Although the ancient Arabs were celebrated for their medical knowledge, the Osmanlis have only of late years made some advances in the study of medicine.

They are most credulous and superstitious in their notions upon this subject, and ready to follow the advice of any empiric in the healing art. They seem to know two diseases peculiar to themselves; one they call Gelinjik, and the other Yelanjik. The first is used in a comprehensive universality and signifies almost any ailment; the second is applied to erysipelas and nervous pains in the face.

The art of curing the Gelinjik has long been possessed by a single family, and descended in hereditary succession from one to another of its members. There is a certain Meriem Kadun of this profession, who once had the good fortune to cure the present sultan, with some of the mysterious red nectar, which is the principal medicine administered for this malady. She has ever since had abundant practice in the royal palace and everywhere else; and the famous Yelanjikgee has a far-famed reputation.

A particular class of Emirs, or the descendants of Fatima, the daughter of Mohammed, are supposed to possess the virtue of healing the nervous diseases of the face called Yelanjik. They wear green turbans, repeat certain prayers over the patient, and are supposed to possess a charm in their fingers’ ends. The Emir lays his thumb on his nose, breathes upon the extended fingers, then lays it upon the forehead of the patient, and pressing upon the nerves of the face, utters a short prayer. Thus he often succeeds in dispelling the malady in a few minutes—whether by his own medical skill or by the credulity of his superstitious patients, may be questioned. Strange to say, their only belief is, that when a cure is not effected, it is not because of the inefficacy of the charmed fingers, but the disease was not genuine Yelanjik, and therefore the holy Emir could not cure it. When any disease fails to be cured by either of these characters, the Gelinjikgee and Yelanjikgee, then in despair the other disciples of the healing art are summoned, of whom there is no scarcity in Constantinople, where the last comer is generally patronized, until some new pretender succeeds him.

A person once exceedingly ill of typhus fever, called in one of these medical gentlemen, who, although he considered the case quite hopeless, prescribed for his patient and took his leave. The next day, in passing by, he inquired of a servant at the door if his master was not dead. “Dead? no. He is much better.” Whereupon the doctor proceeded up stairs to obtain the solution of this miracle. “Why,” said the convalescent, “I was consumed with thirst, and I drank a pailful of the juice of pickled cabbage.”

Wonderful! quoth the doctor—and out came the tablets, whereupon was inscribed, “Cured of typhus fever, Mehemed Agha, an upholsterer, by drinking a pailful of pickled cabbage juice.”

Soon after the worthy doctor was called to another patient, a Yaghlikgee, or dealer in embroidered handkerchiefs, suffering from the same malady. He forthwith prescribed “a pailful of pickled cabbage juice.”

On calling the next day to congratulate his patient on his recovery, he was astonished to be told, the man was dead!

The Oriental Esculapius, in his bewilderment as to these phenomena, came to the safe conclusion, and duly noted it in his memoranda, that, “Although in cases of typhus fever, pickled cabbage juice is an efficient remedy, it is not, however, to be used unless the patient be by profession an upholsterer!”

Fortunately for the community, this branch of science is improving in Turkey, and there are numerous graduates from the medical college, who are employed in the army, and by the inhabitants in general.