There have been giants in the earth, in nearly every age, if not in every clime giants mentally, and giants physically. Of course they may have been rare exhibitions, and may thus have elicited much attention; and some of them have attained to quite a memorable place in history.

There have been and still are, on the earth, giants of other descriptions. We sometimes even meet with giant dyspeptics. Dyspepsia, at best, is formidable, many-headed, but not always gigantic. If gigantic size, in this case, were the general rule, what we now call giants would, of course, cease to be regarded as such.

It may be thought that what I shall here call dyspeptic giants, or giant dyspeptics, were better designated as monsters, than giants. Be it so, for we will not quarrel about names; though a difficulty might be found in making the required distinction between giants and monsters; for is not every giant a monster?

Not far from the year 1830, perhaps a little earlier, you might have seen, in connection with a certain private seminary of education, in New England, one of these giant dyspeptics. I do not mean, of course, that he had already attained to giant size, but only that what proved in the result to be gigantic was already a giant in miniature, and was rapidly advancing to one of magnitude.

He had early been a cabin boy; and like many other cabin boys, had been gluttonous, and in some respects intemperate. Not by any means, that he had ever been guilty of downright intoxication; for of this I have no certain knowledge. My belief is, however, that he had gone very far in this direction, though he might not have probably had not been justly chargeable with going quite to the last extremity.

But why should such a young man be found at a seminary of learning? Was he with “birds of a feather?” Do not these attract each other?

Mr. Gray, for that is the name I shall give to our young dyspeptic, had been recently subjected to the influences of one of those seasons of excitement well known in the religious world by the name of revivals; and what is not at all uncommon with the rude and uncultivated minds of even more hardened sailors than he, a great change had come over him. In short, he had the appearance, in every respect, of being a truly converted young man.

Why this change of character had led him to this school-house, may not at first appear. Yet such a result is by no means unusual. This waking up the mind, by awakening the soul, and causing it to hunger and thirst after knowledge, has been observed long since, by those who have had their eyes open to what was going on around them.

Young Gray was penniless, and his parents not only poor, but overburdened with the cares of a large family, so that they could give him no aid but by their prayers. He was not, however, to be discouraged by poverty. He agreed to ring the bell, sweep the hall, build fires, etc., for his board and tuition. As for clothing, he had none, or almost none. Charity, cold as her hand oftentimes is, supplied him with something. Dyspepsia had not, as yet, marred his visage or weakened his energies.

In his connection with this seminary and others of kindred character, such as he could attend and yet pay his expenses by his labor, he became, ere long, able to teach others. Here was a new means of support, of which he eagerly availed himself. In whatever he undertook, moreover, he was singularly successful. He was in earnest. An earnest mind, in connection with an indomitable will what may it not accomplish? It is every thing but omnipotent.

“Heaven but persuades, almighty man decrees,” as I have before said, assuming our old English poets as standard authority; but this saying has more in it than mere poetry. Or, if Heaven more than persuades somewhat more does not man still decree? But I am inclined, I see, to press this thought, perhaps in undue proportion to its magnitude. Whether or not it abates one half the guilt, I make the confession.

For several years Gray pushed his devious course, through “thick and thin,” sustaining himself chiefly by his teaching. In 1835, he was the private instructor of a wealthy family in Rhode Island; but so puzzling, not to say erratic, were some of his movements, that he was not very popular. Subsequently to this, he was found in another part of New England, editing a paper, and teaching at the same time a small number of pupils.

All this while he paid great attention to physical education; but being either a charity scholar, or obliged to pay his way by his own exertions, he had not at command the needful time to render him thorough in any thing, even in his obedience, as he called it, to Nature’s laws. Nearly all his studies were pursued by snatches, or, at least, with more or less irregularity.

In nothing, however, was he more irregular than in his diet. This, to a person already inclined, as he certainly was, to dyspepsia, was very unfortunate. Perhaps, as generally happens in such cases, there was action and reaction. Perhaps, I mean, his dyspeptic tendencies led to more or less of dietetic irregularity; while the latter, whenever yielded to, had a tendency, in its turn, to increase his load of dyspepsia.

