Amrou, who knew the progress which John had made in the seiences, treated him with great respect, listening with much eager ness to his philosophick discourses, which were altogether new to the Arabians. Amrou was himself a man of much judgment and penetration. He retained this learned man constantly near him. John said to him one day: Thou hast visited all the magazines of Alexandria, and hast set thy seal upon every thing which thou hast found there. Of all that can serve thee I request nothing; but thou canst reasonably leave us, what will be useless to thee. What is it thou wishest? interrupted Amrou. The philosophical books, replied John, which are found in the royal palace. I can dispose of nothing, said Amrou, without permission from the chief of the faithful, OmarEbno'l-Chattab. He then wrote to Omar what John had requested of him, to which Omar replied,... As to the books thou mentionest, if they accord with the book of God, there is without them in that book all that is sufficient; but if there be any thing repugnant to that book, we have no need of them: order them therefore to be all destroyed. Amrou upon this gave orders, that they should be dispersed through the baths of Alexandria, and burned in heating them. After this manner, in the space of six months, they were all consumed. Hear what was done

and wonder."-When this recital was made known in Európe, its authenticity was admitted without contradiction. It there acquired full credit, and in the opinion of the vulgar it passed for certainty.

After Pococke we had the knowledge of another Arabian historian, who was also a physician, and who gives nearly the same recital. His name is Abdollatif, who wrote about the year 1200, and of consequence a little before Abulpharagius. We are indebted for the publication to professor Paulus, who made it after a manuscript in the Bodleian library. We here insert the passage in question. "I have seen also the Portico which, after Aristotle and his disciples, became the academick college, and also the college which Alexander the Great built at the same time with the city, in which was contained the superb library which Amrou bin-El-As rendered a prey to the flames by the orders of the great Omar, to whom God be merciful."

As this little narrative quadrates with the character for ferocity and barbarism, which the christian historians, particularly those in the times of the crusades, attributed to the Saracens, no person for a long time thought proper to call it in question. On this point we shall undertake to justify the caliph Omar, and his lieutenant Amrou; not from love of the Saracens, but from love of truth.

[To be continued.]

For the Monthly Anthology.

No. 5.

devote their whole attention to this business,than by the sick and their neighbours.

I am however aware, that very sensible men are hereticks on this subject. They say, the doctors theorize, instead of observing nature modestly and carefully; and that their physick often irritates and sometimes destroys the patients, who would otherwise throw off their diseases more easily and more certainly. Now there is some truth in this charge, and I will join them in the opinion, that my brethren are too prone to theorize. This is not peculiar to them; it belongs to mankind generally, and arises from indolence and an impatience to appear wise. All knowledge must be acquired slowly and with difficulty. The labour becomes too tedious, and men are ready to guess at the truth, rather than wait its slow and painful developement. This happens every day in common affairs; and as the injury,which results from it, is not very great, it is disregarded. The error deservedly arrests attention, when the subjects are great principles, either in physicks or morals. It is remarkable, that men form an attachment to the vagaries of their own minds, which is oftentimes stronger, and excites more zeal, than a simple conviction of real truth. This circumstance aggravates very much the evils arising from a false theory. In our profession, men grow as warm in the support of their peculiar tenets, I had almost said as the theologians; and as the sectarian in religion hopes, that all will be damned, who do not worship with him, so the father of a medical hypothesis is willing to rejoice if all die, who are treated according to principles differing from his own. They both persuade them

selves, that charity and a love of truth govern their hearts.

These things must be so, while human nature remains what it is. Toil and trouble will ever be shunned. Society indeed renders them more tolerable by the compensa -tion it gives for them; and as this advances in real improvement, the compensation will increase, and of course the labour will more readily be procured. To correct our errors, we must trace them to their source. This consideration

has induced me, to present the preceding and the following observations on the causes, which lead the faculty into the habit of theorizing.

I have lightened the censure, which is thrown upon us by spreading a part of it on the broad shoulders of poor human nature; I mean to charge the remainder to a fault of our patients and their friends.

The importance and essential duty of a physician, is to advise the sick what to do ;-to direct their whole conduct. As the sick should never call a physician, unless they have more confidence in his knowledge and judgment than in their own; so when they have received his advice, they should follow it implicitly. If indeed it is so opposite to their own settled opinions, as to destroy that confidence, then the motive for following his advice must cease to operate. But the patient and his friends are seldom satisfied with the advice alone; they want to know the name of the disease, the nature of the case, and the reasons for the mode of treatment. In short, they want to be taught in half an hour, and that too while they are under the influence of strong feelings, what it may have cost the physician months

ter

learn, and might employ him hours to detail; at a moment perhaps, when the circumstances do not permit him, to make up his own opinion decidedly; and he is too apt to think his reputation requires, that he should attempt to gratify them. They ask only for simple reasons and simple explanations, not wishing to look into the arcana of our art. Now simple reasons and simple explanations are precisely what it is most difficult to give them, and most difficult for them to comprehend. Accordingly, to save his credit, the doctor dresses up for them an explanation in unmeaning words, from which they fancy they understand a kind of something; and from the habit of talking nonsense to others, and finding them satisfed with it, he gets to value it himself. Here is the stumbling block on which he falls.

I know very well how much these remarks may expose the faculty to the wits, who, when their wn bones do not ache, are not apt to spare us. But it is certainly true, that a man may be learned, and well versed in the practice of physick, and yet may not be ready to answer, to the ignorant, the inquiries above stated. For my own part, I should think well of any young man, who plainly refused to do it.

