The Borough Part 5

PROFESSIONS--PHYSIC.

The Worth and Excellence of the true Physician--Merit, not the sole Cause of Success--Modes of advancing Reputation--Motives of medical Men for publishing their Works--The great Evil of Quackery--Present State of advertising Quacks--Their Hazard--Some fail, and why-- Causes of Success--How Men of understanding are prevailed upon to have recourse to Empirics, and to permit their Names to be advertised--Evils of Quackery: to nervous Females; to Youth; to Infants--History of an advertising Empiric, &c.

NEXT, to a graver tribe we turn our view, And yield the praise to worth and science due, But this with serious words and sober style, For these are friends with whom we seldom smile.

Helpers of men they're call'd, and we confess Theirs the deep study, theirs the lucky guess; We own that numbers join with care and skill, A temperate judgment, a devoted will: Men who suppress their feelings, but who feel The painful symptoms they delight to heal; Patient in all their trials, they sustain The starts of pa.s.sion, the reproach of pain; With hearts affected, but with looks serene, Intent they wait through all the solemn scene; Glad if a hope should rise from nature's strife, To aid their skill and save the lingering life; But this must virtue's generous effort be, And spring from n.o.bler motives than a fee: To the Physician of the Soul, and these, Turn the distress'd for safety, hope, and ease.

But as physicians of that n.o.bler kind Have their warm zealots, and their sectaries blind; So among these for knowledge most renowned, Are dreamers strange, and stubborn bigots found: Some, too, admitted to this honourd name, Have, without learning, found a way to fame; And some by learning--young physicians write, To set their merit in the fairest light; With them a treatise in a bait that draws Approving voices--'tis to gain applause, And to exalt them in the public view, More than a life of worthy toil could do.

When 'tis proposed to make the man renown'd, In every age, convenient doubts abound; Convenient themes in every period start, Which he may treat with all the pomp of art; Curious conjectures he may always make, And either side of dubious questions take; He may a system broach, or, if he please, Start new opinions of an old disease: Or may some simple in the woodland trace, And be its patron, till it runs its race; As rustic damsels from their woods are won, And live in splendour till their race be run; It weighs not much on what their powers be shown, When all his purpose is to make them known.

To show the world what long experience gains, Requires not courage, though it calls for pains; But at life's outset to inform mankind Is a bold effort of a valiant mind.

The great, good man, for n.o.blest cause displays What many labours taught, and many days; These sound instruction from experience give, The others show us how they mean to live.

That they have genius, and they hope mankind Will to its efforts be no longer blind.

There are, beside, whom powerful friends advance, Whom fashion favours, person, patrons, chance: And merit sighs to see a fortune made By daring rashness or by dull parade.

But these are trifling evils; there is one Which walks uncheck'd, and triumphs in the sun: There was a time, when we beheld the Quack, On public stage, the licensed trade attack; He made his laboured speech with poor parade, And then a laughing zany lent him aid: Smiling we pa.s.s'd him, but we felt the while Pity so much, that soon we ceased to smile; a.s.sured that fluent speech and flow'ry vest Disguised the troubles of a man distress'd; - But now our Quacks are gamesters, and they play With craft and skill to ruin and betray; With monstrous promise they delude the mind, And thrive on all that tortures human-kind.

Void of all honour, avaricious, rash, The daring tribe compound their boasted trash - Tincture of syrup, lotion, drop, or pill; All tempt the sick to trust the lying bill; And twenty names of cobblers turn'd to squires, Aid the bold language of these blushless liars.

There are among them those who cannot read, And yet they'll buy a patent, and succeed; Will dare to promise dying sufferers aid, For who, when dead, can threaten or upbraid?

With cruel avarice still they recommend More draughts, more syrup, to the journey's end: "I feel it not;"--"Then take it every hour:"

"It makes me worse;"--"Why then it shows its power;"

"I fear to die;"--"Let not your spirits sink, You're always safe, while you believe and drink."

How strange to add, in this nefarious trade, That men of parts are dupes by dunces made: That creatures, nature meant should clean our streets, Have purchased lands and mansions, parks and seats: Wretches with conscience so obtuse, they leave Their untaught sons their parents to deceive; And when they're laid upon their dying bed, No thought of murder comes into their head, Nor one revengeful ghost to them appears, To fill the soul with penitential fears.

