Part 9

A local disease is impossible. The organism is one and not many. Even a gun-shot wound is not a local trouble. Suppose a man's little finger is shot away. The man is not in the condition of a table with a corner shot off; he is not even in the condition of a steam engine with a valve or screw destroyed. Neither approaches the case of the man with the maimed hand. The table is, except the small point touched by the bullet, exactly as before. Feel of it. There is no unusual warmth, no trembling, no sympathy with the wounded corner. In fact, the table is quite well, thank you, except where it was hit. Now examine the man with the hurt finger. Look at his face. How pale and excited. Feel his pulse. It is 120 instead of 75. The skin of his toes is in a peculiar condition. What is the matter with this man's toes? They are suffering from a wound in his little finger.

While no doctor fails to talk much of the vis medicatrix naturae, while the condition of the general system is constantly invoked to explain this and that, the treatment of most local affections is conducted on the plan of repairing the wound in the corner of the table.

Here comes a man with a limping gait. He shows an ulcer upon his ankle. The disease, sir, is not of your ankle, but of your system. I will direct you how to improve your general health, so that this ulcer will disappear, with no other local treatment than cleanliness. You can't be cured by any doctor stuff put upon the sore. This is the flag of distress which nature hangs out to give notice of trouble within.

We are at sea and descry a vessel with a flag of distress. Our captain believes in the doctrine of local diseases, and sends a boat's crew to cut down the flag; whereupon he struts about the deck exclaiming, "We've done it! we've done it! we have cured them!" The doctor who treats the ulcer, salt rheum, catarrh, or any other local manifestation, as the disease itself, is about equally bright.

But here comes a bad case. How pale and weak he seems. His pulse is 110, he is distressingly emaciated, and seems ready for the grave. His cough and labored breathing suggest consumption, and we apply the stethoscope to the chest. Ah, it's all of a piece. His lungs are terribly ulcerated. "Now," says some wise doctor, "here it is. We've found his trouble. We must bring our medicines to bear upon these ulcers." "Yes, Doctor, that's it," gasps the patient; "just fix me there, and I shall be all right." Then the wise doctor proceeds with his inhalations, and keeps up the pitiful, suffocating farce, until the patient, notwithstanding this most skillful treatment, sinks and dies.

As a matter of fact, this man's system, from some inherited taint, or from some vicious habit, unhealthy mode of life, or some other cause, was sick all through and through for months or years before the malady was localized in his lungs. The ulcers in his lungs, like his rapid pulse, emaciation, and sickening perspiration, are simply manifestations of the disease. The real disease is systemic, like all others, and must be treated like all other diseases, by lifting up the general vitality.

This must be done through sunshine, fresh air, exercise, cleanliness, much sleep, cheerful society, and a wise diet. To give such a patient medicated vapors, drugs for his stomach, or whiskey, is a barbarism, that must soon give way before the advancing light of our civilization.

SUNSHINE AND HEALTH.

Five or six years ago, when "Our Young Folks" was first published, Messrs. Ticknor & Fields asked me to write some articles for that magazine, about the management of children. One of those articles was the following. It was published in the September number of the year 1865:--

A Few Plain Words to My Little Pale-Faced Friends.

Three years ago I visited my dear young friend, Susie. Although she lives in the country, in the midst of splendid grounds, I found her with a very pale face, and blue semi-circles under the eyes. Her lips were as white as if she had just risen from a sick-bed; and yet her mother told me she was as well as usual. Susie was seven years old, and a most wonderful child.

I said to her, "Well, my little chick, what makes you so pale?"

She replied, "Oh, I was always pale. Annie says it is pretty."

When we were all sitting around the dinner-table, I introduced the subject again, for it was very sad to find this beautiful and promising child so fragile. Before I left, I took little Susie's hand and we walked into the garden. "And now," said I, "my little one, you must show me your favorite flower."

She took me to a beautiful moss-rose, and exclaimed, "Oh, that is the most beautiful flower in the world; don't you think it lovely, sir?"

I said, "Now, Susie, I shall come here again in two weeks. I wish you would dress up that rose-bush in a suit of your own clothes, and allow the dress to remain till I return."

She laughed, and said, "Why, how queer! why do you want me to do that?"

I replied, "Never mind, but run and get the clothes, and I will help you dress it up, and see if it looks like you."

So off she ran with loud shouts to ask mamma for a suit of her clothes. Of course, mamma had to come and ask if I was serious, and what were my reasons. I said, "I cannot give you my reasons today, but I assure you they are good ones, and when I come again I will explain it all to you."

