I cannot close this subject better than with a "little story" about my friend Jacob.
I called upon him about nine o'clock in the evening, and found him alone, and very seriously occupied with a big wooden bowl of doughnuts. I asked him:
"How many, so far?"
"Oh, eight or ten, perhaps."
"Did you have supper?"
"Oh, yes; I ate supper, and I shouldn't touched these, but somehow I didn't feel very well, and was sorter lonesome, and these doughnuts are kinder company for me, ye know. The old woman always fries them in the evening, and when they are nice and hot I sometimes eat more 'n twenty on 'em, just to sorter pass away the time, ye know."
Woman rules in the social sphere, and is responsible for its vices. If women would expressly disapprove of wine-drinking, soon, among the decent classes, it would become obsolete.
Clara P. came from Portsmouth to Boston about twenty years ago, to seek her fortune as a teacher of the piano. Wholesome in person, and interesting in manners, she not only won pupils, but social recognition.
At a reception in Somerset St., she was asked to join in a glass of wine. Hinting at a shadow in her family history, she quietly declined, and fell into a sad, thoughtful mood.
A month later, at a similar gathering in the same house, she was confidentially told by the lady of the house, that two gentlemen who were present at the previous reception, had just requested her not to offer wines, as Miss. P. was made unhappy by it. The wines were not brought out, and no farther allusion was made to the subject. At several other social gatherings, when Miss P. was present, the same respectful deference was paid to her feelings; and yet this young woman did not belong to the most influential class.
Mrs. F. was married two years, when rum turned her little quiet home into a hell. Broken-hearted and sick, she left her baby son with her sister, and came to Boston to rest her aching head and sore heart, and to earn a living. She advertised for a place as housekeeper, and had several interviews with ladies and gentlemen who were in pursuit of a housekeeper. She told her story to each one in turn, and was quickly dropped by one and another, until her last dollar had been paid for bread and shelter; and then came a manly man who was touched by her sad recital, and said at once:
"Come, work and rest with us."
He took her to a beautiful house in Mt. Vernon St. and left her in charge of a fashionable, helpless family. Mrs. F. soon established herself in the confidence of the household. In a few days there came a party, and the housekeeper was busy enough. Among other duties was the delivery to the waiters of bottles of wine. Mrs. F. called the gentleman of the house, and said:
"You have been very kind to me, and I will do anything for you, but I hope you will excuse me from this; my hands refuse." The Colonel called one of the colored boys, and gave him the key of the wine- cellar, and the entertainment went on as usual. Up stairs the housekeeper's notion was mentioned, and one of the young men cried out:
"Come gentlemen, fill up, fill up; here's to the health of the brave housekeeper, and long may she wave."
The lady of the house thought it very queer, and next day sought an explanation. It was, after some reluctance, given with tears and passionate ejaculations. The lady thought there might be danger; indeed her husband and oldest son had of late seemed too fond of wine. Several conversations followed between the two mothers, and the lady, just previous to the next social gathering, said to her husband at the breakfast table, in the presence of her sons:
"What do you say to having no wine tonight? That story of Mrs. F.'s has really frightened me?"
"Now," said the husband, "don'tyougo to preaching temperance; it's enough to have one woman in the house teaching morals."
"But," said the anxious wife and mother, "I was not preaching; I was just asking what you thought of it; and if you were willing, I had made up my mind to turn over a new leaf in our receptions."
Husband,—"Well, then I shall go in for abandoning coffee and tea. I think they do a great deal more harm than wine!"
Herbert,—"Yes, and how it would sound with all our fellows here, to tell them with solemn faces, that we were afraid they would all become drunkards, and so we must deny them. Oh, pshaw! I should never hear the last of it."
Mother,—"I can only say that when they were here last, several of them, including my own dear Herbert, drank too much."
Herbert,—"I think we had better turn it into a prayer-meeting at once."
Father,—"Oh well, mother, let us eat our breakfast in peace. We will speak of it some other time."
During the day the two mothers held a long conversation, in which Mrs. F described the beautiful, fresh face and spirit of Charles, before the dreadful thirst took possession of him, and the horrible, brutal oaths and passion which followed.
The two sad ones closed their long conversation, as women are wont to when in real trouble, by earnest, tearful prayer.
The lady of the house said to herself, "My husband is always declaring that I am the queen of his castle; that he attends to everything in his business outside, and never wants me to interfere; but that he leaves everything at home to me,—that here I am mistress of all. I wonder if this is so. God helping me, I will try my authority, this very night."
John was ordered to bring round the carriage, and soon after, a lady might have been seen down in Kilby St., in earnest conversation with a certain well-known wine merchant; and just before dark, two men, with a wagon at the back door, were very busy up in the rear of Mt. Vernon St.
About eleven o'clock that evening, the Colonel rang the bell forRichard, when the good wife interrupted him by saying:
"Gentlemen, will you not join me in a cup of coffee to-night, instead of the wine?"
"Certainly, madam, most certainly! while we are your guests, we place ourselves at your disposal!"
The bright urn was brought in, and placed upon the side-board, and the waiters, who had received special instructions, acquitted themselves with marked success.
If you could have placed your ear at a certain keyhole, after the family had retired that night, you would have heard a very earnest conversation.
A woman is heard to say, "But, husband, what do you mean, when you say that I rule here, just as you rule in your business? Do you mean to say that when I see my own darling son entering the path that leads to a drunkard's grave in our own house, I have nothing to say or do, but must wait for you to determine the details of our social entertainments? What do I rule over in our home, if not over the entertainment of our guests? What would you say if I were to go down to your counting room to-morrow, and attempt to over-rule your decisions? You are always saying that I am supreme here in our home, and now when I alter a little the details of our social entertainments, you say that I have assumed to determine what you shall eat and drink, that you won't be henpecked, and that you won't stand it, and all that sort of thing. Will you be kind enough to tell me which portion of the housekeeping you intend to leave to me, and exactly, in detail, what I may attend to here in our home, without asking your permission. It's of no use for you to say that I may attend to everything else but this one thing; God has given me a yearning for our boy, and, if you will force me to say it, for my own dear misguided husband, which forbids my abandonment of my duties and rights in this matter. In the light of this poor woman's dreadful history, God has shown me my duty, and, my dear husband, I shall perform it in His fear. No more wine will be served in our house, on any occasion, with my consent."
