Animals in splendour and decline

Animals in splendour and decline E.L. GRANT WATSON

The Horse Chiron, the centaur, emerged from the dawn of time, half-man, half-horse. He was born of Philyra, one of the sea-nymphs, a daughter of Okeanos, the primal god of ocean. He was sired by Saturn, disguised as a white stallion of the waves. On hoofs fashioned for the land, Chiron galloped over the plains of the Underworld, urgently hurrying along the river banks, out of the shadows, to Mount Olympus where he stabled in a cave, cleft in the rocks. He was so wise in knowledge of medicinal herbs that heroes and demi-gods came to be his pupils. Among his companion centaurs was Kentauros the son of Ixion, whose equine nature drove him to couple with the mares of Mount Pelion, begetting further generations of centaurs, who, warring with the warriors of the Lapithai, the inventors of bits and bridles, raided their homelands, raping their women. The Hippokampoi, horse-monsters, half serpent-like fish who coupled with the Nereids, were near relatives of the centaurs. These denizens of the sea did not associate with men, as did Chiron the wise centaur who willingly, for the love of man, gave himself up to appease the guilt of Prometheus, and, in his stead, suffered torments in Hades. From such fables it can be guessed how the nature ofthehorse has participated in the souls of men. As Adam was created from dust of earth and breath of spirit, so the stallion sprang full-made from limestone rock at the touch of Poseidon's trident. Norse warriors, at the time they came in their beaked ships to raid the English coasts, delighted in the combats of horse and man against horse and man. They said that rams fought like fools, men like bulls, and horses like devils. I n the larger conflict of battle the war-horse was as distinguished as a n y man; he was then no mere servant or victim; with delight he snuffed the battle from afar. Stories are told of fabulous steeds. A1 Borak was a divine stallion, descended from heaven, the mount of Mahomet. Broiefort, the black Arabian, was won from the giant king of the Moors by Ogler, the Danish mercenary. He grew to love his new master, and when Ogler was unseated in conflict, flinging right and left with his heels, he killed three squires and five horses and put a whole company of Frenchmen to flight. No less wonderfully did imagination endow Babieca, the white charger of el Cid. Of the war-horse a Hebrew poet speaking with the voice of God out of a whirlwind, demands of the suffering Job: "Hast thou given the horse strength? Hast thou clothed his neck with thunder? He mocketh at fear and is not affrighted: Neither turneth he back from the sword, The quiver rattleth against him,

ANIMALS

IN

SPLENDOUR

AND

DECLII~E

201

The glittering spear and shield; He swalloweth the ground With fierceness and rage; He saith to the trumpets, H a ha: He smelleth the battle from afar off, The thunder of the captains, And the shouting." In these words, the poet portrays the splendour, bridled, yet not submissive, of a creature responsive to human will: the more intimate, the more mysterious - - o f quality, emergent and increasing with familiarity--in primal strength unsubdued. "Canst thou make him afraid as a grasshopper? The glory of his nostrils is terrible. The thunder of the captains and the shouting." I n the wonder of the first days men contended for him in gentleness and understanding, so close were their heart-beats. His obstinacy met one greater than his own; his free spirit was persuaded b y bit and bridle. So it was in the beginning before this creature, created for the spring-time of our admiration was gelded and overborne to base usage. Association with his peculiar odour, contact of horse-sweat on saddle and bridle calls for recognition echoing in the senses. For man or maid he is the animal-soul awaking in blood and limbs, whispering through nerves. As he braces for the jump, the take-off, courage increases; with leap succeeding leap he demands our participation to control his tremendous excitement. Together we return after the run over the fences to recollect our mundane surroundings. Alighted, holding the bridle, we guess the poet's vision. H a v e you ever looked into a horse's eye and questioned its secrets? At times it m a y be dull with fires sunk into opaqueness, on other occasions burning sparks scintillate. The eyes of animals are openings into unknown territories where human curiosity can penetrate but a short way. Those baffling apertures t h a t mask the souls of all the fleet-foot eaters of herbs; the giraffe, the camel, the bull, the horse---what lies behind the darkness t h a t obscures more than lids can close on? By their voices, so astonishing and full of wonder to the attentive ear, they tell some small fraction of what the eyes withhold. Arrested b y neighings or whilmeyings we m a y pause, listen a moment, and pass on, unable to attach any human meaning to those sounds although they greet us in friendly wise; but if, at hight-time it m a y be, we hear the scream of a stallion when confined and separated from a mare on heat, we tremble at t h a t devil's music, escaped from the labyrinths of hell. He m a y scream his anger, anguish and lust a whole night long and never tire. The backward wrinkled lips and bared teeth haunt our dreams. Because the horse has been subdued for so m a n y generations, his primal fierceness has mingled with softer strains of love and admiration, As charger. or dray-horse, or race-horse, hunter or trotter, his excitement can easily fountain into pleasures in the human heart. B y those who know him well he is loved b y a stranger love than the love of man for woman; risked and loved. I n the ancestral meadows he gently crops the grass, or thunders by galloping as the grey war-charger of slain Valerins, scattering companies of fighting men, or he