So a specimen of each and every kind of garment that Susie was in the habit of wearing was brought forward, and Susie and I spent some time in rigging out the rose-bush. First came the little shirt, which made it look very funny; then came the little waist and skirt, then the frock, then the apron, and, finally, over all, a little Shaker sun-bonnet. When we had reached this point, Susie cried out, "Now, how can you put on stockings and shoes?" I said, "We will cut open the stockings and tie them around; the shoes we cannot use." Of course we all laughed, and Susie thought I was the funniest man in the world. She could hardly wait for me to come again, to tell her why I had done such a funny thing.

In two weeks, according to my promise, I was at my friend's house again. Susie had watched her little rose-bush, or, rather, the clothes which covered it, and longed for my coming. But when we took the bonnet, gown, skirt, shirt and stockings away, lo and behold, the beautiful rose-bush had lost its rich green, the flower had lost its beautiful color,--had become, like its mistress, pale and sickly.

"Oh!" she cried, "what made you do so? why, you have spoiled my beautiful rose-bush."

I said, "Now, my dear little one, you must not blame me, for I did this that you might remember something of great importance to you. You and this rose-bush live out here in the broad, genial sunshine together. You are pale and sickly; the rose-bush has been healthy and beautiful. I put your clothes on this rose-bush to show you why you are so white and weak. If we had kept these clothes upon the bush for a month or two, it would have entirely lost its color and health."

"But would you have me go naked, sir?"

"No, not altogether; but I would have you healthy and happy. And now I am going to ask your papa to build out here in the garden a little yard, with a close fence, and when the sun shines you must come out into the yard with your nurse, and take off all your clothes, and play in the sunshine for half an hour, or until your skin looks pretty red."

After a hearty laugh, the good papa asked if I was serious about it. I told him, never more so, and that when I should come to them again, a month hence, if Susie had such a baptism in the sunshine four or five times a week, I could promise that the headache and sleeplessness from which she suffered so much would be lessened, and perhaps removed.

The carpenter was set at work, and in two days the enclosure surrounding a bed of flowers was completed. At eleven o'clock the next morning, a naked little girl, with a very white skin, might have been seen running about within the pen; papa, mamma, and the nurse clapping their hands and shouting. I had been careful to say that her head should be well protected for the first few days with a large damp towel, then with a little flat hat, and, finally, the head must be exposed like the body.

I looked forward with a good deal of interest to my next visit. Susie met me with, "Oh, I am as black as an Indian."

"Well, but how is your health?"

The good mother said, "She certainly has greatly improved; her appetite is better, and I never knew her to sleep so well before."

There were four children in the family, and all of them greatly needed sun-baths. As there were two boys and two girls, it came to pass soon that another pen was built, and four naked children received a daily baptism in the blessed sunshine. And these children all improved in health, as much as that rose-bush did after we removed its funny dress. The good Lord has so made children that they are as dependent upon the sun for their life and health as plants are. When you try to make a house-plant grow far removed from the window, where the direct rays of the sun cannot fall upon it, you know it is small, pale and sickly; it will not long survive. If, in addition to keeping it from the window, you dress it with the clothes which a child wears, it will very soon sicken and die. If you keep within doors, and do not go into the sunshine, or if, when you do go out, you wear a Shaker bonnet and gloves, you must, like the house-plant, become pale and sickly.

Our young folks will ask me, "What is to be done? Are we to go naked?"

Oh no, not naked, but it would add greatly to your health and strength, and your ability to work with both mind and body, if every part of your body could be exposed to the sunshine a little time every day. And if you are pale and feeble, the victim of throat, lung, nerve, or other affection, you must seek a new life in this exposure of your whole body to the sun-bath. But if you go a great deal in the open air, and expose your face and hands to the direct rays of the sun, you will probably do very well.

Just think of it, your whole body under the clothes, always in the dark, like a potato-vine trying to grow in a dark cellar. When you take off your dress and look at your skin, are you not sometimes almost frightened to see how white and ghastly it seems? How elastic, tough and cheerful our young folks would become, could this white, sickly skin be exposed every day to the sunshine! In no other way could they spend an hour which would contribute so much to their welfare. Carry that white, sickly potato-vine from the cellar out into the blessed sunshine, and immediately it begins to get color, health and strength. Carry that pale little girl from the dark parlor, where she is nervous, irritable and unhappy, into the sunshine, and immediately the blood starts anew; soon the skin takes on a beautiful tinge, the little one digests better, her tongue wears a better color, she sleeps better, her nerves are quiet, and many happy changes come.

Twenty years ago I saw a dear, sweet child, of two years, die of croup. More than thirty hours we stood around its bed, working, weeping, praying, hoping, despairing; but about one o'clock in the morning the last painful struggle for breath gave way to the peaceful sleep of death.

On the following Sunday we gathered at the sad home to attend the funeral. The little coffin was brought out under a shade-tree, and placed upon a chair, just under the window of the bedroom where the little one had always slept, and there the heart-broken mother and father, with many neighbors, and the kind-hearted minister, all wept together. And then we all walked to the graveyard, only a little distance away, and buried the little one in the cold ground.