Husband,—"I will turn that meddlesome woman into the street to- morrow morning before breakfast, bag and baggage!"
"You will do nothing of the kind, for I have determined to keep her."
"Well, we'll see; I will hustle her off as soon as I am out of my bed."
Of course she was not sent away; and when, a year after, that family was earnestly pushing the interests of the cause of Temperance, the Colonel went himself with Mrs. F., the housekeeper, to bring her little son to the city, where in the beautiful home on Mt. Vernon St. he soon became not only a pet, but, as usual, a king and tyrant.
These events occurred about twenty-seven years ago. To-day Herbert, —the oldest son—and Mr. F., the housekeeper's husband, are partners in one of the largest concerns in this city.
If women knew how complete is their dominion in the social sphere, and would exercise their power, rum and tobacco would quickly disappear from the better classes, throughout the civilized world.
An effort among a few young women in the neighborhood of this city, induced more than fifty young men to abandon cigars. One young fellow swore by all the gods that he would smoke as long as he pleased, and so he did; but he did notpleaseto continue very long after several of the young ladies had had interviews with him.
In Dixon, Ill., fifty good women called at every rum-hole in town. There were forty nine of them. In each place they read a touching "Appeal from the Women of Dixon to the Venders of Intoxicating Drinks in Dixon," joined in a brief prayer, sang a verse, and went on to the next "rum-hole." This they repeated every day for a week, when there were no places left to visit.
The women of Battle Creek, Mich., tried the same thing. One hundred of them went, without parade or notice, to all the "rum-holes" in the city every day, till there was not one that dared open its doors. I was there at the time, and could tell you thrilling stories of the encounters of these noble, brave women with the venders of what a clergyman—a friend of mine—calls "liquid hell-fire."
But I hasten on to give you a very interesting illustration of the power of woman in the summary abatement of social nuisances. Although in lecturing upon "Woman's Influence in the Cause of Temperance," I have frequently given the facts entire, with the names of the parties, it has occurred to me that in writing it out for a book, it would be only just to avoid mentioning names, as many members of the families involved, are now most respectable people, and earnest advocates of Temperance.
Well, this is the story:—In a small factory village (say in Pennsylvania) with a thousand inhabitants, there were five "rum- holes." The men of the little community spent their time in the drinking places, while their children earned the family bread by long hours in the mills. The mothers were busy in caring for their children and drunken husbands, and many of them strove to add to the comforts of the family, by the use of the needle.
At length, on a Saturday night, several boys, coaxed by a scamp, drank freely of whiskey, and were taken home helplessly intoxicated; two of them came near dying. The good mothers were on fire. They had long since abandoned all hope for their husbands, but they would never,neverconsent that their boys should become drunkards. By a common impulse they gathered in the little church on the hill, and held a meeting for prayer and weeping. After three hours of passionate ejaculation, tears and heart-breaking agony, they resolved as follows:
"We will make a banner with our own hands. On one side it shall bear the figure of a child drinking from a bucket, that beverage, which God has prepared for his creatures. On the other side we will work this sentiment, 'Mothers will sacrifice all for their Children.' When it is done, we will go to these men with our banner for the rallying flag, pray with them, plead with them, and never give up till they stop."
In two weeks they were ready, and eighty-four women (all mothers but four) with their little silken banner at their head, marched down to the first of the "rum-holes," and were met by thelandlord(curious misnomer) and told that they could pass on; that if they came in there, they would be sorry for it, &c. They had had no experience, did not know their power, were frightened, and hurried on. The secondlandlordwas a younger man, not so hard, and said, after looking over the company:
"Why, is it possible that all the good women in town are after me in this way? Why, of course I will stop, if they all wish it; that is to say, I will stop if the rest will."
"Mr. Warner, here is our paper; put down your name and say exactly what you will do; we are here on no idle errand."
So he put down his name with the words:
"I will stop if the rest will."
"John Warner."
They went on to the next one, who kept a bowling and billiard saloon as well as a drinking "hole," and laid their case before him.
He was a young man, and enjoyed a prodigious reputation as a "ladies man," and of course put down his name under John Warner's, and was careful to prefix the words,
"Ladies, I am your most obedient servant.
Henry Hinkle."
To make the story as short as possible, I will simply state that all but the first one on whom the ladies called—Hank Otis—stopped at once (doubtless at first to see how the thing would turn out) and then the ladies went down early in the morning and crowded into Hank's den. He came in, just out of bed, and was astonished to find his "grocery" crowded full of women. He had sworn to his cronies that if he ever caught "them women here, I will pitch 'em all into the street;" but on that morning, looking into the earnest faces of the crowd gathered about him, it occurred to him that pitching them into the street might not be a popular neighborhood movement, and so he did the next best thing—sent for his big easy chair, had a pillow brought for his head, another chair and pillow for his heels, and then cried out:
"Ladies, I am glad to see you; I an always glad to see my neighbors, especially the ladies. Now, ladies, do take seats (there was not another chair in the room) and go on; I shall be delighted to hear you."
They did go on; they cried, begged, plead, argued, reasoned and expostulated; they read from the Bible, they prayed, sang, and kept it up till twelve o'clock. A relative and very dear friend of mine was one of the company, and she has told me that she never witnessed such a scene,—it was enough to break a heart of stone.
About twelve o'clock, they said:
"Good morning, Mr. Otis; we will come again to-morrow morning."
"Do come, ladies, and come early; I hope you will never pass without dropping in. I am always glad to see my neighbors, especially the ladies."
The women went next morning before Hank was out of bed; as soon as he came in and took his chair, they began with singing and prayer. Pretty soon Otis pretended to be asleep, and snored prodigiously; but they knew he was awfully wide awake. During the whole forenoon they sang, prayed, begged, plead, expostulated, and then sang and prayed again.