202

THE BRITISH

HOM(EOPATHIC JOURNAL

may stand motionless, as Black Auster, looking wistfully into his dead master's face.

Among the equine tribes the horse is distinguished by the long hairs of his tail, his flowing mane, long limbs and short ears. Of the northern dun type are the ponies of Norway and Iceland and the wiM ponies of Mongolia. The southern types are bay, with black points and often with white star on forehead; these are of Arab blood. In Australia and America horses imported by settlers have escaped into wildernesses and have multiplied. In close relationship to these are the ass, zebra and quagga. The Asiatic asses, called kiangs and ongers, to distinguish them from the wild asses of Africa, have dark stripes from head to tail, long tail and ears of moderate size. They are fleet footed; their sandy colouring assimilates them to the horse, and separates them widely from the African wild asses, the parents of the domesticated breeds, grey and long-eared, big-boned and obstinate. These come close to the zebras, and will mate with them in fertile union. Fertile unions are also recorded between horse and zebra, horse and onger, the common ass and the zebra, the ass and the onger, the onger and the zebra, and the onger and the bonte-quagga. The tribes furthest removed in structure, horse and ass, produce mules, which though sterile when crossed together, possess sure-footedness and general toughness that excel their progenitors. Among the eight sub-species the horse is the more distinguished in myth and fable, and has achieved in his submission to domestication a mastery that while adapting to the needs of men, evokes both love and admiration. Sharing the experience of many generations their souls have mingled, and indeed the physical well-being of man is often portrayed to him in dreams in the likeness of a horse, the fleetest, bravest, most communicative of all animals. So articulate are such visions that many a m y t h and fairy-tale tells of speaking horses who advise their masters where mere human cognition fails. The mixing of Arab blood with that of the northern strains has evoked the desire to produce by selective breeding the perfect animal, that "noble drinker of the air", one whose virtues are listed: thin lips and thin inner cartilage of the nose, wide dilation of nostrils, lean flesh encircling the veins of the head, softness of coat and mane and tail, breadth of chest, largeness of joints and leanness of extremities. Thoroughbred horses, it is said, have no vices; moral qualities correspond with the physical to make the most beautiful of animals. "Blessed are ye, 0 daughters of the wind", are the words of Mahommed. Faint shadows of such horses, reflections of ancient splendour still hover, on occasion, above latter-day race-courses, when the earth shakes to horse's hooves, when silk brushes silk as shirts of jockeys touch, and stirrup-irons clink, when the leaders, neck and neck, rise to the last fence. Great names stand for a great tradition in the stud books: Waxy, Penelope, Whalebone, Birdcatcher, Stockwell "the emperor of stallions", The Baron, Blair Athol: all winners. There was the famous mare, Manganese by Birdcatcher, by Moonbeam, from Tomboy, from Lunatic by Prime Minister, from Maniac by Shuttle. Manganese when mated with Rataplan, threw Mandragora, dam of Apology, winner of the Oaks and St Leger. The stud books conjure scenes, forgotten, though not expunged, of ghost meetings of the departed, of memorable horse-flesh, and the splendour of victory, repeated from generation to generation; the joy of triumph and the anguish of defeat, in fortunes won and lost. The jockeys and their mounts, made one in endeavour, shadow the immortal centaurs. The Shire horses were bred heavy and strong to drag plough or wagon. They tilled where wheat and oats should spring with t h e magic turn of the seasons,

