But is a young woman to be always actively employed? Is not time to be allotted her for mere passive enjoyments? May she never unbend her mind from what is called duty? May she never lay herself, as it were, on the bosom of her family and friends? May she never seat herself on the living green, amid roses and violets, or on the mossy bank studded with cresses or cowslips, and laved by the crystal stream? May she never view the silver fish as he leaps up, and "dumbly speaks the praise of God?" May she never wander abroad for the sake of wandering, or ride for the sake of riding; or gaze on the blue ethereal by day, or the star-spangled canopy by night?

Far be it from me to say any such thing; for I know not to whom such exercises, as such exercises merely, may or may not be necessary. That they may be useful to many, cannot be doubted; but that they are far from being useful, or even innocent, to all, is quite as certain.

It is certain, I say, that mere passive exercises are not only unnecessary with many, but sometimes wrong. The young woman who is trained, or who has commenced training herself, on truly Christian principles, and who enjoys a tolerable measure of health, will hardly find special seasons of this sort necessary or desirable. She will find sufficient relaxation amid the routine of active life and her daily occupations, and in her labors of love and charity.

The society, of sisters, brothers, parents, grand-parents—of companions, indeed, of every sort with whom she mingles, at home or at school—will afford her, at times, every enjoyment, even of the passive sort, which she really needs; or which, if she has the true spirit of Christ, she will heartily desire. In her duties to these—nay, even in her very duties to herself—in the kitchen, the garden or the, field, she will have ample opportunity of descanting on the beauties and glories of the animal and vegetable world, and on the wonders of the starry heavens. In pruning, and watering, and weeding the vines and plants, she may drink in as much as she pleases of the living green, as well as feast her eyes, anon, on the blue expanse; and in her walks of charity and mercy, whether alone or in company with others, she may also receive the nectar of heaven, as it glistens and invites from Nature's own cup, in as rich draughts as if she were merely lounging, and seeking for pleasure—nay, even in richer ones, by as much as active exercise of body and mind, gives her the better mental and physical appetite.

It is one of the strongest proofs that we have a benevolent Creator at the head of the world in which we live, that he has made duty and enjoyment perfectly compatible, so that in pursuing the pathway of the former, we almost inevitably make sure of the latter; and it is also equally remarkable, if not an equally strong proof of benevolence, that in seeking enjoyment, as such, without seeking it in the path of duty, we seldom find it—or if found, it is but half enjoyed.

There is nothing in this world—or hardly any thing, to say the least— which should be done for the mere sake of doing it. We labor not for the sake of laboring, alone; we eat not, and we drink not, for the sake, merely, of eating and drinking—at least we should not, would we obtain the whole benefit of eating and drinking; nor should we even amuse ourselves for the sake alone of the amusement. Double ends are often secured by single means; nay, almost always so. I speak now of the woman, and not of the infant or the child.

Social visits among friends and neighbors, for the mere sake of the passive enjoyment they afford in the earliest years of infancy, may do exceedingly well as a preparation for the more active and more truly Christian visits of maturer years and later life. They are useful in elevating ourselves and others to a state where such visiting is not so needful to our happiness.

As to many forms of visiting current among us—such as morning calls, evening parties, and calls of any sort which answer none of the real purposes of visiting—tending neither to make ourselves or any body else wiser or better, but, on the contrary, to make society worse, indirectly—I have never found any apology for them which seemed to me sufficient to satisfy a rational, intelligent, immortal spirit. To come together late in the evening, just to eat and drink together that which ought not to be eaten and drunk at all—or if at all, certainly not at such an hour; to hold conversation an hour or two under the influence of some sort of excitement, physical or moral, got up for the occasion, on topics which are of little comparative importance—of which the most valuable part often is, the inquiry, How do you do? and the consequent replies to it; to trifle the time away till ten, eleven or twelve o'clock, and then go home through the cold, damp atmosphere, perhaps thinly clad, to suffer that night for want of proper and sufficient sleep, and the next day from indigestion, and a thousand other evils; what can be more truly pitiable, not to say ridiculous! Nor is the practice of putting on a new dress—or one which, if not new, we are quite willing to exhibit—and of going to see our neighbors, and staying just long enough to ask how they do, say a few stale or silly things, and prove an interruption and a nuisance, and then going elsewhere—a whit more justifiable, in beings made in the image of God, and who are to be accountable at his eternal bar.

Let it not be said that I disapprove of visiting, entirely. One of the grounds of condemnation at the final day, is represented in the twenty- fifth chapter of Matthew, as being—"Ye visited me not;" that is, did not visit in the name and for the sake of the Judge, those whom God has made it a duty no less than a privilege to visit. And can I set myself, with impunity, against that which my Saviour has encouraged, and yet pretend to be one of his followers? What would be more presumptuous? I am not an enemy to visiting, if done with a view to glorify God in the benefit of mankind. Let young women visit, indeed, but lot it be done in a way which will be approved by the Saviour and Judge. But there may be dissipation in the garb of visiting; and it is still oftener nothing more than the garb of indolence.

It is not visiting, but visiting without a definite or important purpose, to which I object. It is not visiting itself, but the abuse of visiting. Celestial spirits, for aught we know, are much employed in visiting—and shall not man be so? Are we to belong to their society hereafter, and yet not be their associates? Are we to associate with them, and yet remain solitaries? Could such a thing be? Is not man, here and hereafter—as I have already insisted—a social being? And if so, shall not his social nature and social powers be early and successfully developed and cultivated? Let our visits but promote the purposes of benevolence, and nothing can, with propriety, be said against them. I would wage no war on this point, except with selfishness.



CHAPTER XXIV. MANNERS.

Miss Sedgwick on good manners. Her complaint. Just views of good manners. Good manners as the natural accompaniment of a good heart. The Bible the best book on manners. Illustrations of the subject.

Miss Sedgwick, in her "Means and Ends," has treated the subject of Manners in a happier way than any other writer with whom I am acquainted. Perhaps her views are already familiar to most of my readers; but lest they should not be so, and on account of their excellency, I propose to give a brief abstract of some of them.

She complains, in the first place, that manners are too often considered as certain forms to be taught, or certain modes of conduct for which rules are to be made: and observes that some of the Greek states maintained professors to teach manners; in connection with which she immediately adds the following paragraph:

"Is this making manners a distinct branch of education consistent with their nature? Are they not the sign of inward qualities—a fitting expression of the social virtues? Are they not a mirror which often does, and always should, reflect the soul? For instance, is not a person of mild temper, gentle in manners? Has not another a bold and independent disposition, a forward and fearless manner? It has been well said, that real elegance of demeanor springs from the mind; fashionable schools do but teach its imitation."

Here she quotes, with apparent approbation, the views of Mr. Locke. This writer, in speaking of the moral education of a young person, has the following paragraph:

"If his tender mind be filled with veneration for his parents and teachers, which consists in love and esteem, and a fear to offend them, and with respect and good will to all people, that respect will of itself teach those ways which he observes to be most acceptable."

Miss Sedgwick also makes the following judicious remarks:

"I pray you to bear in mind, that manners are but manifestations of character. I must premise that by manners I do not mean the polished manners of the most highly educated and refined of other countries, nor the deferential subservience of their debased classes—so pleasing to those who prefer the homage to the friendship of their fellow creatures.

"Manners, like every thing else in one's character and conduct, should be based on religion. Honor all men, says the apostle. This is the spring of good manners. It strikes at the very root of selfishness. It is the principle by which we render to all ranks and ages their due. A respect for your fellow beings, a reverence for them as God's creatures and our brethren, will inspire that delicate regard to their rights and feelings, of which good manners is the sign.

"If you have truth—not the truth of policy, but religious truth—your manners will be sincere. They will have earnestness, simplicity and frankness—the best qualities of manners. They will be free from assumption, pretence, affectation, flattery and obsequiousness, which are all incompatible with sincerity. If you have a goodly sincerity, you will choose to appear no other nor better than you are—to dwell in a true light."

I have often insisted that the Bible contains the only rules necessary in the study of politeness—or in other words, that those who are the real disciples of Christ, cannot fail to be truly polite. Nor have I any reason for recalling this opinion; from which that of Miss Sedgwick does not materially differ.

