bed; throw open the windows, be it winter or summer, and have a thorough ventilation; for the bed-room must be kept cool, I may say cold. Do not be afraid of fresh air, for fresh air, for the first few days is essential to recovery. Fresh air, and plenty of it, in scarlet fever, is the best doctor a child can have: let these words be written legibly on your mind. In the Times, is the following, copied from the Bridgewater Mercury:—
"Gross Superstition.—In one of the streets of Taunton there resides a man and his wife who have the care of a child. This child was attacked with scarlatina, and to all appearance death was inevitable. A jury of matrons was, as it were, impaneled, and, to prevent the child 'dying hard,' all the doors in the house, all the drawers, all the boxes, all the cupboards were thrown wide open, the keys taken out, and the body of the child placed under a beam, whereby a sure, certain, and easy passage into eternity could be secured. Watchers held their vigils throughout the weary night, and in the morning the child, to the surprise of all, did not die, and is now gradually recovering."
These old women—this jury of matrons—stumbled on the right remedy, "all the doors in the house . . . were thrown wide open," and thus they thoroughly ventilated the apartment. What was the consequence? The child who, just before the opening of the doors, had all the appearances "that death was inevitable," as soon as fresh air was let in, showed symptoms of recovery, "and in the morning the child, to the surprise of all, did not die, and is now gradually recovering." There is nothing wonderful—there is nothing surprising to my mind—in all this. Ventilation—thorough ventilation—is the grand remedy for scarlatina! Oh, that there were in scarlet fever cases a good many such old women's—such a "jury of matrons"—remedies! We should not then be horrified,
