A West Highland Ox
The Property of Mr. Elliott of East Ham Essex.

THE

AMERICAN REFORMED

CATTLE DOCTOR;

CONTAINING
THE NECESSARY INFORMATION
FOR
PRESERVING THE HEALTH AND CURING THE DISEASES
OF

OXEN, COWS, SHEEP, AND SWINE,

WITH
A GREAT VARIETY OF ORIGINAL RECIPES,
AND
VALUABLE INFORMATION IN REFERENCE TO

FARM AND DAIRY MANAGEMENT;

WHEREBY
EVERY MAN CAN BE HIS OWN CATTLE DOCTOR.

THE PRINCIPLES TAUGHT IN THIS WORK ARE, THAT ALL MEDICATION
SHALL BE SUBSERVIENT TO NATURE; THAT ALL MEDICINAL AGENTS
MUST BE SANATIVE IN THEIR OPERATION, AND ADMINISTERED
WITH A VIEW OF AIDING THE VITAL POWERS, INSTEAD OF
DEPRESSING, AS HERETOFORE, WITH THE
LANCET AND POISON.

BY

G. H. DADD, M. D., VETERINARY PRACTITIONER,

AUTHOR OF "ANATOMY AND PHYSIOLOGY OF THE HORSE."

BOSTON:
PHILLIPS, SAMPSON, AND COMPANY,
110 Washington Street.
1851.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851, by
G. H. DADD, M. D.,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of Massachusetts.
STEREOTYPED AT THE
BOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY.

CONTENTS.

INTRODUCTION.

There is no period in the history of the United States when our domestic animals have ranked so high as at the present time; yet there is no subject on which there is such a lamentable want of knowledge as the proper treatment of their diseases.

Governor Briggs, in a recent letter to the author, says, "You have my thanks, and, in my opinion, are entitled to the thanks of the community, for entering upon this important work. While the subject has engaged the attention of scientific men in other countries, it has been too long neglected in our own. Cruelty and ignorance have marked our treatment to diseased animals. Ignorant himself both of the disease and the remedy, the owner has been in the habit of administering the popular remedy of every neighbor who had no better powers of knowing what should be done than himself, until the poor animal, if the disease would not have proved fatal, is left alone, until death, with a friendly hand, puts a period to his sufferings: he is, however, often destroyed by the amount or destructive character of the remedies, or else by the cruel mode of administering them. I am persuaded that the community will approve of your exertions, and find it to their interest to support and sustain your system."

The author has labored for several years to substitute a safer and a more efficient system of medication in the treatment of diseased animals, and at the same time to point out to the American people the great benefits they will derive from the diffusion of veterinary education.

That many thousands of our most valuable cattle die under the treatment, which consists of little else than blood-letting, purging, and blistering, no one will deny; and these dangerous and destructive agents are frequently administered by men who are totally unacquainted with the nature of the agents they prescribe. But a better day is dawning; veterinary information is loudly called for—demanded; and the farmers will have it; but it must be a safer and a more efficient system than that heretofore practised.

The object of the veterinary art is not only congenial with human medicine, but the very same paths that lead to a knowledge of the diseases of man lead also to a knowledge of those of brutes.

Our domestic animals deserve consideration at our hands. We have tried all manner of experiments on them for the benefit of science; and science and scientific men should do something to repay the debt, by alleviating their sufferings and improving their condition. We are told that physicians of all ages have applied themselves to the dissection of animals, and that it was by analogy that those of Greece and Rome judged of the structure of the human body. For example, the Greeks and Arabians confined themselves to the dissection of apes and other quadrupeds. Galen has given us the anatomy of the ape for that of man; and it is clear that his dissections were restricted to brutes, when he says, that "if learned physicians have been guilty of gross errors, it is because they neglected to dissect animals." We advocate the establishment of veterinary schools, and the cultivation of our reformed system of veterinary medicine, on the broad principles of humanity. These poor animals are as susceptible to pain and suffering as we are. Has not the Almighty given us dominion over them, and placed them under our protection? Have we done our duty by them? Can we render a good account of our stewardship?

In almost every department of science the spirit of inquiry is abroad, investigation is active; yet, in this department, every thing is left to chance and ignorance. Men of all professions find it for their interest to protect property. The merchant, previous to sending his vessel on a voyage to a distant port, seeks out a skilful navigator to pilot that vessel into her desired haven with safety. He protects his property. We protect our property against the ravages of fire by insurance—we defend our houses from the lightning by conducting that fluid down the sides of the building into the earth. And shall we not protect our animals? Is not property invested in live stock as valuable, in proportion, as that invested in real estate? Can we permit live stock to degenerate and die prematurely from a want of knowledge of the fundamental laws of their being? Can we look on and see their heart's blood drawn from them—their flesh setoned, burned, and blistered—simply because it was the misguided custom of our ancestors?

We appeal to the American people at large. They have great encouragement to educate young men in this important branch of study; for the beneficial results will be, that the diseases of all classes of domestic animals will be better understood, and the great losses which this country sustains will, in a few years, be materially diminished. This is not all. The value of live stock will be increased at least twenty-five per cent!

Look for a moment at the amount of capital invested in live stock; and from these statistics the reader will perceive that not only the farmers, but the whole nation, will be enriched. There are in the United States at least 6,000,000 horses and mules; these, at the rate of $50 per head, amount to $300,000,000. It is also estimated that there are 20,000,000 of neat cattle; reckon these at $25 per head, and we get the snug little sum of $500,000,000. We have also 20,000,000 sheep, worth the same number of dollars. The number of swine have been computed at 24,000,000; and these, at $3 per head, give us $72,000,000. Hence the reader will see that the capital invested in this class of live stock reaches the enormous sum of $892,000,000. Add the 25 per cent. just alluded to, and we get a clear gain of $223,000,000. This sum would be sufficient to build veterinary schools and colleges capable of affording ample accommodations to every farmer's son in the Union. Hence we entreat the farming community to ponder on these subjects. They have only to say the word, and schools for the dissemination of veterinary information shall spring up in every section of the Union.

Does the reader wish to know how the farmers can accomplish this important object? We answer, there are four millions of men engaged in agricultural pursuits. Their number is three times greater than that of those engaged in navigation, the learned professions, commerce, and manufactures. Hence they have the numerical power to control the government of these United States, and of course can plead their own cause in the halls of congress, and vote their own supplies for educational purposes.

When the author first commenced a warfare against the lancet and other destructive agents, his only hopes of success were based on the coöperation of this mighty host of husbandmen; he well knew that there were many prejudices to be overcome, and none greater than those existing among his brethren of the same profession. The farmers have just begun to see the absurdity of bleeding an animal to death, with a view of saving life; or pouring down their throats powerful and destructive agents, with a view of making one disease to cure another! If the cattle doctors, then, will not reform, they must be reformed through the giant influence of popular opinion. Already the cry is, and it emanates from some of the most influential agriculturists in the country,—"No more blood-letting!" "Use your poisons on yourselves."

To the cattle-rearing interest, at the hands of many of whom the author has received aid and encouragement, the following pages are dedicated; they are intended to furnish them with practical information, with a view of preventing disease, increasing the value of their stock, and restoring them to health when sick.

In reference to our reformed system of veterinary medication, it will be sufficient, in the present place, just to glance at the fundamental principles. In the succeeding pages these principles will be more fully explained. We contemplate the animal system as a complicated piece of mechanism, subject to the uncompromising and immutable laws of nature, as they are written upon the face of animate nature by the finger of Omnipotence.

All our intentions of cure being in accordance with nature's laws, (viz., promoting the integrity of the living powers,) we have termed our system a physiological one, though it is sometimes termed botanic, in allusion to the fact that most of our remedial agents are derived from the vegetable kingdom. We recognize a conservative or healing power in the animal economy, whose unerring indications we endeavor to follow; considering nature the physician, and the doctor her servant.

Our system proposes, under all circumstances, to restore the diseased organs to a healthy state, by coöperating with the vitality remaining in those organs, by the exhibition of sanative means, and, under all circumstances, to assist, and not oppose, nature in her curative processes. Poisonous substances, blood-letting, or processes of cure that act pathologically, cannot be used by us. The laws of animal life are physiological: they never were, nor ever will be, pathological.

The agents we use are just as we find them in the forest and the field, compounded by the Great Physician. Hence the reader will perceive that our aim is to depart from the popular debilitating and life-destroying practice, and approach as near as possible to the sanative.

G. H. D.

THE AMERICAN
REFORMED CATTLE DOCTOR.

IMPORTANCE OF SUPPLYING CATTLE WITH PURE WATER.

In order to prevent many of the diseases to which cattle are liable, it is important that they be supplied with pure water. Cattle have often been known to turn away from the filthy fluid found in some troughs, which abound in slime and decayed vegetable matter; and, indeed, the common stagnated pond water is no better than the former. Such water has, in former years, proved itself to be a serious cause of disease; and, at the present day, death is running riot among the stock of our western, and also our northern farmers, when, to our certain knowledge, the cause exists, in some cases, under their very noses. The farmers ofttimes see their best stock sicken and die without any apparent cause; and the cattle doctors are running rough-shod through the materia medica, pouring down the throats of the poor brutes salts by the pound, castor oil by the quart; aloes, lard, and a host of kindred trash, follow in rapid succession, converting the stomach into a sort of apothecary's shop; setons are inserted in the "dewlap;" the horns are bored, and sometimes sawed off; and, as a last resort, the animals are blistered and bled. They sometimes recover, in spite of the violence done to the constitution; yet they drag out a low form of vitality, living, it may be said, yet half dead, until some friendly epidemic puts a period to their sufferings.

The author's attention was first called to this subject on reading an article in an English work, the substance of which is as follows: A number of working oxen were put into a pasture, in which was a pond, considered to abound in good water. Soon after putting them there, they were attacked with scouring, upon which they were immediately removed to another field. The scouring continued. They still, however, drank at the same pond. They were shifted to another piece of very sweet pasture without arresting the disease. The farmer thought it evident that the pastures were not the cause of the disease; and, contrary to the advice of his friends, who affirmed that the spring was always noticed for the excellence of its water, fenced his pond round, so that the cattle could not drink; they were then driven to a distance and watered. The scouring gradually disappeared. The farmer now proceeded to examine the suspected pond; and, on stirring the water, he found it all alive with small creatures. He now stirred into the water a quantity of lime, and soon after an immense number of animalculæ were seen dead on the surface. In a short time, the cattle drank of this water without any injurious results.

There is no doubt but that inferior kinds of water produce derangement of the digestive organs, and subsequently loss of flesh, debility, &c. We have frequently made post mortem examinations of animals that have died from disease induced by debility, and have often found a large number of worms in the stomach and intestines, which, we firmly believe, had their origin either primarily from the water itself, or subsequently from its effects on the digestive function.

All decayed animal and vegetable matter tends to corrupt water, and render it unfit for the purposes of life. Now, if the farmer has the best spring in the world, and the water shall flow from it, as it sometimes does, through whole fields of gutter or dike, abounding in decayed filth, such water will be impregnated with agents that will more or less affect its purity.

REMARKS ON FEEDING CATTLE.

Many of the most complicated diseases of cattle originate from the food: for example, it may be given in too large quantities—more than is needed to build up and repair the waste that is constantly going on. The consequence is, the animals get into a state of plethora, which is known by heaviness, dulness, unwillingness to move; there is a disposition to sleep, and they will lie down and often go to sleep in damp places. A chill of the extremities, or collapse of the capillaries, takes place, resulting in diseases of the lungs and pleura. At other times, if driven a short distance, and made to walk fast, they are liable to disease of the brain and other organs, which frequently terminates fatally.

The food may be of such a nature as shall be very difficult of digestion, such as cornstalks, foxgrass, frosted turnips, &c. The clover and grasses may abound in woody fibre, in consequence of being cut too late; they will then require more than the usual amount of gastric fluids to insalivate them, and more time to masticate, and, finally, extract their nutrimental properties. The stomach becomes overworked, producing sympathetic diseases of the brain and nervous structures. The stomach not being able to act on fibrous matter with the same despatch as on softer materials, the former accumulates in its different compartments, distends the viscera, interferes with the motion of the diaphragm, presses on the liver, seriously interfering with the bile-secreting process. In order to prevent the grass and clover from becoming tough and fibrous, it should be mowed early, and while in flower, and should be afterwards almost constantly attended to, if the weather is favorable; the more it is scattered about, the better will it be made, and the more effectually will its fragrance and other good qualities be preserved.

The food may also be deficient in nutriment. The effects of insufficient food are too well known to need much description: debility includes them all; it invades every function of the animal economy. And as life is the sum of the powers that resist disease, if disease is only the instrument of death, it follows, of course, that whatever enfeebles life, or, in other words, produces debility, must predispose to disease.

Many cattle, during the winter, live on bad hay, which does not appear to contain any of that saccharine and mucilaginous matter which is found in good hay. When the spring comes, they are turned out to grass, and thus regain their flesh. Many, however, die in consequence of the sudden change.

It has been satisfactorily proved that fat cattle, of the best quality, may be produced by feeding them on boiled food.

Dr. Whitlaw says, "On one occasion, a number of cows were selected from a large stock, for the express purpose of making the trial: they were such as appeared to be of the best kind, and those that gave the richest milk. In order to ascertain what particular food would produce the best milk, different species of grass and clover were tried separately, and the quality and flavor of the butter were found to vary very much. But what was of the most importance, many of the grasses were found to be coated with silecia, or decomposed sand, too hard and insoluble for the stomachs of cattle. In consequence of this, the grass was cut and well steamed, and it was found to be readily digested; and the butter, that was made from the milk, much firmer, better flavored, and would keep longer without salt than any other kind. Another circumstance that attended the experiment was that, in all the various grasses and grain that were intended by our Creator as food for man or beast, the various oils that enter into their composition were so powerfully assimilated or combined with the other properties of the farinaceous plants, that the oil partook of the character of essential oil, and was not so easily evaporated as that of poisonous vegetables; and experience has proved that the same quantity of grass, steamed and given to the cattle, will produce more butter than when given in its dry state. This fact being established from numerous experiments, then there must be a great saving and superiority in this mode of feeding. The meat of such cattle is more wholesome, tender, and better flavored than when fed in the ordinary way." (For process of steaming, see Dadd's work on the Horse, p. 67.)

A mixed diet (boiled) is supposed to be the most economical for fattening cattle. "A Scotchman, who fattens 150 head of Galloway cattle, annually, finds it most profitable to feed with bruised flaxseed, boiled with meal or barley, oats or Indian corn, at the rate of one part flaxseed to three parts meal, by weight,—the cooked compound to be afterwards mixed with cut straw or hay. From four to twelve pounds of the compound are given to each beast per day." The editor of the Albany Cultivator adds, "Would it not be well for some of our farmers, who stall-feed cattle, to try this or a similar mode? We are by no means certain that the ordinary food (meaning, probably, bad hay and cornstalks) would pay the expense of cooking; but flaxseed is known to be highly nutritious, and the cooking would not only facilitate its digestion, but it would serve, by mixing, to render the other food palatable, and, by promoting the appetite and health of the animal, would be likely to hasten its thrift."