Not that the same forms will be observed by every follower of Christ, in manifesting his politeness; all I insist on is, that every one will be truly polite. Let me illustrate my views in a very plain manner.

Suppose a wandering female, clad in the meanest apparel, calls at a house, to inquire the way to the next inn, having just found the road to divide or fork in, a very doubtful and difficult manner. Suppose there are no persons in the house, but half a dozen females. These, we will also suppose, are persons of real piety and true benevolence. What does true politeness require of them, but to give the stranger, in a gentle and affectionate manner, the necessary information?

But if every one is ready to perform the office which true politeness would dictate—and is consequently truly polite—there will probably be as many ways of manifesting these feelings, as there are individuals present in the company.

One, for example, will give the stranger the best directions she can without leaving the room; but will be in all respects exceedingly particular. Another will go to the door, and there give the same directions. A third will go with her into the street, and there instruct her. A fourth will go with her to the first or second fork of the road, and there give further directions. A fifth will send a boy with her. A sixth will sketch the road plainly, though coarsely, with a pencil; and mark, in a proper manner, the course she ought to pursue. Each one will instruct her in an intelligent manner, so that there can hardly remain the possibility of a mistake; but we see that there will be a considerable difference in the form.

It may be said in reply to this view of politeness, that there are genuine disciples of Christ, who, from ignorance of what they ought to do, or from bad habits not yet subdued, will not in such a case as I have described, render any assistance at all; and that they cannot, of course, be truly polite. To which I have only to reply, that such a thing can hardly happen; and if it should, the spirit of Christianity would not lead to it—but it would be the result, rather, of a want of that spirit.

In short, let the young woman who would be truly polite, take her lessons, not in the school of a hollow, heartless world, but in the school of Jesus Christ. I know this counsel may be despised by the gay and fashionable; but it will be much easier to despise it than to prove it to be incorrect.

"Always think of the good of the whole, rather than of your own individual convenience," says Mrs. Farrar, in her Young Ladies' Friend: a most excellent rule, and one to which I solicit your earnest attention. She who is thoroughly imbued with the gospel spirit, will not fail to do so. It was what our Saviour did continually; and I have no doubt that his was the purest specimen of good manners, or genuine politeness, the world has ever witnessed—the politeness of Abraham himself not excepted.



CHAPTER XXV. HEALTH AND BEAUTY.

Dr. Bell's new work on Health and Beauty. Its value. Adam and Eve probably very beautiful. Primitive beauty of our race to be yet restored. Sin the cause of present ugliness. Never too late to reform. Opinion of Dr. Rush. An important principle. The doctrine of human perfectibility disavowed. Various causes of ugliness. Obedience to law, natural and moral, the true source of beauty. Indecency and immorality of neglecting cleanliness.

Dr. Bell, of Philadelphia, whose reputation as a medical man and an author is deservedly high, has written a volume, as the reader may already know, entitled, "Health and Beauty"—in which he endeavors to show that "a pleasing contour, symmetry of form, and a graceful carriage of the body," may be acquired, and "the common deformities of the spine and chest be prevented," by a due obedience to the "laws of growth and exercise." These laws he has endeavored—and with considerable success—to present in a popular and intelligible manner.

Nor was the task unworthy the efforts and pen of the gifted individual by whom it was executed. Young women, of course, are inclined to set a high value on beauty of form and feature, as well as to dread, more than most other persons, what they regard as deformity. Surely they ought to be glad of a work like that I have described.

I have no wish to disparage beauty; it is almost a virtue. There can hardly be a doubt that Adam and Eve were exceedingly beautiful; nor that so far as the world can be restored to its primitive state—which we hope may be the case in its future glorious ages—the pristine beauty of our race will be restored. It is sin, in the largest sense of the term, which has distorted the human "face divine," disrobed it of half its charms; and deprived the whole frame of its symmetry.

Does any one ask, of what possible service it can be to know these facts, when it is too late to make use of them? The truth is, it can never be too late. There is no person so old that she cannot improve her appearance, more or less, if she will but take the appropriate steps. I do not, of course, mean to say, that at twenty or thirty years of age a person can greatly alter the contour of the face, or the symmetry of the frame; though I believe some thing can be done, even in these respects. It was the saying of Dr. Rush, that husbands and wives who live happily together, always come to resemble one another more and more, in their very features; and he accounted for it on the principle of an increased resemblance in their feelings, tastes or dispositions. And there are probably few who have not observed how much bad passions and bad habits distort the features of every body, at every age. Then why should not Dr. Rush be right; and why should not good feelings and good affections change the countenance, in a greater or less degree, as well as bad ones? And what reason, then, can be given why every young woman—certainly those who are far down in the column of teens—cannot change her countenance for the better, if she will take the necessary pains for it?

That she can do but little, is no reason why that little should not be done. The very consideration that she can do but little, enhances the importance of doing what she can. Let her remember this. Would that the principle were universally remembered and applied! Would that it were generally believed—and the belief acted upon—that the latter day glory of the world is to be brought about in no other way than by having every individual of every generation, through a long series of generations, do all in his power, aided by wisdom and strength from on high, to hasten it.

Do not suppose that I entertain the belief, as foolish as it is absorb, that in any future glorious period of the world's history, mankind will be perfectly beautiful, or perfectly conformed to one standard of beauty. I entertain no belief in human perfectibility. I believe—and I wish to state this belief once for all, that I may not be misunderstood—that we are destined, if we are wise, to approach perfection forever, without the possibility of ever attaining to it;— to any perfection, I mean, which is absolute and unqualified.

Nor do I believe that all mankind will ever become perfectly beautiful, according to any particular standard of beauty. This were neither useful nor desirable. There will probably be as great a variety of features, and possibly, too, of size and symmetry, in the day of millennial glory, as there is now.

What I believe, is this. That in falling, with our first parents, we fall physically as well as morally; and that our physical departure from truth is almost as wide as our moral. I suppose all the ugliness of the young—not, of course, all their variety of feature or complexion, but all which constitutes real ugliness of appearance— comes directly or indirectly from the transgression of God's laws, natural or moral; and can only be restored by obedience to those laws by the transgression of which it came.

It is not tight dressing alone which spoils the shape; but improper exercise, neglect of exercise, over exercise—and a thousand other things also. Nor is it the application of rouge alone, which spoils the beauty. There are a thousand physical transgressions that dim the lustre of the eye, or sink it too deep in the socket, or flatten it, or paint a circle round it. So of the face in general. There are a thousand forms of transgression that take away the carnation of the lip and cheek, and leave unnatural hues, not to say pimples and furrows, in its stead.

I might be much more particular. I might show how every physical trangression—every breach of that part of the natural law which imposes on us the duty of proper attention to cleanliness, exercise, dress, air, temperature, eating, drinking, sleeping, &c.—mars, in a greater or less degree, our beauty. Such a disclosure might be startling; but it ought to be made. Dr. Bell, in the volume mentioned, has led the way; and his work entitles him to a high place among the benefactors of our race. But he has only begun the work; the important honor of completing it, remains to him, or to some of his countrymen.

But enough on this subject, for the present, if I have convinced the reader whence her help, in this respect, is to come;—if I have convinced her that, under God, she is to restore her beauty only by becoming a true Christian; by having her whole being—body, intellect and affections—brought into subjection to divine law, especially by a prompt, and minute, and thorough obedience to all the laws of health and life, as far as she understands them; and by diligent effort to understand them better and better, as long as she lives; and, lastly, by the smiles of Almighty God upon her labors and efforts.



CHAPTER XXVI. NEATNESS AND CLEANLINESS.

Reasons for discussing these topics. Every person should undergo a thorough ablution once a day. Quotation from Mrs. Farrar. Two important objects gained by cold bathing. Its value as an exercise. Various forms of bathing. Philosophy of this subject. Vast amount of dirt accumulating on the surface. Statement of Mr. Buckingham Bathing necessary in all employments. Offices of the skin, and evil consequences of keeping it in an uncleanly condition.