On the very evening of that day, the brother of Charlie, who was about two years older, was taken with the same disease. I was called in to see him. Oh, how pitiful, how very touching, were the moanings and groanings of that mother! When the sun rose the next morning, the sufferer was better; as night came on he was much worse again, but on the following day was able to ride out.

Within a few days I sought an opportunity to speak with the parents about the management of their little son. It was painful to tell them that I thought they might have prevented the death of Charlie. But I said what I thought was true, and then advised a new policy in the case of the remaining child. I said to them, "Your son who has been taken from you, was carefully screened from the sunshine. When he rode out in the baby-wagon, it was always under cover. And he slept always in that bedroom, into which the direct rays of the sun never come; that great tree makes it impossible. A child cannot live where a plant will not grow; and if you doubt what I am telling you, try a pot of flowers in Charlie's bedroom. You will find that, in a single month, the leaves will fall, and the plant will die. Charlie spent three quarters of his life in that bedroom."

The mother, at length, when convinced, cried out in very anguish of soul, "What shall we do? what shall we do?"

"Well," I said, "my dear friend, if you would save this child, and that is the only available sleeping-room for it, I advise that you have the trees which shade that part of the house cut down. Trees should never be allowed to shade human dwellings. They are very beautiful and noble objects, to my own fancy more beautiful and noble than any other productions of our planet, and I would have them multiplied, but would not have them near our houses."

The trees were cut down, the blessed sunshine came in to dry, sweeten and purify the bedroom. Its atmosphere was so changed that no one could fail to observe it. The child was kept much in the open air, and when taking his midday nap, he was occasionally laid naked upon a mattress, near a window, in the direct rays of the sun, his head protected, but the rest of the body exposed to the sunshine. The little fellow's health greatly improved. I believe he never had another attack of croup.

Our young folks should never sleep in bedrooms that have not the direct sunshine. They should never sleep in bedrooms the windows of which are shaded by a piazza or a tree; and if they would have the very best health, they must live as constantly as possible in the sunshine. And all who have delicate health must, with their clothes removed, take daily sun-baths during the summer season. Such a bath will give them very little trouble, and they have no idea how much it will add to their health and happiness. One good bath in the sunshine is worth more than many baths in water, valuable as these are. Some people admire pale girls. They make very good ghosts, but are not worth much as girls. God hung up that great sun in the heavens as the fountain of light, health, beauty and glory for our earth. Our young folks, by living in houses with piazzas, shade- trees, close blinds and curtains, and by using in their walks broad- brimmed hats, gloves, parasols and veils deprive themselves, in great part, of the many blessings which our Heavenly Father would confer on them through the great sun.

The above was widely circulated in "Our Young Folks," and has been copied into other magazines and papers. I can but trust it has been productive of good.

For many years I have advised, in the case of a weak, emaciated child, the sun-bath. These little, frail, half-baked creatures that die of marasmus, would, in hundreds of cases recover, if they could be thoroughly cooked, or baked over in the sun. With what magical rapidity I have seen little, ghostly, dying things recover, by two or three hours daily sleeping and rolling about naked in the sunshine.

We all know that hot fomentations, sharp friction, mustard poultices, blisters, and other counter-irritants constitute the most effective part of medical treatment; it is the only feature which has continued from age to age in the art of medicine. In everything else there has been constant change, revolution, contradiction. But the practice of counter-irritation has continued, without essential modifications, from time immemorial to the present hour. In exposing the skin to a burning sun, we get more of counter-irritation than by all other means; it reaches every part of the surface, and more than all this, there is, in the sun's rays, a vitalizing power which comes from no other source. Plants soon die in any other light. The strongest gas-light will not help them; but they reflect the gorgeous beauty of the sun, and send up a fragrance of thanksgiving. Men would become ghastly in the concentrated light of a thousand gas-burners; it is only in the sun-light that they can live. If this vitalizing power could flood the entire skin of a pale girl two or three hours a day, in a few months she would astonish us with her abounding vitality and spirit.

EXPERIMENT UPON A HOUSE-PLANT.

I made an experiment upon a house-plant. It had been standing for several weeks in a southern window, and was just beginning to blossom. The flowers and leaves were particularly rich and beautiful. I removed the plant to a shelf on the rear wall of the room, and then holding the newspaper near it, found every word quite legible.

In forty-eight hours the delicate tints began to grow a little dim. In six days, flower and leaf were drooping; in two days more, the petals began to fall away; in two weeks from the beginning of the experiment, the leaves were yellow, and many of them had fallen.

EXPERIMENT UPON A ROSE-BUSH.

