sealed paper box from his surtout pocket, and
holding it towards him, said solemnly, "Turn not away. This may be the
last time of health's asking. Work upon yourself; invoke confidence,
though from ashes; rouse it; for your life, rouse it, and invoke it, I
say."

The other trembled, was silent; and then, a little commanding himself,
asked the ingredients of the medicine.

"Herbs."

"What herbs? And the nature of them? And the reason for giving them?"

"It cannot be made known."

"Then I will none of you."

Sedately observant of the juiceless, joyless form before him, the
herb-doctor was mute a moment, then said:--"I give up."

"How?"

"You are sick, and a philosopher."

"No, no;--not the last."

"But, to demand the ingredient, with the reason for giving, is the mark
of a philosopher; just as the consequence is the penalty of a fool. A
sick philosopher is incurable?"

"Why?"

"Because he has no confidence."

"How does that make him incurable?"

"Because either he spurns his powder, or, if he take it, it proves a
blank cartridge, though the same given to a rustic in like extremity,
would act like a charm. I am no materialist; but the mind so acts upon
the body, that if the one have no confidence, neither has the other."

Again, the sick man appeared not unmoved. He seemed to be thinking what
in candid truth could be said to all this. At length, "You talk of
confidence. How comes it that when brought low himself, the herb-doctor,
who was most confident to prescribe in other cases, proves least
confident to prescribe in his own; having small confidence in himself
for himself?"

"But he has confidence in the brother he calls in. And that he does so,
is no reproach to him, since he knows that when the body is prostrated,
the mind is not erect. Yes, in this hour the herb-doctor does distrust
himself, but not his art."

The sick man's knowledge did not warrant him to gainsay this. But he
seemed not grieved at it; glad to be confuted in a way tending towards
his wish.

"Then you give me hope?" his sunken eye turned up.

"Hope is proportioned to confidence. How much confidence you give me, so
much hope do I give you. For this," lifting the box, "if all depended
upon this, I should rest. It is nature's own."

"Nature!"

"Why do you start?"

"I know not," with a sort of shudder, "but I have heard of a book
entitled 'Nature in Disease.'"

"A title I cannot approve; it is suspiciously scientific. 'Na