ADVICE
TO A
WIFE AND MOTHER.
IN TWO PARTS.
EMBRACING
ADVICE TO A WIFE,
AND
ADVICE TO A MOTHER.
BY
PYE HENRY CHAVASSE.
SEVENTEENTH EDITION.
PHILADELPHIA:
J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO.
1881.
ADVICE TO A WIFE
ON THE
MANAGEMENT OF HER OWN HEALTH,
AND ON THE
TREATMENT OF SOME OF THE COMPLAINTS
INCIDENTAL TO
PREGNANCY, LABOR, AND SUCKLING;
WITH AN
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER ESPECIALLY ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG WIFE.
BY
PYE HENRY CHAVASSE,
FELLOW OF THE ROYAL COLLEGE OF SURGEONS OF ENGLAND; FELLOW OF THE
OBSTETRICAL SOCIETY OF LONDON; FORMERLY PRESIDENT OF QUEEN’S COLLEGE
MEDICO-CHIRURGICAL SOCIETY, BIRMINGHAM; AUTHOR OF “ADVICE TO A MOTHER ON
THE MANAGEMENT OF HER CHILDREN.”
“Thy wife shall be as the fruitful vine upon the walls of thine house.”
SEVENTEENTH EDITION.
PHILADELPHIA:
J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO.
1881.
TO
MY BIRMINGHAM PATIENTS,
MANY OF WHOM I HAVE ATTENDED FOR A PERIOD OF UPWARDS OF THIRTY YEARS;
SOME OF WHOM, HAVING USHERED INTO THE WORLD, I AFTERWARD ATTENDED IN
THEIR OWN CONFINEMENTS; AND FROM ALL OF WHOM I HAVE RECEIVED SO MUCH
CONFIDENCE, COURTESY, AND KINDNESS,
=This little Volume is Dedicated,=
BY THEIR SINCERE FRIEND,
PYE HENRY CHAVASSE
PRIORY HOUSE, OLD SQUARE,
BIRMINGHAM.
PREFACE.
The sale of copies of this book is now to be reckoned by its tens of
thousands! The last, the Seventh Edition, comprising five thousand
copies, has been rapidly exhausted; a new Edition, THE EIGHTH, is now
urgently called for; and as the sale of the work is so enormous, and so
extending, my worthy Publishers have deemed it advisable to publish of
this edition at once seven thousand copies,—thus making of the _two_
last editions _alone_ twelve thousand copies; the two last editions
being, in fact, equal to twelve ordinary editions! Moreover, this book
has made me troops of friends, thus proving how much such a work was
needed, and how thoroughly my humble efforts have been appreciated.
I have, in the INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER especially addressed to a Young
Wife, had some plain and unpalatable truths to tell; but it is
absolutely necessary for a surgeon to probe a serious and deep-seated
wound to the bottom before he can perform a cure; he is sometimes
compelled to give pain before he can cure pain; he is frequently obliged
to administer _bitter_ medicine before _sweet_ health can be restored. I
have not shrunk from my duty; I have not uttered an “uncertain sound:”
but have, without fear or favor, boldly spoken out, and have proclaimed
what I have deemed to be the truth; the vital importance of my subject
must excuse my plain-speaking and earnestness. When a person is on the
edge of a precipice, and is ready at any moment to topple over, the
words of warning must not be in the tones of a whisper, bland and
gentle, but in the voice of thunder, bold and decisive. I have had to
discourse on matters of the greatest moment to the well-being of wives;
and have, therefore, in order not to be misapprehended, had to call
things by their right names—the subject being of far too much importance
to write in a namby-pamby style, or to use any other language than that
of the plainest English.
The Introductory Chapter is, I trust, greatly improved; many of the
quotations are either curtailed, or are altogether suppressed, in order
to make room, without materially increasing the size of the book, for
much new and important matter. The remaining pages have all been
carefully revised and corrected, and made more clear, and additional
advice, where needed, has been supplied. I therefore hope that this
edition will be still more worthy of its great and extending success,
and be the humble instrument of sowing broadcast through our land advice
most necessary for wives to know; and at the same time be the means of
dispelling prejudices which, in the lying-in room, are even, in this our
day, most rife and injurious.
Barren wives! delicate wives! unhealthy wives! are the order of the
day—are become institutions of the country—are so common as not to be
considered strange, but to be, as a matter of course, as part and parcel
of our everyday life! Should such things be? I emphatically say No! But
then a thorough change, a complete reformation, must take place in the
life and habits of a wife. It is no use blinking the question; the
truth, the whole truth, must come out, and the sooner it is told the
better. Oh! it is sad that the glorious mission of a wife should, as it
often does, end so ingloriously! Broken health, neglected duties, a
childless home, blighted hopes, misery, and discontent. What an awful
catalogue of the consequences of luxury, of stimulants, of fashion, of
ignorance, and of indolence—the five principal wife and babe destroyers!
Sure I am that the foregoing melancholy results may, in the generality
of cases, by timely and judicious treatment, be prevented.
This is an age of stimulants—’tis the curse of the day; wine, in excess,
instead of being an element of strength, is one of weakness; instead of
encouraging fecundity, is one of its greatest preventives. A lady who
drinks daily five or six glasses of wine, is invariably weak, low,
hysterical, and “nervous,”—complaining that she can neither eat, nor
sleep, nor take exercise; she is totally unfit for the duties and
responsibilities of either wife or mother. I shall endeavor in the
following pages to prove the truth of these bold assertions.
Many young married ladies now drink as much wine in a day as their
grandmothers did in a week; and which I verily believe is one cause of
so few children, and of so much barrenness among them. It is no use: the
subject is too important to allow false delicacy to stand in the way of
this announcement; the truth must be told; the ulcer which is eating
into the vitals of society must be probed; the danger, the folly, the
wickedness of the system must be laid bare; the battle must be fought;
and as no medical man has come forward to begin the conflict, I myself
boldly throw down the gauntlet, and will, to the best of my strength and
ability, do battle in the cause.
It is the abuse and not the use of wine that I am contending against. I
am not advocating teetotal principles—certainly not. The one system is
as absurd and as wrong as the other; extremes, either way, are most
injurious to the constitution both of man and woman. The advice of St.
Paul is glorious advice: “Use a _little_ wine for thy stomach’s sake and
thine often infirmities;” and again, when he says, “be temperate in
_all_ things.” These are my sentiments, and which I have, in the
following pages, so earnestly contended for.
A lady who “eats without refreshment, and slumbers without repose,” is
deeply to be pitied, even though she be as rich as Crœsus, or as
beautiful as Venus! Nothing can compensate for the want of either sleep
or appetite; life without proper appetite and without refreshing sleep
will soon become a wearisome burden too heavy to bear. It is high time,
when there are so many of the Young Wives of England, alas! too many,
who daily “eat without refreshment,” and who nightly “slumber without
repose,” that the subject was thoroughly looked into, and that proper
means were suggested to abate the calamity. One of the principal objects
of this book is to throw light upon the subject, and to counsel measures
to remedy the evil.
The large number of barren wives in England has, in these pages, had my
careful and earnest consideration. I have endeavored, to the best of my
ability, to point out, as far as the wives themselves are concerned,
many of the causes, and have advised remedies to abate the same. It is
quite time, when the health among the wives of the higher classes is so
much below par, and when children among them are so few, that the causes
should be thoroughly inquired into, and that the treatment should be
extensively made known. The subject is of immense, indeed I might even
say, of national importance, and demands deep and earnest thought and
careful investigation, as the strength and sinews of a nation depend
mainly upon the number and healthfulness of her children.
