THE SICK ROOM

" E find the following^ excellent article in Common Sense in the fL Household ,

Xi^ " The sick chamber should be the most quiet and cheerful in the house — a sacred isle, past which the waves of domestic toil and solicitude glide silently. This is not an easy rule to obey. Whoever the invalid may be, whether the mother, father, or the sweet youngling of the flock, the foundations of the household seem thrown out of course while the sickness lasts. You may have good servants and kind friends to aid you, but the hitch in tlie machinery is not to be smoothed out by their efforts. The irregularity does not annoy you; you do not notice it if the attack be severe or dangerous. All other thoughts are swallowed up in the all-absorb- ing, ever-present alarm. You count nothing an inconvenience that can bring present relief, or possible healing to the beloved one; disdain for yourself, rest or ease while the shadow hangs above the pillow crushed by the helpless head. But when it passes, when the first transport of thankfulness has subsided into an abiding sense of -safety, the mind swings back to the accustomed pivot, and your eyes seem to be suddenly unbound. You find, with dismay, that the children have run wild, and the comfort of the whole family has been neglected during your confinement to the post of most urgent duty; with disjjleasure, that the servants have, as you con- sider, taken advantage of your situation to omit this task, or slur over that — in fine, that nothing has been done well, and so many

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things left altogether undone, that you are Avorried out of your senses — a phase that too often signifies out of your temper.

"And it is just at this juncture — when you are called to fifty points at once, and are on the verge of despair at the conglomera- tion worse conglomerated arising before you; fidgeting to pick up dropped stitches in the web you were wont to keep so even — that the invalid becomes most exacting. ' Unreasonable,' you name it to yourself, even though it be John himself who calls upon you every third minute for some little office of loving kindness; who wants to be amused, and fed, and petted, made generally comfort- able, as if he were a six-months-old baby; who never remembers that you must be wearied out with watching and anxiety, and that everything below-stairs is going to destruction for the Avant of a balance-wheel. The better he loves you the more apt is he to fancy that nobody but you can do anything for him; the more certain to crave something which no one else knows how to prepare. And when you have strained muscle and patience a little further to get it ready, and with prudent forethought made enough to last for several meals, it is more than probable that his fickle taste will suggest something entirely different for 'next time.' 'Just for a change, you know, dear. One gets so tired of eating the same thing so often! '

" He might be more considerate — less childish — you think, turn- ing away that he may not see your change of countenance. When you have taken so much pains to suit him exactly! It is harder yet when he refuses to do more than taste the delicacy you hoped would tempt him.

" ' It is very nice, I suppose, my love,' says the poor fellow, with the air of a martyr, ' but it does not taste right, somehow. May be the children can dispose of i*. If I had a lemon ice, or some wine jelly, such as my mother used to make, I am sure I could relisli it. I always did detest sick people's diet!'

" If he is very much shaken as to nerves, he will be likely to say, ' messes.'

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"'I am fairly wild!' said a loving wife and mother and thrifty- housekeeper to me one day, when I called to see her.

"She had just nursed her husband and three children through the influenza. All had been down with it at once. That form of demoniacal possession is generally conducted on the wholesale principle.

" ' I am fairly wild!' said the worthy creature, with tears in her eyes. ' I cannot snatch a minute, from morning until night, to put things straight, and yet I am almost tired to death! I was saying to myself as you came in, that I wouldn't try any longer; I would just sit still until the dirt was piled up to my chin, and then I would get upon the table! '

" How often I have thought of her speech since, sometimes with a smile — more frequently with a sigh. But with all my pity for the nurse and housekeepei-, I cannot conceal from myself — I would not forget, nor let you forget for a moment — the truth that the sick one is the greater sufferer. It is never pleasant to be laid upon the shelf. The resting-place — falsely so-called — is hai'd and nari'ow and uneven enough, even when the tramp of the outer world does not jar the sore and faded frame; when there is no apparent need for the sick person to be upon his feet, and for aught that others can see, or he can say, he might just as well stay where he is for a month or two. But when, the rack of pain having been removed, the dulled perceptions of the mind re-awaken to sensitive- ness, and there comes to his ear the bugle-call of duty — sharp, imperative; — when every idle moment speaks to hira of a slain opportunity, and the no longer strong man shakes his fetters with piteous cries against fate, do not despise or be impatient with him. He is feverish and inconsiderate and capricious, because he is not himself. You see only the poor wreck left by the demon as he tore his way out of hira at the divine command. Gather it up lovingly in your arms and nurse it back to strength and comeliness. The sicTc should always be the chief object of thought and care Avith all in the household. If need be, let the dirt lie chin-deep everywhere

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else, so long as it is kept out of that one room. There be jealous in your care that nothing offend sight or smell.

" There should be no smell in a sick-room. To avoid this, let in the air freely and often. Cologne water will not dispel a foul odor, and disinfectants are noisome in themselves. Bathe the patient as frequently and thoroughly as prudence will allow, and change his clothing with the bed-linen, every day. Do not keep the medicines where he can see them, nor even let him witness the mixing of that which he is to swallow. As soon as his meals are over, remove every vestige of them from the room. Even a soiled spoon, lying on table or bureau, may offend his fastidious appetite. Cover the stand or waiter from which lie eats with a spotless nap kin, and serve his food in your daintiest ware.

" My heart softens almost to tearfulness when I recall the hours, days, weeks, I have spent in the chamber of languishing, and the ingenuity of tenderness that, from my babyhood, has striven to cheat the imprisonment of weariness, and make me forget pain and uselessness. The pretty sur])rises daily invented for my entertain- ment; the exceeding nicety with which they were set out before me; the loving words that nourished my spirits when the body was faint unto death,~these are events, not slight incidents, in the book of memory. AVhen I cease to be grateful for them, or to learn from them how to minister unto others of the like consolation, may my heart forget to beat, my right hand lose her cunning.

