of the wild violets, and is exceedingly abundant in the sandy soil of
the pine-barrens in the neighborhood of Camden, New Jersey. It is called
bird's-foot violet, from a fancied resemblance between its leaves and the
feet of birds. Its flowers are large, pale-blue, and exceedingly showy.
The beautiful Phlox subulata, or moss pink, grows in the same pine-barrens
in company with this violet, and cannot fail to be recognized.
The earth at this season is adorned with the utmost profusion of flowers.
Now is the time to secure good specimens. We shall introduce a few more of
these beautiful strangers to your notice in another article.
PHYSICAL TRAINING.
PART I.
To most persons, probably, the words "Physical Training" suggest ideas
of the drill-sergeant, or of gymnastic or other extraordinary exercises;
and, truly, such exercises may form a part of physical training, but only
a part, and that a small one, of this most important department of human
education. We must endeavor to give our readers wider and better views
than are usually entertained upon the subject.
Physical training in its proper sense involves: 1. The cultivation and
preservation of physical health. 2. The development of the physical
strength, powers, and mechanical capabilities of the body to such a pitch
as the individual requires to perform well the duties of life. 3. The
cultivation, within certain limits, of the graces and beauties of the
body. 4. The cultivation and development of the mind, through and by means
of the bodily powers and senses.
Thus, whatever the means employed, the chief end of all physical training
must be the perfect working of a healthy mind, by means of a healthy body,
in the performance of life's duties, the enjoyment of life's pleasures,
and the avoidance, as far as permitted, of life's pains.
In this life, God has linked together our bodies and our minds, and man
cannot with impunity disregard their union or divide their interests; act
and react they will, and do, upon one another. Their Creator has made the
one the instrument of the other; and as well might we look for harmony
from an unstrung harp, be the player ever so skilful, as for perfect
working from a mind, however good and powerful, through the means of a
sickly body. True, there have been many possessors of sickly bodies, many
sufferers from permanent "bad health," who have not only done much active
good, but who have worked well and successfully with their minds; yet may
we not justly suppose that, had the same minds dwelt in healthy frames,
had they not been clogged and clouded by the frequent "infirmities of the
flesh," their good deeds would have been still more widely spread, their
intellectual exertions still more powerfully manifested? Even in the more
ordinary business of life, in the counting-house or in the work-shop,
how often is work too slowly or imperfectly executed, because of minds
hampered by bodies in bad working order; because the physical training
of the body has been, and is, day by day neglected! Few there are whose
individual experience cannot revert to hours, days, lost to them, simply
from derangements of health which might have been avoided, and which,
though not amounting to illness, were yet sufficient to render either duty
or amusement a labor or a "bore." How few are there who do not know the
difference between the irritability, the nervous fears, the indolence and
despondency of illness, and that cheerful activity of good health which
laughs at trifles, looks forward with hope, and finds work a pleasure!
How strong the reasons, then, for training the health and powers of the
body to their highest pitch, seeing that upon their perfection depends the
more or less complete fulfilment of our duty to God, our neighbors, and
ourselves!
We return to the rule No. 1, of Physical Training.--The cultivation and
preservation of physical health.
Health is a comprehensive term, including the perfect and harmonious
working of the organs generally of which the body is composed; but this
perfect, this healthy working of many parts, chiefly depends upon the
integrity and health of the one all-pervading fluid, the blood--the
life. _In all physical training, the condition of the blood must be
the foundation--the centre point of our thoughts and endeavors._ This,
to an unlearned reader, may appear a somewhat startling proposition;
nevertheless, by means of it we shall gain the simplest, most
intelligible, and, at the same time, most comprehensive views of our
subject. The condition of the blood depends, first, on its nourishment;
secondly, on its purification. The effect of the blood upon the body
depends, thirdly, upon its circulation or distribution. The first involves
the nature, quantity, and digestion of the food which nourishes; the
second, the ventilation, cleanliness, &c., which purify; the third, the
various exercises which aid to distribute.
As the blood is continually being expended in the nourishment of the
body, so it must as constantly be renovated by supplies from without--by
food. Evidently, then, this food must supply to the blood every material
required by the body; otherwise there can be no proper nourishment.
