As the air is full after a time of the seeds of the linden tree, when the south wind blows, and, as the earth beneath is bedded with them, so, when the chill, cold breezes of spring are blowing, is the sky filled with seeds of illness, which fall on the lungs of those breathing them, and it depends upon the state of one’s blood and constitution, whether those seeds shall take root and develop coughs and colds, and aches and pains and rheums of every kind, or be repelled and do nought of harm.
From this we may learn a lesson. For it is strange but true enough, that so great is the struggle for existence in this world—I do not mean among human beings, but among the living though invisible germs which—everywhere and at all times surround us in clouds, that no sooner does the health of anyone of the higher forms of animal life fall below par, than it is attacked by these, and if the weakness is extreme he falls a victim, and severe illness, that may even end fatally, is the result.
It is a well-known fact, established long, long ago, that all such plagues as cholera, for instance, or typhoid fever, are caused by germs of disease afloat in the air, or in the water, and through these media introduced into the human system. These germs are ferments so strong, poisons so powerful, that if they once succeed in gaining ingress to the blood, hardly can all the skill of medicine destroy them or render them innocuous. Yet we daily hear of medical men and nurses walking about in the midst of plague and pestilence, but coming through the outbreak all unscathed. We can only account for this by believing that these individuals have well-kept up systems, that the lungs are constantly so healthy, and the surface of their bronchial tubes so smooth and pure, that the disease germs can find neither food nor foothold therein or thereon.
Now the two great enemies to the health of the delicate during the spring months are cold and damp, and just as often as not they both attack one at the same time. Nor is it the delicate in constitution alone who have to fear the evil influence of these foes to life and comfort, for strong men and women, too, must be careful.
If I were to ask any of my older readers what she considered the cold and damp of spring were most likely to give rise to in the shape of illnesses, the answer would almost certainly be, “Colds and coughs.” So far she would be right, but there is another ailment very prevalent at this time, and too often the result of exposure to the weather, namely, fits of indigestion. The sufferer feels chilly and not over well in the evening; perhaps she retires early, has a restless night, and awakens in the morning with disagreeable headache and complete loss of appetite. There may even be nausea and sickness.
These symptoms are generally put down to a chill caught, or to a bilious attack, and the patient—for patient she must be now for a few days at all events—tries to think back what she has been eating. This kind of self-examination is usually somewhat unsatisfactory, and it would be better were she to ask herself, “Where and when did I expose myself to cold and damp on an empty stomach?” You notice I have italicised the last words, because I want you to get a firm grasp of the fact that when the system is, for the time being, weak and below par, with no food pouring into the blood, it is ten times more liable just then to become the victim of unhealthful influences.
A little attack like that which I have mentioned is best got rid of by confinement for a day or two to the house, on a sofa, in an easy chair, but not in bed if possible, by diet of an easily-digested and nourishing kind, by a mild aperient and warm bath at bedtime, with, if it be deemed needful, about ten grains of Dover’s powder, while before being again exposed to this weather, a warmer woollen garment should be worn next to the skin.
In the spring months the delicate, who would avoid aches and rheums, must be careful to keep the body well-nourished.
Beware, however, I pray you, of that deluding sentence, which is the cause of so much human misery, “Keep up the strength.” To do this some people resort to the madness and folly of constantly cramming—I can use no milder verb—the body with all kinds of nourishing food and drink, till the liver and other internal organs are gorged with blood, and this blood itself is poisoned with bile and acid, and the stomach is utterly prostrated with the efforts it has to make, and the unusual strain put upon it. In this heated, half-fevered condition of system, if a person be exposed to cold wind or to damp, can she wonder that illness is the result? And this illness will take the form of rheumatism in the joints in one, muscular pains and stiffness in another, chest complaint in a third, and so on through every scale of trouble.
The corollary from the above may be summed up in these words: in spring time get up soon in the morning, and after a pleasant bath and a breath or two of fresh air, sit down to a quiet breakfast of a palatable, but not over rich nature. Ring the changes, day after day, on eggs, cold fowl or game, fish (white), mild bacon, etc., and toast—invariably toast—with sweetest of butter, and either good tea, coffee, or cocoatina. Fruit should be eaten before breakfast, or the juice of oranges in sugar and water may be drank. Be moderate in eating, and if hungry at midday take a biscuit with a cup of cocoatina. Let luncheon and dinner be all partaken of under the same restrictions, and exclude stimulants and cordials as you value your health. At bedtime, if a bad sleeper, a tumblerful of sodawater may be drank with ten grains of bicarbonate of soda dissolved therein.