Full resolution (TIFF) - On this page / på denna sida - New York, March 2, 1850
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New York, March 2, 1850. Thanks to
homeopathy and my good watchful doctor, I am
now again in better health; but the malady which
I have endured, and still endure, is like the old
witch who could trip up even Thor. It is a
disagreeable, poisonous, insidious, serpent-like
disease—a vampire which approaches man in the
dark, and sucks away the pith and marrow of
body, nerves, and even of the soul. Half or
two-thirds of the people in this country suffer, or have
suffered, in some way from this malady. The
fault lies in the articles of food, in their mode of
life, in the manner of warming their rooms—all of
which would be injurious in any climate, but which
in one so hot and exciting as this, is downright
murder. The great quantity of pork and greasy
food, the hot bread, the highly spiced dishes,
preserves at supper, and oyster dishes, ought to be
inserted in the Litany; and so ought the “furnaces,”
as they are called; that is, a sort of pipe
which conveys hot air into a room through an
opening in the floor or the wall, and by means of
which the room becomes warm, or, as it were, boiling
hot, in five or ten minutes, but with a dry, close,
unwholesome heat, that always gives me a sensation
of pain and drowsiness. The small iron stoves
in use here are not good, either: they are too
responsive, and their heat is too violent; but yet they
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