Thus, if the diet be deficient in the bone-earths, the bones--as they do
in badly-nourished children--become soft and yielding; if the diet is
too exclusively composed of such farinaceous articles as rice, potatoes,
&c., or with too much fat, it is incapable of yielding the elements of
muscular flesh, and the strength declines; if vegetable food is wanting,
scurvy is the result. Here, then, we have the first element of Physical
Training: the real supply of nourishment calculated to afford every
material required by the body. This of course takes in a wider range
of subject--no less than that of diet generally--than our space will
permit us to enter into here. Suffice it to remark that the diet of the
infant and growing child, of the youth and the adult man, must, under
a proper system of training, be varied according to the constitution
of the individual, and accommodated not only to the climate, but also
to the changes of the seasons. For instance, we will suppose two young
children; one is fair, light-haired, with delicate skin, through which
the blue veins show conspicuously, but fat and plump withal; the other is
a ruddy-faced rogue, whose rich red blood seems ready to start from his
cheeks. Give these two nurslings equal treatment in every way, the same
air, the same everything, and the same food, consisting chiefly of milk
and grain materials, puddings, and the like, with perhaps a little meat;
the rosy face will lose none of its healthy hue; the fair, fat child will
become no thinner, perhaps fatter, but, at the same time, pale and puffy,
or pasty-looking, and if the diet be unchanged, finally unhealthy. Reverse
matters; let each have fresh animal food every day, and what is the
consequence? Our little pale friend brightens up amazingly; there comes
a tinge of red in the cheek, the puffiness is gone, and the flesh has
become more solid--he is more active and sprightly; but our other little
fellow is evidently not benefited; the healthy rose hue looks more like a
feverish flush, and suspicious spots, that will soon break out into little
pimples or small boils, are perhaps showing themselves. This will never
do, so we keep the little fair one to his beef and mutton, and reduce his
companion, who soon shows the benefit of the change, to his milk-puddings
and vegetables, and give him his treat of meat only twice or thrice a
week. This one example--we might give many more--will serve to show how
many considerations are involved in this first department of physical
training--the management of the food: how that which gives health and
strength to one will be too little for another, and _vice versâ_. Then,
again, we might show how the variation of climate, even such as takes
place between winter and summer in our land, requires variation in the
amount and kind of food; how also this should be influenced by exercise.
These minutiæ cannot be separately discussed in the compass of a short
paper; but the information is such that no intelligent man, either for
his own sake or that of others, should be entirely unfurnished with. As a
general rule, let it be kept in mind, especially in the case of the young
and growing, that the habitual food ought to be calculated to yield the
requisite nourishment for every portion of the frame; that it ought, while
adapted to the constitution, to be sufficient in quantity and quality.
Rarely, indeed, if food be wholesome, and at the same time not calculated
to tempt the appetite artificially, can it be necessary, or even right,
to stint its allowance to young people? Lastly, as far as possible, the
application of a well-directed cookery, by which the digestibility of food
is improved, ought not to be lost sight of, as an important element in the
physical training of the young, or of the physical preservation of the
adult.
Thus, the first essential for the healthy condition of the blood, and
thence of the body, is its nourishment. The second, is its purification.
Now, the blood is not only the nourishing, but it is also the warming
medium of the body. Each moment of our lives, chemical changes and
interchanges are going on between the atoms, throughout every portion of
our frames: those which have become unfit for the purposes of the living,
healthy body, are replaced by fresh ones, by fresh nourishment, brought by
the blood in its never-ceasing current of circulation. At the moment the
change takes place, heat is given out--the natural warmth of the living
being. But the fresh atoms of nourishment having displaced the old ones,
the latter necessarily pass into the blood, and as necessarily render it
impure, altering its qualities, and converting it from a bright red, life
and vigor-supporting agent, into a dark purple fluid, not only unfit to
sustain life, but unfit also either to impart energy or proper nourishment
to the frame, unless it be perfectly purified by the agencies provided
for this purpose. These agencies are principally four, viz., the lungs,
the skin, the liver, the kidneys. The first is directly connected with
the subject of pure air; the second, with pure air, light, and personal
cleanliness; the two last, with food; and all with the last condition of
physical health, the blood circulation or distribution.
THE TRIALS OF A NEEDLEWOMAN.[9]
BY T. S. ARTHUR.
(Continued from page 440.)
CHAPTER X.
WITHOUT venturing the remotest allusion to her parting with her lover,
Miss Ballantine commenced her narrative by saying--
"When I left New York with my father, for New Orleans, no voyage could
have promised fairer. Mild, sunny weather, with good breezes and a noble
ship, that scarcely seemed to feel the deep swell of the ocean, bore us
pleasantly on towards the desired port. But, when only five days out, an
awful calamity befel us. One night I was awakened from sleep by a terrific
crash; and in a little while the startling cry of 'the ship's on fire!'
thrilled upon my ear, and sent an icy shudder to my heart. I arose from
my berth, and put on my clothes hastily. By this time my father had come,
dreadfully agitated, into the cabin; and while his own lips quivered, and
his own voice trembled, he endeavored to quiet my fears, by telling me
that there was no danger; that the ship had been struck with lightning;
but that the fire occasioned thereby would readily be put out.
