This has always been the means of opposing the progress of reason—the advancement of natural truths—and the prosecution of new discoveries; whilst, with effects no less baneful, has it perpetuated many of the stupendous errors which have been already enumerated, as well as others no less weighty, and which are reserved for future discussion.
To give general currency to an hypothetical opinion, or medicinal reputation to an inert substance, requires only the talismanic aid of a few great names; when once established upon such a basis, ingenuity, argument, and even experiment, may open their ineffectual batteries. The laconic sentiment of the Roman Satirist is ever opposed to our remonstrance—“Marcus dixit?—ita est.”
A physician cannot err, in the opinion of the public, if he implicitly obeys the dogmas of authority; in the most barbarous ages of ancient Egypt, he was punished or rewarded according to the extent of his success, but to escape the former, it was only necessary to shew that an orthodox plan of cure had been followed, such as was prescribed in the acknowledged writings of Hermes. It is an instinct in our nature to follow the track pointed out by a few leaders; we are gregarious animals, in a moral as well as a physical sense, and we are addicted to routine, because it is always easier to follow the opinions of others than to reason and judge for ourselves. “The mass of mankind,” as Dr. Paley observes, “act more from habit than reflection.” What, but such a temper could have upheld the preposterous system of Galen for more than thirteen centuries; and have enabled it to give universal laws in medicine to Europe—Africa—and part of Asia?[53] What, but authority, could have inspired a general belief, that the sooty washings of rosin[54] would act as an universal remedy? What, but a blind devotion to authority, or an insuperable attachment to established custom and routine, could have so long preserved from oblivion the absurd medicines which abound in our earlier dispensatories? for example, the “Decoctum ad Ictericos,” of the Edinburgh College, which never had any other foundation than the doctrine of signatures, in favour of the Curcuma and Chelidonium Majus;[55] and it is only within a few years, that the Theriaca Andromachi, in its ancient absurd form, has been dismissed from the British Pharmocopœia.[56] The Codex-Medicamentarius of Paris, recently edited, still cherishes this many-headed[57] monster of pharmacy, in all its pristine deformity, under the appropriate title of “Electuarium Opiatum Polupharmacum.”
It is, however, evidently indebted for this unexpected rescue from oblivion to a cause very remote from that which may be at first imagined; not from any belief in its powers or reliance upon its efficacy, but from a disinclination to oppose the torrent of popular prejudice, and to reject what has been established by authority and sanctioned by time. For the same reason, and in violation of their better judgment, the editors have retained the absurd formula of Diest for the preparation of an extract of opium; which, after directing various successive operations, concludes by ordering the decoction to be boiled incessantly for six months, supplying the waste of water at intervals! Many of the compound formulæ in this new Codex, it is frankly allowed, possess an unnecessary and unmeaning, if not an injurious complexity; and yet, such force has habit, and so paramount are the verba magistri, that the editors are satisfied in distinguishing the more important ingredients by printing them in Italics, leaving the rest to be supplied at the whim and caprice of the dispenser, and thus are the grand objects and use of a national Pharmacopœia defeated, which should above all things insure uniformity in the strength and composition of its officinal preparations.
The same devotion to authority which induces us to retain an accustomed remedy for pertinacity, will always oppose the introduction of a novel practice with asperity, unless indeed it be supported by authority of still greater weight and consideration. The history of various articles of diet and medicine will prove in a striking manner, how greatly their reputation and fate have depended upon authority. It was not until many years after Ipecacuan had been imported into Europe, that Helvetius, under the patronage of Louis XIV. succeeded in introducing it into practice: and to the eulogy of Katharine, queen of Charles II. we are indebted for the general introduction of Tea into England.[58]
That most extraordinary plant,[59] Tobacco, notwithstanding its powers of fascination, has suffered romantic vicissitudes in its fame and character; it has been successively opposed, and commended by physicians—condemned, and eulogised by priests and kings—and proscribed, and protected by governments; whilst at length this once insignificant production of a little island, or an obscure district, has succeeded in diffusing itself through every climate, and in subjecting the inhabitants of every country to its dominion. The Arab cultivates it in the burning desert—The Laplander and Esquimaux risk their lives to procure a refreshment so delicious in their wintry solitude—the Seaman, grant him but this luxury, and he will endure with cheerfulness every other privation, and defy the fury of the raging elements; and in the higher walks of civilized society, at the shrine of fashion, in the palace, and in the cottage, the fascinating influence of this singular plant commands an equal tribute of devotion and attachment. The history of the Potatoe is perhaps not less extraordinary, and is strikingly illustrative of the omnipotent influence of authority; the introduction of this valuable plant received, for more than two centuries, an unexampled opposition from vulgar prejudice, which all the philosophy of the age was unable to dissipate, until Louis the XVth wore a bunch of the flowers of the potatoe in the midst of his court, on a day of festivity; the people then for the first time obsequiously acknowledged its utility, and ventured to express their astonishment at the apathy which had so long prevailed with regard to its general cultivation; that which authority thus established, time and experience have fully ratified, and scientific research has extended the numerous resources which this plant is so wonderfully calculated to furnish; thus, its stalk, considered as a textile plant, produces in Austria a cottony flax—in Sweden, sugar is extracted from its root—by combustion its different parts yield a very considerable quantity of potass,—its apples, when ripe, ferment and yield vinegar by exposure, or spirit by distillation—its tubercles made into a pulp, are a substitute for soap in bleaching,—cooked by steam, the potatoe is the most wholesome and nutritious, and, at the same time, the most economical of all vegetable aliments.