has, I know, been sometimes said that putrid animal substances, however unpleasant their odor might be, were not poisonous. But this opinion is doubtless unfounded; and, for myself, I find it difficult to resist the belief that in all the foregoing cases, except the last, and very possibly in that too, animal putridity had influence.
The practical lessons to be derived from the developments of the foregoing chapter are exceedingly numerous. I shall direct your attention for a few moments, to some of the more important.
First, we learn the necessity of keeping our wells in a proper condition. Could it be even proved that dead reptiles never produce disease, it is at least highly desirable to avoid them. No reasonable person would be willing to drink water highly impregnated with their odor, even if it did not reach his own seat of sensation.
Secondly, we should avoid the use of stagnant water, even though it should be free from animal impurities. Especially should we be cautious where there is a liability, or even a possibility, to impurity and stagnation both. Either of these causes may, as it is most fully believed, produce disease; but if so, what is not to be expected from a combination of the two?
Our wells should be often cleaned. It is not possible, of course, to say with exactness, how often, but we shall hardly err in the line of excess. Very few wells are cleaned too often. Once a year, in ordinary cases, cannot be too much; nor am I quite sure that twice would be useless.
It seems to me quite possible to exclude animals from our wells, would we but take the necessary pains; and this, too, without covering them closely at the top. I can not see how any toad, unless it be the tree-toad so called, could climb a well-curb three feet high. Other animals, however, might do so, and therefore I would keep a well as closely covered as possible.
Many, I know, believe it desirable that the surface of the water in a well should be exposed to the air. I do not believe there is any necessity for this, though it is certainly desirable to avoid stagnation of the air at the bottom. Motion is essential, I might even say indispensable. I have sometimes thought the modern endless or chain pump as perfect a fixture as any other.
Thirdly, we may learn from the details of the foregoing chapter, the necessity of having in our sick-chambers the right sort of nurses or attendants. There should be a class of persons educated to this service, as a profession; and most happily for the prospects of the great human family, such efforts are now being made; it is hoped and believed they will be crowned with success.
One thing more may, as I think, be inferred from the story of my sickness as above: – the folly of multiplying physicians. In the present case, when the physician's own family was in a condition to demand a large share of his attention, if not to absorb all his energies, it may have been desirable to call in an additional medical man as counsellor. But the multiplication of counsel, besides adding to the danger of too much dosing and drugging, brings with it a host of ills too numerous to be mentioned in this place, and should be studiously avoided. My full belief is, that Dr. Thornton was a principal agent in creating the dangers he deprecated, and which came so near effecting my own destruction.
CHAPTER XXIII
ABOUT TO DIE OF CONSUMPTION
I have already mentioned more than once, – or at least done so by implication, – that I hold my existence, on this earth by a very feeble tenure. Consumption, by right of inheritance, made very early claims; and its demands, as I approached manhood, became more and more cogent, in consequence of measles, dropsy, Lee's Pills, and the injudicious use of medicine and many other errors. My employment, too, as school teacher had been far enough from favorable to health. While thus engaged from winter to winter, and sometimes from year to year; I was accustomed to have cold upon cold, till at length especially towards the close of winter and at the opening of the spring, I was often apparently on the verge of a rapid decline. A ramble up and down the country, with a summer or part of a summer on the farm or garden, did indeed for a time partially set me up again, so that I could return to my favorite employment of teaching in the autumn and during the winter; and thus time with me went on.
A course of medical lectures which I heard in 1825-6, left me, in March, 1826, in about as bad a state of health as school keeping usually had done. However I was too indigent, I might even say too destitute, to be idle. Scarcely was my license to practise medicine and surgery fairly in my pocket, than I found myself turning towards the district school again. Yet I did not continue it many weeks before my old enemy returned upon me with renewed strength; till I was at length compelled to abandon the school entirely. I had as much as I could do, in attempting to keep up a successful war with cough, night-sweats, purulent expectoration, and hectic fever.
This was one of the darkest periods of my life. Destitute of money, and even somewhat in debt, yet too proud or self-relying to be willing to ask my friends to aid me; my hopes of usefulness defeated in two favorite fields of activity, teaching and medicine; and practically given up to linger out a year or two and then die, how could I avoid discouragement? Was it strange even, if I approached at times, the very borders of despair?
For some time prior to this crisis – indeed at certain seasons all my life long, – I relied not a little on medicine, in various forms, especially in the shape of tonics. Strange that I should have done thus, when my general impressions were so unfavorable to its exhibition; and yet such inconsistencies have been, and may be again. Huxham's tincture, quassia, ale, and other bitter infusions and tinctures, had been successively invoked, and I still clung to ale. I also used some wine, and I attached a good deal of importance to a stimulating diet. But it was all to no purpose, the disease was marching on steadily, and appeared destined to triumph; and that, too, at no very distant period.
In these circumstances, I repeat, what could be done? Nature's extremity is sometimes said to be God's opportunity. But without assuming that there was any special providence about it, I will say, that I was driven to desperation, nay almost to insanity or madness. I deemed myself on the very verge of a mighty precipice, beneath which yawned a gulf unfathomable. I must make a last mighty struggle, or perish irretrievably and forever.
It was July 4th, the anniversary of American Independence; I sought and found a few moments of calm reflection, and began to interrogate myself. Why was I so dependent on the physician and the apothecary's shop, and so tremblingly alive to every external impression of atmospheric temperature, or purity? Why must I, at the early age of twenty-eight, be doomed to tread the long road of decline and death? Why can I not declare independence of all external remedial agents, and throw myself wholly on nature and nature's God? I know, full well, the laws of my being. If trust in these, and faithful and persevering obedience will not save me, nothing will. Thus I mused; but alas! it was to muse only. Though almost ready to take the critical step, – I will not say make the desperate plunge, – the fourth of July finally passed away, and found me still lingering, to use a Scripture expression, "between the porch and the altar."
July the fifth at length arrived. And is it all over? I said to myself. Has the "glorious" Fourth gone by and I have not acted up to the dignity of a well-formed and glorious resolution? Must I, alas! now go on to woe irretrievable? Must I go down to the consumptive's grave? Must I perish at less than thirty years of age, and thus make good the declaration that the wicked shall not live out half his days?
A new thought came to me. "One of the South American provinces celebrated her Independence to day, the fifth. I will take the hint, – I will yet be free. I will escape from present circumstances. I will fly from my native home, and all that pertains to it. I will fly from myself, – It is done," I added, "and I go with the first conveyance."
I could indeed walk a little distance, but it either set me to coughing, severely, or else threw me into a profuse perspiration which was equally exhausting. One favorable symptom alone remained, a good appetite and tolerable digestion. Had there been, in addition to the long train