Barren land can generally, with care and skill, be made fertile; an
unfruitful vine can frequently, by an experienced gardener, be converted
into a fruit-bearing one; a childless wife can often, by judicious
treatment, be made a child-bearing one. Few things in this world are
impossible: “where there is a will there is generally a way;” but if
there be a will, it must be a determined and a persevering will; if
there be a way, the way, however rough and rugged, must be trodden,—the
rough and rugged path will, as she advances onward, become smooth and
pleasant.
It is not the poor woman, who works hard and who lives hard, that is
usually barren—certainly not: she has generally an abundance of
children; but it is the rich lady—the one who is indolent, who lives
luxuriously, and fares sumptuously every day—who leads a fashionable,
and therefore an unnatural life—who turns night into day, who at night
breathes suffocatingly hot rooms, who lives in a whirl of excitement,
who retires not to rest until the small hours of the morning,—such a one
is the one that is frequently barren; and well she might be,—it would be
most strange if she were not so. One of the objects of this book will be
to point out these causes, and to suggest remedies for the same, and
thus to stem the torrent, and in some measure to do away with the curse
of barrenness which in England, at the present time, so fearfully
prevails.
I have undertaken a responsible task, but have thrown my whole energy
and ability into it; I therefore have no excuse to make that I have not
thought earnestly and well upon the subject, or that I have written
unadvisedly; my thoughts and studies have for years been directed to
these matters. I earnestly hope, then, that I have not written in vain,
but that the seeds now sown will, in due time, bring forth much fruit.
Although my two books—_Advice to a Wife_ and _Advice to a Mother_—are
published as separate works, they might, in point of fact, be considered
as one volume—one only being the continuation of the other. _Advice to a
Wife_, treating on a mother’s own health, being, as it were, a
preparation for _Advice to a Mother_ on the management of her children’s
health; it is quite necessary that the mother herself should be healthy
to have healthy children; and if she have healthy offspring, it is
equally important that she should be made thoroughly acquainted how to
keep them in health. The object of _Advice to a Wife_ and _Advice to a
Mother_ is for that end; indeed, the acquisition and the preservation of
sound health, of mother and of child, have, in both my books, been my
earnest endeavor, my constant theme, the beginning and the ending, the
sum and the substance of my discourse, on which all else beside hinges.
I again resign this book into the hands of my fair readers, hoping that
it may be of profit and of service to them during the whole period of
their wifehood; and especially during the most interesting part of their
lives—in their hour of anguish and of trial; and that it may be the
humble means of making a barren woman “to be a joyful mother of
children.”
PYE HENRY CHAVASSE
PRIORY HOUSE, OLD SQUARE,
BIRMINGHAM.
CONTENTS.
PAGES
DEDICATION iii
PREFACE TO EIGHTH EDITION v–x
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER 13–102
PART I.
ON MENSTRUATION 103–116
PART II.
ON PREGNANCY 117–198
PART III.
ON LABOR 199–254
PART IV.
ON SUCKLING 255–300
INDEX 301–309
ADVICE TO A WIFE.
_A good wife is Heaven’s last, best gift to man—his angel and minister
of graces innumerable—his gem of many virtues—his casket of jewels.
Her voice is sweet music, her smiles his brightest day, her kiss the
guardian of his innocence, her arms the pale of his safety, the balm
of his health, the balsam of his life; her industry his surest wealth,
her economy his safest steward, her lips his faithful counselors, her
bosom the softest pillow of his cares, and her prayers the ablest
advocate of Heaven’s blessings on his head._—JEREMY TAYLOR.
_Of earthly goods, the best is a good Wife;
A bad, the bitterest curse of human life._—SIMONIDES.
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.
1. It may be well—before I enter on the subjects of menstruation, of
pregnancy, of labor, and suckling—to offer a few preliminary
observations, especially addressed to a Young Wife.
2. My subject is health—the care, the restoration, and the preservation
of health—one of the most glorious subjects that can be brought before a
human being, and one that should engross much of our time and of our
attention, and one that cannot be secured unless it be properly attended
to. The human frame is, as every one knows, constantly liable to be out
of order; it would be strange, indeed, if a beautiful and complex
instrument like the human body were not occasionally out of tune:
“Strange that a harp with a thousand strings
Should keep in tune so long.”
3. The advice I am about to offer to my fair reader is of the greatest
importance, and demands her deepest attention. How many wives are there
with broken health, with feeble constitutions, and with childless homes!
Their number is legion! It is painful to contemplate that, in our
country, there are far more unhealthy than healthy wives! There must
surely be numerous causes for such a state of things! A woman, born with
every perfection, to be full of bodily infirmities! It was ordained by
the Almighty that wives should be fruitful and multiply! Surely there
must be something wrong in the present system if they do not do so!
4. It will, in the following pages, be my object to point out many of
the causes of so much ill health among wives; ill health that sometimes
leads to barrenness; and to suggest remedies both for the prevention and
for the cure of such causes.
5. It is an astounding and lamentable fact, that one out of eight—that
twelve and a half per cent. of all the wives of England are barren, are
childless! A large majority of this twelve and a half per cent. might be
made fruitful, if a more judicious plan of procedure than is at present
pursued were adopted.
6. My anxious endeavors, in the following pages, will be to point out
remedies for the evil, and to lay down rules—rules which, I hope, my
fair reader will strenuously follow.
7. My theme, then, is Health—the Health of Wives—and the object I shall
constantly have in view will be the best means both of preserving it and
of restoring it when lost. By making a wife strong, she will not only,
in the majority of cases, be made fruitful, but capable of bringing
_healthy_ children into the world. This latter inducement is of great
importance; for puny children are not only an anxiety to their parents,
but a misery to themselves, and a trouble to all around! Besides, it is
the children of England that are to be her future men and women—her
glory and her greatness! How desirable it is, then, that her children
should be hardy and strong!
8. A wife may be likened to a fruit tree, a child to its fruit. We all
know that it is as impossible to have fine fruit from an unhealthy tree
as to have a fine child from an unhealthy mother. In the one case, the
tree either does not bear fruit at all—is barren—or it bears undersized,
tasteless fruit,—fruit which often either immaturely drops from the
tree, or, if plucked from the tree, is useless; in the other case, the
wife either does not bear children—she is barren—or she has frequent
miscarriages—“untimely fruit”—or she bears puny, sickly children, who
often either drop into an early grave, or, if they live, probably drag
out a miserable existence. You may as well expect “to gather grapes of
thorns, or figs of thistles,” as healthy children from unhealthy
parents!
9. Unhealthy parents, then, as a matter of course have unhealthy
children; this is as truly the case as the night follows the day, and
should deter both man and woman so circumstanced from marrying. There
are numerous other complaints besides scrofula and insanity inherited
and propagated by parents. It is a fearful responsibility, both to men
and women, if they be not healthy, to marry. The result must, as a
matter of course, be misery!
10. If a wife is to be healthy and strong, she must use the means—she
must sow before she can reap; health will not come by merely wishing for
it! The means are not always at first agreeable; but, like many other
things, habit makes them so. Early rising, for instance, is not
agreeable to the lazy, and to one fond of her bed; but it is essentially
necessary to sound health. Exercise is not agreeable to the indolent;
but no woman can be really strong without it. Thorough ablution of the
whole body is distasteful and troublesome to one not accustomed to much
washing—to one laboring under a kind of hydrophobia; but there is no
perfect health without the _daily_ cleansing of the _whole_ skin.
