A Bit of Philosophy on Hot Weather Uneasiness
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A BIT OF PHILOSOPHY ON HOT WEATHER UNEASINESS.
The fiery times of the year have now arrived—the times of perspiration by day, and panting at night. Now the Coney Island boat goes loaded, and, of a Sunday, you see immense crowds, well-dressed, excursioning to East New York, Greenwood, Dutchtown, Harlæm, and so forth. But it is for a more practical and every day use that we would allude to this "hot spell"—and not merely for its amusements.
Something there is in hot weather that, more than almost any other cause, helps the development of whatever germs of disease may be in the system. As things are, it is doubtful if there are more than a very few persons with really sound bodies, in a condition of perfect health. We do not propose to go into an examination of the causes thereof, but it is probably the case that, according to the high standing of physical soundness, the great mass of men and women, in all directions, are unhealthy, even though they have no specific ailment.
If this assumption be correct, the explanation of hot weather uneasiness becomes plain enough; it is not the heat that makes the trouble, but the morbific elements in yourself. Do not get wrathy at us, O reader, for this plain announcement, but rather admire the original philosophy with which we seize and handle the occult subject, for your benefit. Besides, wrath is dangerous and quite unreasonable at this particular height of thermometer, even in the shade.
The sensible course to pursue these ardent days, is the course of calmness, moderation, and of temperance in diet. Every who knows anything about it, knows that we all eat and drink ourselves uncomfortable, at least half the time. The dishes in the boarding houses, restaurants, hotels, &c., appear to be in a majority of cases the very ones fitted to make a man, the day and night that he partakes of them, feel anything except composed and serene in stomach, in nerve, and in mind—for the latter two depend upon the first one.
Then the virtues of cool water, the daily bathe, the lavation, cannot be too much extoled, this weather. As to the fashionable custom of decamping from the city, and pitching a new tent in a strange country spot, with new waves, neew faces, new clothes, and a complete overturn and excitement generally, we have long been suspicious that it was in most cases, a great humbug. This weather, a man don't want to be fretted with ceremonies or strange rooms; he is better off home where he can lay off in his shirt sleeves.