Charity began at home—I speak of Charity Shaw, the famous root and herb doctress, who was a great blessing to all undertakers, in this city, for many years—her practice was, at first, purely domestic—she began at home, in her own household; and, had she ended there, it had fared better, doubtless, with many, who have received the final attentions of our craft. The mischief of quackery is negative, as well as positive. Charity could not be fairly classed with those reckless empirics, who, rather than lose the sale of a nostrum, will send you directly to the devil, for a dollar: Charity was kind, though she vaunted herself a little in the newspapers. She was, now and then, rather severely handled, but she bore all things, and endured all things, and hoped all things; for, to do her justice, she was desirous, that her patients should recover: and, if she believed not all things, her patients did; and therein consisted the negative mischief—in that stupid credulity, which led them to follow this poor, ignorant, old woman, and thus prevented them, from applying for relief, where, if anywhere, in this uncertain world, it may be found—at the fountains of knowledge and experience. In Charity’s day, there were several root and herb practitioners; but the greatest of these was Charity.

Herb doctors have, for some two thousand years, attempted to turn back the tables, upon the faculty—they are a species of garde mobile, who have an old grudge against the corps regulier: for they have not forgotten, that, some two thousand years ago, herb doctors had all things pretty much in their own way. Two entire books, the twenty-sixth and twenty-seventh of Pliny’s Natural History, are devoted to a consideration of the medicinal properties of herbs—the twentieth treats of the medicinal properties of vegetables—the twenty-third and twenty-fourth of the medicinal properties of roots and barks. Thus, we see, of what importance these simples were accounted, in the healing art, in that early age. Herbs, barks, and roots were, and, for ages, had been, the principal materia medica, and were employed, by the different sects—by the Rationalists, of whom Pliny, lib. xxvi. cap. 6, considers Herophilus the head, though this honor is ascribed, by Galen, to Hippocrates—the Empirics, or experimentalists—and the Methodics, who avoided all actions, for mala praxis, by adhering to the rules. Pliny manifestly inclined to herb doctoring. In the chapter, just now referred to, after alluding to the verba, garrulitatemque of certain lecturers, he intimates, that they and their pupils had an easy time of it—sedere namque his in scholis auditioni operatos gratius erat, quam ire in solitudines, et quoerere herbas alias aliis diebus anni—for it was pleasanter to sit, listening in the lecture-rooms, than to run about in the fields and woods, culling certain simples, on certain days in the year.

Herb doctors were destined to be overthrown; and the account, given by Pliny, in chapters 7, 8 and 9, book xxvi. of the sudden and complete revolution, in the practice of the healing art, is curious and interesting.

Asclepiades, of Prusa, in Bythinia, came to Rome, in the time of Pompey the Great, about one hundred years before Christ, to teach rhetoric; and, like an impudent hussy, who came to this city, as a cook, from Vermont, some years ago, and, not succeeding, in that capacity, but hearing, that wet nurses obtained high wages here, prepared herself, for that lucrative occupation—so Asclepiades, not succeeding, as a rhetorician, prepared himself for a doctor. He was ignorant of the whole matter; but a man of genius; and, as he knew nothing of root and herb practice, he determined to cut up the whole system root and branch, and substitute one of his own—torrenti ac meditata quotidie oratione blandiens omnia abdicavit: totamque medicinam ad causam revocando, conjecturÆ fecit. By the power of his forcible and preconcerted orations, pronounced from day to day, in a smooth and persuasive manner, he overthrew the whole; and, bringing back the science of medicine to cause and effect, he constructed a system of inference or conjecture. Pliny is not disposed to be altogether pleased with Asclepiades, though he recounts his merits fairly. He says of him—Id solum possumus indignari, unum hominem, e levissima gente, sine ullis opibus orsum, vectigalis sua causa, repente leges salutis humano genere dedisse, quas tamen postea abrogavere multi—at least, we may feel rather indignant, that one, born among a people, remarkable for their levity, born also in poverty, toiling for his daily support, should thus suddenly lay down, for the human race, the laws of health, which, nevertheless, many rejected afterwards.

Now it seems to me, that Asclepiades was a very clever fellow; and I think, upon Pliny’s own showing, there was more reason, for indignation, against a people, who had so long tolerated the marvellous absurdities of the herb system, such as it then was, than against a man, who had the good sense to perceive, and the courage and perseverance to explode, them. What there was in the poverty of Asclepiades, or in the character of his countrymen, to rouse Pliny’s indignation, I cannot conceive. Pliny says, lib. xxvi. cap. 9, after naming several things, which promoted this great change, in the practice of Physic—Super omnia adjuvere eum magicÆ vanitates, in tantum erectÆ, ut abrogare herbis fidem cunctis possent. He was especially assisted in his efforts, by the excesses, to which the magical absurdities had been carried, in respect to herbs, so that they alone were enough to destroy all confidence, in such things.