11. But all these processes entail trouble. True: is anything in this
world to be done without trouble? and is not the acquisition of precious
health worth trouble? Yes, it is worth more than all our other
acquisitions put together! Life without health is a burden; life with
health is a joy and gladness! Up, then, and arouse yourself, and be
doing! No time is to be lost if you wish to be well, to be a mother, and
to be a mother of healthy children. The misfortune of it is, many ladies
are more than half asleep, and are not aroused to danger till danger
stares them in the face; they are not cognizant of ill health slowly
creeping upon them, until, in too many cases, the time is gone by for
relief, and ill health has become confirmed—has become a part and parcel
of themselves; they do not lock the stable until the steed be stolen;
they do not use the means until the means are of no avail:
“Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,
Which we ascribe to Heaven: the fated sky
Gives us free scope; only doth backward pull
Our slow designs, when we ourselves are dull.”[1]
12. Idleness is the mother of many diseases; she breeds them, feeds
them, and fosters them, and is, moreover, a great enemy to fecundity.
Idleness makes people miserable. I have heard a young girl—surrounded
with every luxury—bemoan her lot, and complain that she was most unhappy
in consequence of not having anything to do, and who wished that she had
been a servant, so that she might have been obliged to work for her
living. Idleness is certainly the hardest work in the world.
13. It frequently happens that a lady, surrounded with every luxury and
every comfort, drags out a miserable existence; she cannot say that she
ever, even for a single day, really feels well and strong. This is not
to live—
“For life is not to live, but to be well.”[2]
14. If a person be in perfect health, the very act of living is itself
thorough enjoyment, the greatest this world can ever bestow. How needful
it therefore is that all necessary instruction should be imparted to
every Young Wife, and that proper means should, in every way, be used to
insure health!
15. The judicious spending of the first year of married life is of the
greatest importance in the making and in the strengthening of a wife’s
constitution, and in preparing her for having a family. How sad it is,
then, that it is the first twelve months that is, as a rule, especially
chosen to mar and ruin her own health, and to make her childless! The
present fashionable system of spending the first few months of married
life in a round of visiting, of late hours, and in close and heated
rooms, calls loudly for a change. How many valuable lives have been
sacrificed to such a custom! How many miscarriages, premature births,
and still-born children, have resulted therefrom! How many homes have
been made childless—desolate—by it! Time it is that common sense should
take the place of such folly! The present system is abominable, is
rotten at the core, and is fraught with the greatest danger to human
life and human happiness. How often a lady is, during the first year of
her wifehood, gadding out night after night,—one evening to a dinner
party, the next night to private theatricals, the third to an evening
party, the fourth to the theater, the fifth to a ball, the sixth to a
concert, until in some cases every night except Sunday night is consumed
in this way,—coming home frequently in the small hours of the morning,
through damp or fog, or rain or snow, feverish, flushed, and excited—too
tired until the morning to sleep, when she should be up, out, and about.
When the morning dawns she falls into a heavy, unrefreshing slumber, and
wakes not until noon, tired, and unfit for the duties of the day! Night
after night—gas, crowded rooms, carbonic acid gas, late hours, wine, and
excitement are her portion. As long as such a plan is adopted the
preacher preacheth but in vain. Night after night, week after week,
month after month, this game is carried on, until at length either an
illness or broken health supervenes. Surely these are not the best means
to insure health and a family and healthy progeny! The fact is, a wife
nowadays is too artificial; she lives on excitement; it is like drinking
no wine but champagne, and, like champagne taken in excess, it soon
plays sad havoc with her constitution. The pure and exquisite enjoyments
of nature are with her too commonplace, tame, low, and vulgar. How
little does such a wife know of the domestic happiness so graphically
and sweetly described by that poet of the affections, Cowper:
“Fireside enjoyments, home-born happiness,
And all the comforts that the lowly roof
Of undisturb’d retirement, and the hours
Of long uninterrupted evening, know.”
16. A fashionable lady might say, “I cannot give up fashionable
amusements; I must enjoy myself as others do; I might as well be out of
the world as out of the fashion.” To such a one I reply, “I myself am
not a fashionist—it is not in my line; and as in the following pages I
have to tell some plain unvarnished truths, my advice to you is, close
this book at once and read no more of it, as such a work as this cannot
be of the slightest use to you, however it might be to one who values
health ‘as a jewel of great price’—as one of her most precious earthly
possessions.” Really the subject is assuming such a serious aspect that
it behooves a medical man to speak out plainly and unreservedly, and to
call things by their right names. Fashion is oftentimes but another name
for suicide and for baby-slaughter—for “massacre of the innocents!” God
help the poor unfortunate little child whose mother is a votary of
fashion, who spends her time in a round and whirl of fashionable life,
and leaves her child to the tender mercies of servants, who “gang their
ain gait,” and leave their little charge to do the same. Such a mother
is more unnatural than a wild beast; for a wild beast, as a rule, is
gentle, tender, and attentive to its offspring, scarcely ever for a
moment allowing its young to be out of its sight. Truly, fashionable
life deadens the feelings and affections. I am quite aware that what I
have just now written will, by many fashionable ladies, be pooh-poohed,
and be passed by as “the idle wind.” They love their pleasures far above
either their own or their children’s health, and will not allow
anything, however precious, to interfere with them; but still I have
confidence that many of my judicious readers will see the truth and
justness of my remarks, and will profit by them.
17. A round of visiting, a succession of rich living, and a want of rest
during the first year of a wife’s life, often plays sad havoc with her
health, and takes away years from her existence. Moreover, such
proceedings often mar the chances of her ever becoming a mother, and
then she will have real cause to grieve over her fatuity.
18. A French poet once sung that a house without a child is like a
garden without a flower, or like a cage without a bird. The love of
offspring is one of the strongest instincts implanted in woman; there is
nothing that will compensate for the want of children. A wife yearns for
them; they are as necessary to her happiness as the food she eats and as
the air she breathes. If this be true—which, I think, cannot be
gainsayed—how important is our subject,—one of the most important that
can in this world engage one’s attention, requiring deep consideration
and earnest study.
19. The first year of a married woman’s life generally determines
whether, for the remainder of her existence, she shall be healthy and
strong, or shall be delicate and weak; whether she shall be the mother
of fine, healthy children, or—if, indeed, she be a mother at all—of
sickly, undersized offspring—
“Born but to weep, and destined to sustain
A youth of wretchedness, an age of pain.”[3]
If she be not a parent, her mission in life will be only half performed,
and she will be robbed of the greatest happiness this world can afford.
The delight of a mother, on first calling a child her own, is exquisite,
and is beautifully expressed in the following lines—
“He was my ain, and dear to me
As the heather-bell to the honey-bee,
Or the braird to the mountain hare.”[4]
20. I should recommend a young wife to remember the momentous mission
she has to fulfill; to ponder on the importance of bringing _healthy_
children into the world; to bear in mind the high duties that she owes
herself, her husband, her children, and society; to consider well the
value of health—“The first wealth is health;”[5] and never to forget
that “life has its duties ever.”[6]
21. A young married lady ought at once to commence to take regular and
systematic _out-door exercise_, which might be done without in the least
interfering with her household duties. There are few things more
conducive to health than walking exercise; and one advantage of our
climate is, that there are but few days in the year in which, at some
period of the day, it might not be taken. Walking—I mean a walk, not a
stroll—is a glorious exercise; it expands the chest and throws back the
shoulders; it strengthens the muscles; it promotes digestion, making a
person digest almost any kind of food; it tends to open the bowels, and
is better than any aperient pill ever invented; it clears the
complexion, giving roses to the cheeks and brilliancy to the eye, and,
in point of fact, is one of the greatest beautifiers in the world. It
exhilarates the spirits like a glass of champagne, but, unlike
champagne, it never leaves a headache behind. If ladies would walk more
than they do, there would be fewer lackadaisical, useless, complaining
wives than there at present are; and, instead of having a race of puny
children, we should have a race of giants. Walking exercise is worthy of
all commendation, and is indispensable to content, health, strength, and
comeliness. Of course, if a lady be pregnant, walking must then be
cautiously pursued; but still, walking in moderation is even then
absolutely necessary, and tends to keep off many of the wretchedly
depressing symptoms, often, especially in a first pregnancy,
accompanying that state. I am quite sure that there is nothing more
conducive to health than the wearing out of lots of shoe-leather and
that leather is cheaper than physic.