After saying so much of the general importance of obeying the laws of life and health, it seems, at first view, almost unnecessary to go farther into particulars than I have already done And yet I feel somewhat inclined to do so for two reasons. First, because I find several considerable errors in the advice given to young women in some of our young women's books, in matters pertaining to their physical improvement, which I should rejoice to be able to correct. Secondly, because, that in a work from me, information of this kind will probably be expected.

And yet it seems quite common-place to advise a young woman on the subject of cleanliness in general; and still more so, to speak to her on the subject of personal neatness. A young woman wanting in neatness! At the first view of the case, such a thing seems almost impossible.

Would that it were so! Would that our daughters and sisters—the daughters and sisters of America, especially—were so far apprized of this indispensable requisite, as to need no monitor on the subject! But, unhappily, it is not so. Very far from it, on the contrary.

No person in tolerable health, male or female, seems to me to be entitled to be considered as neat—truly so—who does not wash the surface of the whole body in water, daily. But are there not multitudes who pass for models of neatness and cleanliness, who do not perform this work for themselves half a dozen times—nay, once—a year?

That I may not be regarded as wholly ultra on this subject, because professedly a strong friend and advocate of physical education and physical improvement, I beg leave to subjoin the following paragraphs from Mrs. Farrar's Young Ladies' Friend:

"Once, at least, in twenty-four hours, the whole surface of the body should be washed in soap and water, and receive the friction of a coarse towel, or flesh brush, or crash mitten. This may be done by warm or cold bathing; by a plunging or shower bath; by means of a common wash tub; and even without further preparation than an ordinary wash- bowl and sponge.

"By washing a small part of the person at a time, rubbing it well, and then covering what is done, the whole may be washed in cold water, even in winter time; and a glow may be produced after it, in a young and healthy person.

"It is common for persons who are in the habit of sponging over with cold water every morning, or of taking the shower or plunging bath, to omit it when they have a slight cold, or sore throat, or a touch of rheumatism; whereas, if it were properly done so as to produce a glow all over the skin, their habitual ablutions would be the best remedy for the beginnings of evil. * * * If not sure, in such a case, of producing a glow after the use of the cold water, it will be better to use the warm, in order to make the skin do its office freely. But to cease your customary bathing at such times, is to increase all your difficulties.

"Many think it impossible to make this thorough washing when the weather is very cold, and that they must do it in rooms never warmed by a fire; but in healthy and vigorous persons, the glow after washing would be so great, as to more than compensate for the momentary chill."

By washing the body in cold water every day, and following it by friction, according to the recommendation of Mrs. F., you gain, at once, two important objects. You secure to yourself the benefits of cleanliness, and of a vast amount of exercise, and consequent vigor. I say a vast amount; but this depends much on yourself. You may make a great deal of it, or only a little. I know of one teacher who says his cold bath and friction are worth two hours of ordinary exercise to him every day. But two hours of ordinary exercise a day, is much more than the whole which is taken by some of our young women.

I have spoken of the vigor derived from cold bathing. This is gained in two ways. First, directly, by the action of the muscles or moving powers, which I have partially described in the chapter on Exercise. Secondly, indirectly, through the medium of sympathy. I know of no one thing which costs so little time and effort—(for the work may be done after it has become natural and habitual, in twelve or fifteen minutes)—which secures, at the same time, such an amount of exercise and bodily vigor, as daily cold bathing.

The particular forms of bathing are numerous. Among these, are the simple washing with the hand, spoken of by Mrs. Farrar; sponging; immersion in a tub or stream; and the shower bath. All these, except, of course, washing in a stream, may be done with cold, tepid, warm or hot water; and may be continued for a greater or less time—although, in general, the cold bath should be a quick operation.

Let me now present the reader with a physiological explanation of the use and necessity of frequent ablution and bathing; derived, in substance, from a little tract already before the public. [Footnote: See "Thoughts on Bathing." page 8.] I use the language of the tract, because I can use none which is better for my present purpose.

The dust accumulates on the surface of our bodies much more readily, and adheres much more firmly, and in much larger quantities, than is usually supposed, and than by many would be credited. Mr. Buckingham, the Oriental traveller, asserts that from two to three pounds of it are sometimes removed from the whole surface of a person who has for some time neglected bathing and washing, in a tropical climate; and this, under some circumstances, may possibly have been the case. For not only does the moisture of the skin favor its accumulation, but so also does the oily substance continually poured out by the small bottle-shaped glands—sebaceous glands, as they are called—which are found in the skin in great numbers, with their mouths opening on its surface.

Nothing, indeed, can be more obvious to an enlightened and reflecting mind, than the indispensable necessity of frequent ablutions of the body in some form or other. It will, indeed, be said—it is often said —that much depends, in this respect, upon the nature of our occupation. The farmer, the smith, the manufacturer—the individual, in one word, whose employment is most uncleanly—will be thought to need frequent attentions of this kind, while those whose employments are quiet and sedentary, will need them less frequently.

But it should not be forgotten, that although frequent bathing and cleansing are indispensable to those whose employments expose them to a great deal of dust, yet they are scarcely less necessary to the sedentary; and for the following reason:—The active nature of the employments of the former, and their exposure to the open air, break up the coating of oil and dirt with which they are enveloped, and render it more pervious to the matter of perspiration, than the thinner, but not less tenacious varnish which covers the surface of the sedentary. On the whole, therefore, I regard bathing and thorough cleansing of the skin, as of nearly equal importance in all the varied circumstances of age, sex, climate and occupation.

We must not omit to observe, that whatever changes take place in the lungs, by the action of the air upon the blood in the small vessels of those organs, to purify and renovate it, take place all over the surface of the body; that in this respect, therefore, the skin may be regarded as a sort of appendage to the lungs; and that if the skin he varnished over with a mixture of oil and dust, so that it cannot perform its office, an unreasonable burden will be thrown upon the lungs, which will thereby be weakened, and predisposed to disease. I have not a doubt, that a universal neglect of cleanliness not only favors, in this way, the production of lung diseases—especially of those colds which are so frequent in our climate, and which often pave the way for other and still more dangerous diseases—but also that it tends to aggravate such diseases of the lungs as may already exist, or to whose existence there may be in us, either by inheritance or otherwise—a predisposition.

This temporary suspension of the offices of the skin is, however, peculiarly dangerous to those who are of light complexion, slender form, with a long neck, and narrow shoulders projecting almost like wings—indicating a chest whose internal organs, as well as external dimensions, are comparatively small and feeble, and therefore poorly prepared to do that work which belongs to other parts or organs. Let all persons beware of compelling the lungs to work for the skin; but above all, those who have the particular structure to which I have alluded.

It is hardly necessary that I should advert, here, to the repugnance felt by our sex, to those young women whose external appearance bespeaks a want of attention to this subject. But it is necessary that I should allude to the indecency of that neglect—by no means uncommon —which renders the odor of the perspiration very disagreeable, or increases its disagreeableness by means of accumulations of grease and dirt on the skin.

They should also be reminded that there is, somehow or other, (I know not how, exactly,) a very general connection between external and internal purity. It is exceedingly uncommon—I had almost said, quite so—to find an individual who pays a daily close attention to neatness and cleanliness of person and dress, who does not, at the same time, possess a reputation which is not only above reproach, but also quite above suspicion.



CHAPTER XXVII. DRESS AND ORNAMENT.

Legitimate purposes of dress—as a covering, a regulator of temperature, and a defence. Use of ornaments. Further thoughts on dress. How clothing keeps us warm. Errors in regard to the material, quality, and form of our dress. Tight lacing—its numerous evils. Improvement of the lungs by education. Objections to the use of personal ornaments.

When we remember that the threefold object of dress is to cover, warm and defend us, and that the kind and quantity of dress which best does this, is most conducive to our own and the public good, as well as to the glory of God, we are led, very naturally, to the following reflections:

1. We have no right to use that kind of dress which does not answer well the purpose of a COVERING, ad long as we can lawfully obtain that which would do it better. All fashions, moreover, which tend to remind the beholder that our dress is designed as a covering, are nearly as improper as those which do not effectually cover us.

