reassure him. He sees in every article of diet a hidden fiend of
dyspepsia; in every drink a demon of torture. Every man he meets is a
scoundrel, and every woman a leech. Children are growing worse
daily, and society is "rotten." The Church is organized for the mere
fattening of a raft of preachers and parsons who preach what they
don't believe and never try to practice. Lawyers and judges are all
dishonest swindlers caring nothing for honor and justice and seeking
only their fees; physicians and surgeons are pitiless wretches who
scare their patients in order to extort money from them; men in office
are waiting, lurking, hunting for chances to graft, eager to steal
from their constituents at every opportunity. He expects every thing,
every animal, every man, every woman to get the best of him--and, as a
rule, he is not disappointed. For we can nearly always be accommodated
in life and get that for which we look.

We are told that all these imaginary ills come from physical causes.
The hypochondrium is supposed to be affected, and as it is located
under the "short ribs," the hypochondriac continuously suffers from
that awful "sinking at the pit of the stomach" that makes him feel
as if the bottom had dropped out of life itself. He can neither eat,
digest his food, walk, sit, rest, work, take pleasure, exercise, or
sleep. His body is the victim of innumerable ills. His tongue, his
lips, his mouth are dry and parched, his throat full of slime and
phlegm, his stomach painful, his bowels full of gas, and he regards
himself as cursed of God--a walking receptacle of woe. To physician,
wife, husband, children, employer, employee, pastor, and friend alike
the hypochondriac is a pest, a nuisance, a chill and almost a curse,
and, poor creature, these facts do not take away or lessen our
sympathy for him, for, though most of his ills are imaginary, he
suffers more than do those who come in contact with him.