Mr. Hutton, who has long been celebrated for producing exceedingly fat cattle at a small cost, estimates that cost as follows:—

"The horses, cows, and young stock are also fed on this food, evidently with great advantage."

Mr. Workington, a successful dairyman, combining cut feed and oil-cake with different sorts of green food, found that, by giving a middle-sized cow sixteen pounds of green food and two of boiled hay, with two pounds of ground oil cake, (linseed would be preferable,) and eight pounds of cut straw, the daily expense of her keep was only 5-1/2 d., (about ten cents.) The oil-cake he found to be much more productive of milk when given with steamed food, than when employed without it. Varying their food from time to time is found to be of much more advantage to the cow; and this may probably arise from the additional relish with which the animal eats, or from the superior excitement of a new stimulus on the different secretions.

The following table represents the nutritive properties in each article of food:—

The most nutritious grasses are those which abound in sugar, starch, and gluten. Sugar is an essential element in the formation of good milk; hence the sweet-scented grasses are the most profitable to cultivate and feed to milch cows. At the same time, the farmer, if he does not, ought to know that large quantities of saccharine matter are extracted from clover and sweet grasses by the bees. Mr. White tells us that, "on a farm situated a few miles from London, the eldest son of the occupier had the management and profit of the bees given him, which induced him to increase the number of stocks beyond what had ever been kept on the farm before. It so happened that the sheep did not thrive so well as in former years, and on the farmer complaining at the cause to his man, as they had plenty of keep, the man replied, 'You will never have fat sheep so long as you suffer my young master to keep so many stocks of bees; they suck all the honey from the flowers, so that the clover is not half so nourishing, and does not produce half such good milk.'" Had this man been acquainted with agricultural and animal chemistry, he would have had a clear conception of the seeming absurdity. All our labor or efforts to improve stock or crops will be fruitless, unless guided by chemical science. We must have sugar, starch, gluten, and other materials, to perfect animal organization. The animal may be in good health, the different functions free and unobstructed, and possess the power of reproducing the species; yet, if fed on substances which lack the materials necessary to the composition of bones, blood-vessels, and nerves, sooner or later its health becomes impaired. Reader, if you own cattle, and wish to preserve their health, give them boiled food occasionally; let them have their meals at regular hours, in sufficient quantity, and no more, unless they are intended for the butcher; then, an extra allowance may be given, with a view of fattening. They should be well littered, and the barns well ventilated; finally, keep them clean, avoid undue exposure, and govern them in a spirit of kindness and mercy.

THE BARN AND FEEDING BYRE.

It is well known that the more cleanly and comfortable cattle are kept, and the better the order in which their food is presented to them, the better they will thrive, and the more profitable they will be to the owner. Dr. Gunthier remarks, that "constant confinement to the barn is opposed to the nature of oxen, and becomes the source of numberless diseases. Endeavors are made to promote the lacteal secretion in cows, and the fattening of oxen, by means of heat: for this purpose, stables [barns] are converted into real stoves, either by not making them sufficiently large, or by crowding them to excess, or by preventing the access of air from without; and all this without recollecting that the skin, thus over-excited, must necessarily fall into a state of atony in a short time. Besides, the moist heat and the emanations of the dung cannot fail to exercise a destructive influence on the lungs and entire system. To these causes if we add the absolute want of exercise and the excess of food, we shall not be surprised at the number of diseases resulting from these different practices, and at the extraordinary forms which they ofttimes assume.

"Persons propose to themselves, by feeding in the barn, to augment the mass of dung; and the beasts are left in their excrement, sometimes up to the very knees. Seldom is there any care taken to cleanse their skin, and still less attention is directed to the feet. What wonder, then, if they exhibit so many forms of disease?"

The byre recommended by Mr. Lawson consists of two apartments—an inner apartment, or byre for feeding the cattle, and an outer apartment, or barn for containing the fodder. The byre is constructed at right angles with the barn, as follows: "At the distance of about three feet and a half from the side of the building, within, there are constructed, on the ground, in a straight line, a trough, having ten partitions for feeding ten animals. The troughs are so constructed, that there is a small and gradual declivity from the first or innermost to the last or outermost one; and the partitions separating them being made with a small arch at the bottom, a bucket of water, poured in at the uppermost, runs out at the last one through a spout in the wall; and a sweep of the broom carries off the whole remains of the food, rendering all the troughs quite clean and sweet. The whole food of the cattle is thus kept perfectly clean at all times.

"In a line with the feeding troughs, and immediately over them, runs a strong beam of wood, from one end of the byre to the other; which is strengthened by two strong upright supporters to the roof, placed at equal distances from the ends of the byre; and the main beam is again subdivided by the cattle stakes and chains, so as to keep each of the ten oxen opposite to his own feeding trough and stall.

"The three and a half feet of space between the troughs and outer wall, lighted by a glazed window, is the cattle feeder's walk, who passes along it in front of the cattle, and, with a basket, deposits before each of the cattle the food into the feeding trough of each. To prevent any of the cattle from choking on small pieces of turnips, &c., as they are very apt to do, the chains at the stakes are contrived of such a length, that no ox can raise his head too high when eating; for in this way, it is observed, cattle are generally choked.

"At the distance of about six feet eight inches from the feeding troughs, and parallel to them, is a dung grove and urine gutter. Here too, like the trough, there is a gradual declivity; so that the moment the urine passes from the cattle, it runs to the lowest end of the gutter, whence it is conveyed through the outer wall, in a spout, and deposited in the urinarium outside of the building. At this place is a large enclosed space, occupied as a compost dung-court. Here all sorts of stuff are collected for increasing the manure, such as fat, earth, cleanings of roads, ditches, ponds, rotten vegetables, &c.; and the urine from the byre, being caused to run over all these collected together, which is done very easily by a couple of wooden spouts, moved backwards and forwards to the urinarium at pleasure, renders the whole mass, in a short time, a rich compost dunghill; and this is done by the urine alone, which, in general, is totally lost. The dung of the byre, again, is cleared several times each day, and deposited in the dung-court. Along the edge of the dung-court a few low sheds are constructed, in which swine are kept, and these consume the refuse of the food.

"In the side wall of the byre, and opposite to the heads of the cattle, are constructed three ventilators; these are placed at the distance of about two feet four inches from the ground, in the inside of the byre, and pass out just under the roof. The inside openings of these are about thirteen inches in length, seven in breadth, and nine in depth; and they serve two good purposes. The breath of cattle being superficially lighter than atmospheric air, the consequence is, that in some byres the cattle are kept in a constant heat and sweat, because their breath and heat have no way to escape; whereas, by means of the ventilators, the air of the barn is kept in proper circulation, which conduces as much to the health of the cattle as to the preservation of the walls and timber of the byre, by drying up the moisture produced from the breath and sweat of the cattle, which is found to injure those parts of the building."

MILKING.

The operation of milking should, if possible, always be performed by the same person, and in the most gentle manner; the violent tugging at the teats by an inexperienced hand is apt to make the animal irritable and uneasy during the operation, and unwilling to be milked. Many of the diseases of the teats and udder can be traced to violence done to the parts under the operation of milking. Young animals are often unwilling to be milked: here a little patience and kindness will perform wonders.

It is not the quantity of milk that gives value to the dairy cow; for the milk of one good cow will make more butter than that of two poor ones, each giving the same quantity of milk. Its most abundant principles are cream, caseous matter or curd, and whey. In these are also contained a saccharine matter, (sugar of milk,) muriate and phosphate of potassa, phosphate of lime, acetic acid, acetate of potassa, and a trace of acetate of iron. The three principal constituents (cream, curd, and whey) can easily be separated: thus the cream rises to the surface, and the curd and whey will separate if the milk becomes sour, or a little rennet is poured into it. When milk is intended to be made into cheese, no part of the cream should be separated. Good cheese is, consequently, rarely produced in those dairies where much butter is made; the former being robbed for the sake of the latter.

Sir J. Sinclair says, "If a few spoonfuls of milk are left in the udder of the cow at milking; if any of the implements used in the dairy are allowed to be tainted by neglect; if the dairy-house be kept dirty, or out of order; if the milk is either too hot or too cold at coagulation; if too much or too little rennet is put into the milk; if the whey is not speedily taken off; if too much or too little salt is applied; if butter is too slowly or too hastily churned; or if other minute attentions are neglected, the milk will be in a great measure lost. If these nice operations occurred once a month, or once a week, they might be easily guarded against; but as they require to be observed during every stage of the process, and almost every hour of the day, the most vigilant attention must be kept up during the whole season."

A KNOWLEDGE OF AGRICULTURAL AND ANIMAL CHEMISTRY IMPORTANT TO FARMERS.

It is a well-known fact that plants require for their germination and growth different constituents of soil, and that animals require different forms of food to build up the waste, and promote the living integrity—the vital powers.

Its order to supply the materials necessary for animal and vegetable nutrition, we require alternate changes—the former in the diet, and the latter in the soil. Experience has proved that the cultivation of a plant for several successive years on the same soil impoverishes it, or the plant degenerates. On the contrary, if a piece of land be suffered to lie uncultivated for a short time, it will yield, in spite of the loss of time, a greater quantity of grain; for, during the interval of rest, the soil regains its original equilibrium. It has been satisfactorily demonstrated that a fruit-tree cannot be made to grow and bring forth good fruit on the same spot where another of the same species has stood; at least not until a lapse of years. This is a fact worth knowing, for it applies more or less to all forms of vegetation. Another fact of experience is, that some plants thrive on the same soil only after a lapse of years, while others may be cultivated in close succession, provided the soil is kept in equilibrium by artificial means; these are subsoiling, &c. Some kinds of plants improve the sod, while others impoverish or exhaust it. Professor Liebig tells us, "turnips, cabbages, beets, oats, and rye are considered to belong to the class which impoverish the soil; while by wheat, hops, madder, hemp, and poppies, it is supposed to be entirely exhausted." Many of our farmers expend large sums of money in the purchase of manure, with a view of improving the soil; and they suppose that their crops will be abundant in proportion to the amount of manure; yet many have discovered that, in spite of the extra expense and labor, the produce of their farms decreased.

The alternation of crops seems destined to effect a great change in agriculture. A French chemist informs us that the roots of plants imbibe matter of every kind from the soil, and thus necessarily abstract a number of substances, which are not adapted to the purposes of nutrition, and that they are ultimately expelled by the excretory vessels, and return to the soil as excrement. The excrementitious portion of the food also returns to the soil. Now, as excrement cannot be assimilated by the same animal or plant that ejected it, without danger to the organs of digestion or eliminations, it follows that the more vegetable excrement the soil contains, the more unfitted must it be for plants of the same species; yet these excrementitious matters may, however, still be capable of assimilation by another kind of plant, which would absorb them from the soil, and render it again fertile for the first. In connection with this, it has been observed that several plants will flourish when growing beside each other; but it is not good policy to sow two kinds of seed together: on the other hand, some plants mutually prevent each other's development. The same happens if young cattle are suffered to graze and sleep in the barn together; the one lives at the expense of the other, which soon shows evidences of disease. The injurious effects of permitting young children to sleep with aged relatives are known to many of our readers; yet some parents see their children sicken and die without knowing the why or wherefore. From such facts as these,—which we might multiply to an indefinite extent, were it necessary,—we learn that nature's laws are immutable and uncompromising; and woe be to the man that transgresses them: they are a part of the divine law, which cannot be set at nought with impunity.

Ignorance on these important subjects has existed too long: yet we perceive in the distant horizon a ray of intellectual light, streaming through our schools and agricultural societies. The result will be, that succeeding generations will be better acquainted with nature's laws, from which shall flow untold blessings. Chemistry teaches us that animals and vegetables are composed of a vast number of different compounds, which are nearly all produced by the same elementary principles. Vegetables consist of carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen; and the same substances, with the addition of nitrogen, are the principal constituents of the animal economy. In a word, all the constituents of animal creation have actually been discovered in vegetables: this has, we presume, led to the conclusion that "all flesh is grass."

Many horticulturists complain that certain fruits and seeds have "run out," or degenerated. Has the stately oak, the elm, or the cedar degenerated? No. Each has preserved its identity, and will continue so to do, at least just as the Divine Artist intended they should, unless man, by his fancied improvements, interferes; and here, reader, permit us to ask if you ever knew a piece of nature's mechanism improved by human agency. Can we make a light better adapted to the wants of animate and inanimate creation than that which the sun, moon, and stars afford? Whenever we attempt to improve on immutable laws, as they are written on the face of creation, that moment we prevent the full and free play of these laws. Hence the practice of grafting scions of delicious fruit-trees on stock of an inferior order compromises its identity; and successive crops will show unmistakable evidences of encroachment. A son of the lamented Mr. Phinney tells us that he had some very fine sows, that he was desirous of breeding from, with a view of making "improvements." He bred in a close degree of relationship: in a short time, to use his own expression, "their sides appeared like two boards nailed together." Does the farmer wish to know how to prevent seeds and fruit "running out"? Let him study chemistry. Chemistry furnishes the information; it also teaches the husbandman the fact, that to put a plant, composed of certain essential elements, on a soil destitute of those elements,—or to graft a scion, requiring a certain amount of sap or juice, on a stock destitute of such sap or juice, expecting that they will germinate, grow to perfection, and preserve their identity,—would be just as absurd as to expect that a dry sow would nourish a sucking pig.

Agriculture being based on the equilibrium of the soils, a knowledge of chemistry is indispensable to every one who is desirous of keeping pace with the reforms of the age; for it is through the medium of that science alone that we are enabled to ascertain with certainty how this equilibrium is disturbed by the growth of vegetation. Then is it not a matter of deep interest to the farmer to know how this equilibrium is restored?

Does the farmer wish to know what kind of soil is necessary to nourish and mature a plant? Chemistry solves the problem. Does the farmer wish to know how to improve the soil? Let him refer to chemistry. Chemistry will teach the farmer how to analyze the soil; by that means he will learn which of the constituent elements of the plants and soil are constant, and which are changeable. By making an analysis of the soil at different periods, through the process of germination, growth, and maturity, we are enabled to ascertain the amount of excretory elements given out. Bergman tells us that he found, by analysis, in "100 parts of fertile soil, coarse silex 30 parts, silecia 30 parts, carbonate of lime 30 parts:" hence the fertility of the soil diminishes in proportion as one or the other of these elements predominates.

Ashes of wheat contain, among other elementary substances, 48 parts of silecia. Now, what farmer could expect to raise a good crop of wheat from a soil destitute of silecious earth, since this earth constitutes a large amount of the earthy part of wheat? There is no barrier to agricultural improvement so effectual as for farmers to continue their old customs purely because their forefathers did so. But prejudices are fast dying away before the rays of intellectual illumination; the farmers are fast seceding from the supposed infallibles of their forefathers, and will soon become "book" as well as practical husbandmen. "Book farming," assisted by practical knowledge, teaches that manures require admixture of milder materials to mitigate their force; for some of them communicate a disgusting or offensive quality to vegetables. They are charged with imparting a biting and acrimonious taste to radishes and turnips. Potatoes and grapes are known to borrow the foul taint of the ground. Millers observe a strong, disagreeable odor in the meal of wheat that grew upon land highly charged with the rotten recrements of cities. Stable dung is known to impart a disagreeable flavor to vegetables.

