AUTHORS CITED.

Albertoni, Prof.[60]
Argyle, Duke of[267]
Beale, Sir Lionel, M.D., Etc.[152]
Bostwick, Dr.[21]
British Medical Journal[244], [247]
Brunton, T. Lauder, M.D., F.R.S.[59], [138]
Bryant, William Cullen[110]
Combe, Andrew, M.D.[20]
Cooper, Sir Astley. M.D., Etc.[21]
Davis, E. H., M.D.[21]
Dickinson, W. Howship, M.D., F.R.C.P.[117]
Evans, Prof., M.D.[21]
Farrar, Canon of Westminster[265]
Fothergill, J. Milner, M.D.[63]
Franklin, Dr. Benjamin[171]
Frothingham, Rev. O. B.[256]
Goode, J. Mason, M.D.[21]
Gregory, Prof. James, M.D.[21]
Hall, Marshall[39]
Haller, Albrecht Von[210]
Holmes, Prof. Oliver Wendell, M.D., Etc.[21]
Hunter, Charles D., M.D., Etc.[178]
Huxley, Prof. T. H.[23], [97], [247]
Hygiene of the Brain[110]
Jackson, James C., M.D.[9], [270]
Lancet, London,[52]
Lennen, M., M.D., Etc.[247]
Mcclintock, Dr.[21]
Moore, Thomas, M.D.[10]
Nagel, Richard. M.D.[218]
Nichols, James R., M.D.[171]
Nichols, T. L., M.D.[156], [205]
Oswald, Felix L., M.D.[29], [45], [47], [49], [51], [70], [188]
Parker, Prof. Willard, M.D.[21]
Popular Science Monthly[243]
Pitcher, ——, M.D.[69]
Prescott, Prof. Albert B.[243]
Richardson, Prof. B. W., M.D.[171], [240]
Rush, ——, M.D.[133]
Sargent, Prof. Dudley A. (Harvard)[261]
Savage, M. J.[156], [157]
Scientific American[239]
Schlemmer, Dr.[212]
Schmidt-Mühlheim, Prof.[60]
Shapter, Lewis, M.D.[244]
Stevens, A. H., M.D.[21]
Thompson, Sir Henry[53], [54], [55], [56]
Virey, Jules, M.D.[202]
Welch, Prof. (Yale)[51]
Wood, Prof. Casey A., M.D.[145]

CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCTION.

Although it is evident to my mind that the world is growing more healthy and more moral with every generation—speaking of civilized nations—it is still, as all agree, in a most pitiful state as regards both moral and physical health. The two are indissolubly associated, notwithstanding the glaring exceptions which are, indeed, more apparent than real, and it is difficult to appreciate which leads—whether man grows more healthy as his moral tone improves or more moral as his physical state is exalted. Both are, in fact, constantly acting and reacting upon each other. Few people withdraw themselves from the influence of disease-producing habits, who do not first come to hate disease as a symptom of disobedience to the laws governing their organism. The pain of an aching head is not sufficient, generally, although it may discount the tortures of the damned, to determine the sufferer to live a better life; but when he comes to know the fact that the disorder is needless, brought upon himself by violation of law, and that it is the normal office of pain to warn of danger;

then, if he be conscientious, instead of cursing his suffering, he will feel ashamed of his sin, and endeavor to learn the laws of life and obey them.

“In days gone by and not far away, there was a very general impression with the people that sickness and the death which so often follows it were of divine origination and ordainment. No person who might be sick blamed himself for it; certainly no one was held by the community of which he was a member, as in any sense responsible or blameworthy because of his death by sickness. It was believed that for reasons thoroughly justifiable, but incomprehensible to the mind of man, the Supreme Ruler saw fit to manifest His modes and methods of government, either providential or punitive, by taking away the health or the life of those who became sick, or who being sick died of their sickness.

“This notion, though not so prevalent as formerly, still lingers in the popular mind and lies hidden away in the select circles of religious people, occasionally to be brought forth and urged upon public consideration with emphasis, when some person is taken sick and remains for many months and perhaps years an invalid, or when one taken sick suddenly dies.

“There is no basis in science nor in religion for this impression. It never rose, it never can rise, to the dignity or worthiness of an idea; it must always dwell, no matter who entertains it, on the low level of irrational impression. Its basis is error, not knowledge; its superstructure is superstition. By and by, when mankind shall reach such a degree of

rational development as to understand that human life has its laws, and that human health is but the legitimate outcome of the operation of these laws, and that every human being of every tribe and kindred and tongue, is born to live on earth under such minute and careful providential arrangements as to hold within him, at his starting, great securities and guarantees of the very highest order, for the continuance of his life up to a definite period, and that by reason of this inherent capability, he is entitled to live to the full measure of his endowment, this foolish, I may say wicked, notion, that God kills people will disappear. When it shall be abandoned, the sickness which now is so common everywhere, and the deaths which now so frequently result, will cease, and human beings will live from birth to death by old age, casualties, and accidents one side, as surely as the seasons come and go.”[1]

[1] “The Absurdity of Sickness,” by James C. Jackson, M.D.

Few people have any just conception of the prevalence of disease even in their own midst—among their own kindred; and this is simply because it never absurdly happens that all those who are subject to illnesses are “attacked” at the same time. When any large proportion are down at once, the doctors call it an epidemic, and it is attributed to a “wave”—an epizootic or influenza wave, for example, according as the victims are horses or men (the poor animals depend upon the elevated race for their habits, and never have disease except these are unphysiological),—when, in fact, the so-called epidemic, whether it be

scarlet or yellow fever, diphtheria, or what not, is the result chiefly of the uniformly bad living habits of our people and their consequent predisposition to sickness. I do not ignore the influence of contagion in certain disorders, but assert that no person in prime physical condition is ever made sick by transient contact with the so-called contagious diseases.

“There can be no doubt,” says Dr. Moore, “of the inherent effort of the system to preserve its integrity and to resist and overcome the effects of morbid influences. And when the system is properly organized and perfect in its physiological functions, it has the power to accomplish this (unless these obnoxious influences are so overwhelming as to destroy life at once) in a prompt and complete manner, unaided by any external influences whatsoever, so that health will be maintained and all injurious action of disease-producing causes unconsciously and successfully averted. But if instead of such a properly organized and healthy system, we have formed an incomplete and inferior grade of structural organization, and consequently an enervated nervous system, resulting from imperfect and deficient nutrition, such as evidently exists in the scorbutic diathesis (the effect of deficiency in vegetable food), or as must result from habitual or frequent digestive disturbances, this endeavor to resist or avert disease, will be necessarily so enfeebled that it will be impossible for the system, by its own inherent and unaided energy, either to ward off or to overcome the effects of disease-producing agents. This protective and restorative effort,

if not sustained by a high character of structural organization and active nervous energy, must be followed, therefore, as a natural consequence, by an exhaustion of vital power; in which condition there would be evidently an increased susceptibility to all morbific influences, and a marked predisposition to any exciting causes of disease which might be brought to bear upon it.

“It is well known that certain individuals are more severely affected by any ascertained cause of disease than others; and also that the same exciting cause may at one time produce serious disturbance of health, while at another, and under precisely the same conditions, as far as known, no injurious effect is produced. How frequently do we observe during the same epidemic, as, for instance, scarlet fever, measles, diphtheria (and even of sporadic forms of disease), a marked difference in the character and severity of individual cases. Even in members of the same family, under apparently similar conditions, some are stricken down with the most malignant form of one of these diseases, while others may, at the same time, be but slightly affected by it, or perhaps entirely escape an attack. It can not be that they who are the most severely affected receive a larger or a stronger dose of the morbific agent which has produced the disorder, than the others, and that the disease-producing influence, in consequence of larger quantity or greater strength and power, acts with more severity and force on one than on another. For, leaving out of consideration all effects of existing

predisposition, we know that a person unprotected by a previous attack or by vaccination, would be, in all probability, just as severely affected by the contagious influence of a case of small-pox, whether he was exposed for a few moments or for several hours; and besides, it would make no difference whether the case happened to be a mild one or of a more malignant form.

“It is, therefore, difficult to account for this variable operation of disease-producing agents, unless we admit the existence of such a latent predisposition as that already mentioned, and acknowledge that the system, at the time of exposure to disease-producing causes, is thereby made more or less susceptible to their effects in proportion to the development of such a predisposition. The less the power of resistance and the greater the degree of impressibility, the more aggravated will be the character of every disease which affect the system while it is thus predisposed; or, in other words, the severity of the disease will be proportionate to the degree of departure from the standard of health.”[2]

[2] “Predisposition and Typhoid Tendency,” by Thomas Moore, M.D. Philadelphia.

Predisposition is that state of susceptibility produced by the continued operation of the predisposing cause. Exciting causes are those which tend to the immediate development of diseases, especially in a system already having a predisposition thereto.

But in my opening remarks, I had in view, particularly, the common sicknesses that prevail among us,

and which are not classed as contagious. Not one in the thousand of our population so lives as to feel an assurance of absolute health for, say, a single month, much less for the coming twelve months. There are, however, among the class I shall hold up as examples to my readers, further on, individuals who would be willing to stake their lives on their ability to meet any engagement depending upon a mental and physical state, equal to that enjoyed at the present moment, on any day, week, or month, during the next year or ten years; and every ordinarily healthy person, who can fairly be called a free agent, ought to be able to feel such an assurance in his own case; and if he be at middle-age, or under, and afflicted with ailments, other than organic and incurable, he should be able to count with certainty on being a better man, physically as well as morally, ten years hence than he is to-day.

But how is it in practice? Why, even our national salutation (which is, also, about the same among all civilized nations) is significant in this connection, as we shall observe, further on: if sickness was the exception and not the rule, health would not be the stock question everywhere and always—the principal theme of conversation—as it is now. People seem to delight in a subject that they know nothing about, like a good old Methodist preacher I once knew, who said on one occasion, at prayer-meeting: “I love to talk about religion—I have so little of it.”

We talk about enjoying good health, and some of my readers would, I dare say, make the claim for

themselves, although too well aware of occasional lapses, and indeed the great proportion of our people, in spite of heredity, might obtain, and rest secure in, a high state of health; but, living as they do, a truly sound person is almost the rarest thing in the world.

“How are you?” is the question on meeting an acquaintance. “First-rate, although I have my old sick headaches occasionally.” Another replies, “Pretty well, now—have just had a touch of neuralgia—you know I always had that now and then.” Another has a “bad cold in the head.” Smith enjoys good health, although “troubled a good deal with dyspepsia, constipation, etc.,” which means that he is constantly annoyed by symptoms inseparable from his disease. Jones is “tip-top,” with an occasional “attack” of cholera-morbus, or a bilious spell. Brown “never was better in his life,” but could tell you of a fearful sickness last spring—“like to have died,” and no wonder—he had three drug doctors and a gallstone! Robinson is “tough as a knot”—just now—since getting cleaned out by erysipelas—an eruption of the accumulated poison resulting from his bad habits. It was a fearful “attack,” as he says! “The doctor called it the worst case he ever saw—my head was swelled so I couldn’t see for weeks—used up a bushel of cranberries in poultices, when I had counted on having cranberry sauce all winter—did not get a spoonful.” Of course Robinson exaggerates about the quantity of cranberries.

Tom, one of the healthiest-looking specimens, recently had typhoid fever and came near dying. Mrs.

