READING IN BED.
THESE are days in which dangers of an extremely op- pressive nature are suddenly discovered to be lurking in the most unexpected quarters. It was only last year, for the first time since the penny post became a national institu- tion, that it was pointed out by a leading medical journal that bacilli of peculiar deadliness might be supposed to haunt the morning letter-bag. We do not know whether the note of alarm then sounded caused many persons to have their letter- bags thoroughly disinfected before being brought into the dining-room ; but at all events the alleged danger of infection in letters is typical of the alleged dangers which a certain class of mind is ready to detect anywhere and everywhere it can. Again, only a few weeks ago a correspondent wrote to the Times to point out the dangers to which persons exposed themselves who yielded to the craving to use soap. Probably equally serious perils lurk in the use of top-hats, which cause baldness ; and it may even be that the time will come when we shall be asked to discard collars, gloves, or waistcoats in order to preserve our health at the highest pitch of rudeness.
These, however, are dangers which are pointed out suddenly, and which are as suddenly forgotten. But there are others
• which have been pointed out, and are still being pointed out, day after day and year after year, yet the risk of which men and women continue deliberately to incur. Such a danger is that of reading in bed. There is probably not one of what may be called the smaller occupations of life which has been so consistently declared to be subversive of what is right and safe and healthy. Children are warned against the evil practice from their earliest youth ; many children, indeed, have been severely punished for indulging in it, even to the extent of being sent earlier to bed the evening after being found out,—presumably so as to be afforded v nobler and lengthier opportunity of resisting temptatiou. So deeply has this warning been burnt into the minds of children that it is seldom that even a grown-up perr.on 'cuts the courage to declare without shame that he frepehtly reads in bed; much more often he "admits that he is c ailty of what he must confess every one assures him is a dko.gerous practice." We find, for instance, in a typical leaddig article devoted to the subject—the occasion for the arVele being Lord Rosebery's recommendation to persons affi,cted with insomnia to read Cockburn of Ormiston's letters to his gardener—these sentences :—" All of us indeed have at times been guilty of the habit. His would be an austere creed who should deny this solace to the sleepless. And the practice is not without the commendation of some of the most dis- tinguished dignitaries of the healing art." There you have it,—the note of apology, the sense that something is being admitted ; in short, the instinctive use of the word "guilty."
Why "guilty," and why should "indulgence in the practice" be " admitted" ? There is at least one answer. Years ago, when the multiplication of moderately cheap books began, and when reading became in consequence far more general, there were curtains to our forefathers' beds. There are curtains to many of our beds to-day, of course ; but in those dAys curtains were the rule rather than the exception. To-day the doctors condemn curtains as not being hygienic, and if curtains are still retained, they are retained merely for deco- rative purposes, and not for use. But when curtains were hung for use, it was certainly dangerous to read in bed. Those were the days before electric light, and if any one, finding it difficult to "follow the ways of Bleep," was tempted to open a book and read by the light of a candle, he un- doubtedly ran the risk of suddenly dropping off to sleep and leaving the naked candle to ignite any stray folds of the bed- curtains which might be blown by a draught, or thrust by an unconscious movement of the sleeper, into the flame. That, then, was a danger which years ago certainly existed, and which exists also in many old houses to-day; and it is accountable, probably, for the tradition ingrained in the minds of many that reading in bed is a dangerous habit,—or rather something more; that it belongs, so to speak, to a sort of "second eleven" of deadly sins. But there is a still further answer to Us*. option, Why do people talk about being " guilty " of reading in. bed P It is that the doctors tell you that it is bad for the eye- sight. The Daily Mail, since Lord Rosebery's speech on Scottish history of Saturday last, in which, as we have said, he
casually mentioned Cockburn's letters on gardening, has been at pains to collect medical evidence on the subject. "The damage wrought by this pernicious habit," said one doctor, "is not confined to the eyes. It is bad for the whole body,"— and hints are given of overstrained neck muscles and rheumatism in the shoulder. "Reading in bed is a disease," said another ; "the habit is as had as taking drugs." "Do not read in bed if you wish to preserve your eyes," is the counsel of a third ; and so on.
They are all, no doubt, wise words, and yet, after all, regarded from one point of view, they are no wiser than such counsel as might be contained in a recommendation not to write while running, or not to sharpen a penknife while racing upstairs. To do either thing in a certain way may be foolish or dangerous, and to read in bed in a certain way may be foolish and dangerous also. To get a bad light thrown on a book, to hold the book in an uncomfortable position, and to place the candle by which you read near anything inflam- mable,—that is all, no doubt, foolish and dangerous. But with an electric-light, or even a properly protected candle or a gas-jet comfortably placed for immediate extinguishing, with an extra pillow enabling the reader to recline rather than to lie down, and with a bright mild light thrown on to a well- printed page, who is to contend that reading under such con- ditions is worse, either for yourself or your neighbour, than reading in the study or the smoking-room in an armchair ? Of course it is not ; and it is under such conditions that those who have found the need to read in bed chiefly try to calm an active mind into quietude. To many men, of course, sleep comes with a blessed naturalness and swiftness; such men, perhaps, are readiest—thoughtlessly enough—to condemn the practice of reading in bed as a habit akin to drug-taking. To others, for many hours during a troubled night, when the words spoken and the thoughts unexpressed during the day run in wearily multiplied circles through a humming brain, dreams come neither from the ivory gate nor from the gate of horn. The business, the hurry, the heat of the day, will not leave them; the gates will not unbar,—
" Dark aisles, new packs of cards, Mermaidens' tails, cool swards, Dawn dews and starlit seas, White marbles, whiter words, To live, I think of these 1"
"To sleep, I think of these!" Henley's line might be parodied for those whom Sleep will not hear. The white sheep will not walk one by one, slowly counted, over green lawns through the gap in the hedge of may ; you can count the stars in the dark pond up to twenty, but no further without rebellion,— the kindly, nursery-taught methods of courting sleep fail one by one. And when they fail ; when still, as Mr. Lang wrote in his "Ballade of Sleep," the prayer- " Lord of the wand of lead, Soft-footed as the snow, Wilt thou not hear me, Sleep "—
goes from hour to hour unheeded, why is a sane man to be forbidden a mild white light on large print, and the renewal of companionship which has pleased him, till he recognises at last the touch of the "wand of lead" ? He will refuse, of course, to have that companionship forbidden him, and he will choose for the comrades of his vigil those whose gentle touch and tactful power of self-obliteration he has tested and knows. "If he might classify it," said Lord Rosebery of Cockburn's letters, "he would put it among that rare collection of books which people could enjoy by their bedside, not as literary opiates, but because they were pleasant and healthy to read, which they could break off at any minute when they felt drowsy, and which left a pleasant impression on them when they laid them down." Of such books every man to whom sleep comes but uneasily knows the friendship and the worth. To them belongs the peace of the companion of whom he knows the inmost thoughts, who will not contradict or surprise him, who will not even speak until he is spoken to, and then will give the kindly answer asked for. This, it has been said, is the test of friends, that they can spend long hours in each other's companz
without speaking ; and something like it is the test of a book worthy to take its place on the bedside bookshelf. There, dull-covered and perchance happily dusty, it will wait on weariness : opening readily at well-remembered, quiet-bringing passages ; closing easily when its placid beckonings have brought nearer and nearer the touch of the "wand of lead."
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