If unnatural food will injure the health of men and women only thirty days old, what is to prevent it injuring them when thirty years old. They are still the same beings—a little stronger, certainly -and therefore the injury will not be quite so sudden-but they are still the same beings, and therefore manifestly susceptible of injury from the same causes-the difference only being in degree. What I mean is this. A single glass of wine will injure an infant a month old very considerably. It will injure a man thirty years old but very slightly-the injury will be so slight as to be scarcely felt, perhaps not at all. But if he take a bottle instead of a glass of wine, then he will receive as much injury from his bottle, as an infant would receive from a single glass. And this principle, I conceive, is equally applicable to the habits of man. Unnatural habits will injure him for the very same reason that unnatural food will do so-viz., because they are unnatural. It being conceded, then-and I think I have proved that it cannot be denied with any show of reason--that unnatural habits and unnatural diet are the only sources, with a few exceptions, of disease, the only thing to be decided is the question, "what are the habits and diet natural to man?" In endeavouring to answer this question, I shall confine myself to "habits" only, since his diet must necessarily depend in a very great measure on his habits. I shall speak of diet hereafter. Now, my dear John, look through the universe-not at this or that particular part of it--but look everywhere-search minutely through all the kingdoms of nature-explore the natural world-examine curiously the artificial world-whatever you behold, whether animate or inanimate, moving or at rest, large or small, natural or artificial, you will find it has been placed in a sphere of its own, and surrounded by circumstances peculiar to itself, from which sphere and circumstances it cannot be removed without detriment to the integrity of its natural perfection. In fact, all things-the very stocks and stones— have "habits" proper to themselves, and you cannot compel them into new habits without injury to their primitive perfect condition. Every thing has its determinate position, and fixed relation to all other things. It is this which constitutes that wonderful harmony which so astonishes and delights those who love to contemplate the works of nature. If, indeed, it were not so, nothing but the most inextricable confusion must necessarily be the immediate result. Every thing then has its appropriate sphere of existence-its appropriate habits-and you cannot compel it out of its sphere without injury to the perfection of its being. I know I may be asked if the marble chiselled into the statue, be not an improvement upon the rugged mass? I answer, no-decidedly not. The marble is not improved-it has been made to contribute to the enjoyment of man, it is true-but this is improving the condition of man, not the condition of the marble. For, in the first place, the marble itself is unchanged except in figure, and it has been wrested from the security of concealment in its quarry, and exposed to injuries and accidents from which it would otherwise have been exempt-its very existence as marble has been rendered precarious: a barrel of vinegar may be spilled upon it, and so its very nature be changed, and its identity destroyed. In the next place, looking upon the whole quarry as one object, of which the statue forms only a small part, and supposing (as who shall dare to question it?) that the entire quarry was intended by nature to answer some useful purpose in the general scheme, I ask, has not the capacity of the entire quarry to fulfil its allotted purpose, been diminished by the forcible abstraction of a part of it? If you fell a mahogany tree, in order that it may be cut up into veneers for billiard tables, and side-boards, and ships' cabins, I ask you again, have you committed no injury upon that tree? Have you abstracted nothing from the beauty of that scene in which that tree made a prominent object? Have you in no way interfered with the purposes for which that tree had its being? Or will you choose rather to suppose that nature planted mahogany trees for the express purpose of veneering side-boards, and ships' cabins? If so, how is it they do not grow wherever side-boards and billiard-tables are used? Why have they been planted where side-boards and billiard-tables are, or were till lately, unknown? And did they answer no intention-did they effect no useful object before these same side-boards and billiard-tables were invented? Oh! but says man, "All things were made for my use And man for mine,' replies a pampered goose." The mischief is this. We have such a