1830.] Affairs in General 455 



to dread, no books to puzzle him, and, if he can escape the constable and 

 the coroner, he fears not the face of man. In the next, the charlatan 

 generally starts with some actual novelty of knowledge, some real secret 

 of nature in his possession ; he has either invented or remembered some 

 of those nostrums of which old women were once the established practiti- 

 oners, and the wives of parsons and old baronets the legitimate dispensers. 

 He is not, like the physician, sent into the world licensed to kill, and trading 

 in mortality only on the stock of his bookcase. It is the possession of some 

 secret that has turned the mind of the universal genius to curing the head- 

 ache, the heartache, the nightmare, and all the natural ills that flesh is 

 heir to, while otherwise he might have benefited society as a tailor, or 

 a tinker, or a common-councilman, or a member for South war k, or a re- 

 cruiting officer, or a radical, and triply eclipsed the glories of Sir Robert 

 Wilson himself. As to St. John Long's curing the Countess of Buck- 

 ingham's back, or Mrs. Trelawney's toe, expelling the incubus that has 

 disturbed Lady Harriet Butler's dreams, curing Sir Francis Burdett of 

 his love of popularity, or cooling that sentimental looking personage, Sir 

 Alexander Johnson, of his mortal vision of personal beauty, we have 

 all the necessary faith, and believe that he did good service to the state. 

 The truth is, that if he had kept his practice to those who have nothing 

 in life to do but to kill Time, till that fortunate period when Time re- 

 venges himself, and comforts the community, the twaddlers and swad- 

 dlers, the haunters of club-rooms, the daily visitors of bazaars, the fat 

 and ancient dowagers whose love for humanity is shown in bloated 

 poodles, parrots, and familiar generations of cats ; the old retired In- 

 dians, with curry complexions, eternal complaints of the climate, and 

 querulous longings for the full pay and " allowances," the Batta and 

 the Bungalow, all of which they cursed from the bottom of their cups 

 every day of their enjoyment of them ; men whose talk is of Tippoo 

 Saib, and who settle the world in Hanover-square, Hooka in hand ; if 

 St. John Long had built his tent among this phthysical tribe, he must 

 have at once done good to society and himself, to the one by clearing 

 them of their superfluous sovereigns, and to the other by putting them 

 in his own pocket. No doubt he could cure an imaginary complaint, as 

 well as any Halford or Heberden in existence. 



But we should be sorry to see him suffered to go beyond this class, 

 and we hope that if he shall be found embrocating any human being who 

 may be worth keeping alive, he may be sent where he can cure nothing 

 but crocodiles or kangaroos. 



But Mr. Surgeon Brodie's part of the affair is the most curious of all. 

 He is called in to save the unfortunate patient, Miss Cashin, who was 

 brought by her foolish mother, to make her " better than well." He 

 sees the poor girl in agony. He declares her in a dangerous state ; that 

 nothing but the most active help can recover her. And, after all, for 

 the souls of us, we cannot see that he did any thing that might not be 

 done by St. John Long himself. He looks, shakes his professional 

 head, writes a prescription, and walks away, and the poor girl dies. 

 If the surgeon put himself to any trouble, we cannot find it in the 

 evidence. Perhaps he did not like to interfere with a brother man of 

 science ! But of Mr. Brodie we hear no more ! 



General Sharpe's and Sir Anthony Carlisle's correspondence is capital. 

 A pair of geese, plucking each other's last surviving feathers for the 

 amusement of the public. The old general evidently enjoys the jest 





