Chapter IV: Part 4

It is hard to realize the enormous multitude of birds that form a so-called "wave." During the whole period of migration there is a general northward movement of all the migratory species, but under the influence of warm spells of weather this more or less uniform movement rises into a vast wavelike sweep of birds. These bird waves, as already noted, _follow_ the rise of temperature appearing at any given locality about a day or two after the first day of the warm spell. Many species of land birds migrate at night--such, for example, as the orioles, tanagers, warblers, vireos, wrens, the majority of the finches, the woodpeckers, and the thrushes, excepting the robin. During the passing of one of the May waves the darkness overhead is alive with flying birds. One may stand for hours at a time and hear the incessant chirping and twittering of hundreds of birds calling to one another through the night as though to keep from getting separated. The great mass of individuals are probably guided by these call notes.

The usually accepted notion that birds migrate from south to north in traveling to their breeding grounds is largely true of shore birds and waterfowl, but among many of the species of land birds conditions of topography tend to deflect a direct northward movement. The Atlantic coast plain, reaching up into southern New Jersey, and the Mississippi basin, each offers a broad south-to-north highway for birds leaving the Gulf shores of the United States on their northward journey in the spring. A great majority of species find in the wilderness of the Appalachian highland, from the Catskills to Georgia, breeding grounds quite as well adapted to their needs as the forests of Maine and Canada. Large numbers of birds, according to their regional relations, will constantly turn from the Atlantic coast plain up the numerous rivers, which become great highways of migration, leading to the highlands. The northward movement has thus a large westerly deflection on the Atlantic slope of the middle United States. It is also quite certain that many birds winter in favorable localities on the Atlantic coast plain much farther north than is generally supposed. This is especially true of the holly thickets among the coastwise sand dunes of southern New Jersey and the cedar swamps and pine barrens in the vicinity of Cape May. Many of the finches, the marsh wrens, red-winged blackbirds, meadow larks, thrashers, and myrtle warblers are frequently seen in these localities through the winter. I spent one first day of February some years ago among the dunes below Atlantic City, N. J. At Philadelphia that morning it was bleak winter weather, but two hours later we found ourselves in a warm expanse of sunlight on the seaward beaches. The balmy air was filled with bird notes, and the holly thickets and bay bushes fairly swarmed with myrtle warblers. It seems to be a fact that many birds thus make comparatively short migratory movements between the seacoast plain and the mountains, up and down the river valleys.

The phenomenon of the migrating bird has always appealed in a wonderful manner to the human mind. The guiding geographical sense that all animals, and wild animals and birds in particular, possess is peculiarly attractive to men of civilized society, because they have largely lost this same natural instinct of direction, and now look upon it in wonderment. Birds have very sure landmarks; their senses are keen for noting features of topography. They undoubtedly know the Potomac, the Susquehanna, the Delaware, the Hudson, and the Connecticut, and never confuse one with another. They know to which side the sea lies and that the rivers flow down from a wild, wooded region where there are plenty of food and the best possible places to raise their young. All these facts get fixed in their brains. The bird's brain-cell structure is built on these lines and is only waiting to get the impressions of the first migratory experience. They keep in with one another, follow their chirpings in the night, learn to tell the Hudson from the Delaware, or where this or that stretch of woodland lies, just as they learned when first out of the nest how to tell good from bad sorts of food, or how to find their way about the home woods, and that an owl or a fox was an undesirable acquaintance. In the fall migration the young birds follow the older ones in the general movement southward, and are often belated, showing that the impulse to leave their birthplaces is forced upon them, rather from necessity than choice, and is not the well-developed instinct impressed by former experience which their elders seem to possess. The old birds who have bred and reared these young ones set the example of early departure which the birds of the year through inexperience are tardy in appreciating. The habit waits upon experience.

Each year, from midwinter, when the first warmth of advancing sunlight calls to the sleeping life, on to the first fervid heat of the reproductive summer, we have the joyous pageant of the spring. This steady waxing of the new light appealed to the pagan mind of western Europe with a far deeper sense than the modern mind can appreciate. To our rude ancestors it was the goddess Eástre, bountiful in her gift of warmth and the magic of reproductive life, that each year came with the light to drive away the frost giants. And with the goddess, whom we still love to picture as a maiden tripping lightly through the budding groves in her wind-blown garments, came the birds. It was the cuckoo that brought the summer with "daisies pied and violets blue," and to-day, when its voice is heard for the first time in the year, every one knows that summer has come again to the hedgerows of England and the lands of the Rhine. So with us across the Atlantic, summer comes when the catbird first pours out its babel of sweet notes in green woodland ways and the tangled nooks of old gardens.

FOOTNOTES:

[10] The Birds of Eastern Pennsylvania and New Jersey. Prepared under the direction of the Delaware Valley Ornithological Club. By Witmer Stone. Philadelphia, 1894.

[11] Stone. The Birds of Eastern Pennsylvania and New Jersey.

