THE DINNER.
At what time do you dine? Dinner is the chief physiological event in
the day. Therefore the answer to the question “At what time do you
dine?” is a very important one, although the true reason for the answer
is not often understood.
There are really but two ways of arranging the day’s meals; the one,
the more rational, we may call the French way; the other, the less
rational, we may call the English labourer’s way. The first arrangement
is carried out by nearly every nation except ourselves. It consists in
a very light breakfast, a fair meal after noon, and the chief meal in
the evening.
The second arrangement consists of a fair breakfast, the chief meal at
about one o’clock, and a small meal in the evening.
And then there is our own, the irrational method of feeding—a big
breakfast, a scrap for lunch, and the dinner in the evening.
But if this division of meals is not physiologically correct, why do we
adhere to it?
The answer to this is that we choose the least harmful of several
very wrong methods. The man in the middle class in England does not
apportion out for himself any definite time for meals; if he did not
dine in the evening, he would never properly digest any meal. Take a
busy City man, for instance. He arranges his time in such a manner
that he swallows down his last teaspoonful of tea at breakfast about a
quarter of a second before he runs to catch his train. If it were not
that he has to keep still while in the train, he would never digest his
meal at all.
And then he rushes out of his office to snatch a bit of lunch between
two items of business. He may play a game of chess over his lunch, but
such a gross waste of time as sitting down for five minutes after his
meal is never tolerated until he becomes a martyr to dyspepsia.
But after dinner he does rest, because he has nothing else to do. His
business for the day is over, and he digests his meal in peace.
But with the working-classes the case is very different. They have
certain hours given to them for their meals, during which time they are
not allowed to work, and for such persons it is advisable to dine in
the middle of the day.
It would be of little good for us to describe the few advantages and
overwhelming abuses of a sumptuous banquet, for, most fortunately
for themselves, extremely few of our readers are ever likely to be
present at one. Nor would it suit our purpose to describe a one-course
dinner, so we will take the chief meal of a well-to-do man of the upper
middle-class as the subject of our remarks.
Here is the menu:—
Tomato Soup.
Turbot and Lobster Sauce.
Mutton Cutlets and Tomatoes.
Roast Ribs of Beef. Horse-radish.
Spinach. Potatoes.
Cabinet Pudding.
Caviare on Toast.
Coffee.
We will first criticise the dinner as a whole and then dilate
separately upon each item.
In the first place the meal is much too long. Dinner should never last
more than half an hour, whereas this meal will take a full hour at
least.
The second point is a most important one and one which is frequently
overlooked, yet it is one of the most important causes of ill-health.
It is this. There are six courses in this dinner, and every one of
them contains animal food. Every item in the list is a concentrated
food, rich in nourishment, and readily digestible. Consequently nearly
the whole of what is eaten will get into the blood, and there, being
greatly in excess of what is needed, it will irritate the organs by
which it must be got rid of.
One word about the drinks. The stomach of man is made to digest solids,
and one of the most fertile causes of indigestion is taking excess of
fluids with meals. Drinking between meals or when the stomach is empty
is not such an important cause of indigestion as is drinking largely
with meals, because drinking large quantities dilutes the gastric
secretion, which loses its digestive power if freely diluted.
At no meal should more than half a pint of fluid be taken, and that is
best taken at the end of the repast.
The pernicious habit of serving different wines with each course is one
of the most harmful customs of modern dieting. If you have wine at all,
have light wines only, and never change the drinks with the various
courses.
Of course, the dinner we are criticising is excellently served and
there is no waiting between the courses. But when people whose purses
are strictly limited give dinners, they are not content with an
ordinary two-course meal, but must ape the doings of their more wealthy
neighbours and give elaborate dinners, which for obvious reasons are
badly served.
Waiting between the courses of a meal is very injurious to the stomach.
A little wait after the soup does no harm at all. Soup is more a
digestive stimulant than a food, and therefore it is advisable to wait
a little between the soup and the next course. But after that there
should be no delay, and the meal should be finished as soon as possible.
