Photography now employs many thousands in the country, and there is no part of the business which may not be as successfully performed by a woman as by a man. Already a very considerable percentage of the operators and colorers are women.
Schools of design have long existed in Europe. There are quite a number of them in Paris, some of them of prodigious proportions, and about a third of them are for women. There are schools of design scattered throughout the cities of the United States.
The object of these schools is to give a knowledge of some of the industrial branches of the fine arts. In some of these schools drawing is taught with marked thoroughness.
Designing for paper hangings, calico, wood engraving; designs for carpets, silks, ribbons, furniture, laces, plated ware, silver, jewelry, etc., are beginning to receive much attention.
Just think of the absurdity of employing men to design calicos. As a woman has a keener instinct for delicate forms, and beautiful, harmonious combinations of colors, so it is certain that she would succeed best in designing for calicos and similar fabrics.
These schools of design are to open an unlimited field for the remunerative employment of women. As our civilization is widened and refined, this field will rapidly enlarge.
Already, if there were some thousands of women educated,—and they may be educated, generally without expense to themselves,—they could find immediate and well-paid employment in the industrial prosecution of various branches of the fine arts.
This has long seemed to me an employment in which women would not only gain health and strength, but in which the most modest and retiring might find a congenial occupation, and the products of which are never depreciated because raised by a woman. A peck of peas has a certain market value, not dependant upon the hands which raised them. A woman who works at making pants receives fifty cents a day, not on account of the amount or quality of her work, but be cause she is a woman. A man engaged upon the same garments receives two dollars a day, not because of the amount or quality of his work, but because he is a man.
It is doubtless true that, in very many cases, the man does his work better than the woman; but it is not less true that, in a majority of cases, the difference in price grows out of the difference in sex.
So of the school. A male teacher receives a thousand dollars a year, not because his moral influence is better, not because the pupils learn more, but because he is a man. A woman teaches a similar school, and receives four hundred dollars, not because of the inferiority of her moral influence in the school, not because the pupils learn less, but because she is a woman.
Now, happily, all this is avoided in gardening. A man who would sell a beet is not obliged to put on a label, "raised by a man, ten cents," and upon another, "raised by a woman, four cents," but the article brings its market value. This is a great advantage, and one affording a special gratification to women of spirit.
Besides, gardening is an occupation requiring very little capital, and, except in the fancy departments, comparatively little training. Near any of the cities a woman can earn more upon a half acre of land, with four months' work, than she can earn by sewing twelve months, saying nothing of the healthfulness of gardening, and the unhealthfulness of sewing. A young woman, tired, disgusted with the difficulties which hamper her on every side, asks:—
"What can I do to be saved?"
I reply, "Cultivate a half acre of ground."
You can sell the products of your garden to one of the market-men who make it their business to purchase garden vegetables where they are raised, and convey them to market. Nearly all of our men gardeners sell at their doors, and have nothing to do with the market.
I do not know of another opening which women can enter so easily, with so little wounding of their sensibilities, and which promises such sure and generous remuneration.
A year ago I urged some young women who were out of employment to engage in gardening. They said they had no capital, no experience, but would be willing to try if the way could be made smooth for them. I spent a couple of days in driving about among the gardeners, in the neighborhood of Boston, and asked the following questions of some fifty of them:—
"Is there any part of your work that women can do?"
"If so, what compensation would you give to attentive, quick- fingered American girls?"
The answer to the first question was uniformly,—
"A large part of the work of a garden, or 'truck' farm, can be done as well by women as by men."
To the second question, the answers ranged from five to eight dollars per week.
Persons possessing capital, and interested in the welfare of women, could hardly make a wiser or more beneficent investment of their means, than in the purchase of small farms in the neighborhood of cities, for the use of women.
Dividing these into half-acre lots, they should rent them to girls and women, either without rent, or for a sum which would simply meet the interest on the capital invested. In every case, probably, the investments would pay well, without any rent, by the natural increase in the value of real estate in the neighborhood of cities, and the improvement incidental to nice gardening; but the occupant would not hesitate to pay a small rent.
If entirely unacquainted with farming, three or four might join to hire a gardener, and under his guidance they would all soon learn to work advantageously in raising the common garden vegetables.
A dozen or twenty of these girls could board in the old farm house, and would make a pleasant family. Naturally they would "exchange works" with each other, and thus secure social enjoyment.
This is no dream, but only requires that one man or woman should possess a few thousand dollars, which it is desired to invest in property with sure returns, and given, besides, twenty girls who are suffering the tortures of dyspepsia and hopelessness in city work, and who desire a healthy, pleasant, remunerative employment. Certainly, both these classes of persons are numerous.
I know a great many persons in the neighborhood of Boston, (and with our rapid railway communications they may be located at considerable distances,) I say I know of many persons who have farms which are really producing nothing but a little grass and a few flowers, but which, changed into such half-acre gardens, would become sources of considerable income to all concerned. Twenty acres of good land, and a good-sized farmhouse, with an advance of two thousand dollars to prepare the land, and feed the company until their crops begin to return something, would give a home and independence to forty girls; and more than this, would fairly open and illustrate the possibilities in gardening as an employment for women.
It need hardly be said that the cultivation of flowers is an occupation perfectly adapted to the finest girls; and as flowers are in constant demand, with regularly quoted prices, every day in the year, this field bids fair to offer pleasant and profitable occupation to many women. It is enough to say that women should at once be introduced to this branch of industry.
It is hardly necessary, in this place, to point out the practical difficulties, which are accessible to every inquirer. Under the auspices of the New England Woman's Club, at No. 3 Tremont Place, Boston, a horticultural school has been opened a few miles out of Boston, for the training of young women.