GUESSING, AS INFLUENCED BY NUMBER PREFERENCES.

BY F. B. DRESSLAR.

About two years ago a certain progressive clothing company of Los Angeles, California, procured a very large squash--so large, indeed, as to attract much attention. This they placed uncut in a window of their place of business, and advertised that they would give one hundred dollars in gold to the one guessing the number of seeds it contained. In case two or more persons guessed the correct number, the money was to be divided equally among them. The only prerequisite for an opportunity to guess was that the one wishing to guess should walk inside and register his name, address, and his guess in the notebook kept for that purpose.

The result of this offer was that 7,700 people registered guesses, and but three of these guessed 811, the number of seeds which the squash contained.

It occurred to me that a study of these guesses would reveal some interesting number preferences, if any existed, for the conditions were unusually favorable for calling forth naïve and spontaneous results, there being no way of approximating the number of seeds by calculation, and very little or no definite experience upon which to rely for guidance. It seemed probable, therefore, that the guesses would cover a wide range, and by reason of this furnish evidence of whatever number preference might exist. It is undoubtedly safe to assume, too, that the guesses made were honest attempts to state as nearly as possible best judgments under conditions given; but even if some of the guesses were more or less facetiously made, the data would be equally valuable for the main purpose in hand.

According to the theory of probability, had there been no preference at all for certain digits or certain combinations of digits within the limits of the guesses, one figure would occur about as often as another in units' or tens' place. It was argued, therefore, that any marked or persistent variation from such regularity in such a great number of cases would reveal what might be termed an unconscious preference for such numbers or digits for these places.

The purpose of this study, then, was to determine whether or not there existed in the popular mind, under the conditions offered, any such preferences.

After the very arduous and tedious task of collating and classifying all the guesses for men and women separately had been done, the following facts appeared:

In the first place, marked preference is shown for certain digits both for units' and tens' places. This statement is based on a study of the 6,863 guesses falling below one thousand. Of these, 4,238 were made by men and 2,625 were made by women. By tabulations of the digits used in units' place by both men and women, the following facts have been determined: 800 used 9, while but 374 used 8; 1,070 used 7, and 443 preferred 6; 881 used 5, and only 295 preferred 4; 862 chose 3, while 331 used 2; 577 ended with 1, while 1,230 preferred 0 as the last figure.

A tabulation of the figures used in tens' place shows, save in the case of 2 and 3, where 2 is used oftener than 3, the same curious preferences, but in a much less marked degree. To go into detail, 850 chose 9 for tens' place, while 559 took 8; 907 used 7, while only 637 selected 6; 748 took 5, while only 536 used 4; 601 used 3, and 634 chose 2; 728 used 1, as against 872 who used 0.

Were it not that the selections here in the main correspond with the preferences shown in units' place, the significance of these figures would be much less important; but the evidence here can not wholly be ignored when taken in connection with the facts obtained in the preferences shown in the case of the figures occupying units' place.

We are enabled, then, as a result of the study of these guesses, to say that under the conditions offered, aside from a preference of 0 over 1 to end the numbers selected, digits representing odd numbers are conspicuously preferred to those representing even numbers. How far this will hold under other conditions can not now be stated, but the facts here observed are of such a nature as to suggest the possibility of an habitual tendency in this direction. However, further investigations can alone determine whether or not this bias for certain numbers is potent in a general way.

The curve on the next page, exhibiting the results noted above, shows at a glance the marked and persistent preference for the odd numbers.

It will be noticed that of the digits preferred, 7 surpasses any of the others. Not only, then, do we tend to select an odd number for units' place when the guess ranges between one and a thousand, but of these digits 7 is much preferred. In connection with this fact one immediately recalls all he has heard about 7 as a sacred number, and its professed significance in the so-called "occult sciences." I think one is warranted in saying from an introspective point of view that there is a shadow of superstition present in all attempts at pure guessing. There appears to be some unexpressed feeling of lucky numbers or some mental easement when one unreasoned position is taken rather than any other.

Vertical distance shows the number of times the figure on the horizontal line immediately below was used.]

It is impossible on the evidence furnished by this study to give more than hints at the probable reason for the preference here indicated. But it is worth while to glance backward to earlier conditions, when the scientific attitude toward all the facts of life and mind was far more subordinated to supernatural interpretations than it is to-day. In this way we may catch a thread which still binds us to habits formed in the indefinite past.

The Greeks considered the even numbers as representative of the feminine principle, and as belonging and applying to things terrestrial. To them the odd numbers were endowed with a masculine virtue, which in time was strengthened into supernatural and celestial qualities. The same belief was prevalent among the Chinese. With them even numbers were connected with earthly things, partaking of the feminine principle of Yang. Odd numbers were looked upon as proceeding out of the divine and endued with the masculine principle. Thirty was called the number of earth, because it was made up by the addition of the even numbers 2, 4, 6, 8, and 10. On the other hand, 25, the sum of the five odd numbers 1, 3, 5, 7, and 9, was called the number of heaven.