The same effects may be illustrated in the animal kingdom. Ducks are rendered so ill tasted from stuffing down garbage as sometimes to be offensive to the palate when cooked. The quality of pork is known by the food of the swine, and the peculiar flavor of water-fowl is rationally traced to the fish they devour. Thus a portion of the elements of manure and nutrimental matter passes into the living bodies without being entirely subdued. For example, we can alter the color of the cow's milk by mixing madder or saffron in the food; the odor may be influenced by garlic; the flavor may be altered by pine and wormwood; and lastly, the medicinal effect may be influenced.

In the cultivation of grass the farmer will find it to his advantage to cultivate none but the best kinds; the whole pasture lands will then be filled with valuable grass seeds. The number of grass seeds worth cultivating is but few, and these should be sown separately. It is bad policy to sow different kinds of grass seed together—just as bad as to sow wheat, oats, turnips, and corn promiscuously.

The reason why the farmers, as a community, will be benefited by sowing none but the best seed is, because grass seeds are distributed through neighboring pastures by the winds, and there take root. Now, if the neighboring pastures abound in inferior grasses, the fields will soon be filled with useless plants, which are very difficult to be got rid of. We refer those of our readers who desire to make themselves acquainted with animal chemistry to Professor Liebig's work on that science.

ON BREEDING.

Large sums of money have, from time to time, been expended with a view of improving stock, and many superior cattle have been introduced into this country; yet, after a few generations, the beautiful form and superior qualities of the originals are nearly lost, and the importer finds to his cost that the produce is no better than that of his neighbors. What are the causes of this deterioration? We are told—and experience confirms the fact—that "like produces like." Good qualities and perfect organization are perpetuated by a union of animals possessing those properties: of course it follows, that malformation, hereditary taints, and vices are transmitted and aggravated.

The destructive practice of breeding "in and in," or, in other words, selecting animals of the same family, is one of the first causes of degeneracy; and this destructive practice has proved equally unfortunate in the human family. Physical defects are the result of the intermarriage of near relatives. In Spain, the deformed and feeble state of the aristocracy arises from their alliances being confined to the same class of relatives through successive generations. But we need not go to Spain to verify such facts. Go into our churchyards, and read on the tombstones the names of thousands of infants,—gems withered in the bud,—young men, and maidens, cut down and consigned to a premature grave; and then prove, if you can, that early marriages and near alliances are not the chief causes of this great mortality.

Mr. Colman, in an article on live stock, says, "There seems to be a limit beyond which no person can go. The particular breed may be altered and improved, but an entirely new breed cannot be produced; and in every departure from the original there is a constant tendency to revert back to it. The stock of the improved Durham cattle seems to establish this fact. If we have the true history of it, it is a cross of a Teeswater bull with a Galloway cow. The Teeswater or Yorkshire stock are a large, coarse-boned animal: the object of this cross was to get a smaller bone and greater compactness. By attempting to carry this improvement, if I may so call it, still further by breeding continually in and in, that is, with members of the same family, in a close degree of affinity, the power of continuing the species seems to become extinct; at least it approximates to such a result. On the other hand, by wholly neglecting all selection, and without an occasional good cross with an animal of some foreign blood, there appears a tendency to revert back to the large-boned, long-legged animal, from which the improvement began.

"There are, however, several instances of superior animals bred in the closest affinity; whilst, in a very great majority of cases, the failure has been excessive."

Overtaxing the generative powers of the male is another cause of deterioration. The reader is probably aware of the woful results attending too frequent sexual intercourse. If he has not given this subject the attention it demands, then let him read the records of our lunatic asylums: they tell a sad tale of woe, and prove to demonstration that, before the blast of this dire tornado, sexual excess, lofty minds, the suns and stars of our intellectual world, are suddenly blotted out. It spares neither age, sex, profession, nor kind. Dr. White relates a case which substantiates the truth of our position. "The Prince of Wales, who afterwards became George the Fourth, had a stud horse of very superior qualities. His highness caused a few of his own mares to be bred to this stallion, and the produce proved every way worthy of the sire. This horse was kept at Windsor for public covering without charge, except the customary groom's fee of half a guinea. The groom, anxious to pocket as many half guineas as possible, persuaded all he could to avail themselves of the prince's liberality. The result was, that, being kept in a stable without sufficient exercise, and covering nearly one hundred mares yearly, the stock, although tolerably promising in their early age, shot up into lank, weakly, awkward, good-for-nothing creatures, to the entire ruin of the horse's character and sire. Some gentlemen, aware of the cause, took pains to explain it, proving the correctness of their statement by reference to the first of the horses got, which were among the best horses in England."

There is no doubt but that brutes are often endowed with extraordinary powers for sexual indulgence; yet, when kept for the purpose alluded to, without sufficient muscular exercise,—breathing impure air, and living on the fat of the farm,—his services in constant requisition,—then it is no wonder, that if, under these circumstances, the offspring are weak and inefficient.

Professor Youatt recommends that "valuable qualities once established, which it is desirable to keep up, should thereafter be preserved by occasional crosses with the best animals to be had of the same breed, but of a different family. This is the great secret which has maintained the blood horse in his great superiority."

The live stock of our farmers frequently degenerates in a very short space of time. The why and the wherefore is not generally understood; neither will it be, until animal physiology shall be better understood than it is at the present time. Men are daily violating the laws of animal organization in more ways than one, in the breeding, rearing, and general management of all kinds of domestic animals,—until the different breeds are so amalgamated, that, in many cases, it is a difficult task to ascertain, with any degree of certainty, their pedigree. If a farmer has in his possession a bull of a favorite breed, the neighboring stock-raisers avail themselves of his bullship's services by sending as many cows to him as possible: the consequence is, that the offspring got in the latter part of the season are good for nothing. The cow also, at the time of impregnation, may be in a state of debility, owing to some derangement in the organs of digestion; if so, impregnation is very likely to make the matter worse; for great sympathy exists between the organs of generation and those of digestion, and females of every order suffer more or less from a disturbed state of the stomach during the early months of pregnancy. In fact, during the whole stage they should be considered far from a state of health. Add to this the fact that impregnated cows are milked, (not generally, yet we know of such cases:) the fœtus is thus deprived of its due share of nourishment, and the extra nutrimental agents, necessary for its growth and development, must be furnished at the expense of the mother. She, in her turn, soon shows unmistakable evidences of this "robbing Peter to pay Paul" system, by her sunken eye, loss of flesh, &c., and often, before she has seen her sixth month of pregnancy, liberates the fœtus by a premature birth—in short, pays the penalty of disobedience to the immutable law of nature. On the other hand, should such a cow go safely through the whole period of gestation and parturition, the offspring will not be worth keeping, and the milk of the former will lack, in some measure, those constituents which go to make good milk, and without which it is almost worthless for making butter or cheese. A cow should never be bred from unless she shall be in good health and flesh. If she cannot be fatted, then she may be spayed. (See article Spaying Cows.) By that means, her health will improve, and she will be made a permanent milker. Degeneracy may arise from physical defects on the part of the bull. It is well known that infirmities, faults, and defects are communicated by the sexual congress to the parties as well as their offspring. Hence a bull should never be bred to unless he possesses the requisite qualifications of soundness, form, size, and color. There are a great number of good-for-nothing bulls about the country, whose services can be had for a trifle; under these circumstances, and when they can be procured without the trouble of sending the cow even a short distance, it will be difficult to effect a change.

If the farming community desire to put a stop to this growing evil, let them instruct their representatives to advocate the enactment of a law prohibiting the breeding to bulls or stallions unless they shall possess the necessary qualifications.

A First Prize Short Horned Bull

THE BULL.

Mr. Lawson gives us the following description of a good bull. It would be difficult to find one corresponding in all its details to this description; yet it will give the reader an idea of what a good bull ought to be. "The head of the bull should be rather long, and muzzle fine; his eyes lively and prominent; his ears long and thin; his horns white; his neck rising with a gentle curve from the shoulders, and small and fine where it joins the head; his shoulders moderately broad at the top, joining full to his chine and chest backwards, and to the neck-vein forwards; his bosom open; breast broad, and projecting well before his legs; his arms or fore thighs muscular, and tapering to his knees; his legs straight, clean, and very fine boned; his chine and chest so full as to leave no hollows behind the shoulders; the plates strong, to keep his belly from sinking below the level of his breast; his back or loin broad, straight, and flat; his ribs rising one above another, in such a manner that the last rib shall be rather the highest, leaving only a small space to the hips, the whole forming a round or barrel-like carcass; his hips should be wide placed, round or globular, and a little higher than the back; the quarters (from the hips to the rump) long, and, instead of being square, as recommended by some, they should taper gradually from the hips backwards; rump close to the tail; the tail broad, well haired, and set on so as to be in the same horizontal line with his back."

VALUE OF DIFFERENT BREEDS OF COWS.

Mr. Culley, in speaking of the relative value of long and short horns, says, "The long-horns excel in the thickness and firm texture of the hide, in the length and closeness of the hair, in their beef being finer grained and more mixed and marbled than that of the short-horns, in weighing more in proportion to their size, and in giving richer milk; but they are inferior to the short-horns in giving a less quantity of milk, in weighing less upon the whole, in affording less fat when killed, in being generally slower feeders, in being coarser made, and more leathery or bullish in the under side of the neck. In a few words, the long-horns excel in hide, hair, and quality of beef; the short-horns in the quantity of beef, fat, and milk. Each breed has long had, and probably may have, their particular advocates; but if I may hazard a conjecture, is it not probable that both kinds may have their particular advantages in different situations? Why not the thick, firm hides, and long, closer set hair, of the one kind be a protection and security against tempestuous winds and heavy fogs and rains, while a regular season and mild climate are more suitable to the constitutions of the short-horns? But it has hitherto been the misfortune of the short-horned breeders to seek the largest and biggest boned ones for the best, without considering that those are the best that bring the most money for a given quantity of food. However, the ideas of our short-horned breeders being now more enlarged, and their minds more open to conviction, we may hope in a few years to see great improvements made in that breed of cattle.

"I would recommend to breeders of cattle to find out which breed is the most profitable, and which are best adapted to the different situations, and endeavor to improve that breed to the utmost, rather than try to unite the particular qualities of two or more distinct breeds by crossing, which is a precarious practice, for we generally find the produce inherit the coarseness of both breeds, and rarely attain the good properties which the pure distinct breeds individually possess.

"Short-horned cows yield much milk; the long-horned give less, but the cream is more abundant and richer. The same quantity of milk also yields a greater proportion of cheese. The Polled or Galloway cows are excellent milkers, and their milk is rich. The Suffolk duns are much esteemed for the abundance of their milk, and the excellence of the butter it produces. Ayrshire or Kyloe cows are much esteemed in Scotland; and in England the improved breed of the long-horned cattle is highly prized in many dairy districts. Every judicious selector, however, will always, in making his choice, keep in view not only the different sons and individuals of the animal, but also the nature of the farm on which the cows are to be put, and the sort of manufactured produce he is anxious to bring to market. The best age for a milch cow is betwixt four, or five, and ten. When old, she will give more milk; but it is of an inferior quality, and she is less easily supported."

METHOD OF PREPARING RENNET, AS PRACTISED IN ENGLAND.

Take the calf's maw, or stomach, and having taken out the curd contained therein, wash it clean, and salt it thoroughly, inside and out, leaving a white coat of salt over every part of it. Put it into an earthen jar, or other vessel, and let it stand three or four days; in which time it will have formed the salt and its own natural juice into a pickle. Take it out of the jar, and hang it up for two or three days, to let the pickle drain from it; resalt it; place it again in the jar; cover it tight down with a paper, pierced with a large pin; and let it remain thus till it is wanted for use. In this state it ought to be kept twelve months; it may, however, in case of necessity, be used a few days after it has received the second salting; but it will not be as strong as if kept a longer time. To prepare the rennet for use, take a handful of the leaves of the sweet-brier, the same quantity of rose and bramble leaves; boil them in a gallon of water, with three or four handfuls of salt, about a quarter of an hour; strain off the liquor, and, having let it stand until perfectly cool, put it into an earthen vessel, and add to it the maw prepared as above. To this add a sound, good lemon, stuck round with about a quarter of an ounce of cloves, which give the rennet an agreeable flavor. The longer the bag remains in the liquor, the stronger, of course, will be the rennet. The amount, therefore, requisite to turn a given quantity of milk, can only be ascertained by daily use and observation. A sort of average may be something less than a half pint of good rennet to fifty gallons of milk. In Gloucestershire, they employ one third of a pint to coagulate the above quantity.

MAKING CHEESE.

IT is generally admitted that many dairy farmers pay more attention to the quantity than the quality of this article of food; now, as cheese is "a surly elf, digesting every thing but itself," (this of course applies to some of the white oak specimens, which, like the Jew's razors, were made to sell,) it is surely a matter of great importance that they should attend more to the quality, especially if it be intended for exportation. There is no doubt but the home consumption of good cheese would soon materially increase, for many thousands of our citizens refuse to eat of the miserable stuff "misnamed cheese."

The English have long been celebrated for the superior quality of their cheese; and we have thought that we cannot do a better service to our dairy farmers than to give, in as few words as possible, the various methods of making the different kinds of cheese, for which we are indebted to Mr. Lawson's work on cattle.

"It is to be observed, in general, that cheese varies in quality, according as it has been made of milk of one meal, or two meals, or of skimmed milk; and that the season of the year, the method of milking, the preparation of the rennet, the mode of coagulation, the breaking and gathering of the curd, the management of the cheese in the press, the method of salting, and the management of the cheese-room, are all objects of the highest importance to the cheese manufacturer; and yet, notwithstanding this, the practice, in most of these respects, is still regulated by little else than mere chance or custom, without the direction of enlightened observation or the aid of well-conducted experiment.

GLOUCESTER CHEESE.

"In Gloucestershire, where the manufacture of cheese is perhaps as well understood as in any part of the world, they make the best cheeses of a single meal of milk; and, when this is done in the best manner, the entire meal of milk is used, without any addition from a former meal. But it not unfrequently happens that a portion of the milk is reserved and set by to be skimmed for butter; and at the next milking this proportion is added to the new milk, from which an equal quantity has been taken for a similar purpose. One meal cheeses are principally made here, and go by the name of best making, or simply one meal cheeses. The cheeses are distinguished into thin and thick, or single and double; the last having usually four to the hundred weight, (112 pounds,) the other about twice that number. The best double Gloucester is always made from new milk.

"The true single Gloucester cheese is thought by many to be the best, in point of flavor, of any we have. The season for making their thin or single cheese is mostly from April to November; but the principal season for the thick or double is confined to May, June, and the early part of July. This is a busy season in the dairy; for at an earlier period the milk is not rich enough, and if the cheese be made later in the summer, they do not acquire sufficient age to be marketable next spring. Very many cheeses, however, can be made even in winter from cows that are well fed. The cows are milked in summer at a very early hour; generally by four o'clock in the morning, before the day becomes hot, and the animals restless and unruly.

CHESTER CHEESE.