And here let me say, with sufficient plainness, that there are such fashions in existence; and that they ought to be shunned like the plague. Does not the world in which we live, contain sources enough of temptation, and avenues enough to vice, seduction and misery, without increasing their number by our dress? [Footnote: I cannot refrain from saying, in this place, that since I wrote the above paragraph, I have received an excellent letter from a worthy minister of the gospel, on the subject of female dress which, besides greatly confirming the views I have expressed in this chapter, suggests the importance of having a standard dress devised—to be formed on Christian principles, and made fashionable by Christian example. If such a measure is desirable, it is yours, young women, to put it in operation.]

I need to specify but one fashion in the list of those to which I refer. It is the fashion of exposing the neck and a part of the chest. I could tell young women, that it would be wisdom to remove this dangerous custom, were health entirely out of the question. A word to the wise—to adopt the language of Solomon—is sufficient. May it prove so, in the present instance. Let not the young of the other sex, miseducated as they now are, and the slaves of improper imaginations and feelings, be longer trifled with in this matter.

2. We have no right to use any articles of clothing-when we have it in our power, by lawful means, to prevent it—whose tendency is directly contrary to what has been laid down as the second great object of dress, that of ASSISTING TO KEEP OUR BODIES AT A PROPER TEMPERATURE.

It would be idle to pretend that clothing, in itself considered, is a source of warmth to our bodies. It is only so by the relation it bears to our bodies; or, in other words, by the circumstances in which it is placed. Our own bodies—their internal, living machinery, rather—are the principal sources of our heat. Clothing is useful in keeping us warm, only by retaining, for some time, a portion of the heat of our bodies, which would otherwise escape so rapidly into the ambient cooler air, as to leave us with a sensation of chilliness. It should, therefore, be adapted to the season. That clothing which conducts the heat from the body in the slowest manner, or, in other words, impedes most its progress, is best adapted to severe cold weather; provided, however, it does not keep the heated air in contact with the body so long as to render it impure. And, on the contrary, that clothing which most readily allows the heat to escape from our bodies, is, in hot weather, the best adapted to our health and happiness.

I have said that the internal machinery of out bodies is the great source of our heat. Foremost, perhaps, in this work, are the lungs, the stomach, the brain and nervous system, and the circulatory system, including the heart, arteries, veins and absorbents. Our moving powers —the muscles and tendons—have, indeed, much to do with generating our heat; but it is principally by the assistance which they render to the digestive, the nutritive, the respiratory, the circulatory, and the thinking machinery. The fat of our bodies has also something to do in promoting our warmth; but it is only on the same principle as that by which it is done by our clothing; that is to say, it prevents the heat from being conducted off too rapidly.

All these internal organs—and, in fact, all the living machinery of our bodies—have the power to generate heat and diffuse it over the system, in proportion to the freedom and energy of their action; or, to express the same idea in fewer words, in proportion to their health.

But this is not all. They have not only the power of generating heat in proportion to their healthiness, but also of resisting cold. Who does not know that the living system, at ninety-eight degrees of Fahrenheit, will resist a temperature nearly one hundred and fifty degrees lower than this, [Footnote: During the present winter, the mercury in this vicinity has ranged, in one or two instances, as low as 14 or 16 degrees below zero; which is 112 or 114 degrees below the heat of the blood. In some parts of New England it has been 20 or 30 degrees below.] and yet for some time not freeze? Perhaps this is done, however, in the same way in which a more moderate amount of heat is generated. Perhaps the increased muscular and nervous energy, and the increased activity of the other organs, enable them to generate heat as fast, as the increased cold around carries it off.

But the conclusion. I would at present enforce from these physiological premises, is the following:—That whenever our dress, by means of its material, form or quantity, has a tendency to weaken our internal organs, or any one of them, and thus to prevent the free and energetic performance of their several functions, it is injurious, and its use is wrong, not to say sinful.

This is sometimes done by clothing which irritates and excites the surface of the body too much. Coarse flannel is more irritating than any other material in ordinary use, and should therefore never be used when a sufficient amount of bodily heat can be maintained without it; as its use weakens, in the end, the perspiratory, and calorific, and depurating powers of the skin—for the skin has all these powers—and even, in some cases, brings on eruptive and other diseases. Fine flannel is more irritating than cotton; and the latter, more so than linen. Still, there are multitudes who cannot get along without flannel, at some seasons, either coarser or finer.

The evil of which I have spoken is, however, much oftener induced by error in regard to the quantity of dress, than its quality. As to quantity, we need no more than is just necessary, along with healthy and vigorous exercise, to keep us from being sensibly cold or chilly. Any amount beyond this, be its nature what it may, is debilitating, and consequently more or less injurious.

But the form of our dress often does injury; as well as its material and quantity. With some classes of our community, this is a greater evil than either of the former; though with others, it is not.

All forms of dress which impede any kind of motion, especially those which impede circulatory motion, are greatly injurious. It is, I suppose, pretty well known, that all parts of the skin are full of minute blood vessels, chiefly veins; in addition to which, there are also a great number of veins still larger, immediately under the skin, and connected with it, as may be observed by looking at the hands or limbs of very aged or very lean persons. Now the tendency or course of the blood in all the veins, is towards the heart; and this course is slower or more rapid, according as the skin is more or less active, healthy and free. A rapid course of the blood in these veins, is desirable, because it has become, in the progress of its circulation, greatly impure, and in the same proportion unfit to minister to the purposes of health—and needs to go on to the heart, and through that to the lungs, to be relieved of its load of impurities.

Is it not plain, then, that all compression of the skin by cravats, wristbands, waistbands, belts, garters, or any other form of ligatures, must be wrong! Must it not impede the motion of the venous blood in its return to the heart? Must not even light boots, garters, stockings, &c., do this? Is it not a task sufficiently difficult for the blood to climb from the feet to the heart, directly against the power of gravity, without being impeded, is its course, by compression of any sort—and above all, by ligatures.

But if these ordinary compressions of the surface of our bodies are so injurious, what are we to say of the practice of many females, and of most young women—at least in fashionable life—of compressing the chest?

For in compressing this part of the frame, though we do not impede the action of so much blood in its return to the heart as might be supposed, we do a great deal more injury in many other respects than is usually known. I must advert to the various items of this injury.

First—compressing the chest, by dress or otherwise, prevents free motion of the trunk of the body. We can, indeed, bend the body a little, notwithstanding the compression; but not so freely, and not therefore so healthfully.

Secondly—compression of the chest prevents the lungs and heart—the principal organs wholly contained in its cavity—from expanding, and doing their work in a proper manner. If there were no compression by ligatures or otherwise, of any other part of the system, and if the impure blood came back to the lungs for renovation as fast as it ought, still it would not be properly depurated or renovated, unless the lungs acted in a full, healthy and rigorous manner. But this they cannot do, unless the chest is left free from external compression. Their internal expansion and enlargement is limited by the external, much in the same way as the space in a bellows is limited or extended according as the bellows itself is expanded or compressed.

If the muscles concerned in moving the chest—-near a hundred in number—do not properly act; if the breast-bone, when we inhale air, is not thrown forward, and the ribs thrown outward and upward so as to increase, very greatly, the size of the internal cavity; then the venous blood which is brought into the lungs to be purified and cleansed, cannot—I repeat it—be purified and cleansed as it ought to be; and the whole system must suffer the consequences, in being fed and nourished on impure, and I might say poisonous blood.

This is the case when the lungs are compressed during a single breath: how great, then, is the evil, when the compression continues an hour— during which period we probably breathe ten or twelve hundred times! How much greater still, when it is continued through the waking hours of a day, say fifteen or sixteen—in which period we breathe nearly twenty thousand times—and a young woman of twelve to fifteen years of age, probably more! But think of the evil as extended to a year, or three hundred and sixty-five days! or to a whole life of thirty, fifty or seventy years!

How much poisoned blood must go through the living system in sixty or seventy years, should the injured system last so long! And how many bad feelings, and how much severe pain and suffering, and chronic and acute disease, must almost inevitably be undergone!

