William Dunbar, in 1479, said: 

“Be merry, man, and take not sair to mind
  The wavering of this wretched world of sorrow: 
To God be humble, to thy friend be kind,
  And with thy neighbor gladly lend and borrow;
  His chance to-night, it may be thine to-morrow! 
Be blyth in heart for any aventure,
  How oft with wise men it has been said aforow,
Without gladness availes no treasure.”

CHAPTER XXX.

THE FAMILY INVALID.

One of the most anomalous of the inconsistencies peculiar to human nature is that we who are flesh, and consequently liable to all the ills to which flesh is heir, should know so little about the manner in which to check or, at least, alleviate these miseries.  In the average household the proper care of the sick is an unknown art, or one so little understood that illness would seem to be an impossible contingency.

The chamber of illness is at best a sadly uncomfortable place, and it is the duty of the nurse, be she a hireling or the nearest and dearest of kin to the prostrate inhabitant thereof, to be cognizant of the methods of tending and easing the unfortunate being during the trying period of his enforced idleness.  Only those who have been confined to a sick couch can appreciate its many trying features.  The looker-on sees a man or woman uncomfortable or in pain, lying in an easy bed, “the best place for sick folk,” with nothing to trouble him beyond the bodily malease which holds him there.  He is merely laid aside for repairs, and, if the observer be somewhat wearied and overworked, he is conscious of a pang of envy.  But he does not think of the sleepless nights through which the monotonous ticking of the clock is varied only by the striking of the hours, each one of them seeming double its actual length; or of the aching head and limbs; the feverish restlessness which makes repose an impossibility; or—­most trying of all—­the dumb nausea and loathing of the food, which, as one poor woman complained of meals partaken in bed, “tastes of the mattress and covers!”

The member of the family who is laid low by illness should receive the first consideration of the entire household.  Intelligent care and nursing will be of more benefit than medicines.  An old poem, written over two hundred and fifty years ago, struck the right chord when it advised: 

   “Use three physicians:  First, Dr. Quiet,
   Then Dr. Merryman, and Dr. Diet.”

Noise and disturbance of whatever description must be an unknown quantity in a sick room.  There “Dr. Quiet” should hold undisputed and peaceful sway.  Felt or soft kid slippers, devoid of any offensive squeak, should be worn, and loud tones and exclamations prohibited.  On the other hand, do not whisper to any person who chances to be in the room.  Whispering arouses the patient’s curiosity and suspicions, and, if he be asleep, the