtfulness
are, diseases that embitter and shorten life — inter-
rupted rest — tasteless meals — perpetual languor —
and ceaseless anxiety."

"Temperance," says Burton, "is a bridle of
gold : and he who can use it aright, is liker a god
than a man."

But — I beg your pardon — I must make another
short quotation, which has this moment occurred to
me ; — one which, though exceedingly short, embo-
dies in itself the truth and wisdom of a hundred
volumes : it is the following brief aphorism of the
late Mr. Abernethy ; with which I shall conclude : —
" If you would be well, live upon sixpence a-day, —
and earn it"

I am, my dear John,

Yours very truly,

E. JOHNSON.

o 2

292 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

LETTER X.

224 Blackfriars Road,

_ , 15th Oct 1836.

MY DEAR JOHN,

"WHEN I concluded my last Letter, I thought I
had said all that was necessary for your guidance, as
to what kind of diet and what sort of habits should
be used, as being most conducive to health and to
the proper enjoyment of life : — and, if you have be-
stowed common attention on what I have written,
you cannot have failed in observing that I have all
along maintained that those things, and those only,
are the most proper, which are the most natural.

When I had proceeded thus far, I flattered my-
self that Brother John was at length sufficiently
enlightened to be put out of leading-strings, and
might be left to regulate his own conduct with-
out further advice.

Before, however, I finally dismissed the matter
from my mind, it struck me, that it might be as
well, not only to consider what is man's natural con-

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 293

dition, a little more fully; but, at the same time,
take a brief survey of that artificial state of exist-
ence in which he has placed himself.

This, dear John, is a curious subject, and it em-
braces a most extensive field of philosophical spe-
culation : it is, nevertheless, one, concerning which
I would have you entertain right notions ; as other-
wise, a good portion of my time and labour have
been thrown away. You must be able to under-
stand the one, in order fully to appreciate the
other.

I am the more anxious to do this, because it is
generally asserted that man has no natural condi-
tion ; but that, into whatever state he brings himself,
and with whatever circumstances he surrounds him-
self by the exercise of his ingenuity, that state,
and those circumstances, constitute the sphere in
which he was designed to exist. The same opinion
has lately been expressed by a Medical Author, in
one of our periodicals, with respect to diet. — " In
short," says he, "whatever kind of food the ingenuity
of man has been able to discover, that kind of food
is proper for him." If the phrase had been, 'by the
right exercise of his reason,' I should have agreed
with him; but the term " ingenuity" embraces, not
only the use of reason, but also its abuse.

294 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

If this doctrine be sound, there is no article
of diet, however notoriously unwholesome, which
may not claim to be considered as the proper food
of man. And if it be asked, "Why?" the answer
is ready : — " Because it was discovered by man's
ingenuity."

The ingenuity of the poor old women who earn a
miserable subsistence by selling apples in the street
has discovered that the cravings of hunger may be
more cheaply allayed by a glass of gin than by
bread and meat ; — THEREFORE, it was the design of
Nature, with regard to these poor souls, that their
appetites should be so appeased.

To me it appears, that man was designed to
exist in that condition which the right exercise of
sound reason shews to be most consistent with his
nature.

The design of Nature, with regard to the proper
mode of existence amongst brutes, is rendered evi-
dent by her having bound them within the limits
of their proper sphere by the force of an irresisti-
ble instinct. But to man was given reason, in the
place of instinct; leaving him to use it or abuse it,
at his option; — otherwise, she would have defeated
her own design of making him a free agent.

It seems to me, therefore, that man has a na-

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 295

tural condition ; viz. that which a right exercise
of sound reason leads him to adopt, as being most
agreeable to his nature. He has also, therefore,
natural habits, and a natural manner of nutrication ;
viz. those which right reason points out, and well-
founded experience approves.

I ask, Is the present condition of society —
are the present habits and manners of man — natural
to him ? That is to say, Are they the result of a
right exercise of sound reason? Are they conge-
nial with his nature? Or do they result from the
abuse of his reason — from pampered passions, mere-
tricious appetites, and vicious propensities ?

No one will deny, that the ultimate aim of all
men's pursuits— the final goal, towards which all
mankind are running, or fancy they are running —
the philosopher's stone, of which all are in search —
the ultima linea of all human hopes and human
efforts— is, HAPPINESS.