[60]—by different manipulations it furnishes two kinds of flour, a gruel, and a parenchyma, which in times of scarcity may be made into bread, or applied to increase the bulk of bread made from grain,—to the invalid it furnishes both aliment and medicine; its starch is not in the least inferior to the Indian arrow root, and Dr. Latham has lately shown that an extract may be prepared from its leaves and flowers, which possesses valuable properties as an anodyne remedy.[61]
The history of the warm bath[62] presents us with another curious instance of the vicissitudes to which the reputation of our valuable resources are so universally exposed; that which for so many ages was esteemed the greatest luxury in health,[63] and the most efficacious remedy in disease, fell into total disrepute in the reign of Augustus, for no other reason than because Antonius Musa had cured the Emperor of a dangerous malady by the use of the cold bath. The most frigid water that could be procured was, in consequence, recommended on every occasion: thus Horace, in his epistle to Vala, exclaims—
This practice, however, was doomed but to an ephemeral popularity, for although it had restored the Emperor to health, it shortly afterwards killed his nephew and son in law, Marcellus; an event which at once deprived the remedy of its credit, and the physician of his popularity.
The history of the Peruvian Bark would furnish a very curious illustration of the overbearing influence of authority in giving celebrity to a medicine, or in depriving it of that reputation to which its virtues entitle it. This heroic remedy was first brought to Spain in the year 1632, and we learn from Villerobel that it remained for seven years in that country before any trial was made of its powers, a certain ecclesiastic of Alcala being the first person in Spain to whom it was administered in the year 1639; but even at this period its use was limited, and it would have sunk into oblivion but for the supreme power of the Roman church, by whose auspices it was enabled to gain a temporary triumph over the passions and prejudices which opposed its introduction; Innocent the Tenth, at the intercession of Cardinal de Lugo, who was formerly a Spanish Jesuit, ordered that the nature and effects of it should be duly examined, and upon being reported as both innocent and salutary, it immediately rose into public notice;[64] its career, however, was suddenly stopped by its having unfortunately failed in the autumn of 1652 to cure Leopold, Archduke of Austria, of a Quartan Intermittent; this disappointment kindled the resentment of the prince’s principal physician, Chifletius, who published a violent philippic against the virtues of Peruvian Bark, which so fomented the prejudices against its use, that it had nearly fallen into total neglect and disrepute.
Thus there exists a fashion in medicine, as in the other affairs of life, regulated by the caprice and supported by the authority of a few leading practitioners, which has been frequently the occasion of dismissing from practice valuable medicines, and of substituting others less certain in their effects and more questionable in their nature. As years and fashions revolve, so have these neglected remedies, each in its turn, risen again into favour and notice, whilst old receipts, like old almanacks, are abandoned until the period may arrive, that will once more adapt them to the spirit and fashion of the times. Thus it happens that most of our “New Discoveries” in the Materia Medica have turned out to be no more than the revival and adaptation of ancient practices. In the last century, the root of the Aspidium Filix, the Male Fern, was retailed as a secret nostrum by Madame Nouffleur, a French empiric, for the cure of tape worm; the secret was purchased for a considerable sum of money by Louis XV. and the physicians then discovered that the same remedy had been administered in that complaint by Galen.[65]
The history of popular medicines for the cure of Gout, will also furnish us with ample matter for the illustration of this subject. The celebrated Duke of Portland’s Powder was no other than the Diacentaureon of Cælius Aurelianus, or the Antidotos ex duobus Centaureæ generibus of Ætius,[66] the receipt for which a friend of his Grace brought from Switzerland; into which country it had been probably introduced by the early medical writers, who had transcribed its virtues from the Greek volumes soon after their arrival into the western parts of Europe. The active ingredient of a no less celebrated remedy for the same disease, the Eau Medicinale,[67] has been discovered to be the Colchicum Autumnale or Meadow Saffron; upon investigating the properties of this medicine, it was observed that similar effects in the cure of the gout were ascribed to a certain plant, called Hermodactyllus[68] by Oribasius and Ætius, but more particularly by Alexander of Tralles,[69] a physician of Asia Minor in the fourth century; an inquiry was accordingly instituted after this unknown plant, and upon procuring a specimen of it from Constantinople, it was actually found to be a species of Colchicum.