There are thirty persons sitting down to this dinner, and we notice
that they have all washed their hands. Here is the first thing that
we should all do well to copy. Everybody should wash her hands before
sitting down to a meal. Don’t laugh and say that everybody does do so!
We know such is not the case, and it is just those persons for whom
it is most necessary to wash before eating who neglect this hygienic
measure.
Workers in factories, especially those who have to work with lead
or other poisonous materials, should be scrupulously careful never
to touch food with dirty hands. Neglect of this precaution is the
commonest method by which chronic poisoning is produced.
Legislation has been doing all in its power to limit the deleterious
effects of poisons upon those who are compelled to work in them. Yet
it is exceedingly difficult to get factory workers to wash their hands
before eating, and many firms have been severely censured when cases
of chronic poisoning have occurred in their works, when the sufferers
themselves were entirely to blame because they would not wash their
hands.
To return to the dinner. At the table, soups are divided into two
groups—thick and clear. Dietetically, the division is extremely well
marked, for the actions and uses of the two are totally different.
Clear soup—that is, soup which is quite free from floating particles—is
not a food and contains no nourishment. This may seem a strong
statement to make and you may disbelieve it; but still it is a fact.
Clear soup is a solution of the _débris_ of animal tissue. The
nourishing part of animal flesh is insoluble in boiling water and
therefore is not present in clear soup. The only fluid which contains
nutritive animal matter after it has been boiled is milk.[2] But if it
is not a food, clear soup is a powerful stimulant and is a good opening
to a big meal. But it should only be taken in very small quantities,
and by most persons beyond middle age it is better not taken at all!
Thick soup is a nutritious preparation owing its nourishing power
entirely to the solid particles suspended in it. Like clear soup,
however, it is chiefly a solution of animal _débris_—the waste products
of life.
It used to be the rule to give beef-tea and other meat extractives in
all illnesses, but fortunately the custom is dying out as our knowledge
increases. There are many diseases—for instance, gout—which are due to
excess of waste products in the blood; or, to put it in an intelligible
form, they are due to substances identical with beef-tea circulating
in the blood. And yet these people used to be fed on soup, when of all
things in the world it is that which they should avoid.
Before we continue the dinner, we wish to say a few words about this
custom of giving beef-teas, etc., to invalids. The ordinary soups,
beef-teas, meat essences and suchlike, which are commonly given to
the sick, are inappropriate for their purpose and are frequently
exceedingly injurious. You cannot feed anybody on beef-tea. It is
a fairly useful stimulant, but as a food it is worthless. But you
can make a liquid food which contains a considerable part of the
nourishment of meat and is, moreover, not indigestible.
Meat-juice is the fluid obtained by squeezing raw beef. If you hang
up a large piece of raw meat, a reddish opalescent liquid will drop
from it. This is raw meat-juice and is practically a solution of blood
albumen. It is exceedingly nutritious and is very useful in many kinds
of disease. It is frequently ordered nowadays by physicians. It must
be made only from beef which you are perfectly certain is quite sound.
There is really danger in giving this meat-juice or raw meat of any
kind, and a girl must be pretty certain of her butcher before she
attempts to give it to an invalid.
Another less unpleasant way of making the same or nearly the same
preparation is the following. Take a pound of rump steak and shred it
up with a knife. Put it into warm water and let it digest in a very
cool oven for four hours. You must be certain that the oven never
reaches a temperature above 160° F., for at about twenty degrees above
this albumen coagulates, and instead of meat-juice you will only have
beef-tea. After the preparation has been in the oven for four hours,
take it out and strain it.
When you are feeding an invalid, a time in convalescence arrives when
the patient wants the nourishment of meat, but cannot digest so solid a
substance as beef or mutton. Then you can give her the following broth—
Take half a pound of the best rump steak, and having shredded it up
finely, boil it in a pint of water for four hours, and then press
the whole through a sieve. If necessary or desirable, vegetables may
be added, or chicken may be used in place of beef. The great point
to remember in making this is to press everything through the sieve.
