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Title: Luxurious Bathing
Author: Tuer, Andrew White
Language: English
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*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Luxurious Bathing" ***
_LUXURIOUS BATHING_:
(_Fourth Edition_) EIGHT
A SKETCH ETCHINGS
BY [Illustration: BY
ANDREW W. TUER: Shadows in the pond.] TRISTRAM ELLIS.
—————— ——————
1880. 5⁄−
London: │ New York:
_Field & Tuer, Y^e Leadenhalle │ _Scribner & Welford, 743 & 745,
Presse, E.C._ │ Broadway._
_LUXURIOUS BATHING._
(_The First Edition was published in folio form with Etchings by Mr.
Sutton Sharpe, at Three Guineas:
Proofs Seven Guineas._)
“Remarque” Proofs (signed) six only printed, Three Guineas.
Proofs before Letters, Japanese paper (signed) 20 copies only printed,
One Guinea.
Proofs, white hand-made paper, 100 copies only printed, Half-a-Guinea.
NOTE.—The copper-plates having been steel-faced suffer little or no
deterioration in printing.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
_ITS PRACTICE._
Treatises and disquisitions sufficient to form a library of no
inconsiderable dimensions have been written during the last three
centuries on the subject of baths: boiling, freezing, variously
medicated—including tar-water, steam, and spray; milk, whey, broth, mud,
sand, and even earth-baths—in which the patient for hours together was
buried up to his neck in a fallow field—have all had their exponents and
upholders; then there is the vapour-bath of the Russian, the dry, hot
air or Turkish-bath, besides the cold air-bath recommended by Franklin,
and those who like it may follow the example of the elder Pliny who used
to indulge in a bath of sunshine. Now-a-days it is a common practice, on
the shores of the Mediterranean, for many of the inhabitants, during the
hot months, to pass a considerable portion of their time sitting on
chairs placed a few feet from the shore, the calm water, without even
the _nuance_ of a ripple, reaching to the neck, while the head is
protected from the scorching sun by an immense grass hat.
_The_ inference may be too hastily drawn that what is advocated in this
Sketch is unnecessary, being simply what everyone now-a-days practises
in one form or another—cleanliness; on consideration, however, this will
be found to be hardly the fact. We are a cleanly nation, or at any rate
more cleanly than we were, but bathing with hot or cold water as
ordinarily practised is not so enjoyable and luxurious as it might be,
and moreover, to the weakly, is often harmful in its action.
_Perhaps_ the very acme of luxurious bathing is reached in the
_Soap-bath_, an application of hot water and soap to the whole body,
followed immediately by a cold plunge, or a sponge-bath. A bath is at
once a necessity and a luxury, and in order to obtain the greatest
number of benefits, including increased health, appetite, vigour, and
good spirits, the _Soap-bath_ is the most effectual, and moreover the
pleasantest and least trying to the weakly or over sensitive
constitution.
_It_ is a simple and invigorating luxury as compared with the
self-inflicted half-painful ordeal the cold bath is to many, which
latter is too often taken, not for its own sake, but for the good
supposed to follow its use. After a _Soap-bath_, however, one is ready
for the duties or pleasures of the day: duty in fact becomes a pleasure,
and pleasure itself is intensified.
[Illustration: A hot Afternoon.]
_The Soap-bath_ obtains a rapidly increasing number of adherents, and
when once the habit of taking it is formed, it will not readily be
abandoned, as it forms one of the pleasures, if not _the_ pleasure of
the day, and moreover, can be indulged in all the year round.
_The_ fair sex will find the _Soap-bath_ vastly superior to any
cosmetic: it renders the skin as soft as an infant’s, and, with
increased health, the complexion will appear more delicate and clear,
tinged with a healthy colour beyond the power of art to produce.
_It_ appears from the evidence obtained by modern scientific research,
that hot water destroys the germinating power of malignant contagious
diseases, and that soap chemically poisons it. These germs or spores are
carried about by every wind that blows: and when it is borne in mind
that, roughly speaking, a million of such germs will lie on a
threepenny-piece; the value, as a preventive of contagion, of a thorough
daily ablution with soap, may be estimated.
_The_ Romans, according to Pliny, raised the temperature of their air
baths to almost boiling point, and they were apparently well acquainted
with the grateful and invigorating after-application of cold water.
