44 On Hypochondriasis. [ Jury, 
awho, therefore, never sat down without extreme caution, lest he should 
break it all to pieces, ‘ ah Fi 
With regard to the treatment of this complaint, I am satisfied that 
medical men are wrong in endeavouring, as they generally do, toargue 
their patients into better health. This will not do; and I am satisfied, 
from my own experience, that till he has gained the confidence of his 
patients by listening to, appearing to believe, and prescribing gravely 
and formally for his most fanciful ailments, he has no chance of being of | 
any real service to him ; any expression which insinuates that the dream 
is imaginary at once destroys all confidence; whereas, an attentive 
examination of the symptoms, and fayourable anticipation of the: result, 
go far towards tranquillising the mind of the patient. In this way I 
have known the best effects from a course not of blue, but of dread 
pills, aided by exercise, amusement, and cheerful society. 
DITHYRAMBICS. 
(From the German) 
«« Nimmer das glaubt mir 
Nimmer erschienen 
Gdtter allein, &c.” Schiller’s Gedichte- 
The Gods descend from high, 
But not alone they leave their blissful seat ; 
Hand in hand they quit the sky, 
To join their votary’s still retreat ! 
When jovial Bacchus crowns the bowl, 
Then Love with laughing eyes invades my soul, 
And Pheebus makes the hallowed train complete. 
They come, they come—the heavenly band, 
In earthly bowers they take their stand, 
And bright with all their freshest rays op 
at Flash upon the poet’s gaze. 
The glorious guests—the heavenly choir, 
Say, how shall earth-born man receive ? 
Untempered in celestial fire, 
Their dazzling forms behold and live ? 
Fill me, ye Gods, and full, and high 
Your choicest draughts of immortality 
To powers like your’s what can a mortal give ? 
Fill with nectar, fill the cup, 
Pll snatch the pledge and drink it up; 
Then in the starry halls above 
For ever dwell—with bliss and Jove. 
“ Fill the cup, and fill it high ! 
“ And, Hebe, kiss the golden brim ? 
“ And let the poet taste of joy, 
“* And feel that Heaven was made for him. 
“ Bathe his eyes in holy dew, 
“ Lest Styx, detested power, should blast his view, 
“ And let the Godhead glow through every limb !” 
Hark! the sacred stream descends, a 
Around the mantling brim it bends: aaa 
T feel my sight grow clean from earthly shades, Lema 
While tranquil joy my thrilling breast pervades. 