As I said in the beginning, I do not know of another branch of industry in which so many women could find immediate and remunerative employment as in cultivating the land; and I cannot doubt, now that the public mind has been awakened to the subject of woman's employment, and as under the rapid spread of the social evil, thousands not interested on the side of benevolence are thoroughly awakened to the importance of multiplying occupations for women, as a defence of public morals,—I cannot doubt that this most promising field will soon be invaded by an army of American girls and women.
It seems to me that one special advantage will be found in the intimate relations between a productive garden and the comfort of a family. What a stimulus to a loving mother, that the products of her garden not only gratify the palates of her loved ones, but make important contributions to their health. It seems to me that, more than any other occupation I can name, the cultivation of a garden in connection with a family, would come in to afford special gratification to the wife and mother.
"Iowa has an Agricultural College on a plot of land of six hundred and fifty acres, with over thirty young ladies and one hundred and forty young men, whose tuition is free, and their daily work, which all are to do, is credited towards their board. This year the college building is to be enlarged to double its present capacity."
It is hardly necessary to repeat the facts found every day in the agricultural and other papers, illustrating woman's capacity for practical farming. Some of the rarest successes in general farming, have been achieved by women. I have personally known several of these farmers, who were intelligent and refined.
What an army of men, some of them big enough to carry an ox, are engaged, in the United States, in selling silks, calicos, thread, tape, needles and pins. Hundreds of thou sands of stalwart young men, who might earn twice as much in more active, muscular, outdoor occupations, are shut up in stores; while a corresponding number of women; desperate for lack of bread, lie in wait at night, when these men come out of their silken stores, to tempt them to vice and disease, which may carry all into one common ruin.
A "kit" of carpenter's tools, and a carpenter's bench, may be purchased for a few dollars. Every house should have such provisions. It is curious how universal is the passion for the use of such tools. Nine persons in ten, including both sexes, would, if they enjoyed facilities, indulge this natural passion for straight lines, angles and curves.
From my observation, I think girls possess this mechanical fancy and tact quite as generally as boys.
In several homes where I have met facilities for making boxes, frames, rulers, etc., the girls have displayed more interest in the use of the beautiful carpenter tools, than the boys.
What a priceless knack of fingers, preparation and fancy for a hundred different occupations, and healthful, muscular exercise would thus be won.
My friend, Capt. R—, purchased a "kit" of carpenter's tools and a turning lathe, nearly twenty years ago, and encouraged his six daughters to use them. Scores of cupboards, shelves, frames, book- holders, towel-racks, etc., etc., scattered all over his house, testify to the mechanical taste and skill of his girls.
At the holiday season they send to friends many beautiful boxes and book-shelves, made with their own hands.
But for the wealth of the family, I have no doubt that these girls would have sought mechanical occupations.
Women would succeed well as engravers and chasers of gold and silver, as etchers and stamp makers, herbarium makers, landscape gardeners, lithographers, map makers, modellers, music engravers, painters, picture restorers, piano tuners, painters of plates for books, steel engravers, sculptors, telegraphic operators, wax workers, book-keepers, book merchants, china merchants, keepers of fancy stores, grocers, junk dealers, music sellers, sellers of artists' materials, sellers of seeds, roots and herbs, small wares, toys, in variety shops, as bird raisers, and bird and animal preservers, fruit venders, dealers in pets, restaurant keepers, thread makers, glove makers, makers of shawls, yarn, ribbons, sewing silk, lace menders, makers of files, guns, hinges, nails, screws, skates, shovels, wire, candle-sticks, hooks and eyes, lamps, pens, rings, scales, buckles, needles, saws, scissors, spectacles, surgical instruments, telescopes, thermometers, lanterns, thimbles, gold and silver leaf, pencils, inkstands, paper cutters, porcelain goods, beads, harnesses, pocket-books, trunks, whips, combs, piano cases. They succeed well as pearl workers, tortoise-shell workers. They succeed in manufacturing shoes of all kinds, and gutta-percha goods. They succeed as hair workers, as artists, as merchants of all kinds of goods. They succeed in manufacturing artificial flowers, belts, bonnet ruches, dress trimmings, embroidery, feathers, hoopskirts, parasols and umbrellas, and so on, and so on, to the extent of several hundred occupations, with a large number of which they have nothing whatever to do, and from which they are kept by persistent, blind, stupid prejudice; the apology, explanation, or whatever you may choose to call it, generally being, either that the work is too dirty, too hard, requires too much patience, or, much more frequently, that it requires too much skill.
With all these occupations open to them, it is hard to believe that New England girls will consent to starve, or for lack of bread, will wander off into bye and forbidden paths.
Nothing is more simple or easy than to extend the field of woman's industries.
Let the young women and their friends call a meeting, and establish an agency for the neighborhood. This meeting need not cost the girls a penny. A committee of five intelligent ladies and gentlemen can readily be found, who will undertake the management.
The duty of the committee will be to seek new employments for girls, and smooth the way.
Everywhere, among all peoples, we find the spirit of aristocracy— caste. The distinction between classes, in most countries, appears in dress, intelligence and manners.
In the United States the distinctions are not thus marked.
In the cars, for example, you meet a gentleman, whose address and conversation are very pleasing, and you are just in the act of congratulating yourself upon the acquisition of a charming acquaintance, when some one whispers in your ear the appalling fact that he is nothing but a carpenter.
You meet a lady, exquisitely attired, with a beautiful face, sweet manners, and brilliant conversation, and you wonder who she can be. She must be the daughter of a leisurely, cultured banker; but, after taking pains to ask the conductor, and several gentlemen in the car, you are at last informed by the brakeman:—
"Why, darn it, she is that Lizzie Brown, the dress-maker."
The fact is, we cannot rely upon the European indications of high and low classes, and so, in America, we have devised numerous arbitrary, and often unreasonable and inconvenient habits, and customs, which are learned and practised by "our set, you know," but which are not generally caught up by the earnest, busy class.