22. Walking is even more necessary in the winter than in the summer. If
the day be cold, and the roads be dirty, provided it be dry above, I
should advise my fair reader to put on thick boots and a warm shawl, and
to brave the weather. Even if there be a little rain and much wind, if
she be well wrapped up, neither the rain nor the wind will harm her. A
little sprinkling of rain, provided the rules of health be followed,
will not give her cold. Much wind will not blow her away. She must, if
she wishes to be strong, fight against it; the conflict will bring the
color to her cheek and beauty to her eye.
23. Let her exert herself; let her mind conquer any indolence of the
body; let her throw off her lethargy—it only requires a little
determination; let her be up and doing; for life, both to man and woman,
is a battle, and must be fought valiantly.
24. Bear in mind, then, that if a lady is to be healthy, she _must_ take
exercise, and that not by fits and starts, but regularly and
systematically. A stroll is of little use; she must walk! And let there
be no mistake about it, for Nature will have her dues: the muscles
require to be tired, and not to be trifled with; the lungs ask for the
revivifying air of heaven, and not for the stifling air of a close room;
the circulation demands the quickening influence of a brisk walk, and
not to be made stagnant by idleness.
25. This world was never made for idleness; everything around and about
us tells of action and of progress. Idle people are miserable people;
idle people are diseased people; there is no mistake about it. There is
no substitute in this world for exercise and for occupation; neither
physic nor food will keep people in health; they must be up and doing,
and buckle on their armor, and fight, as every one has to fight, the
battle of life! Mr. Milne, the master of the North Warwickshire hounds,
lately, at a hunt dinner, pithily remarked “that fox-hunting was the
best physic for improving a bad constitution.” I am quite sure, with
regard to the fair sex, that an abundance of walking exercise and of
household occupation is decidedly the best physic for improving a lady’s
constitution, more especially if she have, as unfortunately too many of
them have, a bad one; indeed, an abundance of walking exercise and of
household occupation will frequently convert a bad into a good
constitution.
26. Moreover, there is not a greater beautifier in the world than fresh
air and exercise; a lady who lives half her time in the open air, in
God’s sunshine, and who takes plenty of walking exercise, has generally
a clear and beautiful complexion—
“She looks as clear
As morning roses newly washed with dew.”[7]
27. Do not let me be misunderstood: I am not advocating that a delicate
lady, unaccustomed to exercise, should at once take violent and
long-continued exercise; certainly not. Let a delicate lady _learn_ to
take exercise, as a young child would _learn_ to walk—by degrees; let
her creep, and then go; let her gradually increase her exercise, and let
her do nothing either rashly or unadvisedly. If a child attempted to run
before he could walk, he would stumble and fall. A delicate lady
requires just as much care in the training to take exercise as a child
does in the learning to walk; but exercise must be learned and must be
practiced, if a lady, or any one else, is to be healthy and strong.
Unfortunately, in this our day the importance of exercise as a means of
health is but little understood and but rarely practiced;
notwithstanding, a lady may rest assured that until a “change comes o’er
the spirit of her dreams,” ill health will be her daily and constant
companion.
28. A lady should walk _early_ in the morning, and not _late_ in the
evening. The dews of evening are dangerous, and are apt to give severe
colds, fevers, and other diseases. Dew is more likely to cause cold than
rain—
“The dews of the evening most carefully shun—
Those tears of the sky for the loss of the sun.”[8]
29. A breath of wind is not allowed to blow on many a fair face. The
consequence is, that her cheek becomes sallow, wan, “as wan as clay,”
and bloodless, or if it has a color it is the hectic flush, which tells
of speedy decay!
30. Sitting over the fire will spoil her complexion, causing it to be
muddy, speckled, and sallow. The finest complexion in a lady I ever saw
belonged to one who would never go, even in the coldest weather, near
the fire: although she was nearly thirty years of age, her cheeks were
like roses, and she had the most beautiful red and white I ever beheld;
it reminded me of Shakspeare’s matchless description of a complexion:—
“’Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white
Nature’s own sweet and cunning hand laid on.”
31. Sitting over the fire will make her chilly, nervous, dyspeptic, and
dispirited. It will cause her to be more chilly, and thus will make her
more susceptible of catching cold; and it will frequently produce
chilblains. If she be cold, the sitting over the fire will only warm her
for the time, and will make her feel more starved when she leaves it.
Crouching over the fire, as many do, is ruination to health and strength
and comeliness! Sitting over the fire will make her nervous: the heat
from the fire is weakening beyond measure to the nerves. It will
disorder and enfeeble her stomach—for nothing debilitates the stomach
like great heat—and thus make her dyspeptic; and if she be dyspeptic,
she will, she must be dispirited. The one follows the other as surely as
the night follows the day.
32. If sitting over the fire be hurtful, sitting with the back to the
fire is still more so. The back to the fire often causes both sickness
and faintness, injures the spine, and weakens the spinal marrow, and
thus debilitates the whole frame.
33. A walk on a clear, frosty morning is as exhilarating to the spirits
as the drinking of champagne—with this difference, that on the day
following the head is improved by the one, but not always by the other.
Simple nature’s pleasures are the most desirable—they leave no sting
behind them!
34. There is nothing like a long walk to warm the body and to make the
blood course merrily through the blood-vessels. I consider it to be a
great misfortune that my fair countrywomen do not use their legs more
and their carriages less. “As to exercise, few women care to take it for
mere health’s sake. The rich are too apt to think that riding in a close
varnish-smelling carriage ought to be a very good substitute for
muscular struggles in the open air.”[9]
35. Unfortunately this is an age of luxury. Everything is artificial,
and disease and weakness, and even barrenness, follow as a matter of
course. In proof of my assertion that this is an age of luxury, look at
the present sumptuous style of living: carriages rolling about in every
direction; dining-tables groaning under the weight of rich dinners, and
expensive wines flowing like water; grand dresses sweeping the streets,
almost doing away with the necessity for scavengers. I say, advisedly,
_streets_; for _green fields_ are, unfortunately, scarcely ever visited
by ladies. We are almost, in extravagance, rivaling ancient Rome just
before luxury sapped her strength and laid her in ruins!
36. If a lady has to travel half a mile she must have her carriage.
Strange infatuation! Is she not aware that she has hundreds of muscles
that want exercising? that she has lungs that require expanding? that
she has nerves that demand bracing? that she has blood that needs
circulating? And how does she think that the muscles can be exercised,
that the lungs can be expanded, that the nerves can be braced, and that
the blood can be properly circulated, unless these are all made to
perform their proper functions by an abundance of _walking_ exercise? It
is utterly impossible!
37. Does she desire to be strong? Then let her take exercise! Does she
hope to retain her bloom and her youthful appearance, and still to look
charming in the eyes of her husband? Then let her take exercise! Does
she wish to banish nervousness and low spirits? Then let her take
exercise! There is nothing standing still in Nature: if it were,
creation would languish and die. There is a perpetual motion! And so
must we be constantly employed (when not asleep), if we are to be
healthy and strong! Nature will not be trifled with; these are her
laws[10]—immutable and unchangeable, and we cannot infringe them with
impunity:
“Labor is life! ’Tis the still water faileth;
Idleness ever despaireth, bewaileth;
Keep the watch wound, for the dark night assaileth;
Flowers droop and die in the stillness of noon.