This forms the most nourishing of all liquids; yet it is not liquid
nourishment, for the nutritive portion exists in the solid particles
which float about in the liquid.
The fish course is usually a very digestible one. On the whole, boiled
fish is more digestible than fried fish, and may be given to invalids
earlier in convalescence. Boiled sole is the most readily digested of
all fish, but with the exception of herrings, mackerel, salmon, eel,
and some other fresh-water fish, all fish is good wholesome food. The
fish mentioned as being indigestible must never be given to anybody
whose stomach is in any way delicate or readily upset.
Excepting oysters, all shellfish are indigestible. Mussels have always
had an unfair amount of abuse. It is true that they cause more deaths
than any other kind of shellfish, but then they are eaten in much
larger quantities. No shellfish should ever be eaten raw, for they all
feed on carrion and filth of very description, and so may contain large
numbers of very virulent germs.
It is well to remember that fish is meat diet. People make absurd
mistakes about this, and look upon fish as part of a milk diet. Fish
has essentially the same composition as butcher’s meat, but it contains
more water and fewer extractives.
It is well known to everybody that the medical profession has for ages
urged upon the public the dangers of excessive flesh-eating, yet has it
never clearly stated why eating too much meat is so far more injurious
than eating too much bread or vegetables. But the explanation is really
very simple.
Meat is more readily soluble and digestible than farinaceous foods.
If you fill your stomach with meat, all of it will be digested;
practically the whole of it will get into the blood, and there being in
excess of what is needed, it gives the various organs of the body great
trouble to get rid of it.
On the other hand, if you take a big meal of cabbage, only a very small
proportion of it is digestible, and so very little will get into the
blood. After eating excess of vegetables or farinaceous food you will
probably be sick, and there is an end of the matter.
But besides nourishment, meat contains a large quantity of
extractives—substances which are waste products of vital action; which
are practically animal poisons, and which enter the blood without
requiring digestion, but which are useless to the animal economy, and
have to be got rid of at once.
It is to extractives that meats owe their flavour, and the more tasty
and succulent your dishes are, the greater is the amount of extractives
that they contain.
It is in the _entrée_ that meat flavourings are carried to their
highest pitch, and it is the _entrée_ which is usually the most harmful
course at the dinner.
If the _entrée_ were discarded in favour of a vegetable course, it
would indeed be a blessing. If you have _entrées_ at all, let them
be absolutely simple, such as the one which has been chosen for our
specimen dinner.
You may be surprised when we say that meat is more digestible than
farinaceous food, and yet that when treating dyspepsia we avoid meat as
far as possible. But the apparent contradiction is readily dispelled.
Indigestion is usually due to disease of the stomach, and failure of
its power for digestion. Meat is digested practically only in the
stomach; farinaceous foods are not digested in the stomach, but lower
down in the alimentary canal. It is only when indigestion is due to
failure of the stomach that it is benefited by the avoidance of meat.
In many forms of dyspepsia a farinaceous diet gives the greatest
trouble of all.
Of the joint we will say nothing at present. Horse-radish is a good
aromatic digestive stimulant. It used to be used much more frequently
than it is, because of its anti-scorbutic properties.
Not many years ago a whole dinner-party was poisoned by eating aconite
root in mistake for horse-radish. Nor has this accident happened but
once; many cases of poisoning in this way have been recorded. And it
is a very terrible thing, for a little aconite root may kill a dozen
persons at a time. Aconite root is the root of the blue monk’s-hood
(_Aconitum Napellus_), one of our native English plants. It is rare
in the wild state, but is frequently grown in gardens for the sake of
its fine spikes of dark blue blossoms. How the aconite root can be
mistaken for horse-radish we cannot quite see, for the poisonous root
is carrot-shaped, rarely more than three inches long, almost scentless,
and with a bitter “mawkish” taste. The smallest quantity of the root
produces, when chewed, tingling, followed by prolonged numbness of
the tongue and cheeks. All parts of the monk’s-hood are extremely
poisonous, but the root is the most deadly part.
And now for a few words about vegetables, the most neglected, yet one
of the most important food-stuffs.
