But the worst feature of the case is, that after all our efforts, we can seldom, if ever, cure them. They are always hanging upon us like an incubus; and yet like Solomon's daughters of the horseleech, are never satisfied. They take the medicine, and follow the advice, if they _like_ it; or they take such parts of it as they choose, and reject the rest. Or they take the advice and follow us to-day, but get discouraged and abandon us, at least practically, to-morrow; especially if some smart young physician happens to come along, who has more than an average share of empiricism and pretension, and more than he has of real merit. I must here confess, among other confessions, that at first I was not a little deceived by their open countenances and concealed thoughts, and unintelligent and hence unconfiding professions. It was a long time before I relinquished the hope of doing them good; or at least a portion of them. But I was at length compelled. There was nothing on which to build. If a foundation seemed to be laid one day, it would disappear the next. One fundamental difficulty lay in the way of these persons to health, as it has to thousands of others. They were all the while talking or thinking about themselves, their ailments and woes and abuses and neglects. They were particularly inclined to turn their attention to their own diseased feelings. Now it may be pretty safe to say that no individual can fully recover from chronic disease,--nervous, stomachic, or glandular--who is always turning his thoughts inward, and watching his own feelings, and perhaps relating his woes to every one he meets with. We must learn to forget ourselves, at least a part of the time, and think of others, if we are in earnest to get rid of chronic disease. I do not say, of course, that everybody would recover of disease, even if they acted right in every particular; but this I _do_ say, that if every person who is ill would act wisely, and if their physicians, in every instance, were wise enough to take the best course, the number of these standing patients would soon dwindle to a very small remnant. Instead of thousands, or tens of thousands, it would soon be reduced to hundreds. CHAPTER XXX. KILLING A PATIENT. President Lindsley, late of one of our south western colleges,--a very shrewd and observing, as well as learned and excellent individual--has been often heard to say that no half-educated young physician ever succeeded in obtaining a good run of professional business, and a fair medical reputation, without despatching prematurely to the other world, at least as many as half a dozen of his patients.