ANIMALS

IN

SPLENDOUR

AND

DECLII~E

203

as food for man and beast. Their ancestors bore knights in full armour with shield and lance. Their stock was of the old Black English horses of the Midland Shires and their stallions stood seventeen hands, weight from eighteen to two hundred pounds. The stocky legs sprouted abundant hair from knee to hocks, obscuring, when in full feather, the hooves. The head was of good size, broad between the eyes, on a neck well arched from the shoulders. The breast was full and deep, the back short and straight, the hind-quarters long, level and well let-down into muscular thighs. Those of Clydesdale breed were not so large, the stallions standing sixteen hands two inches, with hair on legs not so abundant and of finer texture. The Suffolk Punch breed were smaller than the shire horses, but of heavy weight, resolute and unwearied workers. The last fifty years have changed the destiny of the farm horses, for no longer are they so universally associated with work on the land. The once familiar picture of horse, plough and ploughman is of the memory only. Some few lovers of horses for their own sake keep to the old ways, maintaining t h a t a horse treads the soil more gently than the wheels of a tractor, and that better crops can be grown on horse-tilled fields, that horse-manure has value greater than exhaust fumes from tractors. No doubt, however, t h a t a tractor covers larger area in measured time. The association, hallowed by countless generations, has been broken. At horse-shows the heavy cart-horses are still sometimes to be seen, and a great sight they offer with ribbons plaited in their tails. The lighter breeds survive as hunters and race-horses. They are to be seen at their best at jumping contests, where man and horse, or woman and horse, combine to some approximation to that composite creature of desire and purpose, the centaur. For some years these retain their glory, but often enough as old age approaches they are sold, and sold again, falling by chance on degrading tasks, and at the end are slaughtered and sold for what hide and flesh will sell for, to be eaten b y dogs or cats, or men. B y some few owners they are not forgotten, and it is not too rare a sight to see old hunters, their days of service over, put out to pasture, to muse over past triumphs, until one day, their tale of years finished, they are found lying stiff in death. Although the original bond with the horse has almost left the awareness of modern men, yet in dream and m y t h the significance of horse and horsemanship survive. From out of the background of the soul, the horses of Apollo are still led b y the muses to their harnessing of the sun-chariot. Man's love for woman and a m a n ' s love for his horse come close together in t h a t rarefied region, and it is not without meaning t h a t Faust in his search for Helen, the fairest and most desired of women, needs to be carried on the back of Chiron, the centaur, to the appointed place where Mento, the gentlest of the sibyls, guides him to the dangerous and tumultuous regions of mystery and desire, where, at the last, he m a y find if not any preconceived consummation, adventures to which he could not have come but by the aid of the wise centaur.

The Pig I n the Old Forest, before trees were felled or houses built with gardens and parks where fine folks might walk, fir, oak, beech and holly grew thick and close, and through the underbush, beneath the branches, herds of wild pig would

204

THE

BI~ITISH

HOMG~O]?ATI-IIC JOURNAL

grunt and rummage in moist earth and dead leaves, champing their jaws, up-thrusting dark soil. Great boars with curling tusks led the herds. Sows followed with their young, grunting and squealing, and rubbing themselves against tree trunks. From human encampments of branch-built huts, far from the forest, the more daring of the boys would sometimes venture under the shadows, but when they smelt the odour of the pigs and heard the rumblings of the approaching boars, they hurriedly swung themselves on to branches, where, perched, they watched the unconscious herd, noting the erratic movements, envying the boars their wildness. Held under a spell they watched in silence, and when the forest also was silent, they dared slip down, smiling to one another at danger passed. l~eturned to camp they told of their adventure, while men listened handling their spears, knowing full well that more than deer or cattle or wild horses, swine were spoilers of crops, destroying more than they ate. From earliest times pigs were hunted at risk. Boars are brave and quick to attack, and the hunter must be sound of heart to stand against the charge, must lean heavily on thrust of spear, as he jumped aside. The slinking hounds bark at the stricken brute at bay, and the hunter must be quick to follow with sword or knife, lest they be ripped asunder b y the cruel tusks. The story of Adonis tells of the youth chosen by Aphrodite, killed by a great boar; no ordinary hog, but Ares, his jealous brother in disguise. Both were lovers of the goddess. I n ancient myths, and in dreams of modern men the pig symbolizes all t h a t trails beyond comprehension into the territory from whence we have come. The wild swine, violent and quick-moving within the soul are potent forces to make impotent. Adonis and Thamus died from blows of boars' tusks, were mourned b y goddesses and resurrected each spring-time with the season. At fall of leaf they died once more, for so the older gods ordained. Although the relationship of the pig to man in early stories was one of violence, the swineherd as a controller of the brute beast held position of honour. Eummus, the goodly swineherd, was first to recognize Odysseus returning to his kingdom, the last of his company to survive; he helped to overthrow the importunate suitors. I n Grimm's story of The Enchanted Princess it was a swineherd who climbed the Life Tree and in the land t h a t lay amongst topmost branches met the Princess who ruled in happy unconsciousness till his arrival. Under her spell, he entered the forbidden room, and freed the crucified raven, t h a t led them, with so m a n y adventures, back into the world of reality. He had climbed from earth to heaven, and descended again to earth. The boar mediates in more ways than one between man and animal. He obeyed the goddess in Calydon, when sent b y Diana to ravage all the land and so punish Meleager for opposing his father. Heroes and demi-gods from neighbouring districts gathered for t h a t great hunting. To help Meleager came Mars, the war god, and with him the twin brethren Castor and Pollux; Ixion, who was beguiled by Hera and punished b y Zeus. Theseus was there, and Iolas, Jason and Admetus, and amongst the men that fleetfooted girl, Atalanta, who, shunning human love, would yield to no man who could not outrun her. They must run unarmed, she with a dart killed as she overtook them. The uncles of Meleager, Toxes and Plexippus, were of the hunt, also Lmrtes, father of Odysseus. Atalanta was the first to wound the boar, Meleager killed him. He decreed that she who wounded the creature should have the head for trophy. Toxes and Plexippus, indignant that a woman should carry off the prize, opposed Meleager, who in anger killed them.

