University of Virginia Library

LETTER THREE.

Early rising, active exercise, country air, and
the Congress Spring have done, are doing, and will
continue to do wonders for invalids. They are all
excellent in their way; but to produce a beneficial
effect upon weak nerves and debilitated constitutions,
they must be enjoyed in moderation. Nothing is
more true than that all excess is hurtful; and nothing,
one would suppose, is more self-evident: yet
many people in delicate health go to Saratoga
under the impression, it would seem, that the more
water they drink, the faster they will get well.—

Some of the visitors are in the habit of swallowing
fifteen, twenty, thirty, and even forty glasses every
morning before breakfast! The result of such imprudence
can, of course, be easily foreseen. Instead
of getting the better of their several complaints, they
daily grow worse, and are not unfrequently compelled
to abandon the use of the waters altogether, for
want of proper caution in the first instance. The
resident physician at the Springs, as every body
knows, is an able practitioner, a man of science, and
a well-bred gentleman. We were seated one morning,
during the present season, in his study, when an
individual knocked at the door, and immediately
gained admittance. He was a large, fat, unwieldy
piece of humanity from the south, with a face like
the full moon just rising, and had the appearance of
one “who could kill an ox with his fist, and pick his
teeth with its horns.” But, alas! appearances are
deceitful; my man mountain was sadly out of repair,
and could do no such thing. A chronic affection
of his stomach embittered all his days, and his doctor
had sent him to the Springs for relief. Every
other remedy had been tried, but to little or no purpose.
The waters then were his only reliance, his
last resort. If they failed him, his case was hopeless—his
disease incurable. Accordingly, on his
arrival, he had taken to hard drink, like a brave
fellow; but finding, to his unutterable astonishment
and confusion, after a whole week's melancholy
experience, that the mineral fluids had done him an
infinite deal of mischief, and not the least discernible
good, he had now repaired to the apartment of the
resident physician, entirely out of humour with the
waters, himself, and all the world besides, and in
utter despair. No wonder, then, that he was angry,
or that he should frown indignantly on coming into
the presence of the learned professor of the healing
art. Placing his cane against the wall, in a firm
and decided manner, and tossing his hat upon the
table with a peculiar emphasis, he threw himself
into a chair with a thumping whack; then taking
a blue and white handkerchief from his pocket, he
wiped the perspiration from his face, crossed his
legs, folded his arms, compressed his lips, and eyed
the doctor from head to foot, with mingled feelings
of scorn and indignation.

“So,” said he, at length, “you're a doctor, are
you?”

“At your service, sir. May I ask who you are?”

“Oh, certainly, I am a man that has come six
hundred miles, like a blockhead, in compliance with
the advice of a quack-doctor, to drink your infernal
waters—and they've made me worse—that's
who I am. Now, what do you say to that, hey?”

“Why,” replied the doctor, with his usual good-nature,
and without allowing himself to be disturbed

in the least, by the abrupt deportment of his new
acquaintance, “why, my friend, that I am very sorry
for it. But what's the matter with you?”

“Oh, sir, I'm in pain all over.”

“Indeed; what are your symptoms?”

“I've every symptom you ever heard of.”

“That's bad.”

“Bad!” said the man with a stomach, “it's infernal—it's
diabolical—it will be the death of me!”

“In pain all over, you say?”

“Yes, all over, I tell you!”

“Any pain in your foot?”

“Well, I don't exactly know as to that,” said the
gentleman from the south, evidently drawing in his
horns.

“If you had any there, would you not be likely
to know it?” pursued the doctor, mildly.

“Well, I suppose I should.”

“Then, you have no pain in your foot?”

“Why, no.”

“Then, what do you mean by pain all over?”

The patient would have explained; but the doctor
went on with his professional cross-examination.

“And how many tumblers of water do you drink
a day?”

“Why, I began moderately. When I first came
I only took eight; but I have increased the quantity
every-day, and, this morning I got down thirty-two.”

“Thirty-two?” repeated the doctor, coolly, but
with evident surprise. “Only thirty-two? Then
permit me, my friend, to remark that you have not
taken—”

The man from the south interrupted him—he
would hear no more—he thought the doctor was going
to tell him he had not taken half enough—and
the idea made him shudder.

“Now stop, doctor; stop, I beseech you. That's
all very true, what you're going to say. I know it.
If I must die, I must; but I can't drink more than
thirty-two tumblers, any way under heavens—nor
will I attempt it, happen what may!”

It is unnecessary to give the remainder of the
dialogue. The reader has sufficient to show him
with what views some people visit the Springs, and
how little they know of the properties and effects of
the waters. This, however, is only one of a thousand
similar instances. The invalid in question—for such
he really was, notwithstanding his enormous bulk
and jolly round physiognomy—was soon convinced
of the absolute absurdity of the course he had been
pursuing; and, after listening to a little salutary advice,
which, we make no doubt, will be of service
to him during the remainder of his life, took his
leave, with the resolution to become a more temperate
man in future. We saw him again, about a
fortnight after the conversation here recorded, and

were gratified to learn, that, by following a few
simple directions, his “pain all over” had entirely
disappeared, and that he was a new creature, or, to
use his own expression, “as good as new.” He
looked the picture of perfect health, and said he felt
as well as he looked.

“Then you have changed your opinion of the
waters?”

“Entirely. They have acted upon me like a
charm. But no man should touch them, until he
has first received the advice and directions of some
competent physician.”

“True, and this simple fact it would do no harm
for all to bear in mind who visit the Springs.”