The right exercise of a sound reason, therefore,
would certainly induce mankind to choose that
path which experience has proved will conduct
him to happiness, and would warn him against
those which the experience of ages has shewn will
not lead him to happiness.

The question is thus brought to turn upon this

296 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

single hinge : — Has man, as he now exists in a high
state of refinement, chosen the right path ? Does
it conduct him to happiness? Or, admitting that
perfect happiness is incompatible with a sublunary
existence, does it ensure him the largest possible
proportion of happiness of which his terrestrial
existence is susceptible ? If not, then he has not
chosen the right path— he has not exercised a
sound reason in his choice ; inasmuch as he has
chosen to travel in a road which will not conduct
him to the object of his journey.

To prove that man, in a high state of intellectual
culture, is not happy, really seems a work of super-
erogation;— it is only to iterate the most universally-
acknowledged of all truisms : it is merely to prove
that which no one thinks of denying. Throughout
all highly-civilized societies, and in all cultivated
languages, the unhappiness of man has ever been a
standing proverb in the mouths of all men, and a
fruitful theme of declamation and lamentation, both
with the philosopher, the worldling, the poet, and
the preacher.

A state of discontent is unquestionably a state of
unhappiness; — and, contrariwise, I think you must
be compelled to admit that contentment is happiness :
for it is clear that he only can be contented who

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 297

is in possession of the entire sum of all that he
desires. But the entire sum of all that man desires,
is happiness. It is a logical sequitur, therefore,
That he only can be contented who is in possession
of hppiness ; and he only happy who is contented :
— and this makes happiness and contentment syn-
onymous terms.

Tli ere can be little happiness, therefore, where
there is little contentment.

But look through society at large, as at present
constituted. Do you observe content or discontent
to be its grand characteristic ? It is idle to deny,
for it is impossible to conceal, that universal discon-
tent is one of its most prominent features. From
the monarch to the menial, " nemo contentus " —
none are contented ; and therefore none are happy.
Our whole lives are consumed in the pursuit of an
unattainable object. — What is that object? Hap-
piness.— But why is it unattainable by us ? Simply,
because we are running after it, along paths which
do not lead to it.

Look again through society; and observe our
innumerable Institutions for the relief of human
misery — our Hospitals and Dispensaries — our Phil-
anthropic Institutions — our Asylums for the Desti-
tute — our Penitentiaries — our Madhouses — our
o 3

298 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

receptacles for Reformed Prostitutes, Foundling
Children, and other unfortunates ! Can that be
a happy or natural state of things, which makes ne-
cessary such Institutions as these ? It is ludi-
crous to hear people hoast of these establishments,
as so many proofs of the blessings" conferred by
civilization; whereas they are, in fact, standing
monuments of its shame and disgrace. Is it a
credit to us, that we live in a state of society in
which sickness and suffering are so rife, that thou-
sands of public Hospitals and Dispensaries are re-
quired to administer relief to the diseased ? Is it a
credit to us, that destitution is of such frequent occur-
rence, that public buildings are necessary to receive
the destitute ? Is it a credit to us, that we live in a
state of things, the tendency of which is so frequently
to overturn the human reason, that it has become
necessary to provide public buildings for the recep-
tion of the mad ? Can that be a meritorious con-
dition, which makes it necessary to provide a Men-
dicity Society in order to restrain beggary; and
a Humane Society for the prevention of suicide ?

Yet, once again, look through society. — Look at
our hosts of lawyers, and others engaged in the
law — all of whom live, and thrive, solely from the
proceeds of vice, dishonesty, and crime ! Look at

LE1TERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 299

our police-station-houses, our spunging-houses, our
tread-mills, our prisons, our hulks, our convict-ships,
and our colonies for the reception of transported
felons! Look at all this; — and then deny, if you
can, that " there is something rotten in the state
of Denmark."

There is one more contemplation, which must,
I think, carry great weight with it, in shewing how
clearly and immediately crime and misery result
from an artificial state of society. One of the first
and greatest essentials to a highly-civilized condition
of society is money : and if you reflect, for a few
minutes, how innumerahle have been the crimes, and
consequent punishments and sufferings, which are
traceable up to money alone as their cause, the con-
templation will be found to be perfectly appalling !