"After the milk has been strained, to free it from any impurities, it is conveyed into a cooler placed upon feet like a table, having a spigot at the bottom for drawing off the milk. This, when sufficiently cooled, is drawn off into pans, and the cooler again filled. In so cases, the cooler is large enough to hold a whole meal's milk at once. The rapid cooling thus produced (which, however, is necessary only in hot weather, and during the summer season) is found to be of essential utility in retarding the process of fermentation, and thereby preventing putridity from commencing in the milk before two meals of it can be put together. Some have thought that the cheese might be improved by cooling the evening's milk still more rapidly, and that this might be effected by repeatedly drawing it off from and returning it into the cistern. When the milk is too cold, a portion of it is warmed over the fire and mixed with the rest.

"The coloring matter, (annatto,) in Cheshire, is added by tying up as much of the substance as is thought sufficient in a linen rag, and putting it into a half pint of warm water, to stand over night. The whole of this infusion is, in the morning, mixed with the milk in the cheese-tub, and the rag dipped in the milk and rubbed on the palm of the hand as long as any of the coloring matter can be made to come away.

"The next operation is salting; and this is done, either by laying the cheese, immediately after it comes out of the press, on a clean, fine cloth in the vat, immersed in brine, to remain for several days, turning it once every day at least; or by covering the upper surface of the cheese with salt every time it is turned, and repeating the application for three successive days, taking care to change the cloth twice during the time. In each of these methods, the cheese, after being so treated, is taken out of the vat, placed upon the salting bench, and the whole surface of it carefully rubbed with salt daily for eight or ten days. If it be large, a wooden hoop or a fillet of cloth is employed to prevent renting. The cheese is then washed in warm water or whey, dried with a cloth, and laid on what is called the drying bench. It remains there for about a week, and is thence removed to the keeping house. In Cheshire, it is found that the greatest quantity of salt used for a cheese of sixty pounds is about three pounds; but the proportion of this retained in the cheese has not been determined.

"When, after salting and drying, the cheeses are deposited in the cheese-room or store-house, they are smeared all over with fresh butter, and placed on shelves fitted to the purpose, or on the floor. During the first ten or fifteen days, smart rubbing is daily employed, and the smearing with butter repeated. As long, however, as they are kept, they should be every day turned; and the usual practice is to rub them three times a week in summer and twice in winter.

STILTON CHEESE.

"Stilton cheese is made by putting the night's cream into the morning's new milk along with the rennet. When the curd has come, it is not broken, as in making other cheese, but taken out whole, and put into a sieve to drain gradually. While this is going on, it is gently pressed, and, having become firm and dry, is put into a vat, and kept on a dry board. These cheeses are exceedingly rich and valuable. They are called the Parmesan of England, and weigh from ten to twelve pounds. The manufacture of them is confined almost exclusively to Leicestershire, though not entirely so.

DUNLOP CHEESE.

"In Scotland, a species of cheese is produced, which has long been known and celebrated under the name of Dunlop cheese. The best cheese is made by such as have a dozen or more cows, and consequently can make a cheese every day; one half of the milk being immediately from the cow, and the other of twelve hours' standing. Their method of making it is simple. They endeavor to have the milk as near as may be to the heat of new milk, when they apply the rennet, and whenever coagulation has taken place, (which is generally in ten or twelve minutes,) they stir the curd gently, and the whey, beginning to separate, is taken off as it gathers, till the curd be pretty solid. When this happens, they put it into a drainer with holes, and apply a weight. As soon as this has had its proper effect, the curd is put back again into the cheese-tub, and, by means of a sort of knife with three or four blades, is cut into very small pieces, salted, and carefully mixed by the hand. It is now placed in the vat, and put under the press. This is commonly a large stone of a cubical shape, from half a ton to a ton in weight, fixed in a frame of wood, and raised and lowered by an iron screw. The cheese is frequently taken out, and the cloth changed; and as soon as it has been ascertained that no more whey remains, it is removed, and placed on a dry board or pine floor. It is turned and rubbed frequently with a hard, coarse cloth, to prevent moulding or breeding mites. No coloring matter is used in making Dunlop cheese, except by such as wish to imitate the English cheese.

GREEN CHEESE.

"Green cheese is made by steeping ever night, in a proper quantity of milk, two parts of sage with one of marigold leaves, and a little parsley, after being bruised, and then mixing the curd of the milk, thus greened, as it is called, with the curd of the white milk. These may be mixed irregularly or fancifully, according to the pleasure of the operator. The management in other respects is the same as for common cheese."

Mr. Colman says, "In conversation with one of the largest wholesale cheesemongers and provision-dealers in the country, he suggested that there were two great faults of the American cheese, which somewhat prejudiced its sale in the English market. He is a person in whose character and experience entire confidence may be placed.

"The first fault was the softness of the rind. It often cracked, and the cheese became spoiled from that circumstance.

"The second fault is the acridness, or peculiar, smart, bitter taste often found in American cheese. He thought this might be due, in part, to some improper preparation or use of the rennet, and, in part, to some kind of feed which the cows found in the pastures.

"The rind may be made of any desired hardness, if the cheese be taken from the press, and allowed to remain in brine, so strong that it will take up no more salt, for four or five hours. There must be great care, however, not to keep it too long in the brine.

"The calf from which the rennet is to be taken should not be allowed to suck on the day on which it is killed. The office of the rennet, or stomach of the calf, is, to supply the gastric juice by which the curdling of the milk is effected. If it has recently performed that office, it will have become, to a degree, exhausted of its strength. Too much rennet should not be applied. Dairymaids, in general, are anxious to have the curd 'come soon,' and so apply an excessive quantity, to which he thinks much of the acrid taste of the cheese is owing. Only so much should be used as will produce the effect in about fifty minutes. For the reason above given, the rennet should not, he says, be washed in water when taken from the calf, as it exhausts its strength, but be simply salted.

"When any cream is taken from the milk to be made into butter, the buttermilk should be returned to the milk of which the cheese is to be made. The greatest care should be taken in separating the whey from the cheese. When the pressing or handling is too severe, the whey that runs from the curd will appear of a white color. This is owing to its carrying off with it the small creamy particles of the cheese, which are, in fact, the richest part of it. After the curd is cut or broken, therefore, and not squeezed with the hand, and all the whey is allowed to separate from it that can be easily removed, the curd should be taken out of the tub with the greatest care, and laid upon a coarse cloth attached to a frame like a sieve, and there suffered to drain until it becomes quite dry and mealy, before being put into the press. The object of pressing should be, not to express the whey, but to consolidate the cheese. There should be no aim to make whey butter. All the butter extracted from the whey is so much of the proper richness taken from the cheese."

MAKING BUTTER.

It is a matter of impossibility to make a superior article of butter from the milk of a cow in a diseased state; for if either of the organs of secretion, absorption, digestion, or circulation, be deranged, we cannot expect good blood. The milk being a secretion from the blood, it follows that, in order to have good milk, we must have pure blood. A great deal depends also on the food; certain pastures are more favorable to the production of good milk than others. We know that many vegetables, such as turnips, garlic, dandelions, will impart a disagreeable flavor to the milk. On the other hand, sweet-scented grasses and boiled food improve the quality, and, generally, increase the quantity of the milk, provided, however, the digestive organs are in a physiological state.

The processes of making butter are various in different parts of the United States. We are not prepared, from experience, to discuss the relative merits of the different operations of churning; suffice it to say, that the important improvements that have recently been made in the construction of churns promise to be of great advantage to the dairyman.

The method of churning in England is considered to be favorable to the production of good butter. From twelve to twenty hours in summer, and about twice as long in winter, are permitted to elapse before the milk is skimmed, after it has been put into the milk-pans. If, on applying the tip of the finger to the surface, nothing adheres to it, the cream may be properly taken off; and during the hot summer months, this should always be done in the morning, before the dairy becomes warm. The cream should then be deposited in a deep pan, placed in the coolest part of the dairy, or in a cool cellar, where free air is admitted. In hot weather, churning should be performed, if possible, every other day; but if this is not convenient, the cream should be daily shifted into a clean pan, and the churning should never be less frequent than twice a week. This work should be performed in the coolest time of the day, and in the coolest part of the house. Cold water should be applied to the churn, first by filling it with this some time before the cream is poured in, or it may be kept cool by the application of a wet cloth. Such means are generally necessary, to prevent the too rapid acidification of the cream, and formation of the butter. We are indebted for much of the poor butter, (cart-grease would be a more suitable name,) in which our large cities abound, to want of due care in churning: it should never be done too hastily, but—like "Billy Gray's" drumming—well done. In winter the churn may be previously heated by first filling it with hot water, the operation to be performed in a moderately warm room.

In churning, a moderate and uninterrupted motion should be kept up during the whole process; for if the motion be too rapid, heat is generated, which will give the butter a rank flavor; and if the motion is relaxed, the butter will go back, as it is termed.

WASHING BUTTER.

"When the operation is properly conducted, the butter, after some time, suddenly forms, and is to be carefully collected and separated from the buttermilk. But in doing this, it is not sufficient merely to pour off the milk, or withdraw the butter from it; because a certain portion of the caseous and serous parts of the milk still remains in the interstices of the butter, and must be detached from it by washing, if we would obtain it pure. In washing butter, some think it sufficient to press the mass gently between the hands; others press it strongly and frequently, repeating the washings till the water comes off quite clear. The first method is preferable when the butter is made daily, for immediate use, from new milk or cream; because the portions of such adhering to it, or mixed with it, contribute to produce the sweet agreeable flavor which distinguishes new cream. But when our object is to prepare butter for keeping, we cannot repeat the washings too often, since the presence of a small quantity of milk in it will, in less than twelve hours after churning, cause it sensibly to lose its good qualities.

"The process of washing butter is usually nothing more than throwing it into an earthen vessel of clear cool water, working it to and fro with the hands, and changing the water until it comes off clear. A much preferable method, however, and that which we believe is now always practised by those who best understand the business, is to use two broad pieces of wood, instead of the hands. This is to be preferred, not only on account of its apparently greater cleanliness, but also because it is of decided advantage to the quality of the butter. To this the warmth of the hand gives always, more or less, a greasy appearance. The influence of the heat of the hand is greater than might at first have been suspected. It has always been remarked, that a person who has naturally a warm hand never makes good butter."

COLORING BUTTER.

As butter made in winter is generally pale or white, and its richness, at the same time, inferior to that which is made during the summer months, the idea of excellence has been associated with the yellow color. Means are therefore employed, by those who prepare and sell butter, to impart to it the yellow color where that is naturally wanting. The substances mostly employed in England and Scotland are the root of the carrot and the flowers of the marigold. The juice of either of these is expressed and passed through a linen cloth. A small quantity of it (and the proportion of it necessary is soon learned by experience) is diluted with a little cream, and this mixture is added to the rest of the cream when it enters the churn. So little of this coloring matter unites with the butter, that it never communicates to it any peculiar taste.

DESCRIPTION OF THE ORGANS OF DIGESTION IN CATTLE.

Œsophagus, or Gullet.—This tube extends from the mouth to the stomach, and is the medium through which the food is conveyed to the latter organ. This tube is furnished with spiral muscles, which run in different directions. By this arrangement, the food ascends or descends at the will of the animal. The inner coat of the gullet is a continuation of the same membrane that lines the mouth, nostrils, &c. The gullet passes down the neck, inclining to the left side of the windpipe, until it reaches the diaphragm, through a perforation of which it passes, and finally terminates in the stomach. The food, having undergone a slight mastication by the action of the teeth, is formed into a pellet, and, being both moistened and lubricated with saliva, passes down the gullet, by the action of the muscles, and falls immediately into the paunch, or rumen; here the food undergoes a process of maceration, or trituration. The food, after remaining in this portion of the stomach a short time, and being submitted to the united action of heat and moisture, passes into another division of the stomach, called reticulum, the inner surface of which abounds in cells: at the bottom, and indeed in all parts of them there are glands, which secrete from the blood the gastric fluids. This stomach possesses a property similar to that of the bladder, viz., that of contracting upon its contents. In the act of contracting, it squeezes out a portion of the partly masticated food and fluids; the former comes within the spiral muscles, is embraced by them, and thus ascends the gullet, and passes into the mouth for remastication. The soft and fluid parts continue on to the many plus and true digestive stomach. The second stomach again receives a portion from the paunch, and the process is continued.

Rumination and digestion, however, are mechanico-vital actions, and can only be properly performed when the animal is in a healthy state.

Now, a portion of the food, we just observed, had ascended the gullet by the aid of spiral muscles, and entered the mouth; it is again submitted to the action of the grinders, and a fresh supply of saliva; it is at length swallowed a second time, and goes through the same routine as that just described, passing into the manyplus or manifolds, as it is termed.

The manyplus abounds internally in a number of leaves, called laminæ. Some of these are attached to the upper and lower portion of the division, and also float loose, and penetrate into the œsophagian canal. The laminæ have numerous projections on their surface, resembling the papillæ to be found on the tongue. The action of this stomach is one of alternate contraction and expansion: it secretes, however, like the other compartments of the stomach, its due share of gastric fluids, with a view not only of softening its contents, but for the purpose of defending its own surface against friction. The mechanical action of the stomach is communicated to it partly by the motion of the diaphragm, and its own muscular arrangement. It will readily be perceived, that by this joint action the food is submitted to a sort of grinding process. Hence any over-distention of the viscera, from either food or gas, will embarrass and prevent the free and full play of this organ. The papillæ, or prominences, present a rough and sufficiently hard exterior to grind down the food, unless it shall have escaped the reticulum in too fibrous a form: foxgrass, cornstalks, and frosted turnips are very apt to make sad havoc in this and other parts of the stomach, owing to their unyielding nature; for the stomach, like other parts of the organization, suffers from over-exertion, and a corresponding debility ensues.

The fourth division of the stomach of the ox is called abomasum. It somewhat resembles the duodenum of the horse in its function, it being the true digestive stomach. It is studded with numerous nerves, blood-vessels, and small glands. It is a laboratory admirably fitted up by the Divine Artist, and is capable of carrying on the chemico-vital process as long as the animal lives, provided its healthy functions are not impaired. The glands alluded to secrete from the blood a powerful solvent, called the gastric juice, which is the agent in reducing the food to chyme and chyle. This, however, is accomplished by the united agency of the bile and pancreatic juice. Both these fluids are conveyed into the abomasum by means of small tubes or canals. Secretions also take place from the inner membrane of the intestines, and, as the result of the united action of all these fluids, aided by the muscular motion just alluded to, which is also communicated to the intestines, a substance is formed called chyle, which is the most nutritious portion of the food, and has a milky appearance. The chyle is received into a set of very minute tubes, called lacteals, which are exceedingly numerous, and arise by open mouths from the inner surface of the abomasum and intestines. They receive the chyle; from thence it passes into a receptacle, and finally into the thoracic duct. The thoracic duct opens into a vein leading directly to the heart; so that whatever portion of the chyle is not actually needed by the organism is thoroughly mixed with the general mass of blood. That portion of chyme which is not needed, or cannot be converted into chyle, descends into the intestines, and is finally carried out of the body by the rectum.