ANIMALS

I1~ S P L E N D O U R

AI~D D E C L I N E

205

When the hunters returned in triumph, Althea went to meet her son, b u t when she learnt t h a t he had killed her brothers, she burnt the brand t h a t Atropus ordained should guard his life. In such manner, the boar triumphed even in death, sowing mortal strife. Throughout the ages the pig has become subjected to the uses of men. Something of human character and human intelligence has in that enduring association infected both pig and man. While man is mastering brute, the brute invades him, and though men triumph in selective breeding to put flesh and fat on countless carcasses, guilt presses beneath the level of awareness; only occasionally does a man see, in the intelligent glance of a porker, accusation and reproach. He is our nearest brother; his flesh most like human flesh; his diet like ours, omnivorous. Cannibal man looks away from this creature, once the noblest of wild animals, living in the forest in wilful heedlessness, now subjected with a ring put in his delicate nose, so well adapted to rooting in mother earth. He has been confined in small sties, deliberately kept in filth of excrement, in superstitious belief t h a t his flesh will taste more flavoursome. Men have limited his existence by thought concentrated, on his carcass; the original impulse of his being forgotten, or most rarely recognized. W. H. Hudson with the eyes of a true naturalist has been able to recognize, even in the filthy sty, the true character of the domesticated pig. He has fed him with unusual fruits, scratched his back and talked with him to their mutual advantage. He tells how the pig, ff given but half a chance, is far cleaner in eating and in general behaviour t h a n the dog. When offered anything unusual to eat he will sniff at it and nibble gently. He does not greedily gulp. I n his approach he is friendly and direct. Hudson writes: " I have a friendly feeling towards pigs generally and consider them the most intelligent of beasts, not excepting the elephant and the anthropoid a p e - - t h e dog is not to be mentioned in this connection. I also like his disposition and attitude towards other creatures, especially man. He is not suspicious or shrinkingly submissive, like horses, cattle and sheep; nor an impudent devil-may-care like the goat; nor hostile like the goose, nor condescending like the cat; nor a flattering parasite like the dog. He views us from a totally different, a sort of democratic standpoint, as fellow citizens and brothers, and takes it for granted, or grunted, that we understand his language, and without servility or insolence he has a natural, pleasant camaraderie, or hail-fellow-well-met air with us." Hudson who looked through his eyes, and with no casual glance, thus saw his brother pig, and though he did not flinch at eating bacon, recoiled with horror before the actuality of Chicago slaughtering yards and sausage machines. Assuredly we are persuaded to forget the pristine significance of animals, exploiting them beyond measure to satisfy the explosive birth-rate of a population who have forgotten the original splendour. The pig is, like man, an omnivorous feeder, as his teeth indicate. He will eat a rat, if he can catch it, just as a bear will eat a starling or a crow. He is a bit of a scavenger, and will relish, as a fox will, the after-birth of a cow. He loves apples and any kind of fruit, and although, when confined in a sty he is fed on monotonous meal-mixtures, he will relish a lump of coal, if some considerate pig lover will provide. The canines of the wild swine are well adapted to rooting in earth or ripping up hound or hunter. The lower tusks of the boar are deep-set in the jaw and curve upwards, outside the lips. Those of the upper jaw do not grow downwards as is usual, but curve up and in, their front edges working against the inside