It is clear, therefore, that the present condition
of highly-civilized man is not conducive to happi-
ness,- but that, on the contrary, it is the prolific
parent of multitudinous misery. It is not, there-
fore, a condition which the right exercise of a sound
reason has led him to adopt, or which experience
has approved : THEREFORE it is not his natural
condition — it is not in accordance .with the design
of Nature— it is not the condition in which he was
intended to exist.

300 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

We have just seen that the present condition
of man is not consistent with his moral nature,
inasmuch as it is not conducive to his happiness.
Let us now inquire, whether it he in consonance
with his physical nature : that is, whether a high
degree of civilization and refinement he conducive
to his physical health and strength.

If you survey the several grades of society, you
will find that the class of men who enjoy the high-
est degree of health and strength is precisely that
which is the farthest removed from a high degree
of refinement ; — it is that which approaches the most
nearly, in its habits and condition, to primeval
simplicity : I mean, the tillers of the soil— the agri-
cultural labourers. This alone is surely a strong
argument that the habits of refined society are not
friendly to health and strength ?

Again : — as a proof that a high degree of civi-
lization is hostile to health, are not our nume-
rous and crowded Hospitals, our multitudes of
thronged Dispensaries, and our countless multi-
tudes of medicine venders and medical practitio-
ners, quite sufficient ?

Man, in a state of primeval simplicity, inhabiting
the temperate latitudes, living almost entirely in
the open air, supporting life by the simplest fare,

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 301

his mind undisturbed by the harassing anxieties
consequent on ambitious pursuits, and the thou-
sand other perturbing causes inseparably con-
nected with a highly-cultivated state of society,
enjoys almost an entire immunity from disease.
But, from the moment he begins to emerge from
the primitive simplicity of his habits, and seeks to
live by his wits rather than by the sweat of his
brow, from that moment his intellectual and phy-
sical energies are at perpetual war with each other;
since he can only increase the former at the ex-
pense of the latter. As he advances in refinement
and knowledge, he retrogrades in physical strength.
And, to me, I confess, this fact alone would be an
unanswerable proof, that a highly intellectualized
state of society, like that in which we live, was
never designed for man. It seems to me insulting
to the wisdom of the Creator, to suppose that it
should be so. If it had been intended that man's
chief care should be the culture of his mind, it
seems to me, I repeat, most insulting to Omniscient
Wisdom and Omnipotent Power, to suppose that
He would have so constituted him, that the very
means which he must use to cultivate his mind are
such as he cannot adopt without injury to his phy-
sical health, and even considerable risk to life itself.

302 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

It is certainly a natural law, that man shall pre-
serve his health ; — this being neither more nor less
than a part of the law of self-preservation. But if
it be also a natural law, that man shall cultivate his
intellect, then this absurd consequence arises ; viz.
two natural laws ; obedience to one of which neces-
sarily involves an infraction of the other : — for
nothing can be more notoriously true, than that the
close confinement, sedentary habits, and perpetual
tension of the mental faculties, necessary to study
and the cultivation of the intellect, are highly de-
trimental to bodily health. We know, too, that
feebleness of body has a direct tendency to enfeeble
the mind : thus, the same causes which directly
enfeeble the body have the effect, indirectly^ of
enfeebling the mind. The very means, therefore,
which are necessary to educate and polish the mind,
have also a strong tendency to injure it. " Intel-
lectual cultivation," says Dr. James Johnson, " sows
the seeds of physical deterioration ; — and the evils
thus inflicted on the flesh fail not to grow up, and
ultimately retaliate, with interest, on the spirit."

I am not singular in my opinion, that a high
degree of civilization is inimical to health. Dr.
Southwood Smith, in his Philosophy of Health,
says : "The usual, the permanent, the natural con-

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 303

dition of each organ, and of the entire system, is
pleasurable." And, commenting on this passage, Dr.
James Johnson observes : " This might be true, if
we were in a state of nature ; but, in our present
condition, there is scarcely such a thing as perfect
health." Elsewhere, the same able author, Dr.
J. Johnson, observes : " The great evil — the root
of innumerable evils — the Proteiform malady,
DYSPEPSY — the hydra-headed monster of countless
brood and Medusa mien, is the progeny of Civili-
zation" In another part of his " (Economy of
Health " he says, and most truly, that " the beset-
ting sin of the present generation .... is that
of reading and thinking"