The use of Prussic acid in the cure of Phthisis, which has been lately proposed by Dr. Majendie, and introduced into the Codex Medicamentarius of Paris, is little else than the revival of the Dutch practice in this complaint; for Linnæus informs us, in the fourth volume of his “Amænitates Academicæ,” that distilled Laurel water was frequently used in Holland for the cure of pulmonary consumption.
The celebrated fever powder of Dr. James was evidently not his original composition, but an Italian nostrum invented by a person of the name of Lisle, a receipt for the preparation of which is to be found at length in Colborne’s Complete English Dispensatory for the year 1756.
The various secret preparations of Opium, which have been extolled as the invention of modern times, may be recognized in the works of ancient authors; for instance, Wedelius in his Opiologia describes an acetic solution; and the Magisterium of Ludovicus, as noticed by Etmuller, was a preparation made by dissolving Opium in vinegar, and precipitating with Salt of Tartar;[70] Van Helmont recommends a preparation, similar to the black drop, under the title of Laudanum Cydoniatum: then again we have Langelott’s Laudanum, and Le Mort’s “Extract out of Rain water,” preparations which owe their mildness to the abstraction of the resinous element of opium.
The works of Glauber contain accounts of many discoveries that have been claimed by the chemists of our own day; he recommends the use of muriatic acid in sea scurvy, and describes an apparatus for its preparation exactly similar to that which has been extolled as the invention of Wolff; he also notices the production of Pyro-acetic Acid, under the title of “Vinegar of Wood,” so that the fact of the identity of this acid and Vinegar, so lately announced by Vauquelin as a New Discovery, was evidently known to Glauber nearly two centuries ago.
We have within the last few years heard much of the efficacy of Henbane fumigations in the tooth-ache, an application which may be easily shewn to be the revival only of a very ancient practice.[71]
But while we might thus proceed to annul many other claims for originality, we ought not to close our eyes to the fallacies to which such investigations are peculiarly exposed. Nothing is more easy than to invest the doubtful sentence of an obscure author with an interpretation best adapted for the support of a favourite theory, and instances might be adduced where the medical antiquarian[72] has by violence and distortion forced the most contradictory passages into his service; treating, in short, the oracles of Physic just as Lord Peter treated his father’s will in the Tale of a Tub,—determined to discover the word “Shoulder Knots,” he picks it out, letter by letter, and is even at last obliged to substitute C for K in the orthography.
Nor has Fashion confined her baneful interference to the selection of remedies; she has ventured even to decide upon the nature of Diseases, and to change and modify their appellations according to the whim and caprice by which she is governed. The Princess, afterwards Queen Anne, was subject to Hypochondriacal attacks, which her Physicians pronounced to be Spleen, Vapours, or Hyp, and recommended Rawleigh’s Confection, and Pearl Cordial, for its cure: this circumstance was sufficient to render both the Disease and Remedy fashionable; no other complaint was ever heard of in the precincts of the court but that of the Vapours, nor any medicine esteemed but that of Rawleigh. Some years afterwards, in consequence of Dr. Whytt’s publication on “Nervous diseases,” a lady of Fashion was pronounced to be Nervous—the term became general, and the disease fashionable; and Spleen, Vapours, and Hyp were consigned to oblivion: the reign of Nervous Diseases, however, did not long continue, for a popular work appeared on Biliary Concretions, and all the world became bilious. We have not patience to pursue the history of these follies; a transient glance at the ephemeral productions of the last twenty years would furnish a sad display of the versatility of medical opinions, and of the instability of the practice which has been founded upon them: and they will no doubt furnish the future historian with strong and forcible illustrations.
