Those who have recourse to him seldom speak gratefully of his skill. He relieves you, it is true — but of your money, not your malady; and the only branch of his profession in which he is an adept, is that which enables him to bleed you! — Mankind! What noble creatures you ought to be! You have keys to all sciences, all arts, all mysteries, but one! You have not a notion how you ought to be governed! You cannot frame a tolerable law for the life and soul of you! You make yourselves as uncomfortable as you can by all sorts of galling and vexatious institutions, and you throw the blame upon 'Fate.' You lay down rules it is impossible to comprehend, much less to obey; and you call each other monsters, because you cannot conquer the impossibility! You invent all sorts of vices, under pretense of making laws for preserving virtue; and the anomalous artifices of conduct yourselves produce, you say you are born with: — you make a machine by the perversest art you can think of, and you call it with a sigh, 'Human Nature.' With a host of good dispositions struggling at your breasts, you insist upon libeling the Almighty, and declaring that He meant you to be wicked. Nay, you even call the man mischievous and seditious who beseeches and implores you to be one jot better than you are. — Mankind! you are like a nosegay bought at Covent Garden. The flowers are lovely, the scent delicious; — mark that glorious hue! Contemplate that bursting petal! — how beautiful, how redolent of health, of nature, of the dew and breath and blessing of Heaven, are you all! 