It is impossible to over-estimate the value of the potato as an article
of diet. Alone it is not a good food, but it is the ideal vegetable to
have with meat.
An Irishman asked a companion to dinner, and in answer to the question
as to the fare, replied, “Just an illigant pace of corned bafe and
pertaters.” To which his friend replied, “My own dinner to a tay,
barring the bafe.” Let us hope that he accepted the invitation, for
corned beef and potatoes make a good, if rough, meal, but potatoes
alone are not sufficient.
It has been questioned by many persons if the introduction of the
potato has proved an advantage, for it has driven out the older
vegetables, such as salsify and celeriac. But if we look upon the
potato merely in the light of a usurper of the place formerly occupied
by other vegetables, we must still consider it as an immense boon to
mankind.
That the potato is not very easily digested we grant, and it should be
avoided by the subjects of dyspepsia. But in the dietary of perfectly
healthy persons, the digestibility of the food is of secondary
importance to that of over-strong and rich food. For as we have over
and over again said, the great fault in modern diet is not that we eat
too much, but that we take our food too strong.
All vegetables, especially spinach and Brussels sprouts, have lately
been shown to produce marked improvement in gouty conditions; and
experimental evidence has proved that their action upon gout is a
definite chemical one. That gout is often in some way connected with an
excessive meat diet has long been known, but it is not even now certain
what it is in meat which tends to cause gout. But that the condition is
markedly benefited by a vegetable diet, there is no question. The only
difficulty in applying this observation to practice—and it is a real
difficulty, although enthusiasts will persist in shutting their eyes to
it—is that a vegetable diet is far more difficult to digest than a meat
diet, and gouty persons are frequently dyspeptic.
Sweets served after dinner should always be simple. Stewed fruit,
cabinet puddings, farinaceous or milk puddings, or pancakes, etc.; but
not rich plum puddings or highly flavoured concoctions of any kind.
Rich sweets are worse than rich _entrées_, for besides being equally
rich in extractives, they are exceedingly indigestible.
The question as to whether ices and iced water are good to take with
dinner is worth a moment’s consideration.
In very small quantities iced water is the best of all fluids to take
with dinner, but the quantity taken should be very small. And the same
is true of ices. A very little ice after dinner helps digestion, but a
large quantity seriously injures the stomach.
Coffee in small quantities is a digestive stimulant. If taken it should
be drunk immediately the dinner is completed.
Having thoroughly considered the subject, we have come to the decided
conclusion that by far the best dinner for those who can afford it,
with very few exceptions, is one of two courses. The first course to
consist of light fish _with vegetables_, or a very simple _entrée with
vegetables_; and the second to consist of a joint of meat or some
equivalent also _with vegetables_. This may be followed by a simple
sweet or savoury.
Also, we believe that the average person does not eat too much, but
that she takes too much meat, far too much extractives, and too little
vegetable.
FOOTNOTES:
[2] Peptones and pre-digested albumens are also soluble in boiling
water; but these substances do not naturally occur in our food stuffs.
Some, but very few, of the patent meat extracts, consist of peptones or
altered albumens soluble in boiling water.
[Illustration]
QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS.
GIRLS’ EMPLOYMENTS.
MOTHER’S HELP.—“_I am twenty-six, and for the last six years have
occupied, at a very small salary, a situation—or rather three
situations—as mother’s help. I am heartily tired of being neither
one thing nor another, and wish I knew some way of qualifying myself
for some less wearing and more remunerative work. I have thought of
entering the Norland Institute to be trained for a children’s nurse,
but I fear I am not well enough educated. Typewriting I have also
considered, as that would leave me the evenings free for study. I
should be willing to spend a little time and money on some sort of
training._—PERPLEXED.”