The immense consumption of drugs is another
strong proof of the sickly health of society in gene-
ral, in its present boasted sera of refinement. I am
sure I am within the boundary of truth, when
I assert, that, throughout England, there is not
more than one man in a hundred who does not find
it necessary, at least once in the year, " to take
medicine;" that is, to carry the master-piece of
God's creative wisdom to che Doctor, to have it
mended. — Why, who would not change his watch-
maker, if his watch required such frequent repairs ?
— "There are many millions in this country,"

304 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

says the author just quoted, " to whom physic is,
daily, as indispensable as food ! — To the luxurious
epicure it may seem incredible, that within the
boundaries of the British Isles there are thousands,
among the opulent classes, who would give half their
wealth to be able to do without food altogether —
who would gladly give up the pleasure of eating,
for an immunity from the misery of digesting." —
Again, he says : " The state of civilization at which
we have arrived produces such a w-ide range of
' hopes deferred,' and expectations blighted, that
their effects are detected, by the experienced eye,
at every step, even in the streets." — Again : " The
results are read, by the observant physician, in the
countenance, the complexion, the gait, the whole
physical and moral constitution of the female; —
results which require a new vocabulary ; and would
be totally unintelligible by Celsus, or even by Sy-
denham, could they rise from their graves, to sur-
vey the progress and effects of Civilization.

If further proof be wanted, to shew that a highly-
cultivated condition of society is prejudical to health,
we have it in the very structure of his body, and
in the economy of its living actions. I have already
shewn you, that a vigorous circulation is neces-
sary to vigorous contractility — that is, health and

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 305

strength ; and that vigorous contractility is incom-
patible with a high degree of sensibility.

No one, I think, will venture to deny, that culti-
vation and refinement have the direct effect of
heightening man's sensibility. The very word
" refinement " seems necessarily to imply a superior
degree of sensibility. One can hardly conceive a
high degree of refinement unaccompanied by a high
degree of sensibility also ; for the very meaning of
the term " refinement " seems to be a condition
from which every thing calculated to offend a deli-
cate sensibility is removed.

Besides, one of the first effects of civilization is,
to substitute the labour of the brain for the labour
of the hands and feet. But the labour of the hands
and feet — exercise — is necessary to the existence of
a vigorous circulation and an energetic contracti-
lity; which are both incompatible with a high degree
of sensibility. Exercise, therefore, has the effect
of blunting the sensibilities : and, by a parity of
reasoning, a deficiency of exercise has the contrary
effect — that of heightening the sensibility of man.
" This deficiency of exercise in the open air," says
Dr. James Johnson, " may be considered as the pa-
rent of one half of female disorders, by multiplying
and augmenting the susceptibilities to all external

306 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

impressions ! The pallid complexions, the languid
movements, the torpid secretions, the flaccid mus-
cles, and disordered functions (including glandular
swellings), and consumption itself, attest the truth
of this assertion."

The substitution, therefore, of mental for bodily
labour, which is one of the very first effects of
civilization, manifestly tends to heighten our sen-
sibilities. " The superior cultivation of intellect —
now so eagerly aimed at, as the means of rising in
the world, indeed of getting through it — renders
the feelings more acute, the sympathies more active
— the whole moral man, in short, more morbidly
sensitive to moral impressions. These impressions
are annually multiplying in number, and augment-
ing in intensity. The principal sources from
whence they flow, in a thousand streams, on suffer-
ing humanity, are these ;— the fury of politics ; the
hazards and anxieties of commerce ; the jealousies,
the envies, and rivalries of professions; the strug-
gles and contentions of trade ; the privations, dis-
contents, and despair of poverty ; — to which might,
perhaps, be added the terrors of superstition, and the
hatreds of sectarianism."* — In another part of the
same excellent work, the author observes : " Thus,
* (Economy of Health, p. 94.

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 307

then, a nervous temperament, a MORBID SENSIBI-
LITY, pervades the whole frame of society, more
or less — a super-sensitiveness, that inflicts pains and
penalties on trifling and occasional indiscretions."

Now, if it be true, that civilization and intellec-
tual cultivation have the effect of raising- the sensi-
bility of man beyond the natural standard, then
it cannot be denied that they are also prejudicial
to his health and strength; since I have proved
that energetic contractility, which is but another
term for health and strength, cannot exist in con-
junction with a high degree of sensibility.