Thirdly—this poisoning of the blood, however, is not all. The chest, so constantly compressed, even if the compression is not begun in early infancy, shrinks to a much smaller size than is natural, and in a few years becomes incapable of holding more than half or two thirds as much air as before; so that if the compression is removed, the injury cannot be wholly restored—though if removed any time before thirty-five years of age, something may be done towards restoration. But not only is the cavity diminished permanently in size; the bones and tendons are bent out-of their place, and made to compress either the lungs themselves, or the other contiguous organs, as the heart, the liver and the stomach, and to disturb the proper performance of their respective offices or functions.

Fourthly-tight lacing, as I have already said, compresses the heart as well as the lungs, and impedes the motion of this important organ. The suffering and disease which are thus entailed on transgression, if not quite so great in amount as that which is induced by the abuse of the lungs, is yet very great—and added to the former, greatly diminishes the sum total of human happiness, and increases, in the same proportion, our miseries and our woes.

Fifthly—the stomach is also a sufferer—and the liver; and, indeed, all the other organs. There is suffering, not only from being in actual contact with each other, but also from sympathy and fellow feeling. I have adverted to that law, by which, if one member or organ of the human system suffer, all the others suffer with it. This is very remarkably the case with the lungs, when they suffer. Other organs suffer with them from mere sympathy; and that to a very great extent. This is especially true of the cerebral and nervous system; and of that portion of the general system which gives to woman her peculiar prerogative, as well as her distinctive character.

Let no young woman forget, moreover, that she lives, not for herself alone, but for others; and that if she injures health and life by improper dress, she does it not for herself alone, but for all those who shelter their abuses under her example, as well as for all those who may hereafter be more immediately influenced by her present conduct. Let her neither forget her responsibility nor her accountability. Would to God that she could see this matter as it truly is, and as she will be likely to see it in years to come!

Let it be remembered, moreover, that as we can diminish the size of the chest by compressing it, so we can enlarge it, gradually—especially in early life—by extra effort; or by general exercise; but especially such general exercise as I have mentioned in a former chapter—I mean, moderate labor in the garden or in the field, and in house-keeping. Nor is spinning on a high wheel—which requires not only walking to and fro, but also considerable motion of the arms and chest—a very bad exercise. A great deal may also be done by reading aloud in a proper manner, and by conversation; and especially by singing.

I believe that by a proper education of the lungs—instead of the modern custom of uneducating them—it would be possible, in the course of a few successive ages, greatly to enlarge the cavity containing them. And if this can be done, it will be a means of promoting, in the same degree, the tone and vigor, not only of the lungs themselves, but also of the whole physical frame; and the aggregate gain to our race would be immense. Let us think of the amazing difference between a race which has been deteriorating in body and mind, from generation to generation, and at the same time suffering from disease in a thousand forms, and one which is not only free from primitive disease, but gradually improving, both bodily and mentally, and in a fair way to go on improving for centuries—perhaps thousands of years—to come!

3. We have no right to use that dress as a DEFENCE which does not answer this purpose, so long as we can get that which does; provided it answers neither of the other two purposes already mentioned.

Now, are there not a great number of articles of clothing worn, whose use cannot be justified on these principles? Does not the greater part of human time and labor which is expended on dress, both by the maker and the wearer, go to answer other purposes than these? Is it not expended for mere ornament? And is such an expenditure right?

My own conviction is, that we are bound, as Christians—and as such, I must consider my readers in this favored country—to use that dress, and that alone, which answers the great purposes of dress; and that were the subject viewed in its true and just light, all beyond this should be regarded as sinful. What I suppose these great purposes of dress are, has already been mentioned.

In short, I suppose that our duty is, to dress in such a way, if our circumstances permit it, as will be best for the purposes of merely clothing, tempering and defending our bodies. That material, that quantity, and those forms of dress, which we suppose best accomplish this, should be adopted as fast as they are known.

Such a view will, of course, be opposed by the devotees of fashion; but not, I think, by many of those who know they cannot serve two masters— God and mammon, or God and the fashions—and that it is their duty to devote themselves, unreservedly, to the worship and service of the former.

I shall also be opposed by another class—the devotees of utility, or a species of what I call utilitarianism. They will say that I am a utilitarian, of the rankest sort; that I would destroy all just taste, all industry, all division of labor, all commerce, and all wealth.

But is it so? Is that proved to be a just taste, to which the views here presented seem to be opposed? Where is the proof, and by whom has it been adduced? I am no advocate for a utilitarianism which excludes just taste: but I believe our tastes to be depraved by the fall, no less than our affections; that they are not, as some suppose, free from sin—though less sinful, perhaps, than our moral tastes and preferences. I believe that a taste which is not conformed to the nature of things and to the law of God, is a perverted taste; and that the modern taste in regard to dress and ornament, is, to a great extent, of this description.

And does there remain no room for industry when personal ornaments are excluded? As well might it be said that the exclusion of all drinks but water, would strike a death-blow at industry. Is there nothing left for people to do, because you take away ornament?

Perhaps, indeed, if all personal ornament were to be taken away suddenly, it might give a temporary check to industry, and seem to conflict with the principal of a division of labor. But this cannot happen, except it were by miraculous agency. The utmost that can be rationally expected at present by the most sanguine, would be, that professing Christians should exclude it; nor could they, as a body, be expected to do it at once. One here, and another there, would renounce, as wrong, what he had been accustomed to think right; and this would give society time to adjust itself, and preserve its balance; as it has done in the case of every great and important change of public opinion.

But we are gravely told by several writers on this subject, that as a nation's wealth is derived from a division of labor, it follows, that to deny ourselves all ornament, would be a great injury to the community.

What a strange inference! Is there nothing for people to do, in this world, I again ask, but to make ornaments? Or can it be that they form so important a division of human labor, that to dispense with them in the only way in which it is possible, humanly speaking, to do so—that is, by enlightening public opinion, and appealing to the conscientious —is to take away the wealth of the nation?

I deny, most resolutely, that mere artificial ornaments make any considerable part of a nation's real wealth. That which tends to make us healthier in all the functions of our bodies—which developes and improves all the faculties of our minds—and which developes and cultivates, to the highest possible extent, all the good affections of the soul-is alone worthy of the name of wealth.

I do not deny, that he who makes two stalks of grain grow where only one grew before, is a public benefactor. I do not deny that, for certain purposes in the arts—in architecture, especially—he who polishes a gem, or a block of marble, may also be a public benefactor. This is a very different thing from preparing and applying ornaments to our persons; and may be, to some extent, useful. But I am still assured, that those who make a person healthier than before, or improve his intellect, or are a means of awakening in him a love to God and man, and of promoting its growth where it is already awakened, are benefactors to the world in a degree infinitely higher, and add to its true riches almost infinitely more.

It is health, knowledge and excellence—we again say—which exalt a nation; and these are its true wealth. Fifteen millions of free men, all as healthy as the most perfect specimen which could now be found among us; all as wise as the wisest man in the world; and all as virtuous and excellent as Aristides, or Howard, or Benezet, or John, the beloved apostle, himself—what a national treasure they would be! what a revenue of true wealth they would afford!

Now, if fifteen millions of such people would be a source of national wealth before unheard of, would not every individual of this whole number be a source of wealth? And would not every element which should go to make up the sum total of the excellences of each individual, be a part of this mighty treasure?

If the richer part of the community have money to spare, why should they not spend it in increasing the health, the knowledge, and the morality of the needy around them—by giving employment to those who are capable of promoting these blessings, and who want employment?

It will be said, I know, that the great multitude of persons around us are not fit for more elevated employments. No; nor will they ever be, in any considerable numbers, until they come to be employed in this way much more frequently than they now are. Let there be an urgent demand in the market for a commodity, and it usually soon comes to be abundant. Let there be a demand for laborers in the mental and moral field—in this more elevated garden of the Lord—and they will, ere long, be furnished; and the more persons there are employed in this way, and who consequently come into the habit of fitting themselves to be thus employed, the richer will be the national treasury.

