VETERINARY SURGERY. 
171 
'' Theory is just an explanation of, or an attempt to explain, 
some circumstances which we know or think it important to un¬ 
derstand. Practice gives us dexterity in doing a thing. Theory 
or reasoning teaches us when to perform an operation, and when 
to let it alone. Does not the farrier theorize? He certainly 
does; we shall not be so unjust to him as he is himself. He 
sometimes, though, it must be confessed, not often, makes an 
attempt to explain what he sees or does. If your horse be too 
fat, he is full of humours, and he must have three doses of phy¬ 
sic. Three is the proper number, and he must neither have 
more nor less. The first is to stir up the humours, the second 
to set them afloat, and the third to carry them all off. 
To hear the pretender boast of his experience and practice, and 
his aversion to theory, one would imagine that veterinary medi¬ 
cine was merely a piece of handicraft, only to be acquired after a 
great many fruitless efforts, and that theory was something which 
rendered perfection impossible. We have but few very difficult 
operations to undertake ; none but what a skilful anatomist may 
perform as well, and very nearly as quickly and easily, at the first 
as at the fiftieth attempt. But the main thing is, not so much 
to do, as to know what should and wffiat should not be done. Any 
man may bleed a horse, but only a few know when and why lie 
should or should not be bled. The great experience upon which 
the empiric lays so much stress may all be reduced into very 
little compass. It is a plausible excuse for high pretensions 
only to those who have never analyzed it. 
The knowledge of the educated and the uneducated man 
varies widely, both in the mode in which it is acquired and in its 
extent. The latter beoins his career destitute of all information, 
and with no assistance save what he, thinks himself sure of in the 
possession of some barbarous recipes and traditional rules handed 
from age to age. He goes on trying one thing after another, and, 
at length, after sacrificing a multitude of victims, he discovers 
that one thing kills and another cures, and another does neither. 
He does not get even this little knowledge till he has done im¬ 
mense daniag-e. 
The employer, of course, must pay for all this—must not 
only lose his property, but pay the man for destroying it. This 
is the course of the farrier’s great experience, which, great as it 
is, he would find some difficulty in filling a sheet of paper by 
recordinjx. 
The educated ])ractitioner must pay for his experience or 
knowledge out of his own pocket. In the course of his studies 
he learns, or ought to learn, both the principles and practice of 
his profession, which, if they did no more, would at least prevent 
him from committing any very grievous blunder. But, besides. 