It is generally true that, as lower peoples developed the need of numbers and the power to use them, certain of these numbers came to be surrounded with a superstitious importance and endued with certain qualities which led at once to numerical preferences more or less dominant in all their thinking connected with numbers.

It would certainly be unjustifiable to conclude from the evidence at hand that the preferences shown in the guesses under consideration are directly traceable to some such superstition; and yet one can scarcely prevent himself from linking them vaguely together. Especially is this true when some consideration is given to a probable connecting link as shown in our modern superstitious notions. I have found through a recent study of these superstitions that where numbers are introduced, the odd are used to the almost complete exclusion of the even. For example, I have collected and tabulated a series of more than sixty different superstitions using odd numbers, and have found but four making use of the even. Besides these specific examples there are many more which in some form or another express the belief that odd numbers have some vital relation with luck both good and bad.

It would be impossible to define precisely or even approximately just what sort of a mental state the word "luck" stands for, but one element in its composition is a more or less naïve belief in supernatural and occult influences which at one time work for and at another time against the believer. In its more pronounced forms, the belief in luck lifts itself into a sort of a blind dependence upon some ministering spirit which interposes between rational causes and their effects. In a way one may say that the more or less vague and shadowy notions of luck which float in the minds of people to-day are but the emaciated and famishing forms of a once all-embracing superstition, and that these shadows possess a potency over life and action oftentimes beyond our willingness to believe.

There is another interesting and somewhat curious thing to be noticed in connection with these guesses. There is a persistent tendency to the duplication of digits, or, if one thinks of the numbers as at first conceived in terms of language, a tendency to alliteration. For example, the numbers 111, 222, 333, 444, 555, 666, 777, 888, and 999 occur oftener by sixty-seven per cent than any other combination possible in the tens thus represented. That is to say, other things equal, one would have a right to expect 334 or 332 to occur as often as 333. But the fact is, in this particular case, 333 occurred forty-eight times, while the other two put together occurred only three times. Here, however, we have the combined influence of the preference for the odd over the even and the digital sequence. Still, if we select 444, we find that this number, made up though it is of three digits in general least selected of all, the preference for alliterative effect is strong enough to make the number occur 28 times to 14 times for both 443 and 445. If we take 777, we find that it was used more times than all the other combinations from 770 to 779 inclusive, put together.

Therefore, under conditions similar to those presented for these guesses, one would be safe to expect these duplicative or alliterative numbers to occur much oftener than any other single number in the series.

It would evidently be unsafe to generalize upon the basis of this study, notwithstanding the large number of guesses considered. However, it seems to me that the results here obtained at least suggest a field of inquiry which promises interesting returns. If it be true, as here suggested, that odd numbers are preferred by guessers, advantage could be taken of this preference in many ways. Furthermore, as I suspect, it may be that this probable preference points to a habit of mind which more or less influences results not depending strictly on guessing. It has been shown, for example, that the length of criminal sentences has been largely affected by preferences for 5 or multiples of 5--that is to say, where judges have power to fix the length of sentence within certain limits, there is a strong probability that they will be influenced in their judgments by the habitual use of 5 or its multiples. Here it would seem that unconscious preference overrides what one has a right to consider the most careful and impartial judgments possible, based upon actual and well-digested data.[12]

Another thing is noticeable in these guesses. The consciousness of number beyond 1,000 falls off very rapidly. The difference in the values of 1,000 and 1,500 seems to have had less weight with the guessers than a difference of 50 had at any place below 1,000. And so, in a way, 1,000 seems to mark the limit of any sort of definite mental measurement. This fact is more and more emphasized as the numbers representing the guesses increase until one can see there exists absolutely no conception of the value of numbers. For example, many guessed 1,000,000, while several guessed more than 10,000,000. Guessing means, with many people, no attempt at any sort of reasonable measurement, but rather an attempt to express their guess in such a way as to afford them the greatest amount of mental relief. And this relief can not be wholly accomplished without satisfying number preferences. Therefore, guessing is likely to exhibit, in a greater or less degree, some habitual lines of preference subject to predetermination. It may be that much practical advantage has been taken of these facts in games of chance where number selections play an important part.

FOOTNOTE:

[12] See H. Le Poer. Influence of Number in Criminal Sentences. Harper's Weekly, May 14, 1896.

CONCERNING WEASELS.

BY WILLIAM E. CRAM.

