By its means the stomach is cleansed of mucous accumulations and particles of undigested food, thus enabling it to perform its functions satisfactorily. If, as is often the case (more especially with dyspeptics) undigested food remains in the stomach, it ferments, causing what is known as sour stomach, and is productive of many evils. If we keep the ferment out of the stomach by occasionally washing it, and prevent the generation of foul gases in the colon, by regularly flushing it, the bile will effectually prevent any fermentation in the intestines; and with the body in this cleanly condition, sickness is well-nigh impossible. But there are external applications of water, which are equally important for the preservation of health, and first and foremost is the bath.
It is a matter of authentic history that the most highly enlightened and prosperous people of the world have been celebrated for their devotion to the bath as a means of securing health and vigor—as a means of curing disease, and preventing it, by promoting the activity of the skin. The excavations at Pompeii show the devotion of the people to luxurious bathing. The Romans are famous to this day for the magnificence of their lavatories and the universal use of them by the rich and poor alike. In Russia the bath is general, from the Czar to the poorest serf, and through all Finland, Lapland, Sweden and Norway, no hut is so destitute as not to have its family bath. Equally general is the custom in Turkey, Egypt and Persia, among all classes from the Pasha down to the poorest camel driver. Pity it is that we cannot say as much for the people of our own country.
Most people are familiar with the aphorism, “cleanliness is next to godliness,” a statement that by implication relegates cleanliness to the second place, but we would transpose this stated sequence of conditions, and assign the premier position to cleanliness; for we contend that purity of soul presupposes purity of body. It is true that we sometimes find a “jewel in an Ethiop’s ear,” but it is the exception that proves the rule.
But it is not from the moral standpoint that we wish to consider the subject of physical cleanliness, but from the hygienic. How few people there are who are really physically clean! The outward semblance of cleanliness too frequently poses as the real article. Even people who pride themselves on their cleanliness are frequently guilty of the unclean practice of sleeping in the underwear they have worn during the day, and would feel aggrieved if their unclean habit was called by its right name. Yet, what can be more repulsive to the truly cleanly individual than the retention, next the body, of garments saturated with the constant exhalations from the system? Those who think this a trifling matter, should turn their underwear wrong side outward (after removing it) when retiring for the night, and in the morning shake it thoroughly, when they will receive an object lesson in the form of a cloud of dried effete matter, consisting largely of particles of the epidermis, removed by abrasion, through the friction of the clothing. This, being visible, appeals to the sense of sight; but gives no evidence of the gaseous and liquid refuse matter which was deposited in the material, and has been allowed to evaporate by the removal of the clothing. Thus we may see how many so-called cleanly people fall hopelessly short of true cleanliness.
If the individual keeps the surface of the body clean, by frequent ablutions, the evil is lessened; but how many people bathe the body daily? As Hamlet says: “It is a custom more honored in the breach than the observance.” Among the white races of the earth, the English are the greatest devotees of the daily tub, to which custom their ruddy complexions are largely due; but Japan is pre-eminently in the lead in the matter of daily bathing, for it is doubtful if there could be found in the land of the “little brown people” a single individual who does not bathe the whole body daily, unless physically incapacitated.
The skin is such an important excretory organ that the importance of keeping its innumerable infinitesimal outlets free from obstruction cannot be overestimated. As the structure of the skin may not be understood by the average reader, we will briefly describe this wonderful depurating organ, that the paramount importance of its functions may be properly appreciated.
The skin consists of two layers, the derma, or true skin, and the epidermis, or cuticle. It is the principal seat of the sense of touch, and on the surface of the upper layer are the sensitive papillæ, which receive and respond to impressions; and within, or imbedded beneath it, are organs with special functions, viz., the sweat glands, hair follicles and sebaceous glands. Its value as a means of depuration is incalculable, as by it, vast quantities of the aqueous and gaseous refuse matter is conveyed from the body. By the aid of a four diameter magnifying glass applied to the skin of the palm of the hand, the curiously inclined will observe that it is divided into fine ridges, which are punctured regularly with minute holes. These are the mouths of the sweat glands, and generally known as the pores of the skin. Their function is to bring moisture to the surface of the skin; which is secreted from the blood, and chemical analysis reveals the fact that this moisture is always more or less loaded with worn-out and effete matter. It is estimated that there are 3,800 of these glands in each square inch of skin, and that their total length, in an ordinary person, if placed end to end, would be ten miles. Then there are the sebaceous, or oil glands, which oil the skin and keep it flexible. Now, as the processes of destruction and upbuilding are perpetually going on in the body, and the skin being one of the principal avenues by which the refuse is removed, the vital necessity of keeping this organ perfectly clean becomes apparent at once; for this refuse matter, if retained in the system, acts as a poison, and furnishes food for disease germs to feed upon.