CHAPTER XVI.
“The Leaves are Full of Joy.”—Nobility of the Body.—Its Possibilities.—Brain and Heart Dependent on it.—Physical Culture Imperative in America.—Our Contempt of Health.—Easier to be Magnificent than Clean.—Distilled Water for Every Use.—Substitute for Stills.—Vapor and Sulphur Baths.—Bran Baths.—Oatmeal for the Hands.—Frequency of Baths.—Remedies for Hepatic Spots.
How lusty and delicate the young leaves grow on their stems in their nook of sunshine! What could be lovelier in its way than the three geranium leaves starting from the mould in the window-box where the sun strikes across the corner of the sill? They are so firmly poised, yet glancing; each full of green juice that the sun turns to jewel-light, with spots of darker tint where the feathered edges overlie—a subtle piece of color wrought by sun and soil for no eye to see but by chance, yet ecstatic in its delight, as if meant for the centre trefoil of an altar window. So the sun does all his work. So leaves grow by myriads in the garden and the forest. So the forces of nature bring forth every thing perfect if left free to their impulses.
There is something like the leaves in our frames, that would grow springy and strong, soft-colored and brilliant, upright and joyous, if it were suffered to. It appeals for sunshine and gayety, for abundant food and ease, for copious watering, tendance, and freedom. Give it these, and the body, under present conditions, is as far beyond its common dullness and weakness as it is below the saints in light; for heavenly bodies can not be very different from ours unless they cease to be bodies.
The mortal frame is noble enough as it is. No harp ever vibrates like it with emotion and pleasure; no star shines so fair or so wise as the face of man. God made it, and God loves it, which is the reason it wins so closely upon us, and is so dear. There is no wisdom in despising the body or its sensations. It is crudity to uphold that the mental part of us should absorb all the rest. Brain and heart are dependent on the body, and it was meant, not for the slave—as men seem never weary of preaching—but for the interpreter and companion of both.
Honor is due the body, and thanks for its pleasures, which should be enjoyed with intelligence and leisure. They are no more low or debasing than mental pursuits may be when pursued to the exclusion of all others. The sensualist is no more intolerable in the order of nature than the pedant or pretender in literature, and does little more harm in the long-run. The former ruins himself; the latter, by a false philosophy, may lead thousands astray. Give the body its due—its thirds with the mind and the soul. Neither is the better for having more than its share.
The need of physical culture grows more and more urgent in this country. Here most unlike races mix sullen and mercurial blood together in the most variable of climates. They interchange habits as well, though the only one peculiar to Americans as such is a tolerable contempt for the conditions of health—a contempt inherited through half a dozen generations. The climate is not in fault, but the people are. It is much easier in this country to be magnificent than to be clean. At any hotel there is enough of useless upholstery, as a matter of course, but a bath is an extra, often not to be had on any terms. This is the case even in the metropolis, where at least a better idea of civilization ought to prevail. For the rest, there is not much to be said for the intelligent culture of any family who have carpets before their bath-room is fitted up.
When refinement has reached a step beyond faucets and water-pipes, each house will have its distilling apparatus to provide the purest water for drinking and bathing. Nobody will any more think of drinking undistilled water than they do now of eating brown sugar when they can get white. Her Majesty the Queen of England uses nothing but distilled water for her toilet, and the luxury and softness of such a bath are so great that no one used to its indulgence will consent to forego it. A small still costs five dollars, and would provide all the water that is needed for family use. It should be kept in action all the time, and fill a close reservoir for bathing, while that for cooking and drinking should be freshly distilled each day. A simple substitute for a still is a tea-kettle, with a close cover and a gutta-percha or lead pipe fastened to the spout, leading through a pail of cold water into a jar for holding the distilled water. The steam from the boiling water goes off through the tube, condenses under the cold water, and runs off pure into the receiver. Where houses are heated by steam, I am told, they may be amply provided with distilled water by adding a pipe to one of the tubular heaters, that will carry steam into a cooler, from which pure water may run day and night.
Besides the distilled-water baths in a complete household, there should be facilities for the vapor-bath at any time. This is invaluable in colds, rheumatism, congestions, and neuralgia. The readiest substitute is the rush-bottomed chair and lighted saucer of alcohol described in a former chapter. A sulphur bath requires a shallow pan of coals with a tin water-pan above it, and an elevated seat over the whole. Sulphur is thrown on the coals, which mingles with the steam, and enters the system by the pores, which are opened by the vapor. The patient, brazier, and chair must be enveloped with a water-proof covering in the closest manner, leaving only the head exposed, so that no sulphurous vapor can possibly be breathed, as that would be suffocation at once. In regular bathing establishments the patient sits in a wooden box, having a cover and a water-proof collar which fits tight about the neck, leaving the head out. This box is filled with steam by a pipe, and the vapor impregnated with sulphur from a spoonful burning in one corner of the box, or from a generator outside with connecting tube. It is difficult, if not impossible, to administer a sulphur bath without proper and special appliances.
The bran bath, recommended before, is taken with a peck of common bran, such as is used to stuff pincushions, stirred into a tub of warm water. The rubbing of the scaly particles of the bran cleanses the skin, while the gluten in it softens and strengthens the tissues. Oatmeal is even better, as it contains a small amount of oil that is good for the skin. For susceptible persons, the tepid bran bath is better than a cold shower-bath. The friction of the loose bran calls the circulation to the surface. In France the bran is tied in a bag for the bath, but this gives only the benefit of the gluten, not that of the irritation.
The frequency of the bath should be determined, after it has been taken for a week or two, by feeling. Take the refreshment as often as the system desires it. The harm is done not so much by bathing often as by staying in the water long at a time. A hot soap-suds bath once a week is beneficial to persons with moist and oily skins. Bay-rum and camphor may be used to advantage by such persons each time after washing the face. The hot suds bath should be taken thrice a week by those who wish to remove moth patches.
One of the best ways to make the hands soft and white is to wear at night large mittens of cloth filled with wet bran or oatmeal, and tied closely at the wrist. A lady who had the finest, softest hands in the county confessed that she had a great deal of house-work to do, but kept them white by wearing bran mittens every night.
Pastes and poultices for the face owe most of their efficacy to the moisture, which dissolves the old coarse skin, and the protection they afford from the air, which allows the new skin to form tender and delicate. Oat meal paste is efficacious as any thing, though less agreeable than the pastes made with white of egg, alum, and rose-water. The alum astringes the flesh, making it firm, while the egg keeps it sufficiently soft, and the rose-water perfumes the mixture.
What are called indiscriminately moth, mask, morphew, and, by physicians, hepatic spots, are the sign of deep-seated disease of the liver. Taraxacum, the extract of dandelion root, is the standing remedy for this, and the usual prescription is a large pill four nights in a week, sometimes for months. To this may be added the free use of tomatoes, figs, mustard-seed, and all seedy fruits and vegetables, with light broiled meats, and no bread but that of coarse flour. Pastry, puddings of most sorts, and fried food of all kinds must be dispensed with by persons having a tendency to this disease. It may take six weeks, or even months, to make any visible impression on either the health or the moth patches, but success will come at last. One third of a teaspoonful of chlorate of soda in a wine-glass of water, taken in three doses, before meals, will aid the recovery by neutralizing morbid matters in the stomach. There is no sure cosmetic that will reach the moth patches. Such treatment as described, such exercise as is tempting in itself, and gay society, will restore one to conditions of health in which the extinction of these blotches is certain.