"When I ascended to the deck, however, I saw that we had little to hope
for. While the masts and rigging were all enveloped in flame, a dense
smoke was rising from the hold, indicating that the electric fluid, in its
descent through the ship, had come in contact with something in the cargo
that was highly combustible. Passengers and crew stood looking on with
pale, horror-stricken faces. But the captain, a man of self-possession,
aroused all from their lethargy by ordering, in a loud, clear voice,
the masts and rigging to be cut away instantly. This order was obeyed.
Over went, crashing and hissing, three noble masts, with their wealth of
canvas, all enveloped in flames, quenching the heaven-enkindled fires
in the ocean. Then all was breathless and silent as the grave for some
moments, when a broad flash lit up the air, and revealed, for an instant,
the dismantled deck upon which we stood, followed by a pealing crash that
made the ship tremble. The deep silence that succeeded was broken by the
voice of the captain. His tones were cheerful and confident.
"'All will now be well!' he cried. 'We are saved from fire, and our good
hull will bear us safely up until we meet a passing ship.'
"'But there is fire below, captain,' said one.
"'It cannot burn without air,' he replied, in the same tone of confidence.
'We will keep the hatches closed and sealed; and it must go out.'
"This took a load from my bosom. I saw that what he said was reasonable.
But when daylight came, it showed the smoke oozing out through every
crevice in the deck. The floors, too, were hot to the feet, and indicated
an advanced state of the fire within. All was again terror and confusion,
but our captain still remained self-possessed. He saw that every hope of
saving the ship was gone; and at once ordered all the boats made ready,
and well stored with provisions. To the first and second mates, with a
portion of the crew, he assigned two of the boats, and in the third and
largest he embarked himself with four stout men and the passengers, twelve
in all. The sky was still overcast with clouds, and the sea rolled heavily
from the effects of the brief but severe storm that had raged in the
night. Pushing off from the doomed vessel, we lingered near for a couple
of hours to see what her fate would be. At the end of that time, the dense
smoke which had nearly hidden her from our view, suddenly became one
enveloping mass of flame. It was a beautiful, yet appalling sight, to see
that noble vessel thus burning upon the breast of the sea! For nearly an
hour her form, sheeted in fire, stood out distinctly against the face of
the sky, and then she went down, and left only a few charred and mutilated
fragments afloat upon the surface to tell of her doom.
"During the night that followed, it stormed terribly, and in it our boat
was separated from the other two. We never met again, and for all I have
ever learned to the contrary, those that were saved in them from the
burning ship perished from hunger, or were overwhelmed by some eager wave
of the ocean.
"The four men of the ship's crew, with the captain and the male
passengers, labored alternately at the oars, but with little effect.
Heavy seas, and continued stormy weather, rendered of little avail all
efforts to make much headway towards any port. Our main hope was that of
meeting with some vessel. But this hope mocked us day after day. No ship
showed her white sails upon the broad expanse of waters that stretched,
far as the eye could reach, in all directions. Thus ten days passed, and
our provisions and water were nearly exhausted. Three of the passengers
had become already very ill, and all of us were more or less sick from
exposure to the rain and sea. On the twelfth day, two of our number died
and were cast overboard. Others became sick, and by the time we had been
floating about thus for the space of twenty days, only four of the twelve
remained. Most of them died with a raging fever. The captain was among the
number, and there was now no one to whom we could look with confidence.
My father still lived, though exceedingly ill. Our companions were now
reduced to a young man and his sister.
"A bag of biscuit still remained, and a small portion of water. Of this,
none but myself could eat. The rest were too sick. Three days more passed,
and I was alone with my father! The brother and his sister died, and with
my own hands I had to consign them to their grave in the sea. I need not
attempt to give any true idea of my feelings when I found myself thus
alone, with my father just on the brink of death, afar in the midst of
the ocean. He was unconscious; and I felt that I was on the verge of
delirium. A strong fever made the blood rush wildly through my veins,
causing my temples to throb as if they would burst. From about this time
consciousness forsook me. I can recollect little more until I found myself
lying in a berth, on board of a strange vessel. I was feeble as an infant.
A man, with the aspect of a foreigner, sat near me. He spoke to me, but
in a foreign tongue. I understood, and could speak French, Spanish, and
Italian; but I had never studied German, and this man was a Hollander. Of
course, I understood but a word here and there, and not sufficient to gain
any intelligence from what he said, or to make him comprehend me, except
when I asked for my father. Then he understood me, and pointing across the
cabin, gave me to know that my father was with me in the ship, though very
sick.
