"Count, you have apprehended the exact condition of things. It is well enough to know all we can of the state of the organ or organs that we are treating; but suppose I spend hours examining a patient with all the appliances known to medicine, and have determined to a certainty the name of the disease with which my patient is afflicted, I am now no nearer knowing the remedy indicated in this case than I was before I made the examination. I must go back and take all the symptoms into account, both subjective and objective before I can intelligently prescribe." "I do not see, then, that it makes any difference whether you know all about the condition of the organs, or can name the disease or not," said Will. "Good boy, Will," smiled the Doctor. "You're learning fast. It is an absolute fact that some of the best shots I ever made were where neither I, nor any living man, could make what we term the diagnosis--that is, name the disease. I will give you a case in point: A good many years ago, when I was quite a young physician, there came into my office a man who desired me to go with him and see a sick babe. I found the most miserable looking three months' old child I had ever seen. Nothing could exceed the emaciation and puniness of the little creature, and the mother was carrying it about upon a pillow. For six weeks it had cried night and day, almost incessantly, except when under the influence of opiates. Five old school doctors had done what they could, and at last had declared that it could not live. They had not been able to establish the diagnosis, and so were at sea as to treatment. I sat beside it and studied the case as closely as possible for more than an hour. There was but one peculiarity or symptom upon which to base a prescription. It was this: It would lie a few moments apparently asleep, then it would give a start and begin to scream with all its puny power. This would last one or two minutes, when it would as suddenly fall asleep again. This, they assured me, was the way it had performed all through its illness, except when opiated. 'Pains come and go suddenly.' That was all I had to go on. I could not locate the pains, nor by any possible means know what the cause of them was; but I did know, thank God, what was of infinitely greater importance: I knew the drug that had that particular symptom, and that was Belladonna. Into half a tumblerful of water I dropped five or six drops of the two hundredth dilution of that drug, and put a few drops of this medicated water into the poor little thing's mouth." Here the Doctor stopped, knocked the ashes from his pipe, arose and started as if to leave the room. "Hold on, Doctor," cried Fred; "I am very much interested in that baby. How did it come out on your Belladonna solution?"