VI.

HOME DECORATION.

Having duly arranged for the physical necessities of a healthful and

comfortable home, we next approach the important subject of _beauty_ in

reference to the decoration of houses. For while the aesthetic element

must be subordinate to the requirements of physical existence, and, as a

matter of expense, should be held of inferior consequence to means of

higher moral growth; it yet holds a place of great significance among

the influences which make home happy and attractive, which give it a

constant and wholesome power over the young, and contributes much to the

education of the entire household in refinement, intellectual

development, and moral sensibility.

Here we are met by those who tell us that of course they want their

houses handsome, and that, when they get money enough, they intend to

have them so, but at present they are too poor, and because they are

poor they dismiss the subject altogether, and live without any regard

to it.

We have often seen people who said that they could not afford to make

their houses beautiful, who had spent upon them, outside or in, an

amount of money which did not produce either beauty or comfort, and

which, if judiciously applied, might have made the house quite charming.

For example, a man, in building his house, takes a plan of an architect.

This plan includes, on the outside, a number of what Andrew Fairservice

called "curlywurlies" and "whigmaliries," which make the house neither

prettier nor more comfortable, and which take up a good deal of money.

We would venture to say that we could buy the chromo of Bierstadt's

"Sunset in the Yosemite Valley," and four others like it, for half the

sum that we have sometimes seen laid out on a very ugly, narrow, awkward

porch on the outside of a house. The only use of this porch was to

cost money, and to cause every body who looked at it to exclaim as

they went by, "What ever induced that man to put a thing like that on

the outside of his house?"

Then, again, in the inside of houses, we have seen a dwelling looking

very bald and bare, when a sufficient sum of money had been expended

on one article to have made the whole very pretty: and it has come

about in this way.

We will suppose the couple who own the house to be in the condition

in which people generally are after they have built a house--having

spent more than they could afford on the building itself, and yet

feeling themselves under the necessity of getting some furniture.

"Now," says the housewife, "I must at least have a parlor-carpet. We

must get that to begin with, and other things as we go on." She goes

to a store to look at carpets. The clerks are smiling and obliging,

and sweetly complacent. The storekeeper, perhaps, is a neighbor or a

friend, and after exhibiting various patterns, he tells her of a

Brussels carpet he is selling wonderfully cheap--actually a dollar

and a quarter less a yard than the usual price of Brussels, and the

reason is that it is an unfashionable pattern, and he has a good deal

of it, and wishes to close it off.

She looks at it and thinks it is not at all the kind of carpet she

meant to buy, but then it is Brussels, and so cheap! And as she

hesitates, her friend tells her that she will find it "cheapest in the

end--that one Brussels carpet will outlast three or four ingrains,"

etc., etc.

The result of all this is, that she buys the Brussels carpet, which,

with all its reduction in price, is one third dearer than the ingrain

would have been, and not half so pretty. When she comes home, she will

find that she has spent, we will say eighty dollars, for a very homely

carpet whose greatest merit it is an affliction to remember--namely,

that it will outlast three ordinary carpets. And because she has bought

this carpet she can not afford to paper the walls or put up any

window-curtains, and can not even begin to think of buying any pictures.

Now let us see what eighty dollars could have done for that room. We

will suppose, in the first place, she invests in thirteen rolls of

wall-paper of a lovely shade of buff, which will make the room look

sunshiny in the day-time, and light up brilliantly in the evening.

Thirteen rolls of good satin paper, at thirty-seven cents a roll,

expends four dollars and eighty-one cents. A maroon bordering, made

in imitation of the choicest French style, which can not at a distance

be told from it, can be bought for six cents a yard. This will bring

the paper to about five dollars and a half; and our friends will give

a day of their time to putting it on. The room already begins to look

furnished.

Then, let us cover the floor with, say, thirty yards of good matting,

at fifty cents a yard. This gives us a carpet for fifteen dollars. We

are here stopped by the prejudice that matting is not good economy,

because it wears out so soon. We humbly submit that it is precisely

the thing for a parlor, which is reserved for the reception-room of

friends, and for our own dressed leisure hours. Matting is not good

economy in a dining-room or a hard-worn sitting-room; but such a parlor

as we are describing is precisely the place where it answers to the

very best advantage.

We have in mind one very attractive parlor which has been, both for

summer and winter, the daily sitting-room for the leisure hours of a

husband and wife, and family of children, where a plain straw matting

has done service for seven years. That parlor is in a city, and these

friends are in the habit of receiving visits from people who live upon

velvet and Brussels; but they prefer to spend the money which such

carpets would cost on other modes of embellishment; and this parlor

has often been cited to us as a very attractive room.

And now our friends, having got thus far, are requested to select some

one tint or color which shall be the prevailing one in the furniture

of the room. Shall it be green? Shall it be blue? Shall it be crimson?

To carry on our illustration, we will choose green, and we proceed

with it to create furniture for our room. Let us imagine that on one

side of the fireplace there be, as there is often, a recess about six

feet long and three feet deep. Fill this recess with a rough frame

with four stout legs, one foot high, and upon the top of the frame

have an elastic rack of slats. Make a mattress for this, or, if you

wish to avoid that trouble, you can get a nice mattress for the sum

of two dollars, made of cane-shavings or husks. Cover this with a

green English furniture print. The glazed English comes at about

twenty-five cents a yard, the glazed French at seventy-five cents a

yard, and a nice article of yard-wide French twill (very strong) is

from seventy-five to eighty cents a yard.

With any of these cover your lounge. Make two large, square pillows

of the same substance as the mattress, and set up at the back. If you

happen to have one or two feather pillows that you can spare for the

purpose, shake them down into a square shape and cover them with the

same print, and you will then have for pillows for your lounge--one

at each end, and two at the back, and you will find it answers for all

the purposes of a sofa.

[Illustration: Fig. 38.]

It will be a very pretty thing, now, to cut out of the same material

as your lounge, sets of lambrequins (or, as they are called,

_lamberkins_,) a land of pendent curtain-top, as shown in the

illustration, to put over the windows, which are to be embellished

with white muslin curtains. The cornices to your windows can be simply

strips of wood covered with paper to match the bordering of your room,

and the lambrequins, made of chintz like the lounge, can be trimmed

with fringe or gimp of the same color. The patterns of these can be

varied according to fancy, but simple designs are usually the prettiest.

A tassel at the lowest point improves the appearance.

The curtains can be made of plain white muslin, or some of the many

styles that come for this purpose. If plain muslin is used, you can

ornament them with hems an inch in width, in which insert a strip of

gingham or chambray of the same color as your chintz. This will wash

with the curtains without losing its color, or should it fade, it can

easily be drawn out and replaced.

The influence of white-muslin curtains in giving an air of grace and

elegance to a room is astonishing. White curtains really create a room

out of nothing. No matter how coarse the muslin, so it be white and

hang in graceful folds, there is a charm in it that supplies the want

of multitudes of other things.

Very pretty curtain-muslin can be bought at thirty-seven cents a yard.

It requires six yards for a window.

Let your men-folk knock up for you, out of rough, unplaned boards,

some ottoman frames, as described in Chapter II; stuff the tops with

just the same material as the lounge, and cover them with the self-same

chintz.

[Illustration: Fig. 39.]

Now you have, suppose your selected color to be green, a green lounge

in the corner and two green ottomans; you have white muslin curtains,

with green lambrequins and borders, and your room already looks

furnished. If you have in the house any broken-down arm-chair, reposing

in the oblivion of the garret, draw it out--drive a nail here and

there to hold it firm--stuff and pad, and stitch the padding through

with a long upholsterer's needle, and cover it with the chintz like

your other furniture. Presto--you create an easy-chair.

Thus can broken and disgraced furniture reappear, and, being put into

uniform with the general suit of your room, take a new lease of life.

If you want a centre-table, consider this--that any kind of table,

well concealed beneath the folds of _handsome drapery of a color

corresponding to the general hue of the room,_ will look well.

Instead of going to the cabinet-maker and paying from thirty to forty

dollars upon a little, narrow, cold, marble-topped stand, that gives

just room enough to hold a lamp and a book or two, reflect within

yourself what a centre-table is made for. If you have in your house

a good, broad, generous-topped table, take it, cover it with an ample

cloth of green broadcloth. Such a cover, two and a half yards square,

of fine green broadcloth, figured with black and with a pattern-border

of grape-leaves, has been bought for ten dollars. In a room we wot of,

it covers a cheap pine table, such as you may buy for four or five

dollars any day; but you will be astonished to see how handsome an

object this table makes under its green drapery. Probably you could

make the cover more cheaply by getting the cloth and trimming its edge

with a handsome border, selected for the purpose; but either way, it

will be an economical and useful ornament. We set down our centre-table,

therefore, as consisting mainly of a nice broadcloth cover, matching

our curtains and lounge.

We are sure that any one with "a heart that is humble" may command

such a centre-table and cloth for fifteen dollars or less, and a family

of five or six may all sit and work, or read, or write around it, and

it is capable of entertaining a generous allowance of books and

knick-knacks.

You have now for your parlor the following figures:

Wall-paper and border,.................................... $5.50

Thirty yards matting,..................................... 15.00

Centre-table and cloth,................................... 15.00

Muslin for three windows,.................................. 6.75

Thirty yards green English chintz, at 25 cents,............ 7.50

Six chairs, at $2 each,................................... 12.00

Total,....................................................$61.75

Subtracted from eighty dollars, which we set down as the price of the

cheap, ugly Brussels carpet, we have our whole room papered, carpeted,

curtained, and furnished, and we have nearly twenty dollars remaining

for pictures.

As a little suggestion in regard to the selection, you can got Miss

Oakley's charming little cabinet picture of

"The Little Scrap-Book Maker" for........................ $7 50

Eastman Johnson's "Barefoot Boy,"................. (Prang) 5 00

Newman's "Blue-fringed Gentians,"..................(Prang) 6 00

Bierstadt's "Sunset in the Yo Semite Valley,"......(Prang)12 00

Here are thirty dollars' worth of really admirable pictures of some

of our best American artists, from which you can choose at your leisure.