Why is it that while popular fancy has attributed all sorts of uncanny and supernatural qualities to owls and cats, and that no ghost story or tale of horrid murder has been considered quite complete without its rat peering from some dark corner, or spider with expanded legs suddenly spinning down from among the rafters, no such grewsome association has ever attached itself to the weasels, creatures whose every habit and characteristic would seem to suggest something of the sort? Now, fond as I am of cats, I should never think of denying that they are uncanny creatures, to say the least. But, suppose it was the custom of our domestic tabbies to vanish abruptly or even gradually on occasion, like the Cheshire cat after its interview with Alice, that would at least furnish some excuse for the general prejudice against them, but would really be no more than some of our commonest weasels do whenever it serves their purpose. I remember one summer afternoon I was trout-fishing along a little brook that ran between pine-covered hills. As I lay stretched on the bank at the foot of a great maple I saw a weasel run along in the brush fence some distance away. A few seconds later he was standing on the exposed root of the tree hardly a yard from my eyes. I lay motionless and examined the beautiful creature minutely, till suddenly I found myself staring at the smooth greenish-gray root of the maple with no weasel in sight. Judging from my own experience, I should say that this is the usual termination of any chance observations of either weasels or minks.

Occasionally they may be seen to dart into the bushes or behind some log or projecting bank, but much more frequently they vanish with a suddenness that defies the keenest eyesight.

In all probability this vanishing is accomplished by extreme rapidity of motion, but if this is the case then the creature succeeds in doing something utterly impossible to any other warm-blooded animal of its size. Mice, squirrels, and some of the smaller birds are all of them swift enough at times, but except in the case of the humming bird none of them, I believe, succeed in accomplishing the result achieved by the weasels. The humming bird, in spite of its small size, leaves us a pretty definite impression of the direction it has taken when it darts away; but when a mink, half a yard in length and weighing several pounds, stands motionless before one with his dark coat conspicuous against almost any background, and the next instant is gone without a rustle or the tremor of a blade of grass, it leaves one with an impression of witchcraft difficult to dispel; and best appreciated when one sees it for one's self. Nor is the everyday life of the weasel quiet or commonplace; his one object in life apparently is to kill, first to appease his hunger, then to satisfy his thirst for warm blood, and after that for the mere joy of killing.

The few opportunities I have had for observing these animals have never shown them occupied in any other way, nor can any hint of anything different be gained from the various writers on the subject, while accounts of their attacking and even killing human beings in a kind of blind fury are too numerous and apparently well authenticated to be entirely ignored. These attacks are said usually to be made by a number of weasels acting in concert, and the motive would appear to be revenge for some injury done to one of their number. There seems to be something peculiar about the entire family of weasels. The American sable or pine marten is said to have strange ways that have puzzled naturalists and hunters for years. In the wilderness no amount of trapping has any effect on their numbers, nor do they show any especial fear of man or his works, occasionally even coming into lumber camps at night and being especially fond of old logging roads and woods that have been swept by fire; but at the slightest hint of approaching civilization they disappear, not gradually, but at once and forever, and the woods know them no more. If there is anything in the theory of the survival of the fittest, why is it that not one marten has discovered that, like other animals of its size, it could manage to live comfortably enough in the vicinity of man? The mink and otter still follow the course of every brook and river and manage to avoid the keen eyes of the duck hunter, while for six months in the year their paths are sprinkled with steel traps set either especially for them or for the more plebeian muskrat. If a pair of sables could be persuaded to take up their quarters in some parts of New England they could travel for dozens of miles through dark evergreen woods with hollow and decaying trees in abundance, while at present there are almost no traps set in a manner that need disturb creatures of their habits. Partridges, rabbits, and squirrels, which form their principal food, are nearly if not quite as abundant as before the country was settled, so that it would certainly not require any very decided change of habits to enable them to exist, but evidently the root of the matter goes deeper than that, and, like some tribes of Indians, it is impossible for them to multiply or flourish except in the primeval forest.