About noon Otis noticed that they suddenly ceased, and he wondered what was to come next. He opened one eye a little, and saw they were pulling out their luncheons. He groaned in spirit, but comforted himself with the reflection, that he could sit as long as they could stand. Soon they began again with prayer, and after another hour they closed with a song, and saying:
"Good afternoon, Mr. Otis; we will come again to-morrow morning," they left him.
Hank had nothing to say, for he felt that soon he must give way. But the next morning he was up early, and ready to receive them.
They began, and when they came to the part where they said, "we will support your family with our needles; we should be proud and happy to do so, if you will only close your place," he could stand it no longer, and springing to his feet, cried out:
"There is one thing I want to know, and that is, how long is this infernal business going to last?"
One of the earnest mothers replied:
"What God has in reserve for us we can't say, but if He permits us to live, we shall come here every day till this place is closed. Mr. Otis, you think we are joking, that it is a foolish whim of ours; but, sir, we have entered into a solemn vow to struggle against this curse, which threatens to engulf our all, as long as God gives us the breath of life."
"Ladies, how long will you give me to stop?"
"You will have to take your own time."
"Well, in ten days I will stop, and on my honor as a gentleman, I will never begin again, in this town!"
"Oh, Mr. Otis," exclaimed one poor sufferer, "don't go on ten days; my poor Sam may become a drunkard in that time; stop now, and God will bless you."
"Well, ladies, I will pour out my liquors to-morrow morning at nine o'clock, and that shall be the last of it."
The next morning the whole village was there to see; the liquors were brought out with a great flourish, poured into the gutter, and they ran down into the stream below.
Although that village was so situated as to be peculiarly exposed to the evils of intemperance, and although this happened many years ago, I believe that not one glass of strong drink has been sold within its precincts, from that day to this. Those brave women have ever stood ready to attack, with their own peculiar weapons, the enemy who would open a pitfall for their sons.
Here and there, throughout the country, earnest mothers, wives, sisters and daughters have undertaken to exterminate the neighborhood grog-shops; and while men have constantly failed, these determined women have rarely failed to achieve a complete victory.
Women rule in the social sphere, and are responsible for its vices.
In all this world, there is no other spectacle so bewildering and so sad, as this queen of the social sphere, living in the midst of drunken howls, the sickening fumes of tobacco, and in a hot-bed of licentiousness, and hiding the magic wand with which she might dispel every social iniquity, and then standing before a mirror, paint her cheeks and eyebrows, and adjust her curls, and ribbons, and flowers, and bows and jewelry.
It is no mere figure of speech, to say that God will hold her responsible for all this silly, shameless abandonment and betrayal of her high and sacred trusts!
I am astonished that a young woman who is ambitious of a clear, fine skin should drink tea. It is a great enemy to a fair complexion. Wine, coffee and cocoa may be used without tinging the skin; but as soon as tea drinking becomes a regular habit, the eye of the discriminating observer detects it in the skin. Tea compromises the complexion, probably, by deranging the liver.
Weak tea or coffee may be used occasionally, in moderate quantity, without harm; and those who live much in the open air, and are occupied with hard work, may drink either, in considerable quantities, without noticeable harm; but I advise all young women who would preserve a soft, clear skin and quiet nerves, to avoid all drinks but cold water.
It is an excellent practice to drink one or two glasses of cold water on lying down at night, and on rising in the morning.
If you have good teeth, and can help the food into your stomach without using any fluid, except the saliva, it will, in the long run, contribute much to your health.
It is impossible in preparing a work of this size, upon the broad and inexhaustible subject of Education, to maintain a logical continuity.
If my hopes in reference to the favor which this book will receive, are half realized, the reader will, perhaps, seek some of my works which are exclusively devoted to physical health. I take the liberty to name "Weak Lungs, and How to make them Strong," and "Talks About People's Stomachs;" both of which are published by Fields, Osgood, & Co., of this city (Boston).
What a mortification it is, when a lady is in company, to hear, from her bowels, that gurgling, glug-glug noise. A great many women have these peculiar sounds. And, generally, they are produced by tight stays. A portion of the small intestine is compressed so that its size is reduced. The contents of the intestine are constantly moving on, and when they come to the portion of the bowel under the whalebone bodice, they find it contracted; and in pressing through, the noise is produced. The cure for these peculiar and disagreeable noises, as well as for many other affections in the organs of the abdomen, including frequently torpid liver, constipation, and some peculiar forms of indigestion, is to be found in removing all pressure, and giving the entire abdominal viscera perfect liberty.
If, after removing all pressure, and giving those wonderful organs in the abdominal cavity full opportunity to perform their vital functions, the mischievous effects of the long continued pressure do not at once disappear, you may percuss and knead the abdomen a few minutes, morning and evening. Weak digestion, torpid liver and constipation are, by this simple means, frequently cured, and invariably relieved.
In the first place, you mustn't catch it. If you keep your extremities warm by substantial flannels, exercise much in the open air, eat the right quantity of plain food, sleep with open windows and shun hot drinks, you will avoid colds.
But, suppose you have a cold? Eat nothing but a piece of toast; drink freely of cold water; walk twice a day till you are in a gentle perspiration, and go to bed early. These rules observed, and colds, which produce so much mischief, would be shorn of their power of harm.
Are you too fat?Eat less food, with a larger proportion of meat; rise early in the morning and exercise much. This will reduce your weight. Even diminishing the quantity of food alone, without any other change, will be sure to do it. It is impossible that excessive fat, either in horse or man, can hold out against a persistent reduction in the quantity of food. And if the reduction be gradual and judicious, the strength is not lessened, but is steadily increased, until theexcessin fat is all gone.
And I will add, that after two or three days, there will be no sense of hunger until theexcesshas been removed.
Are you too thin?Sleep more by going to bed earlier; do not overwork; eat freely of oatmeal porridge, Graham mush, cracked wheat, and hulled corn; and all with milk and sugar. Cultivate a cheerful, happy temper.