Dick had “slow fever” the past summer and managed to keep it a-going for three months. She says it was a dreadful “attack”; and she tries to explain it by saying that several years ago, she had it every summer for three summers, and “it generally leaves the seeds in the system!” Harry’s wife had stoppage and inflammation of the bowels—a deadly sickness for six months, entailing infinite distress on the large family that needed her about so much. “The doctor’s big bill isn’t paid yet,” she mourns, “and mercy only knows when it will be.” She has always been a well woman, so-called, has always seemed pretty well until this terrible disease “attacked” her.

The list is endless, of the so-called healthy ones who have been from time to time “attacked” with one disorder or another and recovered,—while the mortality reports from week to week tell the final story of the premature taking off of thousands of men, women, and children who, although always regarded by themselves and friends as healthy, have suffered the death-penalty after a longer or shorter imprisonment.

How often we hear such remarks as this: “I never was so surprised in my life as I was to hear of Miss Blank’s death—perfect picture of health—fat, hearty, red-cheeked—the last person in the world I would have thought of dying.” This shows how much the people know about health. Ninety-nine in a hundred would have called this young lady a specimen of health, when, in fact, any expert would have known that she was a typhoid subject—almost sure to be

down with it sooner or later, and, with her whole physical conditions so against her, that recovery would be almost a miracle, under the prevailing system of treatment. Just recall the scores of cases where you, my dear reader, have been surprised at the death of this or that friend, “always so strong and well.” In fact, this is so common that we expect to be surprised continually, and are not much surprised when we are!

How many healthy-born infants die before their first year is reached—babies that for months are mistakenly regarded as pictures of health—“never knew a sick day until they were attacked” with cholera-infantum, scarlatina, or something else. They are crammed with food, made gross with fat, and for a time are active and cunning, the delight of parents and friends—and then, after a season of constipation, a season of chronic vomiting, and a season of cholera-infantum, the little emaciated skeletons are buried in the ground away from the sight of those who have literally loved them to death. This is the fate of one-third of all the children born. As a rule, babies are fed as an ignorant servant feeds the cook-stove—filling the fire-box so full, often, that the covers are raised, the stove smokes and gases at every hole, and the fire is either put out altogether, or, if there is combustion of the whole body of coals, the stove is rapidly burned out and destroyed. With baby, “overheating” means the fever that consumes him, and, in “putting out the fire,” too often the fire of life goes out also.[3]

[3] For a thorough discussion of this question see the author’s work on Infant Dietetics, entitled “How to Feed the Baby” New York: Fowler & Wells.

“For the preservation of life God has ordained certain laws to be observed, the neglect of which necessarily brings disease and premature death.” Hence it is that if any of us are sick—except from accidents or congenital causes—it is our own fault. If we have dyspepsia, and the endless afflictions resulting from this parent of diseases, it is our own fault—either of ignorance or carelessness. If neuralgia, “sciatica,” rheumatism, gout, or sick-headache afflicts us, we can thank ourselves; for the simple question is—whether it will “pay” to keep clear of them? It is all very fine to bowl along without thought; to eat, drink, and breathe, without using our brains or consciences, and to shun the best products of the brains of others who make this subject the study of their lives, and when the inevitable sickness comes shift the responsibility on to the Lord. It is rank blasphemy, nevertheless.

In the struggle of life, when so many of His children are engrossed in the vital question of bread-winning; when to obtain the mere necessities of life, or, at most, these and the ordinary comforts, requires all the time, early and late, of so large a portion of the human family, it is not to be supposed that the Creator designed that the due and proper care of the body—its development and the maintenance of a healthy state—should be a matter of such complications as to be beyond the comprehension of ordinary mortals, or require the expenditure of an amount of time that would prove embarrassing to all, and totally impossible to many. Nor should Christians conclude

that an “all-wise, all-merciful, and all-powerful Father” designed that the creatures formed in “His own likeness” should alone, of all created beings, be necessarily subject to the multifarious forms of disease, that in fact, under present conditions, do so continually afflict them. Happily such conclusions are not borne out by rational experience; for, in practice, it is found that not only is less trouble and expense required to keep well, than to pursue a course that is promotive of disease; and to get well when disease is really fastened upon us, than to continue the general regimen that has worked the mischief, and seek to counteract it by poisonous drugs; but in fact it has been clearly shown by innumerable living examples, that neither much time, trouble, or expense is necessary to maintain the body in a state of absolute health—perfect ease and comfort—when once this state has been reached, or to restore to comparative health a large proportion of “miserable sinners” who, without a radical change in their mode of life, must continue to suffer from their self-inflicted pains.

It requires no more time to breathe pure than impure air—and no more time or expense to obtain it: it is as free as air, and will fill our homes, without money and without price, unless we seal them against its admission. The poorest factory-operative that goes by the bell, can with a pint of water and a single towel, if need be, take a three-minute bath any or every morning, if he appreciates its importance and is conscientious in his living. It costs no more to eat enough than to over-indulge the appetite, as is the

universal rule, high and low, until nausea and lack of appetite compel abstinence or moderation. It costs money to poison the system with beer or tobacco, and thus shorten one’s life and impair its usefulness, and transmit evil moral and physical tendencies to his offspring, but it is a ten-fold saving to keep clear of these evils. And so it proves throughout the list: it is cheap to keep well, and dear to get sick.

“So to observe Nature as to learn her laws and obey them, is to observe the commandments of the Lord to do them. It has so long been the habit to exalt the mind as the noble, spiritual, and immortal part, at the expense of the body, as the vile, material and mortal part, that, while it is not thought at all strange that every possible care and attention should be given to mental cultivation, a person who should give the same sort of careful attention to his body would be thought somewhat meanly of. And yet I am sure that a wise man who would ease best the burden of life, can not do better than watchfully to keep undefiled and holy—that is, healthy—the noble temple of his body. Is it not a glaring inconsistency that men should pretend to fall into ecstasies of admiration of the temples which they have built with their own hands, and to claim reverence for their ruins, and, at the same time, should have no reverence for, or should actually speak contemptuously of, that most complex, ingenious, and admirable structure which the human body is? However, if they really neglect it, it is secure of its revenge—no one will come to much by his most strenuous mental exercises, except upon the

basis of a good organization; for a sound body is assuredly the foundation of a sound mind.” (Maudsley).

That there is need of a radical change in the study and practice of medicine, is well known among those who have examined the subject with any degree of thoroughness. A prominent defect is thus described by the eminent Dr. Combe: “The little regard,” he says, “which has hitherto been paid to the laws of the human constitution, as the true basis on which our attempts to improve the condition of man ought to rest, will be obvious from the fact, that, notwithstanding the direct uses, to which a knowledge of the conditions, which regulate the healthy action of the bodily organs, may be applied in the prevention, detection, and treatment of disease, there is scarcely a medical school in this country (Great Britain)[4] in which any special provision is made for teaching it.... The prominent aim of medicine being to discriminate, and to cure diseases, both the teacher and the student naturally fix upon that as their chief object, and are consequently apt to overlook the indirect (!) but substantial aid, which an acquaintance with the laws of health is calculated to afford, in restoring the sick as well as in preserving the healthy from disease.” The use of the word “indirect,” in this connection shows how far Dr. Combe, himself, was from having a true comprehension of the importance of

hygienic knowledge. Although individuals, here and there, finally work out this knowledge for themselves, it is generally late in life, when long years of blundering practice have forced it upon them. Hear what some of the wise old heads say on this point:

[4] Some advance has been made in this direction of late, but the outlook is far from satisfactory; there is scarcely a college lecture-room but in deficient ventilation, or a lecturer whose living habits, and, consequently, personal health, do not cry aloud, “Physician, heal thyself.”

A. H. Stevens, M.D.: “The older physicians grow, the more skeptical they become in the virtues of their own medicines.” Prof. Willard Parker: “Of all sciences, medicine is the most unreliable.” Prof E. H. Davis: “The vital effects of medicine are little understood.” J. Mason Goode, M.D.: “The science of medicine is a barbarous jargon.” Dr. Bostwick, author of “History of Medicine”: “Every dose of medicine is a blind experiment.” Prof. Evans, M.D.: “The medical practice of the present day is neither philosophy nor common sense.” It was the well-known remark of Dr. James Gregory, who added as much reputation to the medical school of the University of Edinburgh, as any other individual—that, “ninety-nine in the hundred medical ‘facts’ are medical lies, and that all medical theories are stark, staring nonsense.” Dr. McClintock: “Mercury has made more cripples than all wars combined,” and he might have added that the abuse of soda or potassa in its present various forms is destroying myriads of stomachs every year beyond redemption. Sir Astley Cooper, the most famous physician and surgeon of the age: “The science of medicine is founded on conjecture and improved by murder.” Oliver Wendell Holmes said before a medical class in 1861 “The disgrace of medicine has been that colossal

system of self-deception, in obedience to which mines have been emptied of their cankering minerals, the vegetable kingdom robbed of all its growth, the entrails of animals taxed for their impurities, the poison bags of reptiles drained of their venom, and all the conceivable abominations thus obtained thrust down the throats of human beings, suffering from some fault of organization, nourishment, or vital stimulation.”

That the practice of medicine to-day is not what it should be, is due largely to the position of the laity on this point—their aversion to taking advice instead of medicine. They will consider the question of prevention, in the shape of anti-bilious pills, for example, but not at the expense of their lawful follies. If indeed physicians, generally, knew enough about the natural laws to retain their own health, how could they all derive an income from teaching the simple method by which all their neighbors would remain well? A patient, for example, is suffering pain, and sends for the doctor, who comes, examines, and finally says, “I find nothing serious here—this pain in the head will soon leave you—just keep about if you can; if not, remain quiet. Coming in from the fresh air, I observe that your room is very close, sufficient of itself to give you the headache—change the air and keep it pure; eat nothing more to-day: you are ‘ahead of your stomach,’ withal; in fact, that is the chief trouble. Take a quick sponge bath on retiring, and you will find yourself all right in the morning—you need no medicine.” Do you fancy he would get

another call from her, or from her friends through her influence? Her head aches, and she is incensed at such heartless nonsense. She sends for another doctor, who will probably be sharp enough to treat her disposition, and endeavor to “control the symptoms” instead of teaching her to remove the disease by removing its cause; he gives her a “quieting medicine”—something to deaden her senses; she has several days’ illness, he gets several fees—as he ought, to be sure—and the good-will of the family; and so he rises in the profession, while the other falls into the shade unless he drops his hygienic nonsense. Thus, we observe, a premium on shrewdness and a tax on sincerity.

“It is notorious that in proportion to people’s ignorance of their own constitutions and the true causes of disease, is their credulous confidence in pills, potions, and quackish absurdities, and while this ignorance continues, there will, of course, be plenty of doctors who will pander to it. And not the least of the benefits likely to follow the better diffusion of physiological and sanitary information will be the protection of the community from the numberless impostures of charlatanism, and a better discrimination of the qualifications of competent physicians.”[5]

[5] “Physiology and Hygiene,” Huxley and Youmans.

I take it that all are agreed as to the desirability of good health, although it is often said of a certain class of chronic invalids, that if they were to be deprived of the pleasure of croning over and detailing their symptoms, life would have no charms for them.