The common weasel or ermine, which is the only kind I have seen hereabouts, would seem to have everything on its side in the struggle for existence, and when one happens to be killed by some larger inhabitant of the woods it must be due entirely to its own carelessness. Nevertheless, they do occasionally fall victims to owls and foxes, and I once shot a red-tailed hawk that was in the act of devouring one. Still, these casualties among weasels are probably few and far between. Fortunately, however, they never increase to any great extent. Occasionally in the winter the snow for miles will be covered with their tracks all made in a single night, and then for weeks not a track is to be seen; but usually they prefer to hunt alone, each having its beat a mile or more in length, over which it travels back and forth throughout the season, passing any given point at intervals of two or three days. This habit of keeping to the same route instead of wandering at random about the woods is characteristic of the family, the length of the route depending to a certain extent on the size of the animal. The mink is usually about a week in going his rounds, and may cover a dozen miles in that time, while the otter is generally gone a fortnight or three weeks. When it is possible the ermine prefers to follow the course of old tumble-down stone walls, and lays its course accordingly. In favorable districts he is able to keep to these for miles together, squeezing into the smallest crevices in pursuit of mice or chipmunks. All the weasels travel in a similar manner--that is, by a series of leaps or bounds in such a way that the hind feet strike exactly in the prints made by the fore paws, so that the tracks left in the snow are peculiar and bear a strong family resemblance. On soft snow the slender body of the ermine leaves its imprint extending from one pair of footprints to the next, and as these are from four to six feet apart, or even more, the impression left in the snow is like the track of some extremely long and slender serpent with pairs of short legs at intervals along its body. I have said that the ermine is the only true weasel I have found in this vicinity, but this is not strictly true, at least I hope not. One winter I repeatedly noticed the tracks of an exceedingly large weasel--so very large, in fact, that I was almost forced to believe them to be those of a mink. The impression of its body in the snow was quite as large as that made by a small mink, but the footprints themselves were smaller, and the creature appeared to avoid the water in a manner quite at variance with the well-known habits of its more amphibious cousin, while, unlike the common weasel, it never followed stone walls or fences. I put my entire mind to the capture of the little beast, and set dozens of traps, but it was well along in the month of March before I succeeded. It proved to be a typical specimen of the Western long-tailed weasel, though I can find no account of any other having been taken east of the Mississippi. Its entire length was about eighteen inches; the tail, which was a little over six, gave the effect at first glance of being tipped with gray instead of black, but a closer inspection showed that the black hairs were confined to the very extremity and were partly concealed by the overlying white ones; the rest of the fur was white, with a slight reddish tinge, and much longer and coarser than that of an ermine. Since then I have occasionally seen similar tracks, but have not succeeded in capturing a second specimen. In all probability the least weasel is also to be found here if one has the patience to search carefully enough; none, however, have come under my observation as yet. All the small weasels that I have seen have proved on close inspection to be young ermines with thickly furred black-tipped tails; in the least weasel the tail is thinly covered with short hair and without any black whatever. Late in the autumn or early in the winter the ermine changes from reddish-brown to white, sometimes slightly washed with greenish-yellow or cream color, and again as brilliantly white as anything in Nature or art; the end of the tail, however, remains intensely black, and at first thought might be supposed to make the animal conspicuous on the white background of snow, but in reality has just the opposite effect. Place an ermine on new-fallen snow in such a way that it casts no shadow, and you will find that the black point holds your eye in spite of yourself, and that at a little distance it is quite impossible to follow the outline of the weasel itself. Cover the tail with snow, and you can begin to make out the position of the rest of the animal, but as long as the tip of the tail is in sight you see that and that only. The ptarmigan and northern hare also retain some spot or point of dark color when they take on their winter dress, and these dark points undoubtedly serve the same purpose as in the case of the ermine.

An old hunter, one of the closest observers of Nature I have ever known, once told me that female minks hibernated in winter in the same manner as bears, though it was his belief that, unlike the bears, they never brought forth their young at that season. At first I refused to take the slightest stock in what he said; the whole thing appeared so absurd and so utterly at variance with the teachings of those naturalists who have made the closest possible study of the habits of minks. Since then, however, I have kept my eyes open for any hint that might have the slightest bearing on the subject, and to my surprise have found many things that would seem to point to the correctness of the old hunter's theory. To begin with, he said that late in the winter he had repeatedly known female minks to make their appearance from beneath snow that had lain undisturbed for days or even weeks, the tracks apparently beginning where he first observed them, the difference in size between the two sexes being sufficient to make it easy to distinguish between their tracks at a glance; and, moreover, since he first began trapping he had noticed that while the sexes were about equally abundant in the autumn, the females always became very scarce at the approach of winter and remained so until spring, when they suddenly increased in numbers and became much the more abundant of the two.

This is also the experience of trappers in general, and may be verified by any one who cares to take the trouble to look into the matter. Evidently no one has ever discovered a mink in a state of hibernation; at any rate, no such case appears ever to have been reported; but this does not necessarily prove that it is not a regular habit among them.

The cry of the mink is seldom heard, even in places where they are fairly abundant, as they have evidently learned that the greatest safety lies in silence. It is a peculiarly shrill, rattling, whistlelike scream, that can be heard at a considerable distance.

CARE OF THE THROAT AND EAR.

BY W. SCHEPPEGRELL, A. M., M. D.,

PRESIDENT WESTERN OPTHALMOLOGIC AND OTO-LARYNGOLOGIC ASSOCIATION, NEW ORLEANS, LA.

Hygiene is that branch of medical science which relates to the preservation and improvement of the health. As the prevention of disease is more important than its cure--in fact, superior to all methods for its cure--this is a subject which demands our most earnest attention. Hygiene is not limited to the preservation and improvement of the health of the individual, but includes that of whole communities. As, however, the health of a community depends upon the state of the health of the various families composing it, and this again of its members, the proper understanding of the hygienic laws by each individual is of the utmost importance.

