Page images
PDF
EPUB
[graphic]

might say that he was not preaching evan- | could never con-
gelically. He knew better, and in due time
he had his reward.

Arnot was altogether unconventional. He had his own way of doing things, and if he was satisfied that it was adapted to the end it mattered little to him whether or not it had the stamp of conventional usage. If anything, he was perhaps too unconventional. There is a certain power in old modes of speech, in liturgical solemnities, in finished forms of language, which he did not appreciate, and the want of which on certain occasions diminished his attractiveness to some. But on the other hand, his unconventionality was with most an element of popularity. He

ceal the want of matter by a

thin veil of commonplace. His illustrations,
too, were sure to be original.
To young
minds his freshness was always an attraction.
His power of interesting and attracting young
men was one of the chief features of his
ministry, especially in Glasgow; and this was
due partly to his independence and originality,
and partly to the special knowledge he had
of the feelings and aspirations of the better
class of young men, derived directly from his
own experience. He knew well what a young
man feels, especially one working his way up
in the world. He was singularly in his ele-

ment in his Glasgow charge, surrounded by young men whose circumstances were similar to what had once been his own. When he removed to Edinburgh he came into a different stratum. It did not furnish the same proportion of youths working their way upwards. Esteemed and loved he could not fail to be, yet he might have had a wider influence with young men in such a community as Liverpool, Manchester, or London.

For America he had a very special love. When he returned from his last visit to the United States he was so loud in his praise of everything American as almost to seem to disparage the institutions of his own country. But this sprang from his conviction that scant justice had been done to the States, and his anxiety to rectify the balance made him appear to throw too much into the American scale.

Arnot may be said to have died in harness. There is something pathetic in the record of the end of his life. Struggling against the rapid decay of his strength, he succumbed the more rapidly at the end. He was at work a very short time before he died. The

present writer remembers well how much he was struck by his worn and haggard look and unelastic step, as he saw him walk heavily along the street, about a fortnight before the end. Yet it was hard to suppose that that end was so near. It came suddenly on the morning of the 3rd of June, 1875. He had been awake at three in the morning, and, with his ear alive as of old to the voices of nature, had marked the warbling of the birds, and said, "Those sweet birds, they are singing for me." Two hours later a fit of coughing seized him; blood flowed from his mouth; he sank back on his pillow as if in a swoon; and his spirit passed away to its unseen home.

The

With every great bereavement which the Church on earth sustains it becomes richer in memories and stimulating examples. The death of Arnot left us sensibly poorer in the one sense, and richer in the other. familiar face and form of a man greatly beloved remained no more among us; but a new lesson came to us, and comes to all, to be followers of them who through faith and patience inherit the promises.

ON NURSING FOR ARTISANS AND COTTAGERS.
BY MRS. W. E. GLADSTONE.

THIS paper on cottage nursing has already
been read at the Birmingham Congress,
and I feel so deeply the importance of the
subject and the special interest it has for
those who labour for our Lord, that I venture
to lay it before the readers of the SUNDAY
MAGAZINE. It seems to me peculiarly a
Christian work, this work of soothing and
softening the sufferings of our brothers and
sisters, a realisation of the message "good-
will to men." Though it may not be so
attractive to the world as some other do-
mestic questions, it is not less likely to be a
real benefit to our suffering fellow creatures.

are

1. The blessing of education is, happily, more and more considered, and we all learning to value sound elementary teaching in our national schools. Why, then, is such gross ignorance upon matters of health allowed to prevail among the poor? A cry might well be raised, as we visit cottage after cottage in times of sickness, and find the most simple sanitary facts of sick nursing unknown, without teaching or method, and often without thought. It is true there

are methods of training professional nurses,
but why are not the elementary principles of
nursing added to the subjects already taught
in schools, so that they may become part of
the regular instruction of young girls? How
often is the little daughter or friend of ten or
twelve years old the only attendant the poor
father or mother can have in case of sudden
illness, and how much can even a mere child
do who has learnt to think and observe, and
to understand a few easy rules about a sick
room! Men of experience and great physi-
cians have advised the matter being taken
in hand-why is it so utterly neglected?
2. The reasons are only too plain :-
First. The very ignorance which exists
about illness stifles all desire to learn what
can be done and blinds the poor to the
crying necessity of the case.

Secondly. People do not know the exceeding interest as well as usefulness of really intelligent nursing, a work they might love if once they understood it. It is true that the beautiful gift of nursing does exist naturally in some, but, even in cases where the natural

"turn" for it is strong it needs guiding and development.

3. Whilst waiting and hoping for some scheme that shall bring about such a development, I venture in this short paper to try and spur, if I may so express it, in the right direction, my readers, members of School Boards, teachers throughout the country, and the Education Department in particular. I attempt to show that something can be done to save time and even life before a more perfect plan can be organized. Life is so holy a thing, shall we not see and think how to preserve it best? Cottage-nursing being my special point, I go at once to the subject. Now as I have said before, a mere child may be so taught to nurse as to give her what is really a high and holy aim. She may learn thoughtful, cleanly, gentle, sensible ways, and thus become a treasure in her home at a time of sickness.