By sending to any leading picture-dealer, lists of pictures and prices

will be forwarded to you. These chromos, being all varnished, can wait

for frames until you can afford them. Or, what is better, because it

is at once cheaper and a means of educating the ingenuity and the

taste, you can make for yourselves pretty rustic frames in various

modes. Take a very thin board, of the right size and shape, for the

foundation or "mat;" saw out the inner oval or rectangular form to

suit the picture. Nail on the edge a rustic frame made of branches of

hard, seasoned wood, and garnish the corners with some pretty device;

such, for instance, as a cluster of acorns; or, in place of the branches

of trees, fasten on with glue small pine cones, with larger ones for

corner ornaments. Or use the mosses of the wood or ocean shells for

this purpose. It may be more convenient to get the mat or inner moulding

from a framer, or have it made by your carpenter, with a groove behind

to hold a glass. Here are also picture-frames of pretty effect, and

very simply made. The one in Fig. 42 is made of either light or dark

wood, neat, thin, and not very wide, with the ends simply broken, off,

or cut so as to resoluble a rough break. The other is white pine, sawn

into simple form, well smoothed, and marked with a delicate black

tracery, as suggested in Fig. 43. This should also be varnished, then

it will take a rich, yellow tinge, which harmonizes admirably with

chromos, and lightens up engravings to singular advantage. Besides the

American and the higher range of German and English chromos, there are

very many pretty little French chromos, which can be had at prices

from $1 to $5, including black walnut frames.

[Illustration: Fig. 40]

[Illustration: Fig. 41]

[Illustration: Fig. 42]

[Illustration: Fig. 43]

We have been through this calculation merely to show our readers how

much beautiful effect may be produced by a wise disposition of color

and skill in arrangement. If any of our friends should ever carry it

out, they will find that the buff paper, with its dark, narrow border;

the green chintz repeated in the lounge, the ottomans, and lambrequins;

the flowing, white curtains; the broad, generous centre-table, draped

with its ample green cloth, will, when arranged together, produce an

effect of grace and beauty far beyond what any one piece or even half

a dozen pieces of expensive cabinet furniture could. The great, simple

principle of beauty illustrated in this room is _harmony of color_.

You can, in the same way, make a red room by using Turkey red for your

draperies; or a blue room by using blue chintz. Let your chintz be of

a small pattern, and one that is decided in color.

We have given the plan of a room with matting on the floor because

that is absolutely the cheapest cover. The price of thirty yards plain,

good ingrain carpet, at $1.50 per yard, would be forty-five dollars;

the difference between forty-five and fifteen dollars would _furnish_ a

room with pictures such as we have instanced. However, the same

programme can be even better carried out with a green ingrain carpet as

the foundation of the color of the room.

Our friends, who lived seven years upon matting, contrived to give

their parlor in winter an effect of warmth and color by laying down,

in front of the fire, a large square of carpeting, say three breadths,

four yards long. This covered the gathering-place around the fire where

the winter circle generally sits, and gave an appearance of warmth to

the room.

If we add this piece of carpeting to the estimates for our room, we

still leave a margin for a picture, and make the programme equally

adapted to summer and winter.

Besides the chromos, which, when well selected and of the best class,

give the charm of color which belongs to expensive paintings, there

are engravings which finely reproduce much of the real spirit and

beauty of the celebrated pictures of the world. And even this does not

exhaust the resources of economical art; for there are few of the

renowned statues, whether of antiquity or of modern times, that have

not been accurately copied in plaster casts; and a few statuettes,

costing perhaps five or six dollars each, will give a really elegant

finish to your rooms-providing always that they are selected with

discrimination and taste.

The educating influence of these works of art can hardly be over-

estimated. Surrounded by such suggestions of the beautiful, and such

reminders of history and art, children are constantly trained to

correctness of tote and refinement of thought, and stimulated--sometimes

to efforts at artistic imitation, always to the eager and intelligent

inquiry about the scenes, the places, the incidents represented. Just

here, perhaps, we are met by some who grant all that we say on the

subject of decoration by works of art, and who yet impatiently exclaim,

"But I have _no_ money to spare for any thing of this sort. I am

condemned to an absolute bareness, and beauty in my case is not to be

thought of."

Are you sure, my friend? If you live in the country, or can get into

the country, and have your eyes opened and your wits about you, your

house need not be condemned to an absolute bareness. Not so long as

the woods are full of beautiful ferns and mosses, while every swamp

shakes and nods with tremulous grasses, need you feel yourself an

utterly disinherited child of nature, and deprived of its artistic use.

For example: Take an old tin pan condemned to the retired list by

reason of holes in the bottom, get twenty-five cents' worth of green

paint for this and other purposes, and paint it. The holes in the

bottom are a recommendation for its new service. If there are no holes,

you must drill two or three, as drainage is essential. Now put a layer

one inch deep of broken charcoal and potsherds over the bottom, and

then soil, in the following proportions:

Two fourths wood-soil, such as you find in forests, under trees.

One fourth clean sand.

One fourth meadow-soil, taken from under fresh turf. Mix with this

some charcoal dust.

In this soil plant all sorts of ferns, together with some few

swamp-grasses; and around the edge put a border of money-plant or

periwinkle to hang over. This will need to be watered once or twice

a week, and it will grow and thrive all summer long in a corner of

your room. Should you prefer, you can suspend it by wires and make a

hanging-basket.--Ferns and wood-grasses need not have sunshine--they

grow well in shadowy places.

On this same principle you can convert a salt-box or an old drum of

figs into a hanging-basket. Tack bark and pine-cones and moss upon the

outside of it, drill holes and pass wires through it, and you have a

woodland hanging-basket, which will hang and grow in any corner of

your house.

We have been into rooms which, by the simple disposition of articles

of this kind, have been made to have an air so poetical and attractive

that they seemed more like a nymph's cave than any thing in the real

world.

[Illustration: Fig. 44.]

Another mode of disposing of ferns is this: Take a flat piece of board

sawed out something like a shield, with a hole at the top for hanging

it up. Upon the board nail a wire pocket made of an ox-muzzle flattened

on one side; or make something of the kind with stiff wire. Line this

with a sheet of close moss, which appears green behind the wire

net-work. Then you fill it with loose, spongy moss, such as you find

in swamps, and plant therein great plumes of fern and various

swamp-grasses; they will continue to grow there, and hang gracefully

over. When watering, set a pail under for it to drip into. It needs

only to keep this moss always damp, and to sprinkle these ferns

occasionally with a whisk-broom, to have a most lovely ornament for

your room or hall.

The use of ivy in decorating a room is beginning to be generally

acknowledged. It needs to be planted in the kind of soil we have

described, in a well-drained pot or box, and to have its leaves

thoroughly washed once or twice a year in strong suds made with

soft-soap, to free it from dust and scale-bug; and an ivy will live

and thrive and wind about in a room, year in and year out, will grow

around pictures, and do almost any thing to oblige you that you can

suggest to it. For instance, in a March number of _Hearth and Home_,

[Footnote: A beautifully illustrated agricultural and family weekly

paper, edited by Donald G. Mitchell(Ik Marvel) and Mrs. H. B. Stowe,]

there is a picture of the most delightful library-window imaginable,

whose chief charm consists in the running vines that start from a

longitudinal box at the bottom of the window, and thence clamber

up and about the casing and across the rustic frame-work erected for

its convenience. On the opposite page we present another plain kind

of window, ornamented with a variety of these rural economical

adornings.

[Illustration: Fig. 45.]

In the centre is a Ward's case. On one side is a pot of _Fuchsia_.

On the other side is a Calla Lily. In the hanging-baskets and on the

brackets are the ferns and flowers that flourish in the deep woods,

and around the window is the ivy, running from two boxes; and, in case

the window has some sun, a _Nasturtium_ may spread its bright blossoms

among the leaves. Then, in the winter, when there is less sun, the

_Striped Spider-wort_, the _Smilax_ and the _Saxifraga_. _Samantosa_ (or

_Wandering Jew_) may be substituted. Pretty brackets can be made of

common pine, ornamented with odd-growing twigs or mosses or roots,

scraped and varnished, or in their native state.

A beautiful ornament for a room with pictures is German ivy. Slips of

this will start without roots in bottles of water. Slide the bottle

behind the picture, and the ivy will seem to come from fairyland, and

hang its verdure in all manner of pretty curves around the picture.

It may then be trained to travel toward other ivy, and thus aid in

forming green cornice along the ceiling. We have seen some rooms that

had an ivy cornice around the whole, giving the air of a leafy bower.

There are some other odd devices to ornament a room. For example, a

sponge, kept wet by daily immersion, can be filled with flax-seed and

suspended by a cord, when it will ere long be covered with verdure and

afterward with flowers.

A sweet potato, laid in a bowl of water on a bracket, or still better,

suspended by a knitting-needle, run through or laid across the bowl

half in the water, will, in due time, make a beautiful verdant ornament.

A large carrot, with the smallest half cut off, scooped out to hold

water and then suspended with cords, will send out graceful shoots in

rich profusion.

Half a cocoa-nut shell, suspended, will hold earth or water for plants

and make a pretty hanging-garden.

It may be a very proper thing to direct the ingenuity and activity of

children into the making of hanging-baskets and vases of rustic work.

The best foundations are the cheap wooden bowls, which are quite easy

to get, and the walks of children in the woods can be made interesting

by their bringing home material for this rustic work. Different colored

twigs and sprays of trees, such as the bright scarlet of the dog-wood,

the yellow of the willow, the black of the birch, and the silvery gray

of the poplar, may be combined in fanciful net-work. For this sort of

work, no other investment is needed than a hammer and an assortment

of different-sized tacks, and beautiful results will be produced.

Fig. 46 is a stand for flowers, made of roots, scraped and varnished.

But the greatest and cheapest and most delightful fountain of beauty

is a "Ward case."

[Illustration: Fig 46.]

Now, immediately all our economical friends give up in despair. Ward's

cases sell all the way along from eighteen to fifty dollars, and are,

like every thing else in this lower world, regarded as the sole

perquisites of the rich.