But this is a provision of nature to prevent the meanest life from becoming altogether an unmitigated burden: when a person becomes so disordered physically that he has nothing else to enjoy, a certain depraved condition of mind is induced which enables him to extract a little satisfaction from dwelling upon and recounting his miseries! In contrast to such cases how gloriously shines out the example of the old lady who, on being interviewed by the minister, thus related her experiences: her husband had been long dead, leaving her with eight children, whom, through her own labor, she reared and educated. One after another all had died after lingering illnesses—the last, a son, the only support of her old age, had been recently buried; and, to crown all, the remnant of the little property left by her husband, had just passed from her possession—the uninsured buildings by fire, and the land by the foreclosure of the mortgage. “But,” concluded the dear old soul, while her brow lightened and her eye kindled with enthusiasm, “thank the Lord, I have two teeth left, and praise and bless His holy name, they are opposite each other!” I pause to note an important lesson—the influence upon health, of prevalent good nature, and the habit, which may be cultivated, of looking on the bright side of things. “People ask me,” says Old Sojourner Truth, “how I came to live so long and keep my mind, and I tell them that it is ‘because I think of the great things of God, not little things.’ I don’t fritter my mind away in caring for trifles.”

It has been elsewhere noted—the propensity of

people in general for preferring medicine to advice. If the world were convinced that the writer possessed an unfailing remedy—a “medicine” that would cure every physical ailment and prevent disease, it would be demanded faster than it could be manufactured, though every gin-mill in the land were transformed into a laboratory for its production. No price would be deemed exorbitant, and, though the mixture were black as ink, and more nauseating than the vilest drug in our vile Materia Medica, it would still be gulped down as a child demolishes bon-bons, if it never failed in its efficacy.

We have only to look over the newspaper advertising columns to find scores of articles claiming to accomplish this, at the very reasonable price of 50 cents to $1.00 per bottle, “large bottles cheapest,” and very agreeable to the taste; and evidence abounds in the shape of letters purporting to have been written by such as have, although given up by the doctors, been withdrawn from the grave (regardless of the rights of the heirs and undertakers)—restored to the busy walks of life—“and no change of diet necessary.” Thousands upon thousands of otherwise sensible people are gulled into the belief that a few bottles of somebody’s pretended “discovery,” advertised in a yellow-covered almanac, will cure whatever ails them. There is something so fascinating about such literature that I would almost as soon place a package of Paris-green within reach of a baby as to put, say, a medical almanac, and more particularly a cookery-book with fancy dishes and medical lies alternating, in the hands

of the average adult. There isn’t one in fifty proof against them. Let the most robust Congressman spend one half-hour reading one of these “messages”, with the endless variety of symptoms therein given, and the hundreds of letters of the blest—fabricated in the proprietor’s office, or, at best, written by his victims during a temporary suppression of the symptoms—and, comparing his own feelings with those described, the chances are that he would soon be pouring down the medicine—convinced that it hit his case exactly. Why is this possible? Why, indeed, do we have a drug-store on every other corner, with shelves packed with the infamous “regular” and irregular remedies, simple and compound? Simply because ninety-five in the hundred men, women, and children so treat themselves that they do have, from day to day, or week to week, various symptoms more or less severe, all indicative of derangement of the bodily functions. And because of this the medicine-makers know that he who is the keenest and boldest in prostituting the art of printing, will reap the richest harvest, by reason of the ignorance and disease-producing habits of the people.

I will conclude these introductory remarks with the beautiful and impressive language of Professor Maudsley, the eminent English physician, especially celebrated in connection with the treatment of mental disorders, and who, as shown by the paragraph already quoted, emphasizes in the strongest manner, not only the intimate connection between the mind and the body—their interdependence the one with

the other—but, also, the moral obligation of the man to learn and obey the laws which tend to exalt both:

“Notably the best rules for the conduct of life are the fruits of the best observations of men and things; the achievements of science are no more than the organized gains—orderly and methodically arranged—of an exact and systematic observation of the various departments of Nature; the noblest products of the arts are Nature ennobled through human means, the art itself being Nature. There are not two worlds—a world of Nature and a world of human nature—standing over against one another, in a sort of antagonism, but one world of Nature, in the orderly evolution of which human nature has its subordinate part. Disease, hallucinations, idiosyncrasies of whatever sort, are the product of disobedience to law—discordant notes in the Divine harmony, which result from an unskillful or careless touch. It should, then, be every man’s steadfast aim, as a part of Nature, his patient work, to cultivate such entire sincerity of relations with it, so to think, feel, and act, always in intimate unison with it, that when the summons comes to surrender his mortal part to absorption into it, he does so, not fearfully, as to an enemy who has vanquished him, but trustfully, as to a mother who, when the day’s task is done, bids him lie down to sleep.”

CHAPTER II.
CONSUMPTION.

Among the causes of consumption it is usually held that inherited tendency is one of the most efficient. Considering, however, the fact that this is a matter beyond our control; that is, a cause that we can not remove, it is hardly worth while to devote further space, just here, to its consideration. We can not create a new constitution; neither the mischief of a defective inheritance, nor of years of disobedience to the laws of life, can be atoned for—the future only is ours; the balance of vital capital can be expended judiciously, good health regained, often, and life made easy and extended to the utmost limit. Leaving the question of the influence of the spiritual over the physical nature for later consideration (see Conclusion), we have, practically, to take the body as we find it, and aim to conserve its vitality and to improve its condition; and when affected by disease, whether inherited or acquired, to seek its removal by building up the constitution, so to say, by every means in our power.

Notwithstanding the prevalent belief among physicians and laymen to the contrary, a belief based upon

the result of a form of treatment as irrational as it is uniform and universal, I agree with Dr. Oswald, who, in his new work—the most entertaining, as well as the soundest health-book extant—asserts that “Pulmonary consumption, in its early stages, is perhaps the most curable of all chronic diseases. The records of the dissecting-room prove that in numerous cases lungs, wasted to one-half of their normal size, have been healed, and, after a perfect cicatrization of the tuberculous ulcers, have for years performed all the essential functions of the sound organ. Still, the actual waste of tissue is never perfectly repaired, and fragmentary lungs, supplying the undiminished wants of the whole organism, must necessarily do double work, and will be less able to respond to the demands of an abnormal exigency.

“But the lungs of a young child of consumptive parents are sound, though very sensitive, and, if the climacteric of the first teens has been passed in safety, or without too serious damage, the problem becomes reduced to the work of preservation and invigoration: the all but intact lungs of the healthy child can be more perfectly redeemed than the rudimentary organs of the far-gone consumptive; the phthisical taint can be more entirely eliminated and the respiratory apparatus strengthened to the degree of becoming the most vigorous part of the organism. The poet Goethe, afflicted in his childhood with spitting of blood and other hectic symptoms, thus completely redeemed himself by a judicious system of self-culture. Chateaubriand, a child of consumptive parents, steeled

his constitution by traveling and fasting, and reached his eightieth year.

“By a relapse into imprudent habits, however, the latent spark, which under such circumstances seems to defy the eliminative efforts of half a century, may at any time be fanned into life-consuming flames; but in ninety-nine out of a hundred cases it will be found that the first improvement followed upon a change from a sedentary to an outdoor and active mode of life.”[6]

[6] Oswald’s “Physical Education.”

Anything that constitutes a tax upon the system beyond its ability to extract an ultimate good therefrom—for we know that, within certain limits, taxing the powers, the mental, physical and emotional, tends to exalt them—or to put it squarely: anything that overtaxes the system in any direction, tends to induce that state or condition commonly recognized as consumption. No greater error can be made than that of considering this disease as primarily affecting the lungs. The lungs are readily affected by disorder of the digestive organs. While it may not at first be plain to the ordinary reader how catarrh, sore throat, bronchitis and even congestion of the lungs[7] could originate in this manner; it is nevertheless true that they not only can and do thus originate, but this is in fact the most available and constantly operative source of respiratory affections. They may be affected directly

by continuity of tissue, or indirectly through the sympathetic system. All understand something about the practical working of the telegraphic system, by which a touch of the wire at Boston, for example, may not only be felt at any point in our own country, but even in England or Europe. How often, in joy or affliction, the wire constitutes a sympathetic connection between friends, families, nations. The nervous system forms a sympathetic connection between the different parts throughout the organism, only it is more complete, ten thousand times over, than the telegraphic or telephonic system. If in these cases the wires were to take on disease,—become inflamed and so affected as to cause the same states, emotions, or disasters, at the point where an unhappy message is received as at the point of departure,—it would constitute for the nation and the world what the sympathetic nervous system does for the animal organism. Should we not, then, deplore its existence, and grieve that we are so “fearfully and wonderfully made”? Nevertheless, it is directly a great boon, and but for this intimate connection between the different portions of the body—for want of this most efficient set of safety valves, so to say—the organs primarily affected would more often become fatally diseased and life speedily terminated. Indeed, in spite of this most wonderful provision of nature, the violations of law are so constant and severe, or so overwhelming upon occasion, that life is often destroyed with but a moment of warning, as in apoplexy, “heart disease,” and sunstroke, so called.

Strictly speaking, however, even in these cases there have been premonitions without number, dating afar back (see Bright’s Disease), which would have prevented the disaster if only they had been known and heeded.

[7] This disorder, which is supposed often to cause consumption, is rather a disease of indigestion, and is especially apt to attack patients already in consumption, because of their chronically disordered nutritive and respiratory organs.

Says Professor J. C. Zachos (Studies in Science):

“... Such is the present system of telegraphing which if it were multiplied so as to include every town and hamlet in the country, yea, even be within the reach of every individual as an operator, would convey but a feeble illustration of the complication, the number, the power, and the perfect unity of a similar system in the human body.

“We have first in each individual cell a galvanic battery. There are countless millions of such cells in the human body, whose united force has never been estimated, but doubtless a million of tons would not approximate to the force they are exerting at any one instant of time. Each of these cells is provided with two nerves; an afferent and an efferent nerve, a carrier to, and a carrier from, that center; each, endowed with different functions by reason of the duality of force generated in each cell: a force of motion and a force of sensation. A number of such cells and nerves may be combined and at a certain point of the circuit they make there, a concentration and accumulation of power by a plexus and convolution of these nerves, around a central substance called ‘neureline’—a granulated collection of particles that seem to take the place of the soft iron in the helix, for they are always found in the midst of these convoluted masses of

nerves; these masses are called ganglia; they are the centers of nervous power and intelligence, connected each with some special group of functions; associated by connecting nerves with each other, and having their central and common connection in the largest ganglion, called the brain.

“No part of the system fails to be visited by these nerves, and although they are not discoverable in every tissue, yet their presence is inferred, because their function is there—sensation or motion, or both.[8]

[8] Is it possible to overestimate the importance of perfect nutrition by which only this wonderful system can be preserved in health? (See “Saline Starvation.”)

“We can not at present enter into details in enumerating the number, the structure, the special functions of these several ganglia, which might well be called the telegraphic stations of the body; they vary from the size of a grain of sand, to that of the brain which fills the cavity of the skull.

“But what shall we say of that principle of intelligence which pervades every part of this complicated system; which dwells in each of the thousand millions of cells, where the chemical laboratories are furnishing out of the crude materials of the food, the wonderful organisms of every part of the body? Intelligence and contrivance reign in every cell; combination and co-operation are carried on through the instrumentality of the nervous system. At the centres of co-operation and power there seem to be placed higher forms of intelligence that govern the whole of the subordinate functions by some unitary plan governing

thus the functions of the heart, or the liver, or the lungs. Finally, for the moral and social exigencies of man, there is provided an enormous centralization of co-operative intelligences and powers, that seem to have their seat in the brain; but it is a republic and not a monarchy; every individual cell in the body has its representative there, mediately or immediately; every one contributes to the welfare of the whole, and can not be denied its rights, or be neglectful of its duties, without injury, in that proportion, to the whole republic.

