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THE FAMILY PHYSICIAN.

learn, and might employ him
hours to detail; at a moment per-
haps, when the circumstances do
not permit him, to make up his
own opinion decidedly; and he
is too apt to think his reputation
requires, that he should attempt
to gratify them. They ask only
for simple reasons and simple ex-
planations, not wishing to look in-
to the arcana of our art. Now sim-
ple reasons and simple explana-
tions are precisely what it is most
difficult to give them, and most
difficult for them to comprehend.
Accordingly, to save his credit, the
doctor dresses up for them an
explanation in unmeaning words,
from which they fancy they under-
stand a kind of something; and
from the habit of talking nonsense
to others, and finding them satis-
fied with it, he gets to value it
himself. Here is the stumbling
block on which he falls.

I know very well how much these remarks may expose the faculty to the wits, who, when their ⚫wn bones do not ache, are not apt to spáre us. But it is certainly true, that a man may be learned, and well versed in the practice of physick, and yet may not be ready to answer, to the ignorant, the inquiries above stated. For my own part, I should think well of any young man, who plainly refused to do it.

There are several reasons for all this. One great one is, that while all the world talk of the importance and advantages of experience, few people understand the nature and extent of experimental knowledge. We are all acquainted with the phenomena, which depend on the principle of gravitation. But if these phenomena were not so constantly obvious, as to render them famHiar; if they were known only to

the learned, and one, discoursing
on the subject, were to state that
it is found by experiment when-
ever any body, specifically heavier
than the atmosphere, is thrown in-
to the air it falls to the ground;
and that the acquaintance with this
principle might enable us to con-
struct many useful machines ;-
of one, so discoursing, many, not
only of the vulgar, but of the bet-
ter informed, would inquire why
this thing was so; and they would
hardly value the philosopher's
knowledge of this law of nature,
nor be willing even to credit it, if
he could not talk nonsense to them
about the causes of attraction, &c.
The truth is, that the knowledge
of the law, or, as it is sometimes
called, the general fact, is all that
is wanted; and this may be just
as usefully applied, as if we could.
understand how such a property
is impressed on matter.

Let us take a similar case in a
science, with which a physician
should be particularly conversant.
The doctor is asked, what is the
principle of life, and the inquirer
expects to hear of some essence
or quintessence, or of something..
like an electrick fluid, of which
the experimentalist may exhibit
at least a fleeting sight. He an-
swers, that he knows not what life
is; that he knows only the laws
of life. He explains by stating,
that living, vegetable, and animal
bodies are endued with certain
properties and powers, which are
not found in dead matter; that
these are attributed to the princi-
ple of life; and that if they are
discovered, although the other be
unknown, the object of the medi-
cal philosopher is obtained. Now,
such an answer is not satisfactory,
even to men of understanding, who
are not conversant with natural
philosophy; and they will be

much better pleased with a pretender, who gives them an hypothesis about some humour floating in the blood, or through the nerves, which is the essential spirit, or animating principle of living beings. The truth is, that men who are unacquainted with such subjects, are more taken with that philosophy, which represents the world as supported on the shoulder of Atlas, who sits on an elephant, who rests on a tortoise, &c. Many learned seekers after knowl edge commit similar errours.

I have stated one reason, which renders it difficult for physicians, to answer the scientifick questions of their patients. Perhaps I have enlarged too much in the illustration of this reason; but it is a favourite subject. This reason is founded on the presumption, that the physician is perfectly able to give a satisfactory answer to one, qualified to understand it. There is a difficulty of another kind, which likewise may exist, while the physician is perfectly competent to the necessary explanation; and it is one which many persons feel, while they do not clearly recognize it.

The practice of physick is an art; and the precepts of this art, as of every other, are drawn from the principles, not of one science only, but of many. The point of art in any operation is, if I may so express myself, at the intersection of the rules or lines, which are afforded by the different principles, on which that operation is founded. But as circumstances vary, the point of intersection shifts, and so the conduct of the artist. Many principles then require to be stated and explained with precision, to account

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for one little operation. blacksmith is continually performing mechanical and chemical operations, and these are variously combined. No one would un dervalue his handicraft, because he could not make his employer understand in five minutes all those scientifick principles, which his operations depend. He indeed is not required to understand the sciences on which his art is founded, while the physician is. But the difficulty is, not that the artist does not understand the subject, for I am now supposing that he does; but that he cannot make another comprehend at once the combination of principles, with which principles individually the inquirer is unacquainted. It is like talking to a blind man, who knows not what colours are, of the effect of a mixture of colours.