Let us not be too sure. Plate-glass, and hot-house plants, and rare

patterns, _are_ the especial inheritance of the rich; but any family may

command all the requisites of a Ward case for a very small sum. Such a

case is a small glass closet over a well-drained box of soil. You make a

Ward case on a small scale when you turn a tumbler over a plant. The

glass keeps the temperature moist and equable, and preserves the plants

from dust, and the soil being well drained, they live and thrive

accordingly. The requisites of these are the glass top and the bed of

well-drained soil.

Suppose you have a common cheap table, four feet long and two wide.

Take off the top boards of your table, and with them board the bottom

across tight and firm; then line it with zinc, and you will have a

sort of box or sink on legs. Now make a top of common window-glass

such as you would get for a cucumber-frame; let it be two and a half

feet high, with a ridge-pole like a house, and a slanting roof of glass

resting on this ridge-pole; on one end let there be a door two feet

square.

[Illustration: Fig. 47.]

We have seen a Ward case made in this way, in which the capabilities

for producing ornamental effect were greatly beyond many of the most

elaborate ones of the shops. It was large, and roomy, and cheap. Common

window-sash and glass are not dear, and any man with moderate ingenuity

could fashion such a glass closet for his wife; or a woman, not having

such a husband, can do it herself.

The sink or box part must have in the middle of it a hole of good size

for drainage. In preparing for the reception of plants, first turn a

plant-saucer over this hole, which may otherwise become stopped. Then,

as directed for the other basket, proceed with a layer of broken

charcoal and pot-sherds for drainage, two inches deep, and prepare the

soil as directed above, and add to it some pounded charcoal, or the

scrapings of the charcoal-bin. In short, more or less charcoal and

charcoal-dust is always in order in the treatment of these moist

subjects, as it keeps them from fermenting and growing sour.

Now for filling the case.

Our own native forest-ferns have a period in the winter months when

they cease to grow. They are very particular in asserting their right

to this yearly nap, and will not, on any consideration, grow for you

out of their appointed season.

Nevertheless, we shall tell you what we have tried ourselves, because

greenhouse ferns are expensive, and often great cheats when you have

bought them, and die on your hands in the most reckless and shameless

manner. If you make a Ward case in the spring, your ferns will grow

beautifully in it all summer; and in the autumn, though they stop

growing, and cease to throw out leaves, yet the old leaves will remain

fresh and green till the time for starting the new ones in the spring.

But, supposing you wish to start your case in the fall, out of such

things as you can find in the forest; by searching carefully the rocks

and clefts and recesses of the forest, you can find a quantity of

beautiful ferns whose leaves the frost has not yet assailed. Gather

them carefully, remembering that the time of the plant's sleep has

come, and that you must make the most of the leaves it now has, as you

will not have a leaf more from it till its waking-up time in February

or March. But we have succeeded, and you will succeed, in making a

very charming and picturesque collection. You can make in your Ward

case lovely little grottoes with any bits of shells, and minerals, and

rocks you may have; you can lay down, here and there, fragments of

broken looking-glass for the floor of your grottoes, and the effect

of them will be magical. A square of looking-glass introduced into the

back side of your case will produce charming effects.

The trailing arbutus or May-flower, if cut up carefully in sods, and

put into this Ward case, will come into bloom there a month sooner

than it otherwise would, and gladden your eyes and heart.

In the fall, if you can find the tufts of eye-bright or houstonia

cerulia, and mingle them in with your mosses, you will find them

blooming before winter is well over.

But among the most beautiful things for such a case is the

partridge-berry, with its red plums. The berries swell and increase

in the moist atmosphere, and become intense in color, forming an

admirable ornament.

Then the ground pine, the princess pine, and various nameless pretty

things of the woods, all flourish in these little conservatories. In

getting your sod of trailing arbutus, remember that this plant forms

its buds in the fall. You must, therefore, examine your sod carefully,

and see if the buds are there; otherwise you will find no blossoms in

the spring.

There are one or two species of violets, also, that form their buds

in the fall, and these too, will blossom early for you.

We have never tried the wild anemones, the crowfoot, etc.; but as they

all do well in moist, shady places, we recommend hopefully the

experiment of putting some of them in.

A Ward case has this recommendation over common house-plants, that it

takes so little time and care. If well made in the outset, and

thoroughly drenched with water when the plants are first put in, it

will after that need only to be watered about once a month, and to be

ventilated by occasionally leaving open the door for a half-hour or

hour when the moisture obscures the glass and seems in excess.

To women embarrassed with the care of little children, yet longing for

the refreshment of something growing and beautiful, this indoor garden

will be an untold treasure. The glass defends the plant from the

inexpedient intermeddling of little fingers; while the little eyes,

just on a level with the panes of glass, can look through and learn

to enjoy the beautiful, silent miracles of nature.

For an invalid's chamber, such a case would be an indescribable comfort.

It is, in fact, a fragment of the green woods brought in and silently

growing; it will refresh many a weary hour to watch it.

VII.

THE CARE OF HEALTH.

There is no point where a woman is more liable to suffer from a want

of knowledge and experience than in reference to the health of a family

committed to her care. Many a young lady who never had any charge of

the sick; who never took any care of an infant; who never obtained

information on these subjects from books, or from the experience of

others; in short, with little or no preparation, has found herself the

principal attendant in dangerous sickness, the chief nurse of a feeble

infant, and the responsible guardian of the health of a whole family.

The care, the fear, the perplexity of a woman suddenly called to these

unwonted duties, none can realize till they themselves feel it, or

till they see some young and anxious novice first attempting to meet

such responsibilities. To a woman of age and experience these duties

often involve a measure of trial and difficulty at times deemed almost

insupportable; how hard, then, must they press on the heart of the

young and inexperienced!

There is no really efficacious mode of preparing a woman to take a

rational care of the health of a family, except by communicating that

knowledge in regard to the construction of the body and the laws of

health which is the basis of the medical profession. Not that a woman

should undertake the minute and extensive investigation requisite for

a physician; but she should gain a general knowledge of first

principles, as a guide to her judgment in emergencies when she can

rely on no other aid.

With this end in view, in the preceding chapters some portions of the

organs and functions of the human body have been presented, and others

will now follow in connection with the practical duties which result

from them.

On the general subject of health, one recent discovery of science may

here be introduced as having an important relation to every organ and

function of the body, and as being one to which frequent reference

will be made; and that is, the nature and operation of _cell-life_.

By the aid of the microscope, we can examine the minute construction

of plants and animals, in which we discover contrivances and operations,

if not so sublime, yet more wonderful and interesting, than the vast

systems of worlds revealed by the telescope.

By this instrument it is now seen that the first formation, as well

as future changes and actions, of all plants and animals are

accomplished by means of small cells or bags containing various kinds

of liquids. These cells are so minute that, of the smallest, some

hundreds would not cover the dot of a printed _i_ on this page.

They are of diverse shapes and contents, and perform various different

operations.

[Illustration: Fig 48.]

The first formation of every animal is accomplished by the agency of

cells, and may be illustrated by the egg of any bird or fowl. The

exterior consists of a hard shell for protection, and this is lined

with a tough skin, to which is fastened the yelk, (which means the

_yellow_,) by fibrous strings, as seen at _a_, _a_, in the diagram. In

the yelk floats the germ-cell, _b_, which is the point where the

formation of the future animal commences. The yelk, being lighter than

the white, rises upward, and the germ being still lighter, rises in the

yelk. This is to bring both nearer to the vitalizing warmth of the

brooding mother.

New cells are gradually formed from the nourishing yelk around the

germ, each being at first roundish in shape, and having a spot near

the centre, called the nucleus. The reason why cells increase must

remain a mystery, until we can penetrate the secrets of vital

force--probably forever. But the mode in which they multiply is as

follows: The first change noticed in a cell, when warmed into vital

activity, is the appearance of a second nucleus within it, while the

cell gradually becomes oval in form, and then is drawn inward at the

middle, like an hour-glass, till the two sides meet. The two portions

then divide, and two cells appear, each containing its own germinal

nucleus. These both divide again in the same manner, proceeding in the

ratio of 2, 4, 8, 16, and so on, until most of the yelk becomes a mass

of cells.

The central point of this mass, where the animal itself commences to

appear, shows, first, a round-shaped figure, which soon assumes form

like a pear, and then like a violin. Gradually the busy little cells

arrange themselves to build up heart, lungs, brain, stomach, and limbs,

for which the yelk and white furnish nutriment. There is a small bag

of air fastened to one end inside of the shell; and when the animal

is complete, this air is taken into its lungs, life begins, and out

walks little chick, all its powers prepared, and ready to run, eat,

and enjoy existence. Then, as soon as the animal uses its brain to

think and feel, and its muscles to move, the cells which have been

made up into these parts begin to decay, while new cells are formed

from the blood to take their place. Time with life commences the

constant process of decay and renewal all over the body.

[Illustration: Fig. 49.]

The liquid portion of the blood consists of material formed from food,

air, and water. From this material the cells of the blood are formed:

first, the white cells, which are incomplete in formation; and then

the red cells, which are completed by the addition of the oxygen

received from air in the lungs. Fig. 49 represents part of a magnified

blood-vessel, _a_, _a_, in which the round cells are the white, and the

oblong the red cells, floating in the blood. Surrounding the blood-

vessels are the cells forming the adjacent membrane, _bb_, each having a

nucleus in its centre.

Cells have different powers of selecting and secreting diverse materials

from the blood. Thus, some secrete bile to carry to the liver, others

secrete saliva for the mouth, others take up the tears, and still

others take material for the brain, muscles, and all other organs.

Cells also have a converting power, of taking one kind of matter from

the blood, and changing it to another kind. They are minute chemical

laboratories all over the body, changing materials of one kind to

another form in which they can be made useful.

Both animal and vegetable substances are formed of cells. But the

vegetable cells take up and use unorganized or simple, natural matter;

whereas the animal cell only takes substances already organized into

vegetable or animal life, and then changes one compound into another

of different proportions and nature.

These curious facts in regard to cell-life have important relations

to the general subject of the care of health, and also to the cure of

disease, as will be noticed in following chapters.

THE NERVOUS SYSTEM.

There is another portion of the body, which is so intimately connected

with every other that it is placed in this chapter as also having

reference to every department in the general subject of the care of

health.