Labor is glory! The flying cloud lightens;
Only the waving wing changes and brightens;
Idle hearts only the dark future frightens;
Play the sweet keys, would’st thou keep them in tune!”
38. If a newly-married woman be delicate, as, unfortunately, too many
are, she may be made to bear exercise well, provided she begins by
taking a short walk at first—be it ever so short—and by gradually
increasing it until she be able to take a tolerably long one. She might
find it irksome at the beginning, and might be inclined to give it up in
despair; but if she value her health and happiness, let me urge her to
persevere, and she may depend upon it that she will be amply rewarded
for her trouble.
39. A delicate lady frequently complains of _cold_ feet; she has neither
sufficient food nor sufficient exercise to keep them warm. Walking and
plenty of nourishment are the best remedies she can use to warm them. If
they be cold before retiring to rest—a frequent cause of keeping her
awake—let her walk briskly for half an hour, before undressing for the
night, about either the hall, or the landing, or a large room.
40. Some ladies declare that they are always cold, their feet
especially, which are as cold as ice! The fact is, they not only do not
take exercise enough, but they do not take nourishment enough—breakfast
especially—to keep them warm. Many ladies really and truly half starve
themselves; they consider it to be vulgar to eat much, and to satisfy
their appetite! they deem it low to take a long walk: every poor woman
can do that! it is much more easy and pleasant to loll back in an easy
carriage, and to be rolled along! Truly; but if carriage exercise be
more agreeable, is it as healthful? Certainly not: there is very little
exercise in riding in a carriage; but every organ, muscle, nerve, and
blood-vessel of the body is put into beneficial action by walking.
Walking is essential to health; there is no substitute for it; there
certainly is no perfect health without it.
41. The reason why my fair countrywomen take so much opening medicine is
the want of exercise. How truly it has been said that “physic, for the
most part, in nothing else but the substitute of exercise and
temperance.”
42. I consider it to be a grievous misfortune for any one—man, woman, or
child—who cannot, without the frequent taking of physic, keep their
bowels regular. When such is the case there is something wrong, very
wrong, about her system and about her proceedings, and the sooner the
matter is inquired into and rectified the better. The necessity of a
constant swallowing of opening medicine is a proof of chronic ill
health, and will in time injure her constitution beyond remedy. I cannot
speak too strongly on this subject; I have, in my professional
experience, seen so much mischief and misery caused by the frequent
swallowing of opening pills, that I should not do my duty if I did not
raise my voice against the abominable custom. Why, many ladies make a
practice, during the whole of their lives, of taking two or three times
a week opening pills! The bowels, they say, will not act without them;
but I maintain that if they would resolutely refrain from swallowing
them, and adopt the rules of health laid down in these pages, they would
be able altogether to dispense with them, to their great benefit and
delectation. But then the rules of health require trouble and
perseverance—(and what that is worth having does not?)—while the
swallowing of a couple of pills might be done quickly, and with very
little trouble; but although the frequent taking of pills gives at the
time but little trouble, they cause much trouble afterwards! Look, then,
at the results of each system, and decide accordingly! It has been said
that “gluttony kills more than the sword;” my conviction is, that the
constant taking of opening medicine kills more than gluttony and the
sword combined! The abuse of aperients is one of the crying evils of the
day, and who so proper as a medical man to raise his voice to suppress,
or at all events to lessen, the evil?
43. If a lady be costive, and is in consequence inclined to take a dose
of physic, let me advise her to take instead a long walk, which will in
the majority of cases do her vastly more good; and if requiring
repetition, the one is far more agreeable, and the effects are much more
likely to be lasting than the other. Exercise, I am quite sure, is, as a
rule, in the long run much more effectual and beneficial than opening
physic.
44. A newly-married wife ought to be cautious in the taking of horse
exercise. As long as she be _not_ pregnant, horse exercise is very
beneficial to health, and is a great enjoyment; but the moment symptoms
of pregnancy develop themselves, she must instantly give it up, or it
will probably cause her to miscarry.
45. Let her breathe the pure air of heaven, rather than the close
contaminated air either of an assembly or of a concert-room. The air of
an assembly or of a concert-room is contaminated with carbonic acid gas.
The gas-lights and the respiration of numbers of persons give off
carbonic acid gas, which gas is highly poisonous.
46. The truth of this assertion is patent to every one who will observe
the effects that a large assembly, more especially in the evening, when
the gas or candles are flaring away, has on the system; the headache,
the oppression, the confusion of ideas, the loss of appetite, the tired
feeling, followed by a restless night—all tell a tale, and loudly
proclaim that either an assembly or a concert-room is not a fit place
for a young wife desirous of having a family.
47. Let a young married lady attend well to the _ventilation_ of her
house. She may depend upon it that ventilation, thorough ventilation,
will prove one of the best friends she has in the world. Let her give
directions to her servant to have early every morning every window in
the house opened, as the _morning_ air is fresher and sweeter than it is
later in the day. “For ventilation, open your windows both at top and
bottom. The fresh air rushes in one way, while the foul makes its exit
the other. This is letting in your friend and expelling your enemy.”[11]
This opening of the window, top and bottom, of course applies only to
the rooms that are _unoccupied_:—in an _occupied_ room in hot weather
one sash only—the lower, as a rule, is best—ought to be opened. If the
_upper_ be lowered when the room is occupied, the cold air is apt to
strike on the top of the head, and to give cold.
48. Let her give orders that every chimney in the house be unstopped,
and let her see for herself that her orders have been obeyed; for
servants, if they have the chance, will stop up chimneys, as they are
fully aware that dust and dirt will come down chimneys, and that it will
give them a little extra work to do. But the mistress has to see to the
health of herself and of her household, which is of far more consequence
than either a little dirt or extra work for her servants.
49. She may rest assured that it is utterly impossible for herself and
for her family to have perfect health if the chimneys are allowed to be
stopped. I assert this fearlessly, for I have paid great attention to
the subject. If the chimney be stopped, the apartment _must_ necessarily
become contaminated with carbonic acid gas, the refuse of respiration,
which is, as I have before stated, a _deadly_ poison.
50. Chimneys, in many country houses, are permanently and hermetically
stopped: if we have the ill-fortune to sleep in such rooms, we feel
half-suffocated. _Sleep_, did I say? No! _tumble_ and _toss_ are the
right words to express the real meaning; for in such chambers very
little sleep do we get,—unless, indeed, we open the windows to let in
the air, which, in such an extremity, is the only thing, if we wish to
get a wink of sleep, we can do! Stopped-up bedroom chimneys is one and
an important reason why some persons do not derive the benefit they
otherwise would do of change of air to the country.
51. I unhesitatingly declare that ninety-nine bedrooms out of every
hundred are badly ventilated; that in the morning, after they have been
slept in, they are full both of impure and of poisoned air. I say,
advisedly, impure and poisoned air, for the air becomes foul and deadly
if not perpetually changed—if not constantly mixed, both by day and by
night, with fresh, pure, external air. Many persons, by breathing the
same air over and over again, are literally “poisoned by their own
breaths!” This is not an exaggerated statement—alas, it is too true! Let
every young wife remember that she requires just as much pure air in the
night as in the day; and if she does not have it, her sleep will neither
refresh her nor strengthen her, but that she will rise in the morning
more weary than on the previous night when she retired to rest.
52. The way to make a house healthy, and to keep off disease, is by
_thorough ventilation_—by allowing a current of air, both by day and by
night, to constantly enter and to sweep through the house, and every
room of the house. This may be done either by open skylight or by open
landing windows, which should _always_ be left open; and by allowing
every chamber window to be wide open during the day, and every chamber
door to be a little open both by night and by day, having a door-chain
on each door during the night to prevent intrusion.
