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Show OUTDOOR LIFE FOR CHILDREN. Dr. (Doctor) F. L. Oswald says in the Popular Science Monthly: I have often been asked at what age infants can first be safely exposed to the influence of the open air. My answer is, on the first warm, dry day. There is no reason why a new-born child should not sleep as soundly under a canopy of a garden tree on a pillow of sun-warmed hay as in the atmosphere of an ill-ventilated nursery. Thousands of sickly nurslings, pining away in the slums of our manufacturing towns, might be saved by an occasional sunbath. Aside from its warmth and its chemical influence on vegetal oxygen, sunlight exercises upon certain organisms a vitalizing influence which science has not yet quite explained, but whose effect is illustrated by the contrast between the weeds of a shady grove and those of the sunlit fields, between the rank grass of a deep valley and the aromatic herbage of a mountain meadow, as well as by the peculiar wholesome appearance of a "sunburned" person or a sun-ripened fruit. Sunlight is too cheap to become a fashionable remedy, but its hygienic influence can hardly be overrated. Even in the climate of the Latin hills the Roman epicureans constructed special solaria - glass-covered turrets - where they could bask in the full rays of the winter sun, the balm of old age, as Columella calls it, and on the summer-less Isle of Rogen nature has taught the poor fishermen to carry their bairns to the downs of Stubben kammer, whenever the Baltic fogs alternate with a few sunny days. Dry sand is, indeed, an excellent medium of solar caloric. Children like it instinctively; most babies are fond of rummaging in some tangible, yielding element. In default of a sunny beach, get a carload of river sand, spread it and expose it to the sun for a couple of hours, then rake it together, mix it ad captandum with a bushel of pebbles (good-sized ones, lest they might be mistaken for sugar plums) divest your bambino of all superfluous clothing, and let him wallow - all the afternoon, if he chooses; if the surface of the pile gets too warm, instinct will teach him to dig down to the cooler substrata. Or take him to a meadow where fresh hay has been piled up in little stacks, climbing and tumbling will do him more good than lying motionless in a narrow baby carriage. The inventor of the kindergarten recommends a grassy hollow with scattered playthings, piles of dry leaves, etc. (near a shade-tree in midsummer), where young squealers can take care of themselves for an hour or two, and warrants that they will not cry, unless their botanic researches should happen to acquaint them with the properties of the German horse nettle. On mild winter days, too, self motive babies ought to pass a few hours out of doors, even if the ground be a little wet; a sunny nook on the lee side of a garden wall is a healthier play ground than the dusty floor of a stove-room. |