The body has no power to move itself, but is a collection of instruments

to be used by the mind in securing various kinds of knowledge and

enjoyment. The organs through which the mind thus operates are the

_brain_ and _nerves_. The drawing (Fig. 50) represents them.

[Illustration: Fig. 50.]

The brain lies in the skull, and is divided into the large or upper

brain, marked 1, and the small or lower brain, marked 2. From the brain

runs the spinal marrow through the spine or backbone. From each side

of the spine the large nerves run out into innumerable smaller branches

to every portion of the body. The drawing shows only some of the larger

branches. Those marked 3 run to the neck and organs of the chest; those

marked 4 go to the arms; those below the arms, marked 3, go to the

trunk; and those marked 5 go to the legs.

The brain and nerves consist of two kinds of nervous matter--the _gray_,

which is supposed to be the portion that originates and controls a

nervous fluid which imparts power of action; and the _white_, which

seems to conduct this fluid to every part of the body.

The brain and nervous system are divided into distinct portions, each

having different offices to perform, and each acting independently of

the others; as, for example, one portion is employed by the mind in

thinking, and in feeling pleasurable or painful mental emotions; another

in moving the muscles; while the nerves that run to the nose, ears,

eyes, tongue, hands, and surface generally, are employed in seeing,

hearing, smelling, tasting, and feeling all physical sensations.

The _back_ portion of the spinal marrow and the nerves that run from it

are employed in _sensation_, or the _sense of feeling_. These nerves

extend over the whole body, but are largely developed in the network of

nerves in the skin. The _front_ portion of the spinal marrow and its

branches are employed in moving those muscles in all parts of the body

which are controlled by the _will_ or _choice_ of the mind. These are

called the _nerves of motion_.

The nerves of sensation and nerves of motion, although they start from

different portions of the spine, are united in the same _sheath_ or

_cover_, till they terminate in the muscles. Thus, every muscle is moved

by nerves of motion; while alongside of this nerve, in the same sheath,

is a nerve of sensation. All the nerves of motion and sensation are

connected with those portions of the brain used when we think, feel, and

choose. By this arrangement the mind _knows_ what is wanted in all parts

of the body by means of the nerves of sensation, and then it _acts_ by

means of the nerves of motion.

For example, when we feel the cold air on the skin, the nerves of

sensation report to the brain, and thus to the mind, that the body is

growing cold. The mind thus knows that more clothing is needed, and

_wills_ to have the eyes look for it, and the hands and feet move

to get it. This is done by the nerves of sight and of motion.

Next are the nerves of _involuntary motion_, which move all those

parts of the head, face, and body that are used in breathing, and in

other operations connected with it. By these we continue to breathe

when asleep, and whether we will to do so or not. There are also some

of the nerves of voluntary motion that are mixed with these, which

enable the mind to stop respiration, or to regulate it to a certain

extent. But the mind has no power to stop it for any great length of

time.

There is another large and important system of nerves called the

_sympathetic_ or _ganglionic_ system. It consists of small masses of

gray and white nervous matter, that seem to be small brains with nerves

running from them. These are called _ganglia_, and are arranged on each

side of the spine, while small nerves from the spinal marrow run into

them, thus uniting the sympathetic system with the nerves of the spine.

These ganglia are also distributed around in various parts of the

interior of the body, especially in the intestines, and all the

different ganglia are connected with each other by nerves, thus making

one system. It is the ganglionic system that carries on the circulation

of the blood, the action of the capillaries, lymphatics, arteries, and

veins, together with the work of secretion, absorption, and most of the

internal working of the body, which goes forward without any knowledge

or control of the mind.

Every portion of the body has nerves of sensation coming from the

spine, and also branches of the sympathetic or ganglionic system. The

object of this is to form a sympathetic communication between the

several parts of the body, and also to enable the mind to receive,

through the brain, some general knowledge of the state of the whole

system. It is owing to this that, when one portion of the body is

affected, other portions sympathize. For example, if one part of the

body is diseased, the stomach may so sympathize as to lose all appetite

until the disease is removed.

All the operations of the nervous system are performed by the influence

of the nervous fluid, which is generated in the gray portions of the

brain and ganglia. Whenever a nerve is cut off from its connection

with these nervous centres, its power is gone, and the part to which

it ministered becomes lifeless and incapable of motion.

The brain and nerves can be overworked, and can also suffer for want

of exercise, just as the muscles do. It is necessary for the perfect

health of the brain and nerves that the several portions he exercised

sufficiently, and that no part be exhausted by over-action. For

example, the nerves of sensation may be very much exercised, and the

nerves of motion have but little exercise. In this ease, one will be

weakened by excess of work, and the other by the want of it.

It is found by experience that the proper exercise of the nerves of

motion tends to reduce any extreme susceptibility of the nerves of

sensation. On the contrary, the neglect of such exercise tends to

produce an excessive sensibility in the nerves of sensation.

Whenever that part of the brain which is employed in thinking, feeling,

and willing, is greatly exercised by hard study, or by excessive care

or emotion, the blood tends to the brain to supply it with increased

nourishment, just as it flows to the muscles when they are exercised.

Over-exercise of this portion of the brain causes engorgement of the

blood-vessels. This is sometimes indicated by pain, or by a sense of

fullness in the head; but oftener the result is a debilitating drain

on the nervous system, which depends for its supply on the healthful

state of the brain.

The brain has, as it were, a fountain of supply for the nervous fluid,

which flows to all the nerves, and stimulates them to action. Some

brains have a larger, and some a smaller fountain; so that a degree

of mental activity that would entirely exhaust one, would make only

a small and healthful drain upon another.

The excessive use of certain portions of the brain tends to withdraw

the nervous energy from other portions; so that when one part is

debilitated by excess, another fails by neglect. For example, a person

may so exhaust the brain power in the excessive use of the nerves of

motion by hard work, as to leave little for any other faculty. On the

other hand, the nerves of feeling and thinking may be so used as to

withdraw the nervous fluid from the nerves of motion, and thus

debilitate the muscles.

Some animal propensities may be indulged to such excess as to produce

a constant tendency of the blood to a certain portion of the brain,

and to the organs connected with it, and thus cause a constant and

excessive excitement, which finally becomes a disease. Sometimes a

paralysis of this portion of the brain results from such an entire

exhaustion of the nervous fountain and of the overworked nerves.

Thus, also, the thinking portion of the brain may be so overworked as

to drain the nervous fluid from other portions, which become debilitated

by the loss. And in this way, also, the overworked portion may be

diseased or paralyzed by the excess.

The necessity for the _equal development_ of all portions of the brain

by an appropriate exercise of _all_ the faculties of mind and body, and

the influence of this upon happiness, is the most important portion of

this subject, and will be more directly exhibited in another chapter.

VIII.

DOMESTIC EXERCISE.

In a work which aims to influence women to train the young to honor

domestic labor and to seek healthful exercise in home pursuits, there

is special reason for explaining the construction of the muscles and

their connection with the nerves, these being the chief organs of

motion.

The muscles, as seen by the naked eye, consist of very fine fibres or

strings, bound up in smooth, silky casings of thin membrane. But each

of these visible fibres or strings the microscope shows to be made up

of still finer strings, numbering from five to eight hundred in each

fibre. And each of these microscopic fibres is a series or chain of

elastic cells, which are so minute that one hundred thousand would

scarcely cover a capital O on this page.

[Illustration: Fig. 51.]

[Illustration: Fig. 52.]

The peculiar property of the cells which compose the muscles is their

elasticity, no other cells of the body having this property. At Fig.

51 is a diagram representing a microscopic muscular fibre, in which

the cells are relaxed, as in the natural state of rest. But when the

muscle contracts, each of its numberless cells in all its small fibres

becomes widened, making each fibre of the muscle shorter and thicker,

as at Fig. 52. This explains the cause of the swelling out of muscles

when they act.

Every motion in every part of the body has a special muscle to produce

it, and many have other muscles to restore the part moved to its natural

state. The muscles that move or bend any part are called _flexors_,

and those that restore the natural position are called _extensors_.

[Illustration: Fig. 53]

Fig. 53 represents the muscles of the arm after the skin and flesh are

removed. They are all in smooth silky cases, laid over each other, and

separated both by the smooth membranes that encase them and by layers

of fat, so as to move easily without interfering with each other. They

are fastened to the bones by strong tendons and cartilages; and around

the wrist, in the drawing, is shown a band of cartilage to confine

them in place. The muscle marked 8 is the extensor that straightens

the fingers after they have been closed by a flexor the other side of

the arm. In like manner, each motion of the arm and fingers has one

muscle to produce it and another to restore to the natural position.

The muscles are dependent on the brain and nerves for power to move.

It has been shown that the gray matter of the brain and spinal marrow

furnishes the stimulating power that moves the muscles, and causes

sensations of touch on the skin, and the other sensations of the several

senses. The white part of the brain and spinal marrow consists solely

of conducting tubes to transmit this influence. Each of the minute

fibrils of the muscles has a small conducting nerve connecting it with

the brain or spinal marrow, and in this respect each muscular fibril

is separate from every other.

When, therefore, the mind wills to move a flexor muscle of the arm,

the gray matter sends out the stimulus through the nerves to the cells

of each individual fibre of that muscle, and they contract. When this

is done, the nerve of sensation reports it to the brain and mind. If

the mind desires to return the arm to its former position, then follows

the willing, and consequent stimulus sent through the nerves to the

corresponding muscle; its cells contract, and the limb is restored.

When the motion is a compound one, involving the action of several

muscles at the same time, a multitude of impressions are sent back and

forth to and from the brain through the nerves. But the person acting

thus is unconscious of all this delicate and wonderful mechanism. He

wills the movement, and instantly the requisite nervous power is sent

to the required cells and fibres, and they perform the motions required.

Many of the muscles are moved by the sympathetic system, over which

the mind has but little control.

Among the muscles and nerves so intimately connected, run the minute

capillaries of the blood, which furnish nourishment to all.

[Illustration: Fig. 54]

Fig. 54 represents an artery a _a_, which brings pure blood to a muscle

from the heart. After meandering through the capillaries at _c_, to

distribute oxygen and food from the stomach, the blood enters the vein,

_b_, loaded with carbonic acid and water taken up in the capillaries, to

be carried to the lungs or skin, and thrown out into the air.

