SUNSHINE: A SUMMER SERMON.
ByDr. GORDON-STABLES, R.N. (“MEDICUS”).
“Catch, then, O catch the transient hour,Improve each moment as it flies,Life’s a short summer, man a flower,He dies—alas! how soon he dies!”
“Catch, then, O catch the transient hour,Improve each moment as it flies,Life’s a short summer, man a flower,He dies—alas! how soon he dies!”
“Catch, then, O catch the transient hour,Improve each moment as it flies,Life’s a short summer, man a flower,He dies—alas! how soon he dies!”
“Catch, then, O catch the transient hour,
Improve each moment as it flies,
Life’s a short summer, man a flower,
He dies—alas! how soon he dies!”
I
willnot begin by saying—as so many people do—that the small amount of sunshine we get in this country is not worth mentioning. This is not the case. Would you be surprised to learn that we have enough for health’s sake, and that when we do not get actual summer sunshine, we get the summer light all around us out of doors? That this light is diffused, filtered for us through the clouds that float high above, and that many people of wealth who leave this land of ours to seek for sunnier soils and sunnier shores, about the Riviera, the isles of the blue Levant or Madeira and the Canaries, make a most egregious mistake, and their health would be vastly improved were they to spend their time in the cool green midlands of England, on the sunshiny braes and hills of majestic Scotland or even down at our own seaside watering-places—quiet ones, mind you—where the wavelets ripple with gladsome laughter as they break on the golden sands?
The maids of merry England seldom need the dry hot sunshine of the Soudan or banks of the gliding Nile. Our maidens, I maintain, are flowers, and beautiful flowers too, but not like those on far southern shores that can without hurt or harm stare the sun in the face. There is as much difference indeed between an English, Scottish, or Irish girl, and an Italian or Spanish as there is between the violets blue and the crimson flower of the cactus.
Our sunshine—our ownownsunshine—is best forus, unless our lungs and blood are weakened by the on-coming of ailments like the deadly and all too fatal disease we call phthisis.
Well, all my readers, even the youngest I hope have heard of the sunshine bath. It is a very old form of bathing indeed. It is said to have been invented by the Romans in their palmiest days, but it was used by Indians and Africans or Egyptians long long before Rome or Greece itself was very much of a country or kingdom. And they no doubt were but following the example set to them by the birds and beasts in forest and wildery.
The Romans before they became demoralised and effete had special baths in which they could revel in the sunshine. These were very luxurious, and splendidly draped apartments open only to the sky, in which one could sit or lounge uncovered save by garments of gauze, and where, with the head alone protected at times by a shade, one could benefit in a most especial way from direct sun-rays. We have none such in our day.
The strong need none such, and may best take the sunshine out of doors when it comes, not even troubling themselves to go in search of it.
But so convinced am I of the benefits of sunshine that I confidently advise girls—young or not quite so young—to court it, to enjoy it all they can, to sit or recline in it, to hang their hammocks in it, and with or without a sunshade to dream and revel, laugh and live in it, for verily, verily, to the delicate, summer sunshine is life itself.
Yes, and if it makes them drowsy when in their hammock, let them place the magazine they have been reading over brow and eyes and go to sleep in it.
But supposing the sun is not shining but the day is dry, well, you still have light. And a bath of diffused light is a bath of health. Don’t swing your hammocks under trees except in too bright sunshine. Only beetles and toadstools can flourish under a cedar or spruce.
But what I want you, reader, specially to remember, and I’ll be fearfully cross and grumpy if you do not remember it, is this: don’t take your sunshine bath in a window or even a verandah. This is altogether too one-sided an affair. The light or the sun-rays must be all around you. All around you too must circle the fresh air.
Reverting to the Romish bath: I must say that if we had at sunny seaside places institutions where we could enjoy such a thing nearly or quite unclothed, with the sky alone above us, it would be a really good thing, but following the example of the less endowed animals we see in fields and woods we shall benefit by being out in the sunshine simply lightly dressed. The sun can penetrate like Röntgen rays through and through our garments and bodies if we but expose ourselves thereto.
