all other medical compounds. In one sense, the word "patent" means plain or unconcealed, but that is the reverse of the meaning of the medicine in question. Time was when the state, for purpose of revenue, allowed the venders of medical mixtures to take advantage of the patent law. By an act of Parliament a duty was levied on bottles or packages containing prepared drugs, and a stamp showed that the tax had been paid. This regulation was early adopted by the United States, but a few years ago the law was wiped off our statute-books, and, to-day, no tax or license is necessary.
Now, in all patent medicines, whether ancient or modern, there are two elements—the element which we now regard as magical and that which we regard as mysterious.
The notions entertained of medicines and medicine-men by people in a low stage of culture are pretty much alike in different parts of the world. Everywhere savages attribute disease to evil spirits, revengeful enemies, and to various occult influences. Naturally enough, priests among rude people are doctors, and doctors are priests. The medicine-man is priest-doctor. Mr. Mooney, who has made a thorough study of the theory and practice of Cherokee medicine, observes that "every doctor is a priest, every application is accompanied by a prayer and a sacred song." He found that plants were selected on account of "some connection between their appearance and the symptoms of the disease."[1]
Here we meet with the magical element in medicine; for it is one of the recognized principles of magic that things like each other, in color or form, influence each other in a mystic way. On this belief in a real and material connection between an object and its image, or between things like each other, is based one half of the magic of ancient and mediæval times. Thus, the Cherokee doctor invariably prescribes a yellowish decoction for biliousness. Believing that heart troubles are caused by the lungs becoming wrapped up about the heart and impeding its action, the patient is treated with a preparation of fern leaves, because these leaves when young are coiled up, but unwrap as they grow older. Again, the medicine-man not only works on analogy or resemblance, but his remedies are put up in a mysterious way. The patient must not know the kind of stuff he is swallowing. According to Dr. Archie Stockwell,[2] the Indian doctor thinks that "a remedy to be of any value should be secret." To the same effect is the testimony of another expert.[3] "To keep their medicine from the gaze of the profane, a medicine-bag is prepared