The manner in which the exercise of the muscles quickens the circulation

of the blood will now be explained. The veins abound in every part of

every muscle, and the large veins have _valves_ which prevent the

blood from flowing backward. If the wrist is grasped tightly, the veins

of the hand are immediately swollen. This is owing to the fact that

the blood is prevented from flowing toward the heart by this pressure,

and by the vein-valves from returning into the arteries; while the

arteries themselves, being placed deeper down, are not so compressed,

and continue to send the blood into the hand, and thus it accumulates.

As soon as this pressure is removed, the blood springs onward from the

restraint with accelerated motion. This same process takes place when

any of the muscles are exercised. The contraction of any muscle presses

some of the veins, so that the blood can not flow the natural way,

while the valves in the veins prevent its flowing backward. Meantime

the arteries continue to press the blood along until the veins become

swollen. Then, as soon as the muscle ceases its contraction, the blood

flows faster from the previous accumulation.

If, then, we use a number of muscles, and use them strongly and quickly,

there are so many veins affected in this way as to quicken the whole

circulation. The heart receives blood faster, and sends it to the lungs

faster. Then the lungs work quicker, to furnish the oxygen required

by the greater amount of blood. The blood returns with greater speed

to the heart, and the heart sends it out with quicker action through

the arteries to the capillaries. In the capillaries, too, the decayed

matter is carried off faster, and then the stomach calls for more food

to furnish new and pure blood. Thus it is that exercise gives new life

and nourishment to every part of the body.

It is the universal law of the human frame that _exercise_ is

indispensable to the health of the several parts. Thus, if a

blood-vessel be tied up, so as not to be used, it shrinks, and becomes

a useless string; if a muscle be condemned to inaction, it shrinks in

size and diminishes in power; and thus it is also with the bones.

Inactivity produces softness, debility, and unfitness for the functions

they are designed to perform.

Now, the nerves, like all other parts of the body, gain and lose

strength according as they are exercised. If they have too much or too

little exercise, they lose strength; if they are exercised to a proper

degree, they gain strength. When the mind is continuously excited, by

business, study, or the imagination, the nerves of emotion and sensation

are kept in constant action, while the nerves of motion are unemployed.

If this is continued for a long time, the nerves of sensation lose

their strength from over-action, and the nerves of motion lose their

power from inactivity. In consequence, there is a morbid excitability

of the nervous, and a debility of the muscular system, which make all

exertion irksome and wearisome.

The only mode of preserving the health of these systems is to keep up

in them an equilibrium of action. For this purpose, occupations must

be sought which exercise the muscles and interest the mind; and thus

the equal action of both kinds of nerves is secured. This shows why

exercise is so much more healthful and invigorating when the mind is

interested, than when it is not. As an illustration, let a person go

shopping with a friend, and have nothing to do but look on. How soon

do the continuous walking and standing weary! But, suppose one, thus

wearied, hears of the arrival of a very dear friend: she can instantly

walk off a mile or two to meet her, without the least feeling of

fatigue. By this is shown the importance of furnishing, for young

persons, exercise in which they will take an interest. Long and formal

walks, merely for exercise, though they do some good, in securing fresh

air, and some exercise of the muscles, would be of triple benefit if

changed to amusing sports, or to the cultivation of fruits and flowers,

in which it is impossible to engage without acquiring a great interest.

It shows, also, why it is far better to trust to useful domestic

exercise at home than to send a young person out to walk for the mere

purpose of exercise. Young girls can seldom be made to realize the

value of health, and the need of exercise to secure it, so as to feel

much interest in walking abroad, when they have no other object. But,

if they are brought up to minister to the comfort and enjoyment of

themselves and others, by performing domestic duties, they will

constantly be interested and cheered in their exercise by the feeling

of usefulness and the consciousness of having performed their duty.

There are few young persons, it is hoped, who are brought up with such

miserable habits of selfishness and indolence that they can not be

made to feel happier by the consciousness of being usefully employed.

And those who have never been accustomed to think or care for any one

but themselves, and who seem to feel little pleasure in making

themselves useful, by wise and proper influences can often be gradually

awakened to the new pleasure of benevolent exertion to promote the

comfort and enjoyment of others. And the more this sacred and elevating

kind of enjoyment is tasted, the greater is the relish induced. Other

enjoyments often cloy; but the heavenly pleasure secured by virtuous

industry and benevolence, while it satisfies at the time, awakens fresh

desires for the continuance of so ennobling a good.

IX.

HEALTHFUL FOOD.

The person who decides what shall be the food and drink of a family,

and the modes of its preparation, is the one who decides, to a greater

or less extent, what shall be the health of that family. It is the

opinion of most medical men, that intemperance in eating is one of the

most fruitful of all causes of disease and death. If this be so, the

woman who wisely adapts the food and cooking of her family to the laws

of health removes one of the greatest risks which threatens the lives

of those under her care. But, unfortunately, there is no other duty

that has been involved in more doubt and perplexity. Were one to believe

all that is said and written on this subject, the conclusion probably

would be, that there is not one solitary article of food on God's earth

which it is healthful to eat. Happily, however, there are general

principles on this subject which, if understood and applied, will prove

a safe guide to any woman of common sense; and it is the object of the

following chapter to set forth these principles.

All material things on earth, whether solid, liquid, or gaseous, can

be resolved into sixty-two simple substances, only fourteen of which

are in the human body; and these, in certain proportions, in all

mankind.

Thus, in a man weighing 154 lbs. are found, 111 lbs. oxygen gas, and

14 lbs. hydrogen gas, which, united, form water; 21 lbs. carbon; 3

lbs. 8 oz. nitrogen gas; 1 lb. 12 oz. 190 grs. phosphorus; 2 lbs.

calcium, the chief ingredient of bones; 2 oz. fluorine; 2 oz. 219 grs.

sulphur; 2 oz 47 grs. chlorine; 2 oz. 116 grs. sodium; 100 grs. iron;

290 grs. potassium; 12 grs. magnesium; and 2 grs. silicon.

These simple substances are constantly passing out of the body through

the lungs, skin, and other excreting organs.

It is found that certain of these simple elements are used for one

part of the body, and others for other parts, and this in certain

regular proportions. Thus, carbon is the chief element of fat, and

also supplies the fuel that combines with oxygen in the capillaries

to produce animal heat. The nitrogen which we gain from our food and

the air is the chief element of muscle; phosphorus is the chief element

of brain and nerves; and calcium or lime is the hard portion of the

bones. Iron is an important element of blood, and silicon supplies the

hardest parts of the teeth, nails, and hair.

Water, which is composed of the two gases, oxygen and hydrogen, is the

largest portion of the body, forming its fluids; there is four times

as much of carbon as there is of nitrogen in the body; while there is

only two per cent as much phosphorus as carbon. A man weighing one

hundred and fifty-four pounds, who leads an active life, takes into

his stomach daily from two to three pounds of solid food, and from

five to six pounds of liquid. At the same time he takes into his lungs,

daily, four or five thousand gallons of air. This amounts to three

thousand pounds of nutriment received through stomach and lungs, and

then expelled from the body, in one year; or about twenty times the

man's own weight.

The change goes on in every minute point of the body, though in some

parts much faster than in others; as set forth in the piquant and

sprightly language of Dr. O. W. Holmes [Footnote: Atlantic Almanac,

1869, p. 40.], who, giving a vivid picture of the constant decay and

renewal of the body, says:

"_Every organized being always lives immersed in a strong solution

of its own elements._"

"Sometimes, as in the case of the air-plant, the solution contains all

its elements; but in higher plants, and in animals generally, some of

the principal ones only. Take our own bodies, and we find the atmosphere

contains the oxygen and the nitrogen, of which we are so largely made

up, as its chief constituents; the hydrogen, also, in its watery vapor;

the carbon, in its carbonic acid. What our air-bath does not furnish

us, we must take in the form of nourishment, supplied through the

digestive organs. But the first food we take, after we have set up for

ourselves, is air, and the last food we take is air also. We are all

chameleons in our diet, as we are all salamanders in our _habitats_,

inasmuch as we live always in the fire of our own smouldering

combustion; a gentle but constant flame, fanned every day by the same

forty hogsheads of air which furnish us not with our daily bread, which

we can live more than a day without touching, but with our momentary,

and oftener than momentary, aliment, without which we can not live five

minutes."

"We are perishing and being born again at every instant. We do literally

enter over and over again into the womb of that great mother, from

whom we get our bones, and flesh, and blood, and marrow. 'I die daily'

is true of all that live. If we cease to die, particle by particle,

and to be born anew in the same proportion, the whole movement of life

comes to an end, and swift, universal, irreparable decay resolves

our frames into the parent elements."

"The products of the internal fire which consumes us over and over

again every year, pass off mainly in smoke and steam from the lungs

and the skin. The smoke is only invisible, because the combustion is

so perfect. The steam is plain enough in our breaths on a frosty

morning; and an over-driven horse will show us, on a larger scale, the

cloud that is always arising from own bodies."

"Man walks, then, not only in a vain show, but wrapped in an uncelestial

aureole of his own material exhalations. A great mist of gases and of

vapor rises day and night from the whole realm of living nature. The

water and the carbonic acid which animals exhale become the food of

plants, whose leaves are at once lungs and mouths. The vegetable world

reverses the breathing process of the animal creation, restoring the

elements which that has combined and rendered effete for its own

purposes, to their original condition. The salt-water ocean is a great

aquarium. The air ocean in which we live is a 'Wardian case,' of larger

dimensions."

It is found that the simple elements will not nourish the body in their

natural state, but only when organized, either as vegetable or animal

food; and, to the dismay of the Grahamite or vegetarian school, it is

now established by chemists that animal and vegetable food contain the

same elements, and in nearly the same proportions.

Thus, in animal food, carbon predominates in fats, while in vegetable

food it shows itself in sugar, starch, and vegetable oils. Nitrogen

is found in animal food in the albumen, fibrin, and caseine; while in

vegetables it is in gluten, albumen, and caseine.