The noblest women I have personally known, were "regular tom-boys" in their girlhood. I have made many inquiries about the women who figured conspicuously in the "Sanitary Commission," the "Christian Commission," and in the hospitals, and so far as I have been able to learn from them, and their friends, not one began with being a "proper"young lady!I venture the opinion that not one of the women who has risen to literary distinction in America, was a "proper"young lady!
In brief, I don't believe proper young ladies amount to much. As with a colt and a boy, neither of which, if quiet and staid, is likely to accomplish anything very grand in this world; so if a girl is prim and nice and proper, it is easy to write out the story of her life in five lines; and without waiting for her to live it.
But, if a young woman, of fair mental capacity, breaks through the trammels of propriety, rides the saddle astride, climbs fences and trees, joins a base-ball club, or acquires distinction in any roystering game which demands pluck and endurance, you may expect something; she possesses the elements of a strong womanhood. I would prefer one such woman, either in the hospitals at Gettysburg, or at the head of a family of children, to a dozen women who were chiefly distinguished in girlhood for immaculate collars and bows.
"What a fine face!" I exclaimed; "What a very beautiful girl!" By and bye I whispered to my wife, to ask who that young lady was?— pointing to the left. While she was looking, I remarked, "What a very plain face she has!" My better two-thirds replied, with the slightest possible sneer:
"It seems to me that you men haven't five grains of common sense about women. Now you don't pretend that you have forgotten thatvery beautiful girl!"
"But you don't mean to say that that is the same one I was admiring?"
"The same," quietly observed my better three-quarters. In a moment a bit of humor came from the platform; the large mouth flew open, and thirty magnificent pearls darted into view.
"Oh, yes, to be sure; why of course, who couldn't tell that?" I remarked, as brave as a sheep.
"My better seven-eighths quietly suggested, from behind her fan, "Now, suppose you attend to the lecture, and stop looking at the girls; how would you like it if you were lecturing, and one of your auditors should be looking all over the house?"
From that moment I kept my eyes on the speaker, but thepointsin the lecture were very few, and between them I had time to think "what a magic there is in fine teeth!" If a young woman has a mouthful of beautiful teeth, I don't care how long her nose is, nor what the color of her eyes; she looks sweet, wholesome, handsome!
On the other hand, no matter how exquisitely moulded the face, if, when the mouth is opened, decayed, blackened teeth appear; you cease to admire, and exclaim, "poor thing! poor thing!"
Besides this, if you lose your teeth, you can no longer speak plainly.
But more than both of these considerations put together and multiplied by a hundred, if you lose your teeth, you can no longer grind your food well; and then comes indigestion with its train of horrors.
How may the teeth be preserved?
Simply, by keeping them clean! A clean tooth cannot decay. You may eat sweet things, acids, take hot drinks, ice creams,—you may abuse your teeth in a hundred ways,—if you will keep them clean, they will not decay. I will show you as many white blackbirds, as you will show me clean white teeth beginning to decay.
How shall they be kept clean? I answer with a tooth-pick, used thoroughly after eating, and followed by rinsing the mouth, and the morning and evening use of a tooth-brush with a powder composed of pulverized soap and prepared chalk.
In addition to this, cultivate the habit of sleeping with your mouth shut. That dryness and bad taste in the mouth which come of sleeping with it open, is always injurious to everything within the mouth, including the teeth.
And, perhaps, this is the best place to speak of the error or misfortune of sleeping with the mouth open, in its influence upon the respiratory apparatus.
I cannot agree with the famous Catlin, who attributes so much to this bad habit. But really it is difficult to read his remarkable little work, without being convinced that sleeping with the mouth open is a most unfortunate habit. The most obvious mischief is the introduction through the open mouth and wind-pipe of dust and other minute objects, which the nose would strain out. The opening in the nose through which the air must pass, is only a narrow fissure, and its sides are armed with numerous hairs, which reach over and intertwine with those of the opposite wall, thus making it very difficult for particles of dust to pass through into the lungs. This point in Mr. Catlin's argument is too obviously true to need any special proofs; and perhaps another point of less moment is sufficiently obvious; viz., if the air be allowed to pass directly through the wide-open mouth into the lungs, its temperature when permeating the lung tissue is too low, and thus injury to that delicate tissue results; but if the air passes through the tortuous and contracted nasal passages, it is brought into such immediate contact with the blood in the lining membrane of those passages, that it is modified, and the lungs themselves are saved from the rude shock of a raw cold breath.
I have now given the more patent of the reasons for keeping the mouth shut while sleeping, and will only add that the habit of sleeping with the mouth shut, may be formed by a careful clearing of the nasal passages on lying down, and by going to sleep with a determination to keep the lips closed. Observing these rules, and being careful not to sleep with the head too low, you will soon awaken in the morning with the lips closed, and with the mouth moist and sweet.
If the air of the bed-room be impure, the complexion, eyes and nerves must soon suffer. The hours of sleep are hours of recuperation. But that the building-up work may go on, pure air is indispensable. During the night the doors are not opened; there is no moving about; all is at a stand-still. Now the windows must be wide open. Unless there be a storm or the weather be intensely cold, the upper sash must come half way down, and the lower sash go half way up. If your ears are cold cover them, but give your lungs and blood pure oxygen, and plenty of it.
If you would have beauty of skin and eyes, if you would enjoy a cheerful temper, and retain a youthful bloom, you must breathe a pure air all night, and all day, and always. No other law of health, no condition of beauty, is so imperative as this.
When you go into the street, don't wear a veil and keep the air away from your lungs. Let it come in freely; it is your best friend.
Young ladies take pride in the fact that their skins are so delicate, they can't wear flannels.
"Why, I couldn't live in flannels, my skin is so delicate."
It is to be deeply regretted that this passion for delicacy and debility has taken such strong hold of young ladies.
"Miss Fitznoodle, you must wear flannels next the skin, they will save you from colds, and keep up a fine, healthy circulation."
"Oh, my! I couldn't wear flannels next my skin; it would set me crazy; my skin is so delicate!"
"Miss Fitznoodle, you must rise early in the morning, take a bath, and go out for the fresh air."
"Oh, my! I couldn't think of it; I should be sick in bed all day, I am so delicate!"
"Miss Fitznoodle, you must sleep with your windows open."