Our correspondent has come to a most sensible decision, and we wish
that some of our readers could profit by her experience that such
positions as those of mother’s help, useful companion, etc., are
“neither one thing nor another.” “Perplexed” tells us in her letter,
which we have not published in its entirety, that she understands the
management of children, and can make their clothes well. Under these
circumstances it seems to us that she hardly needs to undergo a full
course of training to become a children’s nurse. But what she lacks at
present is some knowledge of the treatment a baby requires, and some
general experience of infantile ailments and their cure. As “Perplexed”
lives in Scotland we would suggest that she should try to obtain by
payment some short course of training in a hospital of a special
character. The Glasgow Maternity Hospital, 37, North Portland Street,
Glasgow, offers an arrangement which might suit the case. Pupils are
received for a course of sixteen weeks for £13 13s. 6d. This pays all
expenses except laundry and uniform. Possessed of such experience as
this, and having been in attendance on children before, “Perplexed”
ought to obtain some fairly well paid situation as children’s nurse
to begin with, and could then avoid the disagreeableness of having to
commence life again as an under-nurse. If Edinburgh suited “Perplexed”
better, the Royal Maternity Hospital, 79, Lauriston Place, might
advisably be selected. Here a course of three months’ training at a
cost of £11 10s. may be entered upon on the first day of February,
May, August or November in each year. Pupils have the advantage of
attending lectures. Training in a children’s hospital would no doubt
be preferable, because the patients would be children of all ages, but
“Perplexed” could hardly enter any such institution for less than three
years, and the number of applicants at these favourite hospitals is
always very great. Typewriting we do not advise to “Perplexed” as it
seems to us that she has many practical accomplishments which are in
constant request among employers. She would therefore do better as a
nurse or in some other capacity in a private household.
PHOTOGRAPHY.—1. “_Do any well-known West End photographers take girls
as articled pupils? About what premium do they require? I know very
little about it, but I have had a camera for a year. I suppose it is
a profession for girls which is not at present overcrowded.—2. Would
it be wise for me to take a diploma at one of the Schools of Cookery?
Would cookery or photography be the more expensive to learn, and which
would pay best in the end? I like both photography and cooking, but
prefer the former._—A WOULD-BE PHOTOGRAPHER.”
1. Several firms, and notably those conducted by ladies, take girls
as apprentices. A premium of not less than £30 is usually asked, and
sometimes no payment is given for two years. In other cases, part
of the premium is returnable in salary at an earlier date. Girls
are usually employed as “spotters and finishers” of the prints, and
earn in this manner from 10s. to £1 a week. An ambitious clever girl
ought not, however, to be content to do this kind of work always, but
should try to do the retouching of negatives, a business by which
from £100 to £300 a year may be earned. We have found that there is a
considerable demand also for girls who can paint magic lantern slides;
and altogether there are many ways by which a girl who understands
photography can earn a sufficient livelihood.
2. To take a diploma at a school of cookery would not occupy so long
as learning photography nor would it be so expensive. The length of
the course at the principal schools varies from six to fifteen months,
ten months or a year being usual. The cost ranges from nine guineas,
charged at Leicester, to thirty guineas, the full cost of the course at
the National Training School of Cookery in London. The Liverpool and
Manchester schools—both of which are excellent—charge twelve guineas
for courses of nine and eight months respectively. Cookery teacherships
are pretty well paid, the salaries varying from £50 to £80 per annum,
but they are not easy to obtain. As daily cooks or cooks in private
households, where ladies are employed, a woman with a knowledge of
cookery can always do well. But to compare photography with cookery is
almost impossible, and the desirability of one occupation or the other
can best be determined by a girl’s own aptitude.
ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.
MEDICAL.
AN ANGLO-INDIAN.—It is not necessary for Englishmen to eat as much in
India as they do in England, and the reason for this is very easy to
explain. We eat to produce energy. That energy is of two kinds—heat and
work. Four-fifths of the energy of an Englishman in England—four-fifths
of what he eats—produce heat, one-fifth only produces work. The
normal temperature of the body is 98.6° F. If we lived in a constant
temperature of 98.6° F., it would be unnecessary for the body to
produce heat at all, and so four-fifths of its energy would be saved.