"Small portions of nourishing food were now offered at frequent intervals,
and, as my appetite came back keenly, and I took the scanty supply that
was allowed me, I gradually gained strength. In a week I was able to leave
my berth, and to walk, with the assistance of the captain of the vessel,
for he it was whom I had first seen on the restoration of consciousness,
to the state room in which my father lay. Oh! how he had changed! I hardly
recognized him. His face had grown long and thin, his eyes were sunken
far back in his head, and his hair, that had been scarcely touched with
the frosts of age when we left New York, was white! He did not know me,
although he looked me feebly in the face. The sound of my voice seemed to
rouse him a little, but he only looked at me with a more earnest gaze,
and then closed his eyes. From this time I was his constant nurse, and
was soon blessed with finding him gradually recovering. But as health
came back to his body, it was too appallingly visible that his reason
had been shattered. He soon came to know me, to speak to me, and to
caress me, with more than his usual fondness; but his mind was--alas! too
evidently--imbecile. As this state of mental alienation showed itself more
and more distinctly, on his gradually acquiring physical strength, it
seemed as if the painful fact would kill me. But we are formed to endure
great extremes of bodily and mental anguish. The bow will bend far before
it breaks.
"After I had recovered so as to leave my berth entirely, and when, I
suppose, the captain thought it would be safe to question me, he brought
a map, and indicated plainly enough that he wished me to point out the
country I was from. I laid my hand upon the United States. He looked
surprised. I glanced around at the ship, and then pointed to the map with
a look of inquiry. He placed his finger near the Island of St. Helena.
It was now my turn to look surprised. By signs I wished him to tell me
how we should get back; and he indicated, plainly enough, that he would
put us on board of the first vessel he met that was returning either to
Europe or the United States, or else would leave us at the Cape of Good
Hope. But day after day passed, and we met no returning vessel. Before
we reached the Cape, a most terrific storm came on, which continued
many days, in which the ship lost two of her masts, and was driven far
south. It seemed to me as if my father and I had been doomed to perish
in the ocean, and the sea would not, therefore, relinquish its prey. It
was ten or twelve days before the storm had sufficiently abated to leave
the vessel manageable in the hands of the captain and crew, and then the
captain's reckoning was gone. He could get his latitude correctly, but not
his longitude, except by a remote approximation. His first observation,
when the sky gave an opportunity, showed us to be in latitude forty-five
degrees south. This he explained to me, and also the impracticability of
now making the Cape, pointing out upon the map the Swan River Settlement
in Australia as the point he should endeavor first to make. A heavy ship,
with but one mast, made but slow progress. On the third day another storm
overtook us, and we were driven before the gale at a furious rate. That
night our vessel struck and went to pieces. Six of us escaped, my father
among the rest, and the captain, in a boat, and were thrown upon the
shore of an uninhabited island. In the morning there lay floating in a
little protected cove of the island barrels of provisions, as pork, fish,
bread, and flour, with chests, and numerous fragments of the ship, and
portions of the cargo. The captain and sailors at once set about securing
all that could possibly be rescued from the water, and succeeded in
getting provisions and clothing enough to last all of us for many months,
if, unfortunately, we should not earlier be relieved from our dreadful
situation. My father had become strong enough to go about and take care of
himself, but his mind was feebler, and he seemed more like an old man in
his second childhood than one in the prime of life as he was. He was not
troublesome to any one, nor was there any fear of trusting him by himself.
He was only like an imbecile old man--and such even the captain thought
him.
"A thing which I failed to mention in its place, I might as well allude
to here. On recovery from that state of physical exhaustion in which the
humane captain of the Dutch East Indiaman had found me, my hand rested
accidentally upon the pocket of my father's coat, which hung up in the
state room that had been assigned to him. His pocket-book was there.
It instantly occurred to me to examine it, and see how much money it
contained, for I knew that, unless we had money, before getting back,
we would be subjected to inconvenience, annoyance, and great privation;
and as my father seemed to be so weak in mind, all the care of providing
for our comfort, I saw, would devolve upon me. I instantly removed the
pocket-book, which was large. I found a purse in the same pocket, and took
that also. With these I retired into my own state-room, and fastening
the door inside, commenced an examination of their contents. The purse
contained twenty eagles; and in the apartments of the pocket-book were ten
eagles more, making three hundred dollars in gold. In bank bills there
were five of one thousand dollars each, ten of one hundred dollars, and
about two hundred dollars in smaller amounts, all of New York city banks.
These I took and carefully sewed up in one of my under garments, and also
did the same with the gold. I mention this, as it bears with importance
upon our subsequent history.
"A temporary shelter was erected; a large pole with a white flag fastened
to it, as a signal to any passing vessel, was set up; and the captain,
with two of his men, set out to explore the island. They were gone for
two days. On returning, they reported no inhabitants, but plenty of good
game, if any way could be devised to take it. No vessel appearing, after
the lapse of some twelve or fifteen days, the men set about building for
us a more comfortable place of shelter. One of these had been a carpenter,
and as an axe and saw, and some few tools, had come ashore on pieces of
the wreck, and in chests, he was enabled to put up a very comfortable
tenement, with an apartment for me partitioned off from the main room.