" Do not ask your charge what he would like to eat to-day. He will, of a surety, sicken with the effort at selection, and say, 'Nothing.' But watch attentively for the slightest intimatiL>n of a desire for any particular delicacy, and if you are assured il cannot hurt him, procure it, if you can, without letting him guess At your intention. Feed him lightly and often, never bring more into his sight than he can safely eat. A big bowl of broth or jelly will either tempt him to imprudence, or discourage him. ' Am I to be burdened with all that? ' cries the affrighted stomach, and will have none of it. While he is very weak feed him with your own hand.

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playfully, as you woxild a child, talking cheerily of somethiiio- besides his food, and coaxing him into taking the needed nutriment as only a wife and mother can, or as nobody but John could beguile you to effoi't in the same direction.

"Study all pleasant and soothing arts to while away the time, and keep worry of every kind away from him. A trifle at which you can laugh will be a burden to the enfeebled mind and body, and he has nothing to do but lie still and roll it over until it swells into a mountain. When he can be removed without danger, let him have his meals in another room, changing the air of each when he is not in it. Every one who has suffered from long sickness knows the peculiar loathing attendant upon the idea that all food is tainted Avith the atmosphere of the chamber in which it is served, and if eaten in bed tastes of the mattrass and pillows. The room and all in it may be clean, fresh, and sweet, but fancy cannot be dismissed. And it is wiser to humor than to reason with most sick fancies.

" A hired nurse is a useful, often a necessary thing, but while you are upon your feet, and mistress of your own house, delegate to no one the precious task of catering for the dear sufferer. It is an art in itself. I hope a practical knowledge of it will be taught iu Women's Medical Colleges, when they are an established ' insti- tution' with us."

Panada. Two thick slices of stale bread half an inch in thickness; cut ofi the crust, toast them a nice brown, cut them into squares of two inches in size, lay them in a bowl, sprinkle a little salt over them, and pour on a pint of boiling water.

Arrow-Root Jelly,

One cup boiling water, two heaping teaspoonfuls of best Bermuda arrow-root, one tea,:,poonf ul lemon-juice, and two teaspoonfuls white sugar. Wet the arrow-root in a little cold water, and rub smooth. Then stir into the hot water, which should be on the fire and

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actually boiling at the time, with the sugar already melted into it. Stir until clear, boiling steadily all the while, and add the lemon- juice. Wet a cup in cold water, and pour in the jelly to fonn. Eat cold with sugar and cream, flavored with rosewater.

Beef Tea.

Cut all the fat from a pound of fresh beef, then cut the lean meat into small dice-like pieces; add one pint of cold water to draw out the juices; boil twenty or thirty minutes, skimming it carefully, then strain, and salt to taste.

Another, better for the very sick, or for weak stomachs: Put the cut beef, prepared as above, into a wide-mouthed bottle, cork it so no water can enter; place it in a kettle of cold water; prop it so that it will stand firmly, and boil one hour; then set the kettle aside to cool. When cold, you can safely remove the bottle, and you have the simple juice or essence of beef.

Beef Tea, No. 2. To one pound of lean beef add one and one-half tumblers of cold water; cut the beef in small pieces, cover and let it boil slowly for ten minutes, and add a little salt after it is boiled. Excellent.

Chicken Panada. Skin the chicken and cut it up into joints; take all the meat off the bones, and cut up into small pieces; put it into a jar with a little salt, tie it down, and set it in a saucepan of boiling water. It should boil from four to six hours; then pass it through a sieve with a little of the broth. It could be made in a hurry in two hours, but it is better when longer time is allowed. Do not put the wings m the panada.

Egg Cream.

Beat a raw egg to a stiff froth; add a tablespoonful of white

sugar, and half a glass of home-made blackberry or black cherry

wine; beat well; add half a glass of cream; beat thoroughly and

use at once. This is a full meal for an invalid, and is especially

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good where trouble of throat, mouth or stomach prevents solid food being used.

Soup for an Invalid.

■Cut in small pieces one pound of beef or mutton, or a part of both; boil it gently in two quarts of water; take off the scum, and, when reduced to a jiint, strain it. Season with a little salt, and take a teacupful at a time.

Mi.i: it tablespoonful of corn meal with a little cold water; add a eimall pinch of salt, and stir it smoothly into a pint of boiling water, and let it boil ; being constantly stirred for six or eight minutes. If sugar is desired, put it in with the cold meal and water, but add any flavor, as nutmeg or cinnamon, after removing it from the stove. Gruel should be very smooth, and should not have the faintest suspicion of a scorch about it. Always serve it neatly.

Egg Gruel. Boil eggs from one to three hours until hard enough to grate; then boil new milk and thicken with the egg, and add a little salt. Excellent in case of nausea.

Gruel for Infants. To make a gruel for infants suffering from marasmus, take one pint of goat's milk and the yolks of two eggs boiled sufiiciently bard to reduce to an impalpable powder; add a pint of boiling water, a little salt or sugar, and administer by a nursing bottle.

Beef Jelly for Intaltds. Three small onions, three small or one and one-half large carrots, a few whole cloves and black pepper, one small teaspoonful of sugar, one slice of ham, two calf's feet, one and one-half pounds of beef. Put in the onions and other ingredients in succession. Place the ham on top, then the calf's feet, and lastly the beef; no water; put on the side of the range, and let is stand until reduced to a soft mass, then add a quart of water and let it boil one hour; strain and let stand until coid, then take off the fat. Use by dissolving a little in hot water.