Now, do tell us, why must a child have measles?

Oh because, you say, we cannot keep it from infection—­other children have measles—­and it must take them—­and it is safer that it should.

But why must other children have measles?  And if they have, why must yours have them too?

If you believed in and observed the laws for preserving the health of houses which inculcate cleanliness, ventilation, white-washing, and other means, and which, by the way, are laws, as implicitly as you believe in the popular opinion, for it is nothing more than an opinion, that your child must have children’s epidemics, don’t you think that upon the whole your child would be more likely to escape altogether?

FOOTNOTES: 

[1] [Sidenote:  Health of carriages.]

The health of carriages, especially close carriages, is not of sufficient universal importance to mention here, otherwise than cursorily.  Children, who are always the most delicate test of sanitary conditions, generally cannot enter a close carriage without being sick—­ and very lucky for them that it is so.  A close carriage, with the horse-hair cushions and linings always saturated with organic matter, if to this be added the windows up, is one of the most unhealthy of human receptacles.  The idea of taking an airing in it is something preposterous.  Dr. Angus Smith has shown that a crowded railway carriage, which goes at the rate of 30 miles an hour, is as unwholesome as the strong smell of a sewer, or as a back yard in one of the most unhealthy courts off one of the most unhealthy streets in Manchester.

[2] God lays down certain physical laws.  Upon His carrying out such laws depends our responsibility (that much abused word), for how could we have any responsibility for actions, the results of which we could not foresee—­which would be the case if the carrying out of His laws were not certain.  Yet we seem to be continually expecting that He will work a miracle—­i.e., break His own laws expressly to relieve us of responsibility.

[3] [Sidenote:  Servants rooms.]

I must say a word about servants’ bed-rooms.  From the way they are built, but oftener from the way they are kept, and from no intelligent inspection whatever being exercised over them, they are almost invariably dens of foul air, and the “servants’ health” suffers in an “unaccountable” (?) way, even in the country.  For I am by no means speaking only of London houses, where too often servants are put to live under the ground and over the roof.  But in a country “mansion,” which was really a “mansion,” (not after the fashion of advertisements,) I have known three maids who slept in the same room ill of scarlet fever.  “How catching it is,” was of course the remark.  One look at the room, one smell of the room, was quite enough.  It was no longer “unaccountable.”  The room was not a small one; it was up stairs, and it had two large windows—­but nearly every one of the neglects enumerated above was there.