[Illustration: Fig. 55]

It is also a curious fact that, in all articles of food, the elements

that nourish diverse parts of the body are divided into separable

portions, and also that the proportions correspond in a great degree

to the wants of the body. For example, a kernel of wheat contains all

the articles demanded for every part of the body. Fig. 55 represents,

upon an enlarged scale, the position and proportions of the chief

elements required. The white central part is the largest in quantity,

and is chiefly carbon in the form of starch, which supplies fat and

fuel for the capillaries. The shaded outer portion is chiefly nitrogen,

which nourishes the muscles, and the dark spot at the bottom is

principally phosphorus, which nourishes the brain and nerves. And these

elements are in due proportion to the demands of the body. A portion

of the outer covering of a wheat-kernel holds lime, silica, and iron,

which are needed by the body, and which are found in no other part of

the grain. The woody fibre is not digested, but serves by its bulk and

stimulating action to facilitate digestion. It is therefore evident

that bread made of unbolted flour is more healthful than that made of

superfine flour. The process of bolting removes all the woody fibre;

the lime needed for the bones; the silica for hair, nails, and teeth;

the iron for the blood; and most of the nitrogen and phosphorus needed

for muscles, brain, and nerves.

Experiments on animals prove that fine flour alone, which is chiefly

carbon, will not sustain life more than a month, while unbolted flour

furnishes all that is needed for every part of the body. There are

cases where persons can not use such coarse bread, on account of its

irritating action on inflamed coats of the stomach. For such, a kind

of wheaten grit is provided, containing all the kernel of the wheat,

except the outside woody fibre.

When the body requires a given kind of diet, specially demanded by

brain, lungs, or muscles, the appetite will crave food for it until

the necessary amount of this article is secured. If, then, the food

in which the needed aliment abounds is not supplied, other food will

be taken in larger quantities than needed until that amount is gained.

For all kinds of food have supplies for every want of the body, though

in different proportions. Thus, for example, if the muscles are worked

a great deal, food in which nitrogen abounds is required, and the

appetite will continue until the requisite amount of nitrogen is

secured. If, then, food is taken which has not the requisite quantity,

the consequence is, that more is taken than the system can use, while

the vital powers are needlessly taxed to throw off the excess.

These facts were ascertained by Liebig, a celebrated German chemist

and physicist, who, assisted by his government, conducted experiments

on a large scale in prisons, in armies, and in hospitals. Among other

results, he states that those who use potatoes for their principal

food eat them in very much larger quantities than their bodies would

demand if they used also other food. The reason is, that the potato

has a very large proportion of starch that supplies only fuel for the

capillaries and very little nitrogen to feed the muscles. For this

reason lean meat is needed with potatoes.

In comparing wheat and potatoes we find that in one hundred parts wheat

there are fourteen parts nitrogen for muscle, and two parts phosphorus

for brain and nerves. But in the potato there is only one part in one

hundred for muscle, and nine tenths of one part of phosphorus for brain

and nerves.

The articles containing most of the three articles needed generally

in the body are as follows: for fat and heat-making--butter, lard,

sugar, and molasses; for muscle-making--lean meat, cheese, peas, beans,

and lean fishes; for brain and nerves--shell-fish, lean meats, peas,

beans, and very active birds and fishes who live chiefly on food in

which phosphorus abounds. In a meat diet, the fat supplies carbon for

the capillaries and the lean furnishes nutriment for muscle, brain,

and nerves. Green vegetables, fruits, and berries furnish the acid and

water needed.

In grains used for food, the proportions of useful elements are varied;

there is in some more of carbon and in others more of nitrogen and

phosphorus. For example, in oats there is more of nitrogen for the

muscles, and less carbon for the lungs, than can be found in wheat.

In the corn of the North, where cold weather demands fuel for lungs

and capillaries, there is much more carbon to supply it than is found

in the Southern corn.

From these statements it may be seen that one of the chief mistakes

in providing food for families has been in changing the proportions

of the elements nature has fitted for our food. Thus, fine wheat is

deprived by bolting of some of the most important of its nourishing

elements, leaving carbon chiefly, which, after supplying fuel fur the

capillaries, must, if in excess, be sent out of the body; thus

needlessly taxing all the excreting organs. So milk, which contains

all the elements needed by the body, has the cream taken out and used

for butter, which again is chiefly carbon. Then, sugar and molasses,

cakes and candies, are chiefly carbon, and supply but very little of

other nourishing elements, while to make them safe much exercise in

cold and pure air is necessary. And yet it is the children of the rich,

housed in chambers and school-rooms most of their time, who are fed

with these dangerous dainties, thus weakening their constitutions, and

inducing fevers, colds, and many other diseases. The proper digestion

of food depends on the wants of the body, and on its power of

appropriating the aliment supplied. The best of food can not be properly

digested when it is not needed. All that the system requires will be

used, and the rest will be thrown out by the several excreting organs,

which thus are frequently over-taxed, and vital forces are wasted.

Even food of poor quality may digest well if the demands of the system

are urgent. The way to increase digestive power is to increase the

demand for food by pure air and exercise of the muscles, quickening

the blood, and arousing the whole system to a more rapid and vigorous

rate of life.

Rules for persons in full health, who enjoy pure air and exercise, are

not suitable for those whose digestive powers are feeble, or who are

diseased. On the other hand, many rules for invalids are not needed

by the healthful, while rules for one class of invalids will not avail

for other classes. Every weak stomach has its peculiar wants, and can

not furnish guidance for others.

We are now ready to consider intelligently the following general

principles in regard to the proper selection of food:

Vegetable and animal food are equally healthful if apportioned to the

given circumstances.

In cold weather, carbonaceous food, such as butter, fats, sugar,

molasses, etc., can be used more safely than in warm weather. And they

can be used more safely by those who exercise in the open air than by

those of confined and sedentary habits.

Students who need food with little carbon, and women who live in the

house, should always seek coarse bread, fruits, and lean meats, and

avoid butter, oils, sugar, and molasses, and articles containing them.

Many students and women using little exercise in the open air, grow

thin and weak, because the vital powers are exhausted in throwing off

excess of food, especially of the carbonaceous. The liver is especially

taxed in such cases, being unable to remove all the excess of

carbonaceous matter from, the blood, and thus "biliousness" ensues,

particularly on the approach of warm weather, when the air brings less

oxygen than in cold.

It is found, by experiment, that the supply of gastric juice, furnished

from the blood by the arteries of the stomach, is proportioned, not

to the amount of food put into the stomach, but to the wants of the

body; so that it is possible to put much more into the stomach than

can be digested. To guide and regulate in this matter, the sensation

called _hunger_ is provided. In a healthy state of the body, as

soon as the blood has lost its nutritive supplies, the craving of

hunger is felt, and then, if the food is suitable, and is taken in the

proper manner, this sensation ceases as soon as the stomach has received

enough to supply the wants of the system. But our benevolent Creator,

in this, as in our other duties, has connected enjoyment with the

operation needful to sustain our bodies. In addition to the allaying

of hunger, the gratification of the palate is secured by the immense

variety of food, some articles of which are far more agreeable than

others.

This arrangement of Providence, designed for our happiness, has become,

either through ignorance, or want of self-control, the chief cause of

the many diseases and suffering which afflict those classes who have

the means of seeking a variety to gratify the palate. If mankind had

only one article of food, and only water to drink, though they would

have less enjoyment in eating, they would never be tempted to put any

more into the stomach than the calls of hunger require. But the customs

of society, which present an incessant change, and a great variety of

food, with those various condiments which stimulate appetite, lead

almost every person very frequently to eat merely to gratify the palate,

after the stomach has been abundantly supplied, so that hunger has

ceased.

When too great a supply of food is put into the stomach, the gastric

juice dissolves only that portion which the wants of the system demand.

Most of the remainder is ejected, in an unprepared state; the absorbents

take portions of it into the system; and all the various functions of

the body, which depend on the ministries of the blood, are thus

gradually and imperceptibly injured. Very often, intemperance in eating

produces immediate results, such as colic, headaches, pains of

indigestion, and vertigo.

But the more general result is a gradual undermining of all parts of

the human frame; this imperceptibly shortening life, by so weakening

the constitution, that it is ready to yield, at every point, to any

uncommon risk or exposure. Thousands and thousands are parsing out of

the world, from diseases occasioned by exposures which a healthy

constitution could meet without any danger. It is owing to these

considerations, that it becomes the duty of every woman, who has the

responsibility of providing food for a family, to avoid a variety of

tempting dishes. It is a much safer rule, to have only one kind of

healthy food, for each meal, than the too abundant variety which is

often met at the tables of almost all classes in this country. When

there is to be any variety of dishes, they ought not to be successive,

but so arranged as to give the opportunity of selection. How often is

it the case, that persons, by the appearance of a favorite article,

are tempted to eat merely to gratify the palate, when the stomach is

already adequately supplied. All such intemperance wears on the

constitution, and shortens life. It not infrequently happens that

excess in eating produces a morbid appetite, which must constantly be

denied.

But the organization of the digestive organs demands, not only that

food should be taken in proper quantities, but that it be taken at

proper times.

[Illustration: Fig. 56.]

Fig. 56 shows one important feature of the digestive organs relating

to this point. The part marked LM shows the muscles of the inner coat

of the stomach, which run in one direction, and CM shows the muscles

of the outer coat, running in another direction.

As soon as the food enters the stomach, the muscles are excited by the

nerves, and the _peristaltic motion_ commences. This is a powerful

and constant exercise of the muscles of the stomach, which continues

until the process of digestion is complete. During this time the blood

is withdrawn from other parts of the system, to supply the demands of

the stomach, which is laboring hard with all its muscles. When this

motion ceases, and the digested food has gradually passed out, nature

requires that the stomach should have a period of repose. And if another

meal be eaten immediately after one is digested, the stomach is set

to work again before it has had time to rest, and before a sufficient

supply of gastric juice is provided.