The manner in which the gastric fluids act on alimentary matter, is by solution and chemical action; for cornstalks and foxgrass, that cannot be dissolved by ammonia or alcohol, yield readily to the solvent power of the gastric secretion. Bones and other hard substances are reduced to a pulpy mass in the stomach of a dog; while, at the same time, many bodies of delicate texture remain in the stomach, and ultimately are ejected, without being affected by the gastric fluids. This different action on different subjects is analogous to the operation of chemical affinity, and corroborates the theory that digestion is effected by solution and chemical action.

The Spleen, or Milt, is an oblong, dark-colored substance, having attachments to the paunch. It is composed of blood-vessels, nerves, and lymphatics, united by cellular structure. It appears to serve as a reservoir for the blood that may be designed for the secretions of bile in the liver. P. M. Roget says, "Any theory that assigns a very important function to the spleen will be overturned by the fact, that in many animals the removal of this organ, far from being fatal, or interrupting, in any sensible manner, the continuance of the functions, seems to be borne with perfect impunity." Sir E. Home, Bichat, Leuret, Lassaigne, and others, suppose that "the spleen serves as a receptacle for the superfluous quantity of fluid taken into the stomach."

The Liver is a dense gland, of a lobulated structure, situated below the diaphragm, or "skirt." It is supplied, like other organs, with arterial blood, by vessels, called hepatic arteries, which are sent off from the great aorta. It receives also a large amount of venous blood, which is distributed through its substance by a separate set of vessels, derived from the venous system. The veins which receive the blood that has circulated in the usual manner unite together into a large trunk, called vena portæ, (gate vein,) and this vein, on entering the liver, ramifies like an artery, and ultimately terminates in the branches of the hepatic veins, which transmit the blood, in the ordinary course of circulation, to the vena cava, (hollow vein.) Mr. Kiernan says, "The hepatic veins, together with the lobules which surround them, resemble, in their arrangement, the branches and leaves of a tree, the substance of the lobules being disposed around the minute branches of the veins like the parenchyma of a leaf around its fibres. The hepatic veins may be divided into two classes, namely, those contained in lobules, and those contained in canals formed by lobules. The first class is composed of interlobular branches, one of which occupies the centre of each lobule, and receives the blood from a plexus formed in the lobule by the portal vein; and the second class of hepatic veins is composed of all those vessels contained in canals formed by the lobules, and including numerous small branches, as well as the large trunks terminating in the inferior cava. The external surface of every lobule is covered by an expansion of 'Glisson's capsule,' by which it is connected to, as well as separated from, contiguous lobules, and in which branches of the hepatic duct, portal veins, and hepatic artery ramify. The ultimate branches of the hepatic artery terminate in the branches of the portal vein, where the blood they respectively contain is mixed together, and from which mixed blood the bile is secreted by the lobules, and conveyed away by the hepatic ducts. The remaining blood is returned to the heart by the hepatic veins, the beginnings of which occupy the centre of each lobule, and, when collected into trunks, pour their contents into the inferior cava. Hence the blood which has circulated through the liver, and has thereby lost its arterial character, is, in common with that which is returning from other parts, poured into the vena portæ, and contributes its share in furnishing materials for the biliary secretion. The hepatic artery furnishes nutrition to the liver itself."

The bile, having been secreted, accumulates in the gall-bladder, where it is kept for future use. When the healthy action of the fourth stomach is interrupted, the bile is supposed to be reabsorbed,—it enters into the different tissues, producing yellowness of the eyes; the malady is then termed yellows, jaundice, &c. Sometimes the passage of the bile is obstructed by calculi, or gall-stones; they have been found in great numbers in oxen.

The Pancreas is composed of a number of lobules or glands; a small duct proceeds from each; they unite and form a common canal, which proceeds towards, and terminates in, the fourth stomach. The pancreatic juice appears to be exceedingly analogous, both in its sensible properties and chemical composition, to the saliva.

"The recent researches of MM. Bouchardat, Sandras, Mialhe, Bareswil, and Bernard himself, have placed beyond a doubt the existence of a ferment, in some of the fluids which mix with the alimentary mass, destined to convert starchy matters into sugar. They have proved that the gastric juice has for its peculiar office the solution and digestion of azotized substances. There remained to be ascertained the real agent for the digestion of fatty matters; that is to say, the agent in the formation of chyle out of those substances.

"M. Bernard has proved that this remarkable office is performed by the pancreatic juice; he has demonstrated the fact by three conclusive proofs.

"1. The pancreatic juice, pure and recently formed, forms an emulsion with oils and fats with the greatest facility. This emulsion may be preserved for a long time, and the fatty substance soon undergoes a fermentation which separates its constituent acids.

"2. The chyle only begins to appear in the lacteals below that part of the intestinal tube where the pancreatic juice enters it to mix with the alimentary matters.

"3. In disorders of the pancreas, we find that the fatty matters, contained in the food, pass entire in the evacuations."

The above is an extract from the report of a body composed of several members of the French Academy of Sciences. "M. Bernard" (continues the report) "has exhibited to us the first of these experiments, and has furnished us with the means of repeating it with the several varieties of the gastric juice. We have not the slightest doubt on the subject. It is incontestable that fatty substances are converted into an emulsion by this juice, in a manner easy and persistent, and it is no less true that the saliva, the gastric juice, and the bile are destitute of this property.

"The second demonstration can be given in various modes; but the author has discovered, in the peculiar arrangement of the digestive apparatus of the rabbit, an unexceptional means of obtaining it with the greatest precision, and at will. The pancreatic juice enters the intestinal tube of this animal about fourteen inches below the point where the bile is poured in. Now, as long as the food is above the region where it mixes with the pancreatic juice, there appears to be no formation and separation of a milky chyle; nothing shows that the fatty matters are reduced to an emulsion. On the contrary, as soon as the pancreatic juice mixes with the alimentary matters, we observe the fat to be converted into an emulsion, and a milky chyle to fill the corresponding lacteals. Nothing can give an idea of the result of these experiments, which have all the accuracy of a chemical operation performed in the laboratory, and all the beauty of the most perfect injection.

"We are not, therefore, surprised that divers pathological cases, hitherto imperfectly understood, should come to confirm the views of M. Bernard, by proving that, in diseases of the pancreas, fatty matters have been observed to pass unchanged in the dejections.

"The committee cannot hesitate to conclude that the author has perfectly demonstrated his physiological propositions; that he has completed the general characters of the theory of digestion, and that he has made known the mode of formation of the fatty matter of the chyle, and the manner of the digestion of the fatty matters."

The Kidneys.—Their office is, to secrete from the blood the useless or excrementitious fluids in the form of urine. When the skin is obstructed, the secretion is augmented, and profuse perspiration lessens it. From a cavity in the centre of each kidney a canal or tube proceeds, by which the urine is conveyed into the bladder. These tubes are named ureters. As the ureters enter the bladder, they pass forward, a short distance between its coats; which effectually prevents the urine from taking a retrograde course. The urine is expelled by the muscular power which the bladder possesses of contracting upon its contents.

RESPIRATION AND STRUCTURE OF THE LUNGS.

The organs of respiration are the larynx, the trachea, or windpipe, bronchia, and the lungs.

The air is expelled from the lungs principally by the action of the muscles of respiration; and when these relax, the lungs expand by virtue of their own elasticity. This may be exemplified by means of a sponge, which may be compressed into a small compass by the hand, but, upon opening the hand, the sponge returns to its natural size, and all its cavities become filled with air. The purification of the blood in the lungs is of vital importance, and indispensably necessary to the due performance of all the functions; for if they be in a diseased state,—either tuberculous, or having adhesions to the pleura, their function will be impaired; the blood will appear black; loaded with carbon; and the phlebotomizer will have the very best (worst) excuse for taking away a few quarts with a view of purifying the remainder! The trachea, or windpipe, after dividing into smaller branches, called bronchia, again subdivides into innumerable other branches, the extremities of which are composed of an infinite number of small cells, which, with the ramifications of veins, arteries, nerves, and connecting membranes, make up the whole mass or substance of the lungs. The internal surface of the windpipe, bronchia, and air-cells, is lined with a delicate membrane, highly organized with blood-vessels, &c. The whole is invested with a thin, transparent membrane—a continuation of that lining the chest, named pleura. It also covers the diaphragm, and, by a duplication of its folds, forms a separation between the lobes of the lungs.

THE HEART VIEWED EXTERNALLY.

a, the left ventricle; b, the right ventricle; c, e, f, the aorta; g, h, i, the carotid and other arteries springing from the aorta; k, the pulmonary artery; l, branches of the pulmonary artery in the lungs; m, m, the pulmonary veins emptying into the left auricle; n, the right auricle; o, the ascending vena cava; q, the descending vena cava; r, the left auricle; s, the coronary vein and artery. (See Circulation of the Blood, on the opposite page.)

CIRCULATION OF THE BLOOD.

The blood contains the elements for building up, supplying the waste of, and nourishing the whole animal economy. On making an examination of the blood with a microscope, it is found full of little red globules, which vary in their size and shape in different animals, and are more numerous in the warm than in the cold-blooded. Probably this arises from the fact that the latter absorb less oxygen than the former. When blood stands for a time after being drawn, it separates into two parts. One is called serum, and resembles the white of an egg; the other is the clot, or crassamentum, and forms the red coagulum, or jelly-like substance. This is accompanied by whitish tough threads, called fibrine.

When blood has been drawn from an animal, and it assumes a cupped or hollow form, if serum, or buffy coat, remains on its surface, it denotes an impoverished state; but if the whole, when coagulated, be of one uniform mass, it indicates a healthy state of that fluid. The blood of a young animal, provided it be in health, coagulates into a firm mass, while that of an old or debilitated one is generally less dense, and more easily separated. The power that propels the blood through the different blood-vessels is a mechanico-vital power, and is accomplished through the involuntary contractions and relaxations of the heart; from certain parts of which arteries arise, in other parts veins terminate. (See Plate.)

The heart is invested with a strong membranous sac, called pericardium, which adheres to the tendinous centre of the diaphragm, and to the great vessels at its superior portion. The heart is lubricated by a serous fluid, secreted within the pericardium, for the purpose of guarding against friction. When an excess of fluid accumulates within the sac, it is termed dropsy of the heart. The heart is divided into four cavities, viz., two auricles, named from their resemblance to an ear, and two ventricles, (as seen at a, b,) forming the body. The left ventricle is smaller than the right, yet its walls are much thicker and stronger than those of the latter: it is from this part that the large trunk of the arteries proceed, called the great aorta. The right cavity, or ventricle, is the receptacle for blood returned by the venous structure after having gone the rounds of the circulation; the veins terminating, as they approach the heart, in a single vessel, called vena cava, (see plate, o, q, ascending and descending portion.) The auricle on the left side of the heart receives the blood that has been distributed through the lungs for purification. Where the veins terminate in auricles, there are valves placed, to prevent the blood from returning. For example, the blood proceeds out of the heart along the aorta; the valve opens upwards; the blood also moves upwards, and raises the valve, and passes through; the pressure from above effectually closes the passage. The valves of the heart are composed of elastic cartilage, which admits of free motion. They sometimes, however, become ossified. The heart and its appendages are, like other parts of the system, subject to various diseases, which are frequently very little understood, yet often fatal. Now, the blood, having passed through the veins and vena cava, flows into the right auricle; and this, when distended, contracts, and forces its contents into the right ventricle, which, contracting in its turn, propels the blood into the pulmonary arteries, whose numerous ramifications bring it in contact with the air-cells of the lungs. It then, being deprived of its carbon, assumes a crimson color. Having passed through its proper vessels, it accumulates in the left auricle. This also contracts, and forces the blood through a valve into the left ventricle. This ventricle then contracts in its turn, and the blood passes through another valve into the great aorta, to go the round of the circulation and return in the manner just described.

Many interesting experiments have been made to estimate the quantity of blood in an animal. "The weight of a dog," says Mr. Percival, "being ascertained to be seventy-nine pounds, a puncture was made with the lancet into the jugular vein, from which the blood was collected. The vein having ceased to bleed, the carotid artery of the same side was divided, but no blood came from it; in a few seconds afterwards, the animal was dead. The weight of the carcass was now found to be seventy-three and a half pounds; consequently it had sustained a loss of five and a half pounds—precisely the measure of the blood drawn. It appears from this experiment, that an animal will lose about one fifteenth part of its weight of blood before it dies; though a less quantity may so far debilitate the vital powers, as to be, though less suddenly, equally fatal. In the human subject, the quantity of blood has been computed at about one eighth part of the weight of the body; and as such an opinion has been broached from the results of experiments on quadrupeds, we may fairly take that to be about the proportion of it in the horse; so that if we estimate the weight of a horse to be thirteen hundred and forty-four pounds, the whole quantity of blood will amount to eighty-four quarts, or one hundred and sixty-eight pounds; of which about forty-five quarts, or ninety pounds, will commonly flow from the jugular vein prior to death; though the loss of a much less quantity will deprive the animal of life."

REMARKS ON BLOOD-LETTING.

The author has been, for several years, engaged in a warfare against the use of the lancet in the treatment of the various diseases of animals. When this warfare was first commenced, the prospect was poor indeed. The lancet was the great anti-phlogistic of the allopathic school; it had powerful, talented, and uncompromising advocates, who had been accustomed to resort to it on all occasions, from the early settlement of America up to that period. The great mass had followed in the footsteps of their predecessors, supposing them to be infallible. Men and animals were bled; rivers of blood have been drawn from their systems; yet they often got well, and men looked upon the lancet as one of the blessings of the age, when, in fact, it is the greatest curse that ever afflicted this country: it has produced greater losses to owners of domestic animals than did ever pestilence or disease. A few philanthropic practitioners have, from time to time, in other countries, as well as in this, labored during their life, and on their death-bed, to convince the world of the destructive tendency of blood-letting in human practice; but none that we know of ever had the moral courage to wage a general warfare against the practice in the veterinary department, until we commenced it. We have met with great success, and have given the blood-letting gentry who practise it at the present day ("just to please their employers or to make out a case") a partial quietus: in a few more years, unless they abandon their false theories, their occupation, notwithstanding their pretensions to cure secundum artem, will, like Othello's, be "gone." But we are not writing for doctors. Our business is with the farmers—the lords of creation. The former are mere lords of pukes and purges; they, like the farmers, have the materials, however, to mould themselves into men of common sense; but the fact is, they are hide-bound; they want a national sweat, to rid their systems, especially their upper works, of the theories of Sydenham and Paracelsus, which have shipwrecked many thousands of the medical profession. They shut their eyes to the results of medical reform, and cling, with all their soul, and with all their might, worthy a better cause, to a system that "always was false."

Lord Byron, like many other learned men, was well acquainted with the impotency of the healing art, and held the lancet in utter abhorrence: when beset, day and night, to be bled, the bard, in an angry tone, exclaimed, "You are, I see, a d——d set of butchers; take away as much blood as you like." "We seized the opportunity," says Dr. Milligan, "and drew twenty ounces; yet the relief did not correspond to the hopes we had formed." On the 17th, the bleeding was twice repeated, dangerous symptoms still increasing, and on the 19th he expired, just about bled to death. Washington, a man whose name is dear to every American, died from the effects of an evil system of medication. He was attacked with croup: his physician bled him, and gave him calomel and antimony. The next day, physicians were called in, (to share the responsibility of the butchery,) and he was subjected to two more copious bleedings: in all he lost ninety ounces of blood. Which of our readers, at the present day, would submit to such unwarrantable barbarity? We just said we were not writing for doctors; yet we find ourselves off the track in thus administering a small dose, as a sample of "good and efficient treatment."