53. Let her, if she can, live in the country. In a town, coal
fires—manufactories, many of them unhealthy—confined space—the
exhalations from the lungs and from the skin of the inhabitants, numbers
of them diseased,—all tend to load the air with impurities. Moreover, if
in the town she desire a walk, it is often itself a walk, and a long one
too, before she can get into the country—before she can obtain glimpses
of green fields and breathe the fresh air; hence walks in the town do
but comparatively little good. In the country her lungs are not cheated:
they get what they want—a good article, pure air—and the eye and heart
are both gladdened with the beauties of nature. I consider the following
remark of Dr. Grosvenor, in his excellent _Essay on Health_, very
pertinent. He observes: “Hence it is that one seldom sees in cities,
courts, and rich houses, where people eat and drink, and indulge in the
pleasure of appetite, that perfect health and athletic soundness and
vigor which is commonly seen in the country, in the poor houses and
cottages, where nature is their cook and necessity is their caterer,
where they have no other doctor but the sun and fresh air, and no other
physic but exercise and temperance.”
54. Cold air is frequently looked upon as an enemy, instead of being
contemplated as, what it really is to a healthy person, a friend. The
effect of cold upon the stomach is well exemplified in a walk in frosty
weather, producing an appetite. “Cold air,” says Dr. Cullen, “applied
with exercise, is a most powerful tonic with respect to the stomach; and
this explains why, for that purpose, no exercise within doors, or in
close carriages, is so useful as that in the open air.”
55. Hot and close rooms, soft cushions, and luxurious couches must be
eschewed. I have somewhere read, that if a fine, healthy whelp of the
bull-dog species were fed upon chicken, rice, and delicacies, and made
to lie upon soft cushions, and if, for some months, he were shut up in a
close room, when he grew up he would become unhealthy, weak, and
spiritless. So it is with a young married woman; the more she indulges,
the more unhealthy, weak, and inanimate she becomes—unfit to perform the
duties of a wife and the offices of a mother, if, indeed, she be a
mother at all!
56. Rich and luxurious ladies are less likely to be blessed with a
family than poor and hard-worked women. Here is, to a vengeance,
compensation! Compensation usually deals very justly both to man and
womankind. For instance, riches and childlessness, poverty and children,
laziness and disease, hard work and health, a hard-earned crust and
contentment, a gilded chamber and discontent—
“These are ofttimes wedded as a man and wife,
And linked together, hand in hand, through life.”
Riches seldom bring health, content, many children, and happiness; they
more frequently cause disease, discontent, childlessness, and
misery.[12] Riches and indolence are often as closely united as the
Siamese twins, disease and death frequently following in their train.
“Give me neither poverty nor riches” was a glorious saying of the wisest
of men. Rich and luxurious living, then, is very antagonistic to
fecundity. This might be one reason why _poor_ curates’ wives and poor
Irish women generally have such large families. It has been proved by
experience that a diet, principally consisting of milk, buttermilk, and
vegetables, is more conducive to fecundity than a diet almost
exclusively of meat. In illustration of my argument, the poor Irish, who
have usually such enormous families, live almost exclusively on
buttermilk and potatoes; they scarcely eat meat from year’s end to
year’s end. Riches, if it prevent a lady from having children, is an
evil and a curse, rather than a good and a blessing; for, after all, the
greatest treasures in this world are “household treasures”—healthy
children! If a wife be ever so rich, and she be childless, she is, as a
rule, discontented and miserable. Many a married lady would gladly give
up half her worldly possessions to be a mother; and well she
might—children are far more valuable. I have heard a wife exclaim with
Rachel, “Give me a child, or I die.”
57. If a young wife be likely to have a family, let her continue to live
heartily and well; but if she have been married a year or two without
any prospect of an increase, let her commence to live abstemiously on
fresh milk, buttermilk, bread, potatoes, and farinaceous diet, with very
little meat, and _no stimulants whatever_; let her live, indeed, very
much either as a poor curate’s wife, or as a poor Irish woman is
compelled to live.
58. It is not the poor woman that is cursed with barrenness—she has
often more mouths than she can well fill; but the one that frequently
labors under that ban is the pampered, the luxurious, the indolent, the
fashionable wife; and most assuredly, until she change her system of
living to one more consonant with common sense, she will continue to do
so. It is grievous to contemplate that oftentimes a lady, with every
other temporal good, is deficient of two earthly blessings—health and
children; and still more lamentable, when we know that they frequently
arise from her own seeking, that they are withheld from her in
consequence of her being a votary of fashion. Many of the ladies of the
present day, too, if they do bear children, are, from delicacy of
constitution, quite unable to suckle them. Should such things be? But
why, it might be asked, speak so strongly and make so much fuss about
it? Because the disease is become desperate, and delays are
dangerous—because children among the higher ranks are become few and far
between; and who so proper as a medical man to raise his voice to
proclaim the facts, the causes, and the treatment? I respectfully
inquire of my fair reader, Is fashion a wife’s mission? If it be not,
what is her mission? I myself have an idea—a very ancient and an almost
obsolete one—that the mission of a wife is a glorious mission, far
removed from fashion and from folly. A fashionable wife, after a
fashionable season, is frequently hysterical and excitable, and
therefore exhausted; she is more dead than alive, and is obliged to fly
to the country and dose herself with quinine to recruit her wasted
energies. Is such a wife as this likely to become a joyful mother of
children? I trow not. Her time is taken up between pleasure and
excitement to make herself ill, and nursing to make herself well, in
order that she may, at the earliest possible moment, again return to her
fashionable pursuits, which have with her become, like drinking in
excess, a necessity. Indeed, a fashionable life is a species of
intoxication. Moreover, wine-drinking in excess and a fashionable life
are usually joined together. Sad infatuation, destructive alike to human
life and human happiness—a road that often leads to misery,
disappointment, and death! These are strong expressions, but they are
not stronger than the subject imperatively demands—a subject which is
becoming of vital importance to the well-being of society, and, in the
higher ranks, even to its very existence, and which must, ere long,
engross the attention of all who love their country. Fashion is a sapper
and miner, and is ever hard at work sapping and undermining the
constitutions of its votaries. Something must be done, and that quickly,
to defeat its machinations, otherwise evils will, past remedy, be
consummated.
59. I consider _thorough ablution_ of the body every morning one of the
most important means of health to a young wife; “while the poor, in the
matter of washing, are apt to think that they can put off till Saturday
what ought to be performed every day, and that they can wind up the week
by a good wash with impunity.”[13] There is nothing more tonic and
invigorating and refreshing than cold ablution. Moreover, it makes one
feel clean and sweet and wholesome; and you may depend upon it, that it
not only improves our physical constitution, but likewise our moral
character, and makes our minds more pure and holy. A dirty man has
generally a dirty mind!
60. The ewers and basins in our own country are, for the purposes of
thorough ablution, ridiculously small, while on the Continent they are
still smaller. They are of pigmy dimensions—the basins being of the size
of an ordinary slop-basin, and the ewer holding enough water to wash a
finger. How can persons with such appliances be either decently clean,
or sweet, or thoroughly healthy? It is utterly impossible. Many people
on the Continent have a dread of water—they labor under a species of
hydrophobia: hence one reason why the ewers and basins are of such
dwarfish proportions.