206

THE

BRITISH

HOM(EOPATHIC

JOURNAL

edge of the lower tusks. I n sows this development is not so pronounced. The young are striped, suggesting descent from an extinct ancestor. Domesticated pigs seldom show stripes in the young, but Darwin records that strains that have run wild in Jamaica have reverted to aboriginal character and produced striped young. The sub-species of wild swine v a r y considerably according '~o locality; but all show the peculiar development of the canines. An extraordinary variant is the wild pig-deer, the Babirusa of Malaya. I n this animal the canine teeth of the boars are curved and slender and of indefinite growth. Those of the upper jaw grow upward, never entering the mouth, but pierce the skin of the face. They resemble horns rather than teeth, curving backwards and down as do the tusks of the lower jaw. The use of these upper teeth is hard to guess. As instruments of offence, they are inferior to those of typical swine, since t h e y easily snap off. Through long association with man the forest animal has been modified out of all recognition. The prize pigs of Smithfield, be they Berkshire or Large White, or Middle White, or Small White, or Large Black, have been much deformed b y selective breeding, and response to the demands of those who have controlled them. The Tamworth breed alone, hardy, active and prolific, red in colour, and at times with darkish spots, shows some affmities with the wild swine. The head and body are long, and with ribs deep and flat; the flesh has the flavour of the aboriginal forest, much prized by connoisseurs. Pigs that have been subject to the intensive breeding of Americans are known as lard-hogs. They mature quickly making as much as three hundred pounds in eight months; in this sad decadence they exist t h a t they m a y die. Their decline from wild swine t h a t still exist precariously in forests of Europe shows all too plainly what men can do to animals that once roamed free in primal splendour.

The Goat I f one should look long enough into the eye of a goat, the mystery of animal life might be revealed. A goat is ready enough to look at a man and size him up, but is shy of any searching look that would probe its secret. I t turns its head away, letting its glance rest but for a moment on the human inquisitor. How curious is the pupil of a goat's eye, sometimes like a key-hole, sometimes a slit opening into darkness. The iris, pale yellow, hazel or brown, shines bright behind the clear cornea. That is all that a goat will allow to be apprehended. The goat is so near to the sheep in relation t h a t the sub-species and variants blend; yet they have early in men's minds been separated. Sheep that run in flocks and are obedient to the shepherd's call have stood throughout history as the good ones, those who m a y be saved, but to the goats has been assigned all t h a t is unpredictable, serf-centred and independent. Goats at the Last Judgement are on the left, the sheep are for salvation, for they have heard and answered t o the voice of the shepherd. Not only are goats unpredictable in most things t h a t they do, but they show themselves more intelligent t h a n sheep, also braver. For this reason they are used in leading the sheep flocks for protection, for they will stand with horns lowered to face hungry woff or hound, keeping the enemy at bay. Their extravagant lustfulness, finding a response in men's hearts, has earned for them their

