Here comes a man with a limping gait. He shows an ulcer upon his ankle. The disease, sir, is not of your ankle, but of your system. I will direct you how to improve your general health, so that this ulcer will disappear, with no other local treatment than cleanliness. You can't be cured by any doctor stuff put upon the sore. This is the flag of distress which nature hangs out to give notice of trouble within.
We are at sea and descry a vessel with a flag of distress. Our captain believes in the doctrine of local diseases, and sends a boat's crew to cut down the flag; whereupon he struts about the deck exclaiming, "We've done it! we've done it! we have cured them!" The doctor who treats the ulcer, salt rheum, catarrh, or any other local manifestation, as the disease itself, is about equally bright.
But here comes a bad case. How pale and weak he seems. His pulse is 110, he is distressingly emaciated, and seems ready for the grave. His cough and labored breathing suggest consumption, and we apply the stethoscope to the chest. Ah, it's all of a piece. His lungs are terribly ulcerated. "Now," says some wise doctor, "here it is. We've found his trouble. We must bring our medicines to bear upon these ulcers." "Yes, Doctor, that's it," gasps the patient; "just fix me there, and I shall be all right." Then the wise doctor proceeds with his inhalations, and keeps up the pitiful, suffocating farce, until the patient, notwithstanding this most skillful treatment, sinks and dies.
As a matter of fact, this man's system, from some inherited taint, or from some vicious habit, unhealthy mode of life, or some other cause, was sick all through and through for months or years before the malady was localized in his lungs. The ulcers in his lungs, like his rapid pulse, emaciation, and sickening perspiration, are simply manifestations of the disease. The real disease is systemic, like all others, and must be treated like all other diseases, by lifting up the general vitality.
This must be done through sunshine, fresh air, exercise, cleanliness, much sleep, cheerful society, and a wise diet. To give such a patient medicated vapors, drugs for his stomach, or whiskey, is a barbarism, that must soon give way before the advancing light of our civilization.
SUNSHINE AND HEALTH.
Five or six years ago, when "Our Young Folks" was first published, Messrs. Ticknor & Fields asked me to write some articles for that magazine, about the management of children. One of those articles was the following. It was published in the September number of the year 1865:—
A Few Plain Words to My Little Pale-Faced Friends.
Three years ago I visited my dear young friend, Susie. Although she lives in the country, in the midst of splendid grounds, I found her with a very pale face, and blue semi-circles under the eyes. Her lips were as white as if she had just risen from a sick-bed; and yet her mother told me she was as well as usual. Susie was seven years old, and a most wonderful child.
I said to her, "Well, my little chick, what makes you so pale?"