Part 11

Archbishop Usher, when crossing the Channel from Ireland to England, was wrecked on some part of the coast of Wales. After having reached the shore, he made the best of his way to the house of a clergyman, who resided not far from the spot on which he was cast. Without communicating his exalted station, the archbishop introduced himself as a brother clergyman in distress, and stated the particulars of his misfortune. The Cambrian divine, suspecting his unknown visitor to be an impostor, gave him no very courteous reception, and said: “I dare say, you can’t tell me how many commandments there are?” “There are eleven,” replied the archbishop, very meekly. “Repeat the eleventh,” rejoined the other, “and I will relieve your distress.” “Then _you_ will put the commandment in practice,” answered the primate: “A new commandment I give unto you, that you love one another.”

TRAINED NURSES.

By LULIE W. WINCHESTER.

It is my purpose in this paper to explain the duties of a nurse, and above all to endeavor to influence those of my sisters who are asking the old question, “What can I do?” to enter this field of usefulness, and make honored and helpful places for themselves in the ranks of this profession. It seems to me that the mission of the physician and nurse is more closely allied than any other, to that of our Savior, who went about doing good, who came not to be ministered unto but to minister, who walked throughout Judea, Samaria and Galilee, laying his hand on the poor, sick and oppressed, with its life and health-giving touch.

The Bellevue Hospital Training School in New York City is the pioneer, being the first one established in the United States. It was commenced as an experiment in 1873 with six nurses, and has succeeded so well as to now accommodate sixty, who have the charge of fourteen wards. It is the largest, and in many respects the best, offering a greater variety of disease, and therefore giving the nurses more knowledge and experience in the treatment of the various ills to which humanity is subjected. Soon after the establishment of this school a similar one was started in St. Catharines, Canada, by the late well-known Dr. Mack. He sent to England for three trained nurses who took charge of the school at the General and Marine Hospital. It was very small at first, but now accommodates fifteen or twenty nurses. For a long time it was the only school in Canada, but within the last few years one has been established in Toronto. The course of training at the St. Catharines school is somewhat longer than in others, viz.: Three months on probation, and a term of three years, with a monthly salary and house and street uniform provided.

The school at the Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston is widely known for its excellence, as also the Buffalo General Hospital School. In San Francisco there is but one small school at the Women’s and Children’s Hospital on Thirteenth Street. Indeed, it is the only one on the coast, and finds employment but for six or eight nurses. It seems strange that such an enterprising city as San Francisco should not take more decided steps toward the establishment of a larger school, with more variety in nursing. But it is a work that will grow and spread as the necessity for skillful nursing becomes more apparent. In all these schools the term is about the same, a month on probation, and a two years’ course, with a monthly salary and house uniform, which is usually a seersucker dress, long full white apron, and dainty white muslin or linen cap.

The training consists of lectures by the medical staff and superintendent, on anatomy, physiology, hygiene, and the general principles of nursing, the observation and recording of symptoms, the diet of the sick, and the best methods of managing helpless patients. Instruction is given in the wards on the dressing of wounds, the application of blisters, fomentations, poultices, cups and leeches; the use of catheters and administration of enemas, methods of applying friction, bandaging, making beds, changing and drawing sheets, moving patients and preventing bed-sores, and the application of trusses and uterine appliances.

At the end of the term examinations are held, and the successful ones receive their diplomas. Some choose to follow the vocation of private nurses, others seek a position as head nurse in some institution, while others are by their superior intelligence and education to become in their turn superintendents of other training schools.

The qualifications necessary for a young woman to procure entrance on probation are a sound constitution, no defects in either hearing or sight, a common school education, and a good moral character. Certificates of the above must be presented—that of health from a physician.

Exceptions are sometimes made in the matter of sight and hearing, as for instance, one nurse in the institution I was connected with, was totally deaf in one ear; the other was perfectly well, however, and she was a very successful nurse. There were several who were obliged to wear glasses, but did not seem at all unfitted for their duties. But generally the rules are strict, as must needs be, in order to keep up the good name and reputation of a school.

Other qualifications are also indispensable in order to become a good nurse, although they are not always specified in the demands. Gentleness in manner, voice, touch and footstep is important. What is more annoying than a sharp, impatient voice, heavy step and touch? The poor patient’s nerves are all set on edge by such an attendant. I remember one poor woman in my ward, wasted almost to a skeleton with consumption, who asked me once while bathing her, what another nurse’s occupation had been before entering the hospital. She said the nurse was kind-hearted enough, but oh! so loud and hard and heavy about everything. I replied that I believed she had worked on a farm in the old country. “I thought so,” said the patient, “it seems as if she were more used to handling animals than human beings; she bathes me like she was rubbing down a horse or scrubbing the kitchen table.” And that is true of many. There is nothing more soothing than a light, delicate, but firm touch in handling invalids.