Our inability upon all occasions to appreciate the efforts of nature in the cure of disease, must always render our notions, with respect to the powers of art, liable to numerous errors and multiplied deceptions. Nothing is more natural, and at the same time more erroneous, than to attribute the cure of a disease to the last medicine that had been employed; the advocates of amulets and charms[73] have even been thus enabled to appeal to the testimony of what they call experience, in justification of their superstitions; and cases which, in truth and justice, ought to be considered most lucky escapes, have been triumphantly pronounced as skilful cures; and thus have medicines and practitioners alike acquired unmerited praise, or unjust censure. Upon Mrs. Stephens offering her remedy for the stone to Parliament,[74] a committee of professional men was nominated to ascertain its efficacy; a patient with stone was selected, and he took the remedy; his sufferings were soon relieved, and upon examining the bladder in the usual way, no stone could be felt, it was therefore agreed that the patient had been cured, and that the stone had been dissolved; some time afterwards this patient died, and on being opened, a large stone was found in a pouch, formed by a part of the bladder, and which communicated with it. When the yellow fever raged in America, the practitioners trusted exclusively to the copious use of mercury; at first, this plan was deemed so universally efficacious, that in the enthusiasm of the moment, it was triumphantly proclaimed that death never took place after the mercury had evinced its effect upon the system: all this was very true, but it furnished no proof of the efficacy of that metal, since the disease, in its aggravated form, was so rapid in its career, that it swept away its victims long before the system could be brought under mercurial influence, while in its milder shape it passed off equally well without any assistance from art.
Let us then, before we decree the honours of a cure to a favourite medicine, carefully and candidly ascertain the exact circumstances under which it was exhibited, or we shall rapidly accumulate examples of the fallacies to which our art is exposed; what has been more common than to attribute to the efficacy of a mineral water, those fortunate changes of constitution that have entirely or in great measure, arisen from salubrity of situation, hilarity of mind, exercise of body, and regularity of habits, which have incidentally accompanied its potation. Thus, the celebrated John Wesley, while he commemorates the triumph of ‘Sulphur and Supplication’ over his bodily infirmity, forgets to appreciate the resuscitating influence of four months repose from his apostolic labours; and such is the disposition of the human mind to place confidence in the operation of mysterious agents, that we find him more disposed to attribute his cure to a brown paper plaister of egg and brimstone, than to Dr. Fothergill’s salutary prescription of country air, rest, asses milk, and horse exercise.[75] The ancient physicians duly appreciated the influence of such agents; their temples, like our watering places, were the resort of those whom medicine could not cure, and we are expressly told by Plutarch that these temples, especially that of Esculapius, were erected on elevated spots, with the most congenial aspects; a circumstance which, when aided by the invigorating effects of hope, by the diversions which the patient experienced in his journey, and perhaps by the exercise to which he had been unaccustomed, certainly performed many cures. It follows then that in the recommendation of a watering place, something more than the composition of a mineral spring is to direct our choice,—the chemist will tell us, that the springs of Hampstead and Islington rival those of Tunbridge and Malvern, that the waters of Bagnigge Wells, as a chalybeate purgative, might supersede those of Cheltenham and Scarborough, and that an invalid would frequent the spring in the vicinity of the Dog and Duck, in St. George’s Fields, with as much advantage as the celebrated Spa at Leamington; but the physician is well aware that by the adoption of such advice, he would deprive his patient of those most powerful auxiliaries to which I have alluded, and above all, lose the advantages of the “Medicina Mentis.” On the other hand, the recommendation of change of air and habits will rarely inspire confidence, unless it be associated with some medicinal treatment; a truth which it is more easy and satisfactory to elucidate and enforce by examples than by precept—let the following story by Voltaire serve as an illustration.—“Ogul, a voluptuary who could be managed but with difficulty by his physician, on finding himself extremely ill from indolence and intemperance, requested advice:—‘Eat a Basilisk, stewed in rose-water,’ replied the physician. In vain did the slaves search for a Basilisk, until they met with Zadig, who, approaching Ogul, exclaimed, ‘Behold that which thou desirest;’ ‘but, my Lord,’ continued he, ‘it is not to be eaten; all its virtues must enter through thy pores, I have therefore enclosed it in a little ball, blown up, and covered with a fine skin; thou must strike this ball with all thy might, and I must strike it back again, for a considerable time, and by observing this regimen, and taking no other drink than rose-water for a few days, thou wilt see, and acknowledge the effect of my art.’ The first day Ogul was out of breath, and thought he should have died from fatigue; the second he was less fatigued, and slept better: in eight days he recovered all his strength; Zadig then said to him, ‘There is no such thing in nature as a Basilisk! but thou hast taken exercise and been temperate, and hast therefore recovered thy health!’ But the medical practitioner may perhaps receive more satisfaction from a modern illustration; if so, the following anecdote, related by Sydenham, may not be unacceptable. This great physician having long attended a gentleman of fortune with little or no advantage, frankly avowed his inability to render him any farther service, adding at the same time, that there was a physician of the name of Robinson, at Inverness, who had distinguished himself by the performance of many remarkable cures of the same complaint as that under which his patient laboured, and expressing a conviction that, if he applied to him, he would come back cured. This was too encouraging a proposal to be rejected; the gentleman received from Sydenham a statement of his case, with the necessary letter of introduction, and proceeded without delay to the place in question. On arriving at Inverness, and anxiously enquiring for the residence of Dr. Robinson, he found to his utter dismay and disappointment, that there was no physician of that name, nor ever had been in the memory of any person there. The gentleman returned, vowing eternal hostility to the peace of Sydenham; and on his arrival at home, instantly expressed his indignation at having been sent on a journey of so many hundred miles for no purpose. “Well,” replies Sydenham, “are you better in health?”—“Yes, I am now quite well, but no thanks to you,”—“No,” says Sydenham, “but you may thank Dr. Robinson for curing you. I wished to send you a journey with some object of interest in view; I knew it would be of service to you; in going you had Dr. Robinson and his wonderful cures in contemplation; and in returning, you were equally engaged in thinking of scolding me.”