“There is a subtle and indefinable health beyond that of the stomach and muscular powers; a man may be torpid in moral brain and intellectual functions, who yet has an excellent appetite and can do the work of an ox.[9] This is not usually regarded as sickness, or needing any physiological treatment. But it is as much so as the grossest form of sickness. A man’s temper and disposition may be the only evidence that his liver is out of order. A paroxysm of rage may come from a diseased spleen, and many a murder, arson, and suicide, I doubt not, come from a defective hygiene.

[9] Others, again, are physically as well as mentally impotent, while eating enormously, “the digestion and excretion of superfluous food almost monopolizing the vital energy.”

“Physiology is an integral part of theology. Sanitary reforms lie at the foundation of moral reforms. Christianity is health, and the means of escaping from disease.

“No delusion is so vain as to suppose that this

world is ever to be Christianized, society purified and exalted, man saved and brought to the divine likeness, while a thousand forms of disease prey upon his vitals, cloud his moral perceptions, enfeeble or exasperate his will, overwhelm him with pain and confusion, even in the midst of his noblest designs; and all this, because he knows not, or respects not sufficiently, the laws of his physical nature; the subtle powers and mechanism of which are as divine in their origin and inflexible in their character as any that govern the soul.”

It is not necessary to know, precisely, how this sympathetic or telegraphic system operates in the conservation of health, but all of this knowledge that is essential to us is the understanding of the main fact, to know the nature of a message and from whence it comes, or its probable origin when doubt arises. It is owing to an imperfect knowledge of this law which causes so general a belief in the theory that the internal organism takes on disease readily from the action of cold upon the surface of the body. But, in fact, the skin was especially designed to be played upon by extremes of heat and cold, wind and wet; and human beings are not necessarily such pitiable creatures as they are made to appear from the general supposition that a transient exposure to a current of pure air, whether wet, dry, cold or hot, is likely to bring on disease. “The immediate effects of a displacement of blood from the surface, and its determination to the internal organs, are not,” says the Lancet, “as was once supposed, sufficient to produce the sort of congestion

that issues in inflammation. If it were so, an inflammatory condition would be the common characteristic of our bodily state. When the vascular system is healthy, and that part of the nervous apparatus by which the calibre of the vessels is controlled performs its functions normally, any disturbance of equilibrium in the circulatory system which may have been produced by external cold will be quickly adjusted.” Nothing so readily promotes disorder of the vascular system, and of the nervous apparatus which controls it, as to interfere with the nutrition of the nervous system; and in turn, no cause is more effectual, and none more speedy, among the ordinary vicissitudes of life, in depriving the nerves and tissues of their appropriate aliment, than an excessive or otherwise unwholesome diet and the consequent disturbance of the organs of nutrition; and the excess is increased relatively, and the disorder intensified, in proportion as the body is sweltered with clothing and defrauded of the “breath of life”—outdoor air. It is a very significant comment on the cold-air fallacy, that people of all ages, sexes, occupations and social positions, and in all conditions of general health, catch cold, say to-day, from the slightest exposures, often, indeed, they are totally at a loss to account for them except upon one surmise or another, like that of the old lady who “caught her death o’ cold taking gruel out of a damp basin”; while next month, or next week, perhaps, the same individuals endure the most extreme exposure, as, for example, riding for hours in face of a driving rain or snow-storm, until wet and chilled through and through; or, perhaps, being

turned out at night in bitter cold, half clad, to find their way from their burning dwelling to a distant neighbor’s—in short, they may suffer the most taxing exposures and yet “catch” nothing more than a good appetite for a warm dinner or a cheery fireside. The boy who, as was supposed, caught a fearful cold one warm day last week, from merely stepping to the door bareheaded, stole away yesterday, when the mercury was twenty or thirty degrees lower, and bareheaded and barefooted, paddled in the frog-pond until his clothes were wet through and his lips blue with cold, and yet he turned out this morning without a trace of disease! Can we learn nothing from constantly occurring instances of this character? The simple fact is, in such cases, in the first instance the victims were in bad condition, they had found the end of their rope, so to say, i.e., they had reached a point where from continued bad living the system could no longer contain the accumulated impurities and the overflow had to come, and come it would, sooner or later (and the later, the more severe), without even the influence of the slightest current of air, or any form of exposure. If a slight chill was experienced it arose from the internal fever, and not, as was foolishly supposed, from the puff of pure air that was felt co-incidently. But in the second instance, the “cold” of last week had cleansed the system more or less completely, and now, owing to the improved condition, the really severe exposures give rise to no symptoms of disease—the temporary inconvenience from the wet or the cold is all.

Personally, I have been a life-long sufferer from

colds, and as with every one (how many pass a year without “a cold” of some sort?) they came in a variety of forms, from the “snuffles” of crammed infancy and the “hay fever” of adult age, to neuralgia, rheumatism, and the like. No matter what name may be settled on, finally, to describe the disease, whether rheumatism, neuralgia, sick headache, kidney complaint, bilious fever, or what not, the victim is sure to say: “I caught a severe cold some way, and it settled”—wherever the uneasy symptoms are felt.[10] “A succession of colds” is the commonly-named excuse, and the honestly-believed-in cause of lung affections, including consumption; but as the phrase is usually understood, it is the veriest blunder—the most pernicious blunder possible. Hence the space devoted to this subject. Some years ago I made a change in my habits as to diet and clothing: I quite abruptly abandoned the use of heavy-weight garments, heavy flannels, and the practice of “bundling up” upon occasions of exposure, and I gave up the three-meal system, and the fish, flesh, and fowl, and

most of the accompaniments of the flesh diet, and have since lived mainly on vegetable food. I eat twice a day, nominally, but invariably skip a meal if there is any sign of indigestion, or whenever I think I should be better off without eating. I eat on an average about a dozen meals a week, each less in amount, though more nutritious than formerly. This keeps my appetite always perfect, but I am never “hungry,” as when I ate three meals every day, “work or play.”

[10] And so with non-healing wounds, cuts, bruises, “cold-sores,” etc. Those people who have their bodies built up of impure material, who are unsound through and through, always “catch cold in it” when they have a wound of any kind or a sore; and their flesh is easily wounded and sores come often, more or less mysteriously, and the most trifling wound that would, in the case of a healthy man, woman, or child, heal readily, and in a few days be entirely well, in their case “festers,” and may be troublesome for weeks or months, perhaps necessitating the amputation of a finger, hand, or a limb, or even causing death. Healthy people have no occasion for sores, boils, etc; but if filth exists in the system, these little volcanoes tend to eliminate it, and to the prevention of other diseases. The suppression of catarrhal or diarrhœal discharges often results in dangerous sicknesses, even fatal sicknesses, unless their cause is first removed. (See Bright’s Disease.)

I was formerly hungry before every meal, and if any one of them was delayed for a single hour there was sure to be a faint and languid feeling—a disinclination for, and a seeming inability to, labor—which, however, would usually disappear if I kept on working! From this I finally learned a most valuable lesson, viz: that the craving appetite that tempts one to forestall the regular meal hour is a species of “poison-hunger,” akin to that which torments the inebriate if his customary dram is not forthcoming. In either case, whether the congested stomach seems to crave solid or liquid stimulants, the only wise thing is to abstain, remove or relieve the inflammatory state of the stomach by giving it rest from digestive labor, and by judicious drinking of pure water, and then eat and drink so as to prevent a recurrence of the disorder. So universal is this disagreeable feeling with three-meal-flesh-and-pastry eaters and coffee-drinkers that Marshall Hall, evidently himself ignorant of its nature and cause, refers what he styles the “temper disease” to the mauvais quart d’heure before dinner!

Since adopting the new plan I can truly say that when I live up to it, as do most of the time, I never have any of the symptoms of what is commonly known as cold, nor, indeed, any kind of physical inconvenience whatever. And yet, only twelve years ago, my physical condition was such that I bade fair to follow my mother, an aunt, an uncle, a sister, and a brother, all of whom died of tubercular consumption under the prevailing general regimen and medical treatment, both of which I design in this treatise to unqualifiedly denounce.

In order, however, to see if I could, by exposure, cause the well-known symptoms of cold, I have made many experiments, some of which I will name: I have walked in snow and slop with low shoes until both shoes and socks were soaked through, and have sat thus for an hour or more; after wearing all-wool flannels during moderate weather, I have, upon the approach of colder weather, removed my under-garments, and have then attended to my outdoor affairs, minus the overcoat habitually worn; I have slept in winter in a current blowing directly about my head and shoulders; upon going to bed, I have sat in a strong current, entirely nude, for a quarter of an hour, on a very cold, damp night in the fall of the year; I have worn a flannel gown, and slept under heavy-weight bed-covers one night, and in cotton night-shirt and light-weight bed-clothes the next. These and similar experiments I have made repeatedly, and have never been able to catch cold. I become cold, sometimes quite cold, and become

warm again, that is all. On the other hand, changing the form of my experiments, returning to my old way, the prevalent style of living—a “generous diet” and a full meal every five or six hours through the day—I have found no difficulty in accumulating a cold; and within a reasonable length of time could count upon it, although, now, a part of the programme consisted in taking the most extreme care to avoid what are commonly reckoned as exposures—keeping my feet ever warm and dry, paying strict attention to wraps,[11] etc. This is not simply my own individual experience, but, also, of others who, either of their own accord or through my suggestion, have carefully studied the matter; while rational hygienists, generally, attest to the main fact, that they endure all the ordinary vicissitudes of life without often being troubled with this most disagreeable complaint.

[11] Said an observing friend to me: “I am apt to catch cold when I put on my winter flannels; why is that?” With those who may happen to be already near the brink, this effect is likely to follow the addition of an extra layer of flannel to the ordinary dress, unless they leave out a layer of food, so to say, or the weather happens to be enough colder on that day, to counteract the extra clothing.

In the course of my experimentation, whenever I have fed my cold as far as I wished or dared to go, I have, in every instance, banished the disease by abstaining from food and indulging in extra rations of outdoor air—rain or shine. I have never known this remedy to fail of “breaking up” a common cold in twenty-four to forty-eight hours, whatever the age, sex, or occupation of the individual, and regardless of the supposed origin of the disease. Of course the

size of the “dose” must bear some relation to the severity of the disorder. Whenever I have chosen to prolong one of these experiments by continuing to eat heartily, as is customary with people in general, I have found my experience identical with that of others: the symptoms would increase in severity, and to acute catarrh, headache, slight feverishness, and languor, would be added sore throat, perhaps, with pressure at the lungs, hoarseness, increased fever, and entire indisposition for exertion. In this case two, perhaps three, days’ fasting (one, maybe two, in bed) would be required, with a little extra sponging of the skin, to reduce the fever and completely restore the balance. I have, to be sure, never been reckless enough to subject my system to the influence of impure air—to the quality of air, for example, that is the daily and nightly reliance of ninety and nine families in the hundred, rich or poor, in the city or country—this I would never do; and for this reason my “colds” would be less severe, other things equal, than those of my neighbors, and more readily amenable to “treatment”; but the principle holds good in all cases. There are all degrees of obtuseness observable in the mental efforts of our fellow-creatures: I have had persons reply to this, that they “couldn’t agree” with me entirely in my position, for they had “tried the remedy,” when, in fact, as they would more or less hesitatingly admit, they had kept up their three-meal feeding, even after the appetite had passed the craving stage and the fitful stage; and even after food became loathsome they had punished

themselves more or less gruelly; but, finally, driven to the wall, and eating little or nothing for a few days or weeks, because it was physically impossible to eat more, they have the assurance to declare, or the sublime stupidity to believe, that they have tried the fasting-cure, and that while “it might cure some,” it wouldn’t answer for them! And they usually add—of all aphorisms the most foolish and misleading—“one’s meat, another’s poison.”[12] It results, in such

cases, that, if the individual recovers, he does so as the effect of seven-eighths starvation, involuntarily practiced, and extending over a period of weeks or months, when a few days of total abstinence early enough in the contest, before the appetite declined, would have saved the system from the depletion of a long-continued strain.