Mere animals, as we are all too fond of calling them, appear oftentimes to know what is good for them better than we do.
“Reason raise o’er instinct if we can,In this ’tis God directs,—in that ’tis man.”
“Reason raise o’er instinct if we can,In this ’tis God directs,—in that ’tis man.”
“Reason raise o’er instinct if we can,In this ’tis God directs,—in that ’tis man.”
“Reason raise o’er instinct if we can,
In this ’tis God directs,—in that ’tis man.”
When a favourite animal belonging to our domestic circle, such as a dog or cat, is weak because well-stricken in years, you may always notice that he courts the sunshine whenever he has a chance, and with it the fresh air.
A question which naturally enough often recurs to one is this: What is the difference between indoor heat and that obtained from the sunshine? Well, apart from the fact that sunshine, whether clearitically or otherwise, exerts a very powerful influence for good on the animal and vegetable creation, it has a hundred times more of penetrating force than that which comes from a fire or that which we find in a room heated by steam or hot water pipes. Moreover, the heat which is artificial is all too often decidedly one-sided, and many a most disagreeable cold has been caught on a chilly night from hugging the fire, by which one portion of the body is heated at the expense of the other. There is less oxygen to be breathed indoors, and a dangerous amount of carbonic acid and other deleterious gases.
Again, all nature shows us that sunshine and light permeate every tissue of the animal or vegetable structure, so that they may be considered synonymous with the term life itself.
And the purer the air we breathe when out of doors the greater the effect for good sunshine will have.
But if we are to benefit thoroughly by summer sunshine, we must be out every day and, if possible, at the self-same hours of the day.
Walking in moderation will be found far more advantageous to the delicate girl who would regain health than cycling. It must not be carried to the boundary line of fatigue, however. One should be just nicely pleasantly tired. Here, for instance, is arégimethat would suit many a lassie who had gone to some bracing delightful spot to live for the sixty or one hundred days of summer. She ought to adopt it from the very second day.
Having retired early on the previous evening from quiet but non-exciting employment, having neither talked nor laughed nor sung much for the two hours previous, let her pull the window down, have sufficient bed-clothing and a not too soft mattress, and easy yielding pillows. Let her go to bed, and having done so—think of nothing. If this plan is adopted sleep will soon waft her away to the beautiful Land of Nod, and if she is breathing pure air all night she will awake betimes, refreshed and as happy as the birds on the lawn. But this awaking betimes is asine quâ nonof this health-givingrégime, so if not sure of being called by seven o’clock, she ought to have an alarm.
The first thing on getting up is tonic, bracing, cold sponge-bath followed by a thorough towelling. She should not dawdle in dressing, but get out into the garden for a fifteen minutes’ walk as soon as possible. After a solid breakfast with not too much coffee or tea, the forenoon may be said to be fairly begun. And the whole of this should be spent out of doors in the sunshine or light. Even rain must not confine her to the house. If she could live in a tent entirely it would be better than a house. She ought to be back home to wash hands and face and rest a little, a good half-hour before the 1.30 dinner. Rest for half an hour after this. No wine or stimulant of any kind, and just enough solid food to satisfy the needs of nature. Soup is a mistake and so is cheese, and, as a rule, salad. Pudding is not to be eaten if there is the slightest inclination toembonpoint.
Fruit may be partaken of at any time so long as it is quite fresh and seasonable.
A little rest should be taken for say half an hour after dinner, then out again for pleasant exercise or non-exciting games. One cup of the verybesttea about five, and supper at seven. If sleepless and thin, a little food should be taken the very last thing, a biscuit or two with butter, and a large tumblerful of hot milk with sugar and flavouring to taste. Then meditation and bed.
Really and truly a summer spent thus in fresh air, sunshine, or light will cure seventy per cent. of all chronic ailments, quite bring back appetite and happiness to the dyspeptic and gloomy, and even eradicate the first seeds of consumption itself.
But one word in conclusion: if everything is not done day after day with method and regularity, if late hours be kept, or the evenings spent too excitedly, then you need expect but little benefit from even the summer sunshine. I hope to have a paper very soon on the “Fresh Air Treatment of Consumption.”