"Indigestion," answered Mr. Newby, "is so
far salutary, that it involves a resistance, on the
part of the digestive organs, to their farther
abuse. But excess does not produce serious
disease of the stomach and viscera in the first
instance. It disorders those organs, perhaps;
and their disorder occasions disease in a
distant part—even as far away as the great toe,
possibly, you know, Mr. Bagges: but thus the
more important organs are relieved. It is a fact,
that internal disorder is often remedied by
breakings out, and other diseases of the skin,
or by the formation of sores on the limbs.
And if we get the sore to heal, or subdue the
eruption, by merely local means, we do it at
the risk of causing inward disease. So, when
we have to deal with these outward ailments,
we proceed, not against them, directly, but
against the conditions of body which they
arise from, and in regard to which they are a
sort of vents and safety-valves."

"Eh! but disease, then, seems to be so good
a thing, that one would think it ought
sometimes to be rather encouraged," Mr. Bagges
remarked.

"Certainly: that is what we do when we
'bring an inflammation to a head,' or when, in
the cold stage of a fever, we try to induce the
hot. Sometimes we have to assist the process
of disease, sometimes to restrain it; at others
—and I think at most—to give it free scope,
content to act merely as Nature's dustmen,
and brush impediments out of her way.
Shakspeare talks of 'the natural gates and
alleys of the body.' We are little better than
porters to the gates, Mr. Bagges; we are not
much more, sir, than men that sweep the alleys."

"Nature! " exclaimed Mr. Bagges; "Nature!
Well—certainly—there is nothing like studying
Nature."

"Particularly in medicine," said Newby.
"Many important measures of practice are
suggested by hints from Nature. Nature bleeds
—from the nose. She blisters—in throwing
out an eruption. She establishes an issue
when she forms an ulcer."

"You don't believe," said Mr. Bagges, "in
specifics—or that particular medicines cure
particular diseases? But—eh?—but what,
then, is the action of medicines?"

"They act," replied Newby, "on special
organs or tissues; and so far they exert a
specific action. Some, for instance, promote
the function of the skin, some of the liver,
some of the kidneys. Others stimulate the
brain and nervous system, or the stomach, or
the heart and arteries. The use of medicines
is, to act on those organs in such a manner as
to produce the conditions of body required for
the favourable termination of the disease,
and in some cases to moderate or check the
diseased process when it is going too far."

"Then—now—suppose any one asks you
what is good for a cough?"

"He asks me," Newby replied, "a foolish
question. Antimonial wine may be good.
Salts and senna may be good. Dover's powder
may be good. Sulphuric acid may be good.
Opium may be good. Water-gruel maybe good.
A rump steak, and a bottle of stout may be
good—according to the different conditions of
particular organs, or of the whole system."

"And yet," said Mr. Bagges, "you see,
people in general think that each disease has
its remedy—just as a poison has its antidote."

"A notion which is the foundation of
quackery, both in the profession and out of it;
out of it by inducing faith in infallible pills,
and so forth—in it by encouraging medical
men to administer drugs for the relief of mere
symptoms, without regard to their causes. It
also degrades their profession in the opinion
of the public, causing it to be looked upon as
consisting merely in the remembrance and
application of a catalogue of recipes.
Moreover it deludes patients into the belief that
they may be cured by drugs, independently of
any regulation of their habits, and makes them
think slightly of honest practitioners, who
tell them that this cannot be done."

"You seem to think a good deal of diet and
exercise, eh?"

"Diet alone, will often suffice to remove
impediments to cure; and when it does, it is
better than medicine. Exercise acts as a
downright stimulant to the skin, and the
other cleansing organs. Hence your fox-
hunter is enabled to eat and drink considerably
more than your philosopher."

"You can't pursue science on quite so
much beef and ale, as you can a fox, eh?"

"Decidedly not, Mr. Bagges."

"In regulating the functions,—eh?—of the
different organs of the body—by medicines,
and regimen, consists the art of medicine,
then!" Mr. Bagges inquired.

"Mainly," answered Newby. " But we
have some remedies which are not medicines,
baths, for instance, although these act
medicinally. Then we sometimes regulate the
circulation by bleeding; and then there is the
great principle of counter-irritation."

"What is that?" inquired Mr. Bagges.

"Why, creating a disease—an inflammation
—by blistering, or similar means—in an
unimportant part, near to, or connected with, an
important part. By a law of Nature, the
diseased action is transferred from the latter
to the former. As, from the inside of a joint
to the skin on the outside of it, or from the
lungs to the exterior of the chest."

"Now, what do you think of homœopathy?"
Mr. Bagges demanded.

"I think," Newby replied, "that it is a
fine satire on the drugging system of practice.
Part of the homœopathic treatment is dietetic.
Diet alone will cure very many diseases. The
vulgar—the great vulgar, sir, as well as the
small—see the cures apparently effected by
homœopathy; and, in keeping with their
general reasoning on medical matters, refer
them to the wrong cause—the homÅ“opathy
instead of the diet. Homœopathy is merely a
system of treating diseases without medicines."