"Oh, my! I can't, I am so delicate!"
I am always sorry to meet a young lady with weak, delicate morals; but rejoice to meet one with steady, fixed, determined morals. I am always sorry to meet a young lady with weak, delicate mind; but rejoice to meet one with clear, sharp, sturdy mind. And so I am sorry to meet a young lady with weak, delicate body; but rejoice to meet one with plump, elastic, sturdy body.
If your skin be so sensitive that you can't wear flannels, use a pair of hair gloves morning and evening; put on strong flannels, be patient, and in two weeks you will have conquered your delicacy, and be able to enjoy what, in this climate, is an immense advantage in many ways.
Croquetis fashionable and useful, certainly better than nothing; but any game which can be played in a tight corset and long skirt cannot serve the muscles much; but it keeps the players out-doors, and so far is useful.
Skatingis fashionable, and better than nothing; but the finest skating may be performed with arms folded; showing that the upper half of the body, which needs exercise ten-fold more than the lower half, receives little or nothing in this amusement. In addition to this, the sudden change from the furnace heat of our close houses to the piercing winds of the frozen pond, is often very damaging.
Dancingis beautiful and profitable. But the profit depends upon certain conditions, not always observed, viz., seasonable hours, healthy dress, and a pure atmosphere. Without these conditions dancing may be seriously mischievous.
Besides, it may be observed that dancing only brings into play the muscles of the legs and hips; while the arms and chest, which are dying for motion, are not eveninvitedto join in the fun.
Walkingmight be spoken of as an amusement among those who walk with real gusto; but this snail pace, with the two hands crossed in front, can hardly be regarded as an amusement except to those who are amused with a funeral procession.
Whilewalkingis the best possible single exercise for reasons mentioned in another place, it is defective in the same particular mentioned in skating and dancing; viz., it brings into play principally the lower extremities, which already are well developed, and neglects the arms, shoulders and chest, which are starving for work. But I must not forget to speak very earnestly of the great value of walking when it is of a vigorous sort, and the arms are freely swung. In this way even the shoulders and chest perform a good deal of work.
I have spoken in a separate chapter of the great SCHREBER's invention for home exercise—the Pangymnastikon—which is not only the best means of training the upper part of the body that I have ever seen, but is really one of the most fascinating of amusements. The reader is referred to the chapter "THE PANGYMNASTIKON, OR HOME GYMNASIUM."
Battledoor, andGracesorGrace-Hoop, are capital amusements; and bring into varied and vigorous play the muscles of the upper part of the body; besides, the interest is permanent and constantly increases as the skill increases.
Base-ball clubshave been organized among young women, with the happiest results to their health, spirits, activity and grace. They look very pretty in their gymnastic costume, and really they play wonderfully well.
The great physiological need of our artificial life is something to save the upper part of the body from falling into weakness and deformity. Our exercises fall almost exclusively upon the lower half of the body—we walk, dance and skate; but women of the better class do nothing with their upper limbs except to dress and feed themselves. The result is that their arms become consumptively emaciated, their shoulder-blades project, their chests become thin, flat, concave, and the vital organs within are correspondingly weak and uncertain.
The School at Lexington, up to the time the buildings were burned, was the truest exponent of education for girls, which has been seen in our country. I say inourcountry, because my acquaintance with the German methods is not sufficiently complete to justify any comparison between them and the school under consideration.
And yet, as has been shown in other chapters in this work, the curriculum at Lexington was far from philosophical or wise.
The waste of time and money on music and the languages, was immense; the thought of it, even now, awakens in my mind the keenest regrets.
But in this respect, it was no worse than other first-class schools, while in several important particulars, it was greatly superior.
1_st_.—It was a school forgirlsandyoung women, and not foryoung ladies. This is a very important distinction.
2_nd_.—It had a very strong corps of resident teachers, who mingled with the pupils in all their many amusements. In this way a vigilant, earnest public sentiment was developed, which made the trammels and friction of school government quite unnecessary. The girls bore themselves precisely as they would in a drawing-room, in the presence of men and women of dignified manners and fine culture. Indeed, such were the persons constantly mingling with them. They could not escape the feeling that they were placed on their honor. What is called school government, or discipline, we had little or no occasion to think of. If I had space I could tell you some really very touching stories, illustrating the experiences of girls who, for the first time, were in a school where they were nottold, but wereexpectedto behave their best.
In so large a company, definite rules were indispensable to concert of action. We had as many rules as other schools, but the spirit in which they were observed, was the distinctive feature of which I have spoken.
I will venture to give one little anecdote, which will serve to illustrate the point under consideration.
One of our bright girls, Mary——, retired on the ringing of the first bell, at half-past eight o'clock; but when the watchman made his nine o'clock round, he found a light burning in Mary's room, and at once left his beat, to report to me. I sent hint to ask if Mary was sick. He returned to say that the light was now out, and that the young woman said she was not sick. He had hardly reported, before Mary appeared at my door in her morning-gown, and said that she was sorry for having failed to observe the hour for turning out the light, but that she had just received a letter from her mother which she wanted very much to answer; that she hoped I would excuse her.
I said, "all right," and she was turning to go back, when, looking very earnestly at me, she said:
"If you knew how much better I behave here, than I ever did at any other school, I am sure you would not blame me for this. When I was at the —— Seminary, we girls spent nearly half our time in devising tricks and dodges. We liked to come it over them, because they were always watching us. Lots of us corresponded with young men, and we left our letters for each other in the crevices of the garden wall; I used to say that if we were half as much interested in our studies, as were in cheating our teachers, we should become as wise as Solomon. But here—why, sir, during all these months that I have been here, I have never heard a word from any girl, which looked like deception. You trust us so completely, and treat us with such respect, that I don't see how the worst girl that ever lived, could even think of doing wrong. It really seems to me, that this spirit in your school is worth more to us than every thing that we could possibly get in our studies."
My own horror of these seminaries, where girls study (under the suggestions and example of the worst among them,) every species of deception and trick, is such, that I would prefer that my daughter should never learn to read the name of the God who made her, rather than acquire all learning and accomplishments, under such demoralizing influences. Thousands of young women while learning a little music and French, acquire a habit of concealment and indirection, which marks all their subsequent career.