4. Let me draw a little picture of the cottage where ignorance prevails. The heavy hand of sickness has been laid on the dwelling-the mother is laid low. What happens? Poor little Polly has leave to stay away from school. She does her best. She knows nothing about the poison of bad air, or of fresh air which is all-important. Her one object is warmth, and warmth too often means foul air. She draws the bed-curtains close, stuffs up the chimney, and shuts every window and door. Neighbours assemble round the sick bed talking, gossiping, wondering, almost killing with well-intended kindness, and all helping to exhaust the air and disturb the patient, fuss prevails, and every one has a piece of ignorant advice to give; but where is common sense and presence of mind?

5. Let us now look at another picture, and see the contrast. Here we have little Jenny, no older than Polly, but Jenny has had a few sensible rules put into her head. She has learnt that four good things are first of all to be secured in a sick rocm, namely, fresh air, cleanliness, quiet, and comfort; these Jenny can see to before a doctor arrives. Before helping her mother to bed, she thinks of what is needed to make the bed tidy and comfortable. Whatever is likely to be wanted she puts neatly upon a table, which is cleared of other matters, so that medicine, a feeding cup, clean glasses, spoons, &c., are always at hand. If there is, as we must hope, a chimney in the room, she takes care that nothing may block it up, no stuffing of boards or paper to exclude air; she knows the chimney will carry off the impure air, she manages to have some window open, if pos

sible at the top, so as to gain fresh air and avoid a draught. We can see how in these little ways a child can practise presence of mind, and gain that confidence which in itself soothes and comforts the patient.

6. Let us go a little further, and try and show how that confidence and simple wisdom can be practised. I only give in this paper a few simple facts which can be found elsewhere far better expressed and drawn out at length. 7. As to Fresh Air and Ventilation.-Ventilation is absolutely necessary for the preservation of health, because the very air we breathe purifies the blood and supports life. If this be so important in health, what must it be in sickness, when the blood is disordered? Let the little nurse then be taught to look about and see how best to procure pure air. If the room is so small and inconvenient that it is impossible to keep the window constantly open without exposing the patient to draughts, the next best thing is to change the air from time to time by opening the window for a few minutes. is easy, when airing the room, to cover up the patient for two or three minutes to avoid chills. Bad air is poisoned air to the lungs. The air we breathe should, if possible, be as pure as the external air, and that need not mean cold air. The mischief which bad air causes is not always felt at once, just as there are slow poisons which do not at once discover themselves, but, sooner or later, the poison does its work. Do not allow unnecessary people to go in or out or to stay in the room; each person consumes so much air, just as candles and especially gas will do, and the usually small space in a cottage calls for special thought on this matter.

It

8. Light. The light of heaven is good in an invalid's room; when the body is sick and the whole heart is faint, warm and cheerful rays should enter a sick room. It is always easy, when the eyes are weak or the head aches, to arrange a little blind as a temporary guard, and the patient's own wishes should be consulted, but sunshine brings joy and gladness, and is in itself life-giving.

9. The bed. As to mattresses and bedding, feather beds are unwholesome from the excessive heat they produce, and the difficulty of thoroughly airing and purifying them. Curtains drawn round make the bed into a trap for foul air; none should be allowed, excepting, perhaps, at the bed-head.

10. Cleanliness.- Keep the sick room scrupulously clean, the less carpet the better; give attention to the floor under the bed and in corners; do not allow any one but the

patient to eat meals there. Do not conceal utensils under the bed or elsewhere; a lid is useful, but nothing unpleasant should be left for any time in the sick-room, and all articles used should be very carefully rinsed afterwards. 11. Cookery.-We might naturally now turn to the subject of cookery, but so large a subject cannot be treated of here; suffice it to say, that food for a sick person should be of a finer kind than for a person in health. A defect in cookery will speak for itself, while judicious good cooking will save the digestion half its work. Thus we trust our young friends will lose no opportunity of studying this branch of cooking. Proper diet is of greater consequence than medicine. 12. Quiet and Watchfulness.-I will now add a few hints which I have myself found useful to bear in mind in a sick-room. One of the first lessons is to be quiet, calm, and cheerful. Avoid giving unnecessary trouble by talking or fidgeting. Sit by the invalid and watch with all your might. You will by observation soon learn his wishes, and this very watchfulness it is which gives experience. It will often be more valuable than rules, though these should by no means be disregarded. Observation will, for instance, better than any rule, teach us how to regulate the patient's food. It is a very common error to think that a person may die because he takes little or no food. Now in this matter nature is often speaking and doing the restorative work in the best way by bidding the stomach rest; but on the other hand there are cases when it is needful to give food in small quantities often, even every hour or half-hour. A nurse must learn when to turn to the doctor to help her judgment in these important points, but she must strive to improve her own judgment by ceaseless watchfulness. Save your patient anxiety, waiting, fear of surprise, emotion; lead him gently but firmly, without driving. Again, manage thoughtfully about leaving him. Tell him when you will return; keep to your time; uncertainty is trying to all patients.

