Finally, to add so large a line of proper foods to our dietary by a correct understanding of their real office and value—taking them out of the category of mere pastime-lunches—should, from any point of view, be
accounted a great gain. We are made by that much more independent, in being elevated above the otherwise some-time-necessity of eating unmitigatedly bad, or badly-prepared food, or of going without any; for almost any corner grocery will furnish a better bill-of-fare than one often finds at poor hotels or restaurants; besides, this class of foods may be taken along better than any other: they are the most comfortable to transport and to handle en route, and will “keep.” Moreover, they demand less time for “preliminary digestion” after eating; if, indeed, one may not, after a judicious meal of them, resume ordinary mental or muscular labor with impunity. The effect of a light lunch of fruits, is really, when one is once accustomed to their use, exhilarating to both the brain and the muscular system—stimulating, not as with a spur, but, rather, a “push behind”; or, more truly, by increase of actual strength through pabulum supplied to the blood, of a character, as I am convinced, unlike that of any form of cooked food.
Note.—In concluding this theme, while expressing the belief that this will be the diet of the future—that advancing civilization will demand it, on the score of economy, as relates to time, care, and health, no less than the comparatively trifling consideration of money cost (and yet what an item even this would be to the toiling millions!), and above all in view of the emancipation of woman from the serfdom of the kitchen, where she now exhausts herself to the injury of the family, her incessant kitchen labors tending especially to unfit her for the production of robust
children—yet I would not chill the health-seeker of to-day, by insisting upon the vital importance of every one’s breaking away abruptly from all present customs as regards the selection and preparation of food. To a considerable degree the usage of generations has, beyond question, adapted our systems to the use of cooked foods—has even rendered them somewhat unadapted to the instant use of uncooked foods—so that a radical and complete change, abruptly made, would result in temporary digestive disturbance, which (however advantageous the results of the change, finally, if persisted in with faith and courage) would render it impracticable for some persons, more especially since this temporary physical inconvenience would be added to the social inconvenience arising from placing oneself so markedly at variance with all about him. No one can form a just opinion of this last item until he attempts a radical change in his dietetic habits: it presents the greatest check imaginable to rapid progress in this direction.
A reform, however, which is at the same time feasible and, in most instances, sufficient, speaking generally,—and which, as elsewhere remarked, already has its hundreds of thousands of adherents in this country alone,—would be the adoption of the “fruit and bread,” or the ordinary vegetarian diet even—banishing all doubtful dishes, condiments, spices, hot drinks—stimulants all—making a lunch (or two, even) in the course of the day, of fruit, with a biscuit or two at one of them, perhaps; and at eve, when the tired ones are rested, a regular “full meal,”
consisting of various bread dishes—wheat, corn, rye and oatmeal, with various admixtures of the same, which may well furnish a different flavor (several, indeed) for every day in the month—fruit, milk (for those with whom it “agrees”), vegetables and nuts. Following this direction, and aiming constantly, but comfortably, to maintain the balance between diet and labor—between the food eaten and the needs of the organism for nutriment—one may not only enjoy, as he ought, the pleasures of the table, but, in very many cases, absolutely and largely increase these pleasures, in the aggregate, considering, more especially, his exemption from sickness with its occasional involuntary fasts, and with many, the quite frequent periods of slight, or non-satisfaction, through nausea and lack of appetite arising from an injudicious dietary. This regimen lessens by one-half the housewife’s burdens, as well as the cost of living, while it adds immeasurably to her health and that of her household.
CHAPTER XVI.
MALARIA—SEWER GAS.
These are very vicious companions, and cause a deal of mischief. The scientists have much to say of the prevalence, and of the deleterious effects of sewer gas, from faulty plumbing, etc.; but they do not insist upon, scarcely indeed mention, the plain fact, that if this insidious destroyer can, as is now known, get into a dwelling through a foot of stone or brick wall, it can and will get out through an open window; and that, in any event, if there be abundant ventilation there will be such dilution of these gases as to render them comparatively innoxious. It is not so much the letting in of bad air, but rather the confining of it—the breathing of it, “pure and unadulterated”—that causes disease. There is more malaria in a close bedroom in the most favored mountain-region, and in the alimentary canal of a constipated or drug-swallowing dyspeptic, than about the swamps and bayous of Louisiana or the dreaded Roman Campagna, where wrapped in a single blanket, the author has slept night after night—to prove his faith in the theory, as well the theory itself. The “Roman fever,” so alarming to visitors of the holy