For some reason, however, the subject of hygiene or the prevention of disease does not create the enthusiasm caused by methods advocated for its cure. A Koch, who publishes to the world a supposed means of curing tuberculosis, or a Behring, who introduces the serum therapy of diphtheria, arouses an interest which is limited only by the four corners of the world. The modest worker in sanitation, however, who explains the means of the development of these diseases, and the conditions and laws by means of which they may be prevented, is looked upon without interest and frequently with disfavor. But in spite of these conditions, the laws of hygiene are gradually becoming more farspread, and their influence is felt more with each advancing year.

The nose, throat, and ear are so intimately connected with the other parts of the body that their health depends to a large extent upon the condition of the system in general. The laws of hygiene and their application which refer to the body in general are also applicable to these parts, and whatever condition benefits the former will have a useful influence on the upper respiratory passages, and, inversely, any injurious effect will injure the health of these organs.

The physiology of this region is of much importance. Formerly the nose was considered principally in its relation to the organ of smell. This is a most important function, as it is a constant sentinel over the air we breathe and the food we eat. It is a curious circumstance that many of the functions that are referred to the organ of taste really belong to that of smell. In eating ice cream, for instance, the sense of taste simply informs us that it is sweet or otherwise, but the flavor is perceived only by the sense of smell. A proof of this is that where this function is destroyed, all ability in this direction disappears, and the patient thus affected will frequently complain that his sense of taste is defective, not realizing that it is the sense of smell which performs this act.

The nose, however, has a much more important function to perform--viz., in respiration. Strange to say, however, this has only recently been realized, and it is even yet not well understood. You have all observed that, when you had a severe "cold" which prevented nasal breathing, the next morning the mouth and throat were dry and parched and frequently inflamed, the voice sometimes hoarse, and there was a general feeling of depression. While the progress of the inflammatory process may be a factor in this, still the mechanical obstruction of the nose from any cause whatsoever will have a similar effect. In patients in whom, for various reasons, an artificial opening has been made in the trachea, the air of the room has to be heated to an almost intolerable point and saturated with moisture, or severe bronchial inflammation will soon develop in the patient, simply because the nose has not taken an active part in the act of respiration. These effects, therefore, clearly demonstrate that the nasal passages have an important function to perform in the breathing process. Summarized in a few words, it is simply to warm, moisten, and clean the air which we inhale.

The healthy nostrils are anatomically and physiologically so formed that when the current of air passes through them it will have been freed of its mechanical impurities, warmed to within a few degrees of the temperature of the body, and moistened to saturation. This has been experimentally demonstrated.

The opening of the passage of the ear into the throat has several objects, the most important being ventilation and the adjustment of the atmospheric equilibrium. This passage leads outward until it enters the cavity of the middle ear, which is closed by the drum on the outside, thus separating it from the external canal of the ear. We know that atmospheric pressure varies at different times and in different altitudes. It is much less, for instance, at the top of a mountain than at the seaside. The opening into the throat allows the air to enter, and adjusts the atmospheric pressure within the ear to these various external conditions. Those of you who have ascended Lookout Mountain by means of the incline cable car may have noticed the adjustment taking place by a peculiar click when different altitudes were reached.

So intimately are the nose, throat, and ear connected that it is unusual to find one affected to any considerable extent without the others being involved. While the rules of hygiene in general are applicable to the nose, throat, and ear, there are certain special conditions which deserve consideration. One of the most common causes of injurious effects to the nose, throat, and ear is the so-called "cold." The cold in this connection is, of course, understood to be simply the cause, the condition itself being a peculiar inflammation of the parts concerned. As cold is so frequently a cause of diseases of these parts, it would be well to consider under what circumstances it develops and the best mode of prevention.

I have often noticed that persons who suffer most frequently and severely from colds usually insist that they exercise the greatest care to avoid exposure. They have dressed in the warmest clothing, wrapped the neck in the heaviest mufflers, remained in the closest rooms, and avoided every draught, and yet they continually "take cold." The street urchin, on the other hand, with only two or three garments and without shoes, and who lives out of doors, suffers less frequently from this affection.

"Colds" have truly been called a product of modern civilization. The trouble was rare among the aborigines and is more common among the cultured than among the laboring classes. If we make a plant an exotic, we must keep it in the conservatory, and even here it is not free from danger. On the other hand, if we wish to harden it and make it proof against atmospheric and climatic changes, we must prepare it by judicious exposure for these conditions. The warm clothing which is thought to be a protection against cold is frequently the most fertile cause. It relaxes the body, moistens the skin, and the perspiration which is induced especially prepares the unresisting body for its attacks. This applies especially to warm covering around the neck, to which the air has periodic access. Except in unusually severe weather, the throat requires no more covering or protection than the face.

The method of having only two systems of underclothing, the heavy to be worn until it is quite warm, and _vice versa_, is also a source of danger. There should be three changes: one of the lightest texture for the warm weather of summer, a medium for spring and fall, and the pure wool for winter, which in this climate need not be very heavy. Waterproof shoes, rubbers, furs, etc., are not recommended for customary use, and should be worn only when absolutely indicated.