One of these, which will serve for present illustration, is a rule that you must, at table, put everything into your mouth with a fork.
In one of our most reputable monthlies, I read, a day or two since, a chapter in a story, in which it was stated, as a shocking exhibition of depraved vulgarity, that John Smith put his food into his mouth with a knife,—the deplorable wretch!
Last summer, at a sea-side house, I was remarking to an intelligent lady, in an after-dinner chat, that of all the gentlemen on the ground, I was most interested in that tall, reserved, scholarly- looking man.
She replied, with a toss of her head, "I can't bear him. Why, he eats with his knife!"
Of course nobody supposes that for most sorts of food a fork is better than a knife; but unless some tests of what is called gentility can be maintained, you see we shouldn't know who's who and what's what.
I learned somewhat early in life to use the fork almost exclusively; but now that it is made a sign of gentility, I am learning to use the knife.
I always enjoyed the anecdote of that "first gentleman of Europe," a certain King of England, who, on a state occasion, invited to his table a Scotch nobleman, with his two daughters. The nobleman was one of the truest friends of the king, and the daughters were most intelligent, worthy girls; but, living very much out of society, they had not learned all the rules of table etiquette. So upon sipping their coffee, and finding it too hot, they poured from the cup into the saucer, and drank from the saucer. The king, who was at the head of the table, heard a derisive laugh from some of the pets of the court, and looking over where his Scotch friends sat, he saw the occasion of it. Immediately he lifted his own cup, poured into the saucer, and set the cup down on the table with a great noise, whereupon the exquisites colored, and hushed.
Girls, I advise you to use the fork in eating such things as can be eaten best with it, unless you wish to make issue with a false and arbitrary test of gentility.
There are table habits, vital in their importance. I may here name the practice of eating only simple food, with great deliberation, maintaining, during the meal, your legitimate share in the conversation, and constantly watching for opportunities to assist those about you.
Nothing is more fashionable than conservatism. Slavery—what a hot- bed of sensualism! What a pandemonium of cruelty and crime!
All over the North the merchant, the politician, and the clergyman pledged each other to silence. It was the fashion.
A few brave souls protested. Sneers and ridicule followed them. Ah, can it be believed,—the blue-eyed daughters of New England joined in the sneers. They drew aside their skirts as they passed the champions of liberty and virtue. No other memory connected with the antislavery revolution is so hard for me to bear. If only they, hearing the cry of agony from their outraged sisters in the South, had listened, sympathized, and, in their own gentle way, striven to help the torn and bleeding ones, I could bear the memory of the brutal indifference of men.
In most of the states women have no legal claim to their own children. In several of them the father may, in his will, commit the little ones to the care of strangers, and the mother can only weep and moan.
In many of the states the wife has no right to the property which her father gave her, or to that which she has earned with her own hands.
In not one of the states can a woman express her opinion or wish at the ballot box. Her person, her property, her claim to her children, —everything she holds most dear in this life, is controlled by the ballot box. The most ignorant foreigners are invited to it; our mothers and wives are forbidden.
Women and girls receive, for the same work, only half the compensation of men and boys.
The "woman's rights" movement seeks the mitigation, and final removal, of these outrageous wrongs.
My dear girls, think for yourselves this time. Don't simper and giggle when the fools sneer at "woman's rights." They don't know what they are talking about.
A few days ago I heard a sort of jackanapes ridiculing "woman's rights," and several very sweet girls were listening to his coarse scurrilities; and, must I say it, smiling their approval.
Wearing an unfashionable dress is not half so bad; going into the street with the bonnet of two years ago, even, will not unsex you like a smiling indifference to these desperate struggles of your sisters. To avoid starvation on one hand, and crime on the other, they plead with the world for justice.
In this city of Boston there are twenty thousand women starving on needle-work, and five thousand who live, or die, by crime. A few brave ones, driven to the wall, hope, by calling attention to their helplessness, to obtain sympathy and justice. This is essentially the "woman's rights" movement. Suppose you don't like the mode in which they agitate. When you hear criticisms, or ridicule, if you haven't the heart to say a word in defence, at least you can keep silence.
I wish I dared to tell you how we men almost despise you, sometimes, for this abandonment of each other.
Men go prowling about, seeking to seduce and ruin girls, and will stand by each other, even in this infamous business. When a poor girl, overcome by the arts of an oily-tongued villain, perhaps by a promise of marriage, consents to sin, how you drop her, and shun her, and sneer at her. A hundred times I have heard chivalrous men declare that, "women have no honor; they never stand by each other. If one gets into trouble, the rest forsake her, and run away." Girls, if you care to commend yourselves to men, stand by these unfortunate ones, encourage them, help them. You needn't fear being soiled; the spirit in which you would engage in this angelic service, would serve as a perfect shield.
I know something of men. I have lived in many countries. I have been much in society, have been, to some extent, what is railed a man of the world, and have talked with men about women, hundreds of times.
I am confident that nothing would so elevate a young woman in the estimation of all noble men, as the brave defence of an unfortunate sister. It would thrill us all, and lift you into a heroine.
If a few hundred of you would join hands around the social evil, even in a city like this, where it has attained huge proportions, you could bring it within easy reach of christian aid.
Nothing, this side of God, do men revere, as they revere virtuous women. Let it be known among men, that the victims of their lust have been taken under your protection, and the whole aspect of the question would instantly change. Instead of looking upon the unhappy ones as fair game, men would suddenly become conscious that they were dealing with your friends, and, therefore, with you.
I would address those young women who want husbands. There are such; I have noticed them. Girls, if any of you have really made up your minds that you "wouldn't marry the best man that ever lived, there!" skip this little sermon, because it really has no interest for you.
Men will shut their ears if they have a spark of delicacy; for every word of this is private and confidential.