61. A young wife ought to strip to the waist, and then proceed to wash
her face after the manner so well described by Erasmus Wilson in his
work on _Healthy Skin_. He says: “Fill your basin about two-thirds full
with fresh water; dip your face in the water, and then your hands. Soap
the hands well, and pass the soaped hands with gentle friction over the
whole face. Having performed this part of the operation thoroughly, dip
the face in the water a second time, and rinse it completely; you may
add very much to the luxury of the latter part of the process by having
a second basin ready with fresh water to perform a final rinsing.... In
washing the face you have three objects to fulfill: to remove the dirt,
to give freshness, and to give tone and vigor to the skin.” Now for the
remaining process of ablution. Having well rubbed her neck with her
soaped hands, she ought thoroughly to bathe her neck, her chest, and
arms, by means of a large sponge dipped in cold water—the colder the
better. She cannot cleanse her own shoulders, back, and loins with a
sponge—she cannot get to them. To obviate this difficulty, she ought to
soak a piece of flannel, a yard and a half long and half a yard wide,
folded lengthways, in _cold_ water, and throwing it over her shoulders,
as she would a skipping-rope, she should for a few times work it from
right to left and from left to right, “and up and down, and then
athwart,” her loins and back and shoulders. This plan will effectually
cleanse parts that she could not otherwise reach, and will be most
refreshing and delightful. She should then put both her hands, her
forearms, and her arms into the basin of water as far as they will
reach, and keep them in for a few seconds, or while she can count fifty.
The wet parts should be expeditiously dried. Then, having thrown off her
remaining clothes, and merely having her slippers on, she ought to sit
for a few seconds, or while in the winter she can count fifty, or while
in the summer she can count a hundred, either in a sitz-bath,[14] or in
a very large wash-hand basin—called a nursery-basin[15] (sold for the
purpose of giving an infant his morning bath)—containing water to the
depth of three or four inches. While sitting either in the bath or in
the basin, she ought in the winter time to have either a small blanket
or a woolen shawl thrown over her shoulders. If she has any difficulty
in getting in and out of the basin, she should place a chair on each
side of the basin; she can then, by pressing upon the chairs with her
elbows, arms, and hands, readily do so.
62. If a lady be too delicate to take a sitz-bath, or if a sitz-bath
should not agree with her, then she ought every morning to use the
bidet, and, while sitting over it, she should well sponge the parts with
the water, allowing the water for a few seconds to stream over them.
Every lady should bear in mind that either the sitz-bath or the bidet,
every morning of her life (except under certain circumstances), is
absolutely essential to her comfort and her well-being.
63. At first, until she become accustomed to the cold (which she will do
in a few days), she ought to use the water _tepid_, but the sooner she
can use _cold_ water, and that plentifully, the better—as it will
greatly contribute to her health and strength. But, as I said before,
the process ought to be quickly performed, as it is the shock in bracing
and in strengthening the system that does so much good.
64. When a lady is very delicate, it may, _during the winter_, be
necessary to put a dash of _warm_ water into the bath, in order to take
off the _extreme_ chill; but, as she becomes stronger, she will be able
to dispense with the _warm_ water, as the colder the water is, provided
she can bear it, the more good it will do her.
65. If her loins or her back are at all weak, the addition either of a
large handful of table salt, or of a small handful of bay salt, or of a
lump of rock-salt,[16] dissolved in the water in the sitz-bath, will be
of great service to her.
66. The feet and the legs ought every morning to be bathed—not by
standing in the water, but, on the completion of the washing of the
other parts of the body, by putting one foot at a time for a few seconds
(not minutes) in the basin containing the water (the basin for that
purpose being placed on the floor), and well and quickly washing the
foot, either with a flannel or with a sponge, and well cleansing with
the finger and thumb between each toe, and allowing the water from the
sponge or flannel to stream into the basin from the knee downwards. All
this, of course, must be done expeditiously; and care ought to be taken,
after such ablution, to well dry with a towel between each toe. The
washing of the feet as above directed will be a great refreshment, and
will be most beneficial to health, and will be a means of warding off
colds, of preventing chilblains, and of preserving the feet in a sweet
and healthy state. The feet ought to be kept as clean, if not cleaner,
than the hands. Parts that are not seen should be kept cleaner than
parts that are seen. Filth is apt to gather in covered up places.
67. The moment she has finished her bath she ought quickly to dry
herself. I should recommend her to use as a towel the Turkish rubber: it
will cause a delightful glow of the whole body.
68. The whole of the body, except the hair of the head, is, by the above
method, every morning thoroughly washed. The hair of the head ought
occasionally, even with soap and water, to be cleansed, to keep it clean
and sweet and wholesome; for nothing is more dirty if it be not well
attended to than human hair, and nothing is more repulsive than a dirty
head.
69. Brushing of the hair, although beneficial both to the hair and
health, will not alone thoroughly cleanse the hair and scalp.
70. Some ladies attempt to clean their hair by simply washing it either
with rosemary or with rosewater, or with other washes; but there is no
more effectual way of doing it than occasionally by a flannel and soap
and water.
71. Bathing in the sea during the season, provided no grease has been
previously used, is very good for the hair; it both strengthens the
roots and beautifies the color.
72. I should advise my fair reader not to plaster her hair either with
grease or with pomade, or with other unknown compounds: many of them are
apt to make the head dirty, scurfy, and sore.
73. It might be said that it is utterly impossible for a lady to keep
her hair tidy, unless she uses some application to it. If such be the
case, either a little best olive oil or scented castor oil, or cocoanut
oil, may, by means of an old tooth-brush, be applied to smooth the hair.
74. If the hair should fall off, either a little cocoanut oil or a
little scented castor oil, well rubbed every night and morning into the
roots, is an excellent dressing. These are simple remedies, and can
never do any harm, which is more than can be said of many quack
nostrums, which latter often injure the hair irreparably.
75. The best carpet, either for a bath-room or for a dressing-room, is
kamptulicon, as the water spilt upon it after the use of a bath or
ablution can, by means of a flannel, be readily absorbed; the window
ought then to be thrown wide open, and the room will quickly be dried.
76. It would be well for her, when practicable, to have, after she has
finished dressing, a quarter of an hour’s walk, either in the garden or
in the grounds, in order to insure a reaction, and thus to induce a
healthy glow of the circulation, and to give her an appetite for her
breakfast. A quarter of an hour’s walk _before_ breakfast is more
beneficial to health than an hour’s walk _after_ breakfast.
77. If a lady have not been accustomed to a thorough ablution, as just
directed, of her whole body, let her, if possible, before commencing,
take a trip to the coast, and have a few dips in the sea; after which
she might at once go through the processes above advised with safety,
comfort, and advantage; but whether she be able to bathe in the sea or
not, she must, if she is to be strong and healthy, gradually accustom
herself to a daily ablution of the whole of her body. The skin is a
breathing apparatus, and unless it be kept clean it cannot properly
perform its functions. It might be said, it will take time and trouble
daily to cleanse the whole of the skin: it will; but no more than ten
minutes, or a quarter of an hour, to go through the whole of the above
processes of bathing and of drying the skin. The acquisition of health
takes both time and trouble; but nothing worth having in this world is
done without it! There is no royal road to health; but although the path
at first might be a little rugged and disagreeable, it soon becomes from
practice smooth and pleasant!
78. Oh, if my fair reader did but know the value of _thorough_ cold
water ablutions, she would not lose a day before giving the plan I have
above recommended a trial. It would banish all, or nearly all, her
little ailments and nervousness; it would make her dispense with many of
her wrappings; it would, in the winter time, keep her from coddling and
crudling over the fire; it would cause her to resist cold and disease;
it would, if she were inclined to constipation, tend to regulate her
bowels; it would strengthen her back and loins; it would make her
blooming, healthy, and strong; and it would pave the way, and fit her,
in due time, to become a mother, and the mother of fine, hearty
children! My reader must not fancy that I have overdrawn the picture; I
have painted it from the life. “I only tell what I do know, and declare
what I do believe.” Let me urge but a trial, and then my fair inquirer
will have cause to be thankful that she had been induced to carry out my
views, and I shall rejoice that I have been the means of her doing so.