There was, indeed, one apology to be found for his irregularity with regard to diet, in his extreme poverty. There were times when he was actually compelled to subsist on the most scanty fare; while his principles, too, restricted him to very great plainness. In one instance, for example, after he had finished his preparatory, course of study and entered college, he subsisted wholly on a certain quantity of bread daily; and as if not quite satisfied with even this restriction, while he needed his money so much more for clothing and books, he purchased stale bread sometimes that which was imperfect at a cheaper rate. Now a diet, exclusively of fine flour bread, and withal more or less sour or mouldy, is not very suitable for a dyspeptic, nor yet, indeed, for anybody whatever. However, he learned, at length, to improve a little upon this, by purchasing coarse, or Graham bread.

Subsequently to this period, not being able, either alone or with the aid of friends, most of whom were poor, to pursue a regular academic course of instruction, he accepted the proposition that he should become an assistant teacher in the English department of a school in Europe. This, he feared, might postpone the completion of his studies, but would enable him, as he believed, to improve his mind, establish his health, and add greatly to his experience and to his knowledge of the world. It would also perfect him in teaching, so far at least as the mere inculcation of English grammar was concerned.

His health was by no means improved by a residence of three or four years in Europe, but rather impaired. He returned to America, in the autumn of 1839, and as soon as he had partially recovered from the effects of a tedious and dangerous voyage, went to reside in the family of a near relative who was a farmer, with a view to learn, for the first time, what the labors of the farm would do for him.

Here he often resorted to the same rigid economy which he had before practised, both at academy and college, and in Europe. The very best living he would allow himself was a diet exclusively of small potatoes those, I mean, from which the larger ones had been separated for the use of others.

This, his dyspeptic stomach would not long endure. His digestive and nervous systems both became considerably deranged; and even his skin, sympathizing with the diseased lining membrane of his stomach and intestines, became the seat of very painful boils and troublesome sores. These, while they indicated still deeper if not more troublesome disease, gave one encouraging indication that the recuperative powers of the system were not as yet irrecoverably prostrated.

He now came to me and begged to become my patient, and to reside permanently under my roof, so that he might not only receive such daily attention and counsel as the circumstances required, but also such food, air, exercise, and ablutions as were needful. He was accordingly admitted to the rights, privileges, and self-denials of the family.

Here he spent a considerable time. While under my care, I made every reasonable exertion for his recovery which I would have made for a favorite child. Indeed, few children were ever more obedient or docile. He would sometimes say to me: “Doctor, I have no more power over myself than a child, and you must treat me as you would a child.” Nor was he satisfied till I restricted his every step, both with regard to the quantity and quality of his food, and the hours and seasons of bathing, exercise, reading, etc. It was to me a painful task, and I sometimes shrunk from it, for the moment. There was, however, no escape. I had embarked in the enterprise, and must take the consequences.

At first, his improvement was scarcely perceptible, and I was almost discouraged. But at length, after much patience and perseverance, the suffering digestive organs began, in some measure, to resume their healthful condition, and the whole face of things to wear a different aspect. He left us to take charge of a public school.

For some time after the opening of this school, his health seemed to be steadily improving, and the world around him began to have its charms again. He was in his own chosen, and, I might say, native element, which was to him a far more healthful stimulus than any other which could have been devised, whether by the physician or the physiologist.

Nothing in this world is so well calculated to preserve and promote human health, as full and constant employment, of a kind which is perfectly congenial and healthful, and which we are fully assured is useful. In other words, the first great law of health is benevolence. It keeps up in the system that centrifugal tendency of the circulation of which I have already spoken, and which is so favorable for the rejection of all effete and irritating matters. It would have been next to impossible for our Saviour, with head, heart, and hands engaged as his were, to have sickened; nor was it till the most flagrant physiological transgressions had been long repeated, that even Howard the philanthropist sickened and died. Not the whole combined force of malaria and contagion could overcome him, till continual over-fatigue, persistent cold, and strong tea, an almost matchless trio, lent their aid to give the finishing stroke.