_It_ is no slight recommendation of the _Soap-bath_, that while being an
absolute luxury both for the feeble and robust, it cannot be resorted to
as a mere indolent indulgence: the lungs and muscles are called into
full action, a moderate though pleasant shock is encountered, and the
bather has the satisfaction of knowing that all the pleasure and
advantages gained are actually earned.
_The_ application of the _Soap-bath_ is very simple: the bather is armed
with a large lump of good ordinary yellow soap, and a loose washing
glove (the white and very soft “Turkish” is the pleasantest, or if a
hard glove be preferred, the “Baden” may be used) big enough to come
over the wrist, and standing _découvert_ in front of the washing basin
containing _hot_ water, quickly and vigorously covers the body from head
to foot with a thick and abundant lather. By using hot water, chills are
avoided, and the body is kept sufficiently warm to avoid the
unpleasantness, and often harm, following repeated applications of mere
handfuls of cold liquid.
_The_ soap application may take about three or four minutes at most; the
very robust may use tepid water, but most persons will find warm or hot
more agreeable; and more delicate persons whose finger-tips have the
unpleasant habit of turning numb and white upon the application of cold
water, will find in the _Soap-bath_ an agreeable means of bathing
otherwise perhaps unattainable.
_Cold_ bathing promotes vigour in the young and healthy, and the
_Soap-bath_ has the same effect in an intensified degree, with the
further inestimable advantage—except where there are positive
indications of lung or heart disease—of being alike suitable to the
robust and weakly.
_With_ the body thoroughly warm comes the plunge into cold water, which
must be got over quickly—once, twice, or thrice, overhead—but a couple
of rapid dips are sufficient to remove every particle of soap.
_A Plunge-bath_ sunk below the surface of the bath-room, lined with
white glazed tiles, and nearly full of clear water, into which one can
take a header, and clamber out by the aid of a rope and gently sloping
ladder, is perhaps the best and most luxurious form; it is to be
regretted that there are few such baths in modern houses.
_There_ are persons who habitually bathe in tepid water, and remain
splashing about for a considerable time, but much greater benefit is to
be derived, and the body becomes infinitely more refreshed and
invigorated by a shorter immersion in water of a lower temperature.
_The_ head must remain uncovered and receive the full benefit of the
cold water. This may be a serious consideration for ladies, but there is
no choice: the penalty for keeping the head dry will usually be a
violent headache with the probable complaint that “baths don’t suit me,”
but whether, in the absence of wetting the head, headache follows or
not, the health must suffer.
_The_ momentary shock of the cold dip is succeeded by a delightful
feeling of vital internal warmth—a delicious triumphant glow. It is
highly unadvisable to be leisurely over this part of the bath, however
one may dawdle in dressing: the coldness of the water would gain upon
the warmth of the body, but without waiting for this, the bather at once
quits the cold bath, and proceeds to make ample use of dry towels.
[Illustration: A Water-gate of Bruges.]
_Some_ bathers with tough cuticles affect the use of towels bearing to
the touch a strong resemblance to rasps or wire brushes, and affirm that
everyone ought to use the very roughest that can be procured: there are
others, on the contrary, possessing an outer epidermis so delicately
soft and velvet-like, that very rough towels would, if used, cause
insufferable agony, and almost flay them alive; what would be thought a
rough towel by one, producing after use a full glow, would have no
effect upon another.
_The_ use of the flesh-brush, after a thorough rub down with towels, is
to be commended for producing a more vigorous reaction; there are many
persons, however, whose skins are too delicate to allow of the
application of the flesh-brush, but this is of little moment, as a
moderately rough towel will with them produce as strong a reaction, or
as great a glow, as the flesh-brush would with those possessing less
sensitive skins.
[Illustration]
_AFTER THE BATH._
A Bath-Room, if possible should certainly receive the benefit of the
sun, and in warm and genial weather the enjoyment of the bath will be
heightened if the window be opened wide at the top.