Another thing to be cultivated is an even temper. Remember that an invalid is hardly to be considered a responsible person, no more so than a child, so bear all his whims and caprices with cheerfulness and equanimity. A bright, cheerful, sunny nurse or doctor is often better than medicine. I do not mean constant joking and laughing, but a prevailing atmosphere of sunshine.

They are blessed indeed who are born with a bright, hopeful nature. But it can be cultivated—I know from experience—by dwelling in constant communion with Him who is the light of the world.

Another thing that Miss Nightingale lays great stress upon is the habit of observation. A nurse should be quick to notice all changes in the temperature, respiration and appetite of the patient, together with numerous other changes and variations which can not here be mentioned. A quick, observing nurse, is an invaluable aid to a physician. This faculty is natural in a great many persons, and it may be cultivated.

In attending private cases the nurse must take great heed to her ways, not to be too forward or talkative, and above all to guard sacredly all family matters which may come under her observation.

The motto of the ancient Spartans at their public dinners, “No word spoken here, goes out there” (the door), might well be adopted by her. Of all things, a gossiping nurse is most odious, and she soon loses her reputation.

Here is the routine for one day at the hospital I was employed in: The nurses rise at six, dress, and put their rooms in order, and hurry down to breakfast, which is served at half-past six. At seven they are in their wards, to relieve the night nurses. The first thing is to serve breakfast; after that is cleared away comes the bathing of helpless patients, and making the beds; then the long ward is swept twice from top to bottom, and every thing picked up, dusted, and put straight. Wounds are then dressed and medicines given out, and all is ready for the doctor’s visit at ten. After that comes the milk or beef-tea lunch for those who require it, and general waiting on and attending to the various wants of the patients (which are always numerous, whether real or fancied). Dinner is served in the ward at half-past twelve, and half an hour later for the nurses. After dinner more medicines are given out, and the time is filled with the general attendance, for of course some patients need a great deal more care than others; fomentations and poultices must be applied, the bed of a restless patient re-made, a broken limb bathed and re-bandaged, etc. Supper comes at half-past five, and after that the night work begins, making the beds smooth and comfortable for the poor, tired bodies, giving out medicines, and putting the wards straight for the house physician’s visit. The head nurse goes from bed to bed with him, giving a report of each patient, that suitable directions may be given the night nurse. At eight o’clock the nurses go off duty, tired perhaps, but happy in the consciousness that they have done their best. Every nurse has an hour off during the day, for rest or exercise in the open air, with an afternoon once a week.

And now let me appeal to the female portion of the tens of thousands of readers of THE CHAUTAUQUAN, at least to those of them who want a vocation. Will you not take up this work? You will find a rich reward in so doing, not only financially (though it is a paying business), but the gladness and content you will feel in doing your share toward relieving the suffering and distress in this world will amply repay you for the hard and disagreeable part of your labor—for it has its disagreeable side, I admit. No one has greater opportunities for doing good than the loyal, consecrated Christian nurse. Just think of the many cups of cold water that can be given, the sweet word of Scripture that can be whispered in the ear of some sufferer, to prove a soft and comforting pillow for his weary head. Think of the bread of life it will be your privilege to break and distribute to the helpless and needy. Think of the dying who can be pointed upward, and led to place their trust in Him who is the Resurrection and the Life. If you have a talent for music, it can be used to advantage in the hospital ward. There is no limit to the opportunities you will find opening before you. We can not all be Florence Nightingales or Sister Doras, but we can be our best selves.

EIGHT CENTURIES WITH WALTER SCOTT.

By WALLACE BRUCE.

“Woodstock” closed with the return of Charles the Second from long exile, and his hearty reception _en route_ from the cliffs of Dover to London. “Peveril of the Peak” opens with a mixed assembly of Presbyterians and Cavaliers convened at Martindale Castle in honor of “The Blessed Restoration of His most Sacred Majesty.”

As might be premised, the gathering is not entirely harmonious. By wise foresight they are constrained to enter the castle by different gates, and to take their repast in different rooms. In this prologue to the story the reader notes the art with which Scott illustrates history. “By different routes, and forming each a sort of a procession, as if the adherents of each party were desirous of exhibiting its strength and numbers, the two several factions approached the castle; and so distinct did they appear in dress, aspect and manners, that it seemed as if the revelers of a bridal party, and the sad attendants upon a funeral solemnity, were moving toward the same point from different quarters. The Puritan party consisted chiefly of the middling gentry, with others whom industry or successful speculations in commerce or in mining had raised into eminence—the persons who feel most umbrage from the over-shadowing aristocracy, and are usually the most vehement in defense of what they hold to be their rights. Their dress was in general studiously simple and unostentatious, or only remarkable by the contradictory affectation of extreme simplicity or carelessness. The dark color of their cloaks, varying from absolute black to what was called sad-colored, their steeple-crowned hats, with their broad shadowy brims, their long swords, suspended by a simple strap around the loins, without shoulder-belt, sword-knot, plate, buckles, or any of the other decorations with which the Cavaliers loved to adorn their trusty rapiers—the shortness of their hair, which made their ears appear of disproportioned size—above all the stern and gloomy gravity of their looks, announced their belonging to that class of enthusiasts, who, resolute and undismayed, had cast down the former fabric of government, and who now regarded with somewhat more than suspicion that which had been so unexpectedly substituted in its stead.”

