The practise of medicine, notwithstanding its grand achievements, is still in its infancy. When I am ill, I call a doctor--the best in the vicinity. It is the custom; and, as Montaigne said, _Que sais-je?_ I am not sure of much, and when I have "_grippe_" I am quite certain of less than ever. But the materials I have lately been at work on make me wish that "my doctor," instead of scorning all new things, would look into some of them, and add them to his acquirements. He will have no need to accept "Christian Science," which has been accurately described as "a way of getting cured of things by believing something that isn't true." I must excuse "my doctor" from accepted that inverted "science." But the general subject of occult and psychic healing is worthy of his attention. "My doctor" knows much: but, if he should enlarge his knowledge just a little, my faith in him would stand the increment. One thing I shall insist on. "My doctor" must not endeavor to supersede Torquemada, Henry the Eighth, and the learned ecclesiastical doctors of the Inquisition. He must not interfere with the right of private judgment in saving the body, as they did in saving the soul. In such a case I should count them his superiors, inasmuch as the soul is really worth more than its external machinery, which, in a few years, more or less, must wear out and go to the cemetery. The Inquisition honestly held a theory that the soul could only be saved by accepting a certain creed, and ought to be saved even at the cost of breaking the body on a wheel. The Inquisition would have been right, if its creed had really been the thing supposed. But four centuries of Protestantism have established a different theory: it is that, whatever any creed may be or do, every man has the prerogative of deciding for himself the manner of thinking which shall raise him to heaven or lower him to sheol. Still, I repeat, the soul is worth more than the body, and if Protestantism applies to the greater, it should apply to the less.