The best preventive of recurrent colds is the judicious use of the sponge or cold shower bath. The ordinary bath should usually be of a temperature not disagreeable to the body, but after the question of cleanliness has been attended to, an application, either by means of a sponge or shower, of ordinary cold water should be made. This should be of short duration, and friction with a coarse towel follow at once. When properly conducted, a reaction sets in so that there is no danger from this, and the toning effect of the method is of the utmost value in the prevention of colds. This applies, of course, only to persons in ordinarily good health. Even in these cases there are rare occasions in which this method is not advisable, and it may on general principles be stated that it should not be used by persons who do not react promptly. As stated, however, the application of cold water should be only momentary. The daily application of cold water to the throat and chest is also a useful practice for strengthening these parts.

In addition to these means there are certain injurious conditions that it would be well to avoid. One almost universally present in large cities is that of dust. The constant inhalation of the small particles of sand and of organic impurities of which dust is composed has an irritating effect on the delicate lining of the nose and throat, which may develop a chronic inflammation, resulting in injury to both the throat and ear. This evil, however, can be prevented by the artificial watering of our streets.

Excessive tobacco smoking produces injurious effects in the nose and throat. Of all forms of smoking, the cigarette is the most injurious, and allowing the smoke to pass through the nostrils the most dangerous. Occasionally ladies inhale the smoke of a closed room where the male members of the household are smoking, and this is injurious to a delicate throat.

Loud and excessive talking is sometimes a factor in throat diseases. The former is more apt to be exercised in transit in our steam or electric cars, and members of the theatrical profession realize this so well that they rarely use their voice while traveling. In excessive talking, in addition to the mechanical wear and tear of the throat, the respiration is usually spasmodic, a combination that is likely to lead to evil results. At puberty, when the voices of boys and girls are changing, the former sometimes almost an octave and the latter usually a note or two, special care should be taken of the voice, and singing or vocal exercises should be discontinued until the change has been finally established.

The effect of singing on the throat is of much interest, but it is one of such an extensive character that it can be only casually referred to here. The exercise required in singing improves the healthy throat in the same manner that exercise benefits the body in general. The diseased throat, however, may be injured by this practice, as no form of vocal culture can remedy a mechanical interference in its action. The method of singing is also of the utmost importance; an erroneous one may not only injure a promising voice, but may also have a bad effect on a normal throat. The subject of register requires careful consideration. The placing of the voice in the wrong register is fruitful of evil; the ambition of the singer to reach a few notes higher or lower than her range may also work severe injury to the throat.

The throat may be improved or strengthened by any of the forms of exercise, especially the out-of-door, which have been advised for the health in general. In addition to this, breathing exercises are of special value. These consist of taking deep inhalations through the nose, holding the breath for a few seconds and then gently expiring it, the body in the meanwhile being free from all restraint from tight clothing. The practice of this exercise for five minutes mornings and evenings will have a remarkable effect in developing the chest and throat.

In order to anticipate serious complications, children should be taught to allow their mothers to examine their throats freely and without resistance. I feel especially the importance of this subject, as I have frequently seen children almost sacrificed on account of the nervous dread of having their throats examined, or by their inability to control themselves. The method is exceedingly simple: the child is placed facing a bright window, and the handle of a spoon placed on the tongue and so depressed that the posterior part of the throat can be distinctly seen. At first this may be difficult, but the child soon becomes accustomed to the manipulation and the throat may then be examined without difficulty. Another advantage of this procedure is that the mother becomes familiar with the normal appearance of the throat, and can easily note any change due to disease.

In view of the important function of the nose in warming, cleaning, and moistening the inspired air, the greatest care should be taken to teach children to breathe through the nostrils. When only a portion of the air enters through the mouth, the irritation is not as marked as when all the air is inhaled in this manner, but it nevertheless develops a condition of chronic irritation which is easily recognized by one familiar with its appearance, and which may lead to important complications. In many cases, mouth breathing is not due to habit, but to some obstruction in the nostrils or throat. These cases form a proper subject for the consideration of the physician. After the removal of any existing obstruction, children will sometimes, from force of habit, continue to breathe through the mouth, but this can usually be overcome by attention and firmness on the part of the parents.

The prevention of grave throat diseases, such as diphtheria, necessarily forms a subject of much interest to the public in general and to mothers in particular. The causation of this disease has been much cleared up in later years, and we now know that the important factor is a bacillus--a small organism of the vegetable kingdom--which is the cause of this disease and a necessary material for its propagation. Bacteriologic investigations have shown that the so-called "membranous croup" is in by far the largest number of cases identical with diphtheria, and the same precautions which apply to the latter should therefore also be carried out in this disease.