ANIMALS

IN SPLENDOUR

AND DECLINE

207

bad name. The excessive lechery of the strong-smelling he-goat invites projection on the animal of what men fear; what their communal life rejects. Astonished at such sexual potency, revolted and attracted, they would banish their own feelings to some dark, secret stable where goats and demons t e m p t young witches to deeds scarcely guessed at. The Brocken monster has goat's hooves and hairihess, imaginations grow, heaping on the goat the sins of mankind. The scapegoat was discovered as one who might carry human sins into the desert. The suffering animal must die t h a t man m a y salve his conscience. I n other times animals had the splendour of their human-relatedness. Today we shrink upon ourselves, unaware of how the fringes of our being wither and decline. As the wild places of the world are invaded, so do we close an ever-shrinking ring round ourselves. William Blake who invoked great thoughts to widen the foreheads of men, himself lived close to the confluence from which good and evil spring, he gave full value to animals and their qualities. The Tigers of W r a t h and the Horses of Instruction glowed in his perception in noumenal splendour; the Lust of the Goat was the Glory of God. The early Greeks with their wide acceptance of life peopled all Nature with spirit-beings. The hairy goat-footed Pan was haft elemental and half divine. He lived in m a n y myths, in one of which it is told how he was spewed up from the underworld by volcanic eruption. After he had recovered himself from the adventure he wooed forest nymphs and tree dryads, coupling with them to beget m a n y little Pans, until one day he chanced on Aphrodite, and snatched at her, as he would at any chance-met nymph. Disdainfully she struck him with her white hand, and at the touch his fiery nature changed. He followed meekly. "Darling, do not run away," he called, "wait, come with me." The goddess laughing at the simplicity of this woodland creature, still ran from him, leading him through m a n y a marsh, and over m a n y a heath till she came at last to the mountain where the gods were gathered in council. When Zeus saw him come limping near the holy place with his hooves caked with clay, he said: "Let him be thrown back into the burning coals from whence he came." But Apollo, seeing t h a t the creature clutched reed-fashioned pipes, spoke on his behaff: "Since he has climbed on his goat's legs as high as any bird can fly, let him speak in his defence, or better let him play his pipes for our amusement." The advice offered diversion from the monotony of heaven, and the company of gods and goddesses gathered round the Goatfoot, who, glancing in quick sideways apprehension at each in turn, brought his pipes t o his lips. The notes came thin and sharp, then softened as though a wind were gently blowing over the edges of the hills. D r y leaves came with his piping, fluttering close to the earth, and then it seemed clouds were gathering and a blur of rain obscured the forests. Water was dripping in dark caverns, and the gods heard how tree-roots were pressing into rocks. Fire was crackling around him. Suddenly his music ceased, and again the Goatfoot looked at the gods with sidelong glances. Apollo smiled and Zeus also had an amused and questing look. "Play on, let us hear more." Bending low with eyes fixed on the earth the Goatfoot blew again on his pipes, and it seemed he was answered b y the distant howling of wolves. Apollo touched his shoulder: "Take m y lyre, friend." At this the Goatfoot rose upon his haunches, and timidly put out his hand. As he touched the lyre his hairy ears stood upright on his head. He struck t h e strings gently, and began to sing as he had learnt to sing in the underworld long ago. He sang of Nature, and of the power t h a t drives the sap in spring-time, of the opening leaves and buds, and of the fall of leaves, and of decay. He sang of men,

208

THE BRITISH HOMEOPATHIC

JOURIqAL

of their ploughings and their sowings, of harvest, and of winter; then, changing his notes he sang of sun and moon and of the stars; and as he sang he grew great in size. The gods looked at each other in wonder, and still he swelled and swelled, encompassing the mountain and the void that lies beyond. Such are the fables born, perchance, to men who have gazed through the keyhole portal of those limpid eyes.

Letters

to

a nephew

III My dear S., Yes. Absolutely. We are a funny crowd. There is a reason--we have all had to throw aside a considerable part of the hidebound therapeutics in which we were brought up. The cause of this, for almost all of us, was an illness for which ordinary therapeutics had proved of no help at all and from which we were rescued b y some (till t h a t time despised) homceopaths, We have had it proven to us in our own bodies. At the moment, of course, you depend for bread and butter and, I hope, taxes on the latest advertised synthetic drug as well as the old stand-bys; these latter are friends you must keep, like your Consultants. A friend is someone who can never be replaced. So, a bit of advice: do not mention the word Homceop a t h y to a soul (particularly medicals---if we have souls) until you are really good and competent. B u t about your query, Chamomilla is in a way like all our remedies, " f u n n y " as you put it. For me and I expect all the GP homceopaths, we tend to think of it for children. There are commonly two varieties of children with teething troubles. The one you want to pick up and comfort and kiss (they need Pulsatilla), the other sort you badly want to pick up and spank. Give t h a t child Chamomilla, I x or 3x or 6x or whatever you have, and in a few minutes you will have peace and the mother's gratitude. D o n ' t be surprised ff the child gives a few choking sobs and goes off to sleep. Sleep is very often the first and very reliable sign t h a t you have given the correct remedy in an acute case; easy peaceful sleep with a nice awakening, not the heavy sleep and rotten feeling on waking after dope. However, like all our remedies, you never know when you m a y next need it. A patient at present under treatment who needs Chamomilla is 73. He is retired and cultivates a most lovely garden, though all our gardens have been lovely this year. His main complaints are auricular fibrillation, attacks of gouty swelling both of hands and feet and a prostate which must be awful for anyone as irritable as he is. Dulcamara (low) helped his gouty attacks, but micturition