In reference to the success attending our labors in veterinary reform, we do not claim the whole credit: much of it is due to the intelligence of the American farmers, in appreciating the value and importance of a safer and a more effectual system of medication; such a system as we advocate. They have witnessed the results attending the practice of cattle doctors generally, and they have seen the results of our sanative system of medication, and a great majority in Massachusetts have decided in favor of the latter. We have demonstrated to the satisfaction of our patrons, and we are ready and willing to repeat our experiments on diseased animals for the satisfaction of others, in showing that we can restore an animal, when suffering under acute attacks of disease, in a few hours, when, by the popular method, it takes weeks and months, if indeed they ever recover from the effects of the destructive agents used.

We are told that "horses and cattle are bled and get well immediately." This may apply to some cases; but, in very many instances, the animals are sent for a few weeks to "Dr. Green,"[1] to put them in the same condition they were at the time of bleeding. But suppose that some animals do get well after bleeding; is it thus proved that more would not get well if no blood were drawn from any? A cow may fall down, and, in so doing, lacerate her muscles, blood-vessels, &c., and lose a large quantity of blood. She may get well, in spite of the violence and loss of blood. So we say of blood-letting, if the abstraction of a certain number of gallons of blood will kill a strong animal, then the abstraction of a small quantity must injure it proportionately.

There is in the animal economy a power, called the vital principle, which always operates in favor of health. If the provocation be gentle, and does not seriously derange the machinery, then this power may overcome both it and any disease the animal may at the time labor under. For example, a horse falls down in the street, perhaps laboring under a temporary congestion of the brain: now, if he were let alone until nature has restored an equilibrium of the circulating fluid and nervous action, he would soon get up and proceed on his way, as many thousands do when a knife or lancet is not to be had. But, unfortunately, people are too hasty. The moment a beast has fallen, they are bound to have him on his perpendiculars in double quick time. The teamster cannot wait for nature; she is "too slow a coach" for him. He tries what virtue there is in the whip; this failing, he obtains a knife, if one is to be had, and "starts the blood." By this time, nature, about resuming her empire, causes the horse to show signs of returning animation, and the credit is awarded to the blood-starter. Animals are often bled when diseased, and the prominent symptoms that previously marked the character of the malady disappear, or give place to symptoms of another order, less evident, and men have supposed that a cure is effected, when, in fact, they have just sown the seeds of a future disease. We are not bound to prove, in every case, how an animal gets well after two or three repeated bleedings. It is enough for us to prove that this operation always tends to death, which can easily be produced by opening the carotid artery of an animal.

Permit us, dear reader, at this stage of our article, to observe, that "confession is good for the soul." We mean to put it in practice. So here goes. We plead guilty to bleeding, blistering, calomelizing, narcotizing, antimonializing, a great number of patients of the human kind. We did it in our verdant days, because it was so scientific and popular, and because we had been taught to reverence the stereotyped practice of the allopathists. We have, however, done penance, and sought forgiveness; and through the aid of a few men, devoted to medical reform, we have been washed in the regenerating waters flowing through the vineyard of reason and experience, and now advocate and observe the self-regulating powers of the laws of life. On the other hand, we are free from the charge of bleeding or poisoning domestic animals, and can say, with a clear conscience, that we have never drawn a drop of blood from a four-footed creature, (except in surgical operations, when it could not be avoided;) neither will we, under any circumstances, resort to the lancet; for we are convinced that blood-letting is a powerful depressor of the vital powers.

Blood is the fuel that keeps the lamp of life burning; if the fuel be withdrawn, the light is extinguished.

Professor Lobstein says, "So far from blood-letting being beneficial, it is productive of the most serious consequences—a cruel practice, and a scourge to humanity. How many thousands are sent by it to an untimely grave! Without blood there is no heat, no motion in the body."

Dr. Reid says, "If the employment of the lancet was abolished altogether, it would perhaps save annually a greater number of lives than pestilence ever destroyed."

The fact of blood-letting having been practised by horse and cattle doctors from time immemorial is certainly not a clear proof of its utility, nor is it a sufficient recommendation that it may be practised with safety. During my professional career, the preconceived theories have commanded a due share of consideration; and, when weighed in the scale of uninfluenced experience, they never failed of falling short. If we grant that any deviation from the healthy state denotes debility of one or more functions, then whatever has a tendency to debilitate further cannot restore the animal to health. The following case will serve to illustrate our position: "A horse was brought to be bled, merely because he had been accustomed to it at that season of the year. I did not examine him minutely; but as the groom stated there was nothing amiss with him, I directed a moderate quantity of blood to be drawn. About five pints were taken off; and while the operator was pinning up the wound, the horse fell. He appeared to suffer much pain, and had considerable difficulty of breathing. In this state he remained twelve hours, and then died. Judging from the appearances at the post mortem examination, it is probable that a loss of a moderate quantity of blood caused a fatal interruption of the functions of the heart."

It is strange that such cases as these do not open men's eyes, and compel them to acknowledge that there is something wrong in the medical world. Such cases as these furnish us with unanswerable arguments against blood-letting; for as the blood, which is the natural stimulus of, and gives strength to, the organs, is withdrawn, its abstraction leaves all those organs less capable of self-defence.

Horse and cattle doctors have recommended bleeding when animals have been fed too liberally, or if their systems abound in morbific matter. Now, the most sensible course would be, provided the animal had been overfed, to reduce the quantity of food, or, in other words, remove the cause. If the secretions are vitiated, or in a morbid state, then regulate them by the means laid down in this work. For we cannot purify a well of water by abstracting a few buckets; neither can we purify the whole mass of blood by taking away a few quarts; for that which is left will still be impure. If the different parts had between them partitions impervious to fluids, then there would be some sense in drawing out of the vessels over-filled; but unfortunately, if you draw from one, you draw from all the rest.

In every disease wherein bleeding has been used, complete recovery has been protracted, and the animal manifests the debility by swelled legs and other unmistakable evidences. In some cases, however, the ill effects of the loss of blood, unless excessive, are not always immediately perceived; yet such animals, in after years, are subject to staggers, and diseases of the lungs, pleura, and peritoneum.

Dr. Beach says, "The blood is properly called the vital fluid, and the life of a person is said to be in the blood.[2] We know that just in proportion to the loss of this substance are our vigor and strength taken from us. When taken from the system by accident or the lancet, it is succeeded by great prostration of strength, and a derangement of all the functions of the body. These effects are invariably, in a greater or less degree, consequent on bleeding. Is it not, then, reasonable to suppose, that what will debilitate the strongest constitution in a state of health, will be attended with most serious evils when applied to a person laboring under any malady? Is it not like throwing spirits on a fire to extinguish it?

"Bleeding is resorted to in all inflammatory complaints; but did practitioners know the nature and design of inflammation, their treatment would be different. In fever it is produced by an increased action of the heart and arteries, to expel acrid and noxious humors, and should be promoted until the irritating matter is dislodged from the system. This should be effected, in general, by opening the outlets of the body, inducing perspiration; to produce which a preternatural degree of heat or inflammation must be excited by internal remedies. Fever is nothing more or less than a wholesome and salutary effort of nature to throw off some morbific matter; and, therefore, every means to lessen this indication proves injurious. Bleeding, in consequence of the debility it produces, prevents such indication from being fulfilled."

The inveterate phlebotomizers recommend and practise bleeding when "the animal has too much blood." There may be at times too much blood, and at others too little; but suppose there is—has any body found out any better method of reducing what they please to term an excess, than that of regular exercise in the open air, combined with a less quantity of fodder than usual? Or has any body found out any method of making good healthy blood, other than the slow process of nature, as exhibited in the results of digestion, secretion, circulation, and nutrition? Have they discovered any artificial means of restoring the blood to its healthful quantity when it is deficient? Have they found any means of purifying the blood, save the healthful operations of nature's secreting and excreting laboratory? Finally, have they found any safety-valve or outlet for the reduction of this excess other than the excrementitious vessels? And if they have, are they better able to adjust the pressure on that valve than He who made the whole machinery, and knows the relative strength of all its parts? In an article on blood-letting, found in the Farmer's Cyclopædia, the author says, "In summer, bleeding is often necessary to prevent fevers." Now, it is evident that nature's preventives are air, exercise, food, water, and sleep. Attention to the rules laid down in this work, under the heads of Watering, Feeding, &c., will be more satisfactory and less dangerous than that recommended by the Cyclopædia. If the directions given in the latter were fully carried out, the stock of our farms would be swept away as by the blast of a tornado. Such a barbarous system would entail universal misery and degeneracy on all classes of live stock; and we might then exclaim, "They are living, yet half dead—victims to an inconsistent system of medication!" But thanks to a discerning public, they just begin to see the absurdity and wickedness of draining the system of the living principles. Veterinary reform has germinated in the New England States, and, in spite of all opposition, has struck its roots deep into the minds of a class of men who have the means and power to send forth its healing branches, and apply them to their own interest and the welfare of their stock.

The same author continues: "Some farmers bleed horses three or four times a year." We hope the farmers have too much good sense to follow the wicked example of the former. Frequent bleeding is an indirect mode of butchery—killing by inches; for it gives to the blood-vessels the power to contract and adapt themselves to the measure of blood that remains. It impoverishes the blood, and leads to hydrothorax, (accumulation of water in the chest,) and materially shortens life. Mackintosh says, "Some are bled who cannot bear it, and others who do not require it; and the result is death." The conservative power of life always operates in favor of health, and resists the encroachments upon her province with all her might, and often recovers the dominion; but by frequent bleedings, she is exhausted, and, on taking a little more blood than usual, the animal drops down and dies; and the owner attributes to disease what, in fact, is the result of bad treatment.

"Patients who recover after general and copious bleedings have been employed, may attribute their recovery to the strength of their constitution.

"If you should ask a modern Sangrado what was most necessary in the treatment of disease, doubtless he would reply, 'Bleeding.'

"Our modern pathologists, surgeons and others, think bleeding the factotum in all maladies; it is the ne plus ultra, when drawn in large quantities. Blood-letting, say these authors, is not only the most powerful and important, but the most generally used, of all our remedies. Scarcely a case of acute, or, indeed, of chronic, disease occurs in which it does not become necessary to consider the propriety of having recourse to the lancet." (??) To what extent blood-letting is carried, in our modern age, may be learned by reading Youatt and others, who recommend it "when animals rub themselves, and the hair falls off; when the eyes appear dull and languid, red or inflamed; in all inflammatory complaints, as of the brain, lungs, kidneys, bowels, womb, bladder, and joints; in all bruises, hurts, wounds, and all other accidents; in cold, catarrh, paralysis, and locked-jaw." Yet, strange to say, one of these authors qualifies his recommendations as follows: "No man, however wise, can tell exactly how much blood ought to be taken in a given case." Now, it is well known that the draining of blood from a vein, though it diminishes the vital resistance, and lessens the volume of fluids, does not mend the matter; for it thus gives to cold and atmospheric agents the ascendant influence. A collapse takes place, the secretions become impaired, the animal refuses its food, "looks dumpish," &c.

We might continue this article to an indefinite length; but as we shall, in the following pages, have occasion to refer to the use of the lancet as a destructive agent, we conclude it with the following remarks of an English physician: "Our most valuable remedies against inflammation are but ill adapted for curing that state of disease. They do not act directly on the diseased part; the action is only indirect; therefore it is imperfect. Bleeding, the best of any of these remedies, is in this predicament."

FOOTNOTES:

[1] A piece of pasture land.

[2] Then the life of an animal is also in the blood; and the same evil consequences follow its abstraction.

EFFORTS OF NATURE TO REMOVE DISEASE.

"Nature is ever busy, by the silent operations of her own forces, in curing disease."—Dixon.

Whenever any irritating substance comes in contact with sensitive surfaces, nature, or the vis medicatrix naturæ, goes immediately to work to remove the offending cause: for example, should any substance lodge on the mucous surface, within the nostril, although it be imperceptible, as often happens when the hay is musty, it abounds in particles whose specific gravity enables them to float in atmospheric air; they are then inhaled in the act of respiration, and nature, in order to wash off the offending matter, sends a quantity of fluid to the part. The same process may be observed when a small piece of hay, or other foreign matter, shall have fallen into the eye: the tears then flow in great abundance, to prevent that delicate organ being injured. "When a blister is applied to the surface, it first excites a genial warmth, with inflammation of the skin; and nature, distressed, goes instantly to work, separates the cuticle to form a bag, interposes serum between the nerves and the offensive matter, then prepares another cuticle, that, when the former, with the adhering substance, shall fall off, the nervous papillæ may be again provided with a covering.

"The same reasoning will apply to the operation of emetics and cathartics; for not only is the peristaltic motion either greatly quickened or inverted, according to the urgency of the distress, but both the mucous glands and the exhalent arteries pour forth their fluids in abundance to wash away the offending matter, which at one time acts chemically, at others mechanically."

If a horse, or an ox, be wounded in the foot with a nail, and a portion of it is broken off and remains in the wound, inflammation sets in, producing suppuration, and the nail is discharged.

A few days ago, we were called to see a horse, said to have swelling on the tarsus, (hock.) On an examination, it proved to be an abscess, well developed; the matter could be distinctly felt at the most prominent part. We should certainly have been justified (at least in the eyes of the medical world; and then it would have looked so "doctor-like"!) in displaying a case of instruments and opening the tumor. If ulceration, gangrene, &c., set in and the horse ultimately became lame, no blame could be attached to us, because the practice is scientific!—recognized by the schools as good and efficient treatment. What was to be done? Why, it was evident that we could not do better than to aid nature. A relaxing, anti-spasmodic poultice was confined to the parts, and in six hours after, the sac discharged its contents, and with it a piece of splinter two inches in length. The pain immediately ceased, and the animal is now free from lameness. We here see the design of nature: the consequent inflammation was to produce suppuration, and make an outlet for the splinter.

Professor Kost says, "The laws of all organic life are remarkably peculiar; they possess, in an eminent degree, the power of self-regulation. When interrupted, disease, indeed, supervenes; but unless the circumstances are particularly unfavorable, the physiological state will soon be restored. All observation most clearly corroborates this fact. The healing of wounds, restoration of fractured bones, expulsion of obtruded substances, and particularly the manner in which extravasated matter or pus is removed from internal organs, as in case of abscess in the liver, in which exit may be gained by ulceration through the parietes, or by an adhesion to and ulceration into the intestines, or even by the adhesions to the diaphragm and lungs, in such a manner as, by ulceration into the bronchia, a passage may be gained, and the pus thus removed by expectoration,—all evince a most singular conservative power. What is most remarkable in cases like the latter, is, that the adhesions are so formed as to prevent the escape of the pus into the peritoneal sac, which accident must inevitably prove fatal.

"Some very interesting experiments have been performed to test the restorative power of the different tissues of the animal body. If a portion of the intestines of a dog be taken out, and tied, so as to obstruct completely the passage, it will be found that the adjacent portions of the intestine will reunite, the ligature will separate into the canal and be discharged, and the gut will heal up so as to preserve its normal continuity, and the animal, in a fortnight, will have recovered entirely from the effects of this fearful operation.