The paragraph in which Scott portrays the Cavalier is none the less graphic: “If the Puritan was affectedly plain in his dress, and ridiculously precise in his manners, the Cavalier often carried his love of ornament into tawdry finery, and his contempt of hypocricy into licentious profligacy. Gay, gallant fellows, young and old, thronged together toward the ancient castle. Feathers waved, lace glittered, spears jingled, steeds caracoled; and here and there a petronel or pistol was fired off by some one, who found his own natural talents for making a noise inadequate to the dignity of the occasion. Boys halloo’d and whooped, ‘Down with the Rump,’ and ‘Fie upon Oliver!’ The revelry of the Cavaliers may be easily conceived, since it had the usual accompaniments of singing, jesting, quaffing of healths, and playing of tunes, which have in almost every age and quarter of the world been the accompaniments of festive cheer. The enjoyments of the Puritans were of a different and less noisy character. They neither sung, jested, heard music, nor drank healths; and yet they seemed none the less, in their own phrase, to enjoy the creature-comforts which the frailty of humanity rendered grateful to their outward man.”

It seems almost marvelous that Scott, who loved rank and ancestral dignity, could lay aside his prejudices and speak so eloquently and fairly of the Puritan. His history of Napoleon is generally regarded unfair and distorted; and it could hardly have been otherwise following so closely upon the great triumph of Wellington; but we, as Americans and descendants of those who gave up home and comfort to establish a free government, have reason to feel grateful that the greatest novelist, or, if that is objected to by any of our readers, the greatest historical novelist that Britain has produced, was born and reared with an unprejudiced mind.

It may seem strange to the reader of history to find the Cavalier and the strict Presbyterian, so different in principle, now hand in hand in policy; but the reader must remember that the party which brought Charles to the block consisted of two factors, styled by the haughty Countess of Derby with indignant sarcasm: “Varieties of the same monster, for the Presbyterians hallooed while the others hunted, and bound the victims whom the Independents massacred.” Misery according to Shakspere makes a person acquainted with strange bedfellows; and the politics of those days made England acquainted with strange coalitions. One choice only remained to that distracted nation—Charles the Second or the rule of the army; and to the common sense of discordant factions a solid government seemed preferable to anarchy. To the sensible Presbyterian the divine right of kings was better than the less divine right of petty leaders. The Independents, so powerful under Cromwell, were weak under the government of his son Richard. The people demanded a free Parliament, and a free Parliament meant the restoration of the Stuarts. As Macaulay tersely puts it: “A united army had long kept down a divided nation; but the nation was now united and the army was divided.”

Scott, also, in passing, refers to the ejection of the Presbyterian clergy, which took place on St. Bartholomew’s day, when two thousand Presbyterian pastors were displaced and silenced throughout England; even in church matters the rule held good—that the spoils belonged to the victors: the great Baxter, Reynolds and Calamy refused bishoprics, and many ministers declined deaneries, preferring starvation and a clear conscience to the wealth and flattery of a corrupt court.

Five years pass by and we are transported with Julian Peveril, son of the old knight, from the peaks of northern Derbyshire, which form the water-shed of central England, to the picturesque island of Man, the origin of whose name is still a mystery, whose ruins carry the visitor back beyond the legends of King Arthur and the dominion of the Romans to the dim twilight days of the Druids. To this strong sea-girded fortress the brave Countess of Derby fled after the execution of her husband at Bolton le Moor, and she has left in history a character for courage and hardihood allied to cruelty, in the execution of Edward Christian, who in her absence had yielded up the island to the Parliament forces. It is here that the young Peveril dreams away his boyhood, sharing his studies and recreations with the son of the Countess.