[12] Were I to summarize the arguments against the saying, that “what is meat for one is poison for another,” I would put it something like this: Its author, and the people, have been deceived in that one person can bear what another can not. Some constitutions have withstood the worst habits—violations of all the known laws of life—gluttony, intemperance to the degree of almost constant drunkenness, the grossest and most constant immorality in departments the most exhausting, until passed what we call old age—and still have rounded out a full century of life. Many, on the other hand, of frailer make, have, by reason of a tithe of such misconduct, been swept into premature graves, at middle-age, early manhood, or even in youth. Others, again, like the last named, and rapidly following them to destruction, have been kept back, put on the mending hand, and have lived fairly long lives, from renouncing their immoral practices, or, perhaps, simply their “unhealthy” practices as to diet, when these have been their only faults. As elsewhere remarked, thousands of lives have been saved and robust health regained, or gained for the first time, from adopting the vegetarian, as against the prevailing “mixed,” diet. I believe that the reverse of this will not be even claimed by any one who has a right to claim expert knowledge. It may be relied upon that no substance that is positively wholesome for one person, is, in and of itself, injurious—speaking with relation to food. To this rule, it must be admitted, there are a few, isolated and, as yet, not fully explained exceptions—but the rule holds good; and it is equally certain that whatever is, in and of itself, harmful for one person to eat or drink, smoke, snuff, or chew, whether animal, vegetable, or mineral, food or medicine, is not good, certainly not best, for any other person to eat, drink, absorb, or take into the system in any manner. It is true that there are many things transpiring before our eyes every day which, to the superficial observer—and only the well-informed upon a given subject can see beneath the surface—form apparent exceptions to this rule—even to the degree of seeming to cast it aside as not a rule; nevertheless, no rule holds more uniformly true than this.

Lest it be inferred that I design to intimate that any one could at once imitate my cold air experiments with impunity, immediately upon changing his method of living, I hasten to say that not all could do this, any more than they could imitate the muscular feats of an athlete. As the depraved muscular system has to be built up by degrees and by long practice, so the life-long sweltered skin can become accustomed to extreme changes of temperature only by a somewhat gradual change of habit. Besides, it takes some time for the general system to come under the influence of a pure diet; and, again, the best of remedies have to be graduated in amount to the present condition of the patient. However, I am sure that most persons who will accustom themselves to an out-door life and to light clothing, have only to reform their eating-habits to make themselves virtually disease proof; while all classes may derive great benefit from a rational application of the principle.

That certain symptoms, popularly called cold, are often excited by exposure to fresh air, damp air, draughts, and the like, is true enough; and we should be devoutly thankful for this provision of Nature.

But it is likewise true that these “exposures” do not, and can not, originate the disease that in its exit manifests the well-known symptoms. That already exists, and has been for months, perhaps, accumulating in the system; and now, an unusual amount of fresh air in the lungs and in contact with the skin, has so invigorated the organism as to enable it to institute measures for thrusting out the real disease; hence catarrh, cough, expectoration, fever—for the name, cold, is a complete misnomer, and based upon a misconception as to the real nature of the disorder: the patient may be never so chilly, but the thermometer placed under the tongue at once shows that the temperature is above the normal standard. Says Dr. Oswald:[13] “Rightly interpreted, the external symptoms of disease constitute a restorative process that can not be brought to a satisfactory issue till the cause of the evil is removed. So that, in fact, the air-hater confounds the cause of his recovery with the cause of his disease. Among nations who pass their lives out-doors, catarrh and scrofula are unknown; not fresh air, but the want of it, is the cause of countless diseases, of fatal diseases where people are in the habit of nailing down their windows every winter to keep their children from opening them. The only objection to a ‘draught’ through a defective window is, that the draught is generally not strong enough. An influx of fresh air into a sick-room is a ray of light into darkness, a messenger of

Vishnu visiting an abode of the damned. Cold air,” he continues, “is a disinfectant, and under the pressure of a high wind a modicum of oxygen will penetrate a house in spite of closed windows. This circumstance alone has preserved the lives of thousands whom no cough syrup, or cod-liver oil could have saved.”

[13] “Physical Education,” by F. L. Oswald. M.D. New York: D. Appleton & Co.

Referring once more to the sympathetic telegraph, we find, for instance, that a small wound in the foot may produce lock-jaw; a blow on the elbow makes the fingers tingle; touch the soft palate with the finger and the stomach offers up its contents; and in the same manner, substantially, irritation or congestion of the stomach or intestines will give rise to tickling in the throat, itching of the nose,[14] etc., etc.; and if the primary disease be severe or constant, or of frequent occurrence, acute or chronic disease of the lungs may result. Indeed, I am led to the conclusion that the lungs seldom become disordered in any other manner. The pneumogastric nerve with its various branches forms a close “sympathy” between the brain and the larynx, bronchi, lungs, liver, heart and stomach. Is there, in reason and common sense, any necessity for argument to prove that of all the organs the stomach is the most abused; or rather, that of all our abuses of this wonderful temple of the body those inflicted by

the medium of the alimentary system are the most flagrant and most constant?

[14] It is not from habit, simply, that children pick the nose, and half the occupants of a drawing-room car, even, devote a sly moment to the same inspiring occupation! Observe the prevalence of red noses, enlarged nostrils, etc., among coffee drinkers and dyspeptics, as well as liquor drinkers.

Consider for one moment that the food taken from day to day should be plain and simple, and that in quality and quantity it should bear a close relation to the following circumstances or conditions, viz.: (1) to the season and the climate; (2) to the purity of the air habitually breathed; (3) amount of clothing worn; (4) amount of mental and physical labor performed; (5) the existing physical condition as to (a) appetite—whether normal or abnormal, as for example, ravenous, fitful or none at all; (b) strength—whether full, or exhausted from fatigue: (6) mental state—whether the mind is at ease, or from one or another cause distressed, as with grief, anger,[15] etc.; (7) the natural constitution—whether delicate or robust. How many, let me ask, in any community consider any of these conditions, or are to any extent influenced by them? Not that the question is, after all, as complicated as would at first sight appear; on the contrary, it is very simple, indeed. We have only to clothe ourselves in loose and comfortable garments; keep clean; breathe out-door air—whether we are indoors or out, day and night;[16] lead

an active, useful life, rest when tired, never eat without a good relish, nor, as a rule, when there is “gnawing” at the stomach, nor when the body is exhausted with fatigue or the mind in a badly disturbed state. Eat but twice daily and of the simplest and purest food, i.e., the cereal grains, vegetables and fruits.

Ordinarily, a little animal food—unaccompanied by greasy or stimulating condiments—will not affect a robust person seriously; but it is not essential to health, speaking generally, and in depraved conditions of the system it may be set down as detrimental; although lean beef or mutton, plainly cooked, and served without “seasoning,” is doubtless preferable to bolted flour or impoverished vegetables, whose dissipated salts are mistakenly supposed to be “restored” in the form of artificial salt (see “Saline Starvation.”)

[15] Few causes are more readily promotive of indigestion than the indulgence of such emotions, and none presents a greater obstacle to the recovery of a consumptive patient than the habitual subjection of the mind to unhappy reflections of whatsoever character. It is especially important for both patient and all who approach him to avoid, so far as possible, every disquieting influence.

[16] “Azotized air affects the lungs as the substitution of excrements for nourishing food would affect our digestive organs: corruption sets in; pulmonary phthisis is, in fact, a process of putrefaction.

“No ventilatory contrivance can compare with the simple plan of opening a window; in wet nights a ‘rain-shutter’ (a blind with large, overlapping bars) will keep a room both airy and dry. In every bedroom, one of the upper windows should be kept open night and day, except in storms, accompanied with rain or with a degree of cold exceeding 10° Fahr. In warm summer nights open every window in the house and every door connecting the bedroom with the adjoining apartments. Create a thorough draught. Before we can hope to fight consumption with any chance of success, we have to get rid of the night-air superstition. Like the dread of cold water, raw fruit, etc., it is founded on that mistrust of our instincts which we owe to our anti-natural religion. It is probably the most prolific single cause of impaired health, even among the civilized nations of our enlightened age, though its absurdity rivals the grossest delusions of the witchcraft era. The subjection of holy reason to hearsays could hardly go further.

“‘Beware of the night-wind; be sure and close your windows after dark!’ In other words, beware of God’s free air; be sure and infect your lungs with the stagnant, azotized, and offensive atmosphere of your bedroom. In other words, beware of the rock spring; stick to sewerage. Is night-air injurious? Is there a single tenable pretext for such an idea? Since the day of creation that air has been breathed with impunity by millions of different animals—tender, delicate creatures, some of them—fawns, lambs, and young birds. The moist night-air of the tropical forests is breathed with impunity by our next relatives, the anthropoid apes—the same apes that soon perish with consumption in the close though generally well-warmed atmosphere of our northern menageries. Thousands of soldiers, hunters, and lumbermen sleep every night in tents and open sheds without the least injurious consequences; men in the last stage of consumption have recovered by adopting a semi-savage mode of life, and camping out-doors in all but the stormiest nights. Is it the draught you fear, or the contrast of temperature? Blacksmiths and railroad-conductors seem to thrive under such influences. Draught? Have you never seen boys skating in the teeth of a snow-storm at the rate of fifteen miles an hour? ‘They counteract the effects of the cold air by vigorous exercise.’ Is there no other way of keeping warm? Does the north wind damage the fine lady sitting motionless in her sleigh, or the pilot and helmsman of a storm-tossed vessel? It can not be the inclemency of the open air, for, even in sweltering summer nights, the sweet south wind, blessed by all creatures that draw the breath of life, brings no relief to the victim of aërophobia. There is no doubt that families who have freed themselves from the curse of that superstition can live out and out healthier in the heart of a great city than its slaves on the airiest highland of the southern Apennines.”—(“Physical Education.”)

CHAPTER III.
CONSUMPTION—(Continued).

The country boor says he must have meat to make muscle; and all the while his vegetarian team is twitching him and his plow along the furrow. Where does he suppose they get their muscles?—Thoreau.

Stupidly ignorant, or unmindful, of the fact that there are, in this country and Europe, hundreds of thousands of people of all ages, sexes and social positions, who live year in and year out mainly, and a large proportion strictly, on the vegetarian diet, and live in health, not only, but found perfect health by abandoning the common mixed diet and coming nearer to first principles—notwithstanding all this, still the farce goes on among the scientists of “proving” by chemical analyses, pretty theories and specious arguments, that man “can not subsist in health on a vegetarian diet.”[17]

[17] Jules Virey estimates that four-tenths of the human race subsist exclusively on a vegetable diet, and that seven-tenths are practically (though not on principle) vegetarians. Virchow estimates the total number at eighty-five per cent.—Oswald.

