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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.⁹ 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,¹⁰ 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.

One valuable form of putting down thoughts—next to letter-writing—consists in keeping a journal. I often wonder why our families and schools should encourage almost every thing else, rather than letter-writing and journalizing. Our familiar letters to familiar friends, might often consist of extracts from our daily journals.

But here, again, there has been great error. Journals have usually consisted of the driest details, or exteriors of events. The young should be encouraged to record their feelings in them; their hopes and fears—their anticipations and their regrets—their joys and their sorrows—their repentances and their resolutions. Such journals, with old and young, could not fail to advance the intellect, even if they should not improve the heart.

IV. Music.—Attention to music-vocal music, especially-should always form a part of female education. The day is gone by, as I trust, when it was customary to say that none but the gifted could acquire this accomplishment. It is now, I believe, pretty well understood, that all persons may learn to sing, as well as to read. Not, of course, equally well, in either case; but all can make a degree of progress.