_When_, however, the thermometer is in the neighbourhood of freezing
point, the atmosphere of the bath-room is to many intolerably cold, and
one may perhaps be sometimes tempted to raise the temperature of the
cold water in the bath too high to produce the necessary shock with its
pleasant and health-promoting reaction. It is better, by some means, in
cold weather, to warm the bath-room and to keep the temperature of the
cold water sufficiently low to produce the desired reaction. Drying and
dressing may be comfortably gone through in front of a fire, the use of
which for this purpose is a positive advantage, and will by no means, as
might perhaps be imagined, tend to enervate or enfeeble, or in any way
lessen the pleasure and benefits to be derived from the bath; a good
fire on the contrary, will act as a help in laying in an agreeable and
valuable supply of warmth, the advantage of which will be felt during
the whole day.
_Only_ a very weakly person should take the bath in the bed-room, as the
air of the sleeping chamber must necessarily be more or less vitiated.
Still, better there than not at all, and very likely, after a few
trials, sufficient courage and energy will be found to enable the bather
to get into fresher air.
_The_ surface of the human body is protected by an oily film deposited
by innumerable vessels, so that after a dip into water the skin is not
thoroughly wetted, most of the water running from the body as from a
duck’s back. After a _Soap-bath_, the bather will find himself
thoroughly wet all over, the skin being apparently saturated as if it
were blotting paper; both natural secretions and foreign matter will
have yielded to the warm and cleansing bath of yellow soap and the
after-application of cold water.
_In_ conjunction with the _Soap-bath_, daily exercise after breakfast is
not only desirable but necessary: half-an-hour’s ride, a brisk walk, or
an open air game helps to circulate the blood and raise the spirits for
the day. If the accumulated effects of three hundred and sixty-five
morning walks could be seen and judged, perhaps business men would not
be in quite so great a hurry, after bolting their breakfast, to rush
into the omnibus or train. Half-an-hour apparently thus wasted is gained
twice over during the day in better work more easily done.
_A celebrated_ physician was once heard to say that he did not much care
what atmosphere his patients lived in during the day so long as they
breathed pure air at night; but whether one resides in town or country,
it is impossible to breathe fresh air if the bed-room window be kept
closed. Many people appear to be afraid of taking cold if they sleep
with the bed-room window open: never was a greater mistake. The most
delicately constituted maiden may, with ordinary precaution, and without
the slightest fear of injury, sleep with the bed-room window open almost
all the year round, and with the certainty of health and vigour being
materially improved. Even this uncertain climate is seldom bad enough to
compel complete closing up of the windows: the bed must of course not be
placed in a direct draught: _i.e._ between the open window and the
fireplace.
_SPONGE & SHOWER BATHS._
Many persons have to content themselves with a _Sponge-bath_, and
although its invigorating effects are great, and cold water daily
applied externally—no matter how—hardens the body, and keeps the system
up to that high condition which makes the mere sense of living
enjoyable, the application of cold water—sometimes nearly freezing—by
fits and starts as it were, is not the most comfortable method of taking
a bath, and the preference will generally be given to that which enables
one to dip overhead at once.
_However_, after a long continued course of the _Plunge_, the
_Sponge-bath_ will sometimes be found a positive relief, and, like a
change of food, will act as a whet to the appetite. In taking such a
bath it is desirable that the sponge be of large size, and it should be
placed in the bath, charged with water, ready for immediate use.
_To_ obtain the fullest benefit in the most agreeable manner, the
charged sponge, as the bather steps into the bath, should be lifted and
carried quickly to the back of the head, which should be slightly
inclined forward, so that the bulk of the water will run down the spine
and back; the next spongeful should be almost instantaneously applied,
leaning forward, to the top of the head, and the third, standing quite
upright, to the chest; the arms and legs may then be separately treated:
and if desire be felt for more, the application may be repeated to the
back of the head and chest.
_The_ species of cold bath following the hot is really of little moment,
it is simply a matter of taste and convenience; and whether a plunge,
shower, hip, sitz, or sponge-bath be used, the pleasurable and
beneficial results will be very much the same.
_There_ are bathers who prefer a _Shower-bath_, and, to those able to
stand it, nothing can be more agreeable and refreshing, but it may be
safely questioned whether a _Shower-bath_ taken on a cold wintry
morning, with the water all but freezing, can possibly prove salutary
even to the most robust.
_Nearly_ freezing water from a shower-bath produces a feeling something
akin to what might be imagined to result from a shower of red-hot lead;
the shock is tremendous, and the shower, if continued for any length of
time, would assuredly cause asphyxia. Professor Jamin shews conclusively
that although ice is always at an uniform temperature of 32°, water may
remain liquid at a very much lower temperature if guarded from external
disturbance.