It has been already stated that we are to a great degree ignorant of the Simples used by the ancient Physicians; we are often quite unable to determine what the plants are of which Dioscorides treats. It does not appear that out of the 700 plants of which his Materia Medica consists, that more than 400 are correctly ascertained; and yet no labour has been spared to clear the subject of its difficulties; Cullen even laments that so much pains should have been bestowed upon so barren an occasion.[76] The early history of botany presents us with such a chaos of nomenclature, that it must have been impossible for the herbarist and physician to have communicated their mutual lights; every one was occupied with disputes upon words and names, and every useful inquiry was suspended, from an inability to decide what plant each author intended; thus, for instance, the Herba Britannica of Dioscorides and Pliny, so celebrated for the cure of the soldiers of Julius Cæsar on the Rhine, of a disease called ‘Scelotyrbe’, and supposed to resemble our sea scurvy, remains quite unknown, notwithstanding the labours of our most intelligent commentators.[77] It seems also very doubtful whether the plant which we denominate Hemlock was the poison usually administered at the Athenian executions,[78] and which deprived Socrates and Phocion of life. Pliny informs us that the word Cicuta, amongst the ancients, was not indicative of any particular species of plant, but of vegetable poisons in general; this is a circumstance to which I am particularly anxious to fix your attention; it is by no means uncommon to find a word which is used to express general characters, subsequently become the name of a specific substance in which such characters are predominant; and we shall find that some important anomalies in nomenclature may be thus explained. The term ‘Αρσενικον,’ from which the word Arsenic is derived, was an ancient epithet, applied to those natural substances which possessed strong and acrimonious properties, and as the poisonous quality of arsenic was found to be remarkably powerful, the term was especially applied to Orpiment, the form in which this metal more usually occurred. So the term Verbena (quasi Hebena) originally denoted all those herbs that were held sacred on account of their being employed in the rites of sacrifice, as we learn from the poets;[79] but as one herb was usually adopted upon these occasions, the word Verbena came to denote that particular herb only, and it is transmitted to us to this day under the same title, viz. Verbena, or Vervain, and indeed until lately it enjoyed the medical reputation which its sacred origin conferred upon it, for it was worn suspended around the neck as an amulet. Vitriol, in the original application of the word, denoted any crystalline body with a certain degree of transparency (Vitrum); it is hardly necessary to observe that the term is now appropriated to a particular species: in the same manner, Bark, which is a general term, is applied to express one genus, and by way of eminence, it has the article, The, prefixed, as The Bark: the same observation will apply to the word Opium, which in its primitive sense signifies any juice (οπος Succus) while it now only denotes one species, viz. that of the Poppy. So again, Elaterium was used by Hippocrates, to signify various internal applications, especially purgatives of a violent and drastic nature (from the word ‘Ελαυνω,’ agito, moveo, stimulo), but by succeeding authors it was exclusively applied to denote the active matter which subsides from the juice of the wild cucumber. The word Fecula, again, originally meant to imply any substance which was derived by spontaneous subsidence from a liquid, (from fæx, the grounds or settlement of any liquor); afterwards it was applied to Starch, which is deposited in this manner by agitating the flour of wheat in water; and lastly, it has been applied to a peculiar vegetable principle, which like starch[80] is insoluble in cold, but completely soluble in boiling water, with which it forms a gelatinous solution; this indefinite meaning of the word fecula has created numerous mistakes in pharmaceutic chemistry; Elaterium, for instance, is said to be a fecula, and in the original sense of the word it is properly so called, inasmuch as it is procured from a vegetable juice by spontaneous subsidence, but in the limited and modern acceptation of the term, it conveys an erroneous idea; for instead of the active principle of the juice residing in fecula, it is a peculiar proximate principle, sui generis, to which I have ventured to bestow the name of Elatin. For the same reason, much doubt and obscurity involve the meaning of the word Extract, because it is applied generally to any substance obtained by the evaporation of a vegetable solution, and specifically to a peculiar proximate principle, possessed of certain characters, by which it is distinguished from every other elementary body—See Extracta. On the other hand, we find that many words which were originally only used to denote particular substances, have, at length, become subservient to the expression of General Characters; thus the term Alkali, in its originally sense, signified that particular residuum which was alone obtained by lixiviating the ashes of the plant named Kali, but the word is now so generalized that it denotes any body possessed of a certain number of definite properties.