That many young women, who read this chapter, will wholly lay aside their ornaments, and fit themselves, as fast as possible, for the noble purpose of ornamenting those around them, by promoting their physical, intellectual and moral well being, can hardly be expected. But I do hope that I shall lead a few to expend less of time and money in dressing and ornamenting their persons than heretofore, and more in dressing and ornamenting the immortal mind, as well as more in promoting health of body.

I cannot but hope to live to see the day, when every person who professes the name of Jesus Christ, and not a few who make no professions at all, will entertain similar views in regard to the purposes of dress and their own duty in relation to it, to those which I have endeavored to inculcate. Such a day must surely come, sooner or later; and I hope that those who believe this, will make it their great rule to expend as little on themselves as possible, and yet answer the true intentions of the Creator respecting themselves.

There is a very wide difference between spending as much as we can on our persons—in the gratification, I mean, of the wants of our depraved tastes, under the specious plea that it encourages commerce and industry—and spending as little as we can on ourselves, and as much as possible in promoting the health, the learning, and the piety of ourselves and those around us. The former has been tried for centuries—with what result, let the state of society and our misnamed refinement bear witness. Let the latter be tried but half as long, and the world will be surprised at the results.

Foremost in this work of reform, should be our millions of young women. They should be so for two reasons. First, because their influence and responsibilities to coming generations are great, and, secondly, because they are at present greatly involved in the practical error of loving external ornaments too well, and of valuing too little the ornaments of a healthy body, a sound mind, and a good heart.

I am often pained to hear the reproach cast upon females, and especially upon the younger of the sex, that they are fond of the "far- fetched" and "dear-bought," even when they are the less valuable. It should not be so. They should be above the suspicion of such a weakness.

What else can be expected, however, when those who should be the guardians of the public taste—and who should, as Christian citizens, strive with all their might to elevate it—engage in pandering to the follies, not to say the depravities, of the age? Let young women rise above themselves, and escape the snares thus laid for them by those who ought to be their guides to the paths of wisdom, and virtue, and happiness.



CHAPTER XXVIII. DOSING AND DRUGGING.

Tendency of young women to dosing and drugging. "Nervousness." Qualms of the stomach. Eating between our meals—its mischiefs. Evils of direct dosing. What organs are injured. Confectionery. The danger from quacks and quackery.

Fallen as human nature—our physical nature with the rest—now is, there are seasons in the lives of almost all of us, when we are either ill, or fear we shall be so. And young women, as well as others, have their seasons of debility, and their fears, and even their sick days. They have their colds, their coughs, their sick headaches, their indigestions, and their consumptions. Above all—and more frequently by far than almost any thing else—they have those undefinable and indescribable feelings of ennui, which, for want of a better name, are called, in their various forms, "nervousness."

When the unpleasant sensations to which I have just alluded, are referred to the region of the stomach, and only produce a few qualms, young women are not, in general, so apt to take medicine, as to eat something to keep down their bad feelings—as a bit of seed-cake, a little fruit, some cloves or cinnamon, or a piece of sugar.

This, though better than to take medicine, is yet a very bad practice; for although momentary relief is secured in this way, it never fails to increase the unpleasant sensations in the end. I ought to say somewhere—and I know of no better place than this—that the habit of eating between our regular meals, even the smallest thing whatever; is of very mischievous tendency; and this for several reasons. First—the stomach needs its seasons of entire rest; but those persons who eat between their meals seldom give any rest to their stomachs, except during the night. Secondly—eating things in this way injures the general appetite. Thirdly—the habit is apt to increase in strength, and is difficult to break. Fourthly—it does not afford relief, except for a very short time. On the contrary, as I have already intimated, it increases the trouble in the end.

This eating of such simple things, I have said, is quite bad enough; but there are errors which are worse. Such is the habit of taking an extra cup of tea or coffee—extra, either as respects the number of cups or the strength. Now tea and coffee-and sometimes either of them— are very apt to afford, like eating a little food, a temporary relief. Indeed, the sufferer often gains so long a respite from her sufferings, that the narcotic beverage which she takes is supposed to be the very medicine needed, and the very one adapted to her case. The like erroneous conclusion is often made after using, with the same apparent good effect, certain hot herb teas. Yet, I repeat it, such medicinal mixtures usually—perhaps I should say always—aggravate the complaint in the end, by deranging still more the powers and functions of the stomach, and debilitating still more the cerebral and nervous system.

Different and various are the external applications made to the head, in these circumstances; but all, usually, with the same success; they only produce a little temporary relief. The same may be said of the use of smelling bottles—containing, as I believe they usually do, ammonia or hartshorn, cologne water, camphor, &c. The manner in which these operate to produce mischief, is, however, very different from that of the former. They irritate the nasal membrane, and dry it, if they do not slowly destroy its sensibility. They also, in some way, affect seriously the tender brain. In any event, they ought seldom to be used by the sick or the well. Nor is this all. They are inhaled—to irritate and injure the lining membrane of the lungs.

Trifling as it may seem to many, I never find that a young woman keeps a cologne bottle in her dressing room, or a smelling bottle about her— or perfumes her clothes—or is in the habit of eating, every now and then, a little coriander, or fennel, or cloves, or cinnamon—without trembling for her safety. Persisting long in this habit, she will as inevitably injure her brain and nervous system, her lungs or her stomach—ay, and her teeth too—as she continues the habit. I never knew a young woman who had used any of these things, year after year, for a long series of years, whose system was not already suffering therefrom; and if I were fond of giving or receiving challenges, I should not hesitate to challenge the whole world to produce a single instance of the kind. In the very nature of things it cannot be. Such persons may tell us they are well, when we make an attack upon their habits; but take them when off their guard, and we hear, at times, quite a different story.

In regard to the daily, or even the occasional use of the stronger drugs of the apothecary's shop—whether this shop is found in the family or elsewhere—I would fain hope many of our young women may claim an entire immunity. It seems to me to be enough, that they should spoil their breath, their skin, their stomachs and their nerves, with perfumes, aromatic seeds and spices, confectionary, and the like, without adding thereto the more active poisons—as laudanum, camphor, picra, antimony, &c.

The mention of the word confectionary, in the last paragraph, brings to my mind a congregated host of evils which befall young women, as the legitimate consequences of its use. Some may suppose that the class of young women for whom I am writing, have little to do with confectionary; that they have risen above it. Would that it were so! But that it is not, many a teacher of young ladies' boarding schools, female seminaries, &c.—to say nothing of parents—might abundantly testify.

That they are very often the dupes of the quacks and quackery with which our age abounds—or at least, that they take many of the pills, and cough drops, and bitters, and panaceas of the day—I will not believe. Much as they err to their own destruction, I trust they have not yet sunk so low as this.



CHAPTER XXIX. TAKING CARE OF THE SICK.

The art of taking care of the sick should be a part of female education. Five reasons for this. Doing good. Doing good by proxy. Great value of personal services. How can young women be trained to these services? Contagion. Breathing bad air. Aged nurses. Scientific instruction of nurses. Visiting and taking care of the sick, a religious duty. Appeal to young women.

The art of taking care of the sick, should be considered an indispensable part of female education. Some of the reasons for this are the following:

1. As society now is, there is danger that the number of our young women who fall into a state of indifference, not to say absolute disgust, with the world and with life, will greatly increase, unless the sex can be led, by an improved course of education, to exercise more of that active sympathy with suffering which prompts to assist in relieving it.

2. Nurses of the sick are greatly needed. It not unfrequently happens, that good nurses cannot be obtained, male or female, except by going very far in search for them. And yet it would seem that every one must know the importance of good nurses, from the prevalence of the maxim—not more prevalent than just—"A good nurse is worth as much as a physician."

What physician has not, again and again, seen all his efforts fail to do any good, because not sustained by the labors of a skilful, intelligent, faithful and persevering nurse? This condition is one of the most trying that can befall him; and yet, trying as it is, it is his very frequent lot.

3. Females are better qualified—other things being the same—for attending the sick, than males. They not only have a softer hand, and more kindness and gentleness, but they are also more devoted to whatever they undertake; and they have more fortitude in scenes of trial and distress. Their thoughts are, moreover, less engrossed by the cares of business, and by other objects, than those of our sex. They seem formed for days, and months, and years of watchfulness—not only over our earliest infancy, but also over our first and second childhood. And it were strange indeed, if nature, in qualifying them for all this, had not qualified them to watch over us during the few short years that intervene.

