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.