To elderly people, overexertion has peculiar dangers, dependent largely upon the changes which gradually take place in the tissues of the body. The walls of the blood vessels become less and less elastic, and more and more brittle, as life advances, until at last they are ready to give way from any severe or unusual pressure. We constantly see old people hastening their death by personal imprudence. An old gentleman running to catch the morning train; an old farmer hastening to turn the strayed sheep out of a cornfield; the old sportsman having a last run with the hounds; the last pull at the oars; the last attempt of old age to play at vigorous manhood.

A prominent American physician has said that between the ages of forty and fifty every wise man will have ceased to run to "catch" trains or street cars; and that between fifty and sixty he will have permanently discarded haste of all kinds. Equal precautions should be observed by both young and old, but especially by those advanced in life, in regard to extremes of heat, cold, or storm. William Cullen Bryant, by exposing himself to a scorching sun and refusing to permit a friend to protect him with an umbrella while delivering an address in Central Park, received injuries to his system that carried him to his grave. Ralph Waldo Emerson, by standing in a chilling wind, contracted a cold and died. George Dawson, by going thoughtlessly into a freezing atmosphere from the sweltering rooms of a crowded reception, took cold which resulted in pneumonia and death. Matthew Arnold, for years a sufferer from heart difficulty, in a single instance neglected the advice of his physician not to indulge in any violent exercise, made repeated attempts and finally succeeded in jumping a fence, and in a few hours was a dead man. Roscoe Conkling braved the most terrible blizzard ever known in the east and sacrificed his life. And yet, these were all men of exceptional prudence. Probably no other five persons in the world of like surroundings and vocations were more careful of their health. In an unguarded moment their prudence left them, and they paid the terrible penalty.—Compiled.

EFFECTS OF INSUFFICIENT OUTDOOR EXERCISE UPON THE YOUNG (p. 41).—Children deprived of adequate outdoor exercise are always delicate, pale, and tender; or, in a figurative sense, they are like the sprig of vegetation in a dark, dank hole,—bleached and spindling....An inactive indoor life is one of the most effectual ways of weakening the young body. It renders the growth unnaturally soft and tender, and thus susceptible to harm from the slightest causes. It hinders the garnering of strength necessary for a long life, and gives to the germs of disease a resistless power over an organization so weak and deficient....Measles, scarlet fever, and diphtheria find among such a congenial soil, and run riot among the elements of the body held together by so frail a thread....Such children are always at the mercy of the weather. Colds and coughs are standard disorders in winter, headaches and habitual languor in summer....The scapegoat for this result is the climate: if that was only better, mothers are sure their children's health would also be better. No, it would not be better: no earthly climate is good enough to preserve health and strength under such unnatural training....Children of the laboring classes, often dirty and imperfectly clad, seldom have colds, simply for the reason that, for the greater part of the day, they have the freedom of the streets. It is not the dirt, it is not the rags, but the life-giving force of an active outdoor life that renders such children so strong and healthy. —BLACK, Ten Laws of Health.

POPULAR MODES OF OUTDOOR EXERCISE (p. 42).—Walking.—Every person has his own particular step, caused by the conformity, shape, and length of his bones, and the height of his body. Such a thing, then, as a regulation step is unnatural, and any attempt at equalizing the step of individuals of different heights must result in a loss of power.

The moment, also, that walking comes to be uphill, fatigue is sensibly increased. The center of gravity of the body is changed, and the muscular force necessary to provide for the change causes the fixing of the diaphragm, and a rigid condition of many muscles. Respiration is interfered with, owing to the fixing of the diaphragm, and the heart becomes affected thereby. A person with a sensitive or diseased heart can, during a walk, tell when the slightest rise in the ground occurs. We make climbing more exhausting from the habit we have of suspending the breath. Let the reader hold his breath and run up twenty-four steps of a stair, and then perform the same act breathing freely and deeply. It will be found that by the first act marked breathlessness will be induced, whereas by the latter the effect is much less. This management of the breath constitutes the difference between the beginner and the experienced athlete. The enormous increase of the quantity of air consumed during exercise will at once bring home a number of lessons. One is, that exercise is best taken in the open air, and not in gymnasia; another, that free play to act for the regions of the chest and abdomen must be given. On no account must a tight belt be worn around the soft-walled abdomen. If a belt is preferred to braces, let it be applied below the top of the haunch bone, where the bones can resist the pressure.

Whatever may be the pastimes indulged in by young men, walking should never be neglected. The oarsman will become "stale" unless the method of exercise is varied; the gymnast will develop the upper part of his body, while his lower extremities will remain spindleshanks. So with all other forms of exercise; success, in any form of game, sport, or gymnastic training, can not be attained unless walking be freely taken.

Skating is simply an exaggerated swinging walk, with this difference, that the foot on which one rests is not stationary, but moves along at a rapid rate. The benefit to the circulation, respiration, and digestion is even greater in skating than in walking. The dangers from skating are:

1. The giving way of the ice. Great caution should be used in regard to the safety of a frozen pond or river.

2. Taking cold from becoming overheated, and from subsequent inactive exposure. Physiological knowledge will teach people that, when they begin to skate, outer wraps should be laid aside, and again put on when skating is finished.

3. Sprains, especially of the ankle, and other minor accidents arising from falls. Ankle boots with strong uppers should be worn during skating. Those who have weak ankles ought to wear skates with ankle straps and buckles, acme skates being relegated to those who are not afraid of going "over their foot."

Rowing.—The muscles employed in rowing may be summed up under two heads—those that are used in the forward swing, and those used in the backward. In the forward swing all the joints of the lower extremity, the hip, knee, and ankle, are flexed; the shoulder is brought forward; the elbow is straightened; and the wrist is first extended and then flexed, in feathering the oar. The body is bent forward by the muscles in front of the abdomen and spinal column. In the backward movement the reverse takes place; the lower extremity, the hip, knee, and ankle are straightened; the shoulder is pulled back; the elbow is flexed; and the wrist is held straight. The body is bent backward by the muscles at the lower part of the back, and by those of the spine in general. It will be seen that the enormous number of joints put into use, and the varying positions employed, call into play nearly every muscle of the limbs and trunk. Rowing gives more work to the muscles of the back than any other kind of exercise. This is of the first importance to both men and women, but especially to women. The chief work of the muscles of the back is to support the body in the erect position, and the better they are developed the better will the carriage be, and the less likelihood of stooping shoulders, contracted chests, and the like. Now, the work of the muscles in supporting the body is largely relegated in women to the stays, and, in consequence, the muscles undergo wasting and fatty degeneration, in fact, atrophy; so that when the stays are left off, the muscles are unfit to support the body. Rowing exercises these muscles condemned to waste, and imparts a natural carriage to the girl's frame. In rowing, as in horseback riding, the clothing should be loose, stays left off, and flannels worn next the skin. The dress itself should be of woolen, and there should always be in the boat a large wrap to use when one stops rowing. The following practical rules should be observed by rowers:

1. Never row after a full meal.

2. Stop when fatigue comes on.

3. Allow the breath to escape while the oar is in the water. A novice usually holds his breath at each stroke, and pulls so rapidly that in a few minutes he becomes breathless, and is forced to stop. Not only is this uncomfortable, but it is dangerous. In the case of both young and old, it may give rise to an abdominal rupture (hernia), dilation of the cavities of the heart, rupture of a heart valve, varicose veins, etc. Instead of fixing the diaphragm and holding the breath during the time of pulling, as novices are apt to do, do exactly the opposite. Let the diaphragm go loose, and allow the breath to escape.

4. Change the clothing from the skin outward as soon as the day's rowing is finished.

5. Before retiring for the night, have a warm bath, temperature 92 degrees Fahr. This is a specific against the aches and muscular stiffness which often follow a long pull on the water.

Swimming.—A word of warning is necessary in regard to those learning to swim in rivers. Boys at school, when they take to river bathing, often carry it to a dangerous extent. They get into the water, and now in, now out on the bank, sometimes remain for hours. This may take place day after day, and if the weather continues warm and the holidays last long enough, the boy may reduce himself to the lowest ebb of feebleness, and possibly develop the seeds of latent disease. He may even die from the effects of this prolonged immersion and madcap exposure.

The muscular exertion undergone during swimming, especially by those who swim only occasionally, is very great. The experienced swimmer conserves his strength, as do proficients at all feats, but the occasional swimmer, like the occasional rower, puts forth treble the energy required, and soon becomes exhausted. In the first place, it is a new act for the muscles to perform; they are taken off from the beaten tracks, and are grouped together in new associations; hence they lack adjustment and adaptation. Again, as in other feats for which one is untrained, the heart and lungs do not work in time. Ease and speed in swimming depend upon the attainment of harmony in the working of the muscles, heart, and lungs.

Diving is an accomplishment attached to swimming, which involves many dangers, and is well-nigh useless. The customary dive off a springboard into the shallow water of a swimming bath is dangerous in the extreme. The only place where diving should be attempted is into deep water, at least fifteen or twenty feet, where there is no danger of striking the bottom.

Lawn Tennis.—Of all modern inventions in the way of games, lawn tennis is the best.

The dangers attendant on lawn tennis are:—

1. Overexertion, causing rupture and deranged circulation, especially in the case of those with weak hearts, or those who, being out of condition, or too fat, suddenly engage in the game too long or too violently.

2. Rupture of the tendon of Achilles, from taking a sudden bound. In such an accident the subject falls down, with a sensation as if struck with a club on the leg.

3. Rupture of one of the heads of the biceps in the arm. Here the arm drops helplessly, and a muscular knob rises up on the inner and upper part of the arm.

4. The tennis arm. This trouble arises from the method of manipulating the bat. The pain is felt over the upper end of the radius.

Many of the strains, ruptured tendons, and torn muscles in tennis players are caused by the want of heels to tennis shoes. As, ordinarily, we walk on heels which vary from half an inch to an inch, there must be a considerable extra strain thrown on the muscles of the calf of the leg, when the heels are left off. Especially during a sudden spring is this apparent, when to rise from off the heels on to the toes requires a greatly increased force. Tennis shoes should therefore have fairly deep, broad heels.

Horseback Riding is a mixed exercise, partly active and partly passive, the lower parts of the body being in some measure employed, while the upper parts in easy cantering are almost wholly relaxed. It is peculiarly suited to dyspeptics, from its direct action upon the abdominal viscera, the contents of which are stimulated by the continued agitation and succussion, consequent on the motion in riding.

Bicycling and Tricycling.—While strongly recommending bicycling and tricycling to both men and women in health, those suffering from heart or lung affections, ruptures, scrofula, joint disease, or like maladies, should not indulge in them without medical sanction. For abdominal complaints, such as dyspepsia, congestion of the liver, constipation, and the like, the exercise is excellent.

Baseball is an essentially American game, which brings into play nearly all the muscles of the body. Its chief danger lies in being hit by the hard, forcibly pitched ball, and, for weak persons, in the violence of the exercise.

Football is a rough-and-tumble game, suited only to that class of boys and men, who, brimming over with animal life, take small heed of the accidents liable to occur.

Light and Heavy Gymnastics.—For wet weather, and when outdoor exercise is not practicable, gymnastics are most advisable. Boys and girls, at the age of fifteen or sixteen, often shoot up and become tall and lanky; they want filling out, and are troubled with growing pains. Even men, when tall and thin, are seldom very erect, their muscles are too weak; and there is only one way of overcoming this weakness—by exercising them. Nothing more is wanted than a pair of very light Indian clubs, a pair of light wooden dumb bells, a long wooden rod, and a pair of wooden rings,—the last for combined exercises. Indeed, a systematic motion of the body itself, without any extra artificial resistance, is quite sufficient for the purposes of physical education. In nearly all our large cities are found gymnasia, provided with competent instructors, and every facility for both light and heavy gymnastics. Exercise in a gymnasium is open to the objection of being too brief and too severe, and of simply causing an increase of muscular development. Besides, it is generally unequal in its results, being better adapted to the cultivation of strength in the upper extremities and portion of the body than in the lower. Nevertheless, during inclement weather, or with persons in whom the muscles of the arms and chest are defective, moderate gymnastic exercise is far better than no exercise.—Compiled. (Mostly from "The Influence of Exercise" in The Book of Health.)

THE SKIN.

THE HAIR (p. 52).—Baldness, and its Causes.—Various reasons are assigned for the baldness which is so prevalent among comparatively young men in our country. One writer says: "The premature baldness and grayness of the Americans as a people is in great measure owing to the nonobservance of hygienic rules, and to excess of mental and physical labor in a climate foreign to the race." Others attribute it to the close unventilated hats commonly worn by men. Dr. Nichols, in the Popular Science News, gives his opinion thus:

"In our view, it is largely due to modern methods of treatment of the hair and scalp. The erroneous idea prevails, that the skin which holds the hair follicles and the delicate secretory organs of the scalp must be kept as 'clean,' so to speak, as the face or hands; consequently young men patronize barbers or hairdressers, and once or twice a week they have what is called a 'shampoo' operation performed. This consists in a thorough scouring of the hair and scalp with dilute ammonia, water, and soap, so that a heavy 'lather' is produced, and the glandular secretions, which are the natural protection of the hair, and promotive of its growth, are saponified and removed. No act could be more directly destructive of a healthy growth of hair than this....Women do not shampoo or wash the hair as often as the other sex, and consequently they are in a large degree exempt from baldness in middle life. It is true, however, that many women in cities make frequent visits to the hairdressers, and subject their tresses to the 'scouring' process. If this becomes common, it will not be long before baldness will overtake the young mothers as well as the fathers, and the time will be hastened when even children will have no hair to destroy with ammonia or other caustic cosmetics.

"The advice we have to offer to young men and maidens is,—let your hair alone; keep at a safe distance from hair-dressing rooms and drug shops, where are sold oils, alkaline substances, alcoholic mixtures, etc., for use upon the hair. They are all pernicious, and will do you harm. The head and hair may be washed occasionally with soft, tepid water, without soap of any kind. As a rule, the only appliances needed in the care of the hair are good combs and brushes: and they should not be used harshly, so as to wound the scalp. Avoid all 'electric' and wire-made brushes. No electricity can be stored in a hairbrush: if it could be, it is not needed."

Sudden Blanching of the Hair from Violent Emotions.—The color of the hair depends mainly upon the presence of pigment granules, which range in tint from a light yellow to an intense black. A recent investigator has succeeded in extracting the coloring matter of the hair, and has found that all the different shades are produced by the mixture of three primary colors—red, yellow, and black. "In the pure golden yellow hair there is only the yellow pigment; in red hair the red pigment is mixed with more or less yellow, producing the various shades of red and orange; in dark hair the black is always mixed with yellow and red, but the latter are overpowered by the black; and it seems that even the blackest hair, such as that of the negro, contains as much red pigment as the very reddest hair." Hence, "if in the negro the black pigment had not been developed, the hair of all negroes would be a fiery red."—DR. C. H. LEONARD. The Hair: Its Diseases and Treatment.

The gradual disappearance of this pigment causes the gray or white hair of old age. This natural change in color does not necessarily denote loss of vitality in the hair, as it often continues to grow as vigorously as before it began to whiten. Cases of sudden blanching of the hair from extreme grief or terror are often quoted,—those of Sir Thomas More and of Marie Antoinette being well-known instances in point. An interesting circumstance has been discovered with regard to such cases, namely, that the change of color is not dependent upon the disappearance of the pigment of the hair, which always takes place slowly, but upon the sudden development in its interior of a number of air bubbles, that hide and destroy the effect of the pigment, which itself remains unaltered. Dr. Landois mentions the case of a German printer whom he attended, at a hospital, in the summer of 1865.

This man had long been intemperate in his habits, in consequence of which he was seized with delirium tremens. The delirium, as is usual in such cases, was of an extremely terrifying nature, and lasted four days. On the evening of the fourth day the hair was unaltered, but on the morning of the fifth the delirium had disappeared, and his hair, which previously was fair, had become gray. It was examined with the microscope, when it was found that the pigment was still present, but that the central streak of each was filled with air bubbles.

How this superabundance of air finds its way into the hair in these cases of sudden blanching, physiologists have not yet been able satisfactorily to explain.—In this connection, however, it may be observed that air bubbles exist, more or less, in all hair, mingled with the pigment granules.

The feathers of birds owe their bright colors to an oily secretion corresponding to the pigment in hair, and microscopical observation has revealed the fact that when these colors fade the oily secretion disappears, and is replaced by air. That extreme terror may blanch feathers as well as hair is shown in the case of a poor little starling, which upon being rescued from the claws of a cat became suddenly white.

THE NAILS (p. 54).—The nails are mere modifications of the scarfskin, their horny appearance and feeling being due to the fact that the scales or plates of which they are composed are much harder and more closely packed. The root of the nail lies embedded, to the extent of about the twelfth part of an inch, in a fold of the sensitive skin, and, as may be observed from an inspection of the part, the scarfskin is not exactly continuous with the nail, but projects a little above it, forming a narrow margin.

The nail, like the scarfskin, rests upon, and is intimately connected with, a structure almost identical with the sensitive skin; this is, however, thrown into ridges, which run parallel to one another, except at the back part, where they radiate from the center of the root. On examining the surface of the nail, a semicircular whitish portion is detected near its root; its color is dependent upon the fact that the ridges there contain fewer blood vessels, and therefore less blood, and on account of its half-moon shape it is called the lunula.

The nail is constantly increasing in length, owing to the formation of new cells at the root, which push it forward, while the increase in its thickness is due to the secretion of new cells from the sensitive layer beneath, so that the farther the nail grows from the root, the thicker it becomes. Its nutrition, and consequently its growth, suffers in disease, the portion growing during disease being thinner than that growing in health; and accordingly a transverse groove is seen upon the nail, corresponding to the time of an illness. It will thus be seen that by a mere examination of the nail we can astonish our friends by telling them when they have been ill; and it has been estimated that the nail of the thumb grows from its root to its free extremity in five months, that of the great toe in twenty months, so that a transverse groove in the middle of the former indicates an illness about two and a half months before, and in the middle of the latter, about ten months.

The culture of the nails, which when perfect constitute so great a beauty, is of much importance; but the tendency is to injure them by too much attention. The scissors should never be used except to pare the free edges when they have become ragged or too long, and the folds of scarfskin which overlap the roots should not, as a rule, be touched, unless they be frayed, when the torn edges may be snipped off, so as to prevent their being torn further, which may cause much pain, and even inflammation. The upper surfaces of the nails should on no account be touched with the knife, as is so often done, the nailbrush being amply sufficient to keep them clean, without impairing their smooth and polished surfaces.—HINTON.

BATHS AND BATHING (p. 65).—Physical Cleanliness Promotes Moral Purity.—The old adage that cleanliness is next to godliness, must have had its origin in the feeling of moral elevation which generally accompanies scrupulous bodily purity. Frequent bathing promotes purity of mind and morals. The man who is accustomed to be physically clean shrinks instinctively from contact with all uncleanliness. Personal neatness, when grown into a habit, draws after it so many excellences, that it may well be called a social virtue. Without it, refined intercourse would be impossible; for its neglect not only indicates a want of proper self- respect, but a disrespect of the feelings of others which argues a low tone of the moral sense. All nations, as they advance in civilization and refinement of manners, pay increased attention to the purity of the person.

What, then, shall we say of people who, after all that has been said and written upon the subject, seldom or never bathe, who allow the pores of the skin to get blocked up with a combination of dust and perspired matter, which is as effectual in its way as plaster to the walls of a building? Could they but once be tempted to taste the delights which arise from a perfectly clean and well-acting skin: the cheerfulness, nay, the feeling of moral as well as physical elevation, which accompanies the sense of that cleanliness, they would soon esteem the little time and trouble spent in the bath, and in the proper care of the surface of the body, as time and labor very well spent—DR. STRANGE.

The feet, particularly, should receive daily attention, if it be no more than a vigorous rubbing with a wet cloth, followed by a dry one. After a long walk, also, nothing is more refreshing, especially in summer, than a generous footbath in cool or tepid water, followed by an entire change in shoes and stockings. This is really a necessary precaution, if the feet have become wet from the dampness of the ground; and if the walk has heated the body so that the stockings are moist with perspiration, it is not only an act of prudence, but an instinct of personal neatness.

Ancient Greek and Roman Baths.—From the earliest historic times the necessity for frequent and thorough ablution has been recognized by artificial provisions for this purpose. The Greeks had "steaming baths" and "fragrant anointing oils," as far back as Homer's time, a thousand years before Christ, but the Romans surpassed all preceding and subsequent nations by their magnificent and luxuriously equipped Therme, in which a bath cost less than a cent, and was often free. A full Roman bath included hot air, dry rubbing, hot, tepid, and cold water immersions, scraping with bronze instruments, and anointing with precious perfumes.

The Modern Russian and Turkish baths are the nearest approaches we have to the Roman bath. These are found in nearly all our larger cities.

The Turkish Bath is conducted in a modified form in this country, generally with hot air instead of steam. Its frequent use not only tends to keep the body in a state of perfect cleanliness, but it imparts a clear, fresh color to the complexion which is hardly attained by other means.

"Its most important effect," says a writer in the Popular Science Monthly, "is the stimulation of the emunctory action of the skin. By this means we are enabled to wash as it were the solid and fluid tissues, and especially the blood and skin, by passing water through them from within outward to the surface of the body. Hence, in practice, one of the most essential requisites is copious draughts of water during the sweating."

During the operation of a Turkish bath, the novice is often astonished at the amount of effete matter eliminated from the pores of the skin. "A surprising quantity of scarfskin, which no washing could remove, peels off, especially if a glove of camel's-hair or goat's-hair be used, as they are in the East, where also the soles of the feet are scraped with pumice. The deposit of this skin of only a week's date, when collected, is often as large as one's fist. Much more solid matter is contained in the perspiration of those who take the bath for the first time, or after a long interval. Nothing escapes through the skin, save what is noxious if retained. This bath should never be used in case of advanced lung diseases, great debility, acute inflammations, or persons who labor under any form of heart disease; but I think its influence is directly curative in rheumatic, gouty, and scrofulous affections, some skin diseases, and the earlier stages of feverish colds and ague. It is said to have calming effects in the treatment of insanity, and the use of it was suggested from the heavy smell the skin of persons thus afflicted often has."—MAPOTHER'S Lectures on Public Health.

A somewhat heroic bath, used in Siberia to drive away a threatened fever, consists of a thorough parboiling, within an inch or two of a steaming furnace, after which the subject is "drubbed and flogged for about half an hour with a bundle of birch twigs, leaf and all." A douche of cold water is then dashed over the exhausted bather, when he is ready to be put into bed.

Sea Bathing.—Before the age of seven years, and after fifty-five, sea baths should be used with the greatest caution. All persons unaccustomed to sea bathing should begin with a warm or tepid bath, in doors, proceeding by degrees to the cold indoor bath, and then to the open sea.

The sea bath should be taken, if possible, when the sun is shining, when the water has been warmed by contact with the heated sands, and never during the digestion of the principal meal, or late in the evening. Immediately on plunging into the water, which need not, except in persons of full habit, cover the head, brisk motion of some kind should be used. Those who can swim should do so; those who can not, should make as much exertion of the limbs as possible, or rub the body with their hands. The delicate, and particularly those who are recovering from illness, should remove from the bath as soon as the glow arrives; or, if that be not felt at all, then after one plunge.

Danger in Bathing when Overheated.—It is unwise to bathe when copious perspiration has continued for an hour or more, unless the heat of the weather be excessive, or the sweating has been induced by loading with clothes, rather than by exertion. When much perspiration has been produced by muscular exercise, it is unsafe to bathe, because the body is so fatigued and exhausted, that the reaction can not be insured, and the effect may be to congest the internal organs, and notably the nerve centers. The latter gives cramp. If the weather be chilly, or there be a cold wind, so that the body may be rapidly cooled at the surface while undressing, it is not safe to bathe. Under such conditions, the further chill of immersion in cold water will take place at the precise moment at which the reaction consequent upon the chill of exposure by undressing ought to take place, and this second chill will not only delay or altogether prevent the reaction, but will convert the bath from a mere stimulant to a depressant, ending in the abstraction of a large amount of animal heat and congestion of the internal organs and nerve centers. The aim must be to avoid two chills, and to make sure that the body is in such a condition as to secure a quick reaction on emerging from the water, without relying too much on the possible effect of friction by rubbing. The actual temperature of the water does not affect the question so much as its relative temperature in comparison with that of the surrounding air. It ought to be much lower than that of the air. These maxims receive a striking reenforcement from the case of a young soldier who a few days ago plunged into the river near Manchester, England, after having heated himself by rowing. He was immediately taken with cramps, and was drowned. When taken out, his body was found "twisted," and the vessels of his head showed every evidence of congestion.—Popular Science Monthly, September, 1883.

Bather's Cramp.—Cramp is a painful and tonic muscular spasm. It may occur in any part of the body, but it is especially apt to take place in the lower extremities, and in its milder forms it is limited to a single muscle. The pain is severe, and the contracted muscles are hard and exquisitely tender. In a few minutes the spasm and pain cease, leaving a local sensation of fatigue and soreness. When cramp affects only one extremity, no swimmer or bather endowed with average presence of mind need drown; but when cramp seizes the whole of the voluntary muscular system, as it probably does in the worst cases, nothing in the absence of prompt and efficient extraneous assistance can save the individual from drowning. [Footnote: Even this is often unavailable, as in the case of the Cornell University postgraduate drowned in Hall Creek, Ithaca, June 10, 1888. In this instance the day was hot and oppressive, and the victim sank soon after entering the water. "His companions at once hastened to his relief, and recovered his body in a few minutes. Professor Wilder, of the University, was hurriedly summoned, and every possible method was resorted to in order to induce respiration, but the vital spark had fled. An attack of cramps is supposed to have been the cause of drowning."] Prolongation of muscular exertion, as in continued swimming, and forcible and sudden muscular exertion, as in swimming with very vigorous and rapid strokes, are efficient and frequent causes of cramp. These muscular conditions, however, usually give rise only to the slighter and more localized forms. Serious cramp is a peril which menaces most persons with highly developed muscles. Its most powerful and most avoidable cause is the sudden immersion of the body, when its surface is highly heated, in water of a relatively low temperature.—Popular Science News.

Protection of the Ear in Sea Bathing.—Special attention should be paid by bathers to the exclusion of salt water from the mouth and ears. Many cases of inflammation of the ear, followed by severe and lasting trouble, even to deafness, are chargeable to the neglect of this precaution. Incoming waves should never be received in the face or the ears, and the sea water which enters the ears when floating or diving should be wiped out by soft cotton; indeed, the best plan is to plug the openings of the ears with cotton, which is to be kept there during the bath.—Science.

How one who Knows not how to Swim can Escape Drowning.—It is well for every one to learn the art of swimming, yet it is a knowledge possessed by comparatively few people. Mr. Henry MacCormac, a writer in Nature, gives some common sense instructions that, if heeded, may be of great service to those persons who, not knowing how to swim, may find themselves accidentally precipitated into the water. We condense from his article, adding some directions, as follows:

In order to escape drowning, it is necessary only to do as the brute does, namely, to walk or tread the water. The brute has no advantage over man in regard to his relative weight, and yet the man perishes while the brute survives. The ignorance of so simple a possibility as that of treading water strikes me as one of the most singular things in the history of man. Perhaps something is to be ascribed to the vague meaning which is attached to the word Swim. The dog is wholly incapable of swimming as a man swims, but nothing is more certain than that a man, without previous training or instruction, can swim just as a dog swims, and that by so doing without fear or hesitancy, he will be just as safe as is the dog. The brute thus circumstanced continues to go on all fours, as if he were on land, keeping his head well out of the water. So with the man who wishes to save his life and can not otherwise swim. He must strike alternately, with hand and foot,—one, two, one, two,—without hurry or precipitation, exactly as the brute does. Whether he be provided with paw or hoof, the beast swims with perfect ease and buoyancy. So, too, can the human being, if he will, with the further immense advantage of having a paddle-formed hand, and of being able, when tired, to rest himself by floating, an act of which the animal has no conception. The printed direction should be pasted up in all boathouses, on every boat, at every bathing place, and in every school: Tread water when you find yourself out of your depth. This is all that need be said, unless, indeed, we add: Float when you are tired. To float, one needs only to turn upon his back, keeping—as always when in the water—the mouth and chin well up and the lungs full of air.—Every one of us, of whatever age and however encumbered with clothing, may tread water, even in a breaking sea, with as much facility as a fourfooted animal. The position of the water treader is, really, very much safer and better than the sprawling attitude of the ordinary swimmer. But the chief advantage lies in the fact that we can tread water without preliminary teaching, whereas, though we recommend all to learn how to swim, it involves time and pains, entails considerable fatigue, and is, after all, very seldom adequately acquired.

HINTS ON CLOTHING (p. 67).—Advantages of Woolen Fabrics.—Wool is more irritating than cotton, on account of the stiffness of the hairs with which it bristles; but the excitation it produces becomes a therapeutic means whenever the skin needs a stimulant.

The use of wool is particularly desirable in some countries and under some conditions of life. Professor Brocchi, a writer well known for his investigations in malaria, attributes the good health and vigor of the ancient Romans to their habit of wearing coarse woolen clothes; when they began to disuse them, and to wear lighter goods and silks, they became less vigorous and less able to resist the morbid influence of bad air. It was at about the time the women began to dress in notably fine tissues that the insalubrity of the Roman air began first to be complained of. "In the English army and navy," says Dr. Balestra, "the soldiers of garrisons in unhealthy places are obliged constantly to wear wool next to the skin, and to cover themselves with sufficient clothing, for protection against paludine fevers, dysentery, cholera, and other diseases." According to Patissier, similar measures have been found effectual in preserving the health of workmen employed on dikes, canals, and ditches, in marshy lands; while, previous to the employment of these precautions, mortality from fevers was considerable among them.

Dr. Balestra has proved by direct experiments in marshy regions that thick and hairy woolen garments arrest in their down a portion of the germs borne in by the air, which thus reaches the skin filtered and purified. The ancient Romans wore ample over-garments over their tunics, and never put them away. It is no less important to be well covered during the night; and precautions of this kind should be recommended to all who live in a swampy country. We are sometimes astonished when we see the natives of particularly warm countries enveloped in woolen, as the Arab in his burnoose, or the Spanish peasant in his tobacco-colored cloak. Such materials protect both against the rays of the sun and against the coolness of the night, and are excellent regulators of heat. It is dangerously imprudent to travel in southern countries without provision of warm clothing.—Revue des Deux Mondes.

Weight is not Warmth.—While speaking of the warmth of clothing for inclement weather, it would be incorrect not to speak of weight in relation to warmth. Many persons mistake weight for warmth, and thus feeble people are actually borne down and weakened by the excess of heavy clothing which is piled on them. Good woolen or fur fabrics retain the heat, and yet are light. When fabrics intended for sustaining warmth are made up of cotton, the mistake of accepting weight for warmth is made. The same errors are often made in respect to bed coverings, and with the same results.

Poisonously Dyed Clothing.—The introduction of wearing apparel, socks, stockings, and flannels which have been made, by new processes of dyeing, to assume a rich red or yellow color, has led to a local disease of the skin, attended, in rare cases, with slight constitutional symptoms. This disease is due to the dyestuffs. The chief poisonous dyes are the red and yellow coralline, substances derived from that series of chemical bodies which have been obtained of late years from coal tar, and commonly known as the aniline series.

The coloring principle is extremely active as a local poison. It induces on the skin a reddish, slightly raised eruption of minute round pimples which stud the reddened surface, and which, if the irritation be severe and long-continued, pass into vesicles discharging a thin watery ichor and producing a superficial sore. The disease is readily curable if the cause of it be removed, and, as a general rule, it is purely local in character. I have, however, once seen it pass beyond the local stage. A young gentleman consulted me for what he considered was a rapidly developed attack of erysipelas on the chest and back. He was, indeed, covered with an intensely red rash, and he was affected with nervous symptoms, with faintness and depression of pulse, of a singular and severe kind. I traced both the local eruption and the general malady to the effect of the organic dye in a red woolen chest and back "comforter." On removing the "comforter" all the symptoms ceased. Similar and even fatal cases have been known from the wearing of highly colored hose.

Uncleanliness of Dress.—Uncleanly attire creates conditions favorable to disease. Clothing worn too long at a time becomes saturated with the excretions and exhalations of the body, and, by preventing the free transpiration from the surface of the skin, induces oppression of the physical powers and mental inactivity. This observation will be accepted by most persons as true in respect to underclothing; it is equally true in regard to those outer garments which are often worn, unremittingly, until the linings, torn and soiled, are unfit altogether for contact with the cleaner garments beneath them. Health will not be clothed in dirty raiment. They who wear such raiment suffer from trains of minor complaints; from oppression, dullness, headache, nausea, which, though trifling in themselves, taken one by one, when put together greatly reduce that standard of perfect health by which the value of life is correctly and effectively maintained.—RICHARDSON.

RESPIRATION.

THE VOCAL ORGANS.—Musical Tones in Speaking (p. 76).—Voice is divided into singing and speaking voice. One differs from the other almost as much as noises do from musical sounds. In speaking, the sounds are too short to be easily appreciable, and are not separated by fixed and regular intervals, like those of singing; they are linked together, generally by insensible transitions; they are not united by the fixed relations of the gamut, and can only be noted with difficulty. That it is the short duration of speaking sounds which distinguished them from those of singing, is proved by this, that if we prolong the intonation of a syllable, or utter it like a note, the musical sound becomes evident. So, if we pronounce all the syllables of a phrase in the same tone, the speaking voice closely resembles psalm singing. Every one must have noticed this in hearing schoolboys recite or read in a monotone, and the analogy is complete when the last two or three syllables are pronounced in a different tone. Spoken voice is, moreover, always a chant more or less marked, according to the individual and the sentiment which the words express....It is related of Gretry, that he amused himself by noting as exactly as possible the "Bonjour, monsieur!" (Good day, sir!) of the persons who visited him; and these words expressed by their intonation, in fact, the most opposite sentiments, in spite of the constant identity of the literal sense.

Speech without a Tongue.—De Jussieu relates that he saw a girl fifteen years old, in Lisbon, who was born without a tongue, and yet who spoke so distinctly as not to excite in the minds of those who listened to her the least suspicion of the absence of that organ.

The Transactions of the Royal Society of London (1742) contain an account of a woman who had not the slightest vestige of a tongue, but who could, notwithstanding, drink, eat, and speak as well and as distinctly as any one, and even articulate the words in singing. Other instances have been known where individuals, after losing a portion of the tongue by accident or disease, have again been able to speak after a longer or shorter period.—LE PILEUR.

Stimulants and the Voice.—"The Drinker's Throat" is a recognized pathological condition, and the Germans have a popular phrase, "He drinks his throat away." Isambert has pointed out the directly local irritant effect of both alcohol and tobacco on the throat, and also the mode by which these agents, on absorption into the system, re-manifest their presence by predisposing to local pharyngeal inflammations. Dr. Krishaber affirms: "It is generally admitted that alcoholic beverages and tobacco irritate the mucous membrane of the throat, directly affect the voice, and leave on it ineffaceable traces. We hold with equal certainty that tea and coffee, although not directly affecting the voice, do so indirectly by acting on the nervous system, and through it the vocal organs, as well as by, some general nervous derangement not very pronounced, but great enough to deprive the singer of the full powers and capabilities of his voice."

Dr. Mackenzie says: "The influence of the general health upon the voice is very marked. Alcohol and tobacco should never be used. The hoarse tones of the confirmed votary of Bacchus are due to chronic inflammation of the lining membrane of the larynx; the originally smooth surface being roughened and thickened by the irritation of alcohol, the vocal cords have less freedom of movement, and their vibrations are blurred, or rather muffled, by the unevenness of their contiguous edges."

A young American lady of marked musical gifts once asked Adelina Patti's advice upon preparing for the stage. She found the great singer wrapped in furs, although the weather was not severe. After hearing her visitor, Patti replied: "Are you willing to give up everything for your art? If you wish to succeed, you must learn to eat moderately, take no stimulants—not even tea or coffee—keep as regular hours as possible consistent with your public appearance, and even deny yourself the luxury of friends. When you hear of a great vocalist giving extravagant wine suppers, you may be sure that the singer herself takes nothing. To be a successful artiste you must be married, soul and body, to your art." Like the young man to whom Christ spake, the young woman "went away sorrowful," and, balancing the terms, concluded to forego the contest.

ABDOMINAL RESPIRATION (p. 8l).—It has often been stated that the respiration of woman differs from that of man, in being limited almost entirely to the chest. In order to investigate this subject scientifically, Dr. Mays, of Philadelphia, devised an ingenious instrument for examining the respiration of the native Indian girls in the Lincoln Institution. The girls had not yet been subjected to the restrictions of civilized dress. He says:

"In all, I examined the movements of eighty-two chests, and in each case took an abdominal and a costal tracing. The girls were partly pure and partly mixed with white blood, and their ages ranged from between ten and twenty years. Thus there were thirty-three full-blooded Indians, five one fourth, thirty-five one half, and two three fourths white. Seventy- five showed a decided abdominal type of breathing, three a costal type, and three in which both were about even. Those who showed the costal type, or a divergence from the abdominal type, came from the more civilized tribes, like the Mohawks and Chippewas, and were either one half or three fourths white; while in no single instance did a full-blooded Indian girl possess this type of breathing.

"From these observations it obviously follows that, so far as the Indian is concerned, the abdominal is the original type of respiration in both male and female, and that the costal type in the civilized female is developed through the constricting influence of dress around the abdomen. While these tracings were taken an incident occurred which demonstrated that abdominal constriction could modify the movements of the thorax during respiration. At my first visit to the institution I obtained an exceptional costal type of respiration from a full-blooded Indian girl. At my next visit I concluded to repeat this observation, and found that, contrary to my instructions concerning loose clothing, etc., this girl at my first visit had worn three tight belts around her abdomen. After these were removed she gave the abdominal type of breathing, which is characteristic of nearly all the Indian girls."

To us these facts are invaluable. It shows the faulty construction of modern female dress, which restricts the motion of abdominal respiration. It explains why, as experience has taught us, it is necessary to restore this abdominal rhythm, by proper movements, in order permanently to cure the affections of the lower portion of the trunk. It demonstrates conclusively that woman's dress, to be injurious, needs only to interfere with the proper motion of respiration, even though it exercises not the slightest compression.—Health Record.

THE GERM THEORY OF DISEASE (p. 86).—What are Disease Germs?— Microscopical investigation has revealed throughout Nature, in the air, in water—especially when it contains organic matter, and even within the bodies of persons and animals, myriads of infinitesimal active organisms which live, multiply, and die in endless succession. These have been named bacteria (bacterium, a rod, so called from the general rod shape first observed), and also microbes (microbe, a small living object). Some investigators apply the latter term as a general one, limiting the former to such microbes as are believed to be special disease producers. The "Germ Theory" teaches that the seeds or spores of bacteria, floating in the air we breathe or in the water we drink, are taken into our bodies where, under conditions favorable to their growth, they develop, multiply, and, each after its own species, produce distinctive evil results.—Thus, according to this theory, there are special varieties of microbes that cause, respectively, diphtheria, erysipelas, scarlatina, cholera, etc.—One of the most common microbes in nature is the bacterium of putrefaction, found everywhere in decaying organic matter. [Footnote: This is the microbe found in impure water. If we take half a glass of spring or river water, and leave it uncovered for a few days, we shall observe upon it a thin coating of what appears to be a fine dust. Place, now, a drop of this dusty water under a cover glass, and examine it under a microscope with a magnifying power of about five hundred diameters. The revelation is astonishing. "The whole field of the microscope is in motion; hundreds of bacteria, resembling minute transparent worms, are swimming in every direction with an undulatory motion like that of an eel or snake. Some are detached, others united in pairs, others in chains or chaplets or cylindrical rods....All these forms represent the different transformations of Bacterium termo, or the microbe of putrefaction. Those which are dead appear as small, rigid, and immovable rods."—TROUESSART.]

By the species of microbes called ferments all fermented liquors are artificially produced (see p. 132); these also cause the "rising" of bread.—These wonderful little existences are thus made to perform an important part in the economy of Nature. "Nourished at the expense of putrefying organic matter, they reduce its complex constituents into soluble mineral substances, which they return to the soil to serve afresh for the nourishment of similar plants. Thus they clear the surface of the earth from dead bodies and fecal matter, and from all the useless substances which are the refuse of life; and thus they unite animals and plants in an endless chain."—TROUESSART.

