ody does
n't like to talk about the next world; people are modest in their
desires, and find this world as good as they deserve; but everybody loves
to talk physic. Everybody loves to hear of strange cases; people are
eager to tell the doctor of the wonderful cures they have heard of; they
want to know what is the matter with somebody or other who is said to be
suffering from "a complication of diseases," and above all to get a hard
name, Greek or Latin, for some complaint which sounds altogether too
commonplace in plain English. If you will only call a headache a
Cephalgia, it acquires dignity at once, and a patient becomes rather
proud of it. So I think doctors are generally welcome in most companies.

In old times, when people were more afraid of the Devil and of witches
than they are now, they liked to have a priest or a minister somewhere
near to scare 'em off; but nowadays, if you could find an old woman that
would ride round the room on a broomstick, Barnum would build an
amphitheatre to exhibit her in; and if he could come across a young imp,
with hoofs, tail, and budding horns, a lineal descendant of one of those
"daemons" which the good people of Gloucester fired at, and were fired at
by "for the best part of a month together" in the year 1692, the, great
showman would have him at any cost for his museum or menagerie. Men are
cowards, sir, and are driven by fear as the sovereign motive. Men are
idolaters, and want something to look at and kiss and hug, or throw
themselves down before; they always did, they always will; and if you
don't make it of wood, you must make it of words, which are just as much
used for idols as promissory notes are used for values. The ministers
have a hard time of it without bell and book and holy water; they are
dismounted men in armor since Luther cut their saddle-girths, and you can
see they are quietly taking off one piece of iron after another until
some of the best of 'em are fighting the devil (not the zoological Devil
with the big D) with the sword of the Spirit, and precious little else in
the way of weapons of offence or defence. But we couldn't get on without
the spiritual brotherhood, whatever became of our special creeds. There
is a genius for religion, just as there is for painting or sculpture. It
is half-sister to the genius for music, and has some of the features
which remind us of earthly love. But it lifts us all by its mere
presence. To see a good man and