There may, indeed, be instances—there certainly are some such—where the physical strength of females, unaided, is not sufficient for the task of which I am speaking. For the most part, however, it is gentleness, and patience, and fortitude, which are most wanted and in these, woman stands pre-eminent.

4. It is often advantageous to have female assistance in taking care of the sick, because it can be afforded at a much lower rate than that of males. There are females who need the avails of these labors for a livelihood; but not having been trained to them, they are not, of course, employed. Hence there is suffering in both ways. The sick suffer in the loss of the needed help, and the indigent woman suffers for want of the avails of that labor which she might have been trained to perform.

One great advantage of being able thus to obtain female attendants at a cheaper rate, is that the sick would be more likely to have the regular attention, or at least, the general care, of the same individual. Thousands and thousands of sick people have died, who might easily have recovered, had they been able to employ a regular nurse. Where a change of nurses takes place almost every day, no one of them feels that degree of responsibility which it is highly desirable that somebody, in this capacity, should feel.

5. I have spoken of the necessity of having young women trained to the art of taking care of the sick, that it may open a door to their sympathies. But it should also be done to open the door to their charities. Such charities as the gratuitous attendance of the sick, where it can be afforded, are among the most valuable which can possibly be bestowed. [Footnote: I mean, here, to speak only of those charities which go to correct the evils, which are in the world; for however great the good we may do in spending time and influence in correcting evil, the same amount of effort, rightly applied, must always do still more good in the way of prevention.] Had we ever so much money to give to the sick and distressed, it might be misapplied; or, at least, applied in a way we should not approve. Even if it were spent to procure good attendance, are we quite sure our own attendance would not be still more useful? Is it not always better to do the good ourselves—provided we are competent to do it—than by proxy; especially, by employing those whom we know little or nothing of? If we do all the good we are able to do, with our own hands, we feel that we have better discharged our duty, than if we had first turned our labor into money, and then applied the money to the same purpose.

But how is it possible, I shall doubtless be asked, that in a healthy community like that of our own New England, young women generally can be trained to understand this office?

There is no great difficulty in the case. Healthy as we are—that is, comparatively so—we have in every neighborhood, if not in every family, ample opportunities for initiating the young into this most indispensable art. It is not expected, nor is it indeed desirable, that they should be fully employed, or made fully responsible, at first. There should be a sort of apprenticeship served, to this trade as well as to any other. Indeed, I hardly know of an occupation or an art, which more demands a long apprenticeship, than this. Put, as I was going on to say, let young women, at a very early age, be gradually inducted into the office. Some young female of their own age, is perhaps sick. Let them solicit their mother and the friends of the diseased, to permit them to be present a part or all of the time, that they may observe and early understand the art of taking care of the sick.

Let the young woman solicit her mother, I say; because I apprehend, as I have done all along, that the work of reformation in this matter, no less than in others, must begin with the young woman. She finds herself twelve, fourteen or sixteen years of age, and entering upon a life involving duties and responsibilities, to her before unthought of—and for which she finds herself most sadly unprepared. She believes in the necessity of self-effort. What conscience tells her ought to be done, she decides to do. She goes forward intelligently and what she begins, she resolves, if possible, shall be finished.

Let it not be objected, that the introduction of the young to the sick room will expose them, unnecessarily, either to contagion or the breathing of bad air. For as to contagion, there is probably much less of it in the world than many suppose. But whether there is less or more danger, the best way to do, as the world is now situated, is, to inure ourselves, gradually, to disease. There are in New York and Philadelphia, many very aged persons, who have been employed as professional attendants of the sick during all the visitations of those cities with yellow fever and cholera, who have yet never taken either of those diseases.

It is our fear of taking disease, very often, which makes us take it. The sum total of the danger to the community, as a community, of contracting even contagious disease, will actually be much lessened, rather than increased, by all our young females being trained in the art and practice of nursing the sick. And the same might be said of the danger from bad air; because, the better the nurse is—that is, the more thoroughly and scientifically she understands her profession—the more pains will be taken in regard to ventilating, both the rooms of the sick and of those who are healthy.

I know, very well, that to be a complete professional nurse, requires a good deal of instruction in anatomy, physiology, hygiene and chemistry —to say nothing of botany, and pharmacy, and materia medica. But are not females fully competent to all this? Are they not as much so, to say the least, as males? Besides, the same information which is so indispensable to a nurse, if it should not be much wanted for this purpose, (for some females would not be needed as nurses, to a very great extent,) would be of inestimable value in the early management of a family.

What can be more pitiable, than to see a young widowed mother—say at twenty-five or thirty years of age—in poverty, in a situation remote from neighbors, with three or four children sick with some epidemic disease, while she is utterly unacquainted with the best methods of taking care of them. Let it be supposed, still further, that she is without a physician, and destitute of a nurse, excepting herself. What is she to do? Take care of them herself she cannot, as she may honestly tell you; having never taken care of a sick person, even a near relation, for so much as a single day or night in her whole life!

"I was sick and ye visited me," is represented, moreover, by the Judge of all the earth, as one of the grounds—not of salvation from sin—but of final reward in the world of spirits. But can any one believe our Saviour here means those empty, hollow-hearted visits now so common among us?—just going, I mean, to a sick neighbor's door, and asking how she does—or peradventure stepping in, only to stare at the sufferer, and with a half suppressed breath and a sigh, to hope to comfort her by wishing she may ultimately recover? No such thing. The Saviour, by visiting the sick, meant those kind and valuable offices which are worthy of the name; especially, when performed by the kind and gentle hand of a lovely, intelligent, benevolent and pious woman.

Oh, young woman! hadst thou but a glimpse of one half the angelic offices in thy power, how wouldst thou labor and pray for those qualities and that education, which would enable thee to act up to the dignity of thy nature, in the sight of God, angels and men! How wouldst thou labor to accomplish thy noble destiny.



CHAPTER XXX. INTELLECTUAL IMPROVEMENT.

Futility of the question whether woman is or is not inferior to man. Conversation as a means of improvement. Taciturnity and loquacity. Seven rules in regard to conversation. Reading another means of mental progress. Thoughts on a perverted taste. Choosing the evil and refusing the good. Advice of parents, teachers, ministers, &c. Advice of a choice friend. Young people reluctant to be advised. Set hours for reading. Reading too much. Reading but a species of talking. Composition. Common mistakes about composing. Attempt to set the matter right. Journalizing. How a journal should be kept. Music. Vocal music something more than a mere accomplishment. Lectures and concerts. Studies. Keys of knowledge.

Much has been said, incidentally, in the preceding chapters, of the importance of extended intellectual improvement. Besides, I have treated at large on this subject in another volume, [Footnote: See the Young Wife, chap. xxxiii. p. 292.] to which, as scarcely less adapted to the condition of young women than that of young wives, I must refer the reader. What I have to say in this work, will be little more than an introduction to the views there presented.

The long agitated question, whether woman is or is not equal to man in capacity for intellectual improvement, need not, surely, be discussed in this place. It is sufficient, perhaps, to know, that every young woman is capable of a much higher degree of improvement than she has yet attained, and to urge her forward to do all she can for herself, and to do it with all her might.

I have already mentioned, in preceding chapters, several sources of improvement—especially observation and reflection. But there are many sources of instruction accessible to those who are willing to be instructed; both external and internal. Some of these will now be made the subjects of a few passing remarks.

1. Conversation.—It is seldom, if ever, that we meet with an individual of either sex, whose conversational powers have been properly directed. To develope, cultivate and perfect these powers; seems hardly to be regarded as a part of education. We have left the tongue, like the rest of the frame to which it is attached, and of which it forms a component part, to go very much at random. In some, to be sure, it goes quite fast enough, and continues on the wing quite long enough; but it is too apt to go without rule, measure or profit— that is, comparatively so.