The general rule, then, is, that three hours be given to the stomach

for labor, and two for rest; and in obedience to this, five hours, at

least, ought to elapse between every two regular meals. In cases where

exercise produces a flow of perspiration, more food is needed to supply

the loss; and strong laboring men may safely eat as often as they feel

the want of food. So, young and healthy children, who gambol and

exercise ranch and whose bodies grow fast, may have a more frequent

supply of food. But, as a general rule, meals should be five hours

apart, and eating between meals avoided. There is nothing more unsafe,

and wearing to the constitution, than a habit of eating at any time

merely to gratify the palate. When a tempting article is presented,

every person should exercise sufficient self-denial to wait till the

proper time for eating arrives. Children, as well as grown persons,

are often injured by eating between their regular meals, thus weakening

the stomach by not affording it any time for rest.

In deciding as to _quantity_ of food, there is one great difficulty

to be met by a large portion of the community. The exercise of every

part of the body is necessary to its health and perfection. The bones,

the muscles, the nerves, the organs of digestion and respiration, and

the skin, all demand exercise, in order properly to perform their

functions. When the muscles of the body are called into action, all

the blood-vessels entwined among them are frequently compressed. As

the veins have valves so contrived that the blood can not run back,

this compression hastens it forward toward the heart; which is

immediately put in quicker motion, to send it into the lungs; and they,

also, are thus stimulated to more rapid action, which is the cause of

that panting which active exercise always occasions. The blood thus

courses with greater celerity through the body, and sooner loses its

nourishing properties. Then the stomach issues its mandate of hunger,

and a new supply of food must be furnished.

Thus it appears, as a general rule, that the quantity of food actually

needed by the body depends on the amount of muscular exercise taken.

A laboring man, in the open fields, probably throws off from his skin

and lungs a much larger amount than a person of sedentary pursuits.

In consequence of this, he demands a greater amount of food and drink.

Those persons who keep their bodies in a state of health by sufficient

exercise can always be guided by the calls of hunger. They can eat

when they feel hungry, and stop when hunger ceases; and thus they will

calculate exactly right. But the difficulty is, that a large part of

the community, especially women, are so inactive in their habits that

they seldom feel the calls of hunger. They habitually eat, merely to

gratify the palate. This produces such a state of the system that they

lose the guide which Nature has provided. They are not called to eat

by hunger, nor admonished, by its cessation, when to stop. In

consequence of this, such persons eat what pleases the palate, till

they feel no more inclination for the article. It is probable that

three fourths of the women in the wealthier circles sit down to each

meal without any feeling of hunger, and eat merely on account of the

gratification thus afforded them. Such persons find their appetite to

depend almost solely upon the kind of food on the table. This is not

the case with those who take the exercise which Nature demands. They

approach their meals in such a state that almost any kind of food is

acceptable.

The question then arises, How are persons, who have lost the guide

which Nature has provided, to determine as to the proper amount of

food they shall take?

The best method is for several days to take their ordinary exercise

and eat only one or two articles of simple food, such as bread and

milk, or bread and butter with cooked fruit, or lean meat with bread

and vegetables, and at the same time eat less than the appetite demands.

Then on the following two days, take just enough to satisfy the

appetite, and on the third day notice the quantity which satisfies.

After this, decide before eating that only this amount of simple food

shall be taken.

Persons who have a strong constitution, and take much exercise, may

eat almost any thing with apparent impunity; but young children who

are forming their constitutions, and persons who are delicate, and who

take but little exercise, are very dependent for health on a proper

selection of food.

It is found that there are some kinds of food which afford nutriment

to the blood, and do not produce any other effect on the system. There

are other kinds, which are not only nourishing, but _stimulating_,

so that they quicken the functions of the organs on which they operate.

The condiments used in cookery, such as pepper, mustard, and spices,

are of this nature. There are certain states of the system when these

stimulants may be beneficial; such cases can only be pointed out by

medical men.

Persons in perfect health, and especially young children, never receive

any benefit from such kind of food; and just in proportion as condiments

operate to quicken the labors of the internal organs, they tend to

wear down their powers. A person who thus keeps the body working under

an unnatural excitement, _live faster_ than Nature designed, and

the constitution is worn out just so much the sooner. A woman,

therefore, should provide dishes for her family which are free from

these stimulating condiments.

It is also found, by experience, that the lean part of animal food is

more stimulating than vegetable. This is the reason why, in cases of

fevers or inflammations, medical men forbid the use of meat. A person

who lives chiefly on animal food is under a higher degree of stimulus

than if his food was chiefly composed of vegetable substances. His

blood will flow faster, and all the functions of his body will be

quickened. This makes it important to secure a proper proportion of

animal and vegetable diet. Some medical men suppose that an exclusively

vegetable diet is proved, by the experience of many individuals, to

be fully sufficient to nourish the body; and bring, as evidence, the

fact that some of the strongest and most robust men in the world are

those who are trained, from infancy, exclusively on vegetable food.

From this they infer that life will be shortened just in proportion

as the diet is changed to more stimulating articles; and that, all

other things being equal, children will have a better chance of health

and long life if they are brought up solely on vegetable food.

But, though this is not the common opinion of medical men, they all

agree that, in America, far too large a portion of the diet consists

of animal food. As a nation, the Americans are proverbial for the gross

and luxurious diet with which they load their tables; and there can

be no doubt that the general health of the nation would be increased

by a change in our customs in this respect. To take meat but once a

day, and this in small quantities, compared with the common practice,

is a rule, the observance of which would probably greatly reduce the

amount of fevers, eruptions, headaches, bilious attacks, and the many

other ailments which are produced or aggravated by too gross a diet.

The celebrated Roman physician, Baglivi, (who, from practicing

extensively among Roman Catholics, had ample opportunities to observe,)

mentions that, in Italy, an unusual number of people recover their

health in the forty days of Lent, in consequence of the lower diet

which is required as a religious duty. An American physician remarks,

"For every reeling drunkard that disgraces our country, it contains

one hundred gluttons--persons, I mean, who eat to excess, and suffer

in consequence." Another distinguished physician says, "I believe that

every stomach, not actually impaired by organic disease, will perform

its functions, if it receives reasonable attention; and when we perceive

the manner in which diet is generally conducted, both in regard to

_quantity_ and _variety_ of articles of food and drink, which are mixed

up in one heterogeneous mass--instead of being astonished at the

prevalence of indigestion, our wonder must rather be that, in such

circumstances, any stomach is capable of digesting at all."

In regard to articles which are the most easily digested, only general

rules can be given. Tender meats are digested more readily than those

which are tough, or than many kinds of vegetable food. The farinaceous

articles, such as rice, flour, corn, potatoes, and the like, are the

most nutritious, and most easily digested. The popular notion, that

meat is more nourishing than bread, is a great mistake. Good bread

contains more nourishment than butcher's meat. The meat is more

_stimulating_, and for this reason is more readily digested.

A perfectly healthy stomach can digest almost any healthful food; but

when the digestive powers are weak, every stomach has its peculiarities,

and what is good for one is hurtful to another. In such cases,

experiment alone can decide which are the most digestible articles of

food. A person whose food troubles him must deduct one article after

another, till he learns, by experience, which is the best for digestion.

Much evil has been done, by assuming that the powers of one stomach

are to be made the rule in regulating every other.

The most unhealthful kinds of food are those which, are made so by bad

cooking; such as sour and heavy bread, cakes, pie-crust, and other

dishes consisting of fat mixed and cooked with flour. Rancid butter

and high-seasoned food are equally unwholesome. The fewer mixtures

there are in cooking, the more healthful is the food likely to be.

There is one caution as to the _mode_ of eating which seems peculiarly

needful to Americans. It is indispensable to good digestion, that food

be well chewed and taken slowly. It needs to be thoroughly chewed and

mixed with saliva, in order to prepare it for the action of the gastric

juice, which, by the peristaltic motion, will be thus brought into

contact with every one of the minute portions.

It has been found that a solid lump of food requires much more time

and labor of the stomach for digestion than divided substances. It has

also been found, that as each bolus, or mouthful, enters the stomach,

the latter closes, until the portion received has had some time to

move around and combine with the gastric juice, and that the orifice

of the stomach resists the entrance of any more till this is

accomplished. But, if the eater persists in swallowing fast, the stomach

yields; the food is then poured in more rapidly than the organ can

perform its duty of preparative digestion; and evil results are sooner

or later developed. This exhibits the folly of those hasty meals, so

common to travelers and to men of business, and shows why children

should be taught to eat slowly.

After taking a full meal, it is very important to health that no great

bodily or mental exertion be made till the labor of the stomach is

over. Intense mental effort draws the blood to the head, and muscular

exertions draw it to the muscles; and in consequence of this, the

stomach loses the supply which it requires when performing its office.

When the blood with its stimulating effects is thus withdrawn from the

stomach, the adequate supply of gastric juice is not afforded, and

indigestion is the result. The heaviness which follows a full meal is

the indication which Nature gives of the need of quiet. When the meal

is moderate, a sufficient quantity of gastric juice is exuded in an

hour, or an hour and a half; after which, labor of body and mind may

safely be resumed.

When undigested food remains in the stomach, and is at last thrown out

into the bowels, it proves an irritating substance, producing an

inflamed state in the lining of the stomach and other organs.

It is found that the stomach has the power of gradually accommodating

indigestive powers to the food it habitually receives. Thus, animals

which live on vegetables can gradually become accustomed to animal

food; and the reverse is equally true. Thus, too, the human stomach

can eventually accomplish the digestion of some kinds of food, which,

at first, were indigestible.

But any changes of this sort should be gradual; as those which are

sudden are trying to the powers of the stomach, by furnishing matter

for which its gastric juice is not prepared.

Extremes of heat or cold are injurious to the process of digestion.

Taking hot food or drink, habitually, tends to debilitate all the

organs thus needlessly excited. In using cold substances, it is found

that a certain degree of warmth in the stomach is indispensable to

their digestion; so that, when the gastric juice is cooled below this

temperature, it ceases to act. Indulging in large quantities of cold

drinks, or eating ice-creams, after a meal, tends to reduce the

temperature of the stomach, and thus to stop digestion. This shows the

folly of those refreshments, in convivial meetings, where the guests

are tempted to load the stomach with a variety such as would require

the stomach of a stout farmer to digest; and then to wind up with ice-

creams, thus lessening whatever ability might otherwise have existed

to digest the heavy load. The fittest temperature for drinks, if taken

when the food is in the digesting process, is blood heat. Cool drinks,

and even ice, can be safely taken at other times, if not in excessive

quantity. When the thirst is excessive, or the body weakened by fatigue,

or when in a state of perspiration, large quantities of cold drinks

are injurious.

