,"

bear with me, then, and let me give my hints concerning aegritudinary
sick-room discipline.

Of the professional nurse I will say nothing. You, of course, have put
down Mrs. Gamp's address.

A sick-room should, in the first place, be made dark. Light, I have said
before, is, in most cases, curative. It is a direct swindling of the
doctor when we allow blinds to be pulled up, and so admit into the
patient's room medicine for which nobody (except the tax-gatherer) is
paid.

A sick-room should, in the next place, be made sad, obtrusively sad. A
smile upon the landing must become a sigh when it has passed the patient's
door. Our hope is to depress, to dispirit invalids. Cheerful words and
gentle laughter, more especially where there is admitted sunshine also,
are a moral food much too nutritious for the sick.

The sick-room, in its furniture as well, must have an ominous appearance.
The drawers, or a table should be decked with physic bottles. Some have a
way of thrusting all the medicine into a cupboard, out of sight, leaving a
glass of gayly-colored flowers for the wearied eyes to rest upon: this has
arisen obviously from a sanitary crotchet, and is, on no account, to be
adopted.

Then we must have the sick-room to be hot, and keep it close. A scentless
air, at summer temperature, sanitary people want; a hot, close atmosphere
is better suited to our view. Slops and all messes are to be left standing
in the room--only put out of sight--and cleared away occasionally; they are
not to be removed at once. The chamber also is to be made tidy once a day,
and once a week well cleaned: it is not to be kept in order by incessant
care, by hourly tidiness, permitting no dirt to collect.

There is an absurd sanitary dictum, which I will but name. It is, that a
patient ought to have, if possible, two beds, one for the day, and one for
night use; or else two sets of sheets, that, each set being used one day
and aired the next, the bed may be kept fresh and wholesome. Suppose our
friend were to catch cold in consequence of all this freshness!

No, we do better to avoid fresh air; nor should we vex our patient with
much washing. We will not learn to feed the sick, but send their food away
when they are unable to understand our clumsiness.

Yet, while we follow our own humor in this code of chamber practice, we
will pay tithes of mint and cummin to the men of science. We will ask
Monsieur Purgon how many grains of salt go t