_The_ nerves must be thoroughly braced up to take such a bath: the
writer has a lively recollection of stepping into a shower-bath one
intensely cold morning, when, the string being pulled, not a drop of
water descended; the connections were all frozen, and the bath was
empty; the shock resulting on that occasion from the absence of the
water, though of a negative and totally different description, was
really greater than would have been produced by the cold shower itself.
_The Shower-bath_ should be taken warmer than the ordinary cold bath;
the water may be advantageously placed in the bath on the previous
evening, and, if necessary, a little warm water added in the morning.
_If_ headache follow, or reaction be slow, accompanied by shivering, the
shower must be discontinued, and a milder bath resorted to.
_SEA-BATHING & SWIMMING._
Sea-bathing—at least in these islands—is generally believed in and
largely practised, and some persons, by means of salts sold for that
purpose, produce a close imitation of sea-water for their daily tubbing.
A _Salt-bath_ thus prepared, when its use conduces to the enjoyment and
health of the bather, is by no means to be discouraged, and may
advantageously follow the soap application in place of fresh water.
_Most_ of us must have noticed how renovating to enfeebled constitutions
is the effect of even a short course of sea-bathing, but it is equally
patent that the good effects quickly wear off, the physique returning
shortly to its perhaps normal condition of relaxation and lassitude. The
daily use of the _Soap-bath_ keeps the constitution permanently braced
up to that delightful condition experienced by so few, that makes mere
existence an absolute pleasure. A preliminary course of _Sea-bathing_ is
by no means necessary to bring about this pleasant condition of things.
_Salt-water_ is more energetic in its action on the skin than fresh,
and, after a dip in the sea, there is not the same liability to take
cold from insufficient drying as after a fresh-water bath. Some bathers
go so far as to habitually only half-dry themselves, the saline
particles left on the skin further exciting its action, and producing a
healthy and more vigorous glow. Children at the sea-side may safely be
allowed, without the slightest fear of taking cold, to dabble and patter
about in the little pools left by the receding tide: their constitutions
will be positively invigorated and improved.
_A love_ of cold-water bathing can perhaps be carried to excess, as in
the case of those self-devoted Spartan swimmers, who, every morning,
even in winter, assemble on the banks of the Serpentine, and audaciously
defying their own instinct, plunge into the freezing water, even though
they have first to break through the icy covering under which it is
concealed by nature: the strongest constitution must suffer sooner or
later from this treatment.
[Illustration: Taking the Plunge.]
_Boys_ and girls ought to be taught swimming at school as they are
taught gymnastics and calisthenics—as a matter of course. We ought, as
islanders, to be swimmers, and it is to be regretted that we are not:
swimmers are of necessity bathers, but bathers are not always, as they
should be, swimmers. The percentage of swimmers in this country is
perhaps considerably less than might be expected by those who have not
given any thought to the subject, and yet the art itself is a necessary
one, easy to acquire, healthy, and sometimes of the greatest possible
service.
_When_ once learned the action of swimming comes as naturally as
walking, and doubtless man in a state of nature, would, like a dog, swim
at once if thrown into the water. Swimming is an art which seems to
incorporate itself into the physique, and become part of one’s being—at
any rate, it can never be forgotten, and a person finding himself
unexpectedly in deep water, after a twenty years’ rest from swimming,
will strike out as naturally and surely, and with little more effort,
than if the practice had never been given up.
_Rowing-men_ are usually swimmers, or they ought to be. To appreciate
river life one must go to bed early and get up early; ten o’clock should
be the latest hour at which to turn in, but after an extra hard day’s
pull the sheets will be welcome by nine. To enjoy thorough fatigue one
must do a hard day’s work in the open air. Up in the morning betimes,
garments hastily donned, a sharp pull to the nearest bathing place,
where one can dive in and have a few minutes delicious swim, and back to
breakfast—and such a breakfast! Or possibly the way lies through the
fields where the grass is knee-deep and saturated with refreshing dew:
then off come shoes and socks, the trousers are well tucked-up, and one
gets what a hydropath would possibly term a leg-bath—in reality a
delicious, fragrant dew-bath, which, though more than cool, is mightily
enjoyable and never seems to give cold.