Fluids taken into the stomach are not subject to the slow process of

digestion, but are immediately absorbed and carried into the blood.

This is the reason why liquid nourishment, more speedily than solid

food, restores from exhaustion. The minute vessels of the stomach

absorb its fluids, which are carried into the blood, just as the minute

extremities of the arteries open upon the inner surface of the stomach,

and there exude the gastric juice from the blood.

When food is chiefly liquid, (soup, for example,) the fluid part is

rapidly absorbed. The solid parts remain, to be acted on by the gastric

juice. In the case of St. Martin, [Footnote: The individual here

referred to--Alexis St. Martin--was a young Canadian, eighteen years

of age, of a good constitution and robust health, who, in 1822, was

accidentally wounded by the discharge of a musket which: carried away

a part of the ribs, lacerated one of two lobes of the lungs, and

perforated the stomach, making a large aperture, which never closed;

and which enabled Dr. Beaumont (a surgeon of the American army,

stationed at Michilimackanac, under whose care the patient was placed)

to witness all the processes of digestion and other functions of the

body for several years.] in fifty minutes after taking soup, the fluids

were absorbed, and the remainder was even thicker than is usual after

eating solid food. This is the reason why soups are deemed bad for

weak stomachs; as this residuum is more difficult of digestion than

ordinary food.

Highly-concentrated food, having much nourishment in a small bulk, is

not favorable to digestion, because it can not be properly acted on

by the muscular contractions of the stomach, and is not so minutely

divided as to enable the gastric juice to act properly. This is the

reason why a certain _bulk_ of food is needful to good digestion;

and why those people who live on whale-oil and other highly nourishing

food, in cold climates, mix vegetables and even sawdust with it to

make it more acceptable and digestible. So in civilized lands, fruits

and vegetables are mixed with more highly concentrated nourishment.

For this reason also, soups, jellies, and arrow-root should have bread

or crackers mixed with them. This affords another reason why coarse

bread, of unbolted wheat, so often proves beneficial. Where, from

inactive habits or other causes, the bowels become constipated and

sluggish, this kind of food proves the appropriate remedy.

One fact on this subject is worthy of notice. In England, under the

administration of William Pitt, for two years or more there was such

a scarcity of wheat that, to make it hold out longer, Parliament passed

a law that the army should have all their bread made of unbolted flour.

The result was, that the health of the soldiers improved so much as

to be a subject of surprise to themselves, the officers, and the

physicians. These last came out publicly and declared that the soldiers

never before were so robust and healthy; and that disease had nearly

disappeared from the army. The civic physicians joined and pronounced

it the healthiest bread; and for a time schools, families, and public

institutions used it almost exclusively. Even the nobility, convinced

by these facts, adopted it for their common diet, and the fashion

continued a long time after the scarcity ceased, until more luxurious

habits resumed their sway.

We thus see why children should not have cakes and candies allowed

them between meals. Besides being largely carbonaceous, these are

highly concentrated nourishments, and should be eaten with more bulky

and less nourishing substances. The most indigestible of all kinds of

food are fatty and oily substances, if heated. It is on this account

that pie-crust and articles boiled and fried in fat or butter are

deemed not so healthful as other food.

The following, then, may be put down as the causes of a debilitated

constitution from the misuse of food. Eating _too much,_ eating _too

often,_ eating _too fast,_ eating food and condiments that are _too

stimulating,_ eating food that is _too warm_ or _too cold,_ eating food

that is _highly concentrated,_ without a proper admixture of less

nourishing matter, and eating hot food that is _difficult of digestion._

X.

HEALTHFUL DRINKS.

There is no direction in which a woman more needs both scientific

knowledge and moral force than in using her influence to control her

family in regard to stimulating beverages.

It is a point fully established by experience that the full development

of the human body and the vigorous exercise of all its functions can

be secured without the use of stimulating drinks. It is, therefore,

perfectly safe to bring up children never to use them, no hazard being

incurred by such a course.

It is also found by experience that there are two evils incurred by

the use of stimulating drinks. The first is, their positive effect on

the human system. Their peculiarity consists in so exciting the nervous

system that all the functions of the body are accelerated, and the

fluids are caused to move quicker than at their natural speed. This

increased motion of the animal fluids always produces an agreeable

effect on the mind. The intellect is invigorated, the imagination is

excited, the spirits are enlivened; and these effects are so agreeable

that all mankind, after having once experienced them, feel a great

desire for their repetition.

But this temporary invigoration of the system is always followed by

a diminution of the powers of the stimulated organs; so that, though

in all cases this reaction may not be perceptible, it is invariably

the result. It may be set down as the unchangeable rule of physiology,

that stimulating drinks deduct from the powers of the constitution in

exactly the proportion in which they operate to produce temporary

invigoration.

The second evil is the temptation which always attends the use of

stimulants. Their effect on the system is so agreeable, and the evils

resulting are so imperceptible and distant, that there is a constant

tendency to increase such excitement both in frequency and power. And

the more the system is thus reduced in strength, the more craving is

the desire for that which imparts a temporary invigoration. This process

of increasing debility and increasing craving for the stimulus that

removes it, often goes to such an extreme that the passion is perfectly

uncontrollable, and mind and body perish under this baleful habit.

In this country there are three forms in which the use of such

stimulants is common; namely, _alcoholic drinks, opium mixtures_, and

_tobacco_. These are all alike in the main peculiarity of imparting that

extra stimulus to the system which tends to exhaust its powers.

Multitudes in this nation are in the habitual use of some one of these

stimulants; and each person defends the indulgence by certain arguments:

First, that the desire for stimulants is a natural propensity implanted

in man's nature, as is manifest from the universal tendency to such

indulgences in every nation. From this, it is inferred that it is an

innocent desire, which ought to be gratified to some extent, and that

the aim should be to keep it within the limits of temperance, instead

of attempting to exterminate a natural propensity.

This is an argument which, if true, makes it equally proper for not

only men, but women and children, to use opium, brandy, or tobacco as

stimulating principles, provided they are used temperately. But if it

be granted that perfect health and strength can be gained and secured

without these stimulants, and that their peculiar effect is to diminish

the power of the system in exactly the same proportion as they stimulate

it, then there is no such thing as a temperate use, unless they are

so diluted as to destroy any stimulating power; and in this form they

are seldom desired.

The other argument for their use is, that they are among the good

things provided by the Creator for our gratification; that, like all

other blessings, they are exposed to abuse and excess; and that we

should rather seek to regulate their use than to banish them entirely.

This argument is based on the assumption that they are, like healthful

foods and drinks, necessary to life and health, and injurious only by

excess. But this is not true; for whenever they are used in any such

strength as to be a gratification, they operate to a greater or less

extent as stimulants; and to just such extent they wear out the powers

of the constitution; and it is abundantly proved that they are not,

like food and drink, necessary to health. Such articles are designed

for medicine and not for common use. There can be no argument framed

to defend the use of one of them which will not justify women and

children in most dangerous indulgences.

There are some facts recently revealed by the microscope in regard to

alcoholic drinks, which every woman should understand and regard. It

has been shown in a previous chapter that every act of mind, either

by thought, feeling, or choice, causes the destruction of certain cells

in the brain and nerves. It now is proved by microscopic science

[Footnote: For those statements the writer is indebted to Maudsley,

a recent writer on Microscopic Physiology.] that the kind of nutrition

furnished to the brain by the blood to a certain extent decides future

feelings, thoughts, and volitions. The cells of the brain not only

abstract from the blood the healthful nutrition, but also are affected

in shape, size, color, and action by unsuitable elements in the blood.

This is especially the case when alcohol is taken into the stomach,

from whence it is always carried to the brain. The consequence is,

that it affects the nature and action of the brain-cells, until a habit

is formed which is _automatic_; that is, the mind loses the power of

controlling the brain, in its development of thoughts, feelings, and

choices as it would in the natural state, and is itself controlled

by the brain. In this condition a real disease of the brain is created,

called _oino-mania_, (see _Glossary_,) and the only remedy is total

abstinence, and that for a long period, from the alcoholic poison. And

what makes the danger more fearful is, that the brain-cells never are so

renewed but that this pernicious stimulus will bring back the disease in

full force, so that a man once subject to it is never safe except by

maintaining perpetual and total abstinence from every kind of alcoholic

drink. Dr. Day, who for many years has had charge of an inebriate

asylum, states that he witnessed the dissection of the brain of a man

once an inebriate, but for many years in practice of total abstinence,

and found its cells still in the weak and unnatural state produced by

earlier indulgences.

There has unfortunately been a difference of opinion among medical men

as to the use of alcohol. Liebig, the celebrated writer on animal

chemistry, having found that both sugar and alcohol were heat-producing

articles of food, framed a theory that alcohol is burnt in the lungs,

giving off carbonic acid and water, and thus serving to warm the body.

But modern science has proved that it is in the capillaries that animal

heat is generated, and it is believed that alcohol lessens instead of

increasing the power of the body to bear the cold. Sir John Koss, in

his Arctic voyage, proved by his own experience and that of his men

that cold-water drinkers could bear cold longer and were stronger than

any who used alcohol.

Carpenter, a standard writer on physiology, says the objection to a

habitual use of even small quantities of alcoholic drinks is, that

"they are universally admitted to possess a poisonous character," and

"tend to produce a morbid condition of body;" while "the capacity for

enduring extremes of heat and cold, or of mental or bodily labor, is

diminished rather than increased by their habitual employment."

Prof. J. Bigelow, of Harvard University, says, "Alcohol is highly

stimulating, heating, and intoxicating, and its effects are so

fascinating that when once experienced there is danger that the desire

for them may be perpetuated."

Dr. Bell and Dr. Churchill, both high medical authorities, especially

in lung disease, for which whisky is often recommended, come to the

conclusion that "the opinion that alcoholic liquors have influence in

preventing the deposition of tubercle is destitute of any foundation;

on the contrary, their use predisposes to tubercular deposition." And

"where tubercle exists, alcohol has no effect in modifying the usual

course, neither does it modify the morbid effects on the system."