The text, or rather the occasion for what I am about to say on the subject of marriage, was this:—
About a week ago, a young woman of twenty-six (she said twenty-six, so I am sure about her age,) came to me in regard to her health; and after the professional conversation was finished, we fell into a general and pleasant chat.
She was delightfully frank, and said, while we were discussing the ever fruitful subject of matrimony,—
"I wish I was little."
"That is too bad," I replied; "I have been admiring your grand, queenly proportions ever since you came in; and now you spoil it all by showing that you are not grateful."
"I can't help it; I wish I didn't weigh more than eighty pounds, and wasn't more than four and a half feet high."
"I am shocked! Do tell me what makes you wish so?"
"To be frank with you, the reason is just this: Men are so fond of saying, 'My little wife.'"
I laughed, thinking it was intended as a bright speech; but her flushed face assured me that, instead, she was uttering her very heart.
"Go on," I said, "tell me your thoughts."
"My thoughts are just these; and I believe they are the thoughts of all unmarried marriageable women. I long for nothing this side of heaven as I do to bury all my uncertainties and anxieties in the love of a husband. Eagerly would I make any sacrifice to secure this precious treasure. But I fear there is nothing left for me but to be sneered at as an old maid. So while I might otherwise be grateful for what you choose to call my queenly proportions, I can only wish I was one of the little women whom men seem to fancy."
I shall not tell you any more of this conversation, and my friend will excuse this much, as a text for my little sermon. Only she and I will know to whom this refers.
I wonder if it is improper to speak plainly about what so many are thinking of.
I will venture a little. Now don't take on airs and turn up your noses. My hair is of a color which might introduce me to you in the character of father. I shall speak very plainly. It cannot compromise anybody, for, as I told you, this is all private and confidential.
Now don't deny it; it sounds silly in you. It is, all of a piece with the earnest declaration of the mother who is managing her daughters through Saratoga, Newport, and an endless round of parties, but who constantly declares, in the most earnest way, that she has no more girls than she wants, that she could not consent to part with a single one of them, and who, at length, when pressed to part with dear Arabella, gives a reluctant and painful assent, and who may be seen on the wedding day penetrated with inconsolable grief at parting with that dear child. Girls, don't join in this farce; it is too thin.
You want husbands. You think of them by day, and dream of them by night. You talk of nothing else. Think on, and dream on; even if you never get them, it will make you better and nobler to think about them.
On our side of the house we are all thinking and dreaming of you, and, although we may never marry, our hearts will be the warmer and purer for having been occupied with thoughts of you.
In entering upon this most important and delightful relation, we men are expected to take the overt initiative. You are perplexed and grieved that so many of us hold back, and wander about, homeless bachelors all our lives, leaving you to die old maids.
Let me whisper in your ear.
We are afraid of you!
As I am out of the matrimonial market, I will let my friend Robert, who is in said market, explain.
Robert is a splendid fellow, and dying to have a home of his own. He declared in my parlor the other evening, that he would prefer ten years of happy married life to fifty years of this nothing and nowhere.
My wife said, "Well, Robert, if you cannot find a wife, you had better give a commission to somebody who can." With a flushed face; he replied:—
"Now see here, Mrs. Lewis, I am a banker; my salary is two thousand dollars. I cannot marry a scrub. I must marry a wife with manners, one who knows what's what. My mother and sisters, to say nothing of myself, would break their hearts if my choice were below their idea. Just tell me how, with such a wife, I could pull through on two thousand a year? Why, her dress alone would cost half of it. Board for the two would cost at least fifty dollars a week, and even with that, you know, we should not get first-class board.
"And then there are the extras,—the little trips, the lectures, the concerts, the operas, etc.; one cannot live in society without a little of such things.
"Oh no, unless I first make up my mind to rob the bank, I cannot think of matrimony. If I had five thousand a year I would venture; but with two thousand,—well, I am not quite a madman, and so I stay where I can pay my debts.
"My lady friends think I am so much in love with the—Club that I have no time for them. One of them said to me the other day, when we were discussing this matter,—
"'Why, what you spend in that miserable club, would support a wife, easy.'
"'It wouldn't pay for her bonnets,' I replied."
Now ladies, Robert is getting extravagant, so we will let him retire, and I will go on with my little sermon. I do not often preach, but in this case, nothing but a sermon will do.
Firstly, you are perfect idiots to go on in this way. Your bodies are the most beautiful of God's creation. In the continental galleries I constantly saw groups of people, gathered about the pictures of women. It was not passion; the gazers were quite as likely to be women, as men. It was the wondrous beauty of woman's body.
Now stand with me at my office window, and see a lady pass. There goes one! Now isn't that a pretty looking object? A big hump, three big humps, a wilderness of crimps and frills, a hauling up of the dress here and there, an enormous hideous mass of false hair or bark piled on the top of her head, and on the very top of that, a little nondescript thing, ornamented with bits of lace, birds' tails, etc.; while the shop windows tell us all day long, of the paddings, whalebones, and springs, which occupy most of the space within that outside rig.
In the name of all the simple, sweet sentiments which cluster about a home, I would ask, how is a man to fall in love with such a compound, doubled and twisted, starched, comical, artificial, touch- me-not, wiggling curiosity?
Secondly, with that wasp waist, your lungs, stomach, liver, and other organs squeezed down out of their place, and into one half their natural size, and with that long trail dragging on the ground, how can any man of sense, who knows that life is made up of use, of service, of work; how can he take such partner? He must be desperate to unite himself for life with such a deformed, fettered, half breathing ornament.
If I were in the matrimonial market, I might marry a woman that had but one arm, or one eye, or no eyes at all, if she suited me otherwise; but so long as God permitted me to retain my senses, I could never join my fortunes with those of a woman with a small waist.