Mr. Gray was a boarder with a gentleman who kept a grocery store, and who was glad to employ him on certain days and hours of vacation or recess, in taking care of the shop and waiting on his customers. Here the tempter again assailed him, in the form of foreign fruits, raisins, figs, prunes, oranges, dried fish, cordials, candy, etc. For some time past he had been wholly unaccustomed to these things; they had even been forbidden him, especially between his meals. As a consequence of his indulgences, and his neglect of exercise, his health again declined, and he came a second time under my care.

He was partially restored the second time, but not entirely. His labors, which were teaching still, became more exhausting than formerly. Cheerfulness, hope, sympathy, conscious usefulness, and the force of many good habits, sustained him for a time, but not always. His great labors of body and mind, with a deep sense of responsibility, and the indulgences to which I have alluded, preyed upon him, and dyspepsia began once more her reign of tyranny.

Doubtless he attempted too much here, for he was an enthusiast on the subject of common schools and common school instruction. And yet, under almost any circumstances of school-keeping, dyspepsia, nurtured as it was by every physical habit, would most certainly have assailed him. With regard to his food and drink he was very unwise. It contributed largely to an extreme of irritability, which was unfavorable, and which at the end of a single term compelled him to resign his place and seek some other employment.

This was a grievous disappointment to Mr. Gray, and, as some of his friends believe, was the mountain weight that crushed him. The horrors of the abyss into which he believed he had plunged himself, were the more intolerable from the fact that he now, for the first time, began to despair of being able to consummate a plan by means of which both his sorrows and joys, especially the latter, would have been shared by another.

Yet, even here, he did not absolutely despair. Hope revived when he found himself, a third time, my patient. I did all in my power to encourage him till I had at length, to my own surprise as well as his, the unspeakable pleasure of finding him again returning to the path of health and happiness. It is indeed true, that a capricious appetite still retained its sway, in greater or less degree, and whenever he was not awed by my presence, he would indulge himself in the use of things which he knew were injurious to him, as well as in the excessive, not to say gluttonous, use of such good things as were tolerated. He occasionally confessed his impotence, and begged us to keep every thing out of his way, even those remnants which were designed for the domestic animals!

And yet, after all, strange to say, he absented himself very frequently, as if to seek places of retirement, where he could indulge his tyrannical appetite. I saw most clearly his danger, and spoke to him concerning it. I appealed to his fears, to his hopes, to his conscience. I reminded him of the love he bore to humanity, and the regard he had for Divinity.

Once more, being partly recruited, he resumed his labors as a teacher. This was doubtless a wrong measure, and yet I was not aware of the error at the time, or I should not have encouraged the movement, or assisted him as I did in procuring a situation. But I then thought he had been punished so effectually for his transgressions, that he would at length be wise. Besides he was exceedingly anxious to be at work, and to avoid dependence, a desire in which his friends participated, and in regard to which they were so unwise as to express their over anxiety in his hearing.

Three months in the school-house found him worse than ever before. He had attempted to board himself, to subsist on a very few ounces of “Graham wafers” at each meal, and to be an hour in masticating it. As an occasional compensation for this, however, a sort of treating resolution, he allowed himself to pick up the crusts and other fragments left about the school-house by his pupils, and when he had collected quite a pile of these, to indulge his appetite with them, ad libitum. Nor was this all. He erred in other particulars, perhaps in many.

He came to my house a fourth time, but my situation was such that I could not well receive him. He staid only a day or two, but his residence with us was long enough to enable me to mark the progress of his case, and to deplore what I feared must be the final issue. From me he went to a friend in an adjoining State; not, however, till he had alluded to certain errors of his recent life that he had not yet devulged, even to his best friend. “Doctor,” said he, “there are some things that I have not yet told you about.”