In this story of diverse characters, the two pillars, which might be said to uphold the arch, under which the long procession of the narrative passes, are the elder Peveril and his wealthy neighbor Bridgenorth. Alice Bridgenorth was reared under the same roof with young Peveril; and strange to say, in the difference arising between the elder Peveril and Bridgenorth, she also is transported to the home of relatives in a romantic glen of the island of Man. But the course of true love was not destined even in this little island to run entirely smooth; for the old spirit of Bridgenorth is awakened to restore England to the greatness of the days of Cromwell. He endeavors to arouse the same zeal in young Peveril; he had just returned from the south of France, and had many stories to tell of the French Huguenots, who already began to sustain those vexations, which a few years afterward were summed up by the revocation of the edict of Nantz. He had been in Hungary, and spoke from personal knowledge of the leaders of the great Protestant insurrection. He talked also of Savoy, where those of the reformed religion still suffered a cruel persecution. He had even visited America, more especially he said: “The country of New England, into which our land has shaken from her lap, as a drunkard flings from him his treasures, so much that is precious in the eyes of God and of his children. There thousands of our best and most godly men—such whose righteousness might come between the Almighty and his wrath, and prevent the ruin of cities—are content to be the inhabitants of the desert, rather encountering the unenlightened savages, than stooping to extinguish, under the oppression practiced in Britain, the light that is within their own minds. There I remained for a time, during the wars which the colonies maintained with Philip, a great Indian chief, or sachem as they were called, who seemed a messenger sent from Satan to buffet them. His cruelty was great—his dissimulation profound; and the skill and promptitude with which he maintained a destructive and desultory warfare inflicted many dreadful calamities on the settlement. I was by chance at a small village in the woods, more than thirty miles from Boston, and in its situation exceedingly lonely, and surrounded with thickets. It was on a Sabbath morning, when we had assembled to take sweet counsel together in the Lord’s house. Our temple was but constructed of wooden logs; but when shall the chant of trained hirelings, or the sounding of tin and brass tubes amid the aisles of a minster, arise so sweetly to heaven, as did the psalm in which we united at once our voices and our hearts! An excellent worthy, long the companion of my pilgrimage, had just begun to wrestle in prayer, when a woman, with disordered looks and disheveled hair, entered our chapel in a distracted manner, screaming incessantly, ‘The Indians! the Indians!’ In that land no man dares separate himself from his means of defense, and whether in the city or in the field, in the ploughed land or the forest, men keep beside them their weapons, as did the Jews at the re-building of the temple. So we sallied forth with our guns and our pikes, and heard the whoop of these incarnate devils already in possession of a part of the town. It was pitiful to hear the screams of women and children amid the report of guns and the whistling of bullets, mixed with the ferocious yells of these savages. Several houses in the upper part of the village were soon on fire. The smoke which the wind drove against us gave great advantage to the enemy, who fought, as it were invisible, and under cover, whilst we fell fast by their unerring fire. In this state of confusion, and while we were about to adopt the desperate project of evacuating the village, and, placing the women and children in the center, of attempting a retreat to the nearest settlement, it pleased heaven to send us unexpected assistance. A tall man of a reverend appearance, whom no one of us had ever seen before, suddenly was in the midst of us. His garments were of the skin of the elk, and he wore sword and carried gun; I never saw anything more august than his features, overshadowed by locks of gray hair, which mingled with a long beard of the same color. ‘Men and brethren,’ he said in a voice like that which turns back the flight, ‘why sink your hearts? and why are you thus disquieted? Follow me, and you shall see this day that there is a captain in Israel!’ He uttered a few brief but distinct orders, in the tone of one who was accustomed to command; and such was the influence of his appearance, his mien, his language, and his presence of mind, that he was implicitly obeyed by men who had never seen him until that moment. We were hastily divided into two bodies; one of which maintained the defense of the village with more courage than ever; while, under cover of the smoke, the stranger sallied forth from the town, at the head of the other division of New England men, and fetching a circuit, attacked the red warriors in the rear. The heathens fled in confusion, abandoning the half-won village, and leaving behind them such a number of the warriors, that the tribe hath never recovered its loss. Never shall I forget the figure of our venerable leader, when our men, and women and children of the village, rescued from the tomahawk and scalping knife, stood crowded around him. ‘Not unto me be the glory,’ he said, ‘I am but an implement, frail as yourselves, in the hand of Him who is strong to deliver.’ I was nearest to him as he spoke; we exchanged glances; it seemed to me that I recognized a noble friend whom I had long since deemed in glory; but he gave me no time to speak, had speech been prudent. Sinking on his knees, and signing us to obey him, he poured forth a strong and energetic thanksgiving for the turning back of the battle, which, pronounced with a voice loud and clear as a war trumpet, thrilled through the joints and marrows of the hearers. I have heard many an act of devotion in my life; but such a prayer as this, uttered amid the dead and the dying, with a rich tone of mingled triumph and adoration, was beyond them all—it was like the song of the inspired prophetess who dwelt beneath the palm-tree between Ramah and Bethel. He was silent; and for a brief space we remained with our faces bent to the earth—no man daring to lift his head. At length we looked up, but our deliverer was no longer amongst us, nor was he ever again seen in the land which he had rescued.”