Thus, then, it appears, that the present super-
latively-intellectualized state of refinement is an
unnatural condition; inasmuch as it is one, which
a right exercise of sound reason, end the autho-
rity of experience, unite to prove to be neither
in conformity with the moral or physical or struc-
tural nature of man. And I have already shewn
you, that whatever is unnatural, is also impro-
per. His present condition, therefore, is not his
proper one.

But if the present condition of man be unnatural
and improper, what state is that, to which right
reason and experience would point as the natural
and proper one ; that is to say, as the one most in

308 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

accordance both with his physical, and moral, and
structural nature ? — From what has gone before,
the answer is manifest ; viz. That state in which
high civilization and excessive intellectual cultiva-
tion do not exist ; — in a word, A state of Patriarchal
simplicity. And that this condition is best adapted
to his physical nature, has been already proved, by
virtue of the same arguments which I have used
in order to shew that civilization and refinement
are not in accordance with either his physical or
structural being. It would be easy to shew that
the Patriarchal condition is also most suitable to
man's moral nature ; that is, most conducive to his
happiness. But this does not properly belong to
my subject; which has for its object his physical
health and strength only.

Now let us shortly recapitulate.

In my Sixth Letter, I endeavoured to shew that
the human system, like all the other systems of
Nature, has a natural determinate position, and
natural habits ; and that, if it be suffered to remain
in its natural position, and in the exercise of its

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 309

natural habits, it will be found to be, like them,
perfect in itself. I also endeavoured to shew, that
if any of the other systems of the universe be re-
moved from their natural position and natural
habits, it cannot be done without injury to them.

In this Letter, it has been my object to shew
that man has been removed from his natural posi-
tion, and from the exercise of his natural habits;
and that from this cause arise the disease and
misery to which we find him subjected. And the
arguments which I have used to prove this have
been, at the same time, sufficient (at least in my
estimation) to shew what his natural position and
natural habits really are; and, therefore, also to
shew what habits are most proper for him — most in
accordance with his nature — and, therefore, best
calculated to secure to him the perfect enjoyment
of health, strength, and happiness.

The knowledge of what those habits are, which
are most proper for man, must constitute your
rule of conduct with regard to your own. For
instance, if you be convinced, from all I have
said, that the primeval condition is the one best
calculated to secure health and strength, you need
no other guide than that conviction. You have
only to reflect on what that condition was — its

310 LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN.

habits and diet ; and then endeavour to reduce your
own, as nearly as conventional customs will allow,
to that standard. Let your habits be more hardy —
your fare more frugal. Eat that you may live;
and do not live only that you may eat. Dimmish
the activity of the mind, and increase that of the
body. Work more, and think less. Avoid the
excitement of music, cards, wine, assemblies, poli-
tics, religious controversies, &c. ; or share in them
with the utmost moderation. The only legitimate
excitement is that of exercise in the open air.

I know, my dear John, very well, that the gene-
ral tenor of this Letter is so much at variance with
the preconceived opinions of mankind, that those
who are too lazy to think for themselves, and those
who think in chains, and those who are afraid to
think, and those who know not how to think, will
not stop to ask themselves whether it can be true ;
but, taking it for granted that it must be false, be-
cause in opposition to the general opinion, will pass
it over as a piece of mere extravagance. I write
not for such as these. But to you — who are not, I
hope, of their number — I say, that a proposition
being opposed to the general opinion forms no
argument whatever against it; because there is
hardly any man so ignorant as not to know that

LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 311

there is scarcely any one well-ascertained truth
which was not once in opposition to the general
opinion. Leave the general opinion, then, to those
who, rather than examine closely into things, are
content to take them for granted :— but you, dare
to think for yourself; — and, in doing so, rest not
satisfied with a shining surface, but look through,
and beyond, the surface. I want YOU to look through
the gloss, and the glare, and the glitter, and the
gingerbread gilding, wherewith Civilization, like a
painted courtesan, carefully conceals her deformi-
ties. I wrant you, not to swallow the gilded nut
whole; but to crack it, in order that you may see
the rottenness and bitterness which lurk within.
Depend upon it, the Refinement, of which we make
so loud a boast, is no better than a cheat — a smiling
impostor, who comes to us with a wreath of roses
round her brow, and Pleasure's tempting wine-cup
in her hand ; while she conceals poison, and the
dagger, beneath her spangled robe.

I am, my dear John, yours truly,

E. JOHNSON.

LONDOK :

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