Yet not the whole of this imposing train Their gardens, seats, and carriages obtain: Chiefly, indeed, they to the robbers fall, Who are most fitted to disgrace them all; But there is hazard--patents must be bought, Venders and puffers for the poison sought; And then in many a paper through the year, Must cures and cases, oaths and proofs appear; Men s.n.a.t.c.h'd from graves, as they were dropping in, Their lungs cough'd up, their bones pierced through their skin Their liver all one schirrus, and the frame Poison'd with evils which they dare not name; Men who spent all upon physicians' fees, Who never slept, nor had a moment's ease, Are now as roaches sound, and all as brisk as bees, If the sick gudgeons to the bait attend, And come in shoals, the angler gains his end: But should the advertising cash be spent, Ere yet the town has due attention lent, Then bursts the bubble, and the hungry cheat Pines for the bread he ill deserves to eat; It is a lottery, and he shares perhaps The rich man's feast, or begs the pauper's sc.r.a.ps.

From powerful causes spring th' empiric's gains, Man's love of life, his weakness, and his pains; These first induce him the vile trash to try, Then lend his name, that other men may buy: This love of life, which in our nature rules, To vile imposture makes us dupes and tools; Then pain compels th' impatient soul to seize On promised hopes of instantaneous ease; And weakness too with every wish complies, Worn out and won by importunities.

Troubled with something in your bile or blood, You think your doctor does you little good; And grown impatient, you require in haste The nervous cordial, nor dislike the taste; It comforts, heals, and strengthens; nay, you think It makes you better every time you drink; "Then lend your name "you're loth, but yet confess Its powers are great, and so you acquiesce: Yet think a moment, ere your name you lend, With whose 'tis placed, and what you recommend; Who tipples brandy will some comfort feel, But will he to the med'cine set his seal?

Wait, and you'll find the cordial you admire Has added fuel to your fever's fire: Say, should a robber chance your purse to spare, Would you the honour of the man declare?

Would you a.s.sist his purpose? swell his crime?

Besides, he might not spare a second time.

Compa.s.sion sometimes sets the fatal sign, The man was poor, and humbly begg'd a line; Else how should n.o.ble names and t.i.tles back The spreading praise of some advent'rous quack?

But he the moment watches, and entreats Your honour's name,--your honour joins the cheats; You judged the med'cine harmless, and you lent What help you could, and with the best intent; But can it please you, thus to league with all Whom he can beg or bribe to swell the scrawl?

Would you these wrappers with your name adorn Which hold the poison for the yet unborn?

No cla.s.s escapes them--from the poor man's pay, The nostrum takes no trifling part away: See! those square patent bottles from the shop, Now decoration to the cupboard's top; And there a favourite h.o.a.rd you'll find within, Companions meet! the julep and the gin.

Time too with cash is wasted; 'tis the fate Of real helpers to be call'd too late; This find the sick, when (time and patience gone) Death with a tenfold terror hurries on.

Suppose the case surpa.s.ses human skill, There comes a quack to flatter weakness still; What greater evil can a flatterer do, Than from himself to take the sufferer's view?

To turn from sacred thoughts his reasoning powers, And rob a sinner of his dying hours?

Yet this they dare, and craving to the last, In hope's strong bondage hold their victim fast: For soul or body no concern have they, All their inquiry, "Can the patient pay?

"And will he swallow draughts until his dying day?"

Observe what ills to nervous females flow, When the heart flutters, and the pulse is low; If once induced these cordial sips to try, All feel the ease, and few the danger fly; For, while obtain'd, of drams they've all the force, And when denied, then drams are the resource.

Nor these the only evils--there are those Who for the troubled mind prepare repose; They write: the young are tenderly address'd, Much danger hinted, much concern express'd; They dwell on freedoms lads are p.r.o.ne to take, Which makes the doctor tremble for their sake; Still if the youthful patient will but trust In one so kind, so pitiful, and just; If he will take the tonic all the time, And hold but moderate intercourse with crime; The sage will gravely give his honest word, That strength and spirits shall be both restored; In plainer English--if you mean to sin, Fly to the drops, and instantly begin.

Who would not lend a sympathizing sigh, To hear yon infant's pity-moving cry?

That feeble sob, unlike the new-born note Which came with vigour from the op'ning throat, When air and light first rush'd on lungs and eyes, And there was life and spirit in the cries; Now an abortive, faint attempt to weep Is all we hear; sensation is asleep: The boy was healthy, and at first express'd His feelings loudly when he fail'd to rest; When cramm'd with food, and tighten'd every limb, To cry aloud was what pertain'd to him; Then the good nurse (who, had she borne a brain, Had sought the cause that made her babe complain) Has all her efforts, loving soul! applied To set the cry, and not the cause, aside; She gave her powerful sweet without remorse The sleeping cordial--she had tried its force, Repeating oft: the infant, freed from pain, Rejected food, but took the dose again, Sinking to sleep; while she her joy express'd, That her dear charge could sweetly take his rest: Soon may she spare her cordial; not a doubt Remains, but quickly he will resfc without.

This moves our grief and pity, and we sigh To think what numbers from these causes die; But what contempt and anger should we show, Did we the lives of these impostors know!

