Newspaper Page Text
13
American Sunday
Monthly Magazine Section
Keeplfotir^oJyoua
N O man ever successfully made love
when he had a cold in the head.
Also, no man ever devised a great
business scheme when he had asthma.
Adenoids, enlarged tonsils, defective
hearing, come from bad sanitary conditions
that weaken the individual, until the germs
of disease get him in their despotic clutch.
Keep your bods- on a war-footing.
Appendicitis follows faulty circulation,
imperfect elimination, impaction. Then
comes congestion, inflammation, and a con
dition is ripe where the surgeon’s knife is
t necessity.
No physician of skill will dispute these
simple propositions. The air is the life.
We can go without eating forty days. We
can go without drinking water for six days.
But we can not go without breathing for
four minutes. We eat our peck of dirt,
all right, and then go on and eat another;
but we can not breathe a peck of dirt with
out stopping up lung-cells; and then follows
a condition where the blood is imperfectly
oxygenated. Faulty elimination results.
The germs of tuberculosis jump the claim,
and poison the well-springs of life.
It is only within recent times that we
have recognized the necessity of fresh air.
Sleeping out of doors in open-air sleeping-
porches will add twenty per cent, of effi
ciency to the life of the individual.
How slow we have been to recognize the
value of fresh air is shown by the following
bit of history: In the year Eighteen Hun
dred Eighty-five, a great and learned man,
an educator of international repute, con
cluded that the applause of great audiences,
by clapping of hands, was rude, coarse and
inharmonious. Instead, he devised some
thing which he proudly called “The Chau
tauqua Salute.” This consisted in, at
a given signal, every one in the audience
taking out his handkerchief and waving it.
This flutter of five thousand handker
chiefs in an auditorium produced a won
derful spectacular effect. Hut the great and
good man who devised the Chautauqua
Salute never comprehended for a moment
that this violent agitation of handkerchiefs
scattered and disseminated through the air
untold millions of disease-germs.
The handkerchief, as a toilet requisite,
is something that is not really transferable,
any more than is a toothbrush. It is a pri
vate belonging, and, for the most part,
we use it with becoming reluctance in public.
Its purpose is hygienic and proper; but
handkerchiefs, fifteen or twenty years ago,
were used until they took on, what the
artists call, "tone." The handkerchief
Anything they did not care to ea. was flung on
the floor
Today you can spot a bumpkin by his habit of
flourishing his handkerchief before using it
was the natural receptacle of the unmen
tionable.
So behold, our great and good educator,
in the kindness of his heart, and out of
a love of harmony, advocating as beautiful
the flutter of this toilet .adjunct as a mark
of esteem and approval! Juliet, on 3 bal
cony, fluttering her handkerchief to a
distant Romeo, is all right. But thousands
of handkerchiefs, in a confined space, Hop
ping and fluttering, mean disease on the
high speed, with brake broken and the
chauffeur drunk.
The Chautauqua Salute existed twenty
years before a scientist came forward with
his protest. He was listened to at first
with scorn. Now the entire world sees the
force of his argument, and realizes the
wrongness as well as the silliness and the
tragic part of scattering filth and disease.
Today you can spot a bumpkin by his
habit of flourishing his handkerchief before
using it.
In the time of Queen Elizabeth, carpets
were not in vogue. The halls and rooms of
the great castles were covered with rushes.
Spitting in the rushes, or anywhere, was
quite in order.
At the table, anything that they did not
care to eat was flung on the floor. Plates
came in later: “queensware,” they called
them—made for the queen! The old meth
ods and manners of eating were to seize
your food with your hands. You grabbed
the thing and ate as much as you wanted,
and threw the rest to the dogs, literally.
For the dogs were always there in the castles,
and the beggars, too, waiting for the crumbs
that fell from the rich man’s table.
Even yet, in the Orient, you will find the
beggars and the dogs waiting with patience
for their share of your meal. You pay
for your portion of bread and meat; and
what you do not eat belongs to the bow
wows.
The bacteria of the beggar and the effluvia
of the dog, the decaying particles of food
on the floor, and the smell of cooking in the
air—all these things meant disease.
When enough of the unhealthy conditions
became focused, there was a plague. Thus,
in the year Sixteen Hundred Eighty, one-
third of the entire city of London died. So
many people died that funeral-services
were impossible. The death-carts went
through the streets, and the drivers called
aloud: “Bring out your dead! Bring out
your dead!” It w r as only a great fire which
burned the better part of the city that stayed
the ravages of the plague.
Guinevere s Lover
(Continued from preceding page)
He pulled himself together sternly and
went on more rapidly now:
“ I had just come from America, Guine
vere,—and the South—and I knew and
understood the feeling they have about such
things there—and the writer of the letter
had signed his name, it was no anonymous
correspondent—it was a name which I'
knew, and which w r as well-known and hon
ored in his town. I have always had this
feeling myself about niggers and a frightful
physical repulsion as well. And to think
that one whose great-grandmother was a
full black—was now' my wife and if the
marriage went on, in a year or so might be
the mother of my son! It drove me per
fectly mad, Guinevere. I reeled with the
sickening irony of it all. Anti then I made
up my mind—I w'ould be ruthless for no
law or no other reason would I ever make
this woman my wife in anything but name.
It would not be justice to leave her now
practically at the Church door and create
a great scandal, but I would tell her the
whole truth the moment we were alone and
leave it to her to settle what she would do.
I naturally was under every obligation to
be kind and good to her since it was not
her fault, but with her father I would have
a reckoning.”
I started to my feet—the story was so
terrible, so ghastly in its hideous details,
I felt I must move or I should cry aloud.
Hugh looked at me with wild sad eyes and
then he said pitifully:
“Ah, Guinevere, I have filled you with
contempt and loathing and no wonder, but
(Continued on next page)
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EVER-LASTING-LY GOOD
STAG