Another source of botanical ambiguity and error is the circumstance of certain plants having acquired the names of others very different in their nature, but which were supposed to possess a similarity in external character; thus our Potatoe,[81] (Solanum Tuberosum) when it was first imported into England by the colonists in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, gained its appellation from its supposed resemblance to an esculent vegetable at that time in common use, under the name of the Sweet Potatoe (Convolvulus Battatas,) and which, like Eringo Root, had the reputation of being able to restore decayed vigour, thus Falstaff—
A similar instance is presented to us in the culinary vegetable well known under the name of the Jerusalem Artichoke, which derived its appellation in consequence of its flavour having been considered like that of the common artichoke; it is hardly necessary to observe that it has no botanic relation whatever to such a plant, it being an Heliotrope (Heliotropium Tuberosum), the epithet Jerusalem is a curious corruption of the Italian term Gira-Sole, that is, turn-sun, in English, or Heliotrope in Greek. This instance of verbal corruption is not solitary in medical botany; Castor Oil will suggest itself as another example; this oil, from its supposed efficacy in curing and assuaging the unnatural heat of the body, and in soothing the passions, was called by the French Agnus Castus, whence the inhabitants of St. Kitt’s in the West Indies, who were formerly blended with the French in that Island, called it Castor oil. In some cases again, a plant has received a modern name, compounded of two ancient ones; it appears from Pliny that the Assarum was not uncommonly confounded with the Baccharis; an English name was accordingly bestowed upon it, which is a curious compromise of the question, for it is a compound of both, viz. Assara-bacca.
In some instances the most alarming mistakes have occurred from substances of a very different nature having been mentioned under similar names, Arsenic for instance, has actually been inhaled,[82] together with the vapours of Frankincense, Myrrh, and those of other gums, during a paroxysm of Asthma! a practice which arose from the practitioner having confounded the Gum Juniper, or Vernix of the Arabians, which was prescribed for fumigations under the name of Sandarach, with the Σανδαρακη of Aristotle, and which was a sulpheret of Arsenic. The gum which we know at the present day under the name of Sanguis Draconis, or Dragon’s blood, was called by the ancient Greeks Κινναβαρὶ, a term which has been incorrectly transferred to a Sulphuret of Mercury, for no other reason than because this mineral has the same red colour as the gum.
The advanced state of Botanical Science will now prevent the recurrence of those doubts and difficulties which have formerly embarrassed the history of vegetable remedies, by furnishing a strictly philosophical language, independent of all theory, and founded upon natural structure, and therefore necessarily beyond the controul of opinion; while the advancement of chemical knowledge, by enabling us better to distinguish and identify the different substances we employ, will also materially assist in preventing the confusion which has formerly oppressed us. At the same time, I am unwilling to join in the commendations so liberally bestowed upon our chemical nomenclature; nay, I am disposed to consider it as a matter of regret that the names of our medicinal compounds should have any relation to their chemical composition, for in the present unsettled state of this science, such a language must necessarily convey theory instead of truth, and opinions rather than facts; in short, it places us at the mercy and disposal of every new hypothesis, which may lay our boasted fabric in ruins, and in its place raise another superstructure, equally frail in its materials and ephemeral in its duration: thus Corrosive Sublimate was a muriate of Mercury, or an oxy-muriate, until Sir H. Davy established his new theory of chlorine, and then it became a bi-chloride; at some future period, Chlorine will be found to be a compound, and then it must have another name; for the same reason the term Calomel,[83] is surely to be preferred to sub-muriate, or Chloride. Tartarized Antimony, again, has been called by our nomenclatural reformers the Tartrate of Antimony and Potass; but is it a triple compound? Gay Lussac thinks not, and considers it as a combination, in which Cream of Tartar acts the part of a simple acid.
Again,—we have only to revert to the nomenclature of the Salts in our Materia Medica to discover the actual change in meaning which the same word has undergone in a very few years. It was originally understood that the term Sub, when prefixed to the generic name of a Salt, indicated the presence of certain qualities depending upon an excess of base; but now, forsooth, the term has reference only to atomic composition, without any regard to qualities.[84] That salt alone being acknowledged as a true Sub-salt, in which there is less than one atom of acid to each atom of base; thus our “Sub-carbonate of Soda,” is no longer considered a Sub-salt, for the reason above stated; and notwithstanding the predominance of its alkaline characters, it is known to chemists by the appellation of Carbonate of soda. It is far from my intention to question the propriety of these changes, I only maintain that, amidst such chemical doubts, the Pharmaceutist is the last person who should become arbiter; let him await the issue in unobtrusive silence, and take care that the language of Pharmacy partakes of the same neutrality.