[Illustration: The dew-bath.]
_Small-boned_ and fleshy persons naturally make the best swimmers, but
it must not be supposed that thin people cannot learn to swim, and swim
well. The writer well remembers seeing one morning at Brill’s swimming
baths, Brighton, a young fellow who had just stepped from his
dressing-box ready for a plunge. He was standing where the water is
deepest, and judging by his appearance he literally could not have had
an ounce of flesh to spare. It was absurd to suppose that so thin a man
could swim, and his movements were curiously watched. After hesitating
an instant, apparently measuring the size of the bath, he shot into the
water head first as if propelled from a catapult, and shortly reappeared
half-way across the bath, having swum the distance under water; he
proved himself a thorough master of the element. It appeared that
although passionately fond of the water he could only keep himself
afloat by constant muscular exertion of both arms and legs; he was too
thin to float naturally, and could not venture to swim out a greater
distance than he felt sure of covering on his return.
_Tuition_ in swimming has been for some time past, and is now, given
gratuitously in town by the London Swimming Club, from the persevering
and enthusiastic Honorary Secretary of which—Mr. J. Garrett Elliott, 14,
Finsbury Square—particulars may be obtained.
[Illustration]
_NOTES._
Bathing after hard exercise must be indulged in judiciously: a bath
after a day’s shooting or cricketing, or an afternoon at lawn-tennis—to
an enthusiast, who really plays, by far the hardest and most tiring form
of amusement of the three—is pleasant and invigorating, and better
understood than when it was an article of faith that to plunge into cold
water, when heated, was almost equivalent to committing suicide.
_Our_ grandmothers who adopted this view, were not like some of the
present generation of girls educated at Girton and Zurich, or they might
have called to mind Homer’s graphic description of the nocturnal
expedition of Ulysses and Diomede to the Trojan camp, and their
refreshing plunge into the sea when they returned reeking with heat and
moisture from their successful raid; certainly none need fear to follow
the example of such an old soldier as the cautious Ithacan.
[Illustration: A Midsummer Night’s dip.]
_A plunge_ into cold water when one is warm from exercise is intensely
grateful, and may be indulged in with impunity even when much heated,
provided the plunge be taken the moment the clothes are removed; the
danger is in standing about on the brink, during which time the body
rapidly cools, and cold may be taken.
_Although_ perfectly safe to plunge into cold water, no matter how much
the body may be heated, care must be taken to avoid it if there are
feelings of lassitude and exhaustion; these are sure signs of over
fatigue, and a cold bath under such circumstances is not only weakening,
but might prove absolutely dangerous. A complete change of clothing must
be ready, both for comfort, and to prevent any chance of taking cold
through putting on clothes rendered damp by previous exercise.
_The_ morning-bath forms a tolerably sure index as to the manner in
which the previous evening has been spent. Morning exhaustion, and
antipathy to cold water, may follow after an evening’s dancing with its
attendant late hours, and nature will probably protest against too great
a shock: it will be advisable to take the cold bath from five to ten
degrees warmer than usual, or it may be deferred two or three hours.
_The_ much vexed question as to the advisability of continuing the bath
through a severe and prolonged, or even an ordinary winter, must be left
open, as it is not only unadvisable but absolutely impossible to lay
down fixed rules. Each bather must be guided entirely by his own state
of health and sense of vitality.
_Even_ among the well-to-do, the bath is by no means so universal or so
well appreciated as might be desired, the daily thorough ablution being
looked upon by too many as a necessarily unpleasant process to be
shunned or superficially hurried through, with no enjoyment and little
advantage: thorough ablution in the form of the _Soap-bath_ is an
absolute luxury, and moreover is followed by an immediate increase of
health, strength and mental vigour.
_The_ primary object of taking a bath is cleanliness, and it is now
better understood that the mere application of cold water to the skin
does not cleanse, but merely closes the pores, the after vigorous use of
towels doing so still further by rubbing in the impurities and natural
secretions of the skin.
_Cleanliness_ in connection with the bath should be strictly enforced:
it should be cleaned and dried daily and occasionally scrubbed, and the
washing glove well rinsed after use.