In discussing the peculiarities of the Lexington School, I would mention:
3_rd_.—The physical exercises and amusements. The "New Gymnatics" were taught to every member of the school, and practised daily by all, from half an hour to an hour and a half, while dancing was introduced three or four evenings of each week. Besides these, we indulged in many amusing games.
Physical education constituted a part of the regular system, and nothing was left to chance, or to individual proclivity.
In most seminaries, physical exercise is optional with the pupil. If arithmetic were treated in the same way, necessary as it is to civilized life, I fear but little progress would be made.
The average American girl has a delicate body, with numerous aches and weaknesses. The School which does not provide in its curriculum for this average and fundamental condition, seems to me strangely deficient in its educational provisions.
The graduate of a Woman's Seminary, should, like the graduate of aGerman University, be as much improved in body as in mind.
Young women, on completing the prescribed course, should be fitted for the active duties of life. This involves, as primary and fundamental, a healthy and vigorous body.
Girls came to our school with the stipulation that they should not room above the second story, not being able to climb higher, who within five months, walked ten miles in three hours, without fatigue.
I was asked to visit a Female Seminary, some miles out of Boston, to witness the exercises of a "Commencement." Seated on the platform with the Principal, she called my attention to the graduating class. Covering her lips with a book, she whispered to me, that "that class of young ladies seated by the organ is the graduating class."
"And they have finished their education?" I asked. She nodded assent.
I gave them a good long look, and felt the wrong so deeply, that I could not resist the temptation to whisper back:
If you had said thegirls themselveswerefinished, I should have understood you; but if you mean that theireducationisfinished, I can only say that it seems to me they have not laid the first stone In the foundation of a true education.
Pale, thin, bent—they had been outrageously humbugged. What amount of languages and music could compensate for this outrage upon the very foundations of their being?
In the Lexington school the course in physical training was very complete. The muscle training was varied and abundant, the pupils retired at half-past eight o'clock, wore no corsets or close dress, kept their extremities warm with flannels and strong shoes, ate plain food, and enjoyed many amusing games and much hearty laughter.
We measured them about the chest, under the arms, on entering the school, and again on leaving, and found that a common increase in eight months was three inches. There was a still more remarkable enlargement of the arms and shoulders, while the change in their manner of walking never failed to impress us all. Female weaknesses, which, in some form, nearly all of them brought to the school, were quickly relieved; and headaches, after the first month of the school year, were almost unknown among us.
I do not wish to protract this discussion of the possibilities in physical development in our girls' schools; but I will say, after such opportunities for observation as no other man on either continent has enjoyed, that it is my deliberate conviction that ninety-nine in every hundred girls, may be so developed, physically, in two years of school life, that they can walk ten miles without fatigue, be free from aches and weaknesses, and be nobly fitted for the grave responsibilities of citizenship and motherhood.
4_th._—I would add that the true school will magnify nature—will make conspicuous in its programme the natural sciences, will push very far the rudimentary English training, will give the most emphatic and determined attention to composition and conversation, and will watch over the manners of the pupil with a truly parental interest.
I have seen coarse, unmannerly boors engaged in teaching girls Latin and Trigonometry. It seems to be thought if they understand the technics of the books, that is enough. Of course they must comprehend what they attempt to teach; but the rare and precious graces in a teacher, are fine manners and conversational powers. More is learned in an hour's conversation with refined, cultured people upon almost any topic, than can be learned in a day from books, even with the assistance of an unrefined, mechanical teacher.
I shall be happy to correspond with parents about the schools of NewEngland, which are earnest in regard to physical education.
Without pursuing any special order, I will mention Hypasia, the much calumniated Aspasia, and the Athenian courtezan Leaena, who, when put to the torture to make her betray her friends and accomplices in a political conspiracy, bit out her tongue, and spat it in the face of her tormentor.
In more modern times, as education is placed within the reach of all, these "burning and shining lights" become less conspicuous, set, as they are, amid a galaxy of scarcely less brilliant luminaries. Instances might be cited by the dozen of women who have taken degrees in theology, who have lectured in public, and been celebrated assavansand philosophers.
As for those who have received the dignity of canonization, theRoman calendar alone is capable of keeping any account of them.
Yet amongst them, let us give one word of admiration to that brave Irish Abbess,—Ebba of Coldingham, who, to preserve herself from the brutality of the Danish soldiers, cut off her nose and lips. Her nuns followed her example, and the enraged barbarians burnt them all, together with their convent.
To whom do we owe the preservation of the New Testament but to the heroic girl-martyrs among the first Christians, who, under the Roman persecutors, endured unheard-of tortures, rather than betray the hiding place of the Sacred Writings?
En passantI may mention the first woman who used her literary abilities to support her household, was Christine Castel, a French woman by education, though by birth a Venetian. She lived in the reign of the English king Henry IV.
Have you ever heard of Arnande de Rocas? She must have been a brave, high-minded girl! When her native town was taken by the Turks,— somewhere in the clark sixteenth century, when Turks were not the civilized gentlemen that many of them now are,—she and a number of her young and beautiful companions were placed in a vessel bound for Constantinople,—their destination the Sultan's seraglio. In the dead of night, she gained access to the powder magazine, and blew up the ship, with her innocent companions and their captors.
Now let us come nearer home, and recal the name of Martha Bratton. She was a woman for any country to be proud of, for she helped, hand and heart, in establishing the freedom of her native country. Her husband was a Colonel in the first army of America, and in his absence she took charge of, and defended the ammunition and supplies. Think of her courage in blowing up the powder, rather than suffer it to fall into the enemy's hands! Think of her nobility avowing the act that no one else might suffer for it. Threats of instant death had no power to make her betray a trust. And she was a womanly woman too, for she saved the life of an English officer, who had rescued her by his intervention, and kept him concealed in her house till he was exchanged.
Grizel Cochrane! It's not a romantic name, but what a romance in her life.