Such was the feeling of the Committee appointed by the College for the revision of the late London Pharmacopœia, and it sufficiently explains why the nomenclature of the alkaline salts has been left unchanged in the present edition of that work.
The French, in their new Codex, are absurdly extravagant in their application of chemical nomenclature; thus, the sub-carbonate of potass is called by them sub-deuto-carbonas potassii. The first part of this quadruple name indicates the comparative quantity of acid in the salt, the second that of oxygen contained in the base, the thud announces the acid, and the fourth the basis of the base!
It has been just stated, that we have derived from botanical science a philosophical language which enables us to describe the structure and habits of any plant, with a luminous brevity and an unerring perspicuity; but we are moreover indebted to botany for another service no less important to the successful investigation of the Materia Medica,—that of throwing into well defined groups, those plants which possess obvious natural affinities, and which will be found at the same time to present certain medicinal analogies; indeed, as a general rule, we may admit the axiom, “Quæ genere conveniunt, virtute conveniunt.”[85]
The Umbelliferæ which grow on dry ground are aromatic, whilst the aquatic species are among the most deadly poisons. The Cruciform plants are aromatic and acrid in their nature, containing essential oils, (hence the peculiar smell of cabbage-water, &c.) which are obtainable by distillation; and Linnæus asserts that “among all the Leguminous or Papilionaceous tribe there is no deleterious plant to be found:” this however is not exactly true. Some of the individuals in these natural orders, although very nearly related, do nevertheless possess various, and even opposite qualities; in the leguminous tribe above mentioned, which is as consistent as any one we possess, we have the Cytisus Laburnum, the seeds of which are violently emetic, and those of Lathyrus Sativus, which have been supposed at Florence to soften the bones and cause death.
In the subdivision of a genus there is often a remarkable difference in the properties of the species; there are, for instance, Solanums, Lettuces, Cucumbers, and Mushrooms, both esculent and poisonous. The Digitalis or Foxglove, and the Verbascum, or common Mullein of our fields, are included in the same Natural family, and yet the one is as active, as the other is mild in its effects; the plants of the natural family of Contortæ abound with a highly acrid milky juice, but Dr. Afzelius met with a shrub of this order at Sierra Leone, the milk of whose fruit was so sweet, as well as copious, as to be used instead of cream for tea; this is certainly what no one could have guessed from analogy. The same individual will vary from culture or other circumstances, as much as any two plants which have no botanic affinity; the Chamomile, Anthemis Nobilis, with which we are well acquainted, may have its whole disk changed by cultivation, to ligulate white florets, destitute of medicinal properties. But, what is more embarrassing, the different parts of the same plant have often very different powers; a fact which is beautifully exemplified in the Podophyllum Peltatum, or May Apple, the leaves of which are poisonous, the root powerfully cathartic, and the fruit agreeably esculent; so the leaves of the Jatropa Manihot are employed as a common esculent, while its root secretes a most virulent poison; but we need not seek further for an example than the fruit of the Lemon, the juice of which is acid, its seeds bitter, and its rind aromatic; in some instances it happens that the energy of a plant is concentrated in one particular part, and that all the rest is absolutely inert; thus, the root of the Convolvulus Scammonia, is the only portion of that plant which possesses any medicinal quality;[86] and the tree which yields the drastic Camboge, presents at the same time an esculent fruit, which is eaten by the natives with as much impunity as the orange; yet, notwithstanding all these difficulties, botany is capable of furnishing us with analogies which will lead to important conclusions with respect to the medicinal properties of different vegetables.
The system of Linnæus, although in a great degree artificial, corresponds in a surprising manner with the natural properties of plants; thus a plant whose calyx is a double valved glume, with three stamina, two pistils, and one naked seed, bears seeds of a farinaceous and nutritious quality; a flower with twelve, or more stamina, all of which are inserted in the internal side of the calyx, will furnish a wholesome fruit; whereas a plant whose flower has five stamina, one pistil, one petal, and whose fruit is of the berry kind, may at once be pronounced as poisonous.