Pliny proceeds to narrate some of these magical absurdities—the plant Æthiops, thrown into lakes and rivers, would dry them up—the touch of it would open everything, that was shut. The AchÆmenis, cast among the enemy, would cause immediate flight. The Latace would ensure plenty. Josephus also, De Bell, Ind. lib. vii. cap. 25—speaks of an excellent root for driving out devils.

Pliny says, Asclepiades laid down five important particulars—abstinentiam cibi, alias vini, fricationem corporis, ambulationem, gestationes—abstinence from meat, and, at other times, from wine, friction of the body, walking, and various kinds of gestation, on horseback, and otherwise. There were some things, in the old practice, nimis anxia et rudia, too troublesome and coarse, whose rejection favored the new doctor greatly, obruendi agros veste sudoresque omni modo ciendi; nunc corpora ad ignes torrendi, etc.—smothering the sick in blankets, and exciting perspiration, by all possible means—roasting them before fires, &c. Like every other ingenious physician, he had something pleasant, of his own contriving, to propose—tum primum pensili balinearum usu ad infinitum blandientem—then first came up the employment of hanging baths, to the infinite delight of the public. These hanging baths, which Pliny says, lib. ix. 79, were really the invention of Sergius Orata, were rather supported than suspended—fires were kindled below—there were different ahena, or caldrons, the caldarium, and frigidarium. The corrivatio was simply the running together of the cold and hot water. Annexed was the laconicum, or sweating room. The curious reader may compare the Roman baths with those at Constantinople, described by Miss Pardoe.Alia quoque blandimenta, says Pliny, excogitabat, jam suspendendo lectulos, quorum jactatu aut morbos extenuaret, aut somnos alliceret. He excogitated other delights, such as suspended beds, whose motion soothed the patient, or put him to sleep. The principle here seems pretty universal, lying at the bottom of all those simple contrivances, rocking-chairs, cribs, and cradles, swings, hammocks, &c. This is truly Indian practice—

Rock-a-bye baby upon the tree top,
And, when the wind blows, the cradle will rock.

PrÆterea in quibusdam morbis medendi cruciatus detraxit, ut in anginis quas curabant in fauces organo demisso. Damnavit merito et vomitiones, tunc supra modum frequentes. He also greatly diminished the severity of former practice, in certain diseases, in quinsies for example, which they used to cure, with an instrument, introduced into the fauces. He very properly condemned those vomitings, then frequent, beyond all account. This refers to the Roman usage, which is almost incomprehensible by us. Celsus, De Med. lib. i. 3, refers to it, as the practice eorum, qui quotidie ejiciendo, vorandi facultatem moliuntur—of those, who, by vomiting daily, acquired the faculty of gormandizing. Suetonius says of the imperial brute, Vitellius, sec. xiii. that he regularly dined, at three places daily, facile omnibus sufficiens, vomitandi consuetudine—easily enabled to do so, by his custom of vomiting.

Pliny’s reflection, upon the success of the new doctor, is very natural—quÆ quum unusquisque semetipsum sibi prÆstare posse intelligeret, faventibus cunctis, ut essent vera quÆ facillima erant, universum prope humanum genus circumegit in se, non alio modo quam si coelo emissus advenisset. When every one saw, that he could apply the rules for himself, all agreeing that things, which were so very simple, must certainly be true, he gathered all mankind around him, precisely as though he had been one, sent from Heaven.

In the following passage, Pliny employs the word, artificium, in an oblique sense. Trahebat prÆterea mentes artifcio mirabili, vinum promittendo Ægris. He attracted men’s minds, by the remarkable artifice of allowing wine to the sick.

During the temperance movement, some eminent physicians have asserted, that wine was unnecessary, in every case—others have extended their practice, and increased their popularity, by making their patients as comfortable, as possible—while they continued in the flesh. A German, who had been very intemperate, joined a total abstinence society, by the advice of a temperance physician. In a little time the tormina of his stomach became unbearable. Instead of calling his temperance physician, who would, probably, have eased the irritation, with a little wormwood, or opium, he sent for the popular doctor, who told him, at once, that he wanted brandy—“How much may I take?” inquired the German. “An ounce, during the forenoon;” replied the doctor. After he had gone, the German said to his son, “Harman, go, get de measure pook, and zee how mooch be won ounz.” The boy brought the book, and read aloud, eight drachms make one ounce—the patient sprang half out of bed; and, rubbing his hands, exclaimed—“dat ish de toctor vor me; I never took more nor voor trams in a morning, in all my porn days—dat ish de trouble—I zee it now.”