Therefore if man had been constructed to live in a temperature of
98.6° F., he would only require one-fifth of his ordinary diet. But
even in the hottest countries the body does produce heat, because it
is its nature to do so; but it has to dispose of that heat at once,
because the temperature of the body in health is constant. In very
hot countries the body has to keep itself cooler than the surrounding
air—it has to dispose of more heat than it produces. It is therefore
not difficult to understand why persons in hot countries need, and
should take, considerably less food than those in England; and,
conversely, the inhabitants of cold countries require a very liberal
diet. Also, that Europeans in a hot country require more food than the
natives, because the bodies of the latter have learnt, through many
generations, not to produce so much excessive heat as the bodies of the
Europeans who are “green” to the climate.
KARAMEA.—1. To cure corns, first wash your feet in hot water and soap
and leave them soaking for fifteen minutes. Then take them out of the
water; thoroughly dry them and paint the corn with “solvent.” You must
not let the solvent touch the surrounding skin. The solvent is made
by mixing together salicylic acid, twenty grains; tincture of Indian
hemp, five drops; alcohol, two drams; and collodion to the ounce. Paint
the corn with this preparation every evening for some days, until the
corn drops off. With very hard corns the treatment may take some weeks,
but we have never known it to fail, and it is absolutely safe.—2. The
sensation of a hand or foot going to sleep is almost always due to
pressure upon a nerve, such as occurs from sitting on a hard chair for
many minutes at a time.
CURIOUS.—Yawning is a deep and prolonged inspiration (drawing air
into the lungs). It occurs commonly when the person is too tired or
too lazy to breathe properly. Cough is a sudden spasmodic expiration
(forcing air out of the lungs) with the mouth open, following a deep
inspiration. During coughing the glottis (the slit through which
the air has to pass in order to enter or leave the lungs) is closed
at first and then opened. Cough is the natural and only method of
clearing the lungs. Sneezing is a short, sudden expiration following a
deep inspiration with the mouth shut. Its object is to clear the nose
from something “tickling” it. Hiccough is an irregular involuntary
expiration usually due to irritation of the lungs by a stomach
distended with gas.
AN INQUIRING SISTER.—Your brother is indeed unfortunate, for the
condition of his face is one which is most difficult to eradicate. The
disease is known as “sycosis,” and often follows the use of a razor
which has been inoculated with very virulent germs. Abroad all barbers
are compelled to disinfect their razors after using them, and this
disease is consequently less common than it is with us. In England a
careless barber shaves one man with some skin disease and very often
communicates the disease to his next customer. The disease is, as we
said, a very chronic one. The only treatment which ever completely
cures it is to pick out every hair in the beard and moustache—not all
at once, but only those which have pustules at their roots. This is not
such a painful undertaking as it reads, for the hairs are loose and
come out easily. The face should afterwards be covered with sulphur
ointment. It is a formidable disease and needs careful and energetic
treatment.
EILEEN.—The best treatment for warts is to wash the hand thoroughly
with soap and hot water and leave the hand soaking for ten minutes.
Then dry the hand and surround the wart with vaseline. The vaseline is
to protect the healthy skin from the caustic, and must not be placed
upon the wart itself. Now drop one drop of glacial acetic acid upon the
wart, leave it a couple of minutes and then drop on another drop of the
acid. Finally rub the wart all over with a stick of nitrate of silver
(lunar caustic). This treatment may have to be repeated. Warts are
usually due to irritation of the skin. They are practically the same
thing as corns.
A GIRL OF TWENTY.—It is difficult to be certain what causes your
baldness, but probably it is “alopœcia areata.” But if it is this, it
has existed for a considerably longer time than is usual. We advise
you to paint the bald spots with tincture of iodine every day until
the places feel slightly sore. As soon as this occurs, leave off the
treatment till the places become well again.
A SUFFOLK BUNNY.—The condition of your face is analogous to chaps on
the hands. It is caused by rough winds. Always wear a veil when you go
out in a cold wind. A little glycerine and rose-water, or glycerine and
lime-water, or a very little cold cream will relieve the roughness.