To me, also, it belongs, at this point of Gray’s lamentable history, to make confession of great and glaring error. To have received the young man to my house, and to have devoted myself to the work of endeavoring again to raise him, would, most undoubtedly, have been a sacrifice to which few people in my circumstances would have thought themselves called. Yet, difficult as it was, the sacrifice might have been made. Had he been my only brother, I should, doubtless, have received him. The Saviour of mankind, in my circumstances, would probably have taken him in. Was I not his follower? And was I not bound to do what I believed he would do, in similar circumstances?

His more distant friend, but more consistent Christian brother, opened wide his doors for his reception, and did the best he could for him. It was his intention, at first, to employ him, as I now think he ought to have been employed long before; viz., on a small farm. In this point of view this friend’s house was particularly favorable. Yet there were offsets to this advantage. One thing in particular, cast a shade upon our efforts in his behalf. It was about April 1st, and the house and farm had an eastern aspect, and the easterly winds, which at that season so much prevailed, were very strong and surcharged with vapor at a low temperature. For a few days after his arrival he was worse than ever.

This was discouragement heaped upon discouragement, and he began soon to sink under it. For a short time he was the subject of medical treatment. What was the character of the medicine he took, I never knew. At length there were signs of convalescence; but no sooner did his bodily health and strength begin to improve, than his mental troubles began to press upon him, till he was driven to the very borders of insanity. Indeed, so strong was the tendency to mental derangement that his relatives actually carried him, per force, to an insane hospital.

But his residence at the hospital was very short. Provision having in the mean time been made for his reception in a private family, among his acquaintance, and the superintendent of the hospital having advised to such a course, he was remanded to the country, to familiar faces, and to a farm.

On reaching the place assigned him, he became extremely ill, worse, by far, than ever before, so that, for several weeks, his life was despaired of. But by means of careful medical treatment, and a judicious and very simple diet, which at the hospital had been exchanged for a stimulating one, nature once more rallied, and in three or four weeks he appeared to be in a fair way for recovery. His strength increased, his mind became clear; his digestive function, though still erratic, appeared about to resume its natural condition, and to perform once more its wonted office; and the other troublesome symptoms were all gradually disappearing, except one; he had still a very frequent pulse.

But even this rapid arterial action was at length abating. From a frequency of the pulse equal to 100, 110, and sometimes 120 in a minute, it fell in two weeks to from 70 to 75; and this, too, under the influence of very mild and gentle treatment. There was no reduction of activity or power, by bleeding, or by blistering, or in any other way; on the contrary, as I have intimated, there was a general increase of strength and vigor, both of body, and mind. He did not even take digitalis or morphine. The prospect, therefore, was, on the whole, truly encouraging.

And yet he had a set of friends relatives, I should say, rather who were not satisfied. It was strongly written on their minds that he was about to die; and they sternly insisted on removing him to his native home, that if he should die, he might die in the bosom of his own kindred. I was consulted; but I entered my most solemn protest against the measure, as both uncalled for and hazardous. It was to no purpose, however. In their over-kindness they determined to remove him; and the removal was effected. I ought also to say that though Mr. Gray highly appreciated their kindness, he was himself opposed to the measure, as one attended with much hazard.

On the road to his paternal home, influenced in no small degree by mental excitement, his delirium returned, and with an intensity that never afterwards abated. He was, for about three weeks, a most inveterate and raving maniac, when, worn out prematurely with disease, he sunk to rise no more till the general resurrection.

There was no post-mortem examination of this young man, though there should have been. Not that there was any lurking suspicion of peculiarity of disease, but because such examinations may always be made serviceable to the cause of medical science, while they cannot possibly injure either the dead or the living.

I have been the more minute in my account of this man, because the case is an instructive one, both to the professional and non-professional reader, and also because it places medicine and physicians in the true light, and holds forth to the world the wonderfully recuperative power of nature, and the vast importance of giving heed to the laws of health and to the voice of physiology.