consummate opinion of our magnificent SELVES, that whatever we find capable of being made to contribute to our own enjoyments, we instantly conclude, with a pompous vanity not a whit less ridiculous than that of the frog in the fable, who wanted to puff himself up to the size of an ox, was made and sent expressly for our own behoof. With what a proud sense of superiority do we look down upon the inferior animals-yet how slight an accident is sufficient to degrade the most towering genius beneath the level of the most inferior! A stone in his path trips up his heels, or a little tumor forms upon his brain, or a few ounces of water collects between its membranes or in its ventricles, and behold! the vaunted philosopher-the lord of the creation-has suddenly become a drivelling idiot. "Toi qui dans ta folie prends arrogamment le titre du roi de la nature-toi qui mesures et la terre et les cieux-toi pour qui ta vanité s'imagine que le tout a été fait, parceque tu es intelligent, il ne faut qu'un léger accident, qu'un atome déplacé, pour te dégrader, pour te ravir cette intelligence dont tu parois si fier!" But let us admit, for an instant, that all this were so that nature planted mahogany trees on purpose to veneer Crockford's rouge et noir tables: this detracts not an iota from the truth of what I have asserted; because it must still be admitted on every hand, that the tree, as a tree, "has had foul wrong." No one can deny that a tree which has been cut down and cut up piecemeal, has suffered injury as a tree! has had the integrity of its perfection, as a tree, destroyed! My assertion, therefore, is still sound; that you cannot withdraw any object from its natural sphere, without detriment to that object. Here is a limestone-it would have remained perfect limestone probably for ever, had it been left in its natural position, the quarry. But I have withdrawn it from its natural sphere-I have broken its natural relation to surrounding objects-I have exposed it to a shower of rain-and behold! it becomes burning hot, and crumbles into dust. Here is a "winking Mary-bud"-had I left it in the field whence I abstracted it, it would have gone on winking as prettily as any Mary-bud of them all-but I have planted it in tallow, and watered it with ink, (never mind the bull,) and behold, it is dead! Poor flower! How piteously thou look'st-dropping ink instead of dew upon thy greasy bed! I would not serve another so to enlighten the darkness of fifty brother Johns! Here is a watch. I wear it in my fob-I place it beneath my pillow, or in my bed-room watch pocket, and it never fails to indicate the time. But if I attach it to a mill-sail, or conceal it in an oven, or bury it in an iceberg, what sort of time will it keep?" Go visit the Zoological Gardens-observe the extreme care which is found necessary in order to keep the animals in health. And in what does this care consist? Manifestly in approximating their present circumstances as nearly as possible to the circumstances in which nature intended them to live. Yet with all their care and extreme attention, there are still animals which they have not yet been able to preserve alive-much less in health. You cannot withdraw the leopard from his jungle and his tropical climate, and turn him adrift on the plains of Siberia with impunity to himself; nor will the cedars of Lebanon flourish on the barren hills of the frozen north. As it is with habits, so with food. All animals cannot subsist upon the same food indifferently, nor all vegetables upon the same soil. A dog will not thrive on oats, nor a horse on beef; nor a cat on green gooseberries. Nay, all animals, even of the same species, will not thrive equally well on the same food. There is a race of horses, somewhere I think in Tartary, who are fed wholly on camel's milk. If it be attempted to make them subsist on corn, they pine, sicken, and die. Seeing, then, that every other system in the universe has its appropriate sphere of existence-its appropriate habitudes-it seems only in accordance with strict analogy to suppose that man also has a sphere of existence and certain habitudes peculiar to himself. What these are will form the subject of my next letter. A multiplicity of engagements has had the effect of curtailing the "fair proportions" of this letter; but if the meal be scanty, it is satisfactory to know that it will be, on that very account, the more easily digestible. I am, my dear John, E. JOHNSON. MA REPUBLIQUE. FROM BERANGER. J'AI pris gout à la république Amis, prenons tous notre verre A jamais proscrivons l'ennui: Inconnu dans notre cité Chez nous l'ennui ne pourra naître Du luxe dont elle est blessée, La noblesse est trop abusive Plongeons ce César dans l'ivresse Trinquons à notre république |