“The matter is this: in a cold climate we can not thrive without a modicum of fat, but that fat need not come from slaughtered animals. In a colder country than England, the East-Russian peasant, remarkable for his robust health and longevity, subsists

on cabbage-soup, rye-bread, and vegetable oils. In a colder country than England, the Gothenburg shepherds live chiefly on milk, barley bread, and esculent roots. The strongest men of the three manliest races of the present world are non-carnivorous: the Turanian mountaineers of Daghestan and Lesghia, the Mandingo tribes of Senegambia, and the Schleswig-Holstein Bauern, who furnish the heaviest cuirassiers for the Prussian army and the ablest seamen for the Hamburg navy. Nor is it true that flesh is an indispensable, or even the best, brain-food. Pythagoras, Plato, Seneca, Paracelsus, Spinoza, Peter Bayle, and Shelley were vegetarians; so were Franklin and Lord Byron in their best years. Newton, while engaged in writing his ‘Principia’ and ‘Quadrature of Curves,’ abstained entirely from animal food, which he had found by experience to be unpropitious to severe mental application. The ablest modern physiologists incline to the same opinion. ‘I use animal food because I have not the opportunity to choose my diet,’ says Professor Welch, of Yale; ‘but, whenever I have abstained from it, I have found my health mentally, morally, and physically better.’”—(“Physical Education.”)

With regard to the muscular vigor of vegetarians: if they have not become noted as “winners of rowing, walking, or boxing matches,” it is chiefly because they are rarely sporting men; besides, they are as yet in this country—although their numbers are quite rapidly increasing—in a very small minority; but, of late, since this objection has been so frequently raised, vegetarians have entered the lists, notably in England,

in bicycle races, and have distanced their meat-eating rivals in long races, showing greater staying powers.

Says the London Lancet: “In the summer of 1872, it became necessary to shift the rails on upwards of 500 miles of permanent way on the Great Western line, from the broad to the narrow gauge, and there was only a fortnight to do it in. The work to be got through was enormous. About 3,000 men were employed, and they worked double time, sometimes from four in the morning till nine at night. Not a soul was sick, sorry, or drunk, and the work was accomplished on time. What was the extraordinary support of this wonderful spurt of muscular strength and energy? Weak oatmeal gruel. There was no beer, spirits, or alcoholic drink in any form. Here,” continues the Lancet, “is a very old and well-known agent, cheap enough, and easily procured, capable of imparting ‘staying power’ better, probably, than anything else, which is not employed to anything like the extent it might be with advantage.”

The principal part of the ration allowed in the above case was one and one-half pounds of oatmeal. In view of the immense labor performed by these men on that quantity of this cereal, can it be wondered at that the sedentary dyspeptic who essays to “diet” on three full meals of such food comes to grief? For him a single moderate meal of grain food, with fruit, would be a generous ration.

To very many the term “vegetarian” seems almost to imply one who is restricted to a diet of turnips and water. But Epicurus, the god of gluttons, was himself

a vegetarian, for while he regarded pleasure as the summum bonum, and placed the pleasures of the table first, still, he knew that a simple fare was most conducive to health and comfort in this life. As to variety: “with five kinds of cereals, three legumina, eight species of esculent roots, ten or twelve nutritive herbs, thirty to forty varieties of tree fruits, besides berries and nuts, a vegetarian might emulate the Duc de Polignac, who refused to eat the same dish more than once per season.”

In view of the constant violations of natural law as to quality, quantity and frequency of meals, I would say that it is from the nature of the case impossible for people living in the prevailing manner to avoid digestive disorders;[18] in practice I find none altogether

exempt from them, except the very small class of abstemious vegetarians referred to—an individual or a family, or two, in each community—all others are more or less dyspeptic, and dyspepsia is incipient consumption. Thousands of dyspeptics are oblivious as to the true nature of their disorder, simply because the most marked symptoms in their

cases, now, are affections of the throat and lungs. The popular ignorance in this direction amply accounts for the appalling fact that respiratory diseases destroy the lives of about one-third, and consumption alone one-fifth of all who die in this country. When dyspepsia has blossomed into consumption, unless the primary disease—that of the stomach and

intestines—is removed—an impossibility except by a radical change from the evil dietetic habits that have caused it—nature is powerless to heal the lungs, because (1) the inflammation is being perpetually propagated, and (2) the entire nutritive system is becoming more and more hopelessly diseased.

[18] “I think I shall not be far wrong if I say that there are few subjects more important to the well-being of man than the selection and preparation of his food. Our forefathers in their wisdom have provided, by ample and generously endowed organizations, for the dissemination of moral precepts in relation to human conduct, and for the constant supply of sustenance to meet the cravings of religious emotions common to all sorts and conditions of men. In these provisions no student of human nature can fail to recognize the spirit of wisdom and a lofty purpose. But it is not a sign of ancestral wisdom that so little thought has been bestowed on the teaching of what we should eat and drink; that the relations, not only between food and a healthy population, but between food and virtue, between the process of digestion and the state of mind which results from it, have occupied a subordinate place in the practical arrangements of life. No doubt there has long been some practical acknowledgment, on the part of a few educated persons, of the simple fact that a man’s temper, and consequently many of his actions, depends on such an alternative as whether he habitually digests his food well or ill; whether the meals which he eats are properly converted into healthy material, suitable for the ceaseless work of building up both muscle and brain; or whether unhealthy products constantly pollute the course of nutritive supply. But the truth of that fact has never been generally admitted to an extent at all comparable with its exceeding importance. It produces no practical result on the habits of men in the least degree commensurate with the pregnant import it contains. For it is certain that an adequate recognition of the value of proper food to the individual in maintaining a high standard of health, in prolonging healthy life (the prolongation of unhealthy life being small gain either to the individual or to the community), and thus largely promoting cheerful temper, prevalent good-nature, and improved moral tone, would require almost a revolution in the habits of a large part of the community.

“The general outlines of a man’s mental character and physical tendencies are doubtless largely determined by the impress of race and family. That is, the scheme of the building, its characteristics and dimensions, are inherited; but to a very large extent the materials and filling in of the framework depend upon his food and training. By the latter term may be understood all that relates to mental and moral and even to physical education, in part already assumed to be fairly provided for, and therefore not further to be considered here. No matter, then, how consummate the scheme of the architect, nor how vast the design, more or less of failure to rear the edifice results when the materials are ill chosen or wholly unworthy to be used. Many other sources of failure there may be which it is no part of my business to note; but the influence of food is not only itself cardinal in rank, but, by priority of action, gives rise to other and secondary agencies.

“The slightest sketch of the commonest types of human life will suffice to illustrate this truth.

“To commence, I fear it must be admitted that the majority of infants are reared on imperfect milk by weak or ill-fed mothers. And thus it follows that the signs of disease, of feeble vitality, or of fretful disposition, may be observed at a very early age, and are apparent in symptoms of indigestion or in the cravings of want manifested by the ‘peevish’ and sleepless infant. In circumstances where there is no want of abundant nutriment, over-feeding or complicated forms of food, suitable only for older persons, produce for this infant troubles which are no less grave than those of the former. In the next stage of life, among the poor the child takes his place at the parents’ table, where lack of means, as well as of knowledge, deprives him of food more suitable than the rough fare of the adult.... On the whole, perhaps he is not much worse off than the child of the well-to-do, who becomes a pet, and is already familiarized with complex and too solid forms of food and stimulating drinks which custom and self-indulgence have placed on the daily table. And soon afterward commence in consequence—and entirely in consequence, a fact it is impossible too much to emphasize—the ‘sick-headaches’ and ‘bilious attacks,’ which pursue their victim through half a lifetime, to be exchanged for gout or worse at or before the grand climacteric. And so common are these evils that they are regarded by people in general as a necessary appanage of ‘poor humanity.’ No notion can be more erroneous, since it is absolutely true that the complaints referred to are self-engendered, form no necessary part of our physical nature, and for their existence are dependent almost entirely on our habits in relation to food and drink. I except, of course, those cases in which hereditary tendencies are so strong as to produce these evils, despite some care on the part of the unfortunate victim of an ancestor’s self-indulgence. Equally, however, on the part of that little-to-be-revered progenitor was ill-chosen food, or more probably excess in quantity, the cause of disease, and not the physical nature of man.

“The next stage of boyhood transfers the child just spoken of to a public school, where too often inappropriate diet, at the most critical period of growth, has to be supplemented from other sources. It is almost unnecessary to say that chief among these are the pastry-cook and the vender of portable provisions, for much of which latter that skin-stuffed compound of unknown origin, an uncertified sausage, may be accepted as the type.

“After this period arise the temptations to drink, among the youth of all classes, whether at beer-house, tavern, or club. For it is often taught in the bosom of the family, by the father’s example and by the mother’s precept, that wine, beer, and spirits are useful, nay, necessary to health, and that they augment the strength. And the lessons thus inculcated and too well learned were but steps which led to wider experience in the pursuit of health and strength by larger use of the same means. Under such circumstances it often happens, as the youth grows up, that a flagging appetite or a failing digestion habitually demands a dram before or between meals, and that these are regarded rather as occasions to indulge in variety of liquor than as repasts for nourishing the body. It is not surprising, with such training, that the true object of both eating and drinking is entirely lost sight of. The gratification of acquired tastes usurps the function of that zest which healthy appetite produces; and the intention that food should be adapted to the physical needs of the body and the healthy action of the mind is forgotten altogether. So it often comes to pass that at middle age, when man finds himself in the full current of life’s occupations, struggling for pre-eminence with his fellows, indigestion has become persistent in some of its numerous forms, shortens his ‘staying power,’ or spoils his judgment or temper. And, besides all this, few causes are more potent than an incompetent stomach to engender habits of selfishness and egotism. A constant care to provide little personal wants of various kinds, thus rendered necessary, cultivates these sentiments, and they influence the man’s whole character in consequence.”

“But it is necessary to say at this point, and I desire to say it emphatically, that the subject of food need not, even with the views just enunciated, be treated in an ascetic spirit. It is to be considered in relation to a principle, in which we may certainly believe, that aliments most adapted to develop the individual, sound in body and mind, shall not only be most acceptable but that they may be selected and prepared so as to afford scope for the exercise of a refined taste, and produce a fair degree of that pleasure naturally associated with the function of the palate, and derived from a study of the table. For it is certain that nine-tenths of the gormandism which is practiced—for the most part a matter of faith without knowledge—is no more a source of gratification to the eater’s gustatory sense than it is of digestible sustenance to his body.”—“Food and Feeding,” by Sir Henry Thompson.

The stomach, more especially after long years of

abusive treatment, is one of the least sensitive organs. “If it had nerves as sensitive as our finger-tips, our attention would be so much taken up with the ordinary digestion of food that we could not properly attend to our work or studies.” At first, in infancy, it is more sensitive, and any excess of food is thrown off, but ere many months the disorder grows worse and deeper-seated, and in the course of years stomachs become so diseased as to give no sign, except when unusually outraged. It may have sores without knowing it. Dr. Beaumont saw sores in St. Martin’s stomach after the latter had drunk liquor, but they occasioned no pain. “Cold sores,” chapped lips, parched or pimpled tongue or mouth, furred tongue, etc., etc., are but signs of serious disease of the stomach and intestines, and, consequently, of the entire organism.