"When noxious or poisonous substances are thrown into any of the cavities of the body from which their escape is impracticable, a cyst will often form around them, and they thus become isolated from absorption and the circulation, so as to prevent their doing harm.

"The less remarkable instances of this character are of more common occurrence; and the self-regulating power of the laws of life, alias vis conservatrix naturæ, is so universally known and depended on, that it is rare, indeed, that indisposed persons take medicine, until they have first waited at least a little, to see what nature would do for them; and they are seldom disappointed, as it may perhaps be safely asserted, that nine tenths of all the attacks of disease (taking the slight indispositions; for such are most of them, as they are checked before they become severe) are warded off by the vital force, unassisted. Such, then, are the facts deduced from observing the operations of nature in disease unassisted."

Dr. Beach says, "We are well aware, from what passes in the system daily, that the Author of nature has wisely provided a principle which is calculated to remove disease. It is very observable in fevers. No sooner is noxious or morbid matter retained in the system, than there is an increased action of the heart and arteries, to eliminate the existing cause from the skin; or it may pass off by other outlets established for that purpose. With what propriety, then, can this provision of nature be denied, as it is by some? A noted professor in Philadelphia or Baltimore ridicules this power in the constitution; he says to his class, 'Kick nature out of doors.' It was this man, or a brother professor, who exclaimed to his class, 'Give me mercury in one hand and the lancet in the other, and I am prepared to cope with disease in every shape and form.' I have not time to stop here, and comment upon such palpable and dangerous doctrine. I have only to say, let the medical historian record this sentiment, maintained in the highest medical universities in America in the nineteenth century. I am pleased, however, to observe, that all physicians do not coincide with such views."

PROVERBS OF THE VETERINARY REFORMERS.

The merciful man is merciful to his domestic animals.

"Avoid blood-letting and poisons, for they are powerful depressors of the vital energies. There are two medical fulcra—reason and experience. Experience precedes, reason follows; hence, reasoning not founded on experience avails nothing. He who cures by simples need not seek for compounds."—Villanov.

"The physician destitute of a knowledge of plants can never properly judge of the power of a plant."—Whitlaw.

"The vegetable kingdom is the most noble in medicines."—Ibid.

"Innocent medicines, which approach as near to food as possible, preserve health, while chemical compounds destroy it. Heroic medicines (such are antimony, copper, corrosive sublimate, lead, opium, hellebore, arsenic, belladonna) are like the sword in the hands of a madman.

"Nature unassisted by art sometimes effects miracles."—Whitlaw.

"It is the part of a wise physician to decline prescribing in a lost case."—Ibid. Whenever there is free, full circulation of blood, there is animal heat. If the heat of a part becomes deficient, the circulation is correspondingly diminished. As soon as voluntary motion in a part ceases, so soon the circulation becomes enfeebled; and if continued, the part will wither and waste away.

The strength and health of an animal depend on a due share of exercise, pure air, and suitable food. Deprive an animal of these, and he will cease to exist. We believe in the great doctrine that the duty of the physician is to aid nature in protecting herself in the enjoyment of health, by proper attention to breeding, rearing, ventilation, and proper farm and stable management.

"The tinsel glitter of fine-spun theory, or favorite hypothesis, which prevails wherever allopathy hath been taught, so dazzles, flatters, and charms human vanity and folly, that, so far from contributing to the certain and speedy cure of diseases, it hath, in every age, proved the bane and disgrace of healing art."—Graham, p. 15.

"Those physicians generally become the most distinguished who soonest emancipate themselves from the tyranny of the schools of physic."—Rush.

"Availing ourselves of the privileges we possess, and animated by the noblest impulses, let us cordially coöperate to give to medicine a new direction, and attempt those great improvements which it imperiously demands."—Ther., vol. i. p. 51.

"It has been proved by allopathists themselves, that 'a physician should be nature's servant;' that 'bleeding tends directly to subdue nature's efforts;' that 'all poisons suddenly and rapidly destroy a great proportion of the vitality of the system;' that whatever be the quantity, use, or manner of application, all the influence they inherently possess is injurious, and that they are not fatal in every instance of their use only because nature overpowers them."—Curtis.

AN INQUIRY CONCERNING THE SOULS OF BRUTES.

"Are these then made in vain? Is man alone,
Of all the marvels of creative love,
Blest with a scintillation of His essence—
The heavenly spark of reasonable soul?
And hath not yon sagacious dog, that finds
A meaning in the shepherd's idiot face;
Or the huge elephant, that lends his strength
To drag the stranded galley to the shore,
And strives with emulative pride t' excel
The mindless crowd of slaves that toil beside him;
Or the young generous war-horse, when he sniffs
The distant field of blood, and quick and shrill
Neighing for joy, instils a desperate courage
Into the veteran trooper's quailing heart,—
Have they not all an evidence of soul,
(Of soul, the proper attribute of man,)
The same in kind, though meaner in degree?
Why should not that which hath been—be forever?
And death, O, can it be annihilation?
No,—though the stolid atheist fondly clings
To that last hope, how kindred to despair!
No,—'tis the struggling spirit's hour of joy,
The glad emancipation of the soul,
The moment when the cumbrous fetters drop,
And the bright spirit wings its way to heaven!
"To say that God annihilated aught,
Were to declare that in an unwise hour
He planned and made somewhat superfluous.
Why should not the mysterious life that dwells
In reptiles as in man, and shows itself
In memory, gratitude, love, hate, and pride,
Still energize, and be, though death may crush
Yon frugal ant or thoughtless butterfly,
Or, with the simoom's pestilential gale
Strike down the patient camel in the desert?
"There is one chain of intellectual soul,
In many links and various grades, throughout
The scale of nature; from the climax bright,
The first great Cause of all, Spirit supreme,
Incomprehensible, and unconfined,
To high archangels blazing near the throne,
Seraphim, cherubim, virtues, aids, and powers,
All capable of perfection in their kind;—
To man, as holy from his Maker's hand
He stood in possible excellence complete,
(Man, who is destined now to brighter glories,—
As nearer to the present God, in One
His Lord and Substitute,—than angels reach;)
Then man has fallen, with every varied shade
Of character and capability,
From him who reads his title to the skies,
Or grasps, with giant-mind, all nature's wonders,
Down to the monster-shaped, inhuman form,
Murderer, slavering fool, or blood-stained savage;
Then to the prudent elephant, the dog
Half-humanized, the docile Arab horse,
The social beaver, and contriving fox,
The parrot, quick in pertinent reply,
The kind-affectioned seal, and patriot bee,
The merchant-storing ant, and wintering swallow,
With all those other palpable emanations
And energies of one Eternal Mind
Pervading and instructing all that live,
Down to the sentient grass and shrinking clay.
In truth, I see not why the breath of life,
Thus omnipresent, and upholding all,
Should not return to Him and be immortal,
(I dare not say the same,) in some glad state
Originally destined for creation,
As well from brutish bodies, as from man.
The uncertain glimmer of analogy
Suggests the thought, and reason's shrewder guess;
Yet revelation whispers nought but this,—
'Our Father careth when a sparrow dies,'
And that 'the spirit of a brute descends,'
As to some secret and preserving Hades.
"But for some better life, in what strange sort
Were justice, mixed with mercy, dealt to these?
Innocent slaves of sordid, guilty man,
Poor unthanked drudges, toiling to his will,
Pampered in youth, and haply starved in age,
Obedient, faithful, gentle, though the spur,
Wantonly cruel, or unsparing thong,
Weal your galled hides, or your strained sinews crack
Beneath the crushing load,—what recompense
Can He who gave you being render you,
If in the rank, full harvest of your griefs
Ye sink annihilated, to the shame
Of government unequal?—In that day
When crime is sentenced, shall the cruel heart
Boast uncondemned, because no tortured brute
Stands there accusing? Shall the embodied deeds
Of man not follow him, nor the rescued fly
Bear its kind witness to the saving hand?
Shall the mild Brahmin stand in equal sin
Regarding nature's menials, with the wretch
Who flays the moaning Abyssinian ox,
Or roasts the living bird, or flogs to death
The famishing pointer?—and must these again,
These poor, unguilty, uncomplaining victims,
Have no reward for life with its sharp pains?—
They have my suffrage: Nineveh was spared,
Though Jonah prophesied its doom, for sake
Of sixscore thousand infants, and 'much cattle;'
And space is wide enough for every grain
Of the broad sands that curb our swelling seas,
Each separate in its sphere to stand apart
As far as sun from sun; there lacks not room,
Nor time, nor care, where all is infinite."—Tupper.

THE REFORMED PRACTICE.

SYNOPTICAL VIEW OF THE PROMINENT SYSTEMS OF MEDICINE.

Some of our readers, especially the non-medical, may desire to know what the following remarks, which appear to apply generally to the human family, have to do with cattle doctoring. We answer them in the language of Professor Percival. "The object of the veterinary art is not only congenial with human medicine, but the very same paths which lead to a knowledge of the diseases of man, lead also to a knowledge of those of brutes. An accurate examination of the interior parts of their bodies; a studious survey of the arrangement, structure, use, connection, and relation of these parts, and of the laws by which they act; as also of the nature and properties of the various food and other agents which the earth so liberally provides for their support and cure,—these form, in a great measure, the sound and sure foundation of all medical science, whatever living individual animal be the subject of our consideration. Whether we prescribe for a man, horse, dog, or cat, the laws of the animal economy are the same; and one system, and that based upon established facts, is to guide our practice in all.

"The theory of medicine in the human subject is the theory of medicine in the brute; it is the application of that theory—the practice alone—that is different.

"We might as well, in reference to the principles of each, attempt to separate surgery from medicine, as insist that either of these arts, in theory, is essentially different from the veterinary: every day's experience serves to confirm this our belief, and in showing us how often the diseases of animals arise from the same causes as those of a man, exhibit the same indications, and require a similar method of cure.

"The science of medicine, like others, consists of a collection of facts of a common and not a specific character. These, therefore, admit of arrangement into different systems, according to the notions of theorists, and the various species of philosophy, brought to bear on the subject.

"The first regular system was founded by Hippocrates, about three hundred and eighty years before Christ. It was founded upon theory, and comprised the doctrines of the ancient dogmatic school. Its pathology rested upon a supposed change of the humors of the body, particularly the blood and bile; and here are the first elements of the 'humoral pathology.' Its remedial intentions were founded upon the existence of the 'vis conservatrix' et 'medicatrix naturæ;' and, although often maintaining direct antipathic principles of action, it rested mainly on physo-dynamic influence for the accomplishment of its therapeutic purposes.

"About two hundred and ninety years before Christ, Philinus of Cos introduced the ancient Empiric System, which was founded upon experience and observation. About one hundred years before the Christian era, the Methodic System was introduced by Asclepiades of Bithynia. This system was got up with an avowed opposition to that of Hippocrates, which was called 'a study of death.' Themison of Laodicea, pupil of Asclepiades, gives an exposition of the fundamental principles of the methodic system; and it seems that all physiological and pathological action was considered to be dependent upon the strictum and laxum of the organic pores, or increased and decreased secretion, and that all medicines act only on two principles, i. e., by inducing contraction and relaxation, or an increase and decrease of the secretions.

"It would seem that, in the first century of the Christian era, the methodic system was divided into various subordinate ones—the Pneumatic, Episynthetic, and Eclectic. The pneumatic system, which was the most popular of the fragments of the methodic, was most indebted to Athenæus of Attalia for its successful introduction. This system contemplated the doctrine of the Stoics, which recognized the existence of a spirit governing and directing every thing, and which, when offended, would produce disease; hence the name pneumatic. The indications of cure were more moral than physical. Fire, air, water, &c., were not considered elements, but their properties—heat, cold, dryness, moisture, &c.—were alone entitled to the name.

"In the second century, the Galenic System was founded by Claudius Galenus. This might, indeed, only be considered the revival of the dogmatic or Hippocratean system. Galen professed to have selected what he found valuable from all the prevailing systems, and has embraced the elements and ruling spirit of the pneumatic school. Thus he explained the operation of medicines by reference to their elementary qualities,—that is, heat, cold, dryness, and moisture,—of each of which he admitted four degrees. But he was governed by a prevailing partiality for the system of Hippocrates, which, he states, was either misunderstood or misrepresented by all theorists, ever since the establishment of the empiric and methodic schools. He devoted most of his time to commenting upon and embellishing it, and thus again established a system, founded on reason, observation, and sound induction, which maintained its character, without a rival, for more than one thousand five hundred years.

"Near the middle of the sixteenth century, Paracelsus introduced the Chemical System. This was strongly opposed by Bellonius and Riverius, who maintained the doctrine of Hippocrates and Galen. But the presumptuous Paracelsus burned, 'in solemn state,' the works of the ancients; and being succeeded by the indefatigable Van Helmont, the whole science of medicine was overwhelmed by the mysticism of the alchemical doctrines and languages. The chemical theory, in the main, rejects the influence, or even the existence, of the vis medicatrix naturæ, and explains all physiological, pathological, and therapeutic operations upon abstract chemical laws. Thus chemical or inorganic agents, and many of the most virulent poisons, as arsenic, mercury, antimony, &c., were placed among the most prominent remedies.

"Soon after the introduction of the chemical system, medical science, if we make one exception, became less eccentric, but much less marked for the permanency of its systems. Boerhaave ingeniously blended most of the prominent doctrines of the Galenic and chemical systems; and by an application of several of the newly-developed natural sciences, especially mathematics and natural philosophy, he led his successors into a more even path and fixed method of investigation; for no more do we find any abstract physical laws the sole basis of a system. But these were the highest honors allowed Boerhaave; his particular system was soon subverted by Stahl, who proved the supreme superintendence of an immaterial, vital principle, corresponding to that pointed out by Hippocrates. To this he ascribes intelligence, if not moral attributes. Hoffman led Cullen into the path that brought him into the fruitful field of nervous pathology and solidism, which, with a modification of Stahl's ruling immaterial essence, formed the groundwork of his admired system.

"If, now, we except the eccentricities of Brown, comprising his system, founded on the sthenic and asthenic diathesis, we find little interruption to the general prevalence of the Cullenian system, till nearly the present juncture. The succeeding authors, colleges, and medical societies have only modified and amplified the general theory, and regulated the practice into a comparative uniformity, which now constitutes the popular Allopathic System. But notwithstanding the comparatively settled state of medical science, it could not be supposed that in this remarkable age of improvement, while all other liberal sciences and arts are progressing as if prosecuted by superhuman agency, medicine should fail to undergo corresponding improvement.

"Several new systems of medicine date themselves within the last forty years, viz.: 1. The Homæopathic, introduced by Hahnemann, and founded upon the principle, similia similibus curantur. 2. The Botanic, established by a new class of medical philosophers, within the last twenty years. 3. The Eclectic, corresponding, in its essential doctrines, with the ancient eclectic system."

CREED OF THE REFORMERS.

We believe that a perfect system of medical science is that which never allows disease to exist at all; which prevents disease, instead of curing it, by means of a perfect hygienic system, proper modes of life, attention to diet, ventilation, and exercise.