It is also in a great degree true that the sensible qualities of plants, such as colour, taste, and smell, have an intimate relation to their properties, and may often lead by analogy to an indication of their powers; we have an example of this in the dark and gloomy aspect of the Luridæ, which is indicative of their narcotic and very dangerous qualities, as Datura, Hyoscyamus, Atropa, and Nicotiana. Colour is certainly in many cases a test of activity; the deepest coloured flowers of the Digitalis, for example, are the most active, and when the leaves of powerful plants lose their green hue, we may conclude that a corresponding deterioration has taken place with respect to their virtues; but Linnæus ascribed too much importance to such an indication, and his aphorisms are unsupported by facts; for instance, he says “Color pallidus insipidum, viridis crudum, luteus amarum, ruber acidum, albus dulce, niger ingratum, indicat.”[87] A peculiar heavy odour, which is well known, but is with difficulty defined, is a sure indication of narcotic properties. Bitterness, when not extreme, denotes a tonic quality, which will stimulate the stomach and intestines, and promote the process of digestion. When the bitterness is more intense and pungent,[88] as in Aloes, Colocynth, &c. we may infer that such substances will produce a more active effect upon the primæ viæ, and that catharsis will follow their administration.
Botanical, like human physiognomy, may frequently afford an insight into character, but it is very often a fallacious index. With regard to the indications of Smell and Taste, it may be observed that in the examination of an unknown substance we instinctively apply to these senses for information respecting its properties. It is certainly reasonable to suppose, that those bodies which produce upon the organs of taste a sensible, astringent, or pungent effect, may occasion an impression, corresponding in degree upon the stomach or intestines, which are but an extension of the same structure. But what numerous exceptions are there to such a law? nay, some of the most poisonous substances affect in a very slight degree the organs of taste, especially those that belong to the mineral kingdom, as Arsenious Acid, Oxyd of Antimony, Calomel, &c.; yet some of these are, perhaps, but apparent exceptions, depending upon the degree of solubility which they possess, in consequence of which their energies are not developed until they have traversed a considerable portion of mucous surface. Nor ought it to be forgotten, that cultivation and artificial habits may have blunted the natural susceptibility of our organs, and in some instances changed and depraved their functions: certain qualities for instance are so strongly connected with each other by the chain of association, that by presenting only one to the mind, the other links follow in succession.[89] It has been remarked, that persons in social life, are more affected by vegetable odours, while the Savage smells better the putrid and fœtid exhalations of animal bodies:[90] thus the people of Kamskatcha, did not smell the perfume of a vegetable Essence (Aqua Melissæ,) but they discovered by their olfactory sense, a rotten fish, or a stranded whale at a considerable distance.[91] There is no sense more under the dominion of imagination, or more liable to be perverted by education, than those of taste and smell; we are also liable to form unjust prejudices from the indications of colour; for particular colours, from the influence of hidden associations, are not unfrequently the exciting cause of agreeable or unpleasant impressions. I have met with a person who regards green food, if it be of an animal nature, with unconquerable aversion and disgust, indeed an idea of unwholesomeness has not unfrequently been attached to this colour, without the least foundation of truth; the bones of the Gar fish, or Sea Needle, (Esox Helone,) have been deemed unwholesome from the circumstance of their turning green on being boiled, although not a single instance can be adduced in which that fish ever occasioned any harm. I have met with persons who have been made violently sick from eating the green part of the oyster;[92] an effect which can have no other cause than that of unjust prejudice; these examples are sufficient to shew, with what caution such indications respecting the medicinal qualities of bodies are to be received.
Amongst the researches of different authors, who, animated with a sacred zeal for ancient learning, have endeavoured to establish the antiquity of chemical science, we find many conclusions deduced from an ingenious interpretation of the mythological fables[93] which are supposed to have been transmitted by the Egyptians; who, previous to the invention of letters, adopted this method of perpetuating their discoveries in natural philosophy. Thus, wherever Homer studiously describes the stolen embraces of Mars and Venus, they recognise some chemical secret, some combination of iron with copper, shadowed in the glowing ornaments of fiction. Lord Bacon[94] conceived that the union of spirit and matter was allegorised in the fable of Proserpine being seized by Pluto as she was gathering flowers; an allusion, says Dr. Darwin, which is rendered more curiously exact by the late discovery, that pure air, (oxygen) is given out by vegetables, and that in this state it is greedily absorbed by inflammable bodies. The same ingenious Poet supposes that the fable of Jupiter and Juno, by whose union the vernal showers were said to be produced, was meant to pourtray the production of water by the combination of its two elements; an opinion which, says he, is strongly supported by the fact that, in the ancient mythology, the purer air or æther, was always represented by Jupiter, and the inferior by Juno. Were the elegant author of the Botanic Garden now living, he would, no doubt, with a taste and delicacy peculiarly his own, avail himself of the singular discovery of Mr. Smithson, who has detected in the juice of the mulberry two distinct species of colouring matter;—the mingled blood of the unfortunate Pyramus and Thisbe: