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diff --git a/37640-h/37640-h.htm b/37640-h/37640-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3b35131 --- /dev/null +++ b/37640-h/37640-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3586 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + +<head> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Health: Five Lay Sermons To Working-people, by John Brown, M.D.. + </title> + + <meta http-equiv="content-type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> + + <style type="text/css"> + + blockquote { + text-align:justify; + } + + body { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + } + + #booktitle { + letter-spacing:3px; + } + + .centered { + text-align:center; + font-weight:bold; + } + + div.centered { + text-align:center; + } + + div.centered table { + margin-left:auto; + margin-right:auto; + text-align:left; + } + + div.inset20, + div.inset26 { + margin-top:1em; + margin-bottom:1em; + margin-left:auto; + margin-right:auto; + } + + div.inset20 { + width:20em + } + + div.inset26 { + width:26em + } + + div.inset20 p, + div.inset26 p { + text-indent:0; + } + + .figcenter { + padding:1em; + text-align:center; + font-size:0.8em; + border:none; + margin:auto; + text-indent:1em; + } + + .footnote { + font-size:0.9em; + margin-right:10%; + margin-left:10%; + } + + .footnote .label { + position:absolute; + right:84%; + text-align:right; + } + + .fnanchor { + vertical-align:super; + font-size:.8em; + text-decoration: + none; + } + + .h1 { + font-size:2em; + margin:.67em 0; + } + + .h1, + .h2, + .h3, + .h4 { + font-weight:bolder; + text-align:center; + text-indent:0; + } + + h1, + h2, + h3, + h4, + hr { + text-align:center; + } + + .h2 { + font-size:1.5em; + margin:.75em 0; + } + + .h3 { + font-size:1.17em; + margin:.83em 0; + } + + .h4 { + margin:1.12em 0 ; + } + + hr.chapter { + margin-top:6em; + margin-bottom:4em; + } + + hr.tb { + margin:2em 25%; + width:50%; + } + + img.dropimg { + float : left; + margin-right : .5em; + margin-top : .2em; + margin-left : .4em; + border : 0; + margin-bottom: 0; + } + + p { + text-align:justify; + margin-top:.75em; + margin-bottom:.75em; + text-indent:0; + } + + p.author { + text-align:right; + margin-right:10%; + } + + p.caption { + text-indent:0; + text-align:center; + font-weight:bold; + margin-bottom:2em; + } + + p.spacer { + margin-top:2em; + margin-bottom:3em; + } + + .pagenum { +/* visibility:hidden; remove comment out to hide page numbers */ + position:absolute; + right:2%; + font-size:75%; + color:gray; + background-color:inherit; + text-align:right; + text-indent:0; + font-style:normal; + font-weight:normal; + font-variant:normal; + } + + .poem { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + margin-bottom:1em; + text-align:left; + } + + .poem .stanza { + margin:1em 0em 1em 0em; + } + + .poem br { + display:none; + } + + .poem p { + margin:0; + padding-left:3em; + text-indent:-3em; + } + + .poem span.i0 { + display:block; + margin-left:0em; + padding-left:3em; + text-indent:-3em; + } + + .smcap { + font-variant:small-caps; + } + + span.hide { + display:none; + } + + .tdlsc { + text-align:left; + font-variant:small-caps; + } + + .tdr { + text-align:right; + padding-right:1em; + } + + .tdrfirst { + text-align:right; + padding-right:1em; + font-size:80%; + } + + </style> + +</head> + +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Health, by John Brown + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Health + Five Lay Sermons to Working-People + +Author: John Brown + +Release Date: October 5, 2011 [EBook #37640] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HEALTH *** + + + + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Matthew Wheaton +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + +<div> + +<br /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/cover.png" width="400" height="625" alt="Cover" /> +</div> + +<p class="caption">Health<br />John Brown M.D.</p> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<h1 id="booktitle">HEALTH: FIVE LAY SERMONS TO WORKING-PEOPLE.</h1> + +<p class="h3">BY</p> + +<p class="h2">JOHN BROWN, M.D.</p> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/fig001a.png" width="400" alt="" /> +</div> + +<div class="inset26"> +<p>He is not far from every one of us. For in Him we live +and move not less than in Him we have our being.</p> +</div> + +<div class="inset20"> +<p style="text-indent:4em">"Out of darkness comes the hand<br /> +Reaching through nature,—moulding man."</p> +</div> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<p class="h1"><i>HEALTH:</i><br /> +<br /> +FIVE LAY SERMONS TO WORKING-PEOPLE.</p> +<br /> +<p class="h4">BY</p> + +<p class="h3">JOHN BROWN, M.D.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80px;"> +<img src="images/fig001b.png" width="80" alt="" /> +</div> + +<p class="h3">BOSTON:<br /> +JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY,</p> + +<p class="h4"><i>Late Ticknor and Fields, and Fields, Osgood, & Co.</i><br /> +1877.</p> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/fig002a.png" width="200" alt="" /> +</div> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 150px;"> +<img src="images/fig003a.png" width="150" alt="" /> +</div> + +<blockquote> +<p><i>Affectionately inscribed to the memory of the</i> <span class="smcap">Rev. James +Trench</span>, <i>the heart and soul of the Canongate Mission, who, +while he preached a pure and a fervent gospel to its heathens, +taught them also and therefore to respect and save their +health, and was the Originator and Keeper of their Library +and Penny Bank, as well as their Minister.</i></p> +</blockquote> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 150px;"> +<img src="images/fig003b.png" width="150" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/fig004.png" width="300" alt="" /> +</div> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<span class="pagenum">[7]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/fig005a.png" width="400" alt="" /> +</div> + +<h2><a name="PREFACE" id="PREFACE"></a>PREFACE.</h2> + +<p><img class="dropimg" src="images/img-t.png" width="50" alt="" /> +<span class="hide">T</span><b>HREE</b> of these sermons were written for, +and (shall I say?) preached some years +ago, in one of the earliest missionary stations +in Edinburgh, established by Broughton Place +Congregation, and presided over at that time by +the Reverend James Trench; one of the best human +beings it was ever my privilege to know. He +is dead; dying in and of his work,—from typhus +fever caught at the bedside of one of his poor members—but +he lives in the hearts of many a widow +and fatherless child; and lives also, I doubt not, in +the immediate vision of Him to do whose will was +his meat and his drink. Given ten thousand such +men, how would the crooked places be made straight, +and the rough places plain, the wildernesses of city +wickedness, the solitary places of sin and despair, +of pain and shame, be made glad! This is what +is to regenerate mankind; this is the leaven that +some day is to leaven the lump.<span class="pagenum">[8]</span></p> + +<p>The other two sermons were never preached, except +in print; but they were composed in the same +key. I say this not in defence, but in explanation. +I have tried to speak to working men and women +from my lay pulpit, in the same words, with the +same voice, with the same thoughts I was in the +habit of using when doctoring them. This is the +reason of their plain speaking. There is no other +way of reaching these sturdy and weather and work-beaten +understandings; there is nothing fine about +them outside, though they are often as white in the +skin under their clothes as a duchess, and their +hearts as soft and tender as Jonathan's, or as +Rachel's, or our own Grizel Baillie's; but you +must speak out to them, and must not be mealy-mouthed +if you wish to reach their minds and affections +and wills. I wish the gentlefolks could hear +and could use a little more of this outspokenness; +and, as old Porson said, condescend to call a spade +a spade, and not a horticultural implement; five +letters instead of twenty-two, and more to the +purpose.</p> + +<p>You see, my dear working friends, I am great +upon sparing your strength and taking things cannily. +"All very well," say you; "it is easy speaking, +and saying, Take it easy; but if the pat's on +the fire it maun bile." It must, but you needn't<span class="pagenum">[9]</span> +poke up the fire forever, and you may now and then +set the kettle on the hob, and let it sing, instead of +leaving it to burn its bottom out.</p> + +<p>I had a friend who injured himself by overwork. +One day I asked the servant if any person had +called, and was told that some one had. "Who +was it?" "O, it's the little gentleman that <i>aye +rins when he walks</i>!" So I wish this age would +walk more and "rin" less. A man can walk farther +and longer than he can run, and it is poor +saving to get out of breath. A man who lives to +be seventy, and has ten children and (say) five-and-twenty +grandchildren, is of more worth to the state +than three men who die at thirty, it is to be hoped +unmarried. However slow a coach seventy may +have been, and however energetic and go-ahead the +three thirties, I back the tortoise against the hares +in the long run.</p> + +<p>I am constantly seeing men who suffer, and indeed +die, from living too fast; from true though +not consciously immoral dissipation or scattering +of their lives. Many a man is bankrupt in constitution +at forty-five, and either takes out a <i>cessio</i> +of himself to the grave, or goes on paying ten per +cent for his stock-in-trade; he spends his capital +instead of merely spending what he makes, or better +still, laying up a purse for the days of darkness<span class="pagenum">[10]</span> +and old age. A queer man, forty years ago,—Mr. +Slate, or, as he was called, <i>Sclate</i>, who was too +clever and not clever enough, and had not wisdom +to use his wit, always scheming, full of "go," but +never getting on,—was stopped by his friend, Sir +Walter Scott,—that wonderful friend of us all, to +whom we owe Jeanie Deans and Rob Roy, Meg +Merrilies and Dandie Dinmont, Jinglin' Geordie, +Cuddie Headrigg, and the immortal Baillie,—one +day in Princess Street. "How are ye getting on, +Sclate?" "Oo, just the auld thing, Sir Walter; +<i>ma pennies a' gang on tippenny eerands</i>." And +so it is with our nervous power, with our vital +capital, with the pence of life; many of them go +on "tippenny eerands." We are forever getting +our bills renewed, till down comes the poor and +damaged concern with dropsy or consumption, blazing +fever, madness, or palsy. There is a Western +Banking system in living, in using our bodily +organs, as well as in paper-money. But I am running +off into another sermon.</p> + +<p>Health of mind and body, next to a good conscience, +is the best blessing our Maker can give us, +and to no one is it more immediately valuable than +to the laboring man and his wife and children; and +indeed a good conscience is just moral health, the +wholeness of the sense and the organ of duty; for<span class="pagenum">[11]</span> +let us never forget that there is a religion of the +body, as well as, and greatly helpful of, the religion +of the soul. We are to glorify God in our souls and +in our bodies, for the best of all reasons, <i>because +they are his</i>, and to remember that at last we +must give account, not only of our thoughts and +spiritual desires and acts, but <i>all the deeds done in +our body</i>. A husband who, in the morning before +going to his work, would cut his right hand off +sooner than injure the wife of his bosom, strangles +her that same night when mad with drink; that is +a deed done in his body, and truly by his body, for +his judgment is gone; and for that he must give +an account when his name is called; his judgment +was gone; but then, as the child of a drunken +murderer said to me, "A' but, sir, wha goned it?" +I am not a teetotaler. I am against teetotalism as +a doctrine of universal application; I think we are +meant to use these things as not abusing them,—this +is one of the disciplines of life; but I not the +less am sure that drunkenness ruins men's bodies,—it +is not for me to speak of souls,—is a greater +cause of disease and misery, poverty, crime, and +death among the laboring men and women of our +towns, than consumption, fever, cholera, and all +their tribe, with thieving and profligacy and improvidence +thrown into the bargain: these slay<span class="pagenum">[12]</span> +their thousands; this its tens of thousands. Do +you ever think of the full meaning of "he's the +waur o' drink?" How much the waur?—and +then "dead drunk,"—"mortal." Can there be +anything more awfully significant than these expressions +you hear from children in the streets?</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>You will see in the woodcut a good illustration +of the circulation of the blood: both that through +our lungs, by which we breathe and burn, and that +through the whole body, by which we live and +build. That hand grasps the heart, the central +depot, with its valves opening out and in, and, by +its contraction and relaxation, makes the living +fluid circulate everywhere, carrying in strength, +life, and supply to all, and carrying off waste and +harm. None of you will be the worse of thinking +of that hand as His who makes, supports, moves, +and governs all things,—that hand which, while +it wheels the rolling worlds, gathers the lambs with +his arm, carries them in his bosom, and gently +leads those that are with young, and which was +once nailed for "our advantage on the bitter cross."</p> + +<p class="author">J. B.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">23 Rutland Street</span>,<br /> +December 16, 1861.</p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<span class="pagenum">[13]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/fig011.png" width="300" alt="" /> +</div> + +<p class="h3">CONTENTS.</p> + +<div class="centered"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"> </td> + <td class="tdr"> </td> + <td class="tdlsc"> </td> + <td class="tdrfirst">Page</td></tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#PREFACE">Preface</a></td> + <td class="tdr"> </td> + <td class="tdlsc"> </td> + <td class="tdr">7</td></tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">SERMON</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#SERMON_I">I.</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc">The Doctor: our Duties to him</td> + <td class="tdr">15</td></tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"> </td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#SERMON_II">II.</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc">The Doctor: his Duties to you</td> + <td class="tdr">29</td></tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"> </td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#SERMON_III">III.</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc">Children, and how to guide them</td> + <td class="tdr">41</td></tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"> </td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#SERMON_IV">IV.</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc">Health</td> + <td class="tdr">56</td></tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"> </td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#SERMON_V">V.</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc">Medical Odds and Ends</td> + <td class="tdr">71</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<br /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/fig011b.png" width="100" alt="" /> +</div> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[14]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/fig012.png" width="300" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[15]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/fig013a.png" width="400" alt="" /> +</div> + +<p class="h2">HEALTH.</p> + +<h2><a name="SERMON_I" id="SERMON_I"></a>SERMON I.</h2> + +<p class="h3">THE DOCTOR: OUR DUTIES TO HIM.</p> + +<p><img class="dropimg" src="images/img-e.png" width="50" alt="" /> +<span class="hide">E</span><b>VERYBODY</b> knows the Doctor; a very +important person he is to us all. What +could we do without him? He brings us +into this world, and tries to keep us as long in it as +he can, and as long as our bodies can hold together; +and he is with us at that strange and last hour which +will come to us all, when we must leave this world +and go into the next.</p> + +<p>When we are well, we perhaps think little about +the Doctor, or we have our small joke at him and +his drugs; but let anything go wrong with our body, +that wonderful tabernacle in which our soul dwells, +let any of its wheels go wrong, then off we fly to +him. If the mother thinks her husband or her child +dying, how she runs to him, and urges him with her +tears! how she watches his face, and follows his +searching eye, as he examines the dear sufferer; how<span class="pagenum">[16]</span> +she wonders what he thinks,—what would she give +to know what he knows! how she wearies for his +visit! how a cheerful word from him makes her heart +leap with joy, and gives her spirit and strength to +watch over the bed of distress! Her whole soul +goes out to him in unspeakable gratitude when he +brings back to her from the power of the grave her +husband or darling child. The Doctor knows many of +our secrets, of our sorrows, which no one else knows,—some +of our sins, perhaps, which the great God +alone else knows; how many cares and secrets, how +many lives, he carries in his heart and in his hands! +So you see he is a very important person the Doctor, +and we should do our best to make the most of him, +and to do our duty to him and to ourselves.</p> + +<p>A thinking man feels often painfully what a serious +thing it is to be a doctor, to have the charge of +the lives of his fellow-mortals, to stand, as it were, +between them and death and eternity and the judgment-seat, +and to fight hand to hand with Death. +One of the best men and greatest physicians that +ever lived, Dr. Sydenham, says, in reference to this, +and it would be well if all doctors, young and old, +would consider his words:—</p> + +<p>"It becomes every man who purposes to give himself +to the care of others, seriously to consider the +four following things: <i>First</i>, That he must one +day give an account to the Supreme Judge of all the +lives intrusted to his care. <i>Secondly</i>, That all his<span class="pagenum">[17]</span> +skill and knowledge and energy, as they have been +given him by God, so they should be exercised for +his glory and the good of mankind, and not for +mere gain or ambition. <i>Thirdly</i>, and not more +beautifully than truly, Let him reflect that he has +undertaken the care of no mean creature, for, in +order that we may estimate the value, the greatness +of the human race, the only begotten Son of God +became himself a man, and thus ennobled it with +his divine dignity, and, far more than this, died to +redeem it; and <i>Fourthly</i>, That the Doctor, being +himself a mortal man, should be diligent and tender +in relieving his suffering patients, inasmuch as +he himself must one day be a like sufferer."</p> + +<p>I shall never forget a proof I myself got twenty +years ago, how serious a thing it is to be a doctor, +and how terribly in earnest people are when they +want him. It was when cholera first came here in +1832. I was in England at Chatham, which you +all know is a great place for ships and sailors. This +fell disease comes on generally in the night; as the +Bible says, "it walks in darkness," and many a +morning was I roused at two o'clock to go and see +its sudden victims, for then is its hour and power. +One morning a sailor came to say I must go three +miles down the river to a village where it had broken +out with great fury. Off I set. We rowed in +silence down the dark river, passing the huge hulks, +and hearing the restless convicts turning in their<span class="pagenum">[18]</span> +beds in their chains. The men rowed with all their +might: they had too many dying or dead at home +to have the heart to speak to me. We got near the +place; it was very dark, but I saw a crowd of men +and women on the shore, at the landing-place. They +were all shouting for the Doctor; the shrill cries +of the women, and the deep voices of the men coming +across the water to me. We were near the +shore, when I saw a big old man, his hat off, his +hair gray, his head bald; he said nothing, but +turning them all off with his arm, he plunged into +the sea, and before I knew where I was, he had me in +his arms. I was helpless as an infant. He waded +out with me, carrying me high up in his left arm, +and with his right levelling every man or woman +who stood in his way.</p> + +<p>It was Big Joe carrying me to see his grandson, +little Joe; and he bore me off to the poor convulsed +boy, and dared me to leave him till he was better. +He did get better, but Big Joe was dead that night. +He had the disease on him when he carried me away +from the boat, but his heart was set upon his boy. +I never can forget that night, and how important +a thing it was to be able to relieve suffering, and +how much Old Joe was in earnest about having the +Doctor.</p> + +<p>Now, I want you to consider how important the +Doctor is to you. Nobody needs him so much as +the poor and laboring man. He is often ill. He<span class="pagenum">[19]</span> +is exposed to hunger and wet and cold, and to fever, +and to all the diseases of hard labor and poverty. +His work is heavy, and his heart is often heavy, too, +with misery of all kinds,—his heart weary with +its burden,—his hands and limbs often meeting +with accidents,—and you know if the poor man, +if one of you falls ill and takes fever, or breaks his +leg, it is a far more serious thing than with a richer +man. Your health and strength are all you have to +depend on; they are your stock-in-trade, your capital. +Therefore I shall ask you to remember <i>four +things</i> about your duty to the Doctor, so as to get +the most good out of him, and do the most good to +him too.</p> + +<p><i>1st</i>, It is your duty to trust the Doctor;</p> + +<p><i>2dly</i>, It is your duty to obey the Doctor;</p> + +<p><i>3dly</i>, It is your duty to speak the truth to the +Doctor, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth; +and,</p> + +<p><i>4thly</i>, It is your duty to reward the Doctor.</p> + +<p>And so now for the <i>first</i>. It is your duty to <i>trust</i> +the Doctor, that is, to believe in him. If you were +in a ship, in a wild storm, and among dangerous +rocks, and if you took a pilot on board, who knew +all the coast and all the breakers, and had a clear eye, +and a firm heart, and a practised hand, would you +not let him have his own way? would you think +of giving him your poor advice, or keep his hand +from its work at the helm? You would not be such<span class="pagenum">[20]</span> +a fool, or so uncivil, or so mad. And yet many people +do this very same sort of thing, just because +they don't really trust their Doctor; and a doctor +is a pilot for your bodies when they are in a storm +and in distress. He takes the helm, and does his +best to guide you through a fever; but he must +have fair play; he must be trusted even in the dark. +It is wonderful what cures the very sight of a doctor +will work, if the patient believes in him; it is +half the battle. His very face is as good as a medicine, +and sometimes better,—and much pleasanter +too.</p> + +<p>One day a laboring man came to me with indigestion. +He had a sour and sore stomach, and +heartburn, and the water-brash, and wind, and +colic, and wonderful misery of body and mind. I +found he was eating bad food, and too much of it; +and then, when its digestion gave him pain, he took +a glass of raw whiskey. I made him promise to +give up his bad food and his worse whiskey, and +live on pease-brose and sweet milk, and I wrote him +a prescription, as we call it, for some medicine, and +said, "Take <i>that</i>, and come back in a fortnight and +you will be well." He did come back, hearty and +hale;—no colic, no sinking at the heart, a clean +tongue, and a cool hand, and a firm step, and a +clear eye, and a happy face. I was very proud of +the wonders my prescription had done; and having +forgotten what it was, I said, "Let me see what I<span class="pagenum">[21]</span> +gave you." "O," says he, "I took it." "Yes," +said I, "but the prescription." "<i>I took it</i>, as you +bade me. I swallowed it." He had actually eaten +the bit of paper, and been all that the better of it; +but it would have done him little, at least less good +had he not trusted me when I said he would be +better, and attended to my rules.</p> + +<p>So, take my word for it, and trust your Doctor; +it is his due, and it is for your own advantage. +Now, our next duty is to <i>obey</i> the Doctor. This +you will think is simple enough. What use is there +in calling him in, if we don't do what he bids us? +and yet nothing is more common—partly from laziness +and sheer stupidity, partly from conceit and +suspiciousness, and partly, in the case of children, +from false kindness and indulgence—than to disobey +the Doctor's orders. Many a child have I seen die +from nothing but the mother's not liking to make +her swallow a powder, or put on a blister; and let +me say, by the by, teach your children at once to +obey you, and take the medicine. Many a life is +lost from this, and remember you may make even +Willie Winkie take his castor-oil in spite of his +cries and teeth, <i>by holding his nose</i>, so that he must +swallow.</p> + +<p><i>Thirdly, You should tell the truth, the whole +truth, and nothing but the truth</i>, to your Doctor. +He may be never so clever, and never so anxious, +but he can no more know how to treat a case of illness<span class="pagenum">[22]</span> +without knowing all about it, than a miller can +make meal without corn; and many a life have I +seen lost from the patient or his friends concealing +something that was true, or telling something that +was false. The silliness of this is only equal to its +sinfulness and its peril.</p> + +<p>I remember, in connection with that place where +Big Joe lived and died, a singular proof of the perversity +of people in not telling the Doctor the +truth,—as you know people are apt to send for +him in cholera when it is too late, when it is a +death rather than a disease. But there is an early +stage, called premonitory,—or warning,—when +medicines can avail. I summoned all the people of +that fishing-village who were well, and told them +this, and asked them if they had any of the symptoms. +They all denied having any (this is a peculiar +feature in that terrible disease, they are afraid +to <i>let on</i> to themselves, or even the Doctor, that +they are "in for it"), though from their looks and +from their going away while I was speaking, I +knew they were not telling the truth. Well, I said, +"You must, at any rate, every one of you take +some of this," producing a bottle of medicine. I +will not tell you what it was, as you should never +take drugs at your own hands, but it is simple and +cheap. I made every one take it; only one woman +going away without taking any; she was the only +one of all those <i>who died</i>.<span class="pagenum">[23]</span></p> + +<p><i>Lastly, It is your duty to reward</i> your Doctor. +There are four ways of rewarding your Doctor. +The first is by giving him your money; the second +is by giving him your gratitude; the third is by +your doing his bidding; and the fourth is by speaking +well of him, giving him a good name, recommending +him to others. Now, I know few if any +of you can pay your Doctor, and it is a great public +blessing that in this country you will always get a +good Doctor willing to attend you for nothing, and +this <i>is</i> a great blessing; but let me tell you,—I +don't think I need tell you,—try and pay him, be +it ever so little. It does you good as well as him; +it keeps up your self-respect; it raises you in your +own eye, in your neighbor's, and, what is best, in +your God's eye, because it is doing what is right. +The "man of independent mind," be he never so +poor, is "king of men for a' that"; ay, and "for +twice and mair than a' that"; and to pay his way +is one of the proudest things a poor man can say, +and he may say it oftener than he thinks he can. +And then let me tell you, as a bit of cool, worldly +wisdom, that your Doctor will do you all the more +good, and make a better job of your cure, if he gets +something, some money for his pains; it is human +nature and common sense, this. It is wonderful +how much real kindness and watching and attendance +and cleanliness you may get <i>for so many +shillings a week</i>. Nursing is a much better<span class="pagenum">[24]</span> +article at that,—much,—than at <i>nothing</i> a week. +But I pass on to the other ways of paying or +rewarding your Doctor, and, above all, <i>to gratitude</i>.</p> + +<p>Honey is not sweeter in your mouths, and light +is not more pleasant to your eyes, and music to your +ears, and a warm, cosey bed is not more welcome to +your wearied legs and head, than is the honest, deep +gratitude of the poor to the young Doctor. It is +his glory, his reward; he fills himself with it, and +wraps himself all round with it as with a cloak, +and goes on in his work, happy and hearty; and +the gratitude of the poor is worth the having, and +worth the keeping, and worth the remembering. +Twenty years ago I attended old Sandie Campbell's +wife in a fever, in Big Hamilton's Close in the +Grassmarket,—two worthy, kindly souls they were +and are. (Sandie is dead now.) By God's blessing, +the means I used saved "oor Kirsty's" life, +and I made friends of these two forever; Sandie +would have fought for me if need be, and Kirsty +would do as good. I can count on them as my +friends, and when I pass the close-mouth in the +West Port, where they now live, and are thriving, +keeping their pigs, and their hoary old cuddie and +cart, I get a courtesy from Kirsty, and see her look +after me, and turn to the women beside her, and I +know exactly what she is saying to them about +"Dr. Broon." And when I meet old Sandie, with<span class="pagenum">[25]</span> +his ancient and long-lugged friend, driving the +draff from the distillery for his swine, I see his +gray eye brighten and glisten, and he looks up and +gives his manly and cordial nod, and goes on his +way, and I know that he is saying to himself, "God +bless him! he saved my Kirsty's life," and he runs +back in his mind all those twenty past years, and +lays out his heart on all he remembers, and that +does him good and me too, and nobody any ill. +Therefore, give your gratitude to your Doctor, and +remember him, like honest Sandie; it will not lose +its reward and it costs you nothing; it is one of +those things you can give and never be a bit the +poorer, but all the richer.</p> + +<p>One person I would earnestly warn you against, +and that is the <i>Quack Doctor</i>. If the real Doctor +is a sort of God of healing, or rather our God's +cobbler for the body, the Quack is the Devil for +the body, or rather the Devil's servant against the +body. And like his father, he is a great liar and +cheat. He offers you what he cannot give. Whenever +you see a medicine that cures everything, be +sure it cures nothing; and remember, it may kill. +The Devil promised our Saviour all the kingdoms +of the world if he would fall down and worship +him; now this was a lie, he could not give him +any such thing. Neither can the Quack give you +his kingdoms of health, even though you worship +him as he best likes, by paying him for his trash;<span class="pagenum">[26]</span> +he is dangerous and dear, and often deadly,—have +nothing to do with him.</p> + +<p>We have our duties to one another, yours to me, +and mine to you: but we have all our duty to one +else,—to Almighty God, who is beside us at this +very moment—who followed us all this day, and +knew all we did and didn't do, what we thought +and didn't think,—who will watch over us all this +night,—who is continually doing us good,—who +is waiting to be gracious to us,—who is the great +Physician, whose saving health will heal all our +diseases, and redeem our life from destruction, and +crown us with loving-kindness and tender mercies,—who +can make death the opening into a better +life, the very gate of heaven; that same death +which is to all of us the most awful and most certain +of all things, and at whose door sits its dreadful +king, with that javelin, that sting of his, which +is sin, our own sin. Death would be nothing without +sin, no more than falling asleep in the dark to +awake to the happy light of the morning. Now, +I would have you think of your duty to this great +God, our Father in heaven; and I would have you +to remember that it is your duty to trust him, to +believe in him. If you do not, your soul will be +shipwrecked, you will go down in terror and in +darkness.</p> + +<p>It is your duty to <i>obey</i> him. Whom else in all +this world should you obey, if not him? and who<span class="pagenum">[27]</span> +else so easily pleased, if we only do obey? It is +your duty to speak the truth to him, not that he +needs any man to tell him anything. He knows +everything about everybody; nobody can keep a +secret from him. But he hates lies; he abhors +a falsehood. He is the God of truth, and must be +dealt honestly with, in sincerity and godly fear; +and, lastly, you must in a certain sense <i>reward</i> +him. You cannot give him money, for the silver +and gold, the cattle upon a thousand hills, are +all his already, but you can give him your grateful +lives; you can give him your hearts; and as +old Mr. Henry says, "Thanksgiving is good, but +thanks-living is better."</p> + +<p>One word more; you should call your Doctor +early. It saves time; it saves suffering; it saves +trouble; it saves life. If you saw a fire beginning +in your house, you would put it out as fast as you +could. You might perhaps be able to blow out with +your breath what in an hour the fire-engine could +make nothing of. So it is with disease and the +Doctor. A disease in the morning when beginning +is like the fire beginning; a dose of medicine, some +simple thing, may put it out, when if left alone, +before night it may be raging hopelessly, like the +fire if left alone, and leaving your body dead and in +the ruins in a few hours. So, call in the Doctor +soon; it saves him much trouble, and may save you +your life.<span class="pagenum">[28]</span></p> + +<p>And let me end by asking you to call in the +Great Physician; to call him instantly, to call +him in time; there is not a moment to lose. He +is waiting to be called; he is standing at the door. +But he must be <i>called</i>,—he may be called too +late.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/fig026.png" width="200" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<span class="pagenum">[29]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/fig027a.png" width="400" alt="" /> +</div> + +<h2><a name="SERMON_II" id="SERMON_II"></a>SERMON II.</h2> + +<p class="h3">THE DOCTOR: HIS DUTIES TO YOU.</p> + +<p><img class="dropimg" src="images/img-y.png" width="50" alt="" /> +<span class="hide">Y</span><b>OU</b> remember our last sermon was mostly +about your duties to the Doctor. I am +now going to speak about his duties to +you; for you know it is a law of our life, that there +are no one-sided duties,—they are all double. It +is like shaking hands, there must be two at it; +and both of you ought to give a hearty grip and a +hearty shake. You owe much to many, and many +owe much to you. The Apostle says, "Owe no +man anything but to love one another"; but if +you owe that, you must be forever paying it; it is +always due, always running on; and the meanest +and most helpless, the most forlorn, can always pay +and be paid in that coin, and in paying can buy +more than he thought of. Just as a farthing candle, +twinkling out of a cotter's window, and, it +may be, guiding the gudeman home to his wife and +children, sends its rays out into the infinite expanse<span class="pagenum">[30]</span> +of heaven, and thus returns, as it were, the +light of the stars, which are many of them suns. +You cannot pass any one on the street to whom +you are not bound by this law. If he falls down, +you help to raise him. You do your best to relieve +him, and get him home; and let me tell you, +to your great gain and honor, the poor are far more +ready and better at this sort of work than the gentlemen +and ladies. You do far more for each other +than they do. You will share your last loaf; you +will sit up night after night with a neighbor you +know nothing about, just because he is your neighbor, +and you know what it is to be neighbor-like. +You are more natural and less selfish than the fine +folks. I don't say you are better, neither do I say +you are worse; that would be a foolish and often +mischievous way of speaking. We have all virtues +and vices and advantages peculiar to our condition. +You know the queer old couplet,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Them what is rich, them rides in chaises;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Them what is poor, them walks like blazes."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>If you were well, and not in a hurry, and it were +cold, would you not much rather "walk like blazes" +than ride listless in your chaise? But this I know, +for I have seen it, that according to their means, +the poor bear one another's burdens far more than +the rich.</p> + +<p>There are many reasons for this, outside of yourselves,<span class="pagenum">[31]</span> +and there is no need of your being proud of +it or indeed of anything else; but it is something +to be thankful for, in the midst of all your hardships, +that you in this have more of the power and +of the luxury of doing immediate, visible good. +You pay this debt in ready-money, as you do your +meal and your milk; at least you have very short +credit, and the shorter the better. Now, the Doctor +has his duties to you, and it is well that he +should know them, and that you should know them +too; for it will be long before you and he can do +without each other. You keep each other alive. +Disease, accidents, pain, and death reign everywhere, +and we call one another <i>mortals</i>, as if our +chief peculiarity was that we must die, and you all +know how death came into this world. "By one +man sin entered the world, and death by sin; and +so death passed upon all men, for that all have +sinned"; and disease, disorder, and distress are the +fruits of sin, as truly as that apple grew on that +forbidden tree. You have nowadays all sorts of +schemes for making bad men good, and good men +better. The world is full of such schemes, some of +them wise and some foolish; but to be wise they +must all go on the principle of lessening misery by +lessening <i>sin</i>; so that the old weaver at Kilmarnock, +who at a meeting for abolishing slavery, the corn +laws, and a few more things, said, "Mr. Preses, +I move that we abolish Original Sin," was at least<span class="pagenum">[32]</span> +beginning at the right end. Only fancy what a +world it would be, what a family any of ours would +be, when everybody did everything that was right, +and nothing that was wrong, say for a week! The +world would not know itself. It would be inclined +to say with the "wee bit wifiekie," though reversing +the cause, "This is no me." I am not going +to say more on this point. It is not my parish. +But you need none of you be long ignorant of who +it is who has abolished death, and therefore vanquished +sin.</p> + +<p>Well, then, it is the duty of the Doctor in the +first place, to <i>cure us</i>; in the second, <i>to be kind to +us</i>; in the third, to be <i>true to us</i>; in the fourth, to +keep <i>our secrets</i>; in the fifth, to <i>warn us</i>, and, best +of all, to <i>forewarn us</i>; in the sixth, to <i>be grateful +to us</i>; and, in the last, to <i>keep his time and his +temper</i>.</p> + +<p>And, <i>first</i>, it is the duty of the Doctor to <i>cure</i> +you,—if he can. That is what we call him in for; +and a doctor, be he never so clever and delightful, +who doesn't cure, is like a mole-catcher who can't +catch moles, or a watchmaker who can do everything +but make your watch go. Old Dr. Pringle +of Perth, when preaching in the country, found his +shoes needed mending, and he asked the brother whom +he was assisting to tell him of good cobbler, or as he +called him, a <i>snab</i>. His friend mentioned a "Tammas +Rattray, a godly man, and an elder." "But,"<span class="pagenum">[33]</span> +said Dr. Pringle, in his snell way, "can he mend +my shoon? that's what I want; I want a shoemaker; +I'm not wanting an elder." It turned out that +Tammas was a better elder than a shoemaker. A +doctor was once attending a poor woman in labor; +it was a desperate case, requiring a cool head and a +firm will; the good man—for he <i>was</i> good—had +neither of these, and, losing his presence of mind, +gave up the poor woman as lost, and retired into +the next room to pray for her. Another doctor, +who, perhaps, wanted what the first one had, and +certainly had what he wanted, brains and courage, +meanwhile arrived, and called out, "Where is +Doctor ——?" "O, he has gone into the next +room to pray!" "Pray! tell him to come here +this moment, and help me; he can work and pray +too"; and with his assistance the snell doctor saved +that woman's life. This, then, is the Doctor's first +duty to you,—to cure you,—and for this he must, +in the first place, be up to his business; he must +know what to do, and, secondly, he must be able to +do it; he must not merely do as a pointer dog does, +stand and say, "There it is," and no more, he must +point and shoot too. And let me tell you, moreover, +that unless a man likes what he is at, and is in earnest, +and sticks to it, he will no more make a good +doctor than a good anything else. Doctoring is not +only a way for a man to do good by curing disease, +and to get money to himself for doing this, but it is<span class="pagenum">[34]</span> +also a study which interests for itself alone, like +geology, or any other science; and moreover it is a +way to fame and the glory of the world; all these +four things act upon the mind of the Doctor, but +unless the first one is uppermost, his patient will +come off second-best with him; he is not the man +for your lives or for your money.</p> + +<p>They tell a story, which may not be word for +word true, but it has truth and a great principle in +it, as all good stories have. It is told of one of our +clever friends, the French, who are so knowing in +everything. A great French doctor was taking an +English one round the wards of his hospital; all +sort of miseries going on before them, some dying, +others longing for death, all ill; the Frenchman +was wonderfully eloquent about all their diseases, +you would have thought he saw through them, and +knew all their secret wheels like looking into a watch +or into a glass beehive. He told his English friend +what would be seen in such a case, <i>when the body +was opened</i>! He spent some time in this sort of +work, and was coming out, full of glee, when the +other doctor said: "But, Doctor ——, you haven't +<i>prescribed</i> for these cases." "O, neither I have!" +said he, with a grumph and a shrug; "I quite forgot +<i>that</i>"; that being the one thing why these poor +people were there, and why he was there too. Another +story of a Frenchman, though I dare say we +could tell it of ourselves. He was a great professor,<span class="pagenum">[35]</span> +and gave a powerful poison as a medicine for an +ugly disease of the skin. He carried it very far, so +as to weaken the poor fellow, who died, just as the +last vestige of the skin disease died too. On looking +at the dead body, quite smooth and white, and also +quite dead, he said, "Ah, never mind; he was <i>dead +cured</i>."</p> + +<p>So let me advise you, as, indeed, your good sense +will advise yourselves, to test a Doctor by this: Is +he in earnest? Does he speak little and do much? +Does he make your case his first care? He may, +after that, speak of the weather, or the money-market; +he may gossip, and even <i>haver</i>; or he may +drop, quietly and shortly, some "good words,"—the +fewer the better; something that causes you to +think and feel; and may teach you to be more of the +Publican than of the Pharisee, in that story you +know of, when they two went up to the temple to +pray; but, generally speaking, the Doctor should, +like the rest of us, stick to his trade and mind his +business.</p> + +<p><i>Secondly</i>, It is the Doctor's duty to be <i>kind</i> to +you. I mean by this, not only to speak kindly, but +to <i>be</i> kind, which includes this and a great deal +more, though a kind word, as well as a merry heart, +does good like a medicine. Cheerfulness, or rather +cheeriness, is a great thing in a Doctor; his very +foot should have "music in't, when he comes up the +stair." The Doctor should never lose his power of<span class="pagenum">[36]</span> +pitying pain, and letting his patient see this and +feel it. Some men, and they are often the best at +their proper work, can let their hearts come out +only through their eyes; but it is not the less sincere, +and to the point; you can make your mouth +say what is not true; you can't do quite so much +with your eyes. A Doctor's eye should command, +as well as comfort and cheer his patient; he should +never let him think disobedience or despair possible. +Perhaps you think Doctors get hardened by +seeing so much suffering; this is not true. Pity +as a motive, as well as a feeling ending in itself, is +stronger in an old Doctor than in a young, so he be +made of the right stuff. He comes to know himself +what pain and sorrow mean, what their weight +is, and how grateful he was or is for relief and +sympathy.</p> + +<p><i>Thirdly</i>, It is his duty to be <i>true</i> to you. True +in word and in deed. He ought to speak nothing +but the truth, as to the nature, and extent, and +issues of the disease he is treating; but he is not +bound, as I said you were, to tell <i>the whole truth</i>,—that +is for his own wisdom and discretion to +judge of; only, never let him tell an untruth, and +let him be honest enough, when he can't say anything +definite, to say nothing. It requires some +courage to confess our ignorance, but it is worth it. +As to the question, often spoken of,—telling a +man he is dying,—the Doctor must, in the first<span class="pagenum">[37]</span> +place, be sure the patient is dying; and, secondly, +that it is for his good, bodily and mental, to tell +him so: he should almost always warn the friends, +but, even here, cautiously.</p> + +<p><i>Fourthly</i>, It is his duty to <i>keep your secrets</i>. +There are things a Doctor comes to know and is +told which no one but he and the Judge of all +should know; and he is a base man, and unworthy +to be in such a noble profession as that of healing, +who can betray what he knows must injure, and in +some cases may ruin.</p> + +<p><i>Fifthly</i>, It is his duty to <i>warn</i> you against what +is injuring your health. If he finds his patient has +brought disease upon himself by sin, by drink, by +overwork, by over-eating, by over-anything, it is +his duty to say so plainly and firmly, and the same +with regard to the treatment of children by their +parents; the family doctor should forewarn them; +he should explain, as far as he is able and they can +comprehend them, the Laws of Health, and so tell +them how to <i>prevent disease</i>, as well as do his best +to <i>cure</i> it. What a great and rich field there is +here for our profession, if they and the public could +only work well together! In this, those queer, +half-daft, half-wise beings, the Chinese, take a wiser +way; they pay their Doctor for keeping them well, +and they stop his pay as long as they are ill!</p> + +<p><i>Sixthly</i>, It is his duty to be <i>grateful</i> to you; +1st, for employing him, whether you pay him in<span class="pagenum">[38]</span> +money or not, for a Doctor, worth being one, makes +capital, makes knowledge, and therefore power, out +of every case he has; 2dly, for obeying him and +getting better. I am always very much obliged to +my patients for being so kind as to be better, and +for saying so; for many are ready enough to say +they are worse, not so many to say they are better, +even when they are; and you know our Scotch +way of saying, "I'm no that ill," when "I" is +in high health, or, "I'm no ony waur," when +"I" is much better. Don't be niggards in this; +it cheers the Doctor's heart, and it will lighten +yours.</p> + +<p><i>Seventhly</i>, and lastly, It is the Doctor's duty <i>to +keep his time and his temper</i> with you. Any man +or woman who knows how longed for a doctor's +visit is, and counts on it to a minute, knows how +wrong, how painful, how angering it is for the +Doctor not to keep his time. Many things may +occur, for his urgent cases are often sudden, to put +him out of his reckoning; but it is wonderful what +method, and real consideration, and a strong will +can do in this way. I never found Dr. Abercrombie +a minute after or <i>before</i> his time (both are bad, +though one is the worser), and yet if I wanted him +in a hurry, and stopped his carriage in the street, +he could always go with me at once; he had the +knack and the principle of being true in his times, +for it is often a matter of <i>truth</i>. And the Doctor<span class="pagenum">[39]</span> +must keep his <i>temper</i>: this is often worse to manage +than even his time, there is so much unreason, +and ingratitude, and peevishness, and impertinence, +and impatience, that it is very hard to keep one's +tongue and eye from being angry: and sometimes +the Doctor does not only well, but the best, when +he is downrightly angry, and astonishes some fool, +or some insolent, or some untruth doing or saying +patient; but the Doctor should be patient with his +patients, he should bear with them, knowing how +much they are at the moment suffering. Let us +remember Him who is full of compassion, whose +compassion never fails; whose tender mercies are +new to us every morning, as his faithfulness is every +night; who healed all manner of diseases, and was +kind to the unthankful and the evil; what would +become of us, if he were as impatient with us as +we often are with each other? If you want to be +impressed with the Almighty's infinite loving-kindness +and tender mercy, his forbearance, his long-suffering +patience, his slowness to anger, his Divine +ingeniousness in trying to find it possible to +spare and save, think of the Israelites in the desert, +and read the chapter where Abraham intercedes +with God for Sodom, and these wonderful "peradventures."</p> + +<p>But I am getting tedious, and keeping you and +myself too long, so good night. Let the Doctor +and you be honest and grateful, and kind and cordial,<span class="pagenum">[40]</span> +in one word, dutiful to each other, and you +will each be the better of the other.</p> + +<p>I may by and by say a word or two to you on +your <i>Health</i>, which is your wealth, that by which +you are and do well, and on your <i>Children</i>, and +how to guide it and them.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/fig038.png" width="200" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<span class="pagenum">[41]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/fig039ai.png" width="400" alt="" /> +</div> + +<h2><a name="SERMON_III" id="SERMON_III"></a>SERMON III.</h2> + +<p class="h3">CHILDREN, AND HOW TO GUIDE THEM.</p> + +<p><img class="dropimg" src="images/img-o.png" width="50" alt="" /> +<span class="hide">O</span><b>UR</b> text at this time is Children and their +treatment, or as it sounds better to our +ears, Bairns, and how to guide them. +You all know the wonder and astonishment there is +in a house among its small people when a baby is +born; how they stare at the new arrival with its +red face. Where does it come from? Some tell +them it comes from the garden, from a certain kind +of cabbage; some from "Rob Rorison's bonnet," +of which wha hasna heard? some from that famous +wig of Charlie's, in which the cat kittled, when +there was three o' them leevin', and three o' them +dead; and you know the Doctor is often said to +bring the new baby in his pocket; and many a +time have my pockets been slyly examined by the +curious youngsters,—especially the girls!—in +hopes of finding another baby. But I'll tell you +where all the babies come from; <i>they all come from</i><span class="pagenum">[42]</span> +<i>God</i>; his hand made and fashioned them; he +breathed into their nostrils the breath of life,—of +his life. He said, "Let this little child be," and +it was. A child is a true creation; its soul, certainly, +and in a true sense, its body too. And as +our children came from him, so they are going +back to him, and he lends them to us as keepsakes; +we are to keep and care for them for his +sake. What a strange and sacred thought this is! +Children are God's gifts to us, and it depends on +our guiding of them, not only whether they are +happy here, but whether they are happy hereafter +in that great unchangeable eternity, into which you +and I and all of us are fast going. I once asked a +little girl, "Who made you?" and she said, holding +up her apron as a measure, "God make me that +length, and I growed the rest myself." Now this, +as you know, was not quite true, for she could not +grow one half-inch by herself. God makes us grow +as well as makes us at first. But what I want you +to fix in your minds is, that children come from +God, and are returning to him, and that you and I, +who are parents, have to answer to him for the +way we behave to our dear children,—the kind of +care we take of them.</p> + +<p>Now, a child consists, like ourselves, of a body +and a soul. I am not going to say much about the +guiding of the souls of children,—that is a little +out of my line,—but I may tell you that the soul,<span class="pagenum">[43]</span> +especially in children, depends much, for its good +and for its evil, for its happiness or its misery, upon +the kind of body it lives in: for the body is just +the house that the soul dwells in; and you know +that, if a house be uncomfortable, the tenant of it +will be uncomfortable and out of sorts; if its windows +let the rain and wind in, if the chimney smoke, +if the house be damp, and if there be a want of +good air, then the people who live in it will be miserable +enough; and if they have no coals, and no +water, and no meat, and no beds, then you may be +sure it will soon be left by its inhabitants. And so, +if you don't do all you can to make your children's +bodies healthy and happy, their souls will get miserable +and cankered and useless, their tempers peevish; +and if you don't feed and clothe them right, +then their poor little souls will leave their ill-used +bodies,—will be starved out of them; and many a +man and woman have had their tempers, and their +minds and hearts, made miseries to themselves, and +all about them, just from a want of care of their +bodies when children.</p> + +<p>There is something very sad, and, in a true sense, +very unnatural, in an unhappy child. You and I, +grown-up people, who have cares, and have had sorrows +and difficulties and sins, may well be dull and sad +sometimes; it would be still sadder, if we were not +often so; but children should be always either laughing +and playing, or eating and sleeping. Play is<span class="pagenum">[44]</span> +their business. You cannot think how much useful +knowledge, and how much valuable bodily exercise, +a child teaches itself in its play; and look how +merry the young of other animals are: the kitten +making fun of everything, even of its sedate mother's +tail and whiskers; the lambs, running races in +their mirth; even the young asses,—the baby-cuddie,—how +pawky and droll and happy he looks +with his fuzzy head, and his laughing eyes, and his +long legs, stot, stotting after that venerable and <i>sair +nauden-doun lady</i>, with the long ears, his mother. +One thing I like to see, is a child clean in the morning. +I like to see its plump little body well washed, +and sweet and <i>caller</i> from top to bottom. But +there is another thing I like to see, and that is a +child dirty at night. I like a <i>steerin' bairn</i>,—goo-gooin', +crowing and kicking, keeping everybody +alive. Do you remember William Miller's song +of "Wee Willie Winkie?" Here it is. I think +you will allow, especially you who are mothers, that +it is capital.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Wee Willie Winkie<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rins through the toun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Up stairs an' doon stairs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In his nicht-goun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tirlin' at the window,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crying at the lock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Are the weans in their bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For it's noo ten o'clock?'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'Hey Willie Winkie,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are ye comin' ben!<span class="pagenum">[45]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cat's singin' gray thrums<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the sleepin' hen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dog's speldert on the floor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And disna gi'e a cheep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But here's a waakrife laddie!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That winna fa' asleep.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'Onything but sleep, you rogue!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Glow'rin' like the moon!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rattlin' in an airn jug<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wi' an airn spoon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rumblin', tumblin' roun' about,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crawin' like a cock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Skirlin' like a kenna-what,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wauk'nin' sleepin' folk.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'Hey, Willie Winkie,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wean's in a creel!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wamblin' aff a bodie's knee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a verra eel,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ruggin' at the cat's lug,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ravelin' a' her thrums,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hey, Willie Winkie,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">See, there he comes!'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Wearied is the mither<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That has a stoorie wean,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A wee stumpie stousie,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wha canna rin his lane,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That has a battle aye wi' sleep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Afore he'll close an e'e,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But ae kiss frae aff his rosy lips<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gi'es strength anew to me."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Is not this good? first-rate! The cat singin' +gray thrums, and the wee stumpie stousie, ruggin' +at her lug, and ravlin' a' her thrums; and then<span class="pagenum">[46]</span> +what a din he is making!—rattlit' in an airn jug +wi' an airn spoon, skirlin' like a kenna-what, and +ha'in' a battle aye wi' sleep. What a picture of a +healthy and happy child!</p> + +<p>Now, I know how hard it is for many of you to +get meat for your children, and clothes for them, +and bed and bedding for them at night, and I know +how you have to struggle for yourselves and them, +and how difficult it often is for you to take all the +care you would like to do of them, and you will believe +me when I say, that it is a far greater thing, because +a far harder thing, for a poor, struggling, and +it may be weakly woman in your station, to bring +up her children comfortably, than for those who are +richer; but still you may do a great deal of good +at little cost either of money or time or trouble. +And it is well-wared pains; it will bring you in +two hundred percent in real comfort, and profit, +and credit; and so you will, I am sure, listen good-naturedly +to me, when I go over some plain and +simple things about the health of your children.</p> + +<p>To begin with their <i>heads</i>. You know the head +contains the brain, which is the king of the body, +and commands all under him; and it depends on his +being good or bad whether his subjects,—the legs, +and arms, and body, and stomach, and our old friends +the bowels, are in good order and happy, or not. +Now, first of all, keep the head cool. Nature has +given it a nightcap of her own in the hair, and it<span class="pagenum">[47]</span> +is the best. And keep the head clean. Give it a +good scouring every Saturday night at the least; and +if it get sore and scabbit, the best thing I know for +it is to wash it with soft soap (black soap), and put +a big cabbage-blade on it every night. Then for +the <i>lungs</i>, or <i>lichts</i>,—the bellows that keep the +fire of life burning,—they are very busy in children, +because a child is not like grown-up folk, merely +keeping itself up. It is doing this, and growing +too; and so it eats more, and sleeps more, and +breathes more in proportion than big folk. And +to carry on all this business it must have fresh air, +and lots of it. So, whenever it can be managed, a +child should have a good while every day in the +open air, and should have well-aired places to sleep +in. Then for their <i>nicht-gowns</i>, the best are long +flannel gowns; and children should be always more +warmly clad than grown-up people,—cold kills +them more easily. Then there is the <i>stomach</i>, and +as this is the kitchen and great manufactory, it is +almost always the first thing that goes wrong in +children, and generally as much from too much being +put in, as from its food being of an injurious +kind. A baby, for nine months after it is born, +should have almost nothing but its mother's milk. +This is God's food, and it is the best and the cheapest, +too. If the baby be healthy it should be weaned +or spained at nine or ten months; and this should +be done gradually, giving the baby a little gruel, or<span class="pagenum">[48]</span> +new milk, and water and sugar, or thin bread-berry +once a day for some time, so as gradually to wean it. +This makes it easier for mother as well as baby. +No child should get meat or hard things till it gets +teeth to chew them, and no baby should ever get a +drop of whiskey, or any strong drink, unless by the +Doctor's orders. Whiskey, to the soft, tender stomach +of an infant, is like vitriol to ours; it is a burning +poison to its dear little body, as it may be a burning +poison and a curse to its never-dying soul. As you +value your children's health of body, and the salvation +of their souls, never give them a drop of whiskey; +and let mothers, above all others, beware of +drinking when nursing. The whiskey passes from +their stomachs into their milk, and poisons their +own child. This is a positive fact. And think of +a drunk woman carrying and managing a child! I +was once, many years ago, walking in Lothian Street, +when I saw a woman staggering along very drunk. +She was carrying a child; it was lying over her +shoulder. I saw it slip, slippin' farther and farther +back. I ran, and cried out; but before I could get +up, the poor little thing, smiling over its miserable +mother's shoulder, fell down, like a stone, on its head +on the pavement; it gave a gasp, and turned up its +blue eyes, and had a convulsion, and its soul was +away to God, and its little soft, waefu' body lying +dead, and its idiotic mother grinning and staggering +over it, half seeing the dreadful truth, then forgetting<span class="pagenum">[49]</span> +it, and cursing and swearing. That was a +sight! so much misery, and wickedness, and ruin. +It was the young woman's only child. When she +came to herself, she became mad, and is to this day +a drivelling idiot, and goes about forever seeking for +her child, and cursing the woman who killed it. +This is a true tale, too true.</p> + +<p>There is another practice which I must notice, +and that is giving children laudanum to make them +sleep, and keep them quiet, and for coughs and +windy pains. Now, this is a most dangerous thing. +I have often been called in to see children who +were dying, and who did die, from laudanum given +in this way. I have known four drops to kill a +child a month old; and ten drops one a year old. +The best rule, and one you should stick to, as under +God's eye as well as the law's, is, never to give +laudanum without a Doctor's line or order. And +when on this subject, I would also say a word about +the use of opium and laudanum among yourselves. +I know this is far commoner among the poor in +Edinburgh than is thought. But I assure you, +from much experience, that the drunkenness and +stupefaction from the use of laudanum is even worse +than that from whiskey. The one poisons and +makes mad the body; the other, the laudanum, +poisons the mind, and makes it like an idiot's. So, +in both matters beware; death is in the cup, murder +is in the cup, and poverty and the workhouse,<span class="pagenum">[50]</span> +and the gallows, and an awful future of pain and +misery,—all are in the cup. These are the wages +the Devil pays his servants with for doing his work.</p> + +<p>But to go back to the bairns. At first a word +on our old friends, the bowels. Let them alone +as much as you can. They will put themselves +and keep themselves right, if you take care to prevent +wrong things going into the stomach. No +sour apples, or raw turnips or carrots; no sweeties +or tarts, and all that kind of abomination; no +tea, to draw the sides of their tender little stomachs +together; no whiskey, to kill their digestion; no +<i>Gundy</i>, or <i>Taffy</i>, or <i>Lick</i>, or <i>Black Man</i>, or <i>Jib</i>; +the less sugar and sweet things the better; the +more milk and butter and fat the better; but plenty +of plain, halesome food, parritch and milk, bread +and butter, potatoes and milk, good broth,—kail as +we call it. You often hear of the wonders of cod-liver +oil, and they are wonders; poor little wretches +who have faces like old puggies, and are all belly +and no legs, and are screaming all day and all night +too,—these poor little wretches under the cod-liver +oil, get sonsy, and rosy, and fat, and happy, +and strong. Now, this is greatly because the cod-liver +oil is capital <i>food</i>. If you can't afford to get +cod-liver oil for delicate children, or if they reject +it, give them plain olive oil, a tablespoonful twice +a day, and take one to yourself, and you will be +astonished how you will both of you thrive.<span class="pagenum">[51]</span></p> + +<p>Some folk will tell you that children's feet should +be always kept warm. I say no. No healthy child's +feet are warm; but the great thing is to keep the +body warm. That is like keeping the fire good, +and the room will be warm. The chest, the breast, +is the place where the fire of the body,—the heating +apparatus,—is, and if you keep it warm, and +give <i>it</i> plenty of fuel, which is fresh air and good +food, you need not mind about the feetikins, they +will mind themselves; indeed, for my own part, I +am so ungenteel as to think bare feet and bare legs +in summer the most comfortable wear, costing +much less than leather and worsted, the only kind +of soles that are always fresh. As to the moral +training of children, I need scarcely speak to you. +What people want about these things is, not knowledge, +but the will to do what is right,—what they +know to be right, and the moral power to do it.</p> + +<p>Whatever you wish your child to be, be it yourself. +If you wish it to be happy, healthy, sober, +truthful, affectionate, honest, and godly, be yourself +all these. If you wish it to be lazy and sulky, and +a liar, and a thief, and a drunkard, and a swearer, +be yourself all these. As the old cock crows, the +young cock learns. You will remember who said, +"Train up a child in the way he should go, and +when he is old he will not depart from it." And +you may, as a general rule, as soon expect to gather +grapes from thorns, and figs from thistles, as get<span class="pagenum">[52]</span> +good, healthy, happy children from diseased and +lazy and wicked parents.</p> + +<p>Let me put you in mind, seriously, of one thing +that you ought to get done to all your children, +and that is, to have them vaccinated, or inoculated +with the cow-pock. The best time for this +is two months after birth, but better late than +never, and in these times you need never have any +excuse for its not being done. You have only to +take your children to the Old or the New Town +Dispensaries. It is a real crime, I think, in parents +to neglect this. It is cruel to their child, +and it is a crime to the public. If every child in +the world were vaccinated, which might be managed +in few years, that loathsome and deadly disease, +the small-pox, would disappear from the face of the +earth; but many people are so stupid, and so lazy, +and so prejudiced, as to neglect this plain duty, till +they find to their cost that it is too late. So promise +me, all seriously in your hearts, to see to this if +it is not done already, and see to it immediately.</p> + +<p>Be always frank and open with your children. +Make them trust you and tell you all their secrets. +Make them feel at ease with you, and make <i>free</i> +with them. There is no such good plaything for +grown-up children like you and me as <i>weans</i>, wee +ones. It is wonderful what you can get them to do +with a little coaxing and fun. You all know this as +well as I do, and you all practise it every day in your<span class="pagenum">[53]</span> +own families. Here is a pleasant little story out of +an old book. "A gentleman having led a company +of children beyond their usual journey, they began +to get weary, and all cried to him to carry them on +his back, but because of their multitude he could +not do this. 'But,' says he, 'I'll get horses for us +all'; then cutting little wands out of the hedge as +ponies for them, and a great stake as a charger for +himself, this put mettle in their little legs, and they +rode cheerily home." So much for a bit of ingenious +fun.</p> + +<p>One thing, however poor you are, you can give +your children, and that is your prayers, and they +are, if real and humble, worth more than silver or +gold,—more than food and clothing, and have often +brought from our Father who is in heaven, and hears +our prayers, both money and meat and clothes, and +all worldly good things. And there is one thing you +can always teach your child; you may not yourself +know how to read or write, and therefore you may +not be able to teach your children how to do these +things; you may not know the names of the stars +or their geography, and may therefore not be able +to tell them how far you are from the sun, or +how big the moon is; nor be able to tell +them the way to Jerusalem or Australia, but you +may always be able to tell them who made the +stars and numbered them, and you may tell them +the road to heaven. You may always teach them to<span class="pagenum">[54]</span> +pray. Some weeks ago, I was taken out to see the +mother of a little child. She was very dangerously +ill, and the nurse had left the child to come and help +me. I went up to the nursery to get some hot +water, and in the child's bed I saw something raised +up. This was the little fellow under the bedclothes +kneeling. I said, "What are you doing?" "I am +praying God to make mamma better," said he. God +likes these little prayers and these little people,—for +of such is the kingdom of heaven. These are +his little ones, his lambs, and he hears their cry; +and it is enough if they only lisp their prayers. +"Abba, Father," is all he needs; and our prayers +are never so truly prayers as when they are most +like children's in simplicity, in directness, in perfect +fulness of reliance. "They pray right up," as +black Uncle Tom says in that wonderful book, which +I hope you have all read and wept over.</p> + +<p>I forgot to speak about punishing children. I +am old-fashioned enough to uphold the ancient practice +of warming the young bottoms with some +sharpness, if need be; it is a wholesome and capital +application, and does good to the bodies, and the +souls too, of the little rebels, and it is far less cruel +than being sulky, as some parents are, and keeping +up a grudge at their children. Warm the bott, say +I, and you will warm the heart too; and all goes +right.</p> + +<p>And now I must end. I have many things I could<span class="pagenum">[55]</span> +say to you, but you have had enough of me and my +bairns, I am sure. Go home, and when you see the +little curly pows on their pillows, sound asleep, pour +out a blessing on them, and ask our Saviour to make +them his; and never forget what we began with, +that they came from God, and are going back to +him, and let the light of eternity fall upon them as +they lie asleep, and may you resolve to dedicate them +and yourselves to him who died for them and for us +all, and who was once himself a little child, and +sucked the breasts of a woman, and who said that +awful saying, "Whosoever shall offend one of these +little ones, it had been better for him that a millstone +were hanged about his neck, and that he were +drowned in the midst of the sea."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 150px;"> +<img src="images/fig053.png" width="150" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<span class="pagenum">[56]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/fig013a.png" width="400" alt="" /> +</div> + +<h2><a name="SERMON_IV" id="SERMON_IV"></a>SERMON IV.</h2> + +<p class="h3">HEALTH.</p> + +<p><img class="dropimg" src="images/img-m.png" width="50" alt="" /> +<span class="hide">M</span><b>Y DEAR FRIENDS</b>,—I am going to +give you a sort of sermon about your +health,—and you know a sermon has +always a text; so, though I am only a doctor, I +mean to take a text for ours, and I will choose it, as +our good friends the ministers do, from that best of +all books, the Bible. Job ii. 4: "All that a man +hath will he give for his life."</p> + +<p>This, you know, was said many thousands of years +ago by the Devil, when, like a base and impudent +fellow, as he always was and is, he came into the +presence of the great God, along with the good +angels. Here, for once in his life, the Devil spoke +the truth and shamed himself.</p> + +<p>What he meant, and what I wish you now seriously +to consider, is, that a man—you or I—will +lose anything sooner than life; we would give everything +for it, and part with all the money, everything +we had, to keep away death and to lengthen our days.<span class="pagenum">[57]</span> +If you had £500 in a box at home, and knew that +you would certainly be dead by to-morrow unless +you gave the £500, would you ever make a doubt +about what you would do? Not you! And if you +were told that if you got drunk, or worked too hard, +or took no sort of care of your bodily health, you +would turn ill to-morrow and die next week, would +you not keep sober, and work more moderately, and +be more careful of yourself?</p> + +<p>Now, I want to make you believe that you are too +apt to do this very same sort of thing in your daily +life, only that instead of to-morrow or next week, +your illness and your death comes next year, or at +any rate, some years sooner than otherwise. <i>But +your death is actually preparing already, and that +by your own hands</i>, by your own ignorance, and +often by your own foolish and sinful neglect and +indulgence. A decay or rottenness spreads through +the beams of a house, unseen and unfeared, and +then, by and by down it comes, and is utterly destroyed. +So it is with our bodies. You plant, by +sin and neglect and folly, the seeds of disease by +your own hands; and as surely as the harvest comes +after the seed-time, so will you reap the harvest of +pain, and misery, and death. And remember there +is nobody to whom health is so valuable, is worth so +much, as the poor laboring man; it is his stock-in-trade, +his wealth, his capital; his bodily strength +and skill are the main things he can make his living<span class="pagenum">[58]</span> +by, and therefore he should take better care of his +body and its health than a rich man; for a rich man +may be laid up in his bed for weeks and months, +and yet his business may go on, for he has means +to pay his men for working under him, or he may +be what is called "living on his money." But if a +poor man takes fever, or breaks his leg, or falls into +a consumption, his wife and children soon want +food and clothes: and many a time do I see on the +streets poor, careworn men, dying by inches of consumption, +going to and from their work, when, poor +fellows, they should be in their beds; and all this +just because they cannot afford to be ill and to lie +out of work,—they cannot spare the time and the +wages.</p> + +<p>Now, don't you think, my dear friends, that it is +worth your while to attend to your health? If you +were a carter or a coach-driver, and had a horse, +would you not take care to give him plenty of corn, +and to keep his stable clean and well aired, and to +curry his skin well, and you would not kill him with +overwork, for, besides the cruelty, this would be a +dead loss to you,—it would be so much out of your +pocket? And don't you see that God has given you +your bodies to work with, and to please him with +their diligence; and it is ungrateful to him, as well +as unkind and wicked to your family and yourself, to +waste your bodily strength, and bring disease and +death upon yourselves? But you will say, "How<span class="pagenum">[59]</span> +can we make a better of it? We live from hand to +mouth; we can't have fine houses and warm clothes, +and rich food and plenty of it." No, I know that; +but if you have not a fine house, you may always +have a clean one, and fresh air costs nothing,—God +gives it to all his children without stint,—and +good plain clothes and meal may now be had +cheaper than ever.</p> + +<p>Health is a word that you all have some notion of, +but you will perhaps have a clearer idea of it when I +tell you what the word comes from. Health was +long ago <i>wholth</i>, and comes from the word <i>whole</i> or +<i>hale</i>. The Bible says, "They that are whole need +not a physician"; that is, healthy people have no +need of a doctor. Now, a man is whole when, like +a bowl or any vessel, he is entire, and has nothing +broken about him; he is like a watch that goes well, +neither too fast nor too slow. But you will perhaps +say, "You doctors should be able to put us all to +rights, just as a watchmaker can clean and sort a +watch; if you can't, what are you worth?" But +the difference between a man and a watch is, that +you must try to mend the man when he is going. +You can't stop him and then set him agoing; and, +you know, it would be no joke to a watchmaker, or +to the watch, to try and clean it while it was going. +But God, who does everything like himself, with +his own perfectness, has put inside each of our bodies +a Doctor of his own making,—one wiser than<span class="pagenum">[60]</span> +we with all our wisdom. Every one of us has in +himself a power of keeping and setting his health +right. If a man is overworked, God has ordained +that he desires rest, and that rest cures him. If he +lives in a damp, close place, free and dry air cures +him. If he eats too much, fasting cures him. If +his skin is dirty, a good scrubbing and a bit of yellow +soap will put him all to rights.</p> + +<p>What we call disease or sickness is the opposite +of health, and it comes on us,—1st. By descent +from our parents. It is one of the surest of all legacies; +if a man's father and mother are diseased, +naturally or artificially, he will have much chance +to be as bad, or worse. 2dly. Hard work brings on +disease, and some kinds of work more than others. +Masons who hew often fall into consumption; +laborers get rheumatism, or what you call "the +pains"; painters get what is called their colic, from +the lead in the paint, and so on. In a world like +ours, this set of causes of disease and ill health cannot +be altogether got the better of; and it was God's +command, after Adam's sin, that men should toil +and sweat for their daily bread; but more than the +half of the bad effects of hard work and dangerous +employments might be prevented by a little plain +knowledge, attention, and common sense. 3dly. +Sin, wickedness, foolish and excessive pleasures, are +a great cause of disease. Thousands die from drinking, +and from following other evil courses. There<span class="pagenum">[61]</span> +is no life so hard, none in which the poor body +comes so badly off, and is made so miserable, as the +life of a drunkard or a dissolute man. I need +hardly tell you, that this cause of death and disease +you can all avoid. I don't say it is easy for any +man in your circumstances to keep from sin; he is +a foolish or ignorant man who says so, and that +there are no temptations to drinking. You are +much less to blame for doing this than people who +are better off; but you <span class="smcap">CAN</span> keep from drinking, +and you know as well as I do, how much better and +happier, and healthier and richer and more respectable +you will be if you do so. 4thly and lastly. +Disease and death are often brought on from ignorance, +from not knowing what are called the <i>laws +of health</i>,—those easy, plain, common things which, +if you do, you will live long, and which, if you do +not do, you will die soon.</p> + +<p>Now, I would like to make a few simple statements +about this to you; and I will take the body +bit by bit, and tell you some things that you should +know and do in order to keep this wonderful house +that your soul lives in, and by the deeds done in +which you will one day be judged,—and which is +God's gift and God's handiwork,—clean and comfortable, +hale, strong, and hearty; for you know +that, besides doing good to ourselves and our family +and our neighbors with our bodily labor, we are told +that we should glorify God in our bodies as well as<span class="pagenum">[62]</span> +in our souls, for they are his, more his than ours,—he +has bought them by the blood of his Son +Jesus Christ. We are not our own, we are bought +with a price; therefore ought we to glorify God +with our souls and with our bodies, which are +his.</p> + +<p>Now, first, for <i>the skin</i>. You should take great +care of it, for on its health a great deal depends; +keep it clean, keep it warm, keep it dry, give it air; +have a regular scrubbing of all your body every +Saturday night; and, if you can manage it, you +should every morning wash not only your face, but +your throat and breast, with cold water, and rub +yourself quite dry with a hard towel till you glow +all over. You should keep your hair short if you +are men; it saves you a great deal of trouble and +dirt.</p> + +<p>Then, the inside of your <i>head</i>,—you know what +is inside your head,—your brain; you know how +useful it is to you. The cleverest pair of hands +among you would be of little use without brains: +they would be like a body without a soul, a watch +with the mainspring broken. Now, you should +consider what is best for keeping the brain in good +trim. One thing of great consequence is <i>regular +sleep, and plenty of it</i>. Every man should have at +the least eight hours in his bed every four-and-twenty +hours, and let him sleep all the time if he +can; but even if he lies awake it is a rest to his<span class="pagenum">[63]</span> +wearied brain, as well as to his wearied legs and +arms. <i>Sleep is the food of the brain.</i> Men may +go mad and get silly, if they go long without sleep. +Too much sleep is bad; but I need hardly warn you +against that, or against too much meat. You are +in no great danger from these.</p> + +<p>Then, again, whiskey and all kinds of intoxicating +liquors in excess are just so much poison to the +brain. I need not say much about this, you all +know it; and we all know what dreadful things +happen when a man poisons his brain and makes +it mad, and like a wild beast with drink; he may +murder his wife, or his child, and when he comes +to himself he knows nothing of how he did it, only +the terrible thing is certain, that he <i>did</i> do it, and +that he may be hanged for doing something when +he was mad, and which he never dreamt of doing +when in his senses: but then he knows that he +made himself mad, and he must take all the wretched +and tremendous consequences.</p> + +<p>From the brains we go to the <i>lungs</i>,—you know +where they are,—they are what the butchers call +the <i>lichts</i>; here they are, they are the bellows that +keep the fire of life going; for you must know +that a clever German philosopher has made out +that we are all really burning,—that our bodies +are warmed by a sort of burning or combustion, as +it is called,—and fed by breath and food, as a fire +is fed with coals and air.<span class="pagenum">[64]</span></p> + +<p>Now the great thing for the lungs is plenty of +fresh air, and plenty of room to play in. About +seventy thousand people die every year in Britain +from that disease of the lungs called consumption,—that +is, nearly half the number of people in the city +of Edinburgh; and it is certain that more than +the half of these deaths could be prevented if the +lungs had fair play. So you should always try to +get your houses well ventilated, that means to let +the air be often changed, and free from impure +mixtures; and you should avoid crowding many +into one room, and be careful to keep everything +clean, and put away all filth; for filth is not only +disgusting to the eye and the nose, but is dangerous +to the health. I have seen a great deal of cholera, +and been surrounded by dying people, who +were beyond any help from doctors, and I have +always found that where the air was bad, the rooms +ill ventilated, cleanliness neglected, and drunkenness +prevailed, there this terrible scourge, which God +sends upon us, was most terrible, most rapidly and +widely destructive. Believe this, and go home and +consider well what I now say, for you may be sure +it is true.</p> + +<p>Now we come to the <i>heart</i>. You all know where +it is. It is the most wonderful little pump in the +world. There is no steam-engine half so clever at +its work, or so strong. There it is in every one +of us, beat, beating,—all day and all night, year<span class="pagenum">[65]</span> +after year, never stopping, like a watch ticking; +only it never needs to be wound up,—God winds +it up once for all. It depends for its health on the +state of the rest of the body, especially the brains +and lungs. But all violent passions, all irregularities +of living, damage it. Exposure to cold when +drunk, falling asleep, as many poor wretches do, in +stairs all night,—this often brings on disease of +the heart; and you know it is not only dangerous +to have anything the matter with the heart, it is +the commonest of all causes of sudden death. It +gives no warning; you drop down dead in a moment. +So we may say of the bodily as well as of +the moral organ, "Keep your heart with all diligence; +for out of it are the issues of life."</p> + +<p>We now come to the <i>stomach</i>. You all know, I +dare say, where it lies! It speaks for itself. Our +friends in England are very respectful to their stomachs. +They make a great deal of them, and we +make too little. If an Englishman is ill, all the +trouble is in his stomach; if an Irishman is ill, it +is in his heart, and he's "kilt entirely"; and if a +Scotsman, it is in his "heed." Now, I wish I saw +Scots men and women as nice and particular about +their stomachs, or rather about what they put into +them, as their friends in England. Indeed, so +much does your genuine John Bull depend on his +stomach, and its satisfaction, that we may put in +his mouth the stout old lines of Prior:<span class="pagenum">[66]</span>—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The plainest man alive may tell ye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The seat of empire is the Belly:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From hence are sent out those supplies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which make us either stout or wise;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The strength of every other member<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is founded on your Belly-timber;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The qualms or raptures of your blood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rise in proportion to your food,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your stomach makes your fabric roll,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just as the bias rules the bowl:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That great Achilles might employ<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The strength designed to ruin Troy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He dined on lions' marrow, spread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On toasts of ammunition bread;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But by his mother sent away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amongst the Thracian girls to play,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Effeminate he sat and quiet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strange product of a cheese-cake diet.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Observe the various operations,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of food and drink in several nations.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was ever Tartar fierce or cruel,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the strength of water-gruel?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But who shall stand his rage and force,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If first he rides, then eats his horse!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Salads and eggs, and lighter fare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Turn the Italian spark's guitar;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And if I take Dan Congreve right,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pudding and beef make Britons fight."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Good cooking is the beauty of a dinner. It +really does a man as much good again if he eats his +food with a relish, and with a little attention, it is +as easy to cook well as ill. And let me tell the +wives, that your husbands would like you all the +better, and be less likely to go off to the public-house,<span class="pagenum">[67]</span> +if their bit of meat or their drop of broth +were well cooked. Laboring men should eat well. +They should, if possible, have meat—<i>butcher-meat</i>—ever +day. Good broth is a capital dish. But, +above all, keep whiskey out of your stomachs; it +really plays the very devil when it gets in. It +makes the brain mad, it burns the coats of the stomach; +it turns the liver into a lump of rottenness; it +softens and kills the heart; it makes a man an +idiot and a brute. If you really need anything +stronger than good meat, take a pot of wholesome +porter or ale; but I believe you are better without +even that. You will be all the better able to afford +good meat, and plenty of it.</p> + +<p>With regard to your <i>bowels</i>,—a very important +part of your interior,—I am not going to say much, +except that neglect of them brings on many diseases; +and laboring men are very apt to neglect +them. Many years ago, an odd old man, at Green-cock, +left at his death a number of sealed packets to +his friends, and on opening them they found a Bible, +£50, and a box of pills, and the words, "Fear God, +and keep your bowels open." It was good advice, +though it might have been rather more decorously +worded. If you were a doctor, you would be astonished +how many violent diseases of the mind, as +well as of the body, are produced by irregularity of +the bowels. Many years ago, an old minister, near +Linlithgow, was wakened out of his sleep to go to<span class="pagenum">[68]</span> +see a great lady in the neighborhood who was +thought dying, and whose mind was in dreadful +despair, and who wished to see him immediately. +The old man, rubbing his eyes, and pushing up his +Kilmarnock nightcap, said, "And when were her +leddyship's booels opened?" And finding, after +some inquiry, that they were greatly in arrears, "I +thocht sae. Rax me ower that pill-box on the +chimney-piece, and gie my compliments to Leddy +Margret, and tell her to tak thae twa pills, and +I'll be ower by and by mysel'." They did as he +bade them. They did their duty, and the pills did +theirs, and her leddyship was relieved, and she was +able at breakfast-time to profit by the Christian +advice of the good old man, which she could not +have done when her nerves were all wrong. The +old Greeks, who were always seeking after wisdom, +and didn't always find it, showed their knowledge +and sense in calling depression of mind Melancholy, +which means black bile. Leddy Margret's liver, +I have no doubt, had been distilling this perilous +stuff.</p> + +<p>My dear friends, there is one thing I have forgot +to mention, and that is about keeping common-stairs +clean; you know they are often abominably filthy, +and they aggravate fever, and many of your worst +and most deadly diseases; for you may keep your +own houses never so clean and tidy, but if the common-stair +is not kept clean too, all its foul air comes<span class="pagenum">[69]</span> +into your rooms, and into your lungs, and poisons +you. So let all in the stair resolve to keep it clean, +and well aired.</p> + +<p>But I must stop now. I fear I have wearied you. +You see I had nothing new to tell you. The great +thing in regulating and benefiting human life, is not +to find out new things, but to make the best of the +old things,—to live according to Nature, and the +will of Nature's God,—that great Being who bids +us call him our Father, and who is at this very +moment regarding each one of us with far more than +any earthly father's compassion and kindness, and +who would make us all happy if we would but do +his bidding, and take his road. He has given us +minds by which we may observe the laws he has +ordained in our bodies, and which are as regular and +as certain in their effects, and as discoverable by us +as the motions of the sun, moon, and stars in the +heavens; and we shall not only benefit ourselves +and live longer and work better and be happier, by +knowing and obeying these laws, from love to ourselves, +but we shall please him, we shall glorify +him, and make him our <i>Friend</i>,—only think of +that! and get his blessing, by taking care of our +health, from love to him, and a regard to his will, +in giving us these bodies of ours to serve him with, +and which he has, with his own almighty hands, +so fearfully and wonderfully made.</p> + +<p>I hope you will pardon my plainness in speaking<span class="pagenum">[70]</span> +to you. I am quite in earnest, and I have a deep +regard, I may say a real affection, for you; for I +know you well. I spent many of my early years +as a doctor in going about among you. I have +attended you long ago when ill; I have delivered +your wives, and been in your houses when death +was busy with you and yours, and I have seen your +fortitude, energy, and honest, hearty, generous kindness +to each other; your readiness to help your +neighbors with anything you have, and to share +your last sixpence and your last loaf with them. I +wish I saw half as much real neighborliness and +sympathy among what are called your betters. If +a poor man falls down in a fit on the street, who is +it that takes him up and carries him home, and gives +him what he needs? it is not the man with a fine +coat and gloves on,—it is the poor, dirty-coated, +hard-handed, warm-hearted laboring man.</p> + +<p>Keep a good hold of all these homely and sturdy +virtues, and add to them temperance and diligence, +cleanliness and thrift, good knowledge, and, above +all, the love and the fear of God, and you will not only +be happy yourselves, but you will make this great +and wonderful country of ours which rests upon you +still more wonderful and great.</p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<span class="pagenum">[71]</span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/fig013a.png" width="400" alt="" /> +</div> + +<h2><a name="SERMON_V" id="SERMON_V"></a>SERMON V.</h2> + +<p class="h3">MEDICAL ODDS AND ENDS.</p> + +<p><img class="dropimg" src="images/img-m.png" width="50" alt="" /> +<span class="hide">M</span><b>Y DEAR FRIENDS</b>,—We are going to +ring in now, and end our course. I will +be sorry and glad, and you will be the +same. We are this about everything. It is the proportion +that settles it. I am, upon the whole, as +we say, sorry, and I dare say on the whole you are +not glad. I dislike parting with anything or anybody +I like, for it is ten to one if we meet again.</p> + +<p>My text is, "<i>That His way may he known upon +earth; His saving health to all nations.</i>" You will +find it in that perfect little Psalm, the 67th. But +before taking it up, I will, as my dear father used to +say,—you all remember him, his keen eye and voice; +his white hair, and his grave, earnest, penetrating +look; and you should remember and possess his Canongate +Sermon to you,—"The Bible, what it is, what +it does, and what it deserves,"—well, he used to say, +let us <i>recapitulate</i> a little. It is a long and rather +kittle word, but it is the only one that we have. He +made it longer, but not less alive, by turning it into<span class="pagenum">[72]</span> +"a few recapitulatory remarks." What ground then +have we travelled over? <i>First</i>, our duties to and +about the Doctor; to call him in time, to trust him, +to obey him, to be grateful to, and to pay him with +our money and our hearts and our good word, if we +have all these; if we have not the first, with twice +as much of the others. <i>Second</i>, the Doctor's +duties to us. He should be able and willing to cure +us. That is what he is there for. He should be +sincere, attentive, and tender to us, keeping his time +and our secrets. We must tell him all we know +about our ailments and their causes, and he must +tell us all that is good for us to know, and no more. +<i>Third</i>, your duties to your children; to the wee +Willie Winkies and the little wifies that come toddlin' +hame. It is your duty to <i>mind</i> them. It is +a capital Scotch use of this word: they are to be in +your mind; you are to exercise your understanding +about them; to give them simple food; to keep +goodies and trash, and raw pears and whiskey, away +from their tender mouths and stomachs; to give +them that never-ending meal of good air, night and +day, which is truly food and fire to them and you; +to <i>be</i> good before as well as to them, to speak and +require the truth in love,—that is a wonderful expression, +isn't it?—the truth in love; that, if +acted on by us all, would bring the millennium next +week; to be plain and homely with them, never +<i>spaining</i> their minds from you. You are all sorry,<span class="pagenum">[73]</span> +you mothers, when you have to spain their mouths; it +is a dreadful business that to both parties; but there +is a spaining of the affections still more dreadful, +and that need never be, no, never, neither in this +world nor in that which is to come. Dr. Waugh, +of London, used to say to bereaved mothers, Rachels +weeping for their children, and refusing to be comforted, +for that simplest of all reasons, because they +were not, after giving them God's words of comfort, +clapping them on the shoulders, and fixing +his mild deep eyes on them (those who remember +those eyes well know what they could mean), "My +woman, your bairn is where it will have two fathers, +but never but one mother."</p> + +<p>You should also, when the time comes, explain +to your children what about their own health and +the ways of the world they ought to know, and for +the want of the timely knowledge of which many a +life and character has been lost. Show them, moreover, +the value you put upon health, by caring for +your own.</p> + +<p>Do your best to get your sons well married, and +soon. By "well married," I mean that they should +pair off old-fashionedly, for love, and marry what +deserves to be loved, as well as what is lovely. I +confess I think falling in love is the best way to +begin; but then the moment you fall, you should +get up and look about you, and see how the land +lies, and whether it is as goodly as it looks. I<span class="pagenum">[74]</span> +don't like walking into love, or being carried into +love; or, above all, being sold or selling yourself +into it, which, after all, is not it. And by "soon," +I mean as soon as they are keeping themselves; for +a wife, such a wife as alone I mean, is cheaper to a +young man than no wife, and is his best companion.</p> + +<p>Then for your duties to yourselves. See that you +make yourself do what is <i>immediately</i> just to your +body, feed it when it is really hungry; let it sleep +when it, not its master, desires sleep; make it +happy, poor hard-working fellow! and give it a +gambol when it wants it and deserves it, and as +long as it can execute it. Dancing is just the +music of the feet, and the gladness of the young +legs, and is well called the poetry of motion. It is +like all other natural pleasures, given to be used, +and to be not abused, either by yourself or by those +who don't like it, and don't enjoy your doing it,—shabby +dogs these, beware of them! And if this +be done, it is a good and a grace, as well as pleasure, +and satisfies some good end of our being, and +in its own way glorifies our Maker. Did you ever +see anything in this world more beautiful than the +lambs running races and dancing round the big +stone of the field; and does not your heart get +young when you hear,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Here we go by Jingo ring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jingo ring, Jingo ring;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here we go by Jingo ring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">About the merry ma tanzie."<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[75]</span></div></div> + +<p>This is just a dance in honor of poor old pagan +Jingo; measured movements arising from and +giving happiness. We have no right to keep ourselves +or others from natural pleasures; and we are +all too apt to interfere with and judge harshly the +pleasures of others; hence we who are stiff and +given to other pleasures, and who, now that we are +old, know the many wickednesses of the world, are +too apt to put the vices of the jaded, empty old +heart, like a dark and ghastly fire burnt out, into +the feet and the eyes, and the heart and the head +of the young. I remember a story of a good old +Antiburgher minister. It was in the days when +dancing was held to be a great sin, and to be dealt +with by the session. Jessie, a comely, and good, +and blithe young woman, a great favorite of the +minister's, had been guilty of dancing at a friend's +wedding. She was summoned before the session to +be "dealt with,"—the grim old fellows sternly +concentrating their eyes upon her, as she stood +trembling in her striped short-gown, and her pretty +bare feet. The Doctor, who was one of divinity, +and a deep thinker, greatly pitying her and himself, +said, "Jessie, my woman, were ye dancin'?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," sobbed Jessie.</p> + +<p>"Ye maun e'en promise never to dance again, +Jessie."</p> + +<p>"I wull, sir; I wull promise," with a courtesy.</p> + +<p>"Now, what were ye thinking o', Jessie, when<span class="pagenum">[76]</span> +ye were dancin'? tell us truly," said an old elder, +who had been a poacher in youth.</p> + +<p>"Nae ill, sir," sobbed out the dear little woman.</p> + +<p>"Then, Jessie, my woman, aye dance," cried the +delighted Doctor.</p> + +<p>And so say I, to the extent, that so long as our +young girls think "nae ill," they may dance their +own and their feet's fills; and so on with all the +round of the sunshine and flowers God has thrown +on and along the path of his children.</p> + +<p><i>Lastly</i>, your duty to your own bodies: to preserve +them; to make, or rather let—for they are +made so to go—their wheels go sweetly; to keep +the <i>girs</i> firm round the old barrel; neither to over +nor under work our bodies, and to listen to their +teaching and their requests, their cries of pain and +sorrow; and to keep them as well as your souls unspotted +from the world. If you want to know a +good book on Physiology, or the Laws of Health +and of Life, get Dr. Combe's <i>Physiology</i>; and let +all you mothers get his delightful <i>Management of +Infancy</i>. You will love him for his motherly +words. You will almost think he might have worn +petticoats,—for tenderness he might; but in mind +and will and eye he was every inch a man. It is +now long since he wrote, but I have seen nothing +so good since; he is so intelligent, so reverent, so +full of the solemnity, the sacredness, the beauty, and +joy of life, and its work; so full of sympathy for<span class="pagenum">[77]</span> +suffering, himself not ignorant of such evil,—for +the latter half of his life was a daily, hourly struggle +with death, fighting the destroyer from within +with the weapons of life, his brain and his conscience. +It is very little physiology that you require, +so that it is physiology, and is suitable for +your need. I can't say I like our common people, +or indeed, what we call our ladies and gentlemen, +poking curiously into all the ins and outs of our +bodies as a general accomplishment, and something +to talk of. No, I don't like it. I would rather they +chose some other <i>ology</i>. But let them get enough +to give them awe and love, light and help, guidance +and foresight.</p> + +<p>These, with good sense and good senses, humility, +and a thought of a hereafter in this world as well as +in the next, will make us as able to doctor ourselves—especially +to act in the <i>preventive service</i>, which +is your main region of power for good—as in this +mortal world we have any reason to expect. And +let us keep our hearts young, and they will keep our +legs and our arms the same. For we know now +that hearts are kept going by having strong, pure, +lively blood; if bad blood goes into the heart, it +gets angry, and shows this by beating at our +breasts, and frightening us; and sometimes it dies +of sheer anger and disgust, if its blood is poor or +poisoned, thin and white. "He may dee, but he'll +never grow auld," said a canty old wife of her old +minister, whose cheek was ruddy like an apple.<span class="pagenum">[78]</span></p> + +<p><i>Run for the Doctor</i>; don't saunter to him, or go +in, by the by, as an old elder of my father's did, +when his house was on fire. He was a perfect Nathanael, +and lived more in the next world than in +this, as you will soon see. One winter night he +slipped gently into his neighbor's cottage, and found +James Somerville reading aloud by the blaze of the +licht coal; he leant over the chair, and waited till +James closed the book, when he said, "By the by, +I am thinkin' ma hoose is on fire!" and out he and +they all ran, in time to see the auld biggin' fall in +with a glorious blaze. So it is too often when that +earthly house of ours—our cottage, our tabernacle—is +getting on fire. One moment your finger +would put out what in an hour all the waters of +Clyde would be too late for. If the Doctor is +needed, the sooner the better. If he is not, he can +tell you so, and you can rejoice that he had a needless +journey, and pay him all the more thankfully. +So run early and at once. How many deaths—how +many lives of suffering and incapacity—may +be spared by being in time! by being a day or two +sooner. With children this is especially the case, +and with workingmen in the full prime of life. A +mustard plaster, a leech, a pill, fifteen drops of Ipecacuanha +wine, a bran poultice, a hint, or a stitch +in time, may do all and at once, when a red-hot +iron, a basinful of blood, all the wisdom of our art, +and all the energy of the Doctor, all your tenderness<span class="pagenum">[79]</span> +and care, are in vain. Many a child's life is +saved by an emetic at night, who would be lost in +twelve hours. So send in time; it is just to your +child or the patient, and to yourself; it is just to +your Doctor; for I assure you we Doctors are often +sorry, and angry enough, when we find we are too +late. It affronts us, and our powers, besides affronting +life and all its meanings, and Him who gives it. +And we really <i>enjoy</i> curing; it is like running and +winning a race,—like hunting and finding and +killing our game. And then remember to go to +the Doctor early in the day, as well as in the disease. +I always like my patients to send and say +that they would like the Doctor "to call before he +goes out!" This is like an Irish message, you will +say; but there is "sinse" in it. Fancy a Doctor +being sent for, just as he is in bed, to see some one, +and on going he finds they had been thinking of +sending in the morning, and that he has to run neck +and neck with death, with the odds all against him.</p> + +<p>I now wind up with some other odds and ends. +I give you them as an old wife would empty her +pockets,—such wallets they used to be!—in no +regular order; here a bit of string, now a bit of +gingerbread, now an "aiple," now a bunch of keys, +now an old almanac, now three <i>bawbees</i> and a bad +shilling, a "wheen" buttons all marrowless, a +thimble, a bit of black sugar, and maybe at the +very bottom a "goold guinea."<span class="pagenum">[80]</span></p> + +<p><i>Shoes.</i>—It is amazing the misery the people of +civilization endure in and from their shoes. Nobody +is ever, as they should be, comfortable at once +in them; they hope in the long-run and after much +agony, and when they are nearly done, to make +them fit, especially if they can get them once well +wet, so that the mighty knob of the big toe may +adjust himself and be at ease. For my part, if I +were rich, I would advertise for a clean, wholesome +man, whose foot was exactly my size, and I would +make him wear my shoes till I could put them on, +and not know I was in them.<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> Why is all this? +Why do you see every man's and woman's feet so +out of shape? Why are there corns, with their +miseries and maledictions? Why the virulence and +unreachableness of those that are "soft"? Why +do our nails grow in, and sometimes have to be torn +violently off?</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Frederick the Great kept an aid-de-camp for this purpose, +and, poor fellow! he sometimes wore them too long, +and got a kicking for his pains.</p></div> + +<p>All because the makers and users of shoes have +not common sense, and common reverence for God +and his works enough to study the shape and motions +of that wonderful pivot on which we turn and +progress. Because <span class="smcap">Fashion</span>,—that demon that I +wish I saw dressed in her own crinoline, in bad +shoes, a man's old hat, and trailing petticoats, and +with her (for she must be a <i>her</i>) waist well nipped +<span class="pagenum">[81]</span>by a circlet of nails with the points inmost, and +any other of the small torments, mischiefs, and absurdities +she destroys and makes fools of us with,—whom, +I say, I wish I saw drummed and hissed, +blazing and shrieking, out of the world,—because +this contemptible slave, which domineers over her +makers, says the shoe must be elegant, must be so +and so, and the beautiful living foot must be crushed +into it, and human nature must limp along Princess +Street and through life natty and wretched.</p> + +<p>It makes me angry when I think of all this. +Now, do you want to know how to put your feet +into new shoes, and yourself into a new world? Go +and buy from Edmonston and Douglas sixpence +worth of sense, in <i>Why the Shoe Pinches</i>; you will, +if you get your shoemaker to do as it bids him, go +on your ways rejoicing; no more knobby, half-dislocated +big toes; no more secret parings, and +slashings desperate, in order to get on that pair of +exquisite boots or shoes.</p> + +<p>Then there is the <i>Infirmary</i>.—Nothing I like +better than to see subscriptions to this admirable +house of help and comfort to the poor, advertised +as from the quarry men of Craigleith; from Mr. +Milne the brassfounder's men; from Peeblesshire; +from the utmost Orkneys; and from those big, human +mastiffs, the navvies. And yet we doctors are +often met by the most absurd and obstinate objections +by domestic servants in town, and by country<span class="pagenum">[82]</span> +people, to going there. This prejudice is lessening, +but it is still great. "O, I canna gang into the +Infirmary; I would rather dee!" Would you, indeed? +Not you, or, if so, the sooner the better. +They have a notion that they are experimented on, +and slain by the surgeons; neglected and poisoned +by the nurses, etc., etc. Such utter nonsense! I +know well about the inner life and work of at least +our Infirmary, and of that noble old Minto House, +now gone; and I would rather infinitely, were I a +servant, 'prentice boy, or shopman, a porter, or +student, and anywhere but in a house of my own, +and even then, go straight to the Infirmary, than +lie in a box-bed off the kitchen, or on the top of the +coal-bunker, or in a dark hole in the lobby, or in a +double-bedded room. The food, the bedding, the +physicians, the surgeons, the clerks, the dressers, +the medicines, the wine and porter,—and they +don't scrimp these when necessary,—the books, +the Bibles, the baths, are all good,—are all better +far than one man in ten thousand can command in +his own house. So off with a grateful heart and a +fearless to the Infirmary, and your mistress can +come in and sit beside you; and her doctor and +yours will look in and single you out with his smile +and word, and cheer you and the ward by a kindly +joke, and you will come out well cured, and having +seen much to do you good for life. I never knew +any one who was once in, afraid of going back; +they know better.<span class="pagenum">[83]</span></p> + +<p>There are few things in human nature finer than +the devotion and courage of medical men to their +hospital and charitable duties; it is to them a great +moral discipline. Not that they don't get good—selfish +good—to themselves. Why shouldn't they? +Nobody does good without getting it; it is a law +of the government of God. But, as a rule, our +medical men are not kind and skilful and attentive +to their hospital patients, because this is to make +them famous, or even because through this they are +to get knowledge and fame; they get all this, and +it is their only and their great reward. But they +are in the main disinterested men. Honesty is the +best policy; but, as Dr. Whately, in his keen way, +says, "that man is not honest who is so for this +reason," and so with the doctors and their patients. +And I am glad to say for my profession, few of +them take this second-hand line of duty.</p> + +<p><i>Beards.</i>—I am for beards out and out, because +I think the Maker of the beard was and is. This +is reason enough; but there are many others. The +misery of shaving, its expense, its consumption of +time,—a very corporation existing for no other +purpose but to shave mankind. Campbell the poet, +who had always a bad razor, I suppose, and was +late of rising, said he believed the man of civilization +who lived to be sixty had suffered more pain in +littles every day in shaving than a woman with a +large family had from her lyings-in. This would<span class="pagenum">[84]</span> +be hard to prove; but it is a process that never gets +pleasanter by practice; and then the waste of time +and temper,—the ugliness of being ill or unshaven. +Now, we can easily see advantages in it; the masculine +gender is intended to be more out of doors, +and more in all weathers than the smooth-chinned +ones, and this protects him and his Adam's apple +from harm. It acts as the best of all respirators +to the mason and the east-wind. Besides, it is a +glory; and it must be delightful to have and to +stroke a natural beard, not one like bean-stalks or +a bottle-brush, but such a beard as Abraham's or +Abd-el-Kader's. It is the beginning ever to cut, +that makes all the difference. I hazard a theory, +that no hair of the head or beard should ever be cut, +or needs it, any more than the eyebrows or eyelashes. +The finest head of hair I know is one which was +never cut. It is not too long; it is soft and thick. +The secret where to stop growing is in the end of +the native untouched hair. If you cut it off, the +poor hair does not know when to stop; and if our +eyebrows were so cut, they might be made to hang +over our eyes, and be wrought into a veil. Besides, +think of the waste of substance of the body in hewing +away so much hair every morning, and encouraging +an endless rotation of crops! Well, then, I +go in for the beards of the next generation, the unshorn +beings whose beards will be wagging when +we are away; but of course they must be clean.<span class="pagenum">[85]</span> +But how are we to sup our porridge and kail? +Try it when young, when there is just a shadowy +down on the upper lip, and no fears but they will +do all this "elegantly" even. Nature is slow and +gentle in her teaching even the accomplishment of +the spoon. And as for women's hair, don't plaster +it with scented and sour grease, or with any grease; +it has an oil of its own. And don't tie up your +hair tight, and make it like a cap of iron over your +skull. And why are your ears covered? You hear +all the worse, and they are not the cleaner. Besides, +the ear is beautiful in itself, and plays its own +part in the concert of the features. Go back to the +curls, some of you, and try in everything to dress +as it becomes you, and as you become; not as +that fine lady, or even your own Tibbie or Grizzy +chooses to dress, it may be becomingly to her. +Why shouldn't we even in dress be more ourselves +than somebody or everybody else?</p> + +<p>I had a word about <i>Teeth</i>. Don't get young +children's teeth drawn. At least, let this be the +rule. Bad teeth come of bad health and bad and +hot food, and much sugar. I can't say I am a +great advocate for the common people going in for +tooth-brushes. No, they are not necessary in full +health. The healthy man's teeth clean themselves, +and so does his skin. A good dose of Gregory +often puts away the toothache. It is a great thing, +however, to get them early stuffed, if they need it;<span class="pagenum">[86]</span> +that really keeps them and your temper whole. +For appearance' sake merely, I hate false teeth, as +I hate a wig. But this is not a matter to dogmatize +about. I never was, I think, deceived by +either false hair, or false teeth, or false eyes, or false +cheeks, for there are in the high—I don't call it +the great—world, plumpers for making the cheeks +round, as well as a certain dust for making them +bloom. But you and I don't enjoy such advantages.</p> + +<p><i>Rheumatism</i> is peculiarly a disease of the workingman. +One old physician said its only cure +was patience and flannel. Another said six weeks. +But I think good flannel and no drunkenness (observe, +I don't say no drinking, though very nearly +so) are its best preventives. It is a curious thing, +the way in which cold gives rheumatism. Suppose +a man is heated and gets cooled, and being very well +at any rate, and is sitting or sleeping in a draught; +the exposed part is chilled; the pores of its skin, +which are always exuding and exhaling waste from +the body, contract and shut in this bad stuff; it—this +is my theory—not getting out is taken up by +a blunder of the deluded absorbents, who are always +prowling about for something, and it is returned +back to the centre, and finds its way into the blood, +and poisons it, affecting the heart, and carrying bad +money, bad change, bad fat, bad capital all over the +body, making nerves, lungs, everything unhappy and<span class="pagenum">[87]</span> +angry. This vitiated blood arrives by and by at the +origin of its mischief, the chilled shoulder, and here +it wreaks its vengeance, and in doing so, does some +general good at local expense. It gives pain; it +produces a certain inflammation of its own, and if it +is not got rid of by the skin and other ways, it may +possibly kill by the rage the body gets in, and the +heat; or it may inflame the ill-used heart itself, and +then either kill, or give the patient a life of suffering +and peril. The medicines we give act not only by +detecting this poison of blood, which, like yeast, +leavens all in its neighborhood, but by sending it +out of the body like a culprit.</p> + +<p><i>Vaccination.</i>—One word for this. Never neglect +it; get it done within two months after birth, and +see that it is well done; and get all your neighbors +to do it.</p> + +<p><i>Infectious Diseases.</i>—Keep out of their way; +kill them by fresh air and cleanliness; defy them +by cheerfulness, good food (<i>better</i> food than usual, +in such epidemics as cholera), good sleep, and a good +conscience.</p> + +<p>When in the midst of and waiting on those who +are under the scourge of an epidemic, be as little +very close to the patient as you can, and don't inhale +his or her breath or exhalations when you can +help it; be rather in the current to, than from him. +Be very cleanly in putting away all excretions at +once, and quite away; go frequently into the fresh<span class="pagenum">[88]</span> +air; and don't sleep in your day clothes. Do what +the Doctor bids you; don't crowd round your dying +friend; you are stealing his life in taking his air, +and you are quietly killing yourself. This is one of +the worst and most unmanageable of our Scottish +habits, and many a time have I cleared the room of +all but one, and dared them to enter it.</p> + +<p>Then you should, in such things as small-pox, as +indeed in everything, carry out the Divine injunction, +"<i>Whatsoever</i> ye would that men should do +unto you, do ye even so to them." Don't send for +the minister to pray with and over the body of a +patient in fever or delirium, or a child dying of +small-pox or malignant scarlet fever; tell him, by +all means, and let him pray with you, and for your +child. Prayers, you know, are like gravitation, or +the light of heaven; they will go from whatever +place they are uttered; and if they are real prayers, +they go straight and home to the centre, the focus +of all things; and you know that poor fellow with +the crust of typhus on his lips, and its nonsense on +his tongue,—that child tossing in misery, not +knowing even its own mother,—what can they +know, what heed can they give to the prayer of the +minister? He may do all the good he can,—the +most good maybe when, like Moses on the hillside, +in the battle with Amalek, he uplifts his hands +apart. No! a word spoken by your minister to +himself and his God, a single sigh for mercy to<span class="pagenum">[89]</span> +him who is mercy, a cry of hope, of despair of +self, opening into trust in him, may save that +child's life, when an angel might pour forth in vain +his burning, imploring words into the dull or wild +ears of the sufferer, in the vain hope of getting <i>him</i> +to pray. I never would allow my father to go to +typhus cases; and I don't think they lost anything +by it. I have seen him rising in the dark of his +room from his knees, and I knew whose case he had +been laying at the footstool.</p> + +<p>And now, my dear friends, I find I have exhausted +our time, and never yet got to the sermon, +and its text—"<i>That the way of God</i>"—what is +it? It is his design in setting you here; it is the +road he wishes you to walk in; it is his providence +in your minutest as in the world's mightiest things; +it is his will expressed in his works and word, and +in your own soul it is his salvation. That it "<i>may +be known</i>," that the understandings of his intelligent, +responsible, mortal and immortal creatures +should be directed to it, to study and (as far as we +ever can or need) to understand that which, in its +fulness, passes all understanding; that it may be +known "<i>on the earth</i>," here, in this very room, +this very minute; not, as too many preachers and +performers do, to be known only in the next world,—men +who, looking at the stars, stumble at their +own door, and it may be <i>smoor</i> their own child, besides +despising, upsetting, and extinguishing their<span class="pagenum">[90]</span> +own lantern. No! the next world is only to be +reached through this; and our road through this +our wilderness is not safe unless on the far beyond +there is shining the lighthouse on the other side of +the dark river that has no bridge. Then "<i>His saving +health</i>"; His health—whose?—God's—his +soundness, the wholeness, the perfectness, that is +alone in and from him,—health of body, of heart, +and brain, health to the finger-ends, health for +eternity as well as time. "<i>Saving</i>"; we need to +be saved, and we are salvable, this is much; and +God's health can save us, that is more. When a +man or woman is fainting from loss of blood, we +sometimes try to save them, when all but gone, by +transfusing the warm rich blood of another into +their veins. Now this is what God, through his +Son, desires to do; to transfuse his blood, himself, +through his Son, who is himself, into us, diseased +and weak. "<i>And</i>" refers to his health being +"<i>known</i>," recognized, accepted, used, "<i>among all +nations</i>"; not among the U.P.s, or the Frees, or +the Residuaries, or the Baptists, or the New Jerusalem +people,—nor among us in the Canongate, +or in Biggar, or even in old Scotland, but "among +all nations"; then, and only then, will the people +praise thee, O God; will all the people praise +thee. Then, and then only, will the earth yield +her increase, and God, even our own God, will bless +us. God will bless us, and all the ends of the earth +shall fear him.<span class="pagenum">[91]</span></p> + +<p>And now, my dear and patient friends, we must +say good night. You have been very attentive, and +it has been a great pleasure to me as we went on to +preach to you. We came to understand one another. +You saw through my jokes, and that they were +not always nothing but jokes. You bore with my +solemnities, because I am not altogether solemn; +and so good night, and God bless you, and may you, +as Don Quixote, on his death-bed, says to Sancho, +May you have your eyes closed by the soft fingers +of your great-grandchildren. But no, I must shake +hands with you, and kiss the bairns,—why shouldn't +I? if their mouths are clean and their breath sweet? +As for you, <i>Ailie</i>, you are wearying for the child; +and he is tumbling and fretting in his cradle, and +wearying for you; good by, and away you go on +your milky way. I wish I could (unseen) see you +two enjoying each other. And good night, my +bonnie <i>wee wifie</i>; you are sleepy, and you must be +up to make your father's porridge; and <i>Master +William Winkie</i>, will you be still for one moment +while I address you? Well, Master William, <i>wamble</i> +not off your mother's lap, neither rattle in your +excruciating way in an airn jug wi' an airn spoon; +no more crowing like a cock, or skirlin' like a kenna-what. +I had much more to say to you, sir, but +you will not bide still; off with you, and a blessing +with you.</p> + +<p>Good night, <i>Hugh Cleland</i>, the best smith of any<span class="pagenum">[92]</span> +smiddy; with your bowly back, your huge arms, +your big heavy brows and eyebrows, your clear +eye, and warm unforgetting heart. And you, <i>John +Noble</i>, let me grip your horny hand, and count the +queer knobs made by the perpetual mell. I used, +when I was a Willie Winkie, and wee, to think +that you were born with them. Never mind, you +were born for them, and of old you handled the +trowel well, and built to the plumb. <i>Thomas Bertram</i>, +your loom is at a discount, but many's the +happy day I have watched you and your shuttle, +and the interweaving treadles, and all the mysteries +of setting the "wab." You are looking well, and +though not the least of an ass, you might play Bottom +must substantially yet. <i>Andrew Wilson</i>, across +the waste of forty years and more I snuff the fragrance +of your shop; have you forgiven me yet for +stealing your paint-pot (awful joy!) for ten minutes +to adorn my rabbit-house, and for blunting +your pet <i>furmer</i>? Wise you were always, and in +the saw-pit you spoke little, and wore your crape. +Yourself wears well, but take heed of swallowing +your shavings unawares, as is the trick of you +"wrights"; they confound the interior and perplex +the Doctor.</p> + +<p><i>Rob Rough</i>, you smell of rosin, and your look is +stern, nevertheless, or all the rather, give me your +hand. What a grip! You have been the most +sceptical of all my hearers; you like to try everything,<span class="pagenum">[93]</span> +and you hold fast only what you consider +good; and then on your <i>crepida</i> or stool, you have +your own think about everything human and divine, +as you smite down errors on the lapstane, +and "yerk" your arguments with a well-rosined +lingle; throw your window open for yourself as +well as for your blackbird; and make your shoes +not to pinch. I present you, sir, with a copy of +the book of the wise Switzer.</p> + +<p>And nimble <i>Pillans</i>, the clothier of the race, and +quick as your needle, strong as your corduroys, I +bid you good night. May you and the cooper be +like him of Fogo, each a better man than his father; +and you, <i>Mungo</i> the mole-catcher, and <i>Tod Laurie</i>, +and <i>Sir Robert</i> the cadger, and all the other odd +people, I shake your fists twice, for I like your line. +I often wish I had been a mole-catcher, with a brown +velveteen, or (fine touch of tailoric fancy!) a moleskin +coat; not that I dislike moles,—I once ate +the fore-quarter of one, having stewed it in a Florence +flask, some forty years ago, and liked it,—but +I like the killing of them, and the country by-ways, +and the regularly irregular life, and the importance +of my trade.</p> + +<p>And good night to you all, you women-folks. +<i>Marion Graham</i> the milkwoman; <i>Tibbie Meek</i> the +single servant; <i>Jenny Muir</i> the sempstress; <i>Mother +Johnston</i> the howdie, thou consequential Mrs. Gamp, +presiding at the gates of life; and you in the corner<span class="pagenum">[94]</span> +there, <i>Nancy Cairns</i>, gray-haired, meek and old, +with your crimped mutch as white as snow; the +shepherd's widow, the now childless mother, you +are stepping home to your <i>bein</i> and lonely room, +where your cat is now ravelling a' her thrums, +wondering where "she" is.</p> + +<p>Good night to you all, big and little, young and +old; and go home to your bedside, there is Some +One waiting there for you, and his Son is here +ready to take you to him. Yes, he is waiting for +every one of you, and you have only to say, "Father, +I have sinned,—take me"—and he sees you a +great way off. But to reverse the parable; it is +the first-born, your elder brother, who is at your +side, and leads you to your Father, and says, "I +have paid his debt"; that Son who is ever with +him, whose is all that he hath.</p> + +<p>I need not say more. You know what I mean. +You know who is waiting, and you know who it is +who stands beside you, having the likeness of the +Son of Man. Good night! The night cometh in +which neither you nor I can work,—may we work +while it is day; whatsoever thy <i>hand</i> findeth to do, +do it with thy might, for there is no work or device +in the grave, whither we are all of us hastening; +and when the night is spent, may we all enter on a +healthful, a happy, an everlasting to-morrow!</p> + +<br /> + +<p class="h3">Cambridge: Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Co.</p> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p class="h3"> +VEST-POCKET SERIES<br /> +<br /> +OF<br /> +<br /> +Standard and Popular Authors.<br /> +</p> + +<blockquote><p><img class="dropimg" src="images/img-t.png" width="50" alt="" /> +<span class="hide">T</span><b>HE</b> great popularity of the "Little Classics" +has proved anew the truth of Dr. Johnson's +remark: "Books that you may carry to the +fire, and hold readily in your hand, are the most useful +after all." The attractive character of their contents +has been very strongly commended to public favor +by the convenient size of the volumes. These +were not too large to be carried to the fire or held +readily in the hand, and consequently they have been +in great request wherever they have become known.</p></blockquote> + +<p class="h3"> +<i>The Vest-Pocket Series</i><br /> +</p> + +<p>consists of volumes yet smaller than the "Little Classics." +Their Lilliputian size, legible type, and flexible +cloth binding make them peculiarly convenient for +carrying on short journeys; and the excellence of +their contents makes them desirable always and +everywhere. The series includes</p> + +<p class="h3"> +STORIES, ESSAYS, SKETCHES, AND POEMS<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">SELECTED FROM THE WRITINGS OF</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Emerson</i>,<br /> + +<i>Longfellow</i>,<br /> + +<i>Whittier</i>,<br /> + +<i>Hawthorne</i>,<br /> + +<i>Carlyle</i>,<br /> + +<i>Aldrich</i>,<br /> + +<i>Hood</i>,<br /> + +<i>Gray</i>,<br /> + +<i>Aytoun</i>,<br /> + +<i>Tennyson</i>,<br /> + +<i>Lowell</i>,<br /> + +<i>Holmes</i>,<br /> + +<i>Browning</i>,<br /> + +<i>Macaulay</i>,<br /> + +<i>Milton</i>,<br /> + +<i>Campbell</i>,<br /> + +<i>Owen Meredith</i>,<br /> + +<i>Pope</i>,<br /> + +<i>Thomson</i>,<br /> +<br /> +AND OTHERS OF EQUAL FAME.<br /> +</p> + +<p>The volumes are beautifully printed, many of them +illustrated, and bound in flexible cloth covers, at a +uniform price of</p> + +<p class="h4"> +<b>FIFTY CENTS EACH.</b><br /> +<br /> +JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO.,<br /> +<span class="smcap">Publishers, Boston</span>.<br /> +</p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p class="h2">WORKS OF DR. JOHN BROWN.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"<i>Of all the John Browns, commend us to Dr. John Brown, +the physician, the man of genius, the humorist, the student of +men, women, and dogs. By means of two beautiful volumes he +has given the public a share of his by-hours; and more pleasant +hours it would be difficult to find in any life.</i>"—London Times.</p></blockquote> + +<p>SPARE HOURS. First Series, I vol. 16mo. Cloth, +$2.00; Half calf, $3.75.</p> + +<p><i>CONTENTS.</i>—Rab and his Friends.—"With Brains, Sir."—The +Mystery of Black and Tan.—Her Last Half-Crown.—Our +Dogs.—Queen Mary's Child-Garden.—Presence of +Mind and Happy Guessing.—My Father's Memoir.—Mystifications.—"Oh, +I'm wat, wat!"—Arthur H. Hallam.—Education +through the Senses.—Vaughan's Poems.—Dr. +Chalmers.—Dr. George Wilson.—St. Paul's Thorn in the +Flesh.—The Black Dwarf's Bones.—Notes on Art.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"Dr. John Brown is a medical practitioner in Edinburgh, whose +leisure mements have been devoted to the cultivation of letters, +and who, without the slightest degree of formality or reserve, pours +out his feelings on paper, showing himself equally at home in the +sphere of genial criticism, pathetic sentiment, and gay and sportive +humor. His confessions have the frankness of Montaigne, and +almost the playful <i>naïveté</i> of Charles Lamb, combined with a vein +of tender earnestness that stamps the individuality of the writer. +The tone of his remarks is uniformly healthful, showing a genuine +love of nature, and a cordial sympathy with all conditions of humanity."—<i>New +York Tribune.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><b>SPARE HOURS.</b> Second Series, I vol. 16mo. With +Steel Portrait and Illustrations. Cloth, $2.00; Half +calf, $3.75.</p> + +<p><i>CONTENTS.</i>—John Leech.—Marjorie Fleming.—Jeems the +Door-keeper.—Minchmoor.—The Enterkin.—Health: Five +Lay Sermons to Working-People.—The Duke of Athole.—Struan.—Thackeray's +Death.—Thackeray's Literary Career.—More +of "Our Dogs."—Plea for a Dog Home.—"Bibliomania."—"In +Clear Dream and Solemn Vision."—A Jacobite +Family.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"An excellent portrait of the author, showing a broad brow, and +a face replete with sense, shrewdness, humor, and resolute force, +adds to the attractiveness of one of the most attractive volumes of +essays published for a long period."—<i>Boston Transcript.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><b>RAB AND HIS FRIENDS.</b> Paper, 25 cents.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"Dr. Brown's masterpiece is the story of a dog called 'Rab.' +The tale moves from the most tragic pathos to the most reckless +humor, and could not have been written but by a man of genius. +Whether it moves to laughter or to tears, it is perfect in its way, +and immortalizes its author."—<i>London Times.</i></p> + +<p>"A veritable gem. It is true, simple, pathetic, and touched with +an antique grace."—<i>Fraser's Magazine.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><b>MARJORIE FLEMING ("Pet Marjorie").</b> Paper, +25 cents.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"A story of one of the most exquisite children, miraculously +brilliant, thoughtful, and fascinating."—<i>Detroit Post.</i></p> + +<p>"A quaint, winning, sympathetic, beautiful sketch of +child-life."—<i>Springfield +Republican.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p class="h4">JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO.,<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Publishers, Boston.</span></p> + +</div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Health, by John Brown + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HEALTH *** + +***** This file should be named 37640-h.htm or 37640-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/7/6/4/37640/ + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Matthew Wheaton +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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