Now, to teach the tongue to go as it should—to teach it how to go, and how long, and when and where to make use of its power—is not, by any means, a small matter, or a very easy task. But ought not all this, and much more, to be done?

The old notion, that taciturnity is wisdom, is now very generally believed to be unfounded. These North American Indians who are most remarkable for this trait of character, are not found to be a whit wiser than other tribes who are more loquacious.

And what is found by observation to be true of nations or tribes, is equally true of individuals. One of the most taciturn persons I ever knew, and who passed with many for a very wise man, because he was very silent and grave, turned out, on a more intimate acquaintance, to be silent because he had nothing of importance to say.

Nor is loquacity uniformly a mark of wisdom. Some, indeed, talk a great deal, because they have a great deal to say: you will find a few such in a thousand. Others talk incessantly, either because they have nothing else to do, or will do nothing else. They do not, indeed, talk sense, or produce ideas; for sense and ideas they have not. At least, their sense is not common or sound sense: and as for their ideas, they are all superficial or borrowed.

Immense is the good which may be done in society, by conversation. There is hardly an art or a science, the elements of which, to say the least, may not be inculcated orally; that is, by conversation. But it is not necessary that our conversation, in order to be useful, should always be very scientific. There are a thousand topics of interest that have never yet been dignified with the name of science, which might yet be discussed in our familiar circles to a very great extent, and with both profit and pleasure.

When our conversation takes the form of story-telling, it is of still more absorbing interest, than when it is confined to mere ordinary colloquy. Here, again, a vast field of improvement opens upon our view. Few acquirements are more valuable to a young woman who expects ever to be at the head of a school or a family, than the art of relating a story well; and yet, owing to the neglect of this matter in education, no art, perhaps, is more uncommon.

A few leading principles, duly attended to, will, it is believed, enable those who have already had some teaching on this subject, to turn their conversation to better advantage; as well as aid, in the work of reformation, those who have not been duly instructed.

1. We should enunciate correctly, and speak distinctly. Few persons do this; and hence much of the pleasure which might otherwise be had, is lost.

2. We should endeavor, as far as in us lies, to speak with grammatical correctness. The custom of having two sorts of language—one for composition and the other for conversation—appears to me to have a very ill tendency. I would have no one converse in a language he does not understand; but I would have every one converse correctly.

3. We should endeavor to select such topics as are not only profitable to one party—either ourselves or those with whom we are conversing— but such also as are likely to be acceptable. It is of little use to force a topic, however great, in our judgment, may be its importance.

4. Conversation should be direct—though not confined too long to one point or topic. But while one subject is up, you should know how to keep it up; or if the thoughts of either party wander, you should know how to return to it, without too much apparent effort.

5. Conversation, like every thing else under the sun, should have its time and place. It is as wrong to converse when we ought to read, or study, or labor, or play, as it is to read or play when we ought to converse. Social life has a great many vacancies, as it were, which good, and sprightly, and well chosen conversation should fill up.

6. Conversation should be sprightly. If we converse not in this way, we might almost as well dispense with conversation entirely. We might nearly as well resort to the dead for society;—to the dead, I mean, who speak to us through the medium of their works. Of course I refer to conversation in general.

7. We should remember our responsibilities. "For every idle word that men speak, they shall give account thereof in the day of judgment"— said He who is to preside at the dread tribunal of which he spake: and an apostle has told us, that "our conversation should be in heaven;" that is, as I understand it, should be heavenly in its nature.

II. Reading.—There are, as I suppose, few young women of the present day, who do not read more or less; and to whom reading is not, in a greater or less degree, a source of intellectual improvement. Their reading is, however, governed chiefly by whim, or fancy, or accident—or at most, by taste. Some read newspapers only; some read only novels; some read every thing, and therefore nothing: Each of these methods—if methods they can be called—is wrong.

But shall not a young woman be governed by her taste? Is that to be turned wholly out of doors?

My reply is, that though our taste is not to be turned out of doors, wholly, it is, nevertheless, a very imperfect guide, and needs correction. Our intellect, like our moral and physical likes and dislikes, is, as I have elsewhere said, perverted by the fall. I will not say that our moral, intellectual and physical tastes are perverted in an equal degree; for I do not think so. Still there is a perversion, greater or less, of the whole man—in all his functions, faculties and affections. As a general rule, when left to our own course, we choose that food, for body, mind and soul, which, though it may be pleasant at first, is bitter afterwards. "There is a way which seemeth right unto a man, but the end thereof is death."

Still it may be said—If our intellectual tastes are perverted, how are they to be set right? Why not, I ask, in the same way that our moral taste is—by the word and truth of God? "To the law and to the testimony."

The application of the doctrines I am now advocating, belongs, most properly, to parents and teachers; religious teachers, especially. Parents, aided by ministers of the gospel, and perhaps the family physician, should decide for the young, individually, what means of intellectual improvement are best for them, all things considered; what books, society, studies, &c. But I must confine my remarks to books and reading.

It is not difficult to decide what the tastes of a child shall be, in regard to reading. I will not, indeed, say that a parent may at once do every thing she desires; but she may do a great deal. The child's moral and intellectual tastes are about as fully at her command, as its physical ones; and who shall say that her power to the latter respect, is second to any but that of the Creator?

It is not for parents, however, that I am now writing; but for those whose taste, by the aid or neglect of parents, is already formed. If formed on the basis of the word and truth of God—if they are inclined to prefer the best books and reject the worst—then all is well but if not, then the work of self-education is, in this respect, to set that right which has hitherto been wrong.

Hardly any thing can be of greater importance in this matter, than the assistance of a friend, in whom we can confide, in making our selection. This is as necessary in regard to newspapers, as to books. She who reads newspapers, indiscriminately, will derive little benefit from them; as her head will be filled with such a mixture of truth and falsehood, and wisdom and folly, as will be likely to do her more harm than good.

Few will read to advantage, who have not their set hours for reading. It is true, that unforeseen circumstances may, at times, break in upon our arrangement, and impede our progress in knowledge; but if we have no arrangement or system at all, we shall find our progress impeded still more.

Do not read too much. The world is almost deluged with books. Not only see that your selection is as it should be, in regard to the character of the books, but beware of having too many of them. A few, well read and understood, will be more valuable.

The importance of sometimes reading aloud, has been mentioned. It has other advantages, however, than merely the exercise of the lungs. With a proper monitor at hand, it may be made a useful aid in correcting our enunciation, as well as in improving our conversational powers. Reading is but speaking the thoughts of others instead of our own; and she is the best reader—and indeed most likely to be made wiser by reading— who speaks the most naturally. Our reading should be such, generally, that a friend in an adjoining room would find it difficult to tell whether we are reading or conversing.

III. Composition.—Next to conversation and reading, as a means of intellectual improvement, I place composition. This is nothing, either more or less—at least it should not be—than talking on paper. As reading is merely talking over the thoughts of others—conversing in another's words—so composition is merely conversing with others through the medium of a piece of paper.

It is a most delightful consideration, that it has pleased God to secure to us a written language. Are we grateful enough for the gift? Do we think enough of the privilege of conversing in this way with friends in every quarter of the globe?

One of the most valuable kinds of composition is letter-writing, or epistolary correspondence. This, above all, should be in the style of familiar though well directed conversation.

I wish, with all my heart, that people could get rid of the idea, that there should be one style for conversation, and another for writing. Here is the stumbling-stone on which youth of both sexes have been stumbling, time immemorial; and on which, I fear, many will be likely to stumble for some time to come.

Could they get rid of this strange belief—could they perceive, most clearly, that composition is nothing more than putting our thoughts on paper, instead of delivering them by word of mouth—and that conversation is nothing less than composition, except that the words are written as it were in the air, instead of being placed on a sheet of paper—how soon would the complaints about the tediousness of composition cease to be heard. Some young women, of sixteen, or eighteen, or twenty years of age, appear to regard letter-writing as childish. They talk of having once been so foolish as to be addicted to the practice; but as having now outgrown it. Such persons have no conception of the vast importance of this species of composition, as an aid to correct thinking and correct writing. The more we think, the more and better we are able to think; and the more we write, the more thoughts we have which we wish to put down.