Her father lay a prisoner in the Tolbooth of Edinburgh, condemned to death for high treason. Her grandfather, the Earl of Dundonald; was moving heaven and earth to obtain his son's pardon. But it was known that the warrant for his execution was on its way from London.
Grizel was only eighteen. But she was strong and resolute. She rode on her own fleet horse two days on the road to England, where a trusty friend lent her a suit of man's clothes and a pair of pistols. Thus armed, she attacked the postman, robbed him of the mail bags, and destroyed her father's death warrant. The time thus gained saved his life.
A better Grizel this, I think, than the celebrated Grizel who is so often held up as a model of womanly virtues.
Think of the peasant girl, inspired by spirit voices, throwing aside the timidity of her country breeding, her youth, and her sex, adopting the costume of a soldier, heading the armies of France, leading them to victory, and placing the national crown upon the head of the feeble Dauphin, much more of a girl than herself. Then change the scene, and behold the bigoted and fanatical priests conspiring against her; see her abandoned by her friends; abandoned even by the English whom she had conquered; see her at last led forth to the fatal pile, and her ashes cast into the Seine.
How different, yet how grand, is the gentle Heloise, more remarkable for her faithful affection, than for her learning and talents, choosing rather to be dishonored in the world's estimation, than to injure her craven husband by avowing their marriage.
What Roman or Spartan mother excelled in heroism that Lady Seton, who, while she saw from the beleagured tower the preparations of the brutal English king to put her two sons to death, urged her wavering husband rather to let them die for their country, than to save their lives by ignoble surrender of his great trust. Her sons were murdered, but her husband was not dishonored, and the town was saved.
Who has not heard of the heroic Maid of Saragossa? No matter that she was really the wife of one of the soldiers engaged in defending the city, that she had come upon the ramparts to carry some refreshments to her husband the story is not the less thrilling that it was fromhishand that she snatched the burning fuse, and fired the cannon near which he had fallen. Calling on the shrinking soldiers to reload the gun, she avowed her resolution to stand by it, and fire on the French enemy till they were beaten, or she was dead. She turned the tide of battle, and will be remembered as long as the world lasts.
Charlotte Corday! The name alone is enough to conjure up a moving panorama before one's eyes. We see the beautiful, heroic girl, nursing in the depths of her heart the project which, she fondly hopes, will free her country from a hideous tyrant. It is not murder that she contemplates, for she will give her own pure life for that of the savage steeped in every crime. We see her on her journey to Paris, gentle and affable, rousing no suspicion of the terrible errand on which she is bound. We see her when the deed is done, sitting calmly in the outer room, and thoughtfully passing her hand across her brow. We see her before her judges, "Serene, and resolute, and still, and calm, and self-possessed." We see her on her way to the guillotine, unconsciously inspiring such a strange and sudden passion, as surely never man felt before, and yet a true love, as poor Adam Luz proved by writing her defence, and dying for it and her. We may all join with the royalist lady, who fell on her knees and called hersaint, when she heard what she had done. Alas! that it was done in vain! The tyranny that crushed France was hydra-like, and for one head that was struck off, a hundred more appeared.
"The mother of the country." Is not that a name that any queen be proud to gain?
She lived in Saxony three hundred years ago, and is still remembered by the peasantry asMother Anna. What had she done to deserve the title? She studied several sciences, and applied her knowledge to promote the good of her people. She multiplied schools, and encouraged education. She incited the people to redeem waste lands, taking a spade in her own honest, busy hands, to encourage the workers when the ground looked particularly unpromising. She fostered trade and manufactures, and when she and her husband travelled about, they took with them supplies of the best seeds for raising fruit, and distributed them among the people. The good soul was a careful housewife, and more than all, a self-sacrificing Christian, teaching more by example than precept.
Amid all this hard work, public and private, she became the mother of fifteen children. I have heard of ladies who complained being fearfully overburdened with two or three.
The end of this noble woman was worthy of her life. She died of the plague, caught while attending on the sick, like a true Christian andMother.
You may never be called upon to perform such acts of heroism as distinguished many American women during the struggle for independence; but it will be good for you to imbibe, from their contemplation, a touch of the spirit which prompted them. Who would not wish to resemble Mrs. Motte, when her large new house was garrisoned by the English. The American generals, loth to destroy the widow's home, hesitated to expel them by fire. She presented to them the Indian bow with its apparatus for igniting the shingle roof, counting ruin as nothing in the scale against patriotism. Then, again, the gentlewoman succeeds the patriot as she receives the vanquished foes in her poor termporary home, entertains them hospitably, and, womanlike, endeavors to soothe the mortification of defeat.
Picture to yourselves a group of despairing wretches, clinging all night to a fragment of a wreck, and to the remorseless rock on which it had been dashed. All through the stormy Autumn night they had clung there, amid rain, and wind, and darkness, holding on still, yet without hope; they are miles from the shore, and they know that, as the tide rises, they must be swallowed up, one by one, or all swept off at once by the hungry waves.
Far away, during that terrible night, they had seen a faint, twinkling light. It was from a lighthouse—a sailor who was among the group of miserable creatures, told them it was the Longstone Lighthouse,—a mile away, too far for any one to see them down there on a level with the sea; and even if they were seen, there was no life-boat there, and no person but an old man and woman, with their son and daughter. _They _could never bring a boat to their deliverance.
There were fewer people than he supposed at that time in the lighthouse, for the son was absent,—the only one, it would seem, who might have had the strength and courage to venture to their assistance. Besides, what chance was there that they would be discovered?
Yet, at that very moment, clear, bright eye, looking through a telescope for signs of the storm's cruel havoc, lights on them, and takes in at once all the perils of their position. It is the eye of a girl of eighteen; she has the courage of a Roman, the compassion of a Christian. Calling to her father to accompany her, she hastens to their boat. Remonstrance is in vain. She will not listen to her parents, she will not wait a moment; all she thinks of, is those unhappy sufferers, for the returning tidemustwash them off. If her father will not go, she will go alone, and, live or die, make the attempt to save them.