13. Sleep.-A nurse must also learn the great blessing of sleep in illness, that beautiful provision of nature, often to be encouraged even to the neglect of the stated hour for food or medicine. Sleep is all-important in bringing respite from pain or weakness, and in refreshing the exhausted powers.

14. State of the Skin and the Circulation.Much good often may be done by attention to the state of the patient's skin. A warm bath, or a hot drink at bed-time, encourages

perspiration, which often removes chills and carries off the cold which has come from checking the action of the skin. Examine feet and hands, to judge of the circulation, and to guard against effects of vital heat diminishing; hot bottles or hot flannels help to restore heat to the body. In the early morning exhaustion is more likely to come on, as the vital power is lower.

15. Upon all the last-enumerated matters, however, which manifestly demand the more mature powers, the little nurse at home should learn to be guided entirely by the doctor's directions.

16. Pages might be written, but I have not attempted to do more than suggest small measures and very humble beginnings in the loving work of tending the sick. Only let us not go on in ignorance and apathy, content to see the poor and those we love suffering from illness, and lacking the help that their own children might learn to afford. In this very elementary paper, I urge a step being taken to teach the young, so as to put people upon the right road. Let no one be discouraged; it is true the work in itself is of a very delicate nature, needing much patience, but then it should be a labour of love. "God's precious gift of life is often literally placed in our hands." This has been strikingly said. Shall we not persevere, then? Simple lessons of thoughtfulness and care and constant watching will sow seeds that will bring forth much fruit; and how great will be the blessing if from these small beginnings villages should come to possess nurses of the spirit of Florence Nightingale!

17. Even in the infant school the children might be asked simple questions upon the health of their parents and themselves, and gradually be led to think on the subject. In the classes for older children, both boys and girls, the questions might be continued ; and I hope to see prepared a small manual on health, which shall be the means of suggesting, rather than presenting, actual questions to teachers. I am not in favour of teaching by questions and answers, which generates too much rote knowledge, and saves the mental labour of the teacher at the cost of the child.

18. Let us conclude with the most important thought of all, which should underlie all our efforts the thought of the wonder and beauty of our Creator's work in these frail bodies of ours, and how much love and care we should bestow upon the frames He has so loved and cared for.

[graphic]

SEARE

SEARED LEAVES.

An Autumn Meditation.

EARED leaves ! At first these words | profusion, decking the green sward with little seem to have a mournful sound, sug- bright bits of colouring-gold, red, emerald, gestive of blight and decay-of the close of russet, brown-as the sun's rays glance on life rather than of its free joyous course; and them and light them up. Resting on their we are apt, unreasoningly, to think of life as soft mossy bed, or hanging tremblingly on the fairer than death, and to connect with the boughs from which they are ready to drop, latter only gloomy associations, as if the how radiant they look! many of them in one alone were to be desired and the other their flaming scarlet or party-coloured garb, dreaded as an unmitigated evil-a thing dark such as the chestnut, for instance, with its and stern and forbidding, instead of the portal edge of brownish red dashed with gold, which to a higher life. blends with and fades into pale green towards the centre. More beautiful this than when all was one monotonous dusty green; and yet the very presence of this new unwonted beauty testifies that the end is coming on apace; the very perfection of the work which Time has wrought with his mellowing touch shows that his task is nearly completed-the close is near-death draws nigh. A slight gale, nay, even a gentle breeze-nothing more is needed-and the already nearly severed leaves are parted from the parent stem, and fall down silently, noiselessly, unresistingly, upon the silent earth beneath. There they lie, for awhile still beautiful, especially when the warm sun comes to burnish their patches of gold, and deepen their red into crimson, their yellow into orange.

What does Nature teach us on the subject? Surely she sympathizes with our sorrowful lingering over the word "farewell," but forbids any tendency to dark, despairing regret. Does she not make the end generally more beautiful than the beginning? Does she not bring forth all her richest treasures at the last hour; not in the full flush of life, but at its close? For who will say that the sunset glory is not a more tenderly beautiful thing than the glory of the meridian blaze-the quiet glow of autumn with its gorgeous dyes and varied tints more lovely than the vivid uniform green of midsummer? Ay, even the seared leaf, as it changes colour and blushes into rosy red or fades into pale gold before the final parting from the twig, dons a beauty of which it couid scarcely boast even in its budding youth, when it first burst from its sheath and unfolded its soft emerald tissue.

Yes, there is beauty even in "seared leaves," as they lie on the smooth velvet turf or shining gravel path like gems scattered around in

After a time they are brushed away by the gardener, or are drifted and scattered by the wind, or trodden under foot of the passer-by, and so are buried and forgotten. But their work is not yet done. All spring, and summer, and autumn they have fulfilled their mission

« PreviousContinue »