Rabe R F
THOUGHTS BY THE SEA.
This is being written at the seashore. Never, we think, was an editorial attempted under more pleasant surroundings and with greater sense of leisure. There is something about the sea air that seems to sweep ones mind clear from all the cares and responsibilities incident to the practice of medicine. The sound of the waves caressing the sand lulls ones jittery nerves. As we look across the infinity of the seas sparkling surface, the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune seem to lose their menace we know they can not hurt us. Man, the would-be arbiter of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, assumes his rightful place in the scheme of nature a miniscule item in the inventory of the universe.
A few days beside the ocean should not only teach one his true and not very important place in the cosmic plan, but also should make him grateful to a beneficent nature for the lavish way in which she provides for the material and spiritual needs of mankind.
To lie upon the sun-warmed strand should be for the homoeopath a lesson in materia medica. Does he recall that the sand upon which he rests after disporting himself in the “briny deep” supplies him with the Silica which he uses to cure so many of the deep- seated physical and spiritual ailments of his patients? Does he remember that the chief ingredient of sea water is sodium chloride, the Natrum muriaticum of the homoeopathic materia medica, a chemical whose remedial uses are many and whose curative power can correct profound constitutional disharmonies?
Does he think of the lowly cuttlefish which supplies a bone for canaries and a boon to ailing women in Sepia? When he sees the curious starfish, does he recall that Asterias rubens has a reputation in connection with the treatment of cancer? Does he know that Limulus comes from the peculiar-appearing crustacean which he calls a horseshoe crab? Even the inevitable sunburn should make him think of Cantharis, but does it? Probably not, more likely he thinks of some thing which can be squeezed from a tube.
One often thinks of mankind as cast from the same mold. How naive this is, is never more fully evident than at the seashore. What a variety there is in the human form and no doubt in the human mind, though the latter is much less in evidence. We wonder what the Creator things of His handiwork.
Little children seem to receive the most benefit from sunshine. Johnny goes ahead and has fun leaving Pop to stew in his own juice which Pop is only too willing to do, much to his regret the next day.
There is something about sea air that seems to make people deaf to the dictates of modesty. Grandmother, for instance, appears on the beach with a cuticular exposure that shocks even grandfather. Granddaughter does the same, “but on her,” as the feller says, “it looks good!” We suppose modesty is merely a point of view; if the view is good, there is no point in it.
Trying to catch a sandpiper is like trying to prescribe for “chronic” without a repertory both bird and remedy are always just out of reach.
To be a real benefit, a vacation ought to entail as complete a change of habit as possible. It is not enough merely to get away from ones usual environment, although that, of course, helps. We advocate the following program for all vacationists except ourselves:.
Go to bed early and get up early.
Eat sensibly and regularly.
Drink only water and fresh fruit juices.
Dont drive when you can walk.
Dont be in a hurry to acquire a tan sunburn can be harmful as well as painful.
We believe that physicians should vacation incognito. Our landlady suffers daily with her nerves and so do we.
We ask our readers indulgence for the foregoing efforts. We have reached the conclusion, after reading the above, that editorials should not be undertaken during vacations nor at any other time for that matter. The man who first started the custom must have had delusions of grandeur a sort of deus-ex-machina complex. We hope he is receiving his just dues in that particular niche in purgatory reserved for editors NON requiescat in pace.