Her energy bears down all doubts; the boat is launched,—even the poor wife and mother helping. And, ah! think ofher, as she sees it leave the rock to which it may never return. Think whatshegives to the service of mercy. She must have been a worthy mother of such a daughter. Father and child, each take an oar, and pull, not for their lives, but for the lives of others.
Ah! what a struggle that was, through a mile of angry, tumbling waters, now from the crest of a wave catching a glimpse of thosethey go to rescue, now sunk in a deep hollow that threatens to engulf them. Through all, the little frail boat goes on its errand of mercy. Can we not imagine how the wife and mother watched it through the lighthouse glass? Let us take our post by her, and try to feel for a moment as she felt. From her lofty post she can mark the progress of the boat. It is slow but sure. When first it sank out of her sight in the trough of a great billow, her heart sank too; but see, rises again, and with it a prayer and thanksgiving ascend from the mother's heart. The daughter rows with a manly strength,—no signs of fatigue. Will they reach the wreck in time? Oh! the boat goes so slowly, though those two devoted ones work so hard. On, on, still on, nearer and nearer. Now comes the moment of greatest danger. Ah! they are too eager to get in,—they will swamp the boat. No, their very weakness prevents that. The stronger help the more feeble; they are all in now; all safe so far; nine human beings saved sofar; but can eleven come safe to land? Once more the boat mounts on the creasts of the waves, once more she sinks into the hollows, and nearer, nearer, nearer she creeps on.
Other duties now claim the attention of the anxious watcher. Fires must be kindled, and food must be prepared, or the good work will be left unfinished; and from time to time she runs to the window to watch their progress.
The keel grates upon the beach,—voices are heard; they are all safely housed, and the loved girl comes up smiling, happy in the success of her good deed, and all unconscious that her name is henceforth famous through the world.
England need not envy France her Charlotte Corday, while the name of Grace Darling shines, in letters of gold, upon the pages of her own history.
The renowned Hugh Grotius had a wife who ought to be called the renowned Mary Grotius.
When he was condemned for his political writings, to be imprisoned for life, she accompanied him, though the hard condition was, that she too was to remain a prisoner. After a while she was allowed to go out occasionally. She borrowed books for him, which were carried to and fro, with his linen, in a chest. When long custom had made the guards careless in examining this chest, she packed her husband in it one fine day, and sent him to the wash, staying in the prison herself, and pretending that he was ill in bed.
She was let out too, after some severe treatment.
There was a woman who never performed any grand, heroic action, who lived a quiet, domestic life; did nothing brilliant, wrote no poems, suffered no martyrdom. For thirty-eight years she was a ministering angel to her husband; and he was not an invalid, whose caprices tried her temper, and made her life a lasting trial. On the contrary, his health was good, and his spirits ever equal.
Yet the world is much indebted to that woman. She was to her husband what the cipher is after the figure one. Alone, it is a unit; with the cipher by its side, it becomes ten.
She was the wife of John Flaxman, the Sculptor.
"Down with the Austrian woman," shouted the infuriated mob of Paris, supposing that they saw before them the ill-fated Marie Antoinette. An officer corrected their mistake, and the lady, just rescued from the most terrible of deaths,—that of being torn to pieces by savages,—said to him, "Why undeceive them? You might have spared them a greater crime."
She was the same, who, when asked her name and rank before the revolutionary tribunal, replied, with dignity, "I am Elizabeth of France, the aunt of your king."
She was compelled to witness the execution of twenty-four of her fellow-prisoners, and then met her own death without a complaint.
Among savage nations what could be more terrific than a volcano? And when, in addition to its natural mysteries, a cunning priesthood has invested it with the attributes of a malignant and revengeful deity, who but an enlightened and civilized person would dare to approach it? It wastabooed, and whoever insulted it, would be destroyed by its shower of liquid fire.
It is hard to shake off the prejudices and superstitions of a life- time. Yet Kapiolani, a woman of Hawaii, who had already done much to raise the character of her countrymen, set the heathen priests at defiance, declared the volcano to be the work of a merciful God, and boldly descended some distance into its crater. There she composedly praised the Lord in the midst of one of His wonderful works. The effect of her faith upon the minds of her countrymen was wonderful.
"In all that is known of Assyria, the most ancient empire of the earth, every extant fragment, moral or material, bears evidence of a sex to which that land of wonders owes the immortality of its grandeur. The name of Semiramis has preserved (what Sardanapalus could not destroy, nor Cyrus bury under the ruins of Babylon,) the memory of the greatest combination of wealth, power, art, and magnificence, which the world had till then witnessed, or has since conceived. For the greatest capitals of the most powerful and refined of modern states, supposed to have reached the acme of civilization, have but one epithet to mark their supereminence; and Rome and London (in boast, or in reproach,) have each been called the Babylon of their own proudest times.
"Babylon, with its hundred gates and towers, was founded by a woman of low origin and destitute youth, who attained to supreme power by her genius alone; and though all that has been ascribed to her may not be strictly true, though Diodorous Siculus in his enthusiasm may have exaggerated, and Ctesias may have too vividly colored his brilliant delineations of her greatness, yet that such a woman lived and reigned in Assyria, that she founded its capital, and influenced her age by her works and her talents, that she built cities, raised aqueducts, constructed roads, commanded great armies in person, and, both as conqueror and legislator, was among the earliest agents of Asiatic civilization, there remains no room for historic doubt.
"Her passage over the Indus, her conquests on its shores, the brilliant triumphs she obtained abroad, the astute wisdom with which she met conspiracy at home, and the bold confidence she expressed in the decisions of posterity, are stubborn facts. These obtained for her the sympathy of the greatest character and conqueror of a nearer antiquity; but Alexander, taking Semiramis for his model, vainly tried to restore her gorgeous city, on her own plans, and with her own views.
"Posterity has nobly ratified the appeal of Semiramis to its verdict. At the end of three thousand years, her life and character have been taken as the inspiration of its genius, and the spell of its attraction. Semiramis, however, has paid the penalty of her sex's superiority, and has been the mark of calumnious pedantry through succeeding ages."
*Since the above was in type, Mlle. Nilsson has several times sung"Way down upon the Swanee River" at her concerts.