How Disease Germs Grow.—Experiments having shown that no life is known to spring from inanimate matter, we may reasonably suppose that just as wheat does not grow except from seed, so no disease occurs without some disease germ to produce it. Then, again, we may logically assume that each disease is due to the development of a particular kind of germ. If we plant smallpox germs, we do not reap a crop of scarlatina or measles; but, just as wheat springs from wheat, each disease has its own distinctive germs. Each comes from a parent stock, and has existed somewhere previously....Under ordinary circumstances, these germs, though nearly always present, are comparatively few in number, and in an extremely dry and indurated state. Hence, they may frequently enter our bodies without meeting with the conditions essential to their growth; for experiments have shown that it is very difficult to moisten them, and till they are moistened, they do not begin to develop. In a healthy system they remain inactive. But anything tending to weaken or impair the bodily organs, furnishes favorable conditions, and thus epidemics almost always originate and are most fatal in those quarters of our great cities where dirt, squalor, and foul air render sound health almost an impossibility.... Having once got a beginning, epidemics rapidly spread. The germs are then sent into the air in great numbers, and in a moist state; and the probabilities of their entering, and of their establishing themselves even in healthy bodies, are vastly increased....Climate and the weather have also much influence on the vitality of these germs. Cold is a preventive against some diseases, heat against others. Tyndall found that sunlight greatly retarded and sometimes entirely prevented putrefaction; while dirt is always favorable to the growth and development of germs. Sunshine and cleanliness are undoubtedly the best and cheapest preventives against disease.—"Disease Germs" Chambers's Journal.

You know the exquisitely truthful figures employed in the New Testament regarding leaven. A particle hid in three measures of meal leavens it all. A little leaven leaveneth the whole lump. In a similar manner a particle of contagium spreads through the human body, and may be so multiplied as to strike down whole populations. Consider the effect produced upon the system by a microscopic quantity of the virus of smallpox. That virus is to all intents and purposes a seed. It is sown as leaven is sown, it grows and multiplies as leaven grows and multiplies, and it always reproduces itself....Contagia are living things, which demand certain elements of life, just as inexorably as trees, or wheat, or barley; and it is not difficult to see that a crop of a given parasite may so far use up a constituent existing in small quantities in the body, but essential in the growth of the parasite, as to render the body unfit for the production of a second crop. The soil is exhausted; and until the lost constituent is restored, the body is protected from any further attack from the same disorder. To exhaust a soil, however, a parasite less vigorous and destructive than the really virulent one may suffice; and if, after having, by means of a feebler organism, exhausted the soil without fatal result, the most highly virulent parasite be introduced into the system, it will prove powerless. This, in the language of the germ theory, is the whole secret of vaccination.—TYNDALL.

Disease Germs Contained in Atmospheric Dust.—Take the extracted juice of beef or mutton, so prepared as to be perfectly transparent, and entirely free from the living germs of bacteria. Into the clear liquid let fall the tiniest drop of an infusion charged with the bacteria of putrefaction. Twenty-four hours subsequently, the clear extract will be found muddy throughout, the turbidity being due to swarms of bacteria generated by the drop with which the infusion was inoculated. At the same time the infusion will have passed from a state of sweetness to a state of putridity. Let a drop similar to that which has produced this effect fall into an open wound: the juices of the living body nourish the bacteria as the beef or mutton juice nourished them, and you have putrefaction produced within the system. The air, as I have said, is laden with floating matter which, when it falls upon the wound, acts substantially like the drop....A few years ago I was bathing in an Alpine stream, and, returning to my clothes from the cascade which had been my shower bath, I slipped upon a block of granite, the sharp crystals of which stamped themselves into my naked shin. The wound was an awkward one, but, being in vigorous health at the time, I hoped for a speedy recovery. Dipping a clean pocket handkerchief into the stream, I wrapped it round the wound, limped home, and remained for four or five days quietly in bed. There was no pain, and at the end of this time I thought myself quite fit to quit my room. The wound, when uncovered, was found perfectly clean, uninflamed, and entirely free from pus. Placing over it a bit of gold beater's skin, I walked about all day. Toward evening, itching and heat were felt; a large accumulation of pus followed, and I was forced to go to bed again. The water bandage was restored, but it was powerless to check the action now set up; arnica was applied, but it made matters worse. The inflammation increased alarmingly, until finally I was ignobly carried on men's shoulders down the mountain, and transported to Geneva, where, thanks to the kindness of friends, I was immediately placed in the best medical hands. On the morning after my arrival in Geneva, Dr. Gautier discovered an abscess in my instep, at a distance of five inches from the wound. The two were connected by a channel, or sinus, as it is technically called, through which he was able to empty the abscess without the application of the lance.

By what agency was that channel formed—what was it that thus tore asunder the sound tissue of my instep, and kept me for six weeks a prisoner in bed? In the very room where the water dressing had been removed from my wound and the gold beater's skin applied to it, I opened this year a number of tubes, containing perfectly clear and sweet infusions of fish, flesh, and vegetable. These hermetically sealed infusions had been exposed for weeks, both to the sun of the Alps and to the warmth of a kitchen, without showing the slightest turbidity or signs of life. But two days after they were opened, the greater number of them swarmed with the bacteria of putrefaction, the germs of which had been contracted from the dust-laden air of the room. And, had the pus from my abscess been examined, my memory of its appearance leads me to infer that it would have been found equally swarming with these bacteria—that it was their germs which got into my incautiously opened wound. They were the subtile workers that burrowed down my shin, dug the abscess in my instep, and produced effects which might well have proved fatal to me.—TYNDALL.

Disease Germs Carried in Soiled Clothing (p. 89).—The conveyance of cholera germs by bodies of men moving along the lines of human communication, without necessarily affecting the individuals who transport them, is now easy to understand; for it is well established that clothes or linen soiled by cholera patients may not only impart the germs with which they are contaminated to those who handle them when fresh, but that, after having been dried and packed, they may infect persons at any distance who incautiously unfold them. Thus, while the nurses of cholera patients may, with proper precautions, enjoy an absolute immunity from attack, the disease germs may be introduced into new localities without any ostensible indication of their presence. It is obvious that the only security against such introduction consists in the destruction or thorough disinfection of every scrap of clothing or linen which has been about the person of a cholera patient.—DR. CARPENTER.

I have known scarlet fever to be carried by the clothing of a nurse into a healthy family, and communicate the disease to every member of the family. I have known cholera to be communicated by the clothes of the affected person to the women engaged in washing the clothes. I have known smallpox conveyed by clothes that had been made in a room where the tailor had by his side sufferers from the terrible malady. I have seen the new cloth, out of which was to come the riding habit for some innocent child to rejoice in as she first wore it, undergo the preliminary duty of forming part of the bed clothing of another child stricken down with fever. Lastly, I have known scarlet fever, smallpox, typhus, and cholera, communicated by clothing contaminated in the laundry.—DR. RICHARDSON.

THE SANITARY HOME (see p. 94).—1. The Site.—First and foremost of all the things you are to consider, is the healthfulness of a situation. The brightest house and cheeriest outlook in nature will be made somber by the constant presence of a doctor, and the wandering around of an unseen, but ever felt, specter in the shape of miasm....Malaria-malus, bad; aria, air—means, in its common definition, simply bad air. Miasma is its synonym,—infecting effluvia floating in the air. Because, as everybody knows, certain places have always chills and fever associated with them, and other places have not, it follows that between such places there is some fact of difference; this fact is the presence of miasm, a cause of disease, having a signification associative with the locality....

Vegetation, heat, and moisture: these are the three active agents in the production of miasma, to which a fourth is to be added, in the influence of non-drainage, either by the way of the atmosphere or running water. The strongest example of a malarious locality one might make would be in suggesting a marshy valley in a tropical climate, so overrun with fixed water as to destroy a prolific vegetation, yet not covering it enough to protect the garbage from the putrefying influences of the sun; this valley, in turn, so environed with hills as to shut off a circulation of air....Ground newly broken is not unapt to generate miasm. This results from the sudden exposure of long-buried vegetable matter to the influences of moisture and heat....It may readily be conceived that malarious situations exist where the miasm is not sufficient in quantity to produce the effects of intermittent or bilious fever, yet where there is quite enough of it to keep a man feeling good for nothing,—he is not sick, but he is never well. I know of one country seat of this kind, where forty thousand dollars would not pay for the improvements put upon it, and where, I am free to declare, I would not think of living, even if, as an inducement, a free gift were made to me of the place....Besides miasm, there are other atmospheric associations to be considered. I recall this moment a distillery, where attempt was made to get clear of the mash by throwing it into a running stream, with the anticipation of its being carried to the river, but where, on the contrary, it became a stagnant putrescent mass, impregnating the air for miles with its unendurable odor, and inducing such a typhoid tendency that half the countryside were down with fever....There are, again, situations where the filth and debris of sewage exercise a poisoning influence on the surrounding atmosphere. This has its principal application to the neighborhood of cities and towns drained into adjoining streams. London and the Thames furnish a notable illustration. A cove, attractive as it is, may prove a receptacle for the accumulation of dead fish and other offal, which shall make untenable the charming cottage upon the bank. A deep cove has rarely healthy surroundings, the circulation of its water being too sluggish to insure freshness and vitality. Water, like blood, to be healthy, must be in a state of continuous movement.