We believe that the next best system is that which, after disease has made its appearance, promptly meets its development by the use of such agencies as are perfectly in harmony with the laws of life and health, and physiological in their action; such, for example, as water, air, heat and cold, friction, food, drink, and medicines that are not usually regarded as poisons, and are known to prove congenial to the animal constitution.

We have no attachment to any remedy which experience shows unsafe; but, on the contrary, we rejoice in the success of every attempt to substitute sanative for disease-creating agents, and believe that a number of the articles which are still occasionally used in the old school, will in time become obsolete, as medical science progresses.

We hold that our opposition to any course of medical treatment should be in proportion to the mischief it produces, entirely irrespective of medical theories. Hence our hostility to the lancet.

We do not profess to know more about anatomy, physiology, surgery, &c., than our allopathic brethren; but the superiority which our system claims over others is, in the main, to be found in our therapeutic agents, all of which are harmless, safe, and efficient. While they arouse the energies of nature to resist the ravages of disease, they act harmoniously with the vital principle, in the restoration of the system from a pathological to the physiological state.

TRUE PRINCIPLES.

"Our objection to the old school," says Professor Curtis, "has ever been, that they not only have no true principles to guide their practice, but they have adopted, fixed, and obstinately adhered to principles the very reverse of the true. They have resolved that, in disease, nature turns a somerset—reverses all her normal laws, and requires them to do the same. They have decreed that the best means and processes to cure the sick are those which will most speedily kill them when in health. In the face of all reason and common sense, they have adhered to this doctrine and practice for the last three centuries, and they have been constrained to confess that the destruction they have produced on human life and health has far exceeded all that has been effected by the sword, pestilence, and famine. Still they obstinately persevere. They say their science is progressive—improving; yet its progression consists in contriving new ways and means to take part of the life's blood, and poison all the balance.

"Medicine, being based on the laws of nature, is in itself an exact science; and every process of the act should be directed by those laws.

"Medicine is a demonstrative science, and all its processes should be based on fixed laws, and be governed by positive inductions. Then, and not till then, will it deserve to be ranked among the exact sciences, and contemplated as a liberal art.

"Truth is stationary; it never progresses. What was true in principle in the days of Adam is so still. To talk of progress in principle is ridiculous. Neither does a given practice progress. That which was ever intrinsically good is so still. To talk, then, of the progress in principles of medicine is absurd. We may learn the truth or error of principles, and the comparative value or worthlessness of practices; but the principles are still the same. This is our progress in knowledge, not the progress of science or art. The constant changes that have taken place in the adoption and rejection of various principles and practices have ever been an injury to the healing art. Both truth and falsehood, separately and combined, have been alternately received and rejected; and this is that progress which is made in a circle, and not in lines direct. The fault of the cultivators of medicine has been, not that they never discovered the truth nor adopted the right practice, but that they adopted wrong principles and practices as often as the right, and rejected the right as readily as the wrong. They have ever been ready to prove many, if not all things; but to cast off the bad and hold fast to the good, they seem to have had but little discrimination and power. They say truly, that the object of the healing art is to aid nature in the prevention and cure of her diseases; yet, in practice, they do violence to nature in the use of the lancet and poison."

We are told by the professors of allopathy that their medicines constitute a class of deadly poisons, (see "Pocket Pharmacopœia;") "that, when given with a scientific hand, in small doses, they cure disease." We deny their power to cure. If antimony, corrosive sublimate, &c., ever proved destructive, they always possess that power, and can never be used with any degree of assurance that they will make a sick animal well. On the other hand, we have abundant every-day evidence of their ability to make a well animal sick at any time. What difference does it make whether poisons are given with a scientific or an unscientific hand? Does it alter the tendency which all poisons possess, namely, that of rapidly depriving the system of vitality?

The veterinary science was ushered into existence by men who practised according to the doctrines of the theoretical schools. We may trace it in its infancy when, in England, in the year 1788, it was rocked in the cradle of allopathy by Sainbel, its texture varying to suit the skill of Clark, Lawrence, Field, Blaine, and Coleman; yet with all their amount of talent and wisdom, their pupils must acknowledge that the melancholy triumph of disease over its victims clearly evinces that their combined stock of knowledge is insufficient to perfect the veterinary science. Dr. J. Bell says, "Anatomy is the basis of medical skill;" yet, in another part of his work he says, "It enables the physician to GUESS at the seat, or causes, or consequences of disease!" This is what we propose hereafter to call the science—the science of guessing! If such is the immense mortality in England, (amounting, as Mr. Youatt states, in loss of cattle, alone, to $50,000,000,)—a country that boasts of her veterinary institutions, and embraces within her medical halo some of the brightest luminaries of the present century,—what, we ask, is the mortality in the United States, where the veterinary science scarcely has an existence, and where not one man in a hundred can tell a disease of the bowels from one of the lungs? Profiting by the experience of these men, we are in hopes to build up a system of practice that will stand a tower of strength amid the rude shock of medical theories. We have discovered that the lancet is a powerful depressor of vitality, and that poisons derange, instead of producing, healthy action. That they are generally resorted to in this country, no one will deny, and often by men who are unacquainted with the nature of the destructive agents they making use of.

Hence our business, as reformers, is to expose error, and disseminate true principles. In doing so, we must be guided by the light of reason, and interpret aright the doctrines of nature as they are written by the Creator on the tablets of the whole universe, animate and inanimate.

In our reformed practice, we have true principles to guide us, which no man can controvert; for they are based on the recognition of a curative power in nature, identical with the vital principle, and governed by the same laws that control its action in the healthy state. While, therefore, this system must not change, it may improve; and while it remains on the same foundation, it should progress.

The necessity of aiding nature, in all our modes of medication, is the only true principle which should guide us. This we do by the aid of medicines known to be harmless, at the same time paying proper attention to diet, ventilation, exercise, &c., rejecting all processes of cure that depress the vital energy, or destroy the equilibrium of its action.

Our reformed principles teach us that, "Fever is the same in its essential character, under all circumstances and forms which it exhibits. The different kinds, as they are called, are but varieties of the same condition, produced by variations in the prevailing cause, or the strength of vital resistance, or some other peculiarity of the patient. Facts in abundance might be stated to justify this position. Again, fever is not to be regarded as disease, but as a sanative effort; in other words, as an increased or excited state of vital action, whose tendency is to remove from the system any agents or causes that would effect its integrity. Or, perhaps, it might be more properly said, that fever is the effect, or symptom, of accumulated vital action—an index pointing to the progress of causes, operating to ward off disease and restore health.

"Our indications of cure and modes of treatment are to be learned from those manifestations of the vital operations uniformly witnessed in the febrile state. If fever marks the action of the healing power of nature, which we must copy to be successful, why should we not consult the febrile phenomena for our rule of action? Now, what are the indications of cure which we derive from this source? In other words, what are the results which nature designs to accomplish through the instrumentality of fever? They are, an equilibrium of the circulation, a properly-proportioned action of all the organs, and an increased depuration of the system, principally by cutaneous evacuations."

Suppose the resistance of some local obstruction, as, for example, an accumulation of partly digested food in the manyplus of the ox, and, for want of a due portion of the gastric fluids to soften the mass and prevent friction, it irritates the mucous covering of the laminæ. The result is inflammation, (local fever,) then general excitement, manifested in an increased state of the circulation generally. The consequences of this general excitement of the mass of the circulation are, a more equal distribution of the blood, and the stimulation of every organ to do a part, according to its capacity, in removing disease. In such cases, the cattle doctors, generally, suppose that the inflammation is confined to the part, (manyplus;) yet it is evident that nature has marshalled her forces and produced a like action on the external surface. How can we prove that this is the case? By the heat, and red surfaces of the membrane lining the nostril, by the accelerated pulse, thirst, &c. Without heat there is no vitality in the system. Now, if the surface be hot, it proves that a large quantity of blood is sent there for the purpose of relieving the deranged internal organ. Hence the reader will perceive, that the cattle doctor whose creed is, "The more fever, the more blood-letting," must be one of the greatest opponents nature has to deal with. Then it is no wonder that so many cattle, sheep, and oxen die of fever. The practice of purging, in such a case, would be almost as destructive as the former; for many articles used as purges act on the mucous surfaces of the alimentary canal as mechanical irritants. Nature would, in this case, have to recall her forces from the surface, and concentrate them in the vicinity of parts where they were not wanted, had not man's interference conflicted with her well-planned arrangement, and made her "turn a somerset." When the increased action and heat are manifested on the surface, does it not prove that the different organs are acting harmoniously in self-defence? And is not this action manifested through the same channels in a state of health? Then why call it disease?

If obstructions exist as the cause of fever, will the mode of evacuation be different from that of health? Certainly not. Hence the marked tendency of fever to evacuation by the skin or the bowels; the former by perspiration, and the latter by diarrhœa. Fever, then, is a vital action, and the reformers have correct principles. On the other hand, the allopathists tell us that they know very little about fever, but that it is disease, and they treat it as such; hence, then, five, ten, and fourteen days' fever, and often the death of the patient.

Our treatment is not directed with a view of combating the fever: we generally aid it by following the indications which it presents; and we often find it necessary, although the surface of the animal shall be hot, and feverish symptoms appear, to use stimulants, (not alcoholic,) combined with antispasmodics and relaxants. (See Stimulants, in the Appendix.) This class of medicines, aided by warmth and moisture, favors the cutaneous exhalation, and promotes the free and full play of all the functions.

That the allopathist has but few principles to guide him is evident from the following quotations:—

Veterinary surgeon Haycock says, "The profession may flatter itself that it is advancing: for my part, however, I see little or no advancement. Our labors, for the last ten years, have been little more than a repetition of what has gone before. Our books are things of shreds and patches; the system which is followed in the investigation of disease, in the treatment of disease, and in the reporting of it, is altogether so crude and barbarous, that I am thoroughly ashamed of the whole matter.

"I have heard much noise about a charter, [which, we presume, means a charter by which men may be licensed to kill secundum artem, and 'no questions ASKED,'] the clamor of which may be compared to the rattling of peas in a dried bladder, or to a storm in a horse-pond. I have also read much which has been said about the spirit of this charter. Until I am convinced that it is the best term which can be applied to it, verily the whole is a spirit; for no one, I am persuaded, has ever yet discovered the substance.[3] It is not charters that we want, but it is that quiet spirit of earnestness which characterizes the true laborer on science. We require men who will labor for the advancement of the profession from the pure love of the thing; we want, in fact, a few John Fields, or men who know how to work, and who are possessed of the will to do it."

We hear a great deal said about sending young men from this country to Europe to acquire the principles of the veterinary art, with a view to public teaching. Now, it appears to us that the United States can boast of as great a number of talented physicians, as well qualified to soon learn and understand the fundamental principles of the veterinary art, as their brethren of the old world. There is no country, probably, that can boast of such an amount of talent, in every department of literature and art, in proportion to the population, as the United States. We know that the veterinary art, with one exception, had its existence from human practitioners, received their fostering care and attention, and grew with their growth. Have we not the materials, then, in this country, to educate and qualify young men to practise this important branch of science? Most certainly. Just send a few to us, for example, and if we do not impart to them a better system of medication than that practised in Europe, by which they will be enabled to treat disease with more success and less deaths, then we will agree to "throw physic to the dogs," and abandon our profession.

The greatest part of the most valuable time of the students of veterinary medicine is devoted to the study of pathology, in such a manner as to afford little instruction. For example, we are told that in "Bright's" disease of the kidneys they have detected albumen. What does this amount to? Does it throw any rational light on the treatment other than that proposed by us, of toning up the animal, and restoring the healthy secretions? They have studied pathology to their hearts' content; yet any intelligent farmer in this country, with a few simple herbs, can beat them at curing disease. We would give details, were it necessary. Suffice it to say, that it is done here every day, and often through the aid of a little thoroughwort tea, or other harmless agent. The pathologist may discover alterations in tissues, in the blood, and the various organs, and tell us that herein lie the cause and seat of disease; yet these changes themselves are but results, and preceding these were other manifestations of disorder; therefore pathology must always be imperfect, because it is a science of consequences.

The most powerful microscopes have been used to discover the seat of disease; yet this has not taught us to cure one single disease hitherto incurable.

The old school boast that their whole system of blood-letting, purging, and poisoning is based on enlightened experience! yet their victims have often discovered, by dear-bought "experience," (many of whom are now doing penance with ulcerated gums, rotten teeth, and fœtid breath,) that, however valuable this "experience" may be to the M. D.'s, they, the recipients, have not derived that benefit which they were led to expect would accrue to them. From what has already been written in this work, the reader, provided he divests himself of all prejudice, will perceive that allopathic experience is not to be trusted, for their principles are false; hence their experience is also false. Professor Curtis, to whom we are indebted for much valuable information, says, "Do not the old school argue that the most destructive agents in nature may be made to 'aid the vital forces in the removal of disease by the judicious application of them'? Does not Professor Harrison say, that the lancet is the great anti-inflammatory agent of the materia medica, that opium is the magnum Dei donum (the great gift of God) for the relief of pain, and that mercury is the great regulator of all the secretions?"

Anatomy and physiology are now being taught in our public schools. The people will, ere long, constitute themselves umpires to decide when doctors disagree. We apprehend it will then be hard work to convince the intelligent and thinking part of the community that poisons and the lancet are sanative agents.

FOOTNOTES:

[3] Mr. White says, "According to the present system of teaching in these chartered institutions, there is very little benefit to be derived by the student."

Mr. Blane experienced in his own person the results of this imperfect system of teaching. He was sent for to fire a valuable horse, and gives the following account of it: "It was my first essay in firing on my own account, and fired as I was with my wishes to signalize myself, I labored to enter my novitiate with all due honor. The farrier of the village was ordered to attend, a sturdy old man, civil enough, but looking as though impressed with no very high respect for a gentleman farrier's knowledge. The horse was cast, awkwardly enough, and secured, as will appear, even more so. I, however, proceeded to show the superiority of the new over the old schools. I had just then left the veterinary college, not as a pupil, but as a teacher, which I only mention to mark the climax. On the very first application of the iron, up started my patient, flinging me and my assistants in all directions from him, while he trotted and snorted round the yard with rope, &c. at his heels. As may be supposed, I was taken aback, and might have gone back as I came, had not the old farrier, with much good humor, caught the horse round the neck with his arms, and by some dexterous manœuvre brought him on his knees; when, with a jerk, as quick as unexpected, he threw him at once on his side, when our immediate assistants fixed him, and we proceeded. It is needless to remark that I retired mortified, and left the village farrier lord of the ascendant."

"It cannot be doubted that the best operators in this case are always the common country farriers, who, from devoting themselves entirely to the occupation, soon become proficient."

This admission on the part of a regular graduate of a veterinary institution of London shows that the veterinary science, as taught at the present day, is a matter for reproach. The melancholy triumph of disease over its victims shows that the science is mere moonshine; that, in regard to its most important object, the cure of disease, it is mere speculation, rich in theory, but poverty-stricken in its results. Hence we have not only proof that the American people will be immense gainers by availing themselves of the labors of reforms, but, as interested individuals, they have great encouragement to favor our more rational system of treatment. (For additional remarks on this subject, see the author's work on the Horse, p. 105.)