Now I have been writing a page to persuade men that they are blind, so far as respects subjects which they have not investigated; and I may add, that, in many instances, no common minds can suddenly flash light enough on such subjects, as to make them rightly impress their torpid organs of sight. If I have succceded to persuade my readers, that their neighbours are thus blind, it is as much as I have a right to expect. It is hard to persuade a man, that he himself does not see every thing, which is put before his eyes; although this happens every day to every man, both in the physical and moral world.

The limits of a periodical publication require, that I should postpone, for the present, the further consideration of this subject.

C.

i

FOR THE ANTHOLOGY.

The following is a description of the famous falls of Niagara, written by a gentleman of this state, who visited them a few months since; and although it is not given as any thing new, yet it may serve to remind some of your readers, that no man ever repented a visit to that mighty cataract, and may induce them to go and behold the greatest natural curiosity of which their country can boast. т.

JOURNAL.

Chippeway, Sept. 4, 1805. AFTER a hearty breakfast we set off (a party of four) provided with a guide and a bottle of wine, to follow the footsteps of Volney and Weld to the falls of Niagara, distant about two miles. The day was fine, with scarcely a breeze to interrupt the smooth expanse of the river before us. The distant noise of the cataract was much beneath our expectations, and all we saw of the falls, for half a mile, was the cloud of spray, which rose above them. This foretold some great cause.

Proceeding onwards, we come to a view of the rapids, which for half a mile above the main pitch throw the immense waters into great turbulence and foam. As we proceed, the banks of the river gradually become from five to fifty feet above the level of the river. Coming to a house on the bank of the river opposite the falls, we leave the road, and descend by an ex ceedingly steep path to a rich plain below; now entering a thick wood and shrubbery, very wet and mud dy, we pick our way to Table rock, the projecting point, where stran gers are first carried.

Here we gaze at the mighty sight of an immense river, precip itating itself one hundred and fifty feet perpendicularly into an abyss, the bottom of which (owing to the spray) cannot be seen.

Our guide, leaving one of the party on Table rock, conducted us a small distance down, which gave

us, as it were, a profile view of the rock, on which our companion stood. We were terrified and astonished; we beheld a flat rock, not more than two feet thick, and of itself projecting ten feet, and the rock under it hollowing into caverns to the water, as appeared to us fifty or sixty feet more; we saw our companion, standing almost in air, over the dreadful crags below, ready, it would seem, with the rocks themselves to fall! Every one involuntarily cried out to him to retire, while the guide, smiling at our unneces sary fears, conducts us back to the further bank we had descended, where we stopped awhile to renovate our moral and physical strength.

Our next object is to descend Simcoe's ladder, before we arrive at the top of which, we have to pass down the steep bank, as before, and go over a plain nearly the same as in the path to Table rock.

We followed the guide by the ladder, leading down a rude precipice, which is continued along for a quarter of a mile to the falls, and is now the real bank of the river. Arrived at the bottom of this long ladder, we got down as well as we could, a height of about fifty feet further, descending over mounds of earth, bushes, and pieces of rock, tumbled together from the precipice above.

We are now nearly on a level with the river below the falls, which are a quarter of a mile dis

tant, and the way to them exceedingly rough; but, excepting one pass, not dangerous. This, I am confident, very few would attempt in any other place than this; but the scenes around are so grand, as to inspire every one with courage. When we had come within five hundred feet of the falls, we stopped to survey the objects around us, which are in the highest degree grand and terrifick. Above us hung a precipice, an hundred and twenty or thirty feet high, full of loose stones, which are daily falling, and the possibility, that one may fall upon you in passing, inspires the mind with no inconsiderable degree of alarm. Turning our backs to the precipice, we see before us (on the opposite side of the river, placed on a perpendicular rock as high as the falls) Goat island, dividing the falls into two great sheets, four or five hundred feet apart. The farthest are called Little falls, and the other Horse-shoe falls. The former is called little, only in comparison with the Horse-shoe falls; and not being so easy of access, and discharging less water, is seldom visited by strangers. Then looking, as our way leads, we see the main fall, tumbling its prodigious waters into the bed of the lower river, and running off, wildly foaming beneath a cloud of spray in one general roar and confusion, magnificent beyond description.