There are several reasons for all this. One great one is, that while all the world talk of the importance and advantages of experience, few people understand the nature and extent of experimental knowledge. We are all acquainted with the phenomena, which depend on the principle of gravitation. But if these phenomena were not so constantly obvious, as to render them familiar; if they were known only to

the learned, and one, discoursing on the subject, were to state that it is found by experiment whenever any body, specifically heavier than the atmosphere, is thrown into the air it falls to the ground; and that the acquaintance with this principle might enable us to construct many useful machines ;of one, so discoursing, many, not only of the vulgar, but of the better informed, would inquire why this thing was so; and they would hardly value the philosopher's knowledge of this law of nature, nor be willing even to credit it, if he could not talk nonsense to them about the causes of attraction, &c. The truth is, that the knowledge of the law, or, as it is sometimes called, the general fact, is all that is wanted; and this may be just as usefully applied, as if we could understand how such a property is impressed on matter.

Let us take a similar case in a science, with which a physician should be particularly conversant. The doctor is asked, what is the principle of life, and the inquirer expects to hear of some essence or quintessence, or of something like an electrick fluid, of which the experimentalist may exhibit at least a fleeting sight. He answers, that he knows not what life is; that he knows only the laws of life. He explains by stating, that living, vegetable, and animal bodies are endued with certain properties and powers, which are not found in dead matter; that these are attributed to the principle of life; and that if they are discovered, although the other be unknown, the object of the medi, cal philosopher is obtained. Now such an answer is not satisfactory, even to men of understanding, who are not conversant with natural philosophy; and they will be

much better pleased with a pretender, who gives them an hypothesis about some humour floating in the blood, or through the nerves, which is the essential spirit, or animating principle of living beings. The truth is, that men who are unacquainted with such subjects, are more taken with that philosophy, which represents the world as supported on the shoulder of Atlas, who sits on an elephant, who rests on a tortoise, &c. Many learned seekers after knowledge commit similar errours.

I have stated one reason, which renders it difficult for physicians, to answer the scientifick questions of their patients. Perhaps I have enlarged too much in the illustration of this reason; but it is a favourite subject. This reason is founded on the presumption, that the physician is perfectly able to give a satisfactory answer to one, qualified to understand it. There is a difficulty of another kind, which likewise may exist, while the physician is perfectly competent to the necessary explanation; and it is one which many persons feel, while they do not clearly recognize it.

The practice of physick is an art; and the precepts of this art,

for one little operation. The blacksmith is continually performing mechanical and chemical operations, and these are variously combined. No one would undervalue his handicraft, because he could not make his employer understand in five minutes all those scientifick principles, on which his operations depend. He indeed is not required to understand the sciences on which his art is founded, while the physician is. But the difficulty is, not that the artist does not understand the subject, for I am now supposing that he does; but that he cannot make another comprehend at once the combination of principles, with which principles individually the inquirer is unacquainted. It is like talking to a blind man, who knows not what colours are, of the effect of a mixture of colours.

Now I have been writing a page to persuade men that they are blind, so far as respects subjects which they have not investigated; and I may add, that, in many instances, no common minds can suddenly flash light enough on such subjects, as to make them rightly impress their torpid organs of sight. If I have succeeded to persuade my readers, that their neighbours are thus blind, it is as much as I have a right to expect. It is hard to persuade a man, that he himself does not see every thing, which is put before his eyes; although this happens every day to every man, both in the physical and moral world.

The limits of a periodical pub. lication require, that I should post❤ pone, for the present, the further consideration of this subject.

C.

Chippeway, Sept. 4, 1805. AFTER a hearty breakfast we set off (a party of four) provided with a guide and a bottle of wine, to follow the footsteps of Volney and Weld to the falls of Niagara, distant about two miles. The day was fine, with scarcely a breeze to interrupt the smooth expanse of the river before us. The distant noise of the cataract was much beneath our expectations, and all we saw of the falls, for half a mile, was the cloud of spray, which rose a bove them. This foretold some great cause.

Proceeding onwards, we come to a view of the rapids, which for half a mile above the main pitch throw the immense waters into great turbulence and foam. As we proceed, the banks of the river gradually become from five to fifty feet above the level of the river. Coming to a house on the bank of the river opposite the falls, we leave the road, and descend by an exceedingly steep path to a rich plain below; now entering a thick wood and shrubbery, very wet and muddy, we pick our way to Table rock, the projecting point, where stran gers are first carried.

Here we gaze at the mighty sight of an immense river, precip itating itself one hundred and fifty feet perpendicularly into an abyss, the bottom of which (owing to the spray) cannot be seen.

Our guide, leaving one of the party on Table rock, conducted us a small distance down, which gave

us, as it were, a profile view of the rock, on which our companion stood. We were terrified and astonished; we beheld a flat rock, not more than two feet thick, and of itself projecting ten feet, and the rock under it hollowing into cav. erns to the water, as appeared to us fifty or sixty feet more; we saw our companion, standing almost in air, over the dreadful crags below, ready, it would seem, with the rocks themselves to fall! Every one involuntarily cried out to him to retire, while the guide, smiling at our unneces sary fears, conducts us back to the further bank we had descended, where we stopped awhile to renovate our moral and physical strength.

Our next object is to descend Simcoe's ladder,before we arrive at the top of which, we have to pass down the steep bank, as before, and go over a plain nearly the same as in the path to Table rock.

We followed the guide by the ladder, leading down a rude precipice, which is continued along for a quarter of a mile to the falls, and is now the real bank of the river. Arrived at the bottom of this long ladder, we got down as well as we could, a height of about fifty feet further, descending over mounds of earth, bushes, and pieces of rock, tumbled together from the preci pice above.

We are now nearly on a level with the river below the falls, which are a quarter of a mile dis