A small waist! I am a physiologist, and know what a small waist means. It means the organs of the abdomen jammed down into the pelvis; it means the organs of the chest stuffed up into the throat; it means a weak back; it means a delicate, nervous invalid; it means a suffering patient, and not a vigorous helpmate.
Thousands of men dare not venture, because they wisely fear that, instead of a helpmate, they will get an invalid to take care of. Besides, this bad health in you, just as in men, made the mind, as well as the body, faddled and effeminate.
You have no power, no magnetism. I know you giggle freely, and use big words, such as splendid, awful, etc.; but then, this does not deceive us; we see through all that sort of thing. The fact is, you are superficial, affected, silly. You have none of that womanly strength and warmth which are so assuring and attractive to men.
Why you have actually become so childish, that you refuse to wear decent names even, and insist upon little baby names.
Instead of Helen, Margaret and Elizabeth you affect Nellie, Maggie and Lizzie.
When your brothers were babies, you called them Bobbie, Dickie and Johnnie; but when they grow up to manhood, no more of that silly trash, if you please.
I know a woman, twenty-five years old, and as big as both my grandmothers put together, who insists upon being called Kittie, and her real name is Catherine; her brain is big enough to conduct affairs of State, she does nothing but giggle, cover up her face with her fan, and exclaim, "Don't now, you are real mean." How can a sensible man propose a life partnership to such a silly goose?
My dear girls, if you would get husbands, and sensible ones, dress in plain, neat, becoming garments, and talk like sensible, earnest sisters.
You say you don't care, you won't dress to please men, etc. Then, as I said in opening this sermon, I am not speaking to you. I am speaking to such girls as want husbands, and would like to know how to get them.
You say that the most sensible men are crazy after these butterflies of fashion. I beg your pardon, it is not so. Occasionally, even a brilliant man may marry a silly, weak woman. But to say, as I have heard women say a hundred times, that the most sensible men marry women without sense, is simply absurd. Nineteen times in twenty sensible men choose sensible women.
I grant you that in company men are very likely to gabble and toy with these over-dressed and forward creatures; but as to going to the altar with them, they beg to be excused.
Thirdly, among the men in the matrimonial market, only a very small number are rich; and in America very rarely make good husbands. But the number of those who are beginning in life, who are filled with a noble ambition, who have a future, is very large. These are worth having. But such will not, they dare not, ask you to join them, while they see you so idle, silly, and so gorgeously attired.
Let them see that you are industrious, economical, with habits that secure health and strength, that your life is earnest and real, that you are willing to begin at the beginning in life with the man you would consent to marry, then marriage will become the rule, and not as now, among certain classes, the exception.
Ah, if ever the time shall come, when young women have occupations, and can sustain a healthy, dignified attitude toward men,—if ever the time shall come when women are not such pitiful dependents, then marriage will become universal, and we shall all be happier, better, nobler.
I hear some plucky, spirited young woman exclaiming:—
"This is all very well. No doubt your sermon, as you call it, contains a good deal of truth; but how about these young men who spend their time drinking, smoking, loafing about club-houses, and running after strange women? I suppose you think they are perfect angels."
My dear friend, have I said anything in this sermon, or do I say anything in this book, which leads you to suppose that I think men better than women?
It is because I believe that, in the constitution of the race, you are the fountain-head of social, moral and religious influence, that I come directly to you.
My mother taught me, long ago, the great moral superiority of woman. She taught me that most of the good and pure in this world comes from woman.
So far from thinking that man is an angel, and woman a nothing, and a bad nothing, the strongest article in my religious creed is, that when woman has been redeemed from the shilly-shally, lace, ribbon, and feather life, into which she has so unhappily drifted,—when woman shall be restored to herself, she will be strong enough in soul to take us men in her arms, and carry us to heaven.
I beg you will not suppose that, in my criticisms upon woman, I am prompted by the belief that she needs special exhortation on her own account. I appeal to her on account of us all, believing that the most direct and effective way to redeem the race, is to induce woman to lay aside every weight and the special sins that so beset her, and to run the race with the highest womanly heroism.
Nothing so constantly troubled and pained me during the progress of the school at Lexington, as the strange passion for the piano. Of the one hundred and forty girls present during the third year, I cannot recall more than three or four who possessed any decided musical capacity, while nearly a hundred studied music. Fifteen pianos were going constantly.
Take any one of sixty or seventy who were studying music, simply because it was fashionable, and consider the waste. One hundred and fifty to three hundred dollars a year for instruction, with two to five hours' exhaustive daily practice. I cannot bear to think that this foolish waste, and worse than waste, was going on for years, in an institution under my management. But there are influences at work stronger than the will of the teachers. Those influences come from established prejudices.
Although the money and time given to the piano, among a large proportion of the girls in our school, was worse than wasted, I soon found that three out of four of them would refuse to enter the school, or remain in it, if they were urged not to study music.
After a young woman has studied music for five years, and has twisted her spine all out of shape in practicing upon the piano, she marries, plays a little on the splendid "Grand" which "Dear Aunt" gives her as a wedding present, and then drops it forever. If there is decided talent, she may continue; but I speak of the results as I have seen them.
If the voice be cultivated, and the piano used as an accompaniment, the music in a girl's education would prove ten-fold more valuable. Indeed, vocal music might prove, with many girls, the most valuable part of education. It is more likely to be continued, because of the greater pleasure it affords; while social singing serves more than any other influence to bind the inmates of a home together. As a source of general health, it stands unrivalled.
In this country of consumptives, it is especially valuable in fortifying the pulmonary apparatus.
Let us, by every means, foster social singing. Its influence is, in many ways, most precious. How interesting the group of sisters and brothers gathered about the piano, and how blessed the home where the evening is welcomed by family song.
Contrast this with the average mechanical execution of classical music, by one of the girls, or with the fashionable operatic singing by one of them.