I want to tell you of another experiment. In my friend's garden there stood a beautiful rose-bush. It had just begun to bloom, and it gladdened our eyes with twelve full blossoms and eighty-six buds. I directed my carpenter to build a little shanty over it. The bush was thus closed in on every side except the north. But it was light enough inside to read the finest print without difficulty. The little shanty closed over our beautiful roses on Wednesday evening. On the following Sunday afternoon we visited the poor prisoner, and found that already it was beginning to look sad.

On the following Sunday our beautiful rose-bush was in a pitiful condition. All the exquisite tints and shades were beginning to fade into a common dullness, while the whole expression was weak and sick.

Buds that would have displayed their full beauty in two days were still hesitating.

After watching our sweet, patient, and dying prisoner for awhile, and wondering that with so much light it could not see its way, we tore away the envious, cruel boards, and let in a flood of sunshine.

The following Sunday we paid another visit to our rose-bush, and I cannot tell you what a glad sight it was. Although the neighboring bushes were much more advanced, nevertheless ours had become brilliant and joyous again.

ANOTHER ROSE-BUSH.

We selected another vigorous bush, and simply put a board cover over it, leaving the sides open; and then we removed even this cover one hour in the middle of each day. When this treatment had been continued for eleven days, we took away the cover, and asked a few lady friends to visit the garden with us. On coming to the clump of rose-bushes, they exclaimed:--

"Oh! how beautiful; how very beautiful."

"Young ladies, which of all these rose-bushes do you most admire? I must first tell you that, some days since, I asked the Deacon which he thought the most fresh and beautiful, and he selected this one."

"What, that one?"

"Yes, he thought this one looked the strongest, and had the richest colors."

"Now, is that really so?"

"Yes, I brought him out here on purpose to ask him, and he selected this one at once."

"Well, he must have queer eyes. That's just like these men, they don't seem to know anything; why, that is really the meanest one in the whole lot. It looks as if it had a fit of the dumps."

Then I had to tell them that the Deacon was right, and that, in his selection, he had shown the characteristic discrimination and taste of men! but that, during a number of days, the great solar artist had been partially interrupted in his exquisite touches upon this particular bush,--in fact, I gave them a little lecture, then and there, upon the relations between sunshine and beauty.

EXPERIMENT UPON A ROSE-GIRL.

One of my neighbors, Major P----, has a daughter, whom we will name Rose. The Major not having a rose-bush, tried an experiment on his Rose-girl. This was his method:--

In the first place, he sent her up into New Hampshire in June, and kept her there, living out in the sunshine, till the last of September. Then he brought her in town, and we all had a chance to examine her. She was really in a very strange condition. In the first place, her manner of walking was singular. I cannot describe it better than to say that she seemed to go by jerk. In putting one foot forward to take a step, the foot behind gave a sudden and vigorous push.

My opinion, as a medical man, was not asked; but my diagnosis, before a medical class, would have been this:--

"Gentlemen, in the case of Miss Rose P---- there is considerable physical vigor, which seems to show itself by an extraordinary activity and strength of muscle, and an unusual ebullition of animal spirits. And, gentlemen, although these manifestations are extraordinary, and very rare among young ladies, I do not regard the case as immediately alarming. Indeed, gentlemen, it is my opinion that this remarkable malady will disappear without active treatment, if the patient be confined in a strait jacket, and kept quiet in a dark room.

"That peculiar sparkle of the young lady's eyes will, likewise, soon disappear, under this treatment."

Without asking my opinion, or a prescription, the Major did exactly what I have suggested. The daughter was laced in a strait jacket, or a corset, (which squeezes a good deal harder,) and she remained in a dark parlor and curtained bedroom all but about an hour a day; and then, unless it was particularly bright and pleasant, she rode during that one hour in a covered carriage.

In two months the experiment was a complete success. As in the case of the rose-bush, so in the case of the Rose-girl, the absence of sunshine had produced a limp, weak, sick state.

Miss Rose had lost all the elastic bound in her manner of walking, all the hearty ring in her laugh, all the color in her face, all the shine of her eyes, all her power of diffusing joy about her.

There are other experiments of a similar kind in progress, and persons who are interested in this sort of scientific observation, will, by calling at their next door neighbor's, find very interesting opportunities to prosecute such studies.

Shade-trees, piazzas, blinds, curtains, carriage-tops and parasols produce weak eyes, weak nerves, weak digestion, weak spines, weak muscles, weak volition, and, in brief, weak women.

As argued in my recent work, "Talks about People's Stomachs," the function of digestion is powerfully affected by the light.

Place the richest earth and plenty of water about a potato-vine in the cellar; it can't digest its food, and must remain pale and weak.

Go up stairs into the drawing-room, and you will find girls, (excuse me, I mean young ladies,) who look so exactly like the potato-vine in the cellar, that you are not at all surprised to find them under the same roof, for they are clearly members of the same family,-- the anti-solar family.