I have classed as one of the most natural and effective measures for the preservation of health or the cure of disease, rest; for diseased organs, rest[19] and light tasks; for the healthy person who desires to keep well, I have said, “rest when tired.” Unfortunately many people, and more especially consumptives, never know when they are tired, but work habitually, until they are exhausted. With the latter, this is usually set down to willfulness or lack of judgment. “She won’t listen to reason,” says the anxious husband. “She is always overdoing,” says another. Jockeys, describing horses thus affected,

call them “pullers”: it is the same disease—indigestion. Reason being dethroned by the poisoned circulation in the brain, Nature, through muscular action, essays to excrete the toxic elements. This is stimulation (see “Coffee.”)

[19] The various excretory organs, as the bowels, kidneys, liver, as well as the digestive apparatus, are relieved by fasting, or diminishing the food ration.

It is the stimulus imparted by the thrice daily ingestion of so many unnatural and indigestible articles that compose the mixed diet, which prevents so many from resting when they are tired. With others, however, the effect is quite the reverse: some are always complaining of a “tired feeling.” There is a genuine lack of vital force occasioned by lack of nourishment. When this feeling is experienced on rising, it is usually, almost invariably, at least in part, the effect of close sleeping-rooms. Many persons,—some who are fat, and called healthy, others, perhaps, lean,—are called “lazy” who are positively weak, too weak to work without great effort such as lookers-on know nothing about, although most people may have had similar feelings occasionally—the “after-dinner laziness.” This special form of disease has previously been spoken of. (See p. [34]).

Nutrition is the grand factor in the prevention or cure of disease. It may be said, truly enough, that the blood-aerating capacity remains throughout equal, often superior, to the blood-making capacity; and consumption may be appropriately described as dyspeptic starvation. (See “Saline Starvation.”) In those instances where the capital stock (of vitality) is exhausted the victims of this disease must die; but thousands of cases pronounced after a long course

of medication and stimulation, hopeless, have been restored by a simple diet and an out-door life. Even hygienic institutes have failed to apply this principle in its entirety when brought face to face with cases that demanded “heroic treatment;” influenced in some measure, possibly, by the popular distrust of their methods, especially the deep prejudice against a restricted diet—now, however, rapidly disappearing—they have hitherto erred continually on the side of excess. Nevertheless, they restore to health, or greatly benefit, ninety per cent. of the broken down invalids who come to them, usually, as a last resort.

I desire here to note particularly the change now going on in the minds of the most eminent and practical physicians in this and European countries, concerning the use of beef-tea. It is found by chemical analysis to be almost identical with “chamber-lye”—the favorite prescription of our grandmothers—and although more agreeable to the taste than urine, even when the latter is drowned in treacle, it is, in my opinion, always injurious, especially in sickness, when, of course, the excretory system is already taxed to the utmost. Most people, even in health, have more than they can well do to excrete their own, once, without swallowing any portion of the waste of animals!

Says Dr. Brunton:

“We find only too frequently that both doctors and patients think that the strength is sure to be kept up if a sufficient quantity of beef-tea can only be got down; but I think it a question whether beef-tea

may not very frequently (?) be actually injurious, and whether the products of muscular waste which constitute the chief portion of beef-tea, beef-essence, or even the beef itself, may not, under certain circumstances, be actually poisonous.”

“In many cases of nervous depression we find a feeling of weakness and prostration coming on during digestion, and becoming so very marked about the second hour after a meal has been taken, and at the very time when absorption is going on, that we can hardly do otherwise than ascribe it to actual poisoning by digestive products absorbed into the circulation. From the observation of a number of cases, I came to the conclusion that the languor and faintness of which many patients complained, and which occurred about eleven and four o’clock, was due to actual poisoning by the products of digestion of breakfast and lunch; but at the time when I arrived at this conclusion I had no experimental data to show that the products of digestion were actually poisonous in themselves; and only within the last few months have I seen the conclusions to which I had arrived by clinical observation, confirmed by experiments made in the laboratory. Such experiments have been made by Professor Albertoni, of Genoa, and by Dr. Schmidt-Mühlheim, in Professor Ludwig’s laboratory at Leipsic.”

“Professor Albertoni and Dr. Schmidt-Mühlheim independently made the discovery that peptones prevented the coagulation of the blood in dogs, and the latter, under Ludwig’s direction, has also investigated

their action upon the circulation. He finds that, when injected into a vein, they greatly depress the circulation, so that the blood-pressure falls very considerably; and when the quantity injected is large, they produce a soporose condition, complete arrest of the secretion by the kidneys,[20] convulsions, and death. From these experiments it is evident that the normal products of digestion are poisons of no inconsiderable power, and that if they reach the general circulation in large quantities they may produce very alarming, if not dangerous symptoms.”

[20] See “Bright’s Disease.”

“Instead of trying to keep up the strength, as it is termed, by loading the stomach with food, the exhausted brain-worker should rather lean toward abstinence from food, and especially toward abstinence from alcoholic liquors.[21] The feeling of muscular weakness and lassitude, which I have already had occasion to mention as frequently coming on about two hours after meals, is not uncommonly met with in persons belonging to the upper classes who are well fed and have little exercise. It is perhaps seen in its most marked form in young women or girls who have left school, and who, having no definite occupation in life, are indisposed to any exercise, either bodily or mental. I am led to look upon this condition as one of poisoning, both on account of the time of its occurrence, during the absorption of digestive products, and by reason of the peculiar symptoms—viz., a curious weight in the legs and

arms, the patient describing them as feeling like lumps of lead. These symptoms so much resemble the effect which would be produced by a poison like curare, that one could hardly help attributing them to the action of a depressant or paralyzer of motor nerves or centers. The recent researches of Ludwig and Schmidt-Mühlheim render it exceedingly probable that peptones are the poisonous agents in these cases; and an observation which I have made seems to confirm this conclusion, for I found that the weakness and languor were less after meals consisting of farinaceous food only. My observations, however, are not sufficiently extensive to absolutely convince me that they are entirely absent after meals of this sort, so that possibly the poisoning by peptones, although one cause of the languor, is not to be looked upon as the only cause.”[22]

[21] See chapter on Coffee.

[22] “Indigestion as a Cause of Nervous Depression.” By T. Lauder Brunton. M.D., F.R.S., in Practitioner.

I am able to vouch for a number of cases of consumption, and marasmus, in which, under tonic treatment and frequent meals, the patients were steadily declining, but which yielded, finally, to the influence of the one-meal-a-day system: comparative rest of the diseased alimentary organs, and consequent improvement in the digestive and assimilative functions proved the needed “stimulant.” The Boston Journal of Chemistry, of February, 1882, gives the history of a well-authenticated case, of an old man of 70 years, who had been declining with pulmonary consumption for three years, and who was pronounced

incurable, who was made convalescent by a voluntary and absolute fast of 43 days—taking water freely, however, during the time—and, following this with the “bread and fruit” diet, was restored to health.

Let us contrast this method of restoring the nutritive organs with that of “curing” them by medication:

J. Milner Fothergill, M.D., truly says (in the Practitioner), that “it is more important to study the tongue than to go over the chest with a stethoscope, and that attention to the stomach and bowels is just as essential as the treatment of night sweats. When the tongue is covered with thick fur it is nearly or quite useless to give iron or cod-liver oil; for the tongue is the indicator of the state of the intestinal canal, and absorption through the thick layer of dead epithelial cells is impossible.” And then Dr. Fothergill gives us his method of rasping off the coating, so to say, with “a compound calomel and colocynthe pill every second night, and a mixture of nitro-hydrochloric or phosphoric acid, with infusion of cinchona three times a day until the tongue clears.” I would suggest that nitro-glycerine would act more speedily and reduce the suffering to a minimum! The point, however, to dwell upon,—and it is one worthy of the deepest consideration,—is that the state of the alimentary canal, so aptly described by the authority quoted, and which forbids the absorption of iron and oil, also prohibits the absorption of wholesome substances. Not only this; the secretion of the digestive fluids (even supposing

for the moment that these fluids are present in normal amount and quality in the circulation, which is, of course, far from the truth in this as in most disorders) is in great degree prevented by this same physical obstruction, the “thick layer of dead epithelial cells;” and, moreover, the secretion of fecal matters by the glands of the colon is, in like manner and degree, prevented. (See chapter on “Constipation.”)

What have we, then, in summing up, as the effect of this conservative effort of nature to “iron-sheathe and copper-fasten” this most abused alimentary tract, if I may thus characterize the coat which has resulted from the maltreatment of the digestive organs, and but for which the individual would, we may reasonably suppose, have died long ago from some plethoric disease? First: the digestive fluids, being scant and scantily secreted, it results that (2) only a small quantity at best, of the most wholesome food, can be by them digested, and (3) absorption from the small intestines is equally difficult, even supposing that the appropriate “small quantity” of food possible to be digested has not been exceeded, which, in ordinary practice, is anything but a supposable case. Excess is the invariable rule, and therefore (4) the undigested and fermenting food substances, excepting a portion which is absorbed in this poisonous condition, make their sluggish course along the intestines, collect in great masses in the lower bowel, and, finally, (a) either by aid of purgative medicines, or the ordinary stimulating drinks indulged in, (b) the irritating effects of these abnormal accumulations themselves, or (c) by means of

injections, the lower bowel is more or less frequently emptied. These extraordinary evacuations are often described by the patient or friends as “exhausting.” That such excreta is not composed of true fecal matters, we may reasonably conclude from the fact that (1) digestion and assimilation are but poorly performed, and but a very small proportion, therefore, of the quantity swallowed (often enough consumptives continue large eaters, gauged by any standard, and, relatively speaking, this is invariably the rule with them)—but a small proportion, I repeat, is absorbed into the circulation, and, therefore, undigested food must form the chief share of the so-called fecal matters, and (2) owing to the heavy fur-coat, lining the colon, the secretion of waste matters from the blood is, as just stated, well nigh prohibited.

Hence it results that under the ordinary treatment the consumptive patient is hurried out of the world by a relative, and, often enough, by an actual, exaggeration of the very practices which originated his disorder. Referring once more to Dr. Fothergill’s, which is, to be sure, the regular drug plan: having scoured off the fur, so to say, with drastic purgatives, which have, possibly, cut a little too deep; or when, from whatever cause, instead of the furred coat, “the tongue is raw, bare, and denuded of epithelium, the patient should,” he says, “take a mixture of bismuth with an alkali and use a milk diet. Seltzer water and milk will often agree when the milk alone is found to be too heavy and constipating.” Here we have a case analogous to that of the robust gourmand

whose dinner of a dozen courses is carried on and out by the aid of his “dinner pill,” or the free use of filthy mineral waters: A cup or two of cow’s milk (which, at best, is only a natural aliment for the calf, and which is too often drawn from a creature herself suffering from tuberculosis), is, to the depraved consumptive, even more “heavy and constipating” than the grossest diet indulged in ordinarily, to supposably healthy Christians, not to speak of such occasions as church festivals or society “breakfasts.” One secret of the difficulty which besets the hygienist in his efforts to prevail upon a consumptive patient to persist in a course of “natural medication,” after having once fairly entered upon it, lies in this: There is naturally a letting down, at first, from the stimulated condition, and this is often discouraging; the craving for the customary stimulants is almost as unappeasable as that of the rum-dyspeptic; and what makes the matter worse with the consumptive than with the drunkard, everybody who approaches the former seeks to tempt the appetite: or, in any event, the sight, smell, and hearing of the “good things” renders abstinence from such most difficult; and then, again, after leaving off many objectionable articles of food and drink, and having abstained from them for a few months, we will say, the transient resumption, always imminent, of the use of forbidden fruit operates with renewed force, and the patient finds himself, as he thinks, “gaining a little,” and he is thus encouraged to fall back, more or less gradually, into all his old practices. Coffee, for example,—which originally proved constipating, after

its first (laxative) effects ceased,—having been abstained from for some months, is now found to “agree” with and even “help” the patient, who, beginning with a single small cup at breakfast, works up finally to two at each meal; and, altogether, things go on swimmingly for a time. Again, after a period of abstinence from flesh-food, pastry, spices, etc.—to guard against which nature has put the fur-coat upon the intestines, or, perhaps, it should be said that the wear and tear occasioned by all unwholesome articles introduced into the stomach, have produced an effect somewhat analogous to the thickened cuticle resulting from the constant chafing of an ill-fitting shoe, for example,—as the intestinal tract begins to acquire something of its normal condition, there is a point when the resumption of a “generous” diet, in which the aforesaid substances figure largely, will seem to give the patient a fresh impulse healthward: they once more, perhaps, produce the laxative effects simulating that most desirable state of the bowels called “regular.” And so on to the end of the chapter, the patient, friends, and perhaps the medical adviser, are misled as to the real state of affairs, until, finally, the end approaches, and the patient who was “improving so nicely” grows worse, and, after a period of intense suffering, which weans him from all desire to live, and reconciles his friends to the change, dies. “He catched cold, it settled on his lungs, and in his weak state”—etc., etc.