And just here I wish to speak of a fashion which should be deprecated. It is another piece of that growing vice, which would remove music from the social sphere, and make it, like some peculiarity of dress, a mere show. Suppose we have singing. Instead of four persons performing the several parts of some rich melody, Miss Arabella is invited to "give us that exquisite Aria," and we all sit by, and wonder at her execution.
The great service of music is one of the heart, and not of the head.
There are departments of music, there are possibilities in this divinest of the arts, which appeal to the subtlest appreciations of the intellect, and the most exalted conceptions of the imagination; but still it is true that the greatest service which music renders to man is in the social sphere, is one of the heart When our voices blend, our hearts will not long be kept asunder.
The whole tendency of the times is to deprive music of this, its most precious influence. Indeed, so far has this gone, that even that natural and most happy of all the harmonies of music,—that between the male and female voice, is well-nigh lost. It is rare in what is called the better class of music to hear them together. A woman executes for awhile, then a man executes, then the woman executes again, then the man executes a little, so they execute by turns.
The great heart-service of music is subordinated to imagination and vanity.
It is a mistake to suppose that, even as an accomplishment, piano playing is so very highly prized.
I dropped in to spend an hour with an intelligent friend. I was particularly interested in the Franco-Prussian war, and, as he had lived much, both in Paris and Berlin, I hoped to learn about some things not discussed in the newspapers. His youngest daughter, a beautiful girl, had just arrived, fresh from the glories of the closing exercises of a seminary.
We were in the midst of our discussions, and he was repeating some conversations with Bismark, in which I was intensely interested, when the fond, proud mother said:—
"Now, if you will listen, Gertie will play the piece which she played last Thursday evening at Madame—'s." Gertie began, alas, and she kept on, and on, and on.
There were four of us gentlemen, three were callers, one the editor of a city paper. We were all eager to listen to our host, of Bismark and Napoleon.
That unhappy child kept at it. We sat there with a hypocritical smile on our faces but, internally, as mad as we could be. When at length, the sixteen pages had been finished, and the girl turned around for the prescribed adulation, all but one of us exclaimed, "wonderful, exquisite, delightful!" and the editor, (who, when coming down in the car an hour later, emphasized his disgust with an awful big word,) declared he had never heard anything so wonderful, and added, that she really ought to go abroad to study with the great masters. The lying executed by some of us was perfect. I have forgotten whether this kind of falsehood is mentioned in the works upon white lying, but if I ever write upon "white lies," I shall give this kind a prominent place.
Girls, if you ever obtrude an average piano performance upon a company of intelligent people, engaged in conversation, nine in ten of them will secretly regard you as a nuisance, no matter how much they exclaim "exquisite, delicious, wonderful!" Of course your parents will be gratified with your performance; mamma will be pleased and proud with the show-off, and papa will smile. How else could he do, after paying $2,000 piano bills? It is a pretty picture to their eyes—the loved one seated at a splendid, great instrument, executing one of the grandest compositions of one of the immortal masters. And, although you are not inspired with the passion of the heaven-born composer, and your performance is a mechanical, soulless hum-drum, that matters not to your father and mother, their loving imaginations will supply all that is needed to make the picture complete. But the rest of us will heartily wish that you had not interrupted our conversation.
It is an amazing blindness on the part of parents. It always astonishes me that they don't see the impertinence of the thing. They certainly wouldn't think of asking the company to cease their conversation to hear you speak your piece, or perform a dance. The piano alone is licensed to say to everybody, "cease your conversation, and listen to me; I am about to make a big noise!"
But the fashion has never imposed upon people of sense and real politeness. When the piano has started up without even a notice, I have seen such people flush with indignation.
It may be mentioned as illustrating still further, the false tendencies in music, that it takes a brave man to ask for a sweet, simple song. I tried it the other night. I asked a Flora McFlimsey to give us "Way down upon the Swanee River." The words, it will be remembered, are singularly pure, sweet and pathetic.
Many of the Italian songs just now so fashionable, are couched in language, listened to by pure-minded people, only because they don't understand it.
When I said, "Please sing 'Way down upon the Swanee River,'" Miss McFlimsey replied, "Excuse me, I never sing that class of music. I haven't sung one of those simple airs, I don't know when." I know, by the way the girls looked at me, that their respect for my musical taste vanished at once and forever. If I had asked her for "Ah, que j'aime les militaire," or "Une Paule sur la mur," insufferable trash, both as to music and words, utterly beneath contempt, she would have eagerly screamed the bald bosh, and the weak ones would have declared it ineffably exquisite.*
If you understand Italian, I need not explain; and if you do not, purchase a libretto, with English translation, of almost any of the operas, and read.
Among those most popular on the American stage, I cannot recall more than two, that I should be willing to have my daughter read. But the music pupil must study every word, often every syllable of a word.
The lascivious suggestion, the sly innuendo, the bold challenge,— they are all exhausted in the language of the opera.
One of the charms of much of this class of music is similar to that of a new dance introduced into this country last winter; and it came, too, from the land of Italian opera. Of this dance I will only say that I overheard a buxom lass telling her lady friends "that the new dance was perfectly glorious; but," said she, "it's of no use to put flowers or bows in your bosom, for they get pressed flat enough, long before the first dance is over."
Is it not a simple fact that operatic songs are popular just in proportion as they are indelicate? I have asked this question of more than a score of devotees of the opera. Half of them, perhaps, have said yes, the other half have said that the finest music happened to be associated with naughty words. Read the words of "Un mari sage" without the music. Where, outside of a brothel, could there be found a company of girls, who, with men present, would keep their faces uncovered, and listen.
I wish you would go to the opera with me; I will show you something which will impress you more deeply than any words I can write.
Here we are, so placed, that we can look into the faces of a part of the audience. Let us select a couple, and, with our glasses, watch them.