_The_ delicately-soft skin of Egyptian women is said to be produced by
the habitual use of the _loofah_, a fibrous flesh-glove woven by Dame
Nature, the use of which is to be commended for finally cleansing the
skin after the soap application with the ordinary washing glove. The
_loofah_ not only readily removes every particle of soap, but acts as a
mildly invigorating flesh-glove, increases the suppleness of the skin in
a marked degree, and moreover possesses the happy faculty of completely
rinsing itself the moment it is dipped into water. Some persons discard
the washing glove altogether, and use a _loofah_ for applying the soap
to the body: _loofahs_ are of different degrees of texture, and when
thus used, a fine close quality should be selected.
_The_ sponge after use should be dipped in clean water and pressed
out—not wrung, which tends to tear it—as nearly dry as possible: if
habitually left charged with water, or—as sometimes done with a vague
idea of sweetening—put out wet in the sun to dry, it will not only rot
quickly but probably smell offensively, and even become unpleasant to
the touch. To restore its sweetness, the sponge should be placed for a
day or so in a basin of water in which a large piece of washing soda has
been dissolved: the water should be changed once or twice, or oftener if
necessary, and the sponge well squeezed out each time.
_A word_ about the soap:—the best, perhaps, is that known as “John
Knight’s Primrose,” an ordinary yellow soap, sweet and sound, and
apparently containing none of the foreign matter sometimes found in
soaps of a commoner and cheaper description. Scented soap must be
avoided, especially for using habitually and liberally over the whole
body.
_Decidedly_ unpleasant feelings, in some cases amounting to a positive
loathing, occasionally follow the preliminary wetting of the feet on
stepping into cold water: it may be taken for granted that such
antipathy is by no means imaginary, but simply nature’s protest. The use
is recommended, in conjunction with the _Sponge-bath_, of a broad stool
(heavily weighted at the bottom, to prevent risk of upsetting) covered
loosely with carpet, and high enough to reach above the level of the
water when placed in the middle of the bath: the piece of carpet may be
dried each day after use; or a _Sponge-bath_ may be readily constructed
with a fixed raised centre of metal forming a portion of the bath, the
bather standing as it were on an island: the feet may thus at first be
kept dry, and the preliminary shock received on the head and shoulders;
persons who in despair had almost given up the _Soap-bath_, are by this
means enabled to enjoy it without discomfort.
_The_ temperature of the warm water with the soap application may vary
from 75 to 95, or even 100°; it ought to be hot enough for the bather to
feel it thoroughly grateful and comforting. The cold may vary from 30 to
70°, and it may be borne in mind that as great a shock will be produced
with the higher temperature on an enfeebled or weakly constitution, as
with the lower on a strong and robust: the bather must be guided by his
own feelings. As a rough guide for those in moderate health, 90° for the
warm and 60° for the cold may be taken as convenient.
[Illustration: Cyprus—ware sharks.]
_The_ necessity of getting quickly over the second or cold application
must be strongly urged: in and out again must be the rule and not the
exception. Any one may observe what takes place when the body is
immersed in cold water: first comes the sharp, half-pleasing,
half-painful sensation of cold, almost immediately followed by a
consciousness of internal warmth, the duration of which will be in
proportion to the power of the organization to keep up this
counteraction. The cold water slowly but surely absorbs and extracts the
vital heat; if the bath be unduly prolonged, chilliness, shivering,
numbness, and exhaustion follow, and although the unpleasant symptoms
will probably shortly disappear, the bather will have lost rather than
gained in point of health.
_No_ notion of “getting used to it,” or of cultivating hardiness and
endurance, should induce one to venture near the stage commencing with
chilliness; by so doing the stock of health is wasted instead of
increased: the mere patient endurance of cold cannot possibly do good,
although it may unquestionably do a great deal of harm.
_Many_ persons suffer severely in winter from cold feet, with the
attendant penalties of chilblains, colds, sore throat, and personal
discomfort. It is well known to medical men that, when the feet are
cold, the system is far more readily accessible to the attacks of
disease, and to keep them warm, more especially during the early hours
of the morning and after the bath, is, with some persons, almost an
impossibility. Singers—both amateur and professional—suffer, certainly
in this climate, more or less severely from affections—difficult to
guard against—of the throat, induced in the majority of cases by cold,
which first attacks the extremities. In lately consulting Dr. Llewelyn
Thomas, he suggested as a future safeguard the wearing of shoes or
slippers (made by Whiteley, of Westbourne Grove) of a description
calculated not only to retain the natural heat of the body but to
absolutely exclude cold and draughts. The material is a dark felt, lined
with thick white fur; the shoes are open down the sides, but the
openings are heavily covered with a dark fur, effectually excluding
draughts. There are no laces or fastenings of any kind, and the shoes
are slipped on or off in a moment.