Ere for the world's I left the cares of school, One I remember who a.s.sumed the fool; A part well suited--when the idler boys Would shout around him, and he loved the noise; They called him Neddy;--Neddy had the art To play with skill his ignominious part; When he his trifles would for sale display, And act the mimic for a schoolboy's pay.

For many years he plied his humble trade, And used his tricks and talents to persuade; The fellow barely read, but chanced to look Among the fragments of a tatter'd book; Where, after many efforts made to spell One puzzling word, he found it--oxymel; A potent thing, 'twas said to cure the ills Of ailing lungs--the oxymel of squills: Squills he procured, but found the bitter strong And most unpleasant; none would take it long; But the pure acid and the sweet would make A med'cine numbers would for pleasure take.

There was a fellow near, an artful knave, Who knew the plan, and much a.s.sistance gave; He wrote the puffs, and every talent plied To make it sell: it sold, and then he died.

Now all the profit fell to Ned's control, And Pride and Avarice quarrell'd for his soul; When mighty profits by the trash were made, Pride built a palace, Avarice groan'd and paid; Pride placed the signs of grandeur all about, And Avarice barr'd his friends and children out.

Now see him Doctor! yes, the idle fool, The b.u.t.t, the robber of the lads at school; Who then knew nothing, nothing since acquired, Became a doctor, honour'd and admired; His dress, his frown, his dignity were such, Some who had known him thought his knowledge much; Nay, men of skill, of apprehension quick, Spite of their knowledge, trusted him when sick; Though he could neither reason, write, nor spell, They yet had hope his trash would make them well; And while they scorn'd his parts, they took his oxymel.

Oh! when his nerves had once received a shock, Sir Isaac Newton might have gone to Rock: Hence impositions of the grossest kind, Hence thought is feeble, understanding blind; Hence sums enormous by those cheats are made, And deaths unnumber'd by their dreadful trade.

Alas! in vain is my contempt express'd, To stronger pa.s.sions are their words address'd; To pain, to fear, to terror, their appeal, To those who, weakly reasoning, strongly feel.

What then our hopes?--perhaps there may by law Be method found these pests to curb and awe; Yet in this land of freedom law is slack With any being to commence attack; Then let us trust to science--there are those Who can their falsehoods and their frauds disclose, All their vile trash detect, and their low tricks expose; Perhaps their numbers may in time confound Their arts--as scorpions give themselves the wound; For when these curers dwell in every place, While of the cured we not a man can trace, Strong truth may then the public mind persuade, And spoil the fruits of this nefarious trade.

LETTER VIII.

Non possidentem multa vocaveris Recte beatum: rectius occupat Nomen Beati, qui Deorum Muneribus sapienter uti, Duramque callet pauperiem pati.

HORACE, Ode 9.

Non propter vitam faciunt patrimonia quidam, Sed vitio caeci propter patrimonia vivunt.

JUVENAL, Satire 12.

Non uxor salvum te vult, non filius; omnes Vicini oderunt; noti pueri atque puellae; Miraris c.u.m tu argento post omnia ponas, Si nemo praestet, quem non merearis, amorem.

HORACE, Satires.

TRADES.

No extensive manufactories in the Borough; yet considerable Fortunes made there--Ill Judgment of Parents in disposing of their Sons--The best educated not the most likely to succeed--Instance--Want of Success compensated by the lenient Power of some Avocations--The Naturalist--The Weaver an Entomologist, &c.--A Prize Flower--Story of Walter and William.

OF manufactures, trade, inventions rare, Steam-towers and looms, you'd know our Borough's share - 'Tis small: we boast not these rich subjects here, Who hazard thrice ten thousand pounds a-year; We've no huge buildings, where incessant noise Is made by springs and spindles, girls and boys; Where, 'mid such thundering sounds, the maiden's song Is "Harmony in Uproar" all day long.

Still common minds with us in common trade, Have gain'd more wealth than ever student made; And yet a merchant, when he gives his son His college-learning, thinks his duty done; A way to wealth he leaves his boy to find, Just when he's made for the discovery blind.

Jones and his wife perceived their elder boy Took to his learning, and it gave them joy; This they encouraged, and were bless'd to see Their son a fellow with a high degree; A living fell, he married, and his sire Declared 'twas all a father could require; Children then bless'd them, and when letters came, The parents proudly told each grandchild's name.

Meantime the sons at home in trade were placed, Money their object--just the father's taste; Saving he lived and long, and when he died, He gave them all his fortune to divide: "Martin," said he, "at vast expense was taught; He gain'd his wish, and has the ease he sought."

Thus the good priest (the Christian scholar!) finds "What estimate is made by vulgar minds; He sees his brothers, who had every gift Of thriving, now a.s.sisted in their thrift; While he, whom learning, habits, all prevent, Is largely mulct for each impediment.