There is a beautiful black-eyed girl,—the one with that fat, red- faced gentleman. She is about sixteen, and he about thirty. I know him. He is a regular roue, although he has the entree of many of our best homes. His companion seems a modest, sweet girl.
The opera is "Faust," one of the most unclean of the whole unclean batch.
They are both using one and the same libretto, with an English translation. This gives him an opportunity to put his arm behind her, but of course he is careful not to touch her shoulder. But we shall see, when we come to certain parts of the opera.
Now look at them. See the red spots on her cheeks; they tell us of struggling modesty and innocence. The story proceeds; the lascivious gestures, the lecherous gaze of the men and half-naked women on the stage, are beginning to tell upon the whole audience. See our girl. That arm is pressing her against his side, and her eyes are busy with the words, as if she were completely absorbed. When she returns to her home to-night, her mind will be filled with thoughts, of which she will not speak to her mother.
God alone knows the number of pure souls that have been ruined by the insidious poison of the opera.
All American girls of the rich class, and a very large number of the poor class, study French.
The reasons given for this immense investment in time and money, are:—
1st. That French words and sentences are common in our literature.
2nd. That educated people must speak French; for it is the language of polite society everywhere.
3rd. Without a knowledge of French, you must forego the science and literature locked up in that language.
4th. The study of the French language involves a peculiar mental discipline of great value.
I am quite ready to admit that a knowledge of French is not only convenient, but indispensable to a liberal education.
But, nevertheless, nineteen in every twenty girls, who study French, simply waste their time and money.
It is not even intended, when they enter upon it, that they shall do anything beyond a little grammar, and one or two readers. It is not expected that they will speak the language, beyond the class conversations.
So whatever may be justly said of the value of French, in view of the considerations I have named, its value, as managed in our schools, cannot be seriously discussed.
As to the words and sentences which occur so frequently in our books and papers, it would be easy for any one to learn the meaning of all such as have been domesticated, in a few hours.
As to French being the language of polite society everywhere; in the first place, it isn't true; and, in the second place, if it were true, the fact would hardly be pertinent in this discussion. I think this will be fully appreciated, when I state that, during my own residence in Paris, I did not hear of more than two or three American girls who could be said to really enjoy a social existence among the French-speaking population. And yet, the American girls residing in Paris had, generally, I presume, made special preparations in the language.
As to the "science and literature locked up in the French language," I can only say, that those of us who know how much science and literature our girls get through their knowledge of French, smile, when we hear this claim mentioned.
As to the peculiar mental discipline involved in the study of the French tongue, it is very easy to put forward this claim, but difficult to defend it. That the study of this language is valuable, as a mental discipline, I believe; but that it is peculiar, or if peculiar, particularly valuable, I do not believe.
I have no doubt that nine-tenths of the money and precious time given to the study of French, in our ladies' seminaries, is, in great part, wasted.
French is studied, in most cases, for the same reason that the piano is,—it is fashionable.
A gentleman without education outside of his store, takes his daughter to a school, when about the following conversation might be heard:—
"I wish to place my daughter in your school."
"What studies would you have her pursue?"
"Well, she has finished the English studies, and I reckon she had better take up music, French and Italian."
"Why do you select these studies?"
"Well, my daughter thinks she would like to finish off with these."
"Does she know anything of these languages?"
"No, I believe not."
"How much longer do you intend to keep her in school?"
"Only this year. I can't afford to send her more than one year longer."
At this stage of the conversation the daughter is brought in; and the teacher sees a pale, round-shouldered, sickly-looking young woman, and, upon a little conversation, finds, judging from her voice, manners and intelligence, that she greatly needs a thorough course of physical and vocal training, with simple, rudimentary, English studies.
The teacher asks her to go into an adjoining room, and write him a letter, giving a brief account of her journey from home. In this note she makes several mistakes in spelling and grammar, while the chirography is very bad. If the teacher is a true educator, he advises a course, which leads the father and daughter to consult a little aside, after which they leave, with the promise that they will think of it, and if he concludes to have her come, he will drop a line.
Wouldn't they like to look at some rooms?
No, not just now; they would think of it, and drop a line.
In passing, let me say, that I can hardly think of a more trying position, than that of the Principal of a private school, when he is assisting parents to determine upon a course of studies for their daughters.
Perhaps his institution is financially weak. He must be full, or stop. He advertises in the papers and sends out circulars. The pupils come in slowly, and the Principal is anxious.
Most of the pupils of private schools are backward in the rudiments. The young ladies, in a great many cases, seek private schools, because they are ashamed to go to the public schools, where there is no mercy for bad spellers and readers. They know that, although they are grown women, and wear silks and gold watches, if they read badly and don't know the multiplication table, they will have to stand up with a row of small boys and girls. So it happens that many of the patrons of private schools are singularly backward in the rudiments.
The Principal is dying for the patronage, and the young ladies are resolved upon French and music. When he sits down to talk with them and their parents, the temptation to acquiesce in their choice of studies is very strong. Only in this way is he likely to get them at all; besides, the departments of French and music are the most profitable.
After having been at the head of a large private school for years, I can truly say that I heartily sympathize with managers of similar institutions, exposed to this temptation.
Believing, as I do, that the study of languages, as such, has been pushed to a most unfortunate, not to say absurd extent, and that, in the case of the particular language under discussion, the waste has become enormous, I will simply express the hope that soon, only those who have the time, capacity and means to really accomplish something, will undertake the French language; and that the millions in our country who now waste months and much money in the "little smattering," will turn their attention into other very important and greatly neglected departments of education.
Perhaps I should add, that what I have said of the French, as generally pursued in our schools, is applicable to the German, Spanish and Italian languages.