BONNE.—The pneumonia which follows influenza is of a most fatal
character, and the majority of subjects attacked never recover. In
January-March, 1895, pneumonia was a very common complication of the
influenza which was then exceedingly prevalent. We believe that at
that time every single patient attacked with this complication died.
Now, although very serious, the presence of pneumonia and influenza
together is by no means hopeless. The pneumonia in these cases is not
a separate disease, but is a manifestation of the influenzal poison.
There are three broad types of influenza: that which chiefly affects
the lungs; that which mainly attacks the digestive organs; and the type
in which the nervous system bears the chief brunt of the affection.
Usually, in one epidemic, one type chiefly prevails, although all
may occur. In 1894-1895 the respiratory type of the decease was most
prevalent; in 1895-1896 the nervous type; in 1896-1898 the digestive
type was most prevalent. And, so far, this year the respiratory type is
having another innings. Influenza is a most serious disease, and its
death-rate is extremely high; but a very large number of complaints
put down to influenza have no connection whatever with that disease.
As a rule, when a person says that she has had “a slight touch of
influenza,” she means either that she has had a common head-cold or
else that she has given herself indigestion from trying to feed herself
up as a preventive against influenza!
MORLEENA K.—You are quite right to have your rupture operated upon,
for it is the only way to cure it, and to go about with a rupture
untreated is one of the greatest possible physical dangers. Any surgeon
is competent to perform the operation, for though it is not very easy,
still he must have seen so many “radical cures of hernia” performed as
to be thoroughly capable of performing the operation himself. Although
in former times the operation was a very fatal one, ill-effects rarely
follow nowadays, and cure usually results. But occasionally the rupture
does recur. Surgery is always expensive, unfortunately; but any person
who cannot afford to have an operation performed upon her by a private
surgeon can obtain proper treatment at a hospital. We fully understand
that there are objections to going to a hospital to be treated, but
with most persons it is the only chance they possess of obtaining the
benefits of surgery. We think it is our duty to remind you and others
who obtain hospital relief that you must contribute towards the support
of the institution, and that if you obtain treatment in a hospital
which would have cost you £30 in private, you must not think that you
have done your duty by putting half-a-crown into the box.
A WORKING WOMAN.—Before you marry you should ask your intended husband
to insure himself against accidents. There are many clubs in every town
which a working man can join, and by paying a few pence weekly obtain
so much a week when he is incapacitated by illness or accident. Most
working men do this, and considering how liable they are to be disabled
for a time, it is only right that they should insure themselves before
marrying. In hospital practice if a patient does not belong to a club,
the usual reason is either that he is single or else that he has once
belonged to a club, the treasurer of which bolted. Unfortunately this
is a very common method of swindling, but if a man looks out for a
thoroughly well-going company and pays a reasonable premium he may
feel fairly sure of getting his money if he should become incapable of
work. If your husband does not belong to a club, what are you to do if
he breaks his arm or his leg, an accident to which he is particularly
liable?
PLEASE HELP ME.—One teaspoonful of Eau de Cologne to every four ounces
of water. Sponge the hands with this preparation. You must not use soap
with Eau de Cologne.
PEGGIE.—Perhaps it would be better to tell you how to prevent
chilblains first, before going on to describe how they can be cured.
Always wash your hands in warm water, and use a good toilet soap. After
washing, dry your hands well. Always wear woollen gloves throughout
the winter, and, lastly, try by general hygienic measures to improve
your circulation. When the chilblains first begin to show, sponge
the fingers with equal parts of spirit and water, or apply a little
tincture of benzoin, and wrap the hands up in cotton-wool. By these
measures you may prevent the chilblains from bursting. If, in spite of
all precautions, the chilblains do break, they should be treated as any
other kind of open wound. Above all, they should be kept scrupulously
clean, and bathed in hot solution of carbolic acid (1 in 60). They may
then be thickly dusted over with powdered boracic acid and bandaged.
STUDY AND STUDIO.
J. M. ELLIS.—The address of your letter was the correct one. If you
do not receive a reply, we advise you to write again, as it is always
possible for secretaries to overlook letters or make mistakes. Let us
know if a second appeal produces no result.
