In the chronic form the same remedies to relieve the pain are sometimes useful, but very much less effective, and often of little or no value. Dry heat, moist heat, gentle massage, and prolonged baking in special metal ovens, will often give much relief. Liniments of all sorts, from spavin cures to skunk oil, are chiefly of value in proportion to the amount of friction and massage administered when they are rubbed in.
In short, there is no disease under heaven in which so much depends upon a careful study of each individual case and adaptation of treatment to it personally, according to its cause and the patient in whom it occurs. Rheumatism, unfortunately, does tend to "run in families." Apparently some peculiar susceptibility of the nervous system to influences which would be comparatively harmless to normal nerves and cells is capable of being inherited. But this inheritance is almost invariably "recessive," in Mendelian terms, and a majority of the children of even the most rheumatic parent may entirely escape the disease, especially if they live rationally and vigorously, feed themselves abundantly, and avoid overwork and overcrowding.
GERM-FOES THAT FOLLOW THE KNIFE, OR DEATH UNDER THE FINGER-NAIL
Our principal dread of a wound is from fear that it may fester instead of healing quickly. We don't exactly enjoy being shot, or stabbed, or scratched, though, as a matter of fact, in what Mulvaney calls the "fog av fightin'" we hardly notice such trifles unless immediately disabling. But our greatest fear after the bleeding has stopped is lest blood-poisoning may set in. And we do well to dread it, for in the olden days,--that is, barely fifty years ago,--in wounds of any size or seriousness, two-thirds of the risk remained to be run after the bleeding had been stopped and the bandages put on. Nowadays the danger is only a fraction of one per cent, but till half a century ago every wound was expected to form "matter" or _pus_ in the process of healing, as a matter of course. Most of us can recall the favorite and brilliant repartee of our boyhood days in answer to the inquisitive query, "What's the matter?" "Nuthin': it hasn't come to matter yet. It's only a fresh cut!"