Speaking in round terms, the consumptive’s digestive ability is about on a par, usually, indeed, inferior

to his muscular powers; and it is as irrational to expect him to digest and assimilate several meals a day, as to expect him to saw several cords of wood in the same length of time. Both are alike impossible. The fact that the food disappears, or that there is a craving for it, even, or, again, that it “seems to agree with the stomach,” does not change the case. A little food of the simplest sort may be assimilated, a little muscular exercise may be taken, and both prove curative. In common practice, however, the alimentary system is taxed to its own exhaustion and the impairment of the entire organism, while the voluntary muscular system deteriorates by reason of non-use as well as from the general lack of nutrition.

A very grave error, however, is sometimes made—of taking too much exercise; that is, of beginning the change too abruptly. Whatever the state of one’s general health, he can only do with advantage about what he has habitually done. If he has all along lived a very active life and is in his usual health, he can take a good deal of exercise without harm, even with advantage; if, on the other hand, his life is sedentary, but little can be taken—beyond the current amount—without doing more harm than good. In either case, however, there may be a gradual increase of muscular exercise, and for many of the latter class this would prove life conserving, (if persisted in as a habit of life), but spasmodic efforts at building up a muscular system will always fail; nature does nothing in that fashion. The rule should be to exercise a little short of fatigue, and it

should be increased little by little each day, “until the labor of working accommodates itself to easy habits.” This rule would leave for some consumptive patients, at first, only the passive exercise of having their muscles pressed by their attendant’s hand, or a gentle walk for a short distance, and so on.

“Combined with a hectic flush of the face, night-sweats, or general emaciation, shortness of breath leaves no doubt that the person thus affected is in the first stage of pulmonary consumption. If the patient were my son, I should remove the windows of his bedroom, and make him pass his days in the open air—as a cow-boy or berry-gatherer, if he could do no better. In case the disease had reached its deliquium period, the stage of violent bowel-complaints, dropsical swellings, and utter prostration,[23] it would be better to let the sufferer die in peace; but, as long as he were able to digest a frugal meal and walk two miles on level ground, I should begin the outdoor cure at any time of the year, and stake my own life on the result. I should provide him with clothing enough to defy the vicissitudes of the seasons, and keep him outdoors in all kinds of weather—walking, riding, or sitting; he would be safe: the fresh air would prevent the progress of the disease. But improve he could not without exercise. Increased exercise is the price of increased vigor. Running and walking steel the leg-sinews. In order to strengthen his wrist-joints a man must handle heavy weights. Almost any

bodily exercise—but especially swinging, wood-chopping, carrying weights, and walking up-hill—increases the action of the lungs, and thus gradually their functional vigor. Gymnastics that expand the chest facilitate the action of the respiratory organs, and have the collateral advantage of strengthening the sinews, and invigorating the system in general, by accelerating every function of the vital process. The exponents of the movement-cure give a long list of athletic evolutions, warranted to widen out the chest as infallibly as French-horn practice expands the cheeks. But the trouble with such machine-exercises is that they are almost sure to be discontinued as soon as they have relieved a momentary distress, and, as Dr. Pitcher remarks in his ‘Memoirs of the Osage Indians,’ the symptoms of consumption (caused by smoking and confinement in winter quarters) disappear during their annual buffalo-hunt, but reappear upon their return to the indolent life of the wigwam. The problem is to make outdoor exercise pleasant enough to be permanently preferable to the far niente whose sweets seem especially tempting to consumptives. This purpose accomplished, the steady progress of convalescence is generally insured, for the differences of climate, latitude, and altitude, of age and previous habits, almost disappear before the advantages of an habitual outdoor life over the healthiest indoor occupations.”—(“Physical Education.”)

[23] The fasting consumptive referred to on page [62] had already approached this condition.—Author.

I would not be understood, by any means, as advising every consumptive patient, or every one who supposes himself to be suffering from this disease, to

immediately and without advice stop eating; but this much I do say: in all cases of progressive emaciation, that is to say, where the organs of digestion and assimilation have become so impaired that the body is not nourished, but is steadily declining, the attending physician should consider the question of temporary rest for the alimentary organs, so far as the ingestion of food is concerned. The presence even of a craving appetite should be treated as a morbid symptom, and should weigh in favor of abstinence. It should also be borne in mind that the earlier this remedy is applied the smaller will be the “dose” indicated, and the more speedy and complete the relief. Had Mr. Connolly, for example—whose cure by fasting I have already alluded to—at any time during his first few months of “pressure at the lungs, with cough and expectoration,” fasted for a week or ten days,[24] perhaps, under the care of a physician sufficiently intelligent to judge of his needs in this direction, and had he thereafter lived on the plain diet which he now finds so complete, he would in all probability have escaped the illness which followed, and would have enjoyed uninterrupted health to the present day. Again, if he had changed his manner of living five years earlier—from three “mixed” meals[25] of stimulating

food, as flesh and the irritating condiments invariably associated with animal food; pastry, white flour, and stimulating drinks, as tea and coffee—to two meals composed of the cereals, vegetables and fruits, prepared in the simplest and plainest manner, there would have been no call for a fast. I have the means of knowing of over five thousand families in this country alone who have made this change for preventive and curative purposes, and with the happiest results. I would say that any person who finds his appetite failing or fitful—sometimes poor, sometimes craving—and who has reason to fear the decline of his nutritive powers, will do well to make a radical change in his habits of living; and the sooner the better. The most pernicious custom of which I have any knowledge, yet one almost universal in the care of the sick, is that of “tempting the appetite,” concocting fancy or especially toothsome dishes, when nature is saying in the plainest manner that feeding has already been overdone. Such preparations are a severe tax upon even robust persons—they are fatal to consumptives. It is infinitely worse than bribing an exhausted laborer, who can scarcely move a muscle, to rouse himself to fresh tasks. He will do more and better work by reason of present and absolute rest; and the same is true of the sick stomach: there will be a relish for the coarsest article of diet—aye, it will be delicious—and digestion will wait on appetite, when the nutritive organs shall have been restored by sufficient rest. The experiments of Tanner at New York, Griscomb at Chicago,

and now of Terrence Connolly (the consumptive faster) at Newton, N. J., have, I believe, demonstrated the fact that, in health or in sickness, in all cases of abstinence from all food, saving only water and pure air, of whatever disease the subject may die, it will not be for want of food, so long as there remains any considerable amount of flesh[26] on his bones. By the light of these experiences we shall do well, too, to study more closely the functions of the lymphatic system: human flesh, by absorption, constitutes a most appropriate diet in certain conditions of disease (see article on rheumatism). The absorption and excretion of diseased tissues is, under some circumstances, the only work that nature can with safety undertake, and in these cases no building up can be accomplished until a solid foundation is reached and the debris removed; and not then unless, while this good work is going on, the nutritive organs are given an opportunity to virtually renew themselves.

[24] It is evident that such a fast, then, would have proved, so far as the danger of starvation is concerned, a mere bagatelle, since three years later, as we have seen,—years of decline and emaciation,—he endured, and, with advantage, a fast of over six weeks.

[25] A return to his old diet now would probably make short work of this subject, and should I hear of his early death, my first inquiry would relate to this point.

[26] The amount “consumed” in the case of Mr. Connolly from day to day, was very slight indeed, scarcely more than before he left off eating; that is, it was observed that his emaciation was no more rapid during the fast than immediately prior thereto; before the fast his food was not being digested nor assimilated, and he was taking purgatives continually for torpid bowels.

Dr. Tanner, in his forty days’ fast, lost about fifty pounds in weight. Mr. Griscomb lost a little more than that in his fast of forty-five days; and although moving about, taking more exercise every day than many sedentary people, and attending to a large correspondence, etc., was still able to say to the audience assembled to see him break his fast: “Ladies and

gentlemen, you see now a man who has swallowed no food, except water, for forty-five days, and yet I can assure you that I am neither faint nor hungry; but I shall soon convince you that I have an excellent appetite,” and, so saying, he proceeded to partake of a very moderate dinner, and in moderate fashion. It is commonly supposed that these are uncommon men: they are uncommon only in possessing a knowledge as to the power of the living organism to withstand abstinence from food, and in having the courage of their opinions. And yet, when discussing the advantages of the two-meal system, uninformed people talk about “getting faint if they go so long” without nourishment! They speak from the three-meal-fish-flesh-fowl and pickle stand-point; accustomed to applying a hot poultice to a gnawing, sick stomach every few hours, they do get faint if the time runs over a single hour.

These various fasts, with the lessons to be drawn from them, must prove, finally, of inestimable value to science in the treatment of disease, where it may be desirable to rest all the viscera, or any portion thereof, concerned in digestion,[27] or to “close the bowels”

for certain surgical operations, without resorting to injurious medication, and also—a very important consideration—in cases of enforced abstinence, as in time of famine or shipwreck, to prevent death from fright and discouragement, which have heretofore killed scores where actual starvation has one.

[27] An eminent Maine statesman has recently died, who might have recovered and lived for years, but for the mistaken theory that food is a daily need under all circumstances: To constantly feed an irritated stomach is like kicking a man when he is down. And yet this is being done with fatal effect constantly all over the world. In certain cases, and especially with aged patients, this system is as surely fatal as strychnine, if less speedy. There are many besides myself who believe that President Garfield died from fatty degeneration, chronic dyspepsia, and constant feeding during his illness, rather than from the effects of the bullet. True enough, he might have lived on for years in his disordered physical condition but for the wound; still, on the other hand, it is equally probable that he might have lived, and that his sickness would have restored him to health even, but for the constant tampering with his stomach, which needed rest as much as the great and good man himself. No rest for the stomach, no rest for the man, is an axiom which I would submit to my brother practitioners, as one worthy of all acceptation. It is being constantly proved right before their own eyes, and yet very few have learned the lesson it teaches.

As illustrating the influence of an out-door life, with partial or transient fasting, I will cite