MRS. C. L. JACKSON can inform “AILSA” (July) of a blind musician who
will set her words to music for moderate remuneration. Address for
information, Mrs. Jackson, Lyttleton House, Lower Wick, Worcester.
N. M.—Cardiff Castle was the scene of the tedious captivity of Robert,
Duke of Normandy. In 1106 he fell into the hands of his brother Henry
I., with whom he had long been at strife, and he was confined in this
fortress, which had recently been conquered from the Welsh. At first
Robert was allowed to take exercise among the fields and woods of the
neighbourhood. He attempted to make his escape on horseback, and,
having been pursued and taken back, was condemned to closer durance.
Some historians say that his eyes were put out by his brother’s orders;
certain it is that he lingered a prisoner for twenty-eight years, and
died at Cardiff Castle in 1135.
DISAPPOINTED.—The difficulty you mention is only a temporary one,
and need not discourage you at all. It is only the difference in the
keyboard that bewilders you at first, and practice on both instruments
will set things right.
A PILGRIM IN A SUNNY LAND (Beyrout, Syria).—The lines you quote are by
“George Eliot,” and may be found in her collected poems. The
“Choir invisible,
Whose music is the gladness of the world,”
is the great company of heroic departed souls who have done work for
the sake of mankind: their “music” is the added happiness of humanity
which their efforts have secured. We think, as you suggest, that your
explanations mean much the same thing. This fine poem will repay close
study.
A QUEENSLAND GIRL.—What prettily painted note paper you send us from
your distant home!—1. The competition you speak of is over.—2. Your
writing is admirable, distinct, well formed, and most pleasant to look
at and to read.
OLIVE CAMBUS.—It is not necessary in writing for the press to leave
any extra space at the top of foolscap paper. It is better to leave a
margin on your left hand as you write. The sheets should be fastened
together in the top left-hand corner, not by a “clip,” but by a
paper-fastener that goes through a hole pierced in the sheets; any
stationer will sell you a box. Foolscap is, we think, preferable to
sermon paper. The great matter is to have your MS. perfectly distinct
and clear to read, and only to write on one side of the page.
MISCELLANEOUS.
YUM-YUM.—It is quite possible that the pain over your eye may proceed
from a little congestion, if in the hollow over the ball of the
eye. Perhaps your spectacles are unsuitable, and there should be a
difference between the two glasses. There is often a different focus in
one eye from that of the other, and the left one may be overstrained.
We advise you to consult an oculist or a good optician, to test the
sight of each. We are glad to give our correspondent “SEATON DEVON” the
benefit of your information respecting the song, “Please have You seen
my Dolly?” It is (you say) composed by F. W. Lancelott, and the words
are by E. Cympson. The publisher is F. Pitman, 20, Paternoster Row, E.C.
MISERABLE.—We are never told in the Bible that “to those who do not
marry He will give a rich reward.” No such thing. But during those
terrible persecutions, already begun, and to continue subsequently
to St. Paul’s time, women unmarried and without children were in a
preferable condition to those who had them. Of course, to marry without
a very special bond of affection between you and your husband, would
be not only a bar to any happiness, but also very wrong; and to marry
without suitable means to support and educate a family must entail much
suffering, mental and physical. From what you say of your feelings,
and that you only “care for him in a way,” you would act wisely in
declining his offer. You say “the thought of living unloved _unmans_
me!” We hope you have no pretensions to manliness!
MARCH GIRL.—Hares are said to be specially wild in the month of March,
and thence has arisen the term, “Mad as a March hare.” According to
Dr. Brewer, the name “Neddy” was transferred from the little low cart
for which donkeys are employed in Dublin, to the animals themselves.
And the meaning of the term as used for the cart refers to the jolting
which results from the lack of springs, and makes those who drive in
them to nod perpetually. These, or a much similar description of cart
was also termed a “Noddy.”
* * * * *
[Transcriber’s note—the following changes have been made to this text.
Page 827: purtrefy to putrefy—“putrefy and die”.
Page 832: decease to disease—“disease was most prevalent”.]