A nonobservant man, purchasing a beautiful stream, may be completely disappointed by finding that the opacity of its water depends upon a factory, of which he had never so much as heard; he may not let his children bathe in it, for he may well fear for them the fate of the fish he so plentifully finds lying dead upon the shore. A poisoned rural stream is as sad a sight as it has grown to be a common one. Always, before buying water, know what there is up stream, or what there is likely to be.

Never buy a country house without seeing to it that the foundation stands upon a higher level than some channel which may drain it, and this, by the way, is not to consider alone the dry summer day on which you go first to visit the place; you are to think of the winter and spring. Look to it that no excess of water shall be able to drown you out; some places, which in dry weather are glorious, are, in winter and spring, ankle deep in slush and mire, and everything about them is as wet as a soaked board. Open the front door of such a house, and a chill strikes you instantly. A fire must be kept the year round, or otherwise you live in the moisture of a vault. Places there are of this class where the question of the water from the kitchen pump comes to absorb the attention of the whole household.

No shade is an abomination. A bilious fever fattens in the sun as does miasm in a marshy valley. Too much shade, on the contrary, and too near the house, is equally of ill import; it keeps things damp, and dampness is a breeder of pestilence. An atmosphere confined about a house by too dense foliage is, like the air of an unventilated room, not fit for practical purposes. The sporadic poisons have an intimate relationship with dampness; miasm lives in it as does a snail in his shell. Besides this, it shuts out the cool breath of the summer nights, and makes restless swelterers where even a blanket might be enjoyed.—DR. JOHN DARBY, Odd Hours of a Physician.

2. The House.—So construct the dwelling from foundation to roof that no dampness can result. Give to the cellar dry walls, a cement floor, and windows enough to insure constant currents of air. Insist upon such a system of immediate and perfect sewerage as shall render contamination impossible. If "modern improvements" are afforded, see that the plumbing embraces the latest and most scientific sanitary inventions. Do not economize on this point; health, perhaps life, depends upon the perfect working of the various traps. Having employed the most skilled and intelligent plumbers, overlook their work so that you may fully understand the principle applied.

Provide for ample ventilation in every apartment, above and below. Let the sleeping rooms be above stairs, and furnished with appliances for moderate warmth in winter. Treat yourself and your family to as many fireplaces as possible. Indulge in a spacious piazza, so placed that it will not cut off the light from the family sitting room, and, if you can, include a balcony or two, large enough to hold a chair and a table, or a workbasket. Remember that a house is for convenience and protection only when you can not be in the open air.

3. The kitchen and the Dust Heap.—Removal of Household Refuse.—It has to be assumed, especially where servants are not carefully overlooked, that the dust heap of most houses will contain more or less decomposing organic matter, such as bits of meat, scales and refuse of fish, tea and coffee grounds, and the peelings of vegetables, which, though quite out of place in the ash heap, are apt surreptitiously to be thrown upon it. Such matter soon becomes offensive and even dangerous, and a few days' retention of it in warm weather constitutes a legal nuisance. Household refuse should be carted away as often as once in two days; in extreme hot weather, daily. Where it is inexpedient to remove it frequently, it should be kept covered to the depth of two or three inches with a layer of powdered charcoal, or freshly burnt lime, or, at least, of clear dry earth. All soil which has become foul by the soakage of decaying or vegetable matter should be similarly treated. The refuse heap should be protected from rain, and liquids should never be thrown upon it. Where obnoxious matter has been allowed to accumulate, its disturbance for removal should be conducted with special precaution, both on account of its temporary offensiveness of odor and the more serious results which may follow. It can not be too distinctly understood that cleanliness, ventilation, and dryness are the best of all deodorizers. One of the first of household regulations should be to see that no unsanitary rubbish remains in or about the dwelling. Keep the dust heap itself at the farthest practicable remove from the house. Sow grass seed plentifully upon the back premises, and induce tidiness in the domestics by having the kitchen door open upon a well-kept lawn.

Burning of Garbage.—The easiest, quickest, and most sanitary method of disposing of household garbage is to burn it This plan has been officially recommended by the Boards of Health in various cities. Many housekeepers have adopted it, and find it so practicable that in New York City there has become a marked decrease in the amount of household refuse collected by the scavengers. If, after every meal, the draughts of the range be opened, and all waste matter be deposited within, a few moments, or at most, a half hour, will effectually dispose of it, and prevent all the dangers that arise from its retention and accumulation. In the country, where there is plenty of ground, nearly all rubbish can be destroyed in this way and by outside fires, with the additional advantage that the—E. R. S.

4. The Sewers and Drains.—How to Keep out Sewer Air.—The most perfectly flushed sewers that are made, under the latest and fullest sanitary light, must, owing to the constant entrance of greasy and other adhesive material, contain more or less of particles that "stick," and also more or less of fungi and mold; so that here, shut away from light and air, goes on the peculiar fermentation that fits it for the soil or habitat of the malarial germ. These germs, the soil once ready, take possession and multiply, whether that soil be a sewer or the blood of a person who sits calmly unconscious in a gorgeous chamber above, with a small continuation of the sewer extending untrapped up to his washbowl.— DR. DERBY.

Keep constant watch of your traps and drains. Cultivate the faculty of detecting sewer gas in the house. Always fear a smell; trace it to its source and provide a remedy. At the same time, bear in mind that it is not always the foul smell that is most dangerous. There is a close, sweet odor often present in bathrooms, and about drains, that is deadly as the Upas tree. Bad air from neglected drains causes not only fevers, dysentery, and diphtheria, but asthma and other chronic disorders. Illuminating gas, escaping from pipes and prevented from exuding by frozen earth, has been known to pass sidewise for some distance into houses. Thus also the air from cesspools and porous or broken drains finds its way, when an examination of the household entrance to the drain fails to reveal the cause of an existing effluvia. But, however bad the drain may be outside the house, there is little to fear provided the gas can escape externally. Every main drain should have a ventilating pipe carried from it directly outside the house to the top of the highest chimney. The soil pipe inside the house should be carried up through the roof and be open at the top.

Digging for drains or other purposes should not be allowed when the mercury stands above 60 degrees; but if, as in repairs of pipes, it becomes necessary to dig about the house in hot weather, let it be done in the middle of the day, and replace the turf as speedily as possible. If the soil be damp, or the district malarious, sprinkle quicklime upon the earth as fast as it is turned.

How to Clear Waste Pipes.—The "sewer gas," about which so much has been written, and which is so justly dreaded, is not, as many suppose, the exclusive product of the sewer. Indeed, the foul and dangerous gases are not only found in the sewers themselves, but in the unventilated waste pipes, and those which are in process of being clogged by the foul matter passing through them. Any obstruction in the soil or waste pipes is therefore doubly dangerous, because it may produce an inflow of foul gas into the pipe, even though the entrance to the sewer itself has been entirely cut off.

In pipes leading from the house to the cesspool, there is a constant accumulation of grease. This enters as a liquid, but hardens as the water cools, and is deposited on the bottom and sides of the pipes. As these accumulations increase, the water way is gradually contracted, till the pipe is closed.

When the pipe is entirely stopped, or allows the water to fall away by drops only, proceed thus: Empty the pipe down to the trap, as far as practicable, by "mopping up" with a cloth. If the water flows very slowly, begin when the pipe has at last emptied itself. Fill the pipe up with potash, crowding it with a stick. Then allow hot water to trickle upon the potash, or pour the hot water upon it in a small stream, stopping as soon as the pipe appears to be filled. As the potash dissolves and disappears, add more water. At night a little heap of potash may be placed over the hole, and water enough poured on so that a supply of strong lye will flow into the pipe during the night.