As diphtheria is strictly an infectious disease, and one which must be directly or indirectly contracted from a similar case, there is no sanitary reason why this dreaded malady in the course of time should not be entirely eliminated from the earth. In view of the fact that diphtheria is so frequently present in our larger cities, this may appear at present a Utopian idea. It is not so many years ago, however, when smallpox was almost universal, and yet we now but rarely have it in our midst. Not only is this the case, but the health authorities are severely criticised when a number of these cases exist, as indicating that there has been a lack of watchfulness in carrying out certain well-known means of prevention.

While we have at the present time no means of inoculation that will permanently protect against infection from diphtheria, still it is not of such an infectious character as smallpox, as the cases are usually limited to children, and its spread may therefore be more easily prevented. Not only should children who have had diphtheria be prevented from returning to school until infection is no longer possible, but other children of the same household should also be kept at home. A few years ago a certain school in this city was rarely without a case of diphtheria among its pupils for many months. I am convinced that had the principal of the school or the parents insisted upon the other children of the infected household remaining at home, the spread in this direction would have been arrested and much suffering avoided.

When a patient has recovered from diphtheria, thorough disinfection is a most important measure. Unfortunately, however, many persons consider it a hardship if articles which can not be disinfected are destroyed, and many will even use every endeavor to prevent the representatives of the Board of Health from carrying out their regulations. In this way the germ of the disease remains on the premises, and under suitable conditions again finds another victim in the household. To illustrate this, I recall an instance some years ago in which I was called in consultation to see a most malignant case of diphtheria. The little patient fortunately recovered, and the premises were thoroughly disinfected, the parents being anxious to avoid any repetition of the dreaded malady. Five months later, however, a younger child became ill, and was found to have diphtheria. In view of the vigorous efforts which had been made to disinfect the house thoroughly, and of the fact that the child could not have contracted it elsewhere, not having left its home for several weeks, the cause at first appeared a mystery. Careful inquiry, however, soon elicited a fact which clearly explained the case. The first patient had used a mouth-organ just before its illness, and when this was abandoned, the toy was carelessly thrown on the top of a bookcase, the nature of the child's illness at the time not being known. The second child, just before its illness, had accidentally found this toy and used it frequently. This experience explains the necessity of disinfection in all its details, and also illustrates the tenacious character of the germ which produces this disease.

Our knowledge of the specific cause of scarlet fever is not as complete as that of diphtheria, but we have much useful information which is of importance from a hygienic standpoint. As in diphtheria, the specific poison is probably produced in the throat of the patient, and may therefore be spread by the dried secretion from the mouth and throat. The most common means of contagion, however, is the skin, which peels off in the later stage of the disease, infection being produced by the inhalation into the nostrils of some of the diseased particles.

A predisposing factor which applies alike to diphtheria and all other throat affections is the abnormal condition of the nose and throat. When these important parts are in an unhealthy condition, where mouth breathing exists and other conditions inimical to normal health, the patient is more predisposed to all forms of maladies of this region, and the attack when developed is more apt to be of a serious character. The more ordinary forms of sore throat, such as tonsilitis, are frequently due to defects in the sanitary conditions and surroundings of the home. While modern sanitary plumbing, when properly constructed, adds much to the convenience of the household, it is a certain menace to all its members if, through improper construction or defective ventilation, decomposing matter collects in the waste pipes and vitiates the atmosphere of the rooms. Many recurrent cases of tonsilitis are due to this cause. Even the ordinary stationary washstands may be a source of danger, especially in the bedroom, unless thoroughly ventilated and care exercised that the traps are not filled with decomposing matter. A physician of large experience in this city is so imbued with the danger of this form of plumbing that he condemns it _in toto_. When well constructed and well ventilated, however, they can not be the source of danger in the household.

Tuberculosis, which is responsible for so enormous a mortality, frequently also affects the throat as well as the lungs. Although it usually originates within the chest, it sometimes finds its primary origin in the throat, and in a large percentage of cases the throat affection forms a complication of tuberculosis of the lungs. In spite of the numerous remedies which have been advocated for the cure of this disease, it must be admitted that our chief reliance is in proper nourishment and climatic effects, and that hygiene is the sheet-anchor which will eventually rescue us from this terrible foe of the human race.

Recent investigations tend to prove more and more that tuberculosis is inherited in but rare cases; that inheritance is simply a predisposing factor, and that the real cause is infection. As an illustration of this, all have seen instances in which there had been apparently no cases in a family for ten or fifteen years, when from some cause one case develops, and this is soon followed by other cases in the same family. Whatever rôle heredity may play in these cases, this simply shows that the first case produced the infectious material which found a suitable soil in the other members of the family and developed a similar disease. The inheritance theory has been the source of much injury by causing members of the afflicted family to submit to the apparently inevitable instead of instituting measures for its prevention. The infectious product in tuberculosis is not the breath, as is so frequently believed by the laity, but simply the expectoration which comes from the diseased lungs or throat. When this is allowed to come in contact with clothing or other material in the room, it becomes dry and loads the atmosphere with a dust which contains the infectious bacillus, which may cause a similar disease in a person predisposed by heredity or sickness to this affection.