But we are told that many studies are pursued in all schools, which have no direct practical use; that they are introduced for their disciplinary value, and that French is one of them. Twenty years ago this statement would have ended the argument; but now the best educators, on both continents, have something more to say.
A small proportion of the people have the means, leisure and wish to devote their lives to self-culture. These may embrace the broadest curriculum. But the million cannot give themselves up to such indulgences. We must make our school education a means.
Let me illustrate. Learning to spell the words of our language is a valuable discipline; besides, it has a direct, practical value. For the disciplinary service, the Russian language might be added, with great profit. But I should advise the million to forego the intellectual drill involved in the study of Russian orthography, and, in this department, to confine themselves to English words. I should do this,—
1st. Because of the direct, important practical use; and,—
2nd. Because, in the case of the million, all the time which can be afforded for orthographic studies, with reference to mental discipline, may be very profitably devoted to our own language.
Our language is as superior to the French, as is our civilization.The language of a people keeps pace with its mental and soul growth.It would require more than a Lamartine to express our ideas of home,and of civil and religious liberty with the French tongue.
For us, for our times, the "English classics" are infinitely above the classics of any other language—of all other languages.
Our classics are laden with the richest, ripest, christian thought and sentiment. They are indissolubly interwoven with all the great intellectual and spiritual forces, which, at this hour, are marching on "conquering and to conquer."
How utterly inexplicable that American educators should conduct their pupils away from the vast, rich storehouses of the English classics, radiant all over as the diadem of a queen, to wander amid the lingual mysteries of the classics, of undeveloped, and even pagan peoples.
With regard to the legitimate place of these languages in American education, I can only refer my readers to the numerous and able papers and books which have recently appeared in Great Britain and America. Of these, Grimke's is one of the most philosophical and convincing.
A great number of educators and thinkers have reached the conclusion that the present prominence of the ancient classics in our system, is not only a barbarism transmitted from the dark ages, but that, unlike most anachronisms which generally surprise and amuse us, this emasculates and paralyzes us. This carries us from the real, living present, way back into the dark past.
In the pursuit of the ancient classics we immure ourselves in a cloister, we shut out things, facts, society, nature, and ponder over the fancies and philosophies of peoples who treated woman as a slave, and who never enjoyed the first glimmering of the true social or religious light.
I speak feelingly on this subject. When a young man, I spent several years almost exclusively upon Latin and Greek; first as a student, and then as a teacher.
One of my sincere regrets in life is, that I prepared about fifty young men for college.
But for a painful and rapidly deepening conviction, that the profession of a teacher, which I had embraced with all my heart, would, in the higher departments, bring me into constant collision with my idea of use as the aim and purpose of a manly life,—but for this, I should never have turned to the profession of medicine.
Gladly would I exchange all that the classics gave me, for a familiarity with any one of several natural sciences, which I had but little time to examine during my school days.
The colleges and universities are rapidly emerging from this darkness of the past.
During the years of our school in Lexington, we danced from two to four evenings a week. Beginning about half past seven o'clock, we danced till half past eight, which was always our bed-time. In our school family there were several gentlemen, among them the revered Theodore Weld,—our most inveterate dancer.
The round dances were not admitted, for the following reasons:—
1st. The rotary motion is injurious to the brain and spinal marrow.
2nd. The peculiar contact between the man and the woman, may suggest impure thoughts.
I have many times asked young men what they thought of it, and after saying it was jolly, that they liked it first-rate, they have generally, when urged to tell me seriously their convictions, confessed that, knowing how men feel and sometimes talk about it, if they were women, they should not indulge. I never talked with one father or mother who was not gratified with my rule against round dances, while a number of them wrote me the warmest commendation. I wish I was at liberty to publish a letter on this subject, which I received from a well-known lady,—giving the letter entire, with the writer's name. I have requested her to allow me to publish it; but she says the sneers at Puritanism are too much for her.
I ask my reader, if a mother, whether, if her daughter were away from home, and attending dancing parties, dancing now with Lieut. S., and then with Capt. W.; in brief, with such gentlemen as the managers choose to introduce to her; whether she would like to know that her daughter was being hugged up, and whisked about in the German? Very few mothers would answer yes, to this question.
The square dances are certainly very beautiful, graceful, chaste, and healthful. Besides, in a large and interesting way they are social. A large company may join in these dances.
The round dance is another illustration of the tendency toward individual display, so strikingly exhibited in the department of music. How constantly we see at dancing parties a single young lady and gentleman start out alone for a dizzy whirl about the hall. I will not comment upon the wild whirligig of her skirts, for I don't think a girl need be ashamed to show her legs. I only say that her contact with her partner is not a modest one.
Let a couple stand, in the presence of a company, with their arms about each other, and their persons in contact as for the "German," let them stand, thus intertwined, and what should we think? The dance is made the excuse for what, without it, would be a gross indelicacy. It is as with much of the opera, in which the fine music is made the apology for words that could not be spoken without it.
Girls, I advise you not to go to the theatre. I know how much can be said in its favor. I know that, at one time in the history of the world, it really served the cause of morality and religion.
But how can we study Shakspeare so advantageously as in the impersonations of the stage?"
I confess I do not know where the great master can be studied so advantageously as in the best impersonations of the stage, but, nevertheless, I strongly advise that you should stay away from the theatre.
My first objection to the theatre is, that it is never well ventilated. You must breathe, three or four hours, a vitiated atmosphere, which unfits you for the best physical and mental labor during the whole of the next day, perhaps even longer.
My second objection, likewise physiological, is, that it keeps you up till midnight.
My third objection is that which we all make to the yellow-covered literature. While there may be a good thing here and there, the general tone is morbid, not to say impure.
The managers are opening their theatres once or twice a week for a matinee, and, knowing that women and children are likely to constitute a large part of the audience, they present the most decent representations. I advise that, if you attend the theatre at all, you should attend the matinees.