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