Yet let us own that Trade has much of chance, Not all the careful by their care advance; With the same parts and prospects, one a seat Builds for himself; one finds it in the Fleet.

Then to the wealthy you will see denied Comforts and joys that with the poor abide: There are who labour through the year, and yet No more have gain'd than--not to be in debt: Who still maintain the same laborious course, Yet pleasure hails them from some favourite source, And health, amus.e.m.e.nts, children, wife, or friend, With life's dull views their consolations blend.

Nor these alone possess the lenient power Of soothing life in the desponding hour; Some favourite studies, some delightful care, The mind with trouble and distresses share; And by a coin, a flower, a verse, a boat, The stagnant spirits have been set afloat; They pleased at first, and then the habit grew, Till the fond heart no higher pleasure knew; Till, from all cares and other comforts freed, Th' important nothing took in life the lead.

With all his phlegm, it broke a Dutchman's heart, At a vast price, with one loved root to part; And toys like these fill many a British mind, Although their hearts are found of firmer kind.

Oft have I smiled the happy pride to see Of humble tradesmen, in their evening glee; When of some pleasing fancied good possess'd, Each grew alert, was busy, and was bless'd: Whether the call-bird yield the hour's delight, Or, magnified in microscope the mite; Or whether tumblers, croppers, carriers seize The gentle mind, they rule it and they please.

There is my friend the Weaver: strong desires Reign in his breast; 'tis beauty he admires: See! to the shady grove he wings his way, And feels in hope the raptures of the day - Eager he looks: and soon, to glad his eyes, From the sweet bower, by nature form'd, arise Bright troops of virgin moths and fresh-born b.u.t.terflies; Who broke that morning from their half-year's sleep, To fly o'er flowers where they were wont to creep.

Above the sovereign oak, a sovereign skims, The purple Emp'ror, strong in wing and limbs: There fair Camilla takes her flight serene, Adonis blue, and Paphia silver-queen; With every filmy fly from mead or bower, And hungry Sphinx who threads the honey'd flower; She o'er the Larkspur's bed, where sweets abound.

Views ev'ry bell, and hums th' approving sound; Poised on her busy plumes, with feeling nice She draws from every flower, nor tries a floret twice.

He fears no bailiff's wrath, no baron's blame, His is untax'd and undisputed game: Nor less the place of curious plant he knows; He both his Flora and his Fauna shows; For him is blooming in its rich array The glorious flower which bore the palm away; In vain a rival tried his utmost art, His was the prize, and joy o'erflow'd his heart.

"This, this! is beauty; cast, I pray, your eyes On this my glory! see the grace! the size!

Was ever stem so tall, so stout, so strong, Exact in breadth, in just proportion long?

These brilliant hues are all distinct and clean, No kindred tint, no blending streaks between: This is no shaded, run-off, pin-eyed thing; A king of flowers, a flower for England's king: I own my pride, and thank the favouring star Which shed such beauty on my fair Bizarre."

Thus may the poor the cheap indulgence seize, While the most wealthy pine and pray for ease; Content not always waits upon success, And more may he enjoy who profits less.

Walter and William took (their father dead) Jointly the trade to which they both were bred; When fix'd, they married, and they quickly found With due success their honest labours crown'd; Few were their losses, but although a few, Walter was vex'd and somewhat peevish grew: "You put your trust in every pleading fool,"

Said he to William, and grew strange and cool.

"Brother forbear," he answer'd; "take your due, Nor let my lack of caution injure you:"

Half friends they parted,--better so to close, Than longer wait to part entirely foes.

Walter had knowledge, prudence, jealous care; He let no idle views his bosom share; He never thought nor felt for other men - "Let one mind one, and all are minded then."

Friends he respected, and believed them just, But they were men, and he would no man trust; He tried and watch'd his people day and night, - The good it harm'd not; for the bad 'twas right: He could their humours bear, nay disrespect, But he could yield no pardon to neglect; That all about him were of him afraid "Was right," he said--"so should we be obey'd."

These merchant-maxims, much good fortune too, And ever keeping one grand point in view, To vast amount his once small portion drew.

William was kind and easy; he complied With all requests, or grieved when he denied; To please his wife he made a costly trip, To please his child he let a bargain slip; p.r.o.ne to compa.s.sion, mild with the distress'd, He bore with all who poverty profess'd, And some would he a.s.sist, nor one would he arrest.

He had some loss at sea, bad debts at land, His clerk absconded with some bills in hand, And plans so often fail'd, that he no longer plann'd.

To a small house (his brother's) he withdrew, At easy rent--the man was not a Jew; And there his losses and his cares he bore, Nor found that want of wealth could make him poor.