We now proceeded, the spray wetting us more and more as we advanced, and the rocks becoming more slippery, but not dangerous.. Before we arrived at the caverns, about one hundred feet from the falling water, where we took our stand, we were completely drenched by the violent beating of the spray against us, which, driven on by the furious rushing wind, that

issues out of the horrid caverns under the falls, sometimes hid us from a sight of the falling waters and even from each other.

Having halted, Mr. B- first cautiously proceeded to get under the pitch, and, returning after a few moments, thinks he went about twenty feet under, but was hid nearly the whole time from us by the spray.

I was the next to attempt, amidst the mighty terrours around, a survey of these caverns, horrible as death, and where he alone seemed to hold empire. Facing the whirlwind, and necessarily disregarding the pelting spray, I crept as fast as the slippery crags would admit, without once stopping to think of danger. I went, as well as I could judge, fifteen or twenty feet under, or beyond the outer edge of the sheet. I durst venture no farther, but, reclining in a posture between sitting and laying, I first seized a small stone to bring away with me, an eternal remembrance of the place I took it from. This done, I paused for a few moments.

.....To attempt to describe my feelings, or to particularise each howling horrour around me, were vain. It is not the thousand rivers of water, that tumble from above...nor the piled-up precipice of slippery crags, on the top of which you lay...nor the furious whirlwind, drivinglike shot thespray against you, threatening at each gust to throw you into the merciless jaws of death below...nor the thundering roar of the cataract...not all these, that bring each its particular terrour; but the whole of them together, striking the mind at once, appal the senses, and the weakened judgment gives way to the idea, that the rock above, which of its of supports the mighty

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whole, has loosened from its foundations and actually started to crush the whole below!

.....I escaped before it fell... soon found my companions, and

POPE.

looking up, saw, half surprised, the hoary rock still firm on its foundations, amidst this seeming crush of worlds.

FOR THE ANTHOLOGY.

SILVA.

Silva gerit frondes.-OVID.

POPE was fond of imitating the ancients, though what he borrowed he improved, and his own thoughts were not inferiour to theirs. Some very beautiful lines, in his Elegy to the memory of an unfortunate young lady, he seems to have imitated from Ovid; and I am surprized that Dr. Warton, in his excellent edition of Pope's works, has not remarked the resemblance. I shall quote both the English and Latin, that the read er may judge for himself.

What can atone, oh! ever-injured shade,
Thy fate unpitied, and thy rites unpaid?
No friend's complaint, no kind domestick tear

Pleased thy pale gliost, or graced thy mournful

bier.

By foreign hands thy dying eyes were closed,
By foreign hands thy decent limbs composed,
By foreign hands thy humble grave adorned,
By strangers honoured, and by strangers mourned.

Though these are exquisite
lines, (for no man, says Hume, can
write verses with equal spirit and
elegance to Mr. Pope) yet the
following passage of Ovid unques-
tionably supplied the materials.

Ergo ego nec lachrymas matris moritura videbo,
Nec, mea qui digitis lumina condat, erit.

Spiritus infelix peregrinas ibit in auras,
Nec positos artus unget amica manus,
Ossa superstabunt volueres inhumata marinæ.

Ovid's Epistles. Ariadne to
Theseus. lin. 119.

It has been the fashion, of late
years, to depreciate the poetical
merit of Pope, and to exalt, in

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strains of lavish encomium, the
mushroom poetasters of the day.
A writer, who with the rapidity of
a Blackmore, shall finish an epick
in six weeks, attracts the admira-
tion of many, who consider celeri-
ty in writing as a proof of extraor-
dinary genius. The reverse of
this however is true; and the
greatest master-pieces of writing,
far from being dashed off at a hit,
have consumed a very considerable
portion of time in their composition.
Perfection is the reward of great
labour, united with great genius.
The co-operation of both can alone
ensure success. Without genius,
labour would be dull and insipid;
without labour, genius would be
absurd and extravagant. Had the
Alcander of Pope, an epick poem
which he wrote at sixteen, been
preserved, he would probably have
been deemed a great poet by those,
who now dispute his claims to that
character. These gentlemen re-
quire originality, at the expense of
whatever absurdity. They prefer
the wilderness to the garden,
though the latter may possess all
the beauties of nature, without her
deformities. But true taste ad-
mires nature only in her charms,
not in the gross. Neither poet
nor painter would describe a
quagmire, nor expose to view
those parts of the person, which
decency clothes. Yet nature has
claims as equal to what is conceal-
ed, as to what is exhibited.

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