Pipes that have been stopped for months may be cleaned out by this method, though it may call for three or four pounds of potash. The crudest kind, however, appears to act as well as the best. If the pipe is partially obstructed, a lump of crude potash should be placed where water will drip slowly upon it, and so reach the pipe. As water comes in contact with the potash, it becomes hot, thus aiding in dissolving the grease. Potash, in combination with grease, forms a "soft" or liquid soap, which easily flows away. It is also destructive to all animal and most mineral matters.

Some of the most dangerous gases come from wash-basin pipes, being, perhaps, the result of the decay of the soap and the animal matter washed from the skin.

When a pipe is once fairly cleaned out, the potash should be used from time to time, in order to dissolve the greasy deposits as they form, and carry them forward to the cesspool or sewer.—Artisan.

What Came from a Neighbor's Cesspool.—Keep watch not only of your own premises, but stand on guard against those of your neighbors. Dr. Carpenter cites a case wherein "four members of a certain household were attacked with typhoid fever, one of whom narrowly escaped with her life. The circumstances left no doubt in the mind of the attending physician that the malady originated in the opening of an old cesspool belonging to a neighboring house, then in course of demolition. The house in which the outbreak took place is large and airy, and stands by itself in a most salubrious situation. The most careful examination failed to disclose any defect either in its drainage or its water supply; there was no typhoid in the neighborhood; and the milk supply was unexceptional. But the neighboring house being old, and having been occupied by a school, its removal had been determined on to make way for a house of higher class; and as the offensive odor emanating from the uncovered cesspool was at once perceived in the next garden, and the outbreak of typhoid followed at the usual interval, the case seems one which admits of no reasonable question."

5. The Cellar.—A Typical Bad Cellar.—Did the reader ever, when a child, see the cellar afloat at some old home in the country? You creep part way down the cellar stairs with only the light of a single tallow candle, and behold by its dim glimmer an expanse of dark water, boundless as the sea. On its surface, in dire confusion, float barrels and boxes, butter firkins and washtubs, boards, planks, hoops, and staves without number, interspersed with apples, turnips, and cabbages, while half-drowned rats and mice, scrambling up the stairway for dear life, drive you affrighted back to the kitchen....Now consider the case of one of these old farmhouse cellars that has been in use fifty years or more. In it have been stored all the potatoes, turnips, cabbages, onions, and other vegetables for family food. The milk and cream, the pork and beef, and cider and vinegar, have all met with various accidents, and from time to time have had their juices, in various stages of decay, absorbed by the soil of the cellar bottom. The cats have slept there to fight the rats and the mice, who have had their little homes behind the walls for half a century; and the sink spouts have for the same term poured into the soil close by, their fragrant fluids. The water rushes upward and sideways into the cellar, forming, with the savory ingredients at which we have delicately hinted, a sort of broth, quite thin and watery at first, but growing thicker as the water slowly subsides and leaves its grosser parts pervading the surface of the earth, walls, and partitions. All this time the air rushes in at the openings of the cellar, and presses constantly upward, often lifting the carpets from the floors, and is breathed day and night by all who dwell in the house. Does it require learned doctors or boards of health to inform any rational person that these conditions are unfavorable to health?—MRS. PLUNKETT, Women, Plumbers, and Doctors.

What Came from a Crack in a Cellar Wall.—A few years ago a Boston gentleman inherited a house, situated on one of the most desirable streets of the city. Resolving to make a healthy as well as a beautiful home, he. spent a large sum, and gave personal supervision to all the details of an elaborate system of plumbing. He moved in. Imagine his grief and disappointment when member after member of his family succumbed to diphtheria, and an infant and a grown daughter died. Though so deeply smitten, he did not lose his belief in the connection between cause and effect. He ordered a minute investigation of the premises by experts. A slight crack, so small as to have escaped ordinary observation, was found in the cellar wall. Investigation of the premises next door—the inmates of which were also suffering from diphtheria—showed a choked-up drain, which ought to have connected with the sewer, but did not. The filthy ooze from this was pouring out, just where its effluvium and its disease germs could pass without any hindrance through the crack.

Now that it is shown that gases pass through bricks and many kinds of stone, it is easy to see that the sanitary welfare of one is the sanitary welfare of all.—MRS. PLUNKETT.

6. The Bedroom.—The Bed a Night Garment.—There is still one of our garments to be considered, which generally is not regarded as such. I mean the bed—that piece of clothing in which we spend such a great part of our time.

The bed is not only a place of rest; it is especially our sleeping garment, and has often to make up for privations endured during the day and the day's work, and to give us strength for to-morrow. Like our day garments, the bed covering must be airy and warm at the same time. We warm the bed by our body, just as we warm our clothes, and the bed warms the air which is continually flowing through it from below, upward. The regulating strata must be more powerful in their action than in our day clothes, because during rest and sleep the metamorphosis of our tissues and the resulting heat become less; and because in a horizontal position we lose more heat by an ascending current of air than in a vertical position, where the warm ascending current is in more complete and longer contact with our upright body.

The warmth of the bed sustains the circulation in our surface to a certain degree for the benefit of our internal organs at a time when our production of heat is at its lowest ebb. Hence the importance of the bed for our heat and blood economy. Several days without rest in a bed not only make us sensible of a deficiency in the recruiting of our strength, but very often produce quite noticeable perturbations in our bodily economy, from which the bed would have protected us.—DR. MAX VON PETTENKOFFER.

Bed Ventilation.—It often happens that the desire of the energetic housekeeper to have her work done at an early hour in the morning, causes her to leave one of the most important items of neatness undone. The most effectual purifying of bed and bedclothes can not take place, if the proper time is not allowed, for the free circulation of pure air, to remove all human impurities which have collected during the hours of slumber. At least two or three hours should be allowed for the complete removal of atoms of insensible perspiration which are absorbed by the bed. Every day the airing should be done; and, occasionally, bedding constantly used should be carried into the open air, and left exposed to the sun and wind for half a day.—Home and Health.

CIRCULATION.

THE PULSE (p. 116).—The pulse which is felt by the finger does not correspond precisely with the beat of the heart, but takes place a little after it, and the interval is longer, the greater the distance of the artery from the heart. The beat of the artery on the inner side of the ankle, for example, is a little later than the beat of the artery in the temple.—HUXLEY.

The pulse is increased by exertion, and thus is more rapid in a standing than in a sitting, and in a sitting than in a lying posture. It is quickened by meals, and while varying thus from time to time during the day, is on the whole quicker in the evening than in early morning. It is said to be quicker in summer than in winter. Even independently of muscular exertion, it seems to be quickened by great altitude. Its rate is also profoundly influenced by mental conditions.—FOSTER.

CIRCULATION OF THE BLOOD IN THE BRAIN (p. l20).—Signer Mosso, who has been engaged on the subject for six years, has published some new observations on the different conditions of the circulation of the blood in the brain. He has had the privilege of observing three patients who had holes in their skulls, permitting the examination of the encephalic movements and circulation. No part of the body exhibits a pulsation so varied in its form as the brain. The pulsation may be described as tricuspid; that is, it consists of a strong beat, preceded and followed by lesser beats. It gathers strength when the brain is at work, corresponding with the more rapid flow of blood to the organ. The increase in the volume of the brain does not depend upon any change in the respiratory rhythm; for, if we take the pulse of the forearm simultaneously with that of the brain, we can not perceive that the cerebral labor exercises any influence upon the forearm, although the pulsation in the brain may be considerably modified. The emotions have a similar effect upon the circulation of the brain to that of cerebral labor. Signor Mosso has also observed and registered graphically the variations of the cerebral pulse during sleep. Generally the pulses of the wrist and the brain vary oppositely. At the moment of waking, the pulse of the wrist diminishes, while that of the brain increases. The cerebral pulsations diminish as sleep grows deeper, and at last become very weak. Outward excitations determine the same modifications during sleep as in the waking state, without waking the sleeper. A deep inspiration always produces a diminution in the volume of the brain, in consequence, probably, of the increased flow of blood into the veins of the thoracic cavity; the increase of volume in the brain, when it takes place, is, on the contrary, due to a more abundant flow of arterial blood to the encephalus.—Popular Science Monthly, March, 1882.