_It_ need not be imagined that because the daily application of cold
water in the luxurious form of the _Soap-bath_ be strongly urged, it is
desirable to inure the body in the manner advocated at the early part of
this century, when bare-kneed little children—robust or weakly—were
exposed insufficiently clothed to the inclemency of the weather under
the mistaken idea of hardening them—hardening some, no doubt, but
killing a great many more. The power to resist cold means the power to
resist disease, and to be proof against intense cold, one must not only
be well fed, and warmly clad, but thoroughly warm before exposure to the
cold atmosphere out of doors. Protected by sufficient clothing, the body
acts as a sort of store-house of heat, and a sufficiently large stock of
warmth absorbed in the morning will last all day, and fresh supplies
will be drawn from the heat-producing food consumed. A shivering child
sent out of doors for violent exercise may certainly get warm, but it
does so at the expense of its own vital energy.
_The_ essential that must not only be looked for, but positively and
rapidly attained, is the reaction from the shock produced by the cold
water: the heart is actively excited, and the blood propelled with
unusual force through the system; the temperature of the body rapidly
rises, and a general glow supervenes, accompanied with mixed feelings of
increased vitality, buoyancy and exhilaration, difficult to describe.
With the non-robust the stay in the cold water can hardly be made too
short: the principal shock is produced from the _first_ application, and
the endeavour ought rather to be to get out as quickly as possible, than
to stay in under the mistaken notion of deriving increased benefit.
_Should_ the stay be even a trifle too prolonged, the reaction will be
proportionately slow, and by no means so pleasant; or proper reaction
may be made almost impossible, with the result of coldness, shivering,
violent headache, slow pulse and probable sickness. It must, however,
never be lost sight of that these unpleasantnesses are absolutely under
the control of the bather, and never arise except with the very ignorant
or very foolish: speedy reaction _must_ be attained and can invariably
be secured, even by the most feeble, provided the unpardonable and
suicidal sin of too long a stay in the cold water be avoided.
_Should_ the reaction after a _Sponge-bath_ be very slow, it may be
hastened by the previous addition to the water of a small wine-glassful
of eau-de-cologne, spirits of wine, or spirits of any description,
whiskey being perhaps best.
_The Soap-bath_ may be commenced at any period of the year, and if
children are induced to take it as a treat, rather than from any other
point of view, they will soon become as partial to its use as their
elders.
_In_ slight colds the bath may be continued, but in the rare case of an
extremely violent one, or affection of the throat, the bather, however
much against his will, must perforce give it up for a time.
[Illustration: Taking the waters.]
_Those_ who habituate themselves to the indulgence of the _Soap-bath_
become, as it were, case-hardened, and can seldom be persuaded to forego
their daily pleasure, much less to abandon the habit: by its use the
body arrives and remains at its highest state of physical vigour; the
power of resisting sudden changes of temperature is greatly increased,
and liability to colds correspondingly lessened, while there is an
almost absolute freedom from danger of infection and epidemic attacks.
The _Soap-bath_ is a source of immense and constant physical
gratification; food is keenly enjoyed, the muscles get hard and firm,
and the skin soft as satin, while vigorous health and feelings of mental
and animal enjoyment are produced attainable perhaps by no other means.
Existence becomes what it was intended, and what it certainly ought to
be—a positive pleasure: the numerous unpleasantnesses and dyspeptic
ailments incidental to a low state of bodily health glide into the past,
and their very recollection almost disappears.
[Illustration]
_ADDENDA._
Since going to press the author’s attention has been drawn—not
over-courteously perhaps—by certain manufacturers to the sweeping
denunciation in this Sketch of the habitual use of scented soaps; but
after a careful examination and trial of various kinds, one alone—known
as Pears’ transparent soap—may in his opinion be safely indicated as a
pure detergent in every way suitable for _Luxurious Bathing_.
_Field & Tuer,
Y^e Leadenhalle Presse,
London, E.C._
------------------------------------------------------------------------
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