THE ART OF GOING TO BED.

Otago Daily Times, Issue 19405, 14 February 1925, Page 15

THE ART OF GOING TO BED.

(By An Old-fashioned Man.) The modern world does not understand the art of going to bed comfortably. The proceeding has degenerated into a mere act of domestic routine. We just go to bed Of tho seductive pleasure, the enjoyment of doing that comfortably, we have not the least conception. Bed waits. Nature insists that wo shall go to it, either late or early, so we bend to her will and “turn in” perfunctorily. So far as wo are concerned, going to bed comfortably counts among the lost arts. And for our ignorance of it we pay forfeit in the shape of insomnia, neurasthenia, jumpiness, and the various other forms of mental trouble that plague us. Our forbears, in many ways more skilled in the art of good living than we are, knew the recuperative value of restful sleep, and they coaxed this boon by providing conditions that induced it to visit them—they knew how to go to bed comfortably. For them there was no stripping off warm clothing to plunge in between icecold sheets; no such abominations as hotwater bottles that heat only a small patch of glacial surface and thereby make the rest of it seem colder to the shivering limbs of a would-be sleeper. When they warmed a bed they warmed it to an even temperature all over, making it a delightfully cosy retreat for the weary to creep into. If a modem house possesses a warmingpan it is hung on tho wall ns a precious antique that must not be touched lest tho shining lustro of its polished copper should be dimmed by inquisitive lingers. But our forebears invented warming-pans as accessories to bed comfort and used. them to promote it. Filled with glowing embers, and wrapped round with a piece of blanket to prevent burning tho sheets, tho warmingpan was thrust into the bed, and moved slowly up and down until every inch had been so perfectly heated that when a tired mortal rolled in between the sheets he or she would snuggle gratefully down into then - caressing embrace and go luxurious!}to sleep.

And what jolly beds the old folks had ! Not the hard, hone-torturing mattresses stretched upon iron frames that we use, but stout “ticks” stuffed with live goose feathers, and pill&wa filled with down.

One lay softly upon them, and felt at ease. In an old “four-poster,” with its curtains closely drayvn, all outside distractions were excluded—one could not help but sleep. Real bed comfort vanished with the fourposter or “tent bedsted,” as it was sometimes called. One still finds examples of these preserved in museums. But they havo been from homes in which they once held pride of place among the most cherished household goods.