Hear what a physician and a poet, a man of sound sense and of sterling
intellect, says of the value of ablution. He speaks of _warm_ ablution,
which certainly is, at the beginning of using _thorough_ ablution, the
best; but the sooner _cold_ can be substituted for _warm_ the better it
will be for the health and strength and spirits of the bather:
“The warm ablution, just enough to clear
The sluices of the skin, enough to keep
The body sacred from indecent soil.
Still to be pure, even did it not conduce
(As much as it does) to health, were greatly worth
Your daily pains; it is this adorns the rich;
The want of it is poverty’s worst foe.
With this external virtue age maintains
A decent grace! without it, youth and charms
Are loathsome.”[17]
79. _With regard to diet._—Although I have a great objection (which I
either have or will particularize) of a young wife taking rich food and
many stimulants, yet I am a great advocate for an abundance of good
wholesome nourishment.
80. The meager breakfasts of many young wives (eating scarcely anything)
is one cause of so much sickness among them, and of so many puny
children in the world.
81. Let every young wife, and, indeed, every one else, make a
substantial breakfast. It is the foundation meal of the day; it is the
first meal after a long—the longest fast. The meager, miserable
breakfasts many young wives make is perfectly absurd; no wonder that
they are weak, “nervous,” and delicate. A breakfast ought, as a rule, to
consist either of eggs or of cold chicken, or of cold game, or of bacon,
or of ham, or of cold meat, or of mutton-chops, or of fish, and of
_plenty of good bread_, and _not_ of either hot buttered toast, or of
hot rolls swimming in butter; both of which latter articles are like
giving the stomach sponge to digest, and making the partaker of such
food for the rest of the day feel weak, spiritless, and miserable. If
she select coffee for breakfast, let the _half_ consist of good fresh
milk; if she prefer cocoa, let it be made of new milk instead of water;
if she choose tea, let it be _black_ tea, with plenty of cream in it.
Milk and cream are splendid articles of diet. Let her then make a hearty
breakfast, and let there be no mistake about it. There is no meal in the
day so wretchedly managed, so poor and miserable, and so devoid of
nourishment, as an English breakfast. Let every young wife, therefore,
look well to the breakfast, that it be good and varied and substantial,
or ill health will almost certainly ensue.[18]
82. A meager unsubstantial breakfast causes a sinking sensation of the
stomach and bowels, and for the remainder of the day a miserable
depression of spirits. Robert Browning truly and quaintly remarks that
“A sinking at the lower abdomen
Begins the day with indifferent omen.”
83. It frequently happens that a young wife has no appetite for her
breakfast. She may depend upon it, in such a case, there is something
wrong about her, and that the sooner it is rectified the better it will
be for her health, for her happiness, and for her future prospects. Let
her, then, without loss of time seek medical advice, that means may be
used to bring back her appetite. The stomach in all probability is at
fault; if it be, the want of appetite, the consequent sensation of
sinking of the stomach, and the depression of the spirits are all
explained; but which, with judicious treatment, may soon be set to
rights.
84. If the loss of appetite for breakfast arise from pregnancy—and
sometimes it is one of the earliest symptoms—time will rectify it, and
the appetite, without the necessity of a particle of medicine, will
shortly, with its former zest, return.
85. A young married woman’s diet ought to be substantial, plain, and
nourishing. She must frequently vary the kind of food, of meat
especially, as also the manner of cooking it. Nature delights in variety
of food, of air, and of exercise. If she were fed, for some considerable
period, on one kind of meat, she could scarcely digest any other; and in
time either a disordered or a diseased stomach would be likely to ensue.
I have sometimes heard, with pain and annoyance, a patient advised to
live on mutton-chops, and to have no other meat than mutton! Now this is
folly in the extreme. Such an unfortunate patient’s stomach, in the
course of time, would not be able to digest any other meat, and after
awhile would have a difficulty in digesting even mutton-chops, and
wretched and ruined health would to a certainty ensue.
86. Three substantial and nourishing meals a day will be sufficient. It
is a mistaken notion to imagine that “little and often” is best. The
stomach requires rest as much as, or more than, any other part of the
body; and how, if food be constantly put into it, can it have rest?
There is no part of the body more imposed and put upon than the human
stomach:
“To spur beyond
Its wiser will the jaded appetite,—
Is this for pleasure? Learn a juster taste,
And know that temperance is true luxury.”
87. It is a mistaken notion, and injurious to health, for a young wife,
or for any one else, to eat, just before retiring to rest, a hearty meat
supper:
“Oppress, not nature sinking down to rest
With feasts too late, too solid, or too full.”
88. How often we hear a delicate lady declare that she can only eat one
meal a day, and that is a hearty meat supper the last thing at night;
and who, moreover, affirms that she can neither sleep at night, nor can
she have the slightest appetite for any other meal but her supper, and
that she should really starve if she could not have food when she could
eat it! The fact is, the oppressed stomach oppresses the brain, and
drives away sleep, and appetite, and health. The habit is utterly wrong,
and oftentimes demands professional means to correct it.
89. How is it that sometimes a lady who has an excellent appetite is,
notwithstanding, almost as thin as a rake? It is not what she eats, but
what she digests, that makes her fat. Some people would fatten on bread
and water, while others would, on the fat of the land, be as thin as
Pharaoh’s lean kine. Our happiness and our longevity much depend on the
weakness or on the soundness of our stomachs: it is the stomach, as a
rule, that both gauges our happiness and that determines the span of the
life of both men and women. How necessary it is, then, that due regard
should be paid to such an important organ, and that everything should be
done to conduce to the stomach’s welfare,—not by overloading the stomach
with rich food; not by a scanty and meager diet; but by adopting a
middle course, betwixt and between high living and low living—the _juste
milieu_. We should all of us remember that glorious saying—those
immortal words of St. Paul—“Be temperate in all things.”
90. Where a lady is very thin, good fresh milk (if it agree) should form
an important item of her diet. Milk is both fattening and nourishing,
more so than any other article of food known; but it should never be
taken at the same meal (except it be in the form of pudding) with either
beer or wine: they are incompatibles, and may cause disarrangement of
the stomach and bowels. Milk would often agree with an adult, where it
now disagrees, if the admixture of milk with either beer or wine were
never allowed.
91. Let me advise my fair reader to take plenty of time over her meals,
and to chew her food well; as nothing is more conducive to digestion
than thoroughly masticated food. No interruptions should be allowed to
interfere with the meals; the mind, at such times, should be kept calm,
cheerful, and unruffled, for “unquiet meals make ill digestions.”
92. Many persons bolt their food! When they do, they are drawing bills
on their constitutions which must inevitably be paid! The teeth act as a
mill to grind and prepare the food for the stomach; if they do not do
their proper work, the stomach has double labor to perform, and being
unable to do it efficiently, the stomach and the whole body in
consequence suffer.
93. The teeth being so essential to health, the greatest care should be
taken of them: they should be esteemed among one’s most precious
possessions.[19]
94. With regard to _beverage_, there is, as a rule, nothing better for
dinner than either toast and water, or, if it be preferred, plain spring
water—
“Naught like the simple element dilutes;”[20]
and after dinner, one or two glasses of sherry. A lady sometimes, until
she has had a glass of wine, cannot eat her dinner; when such be the
case, by all means let a glass of wine be taken,—that is to say, let her
have it either just _before_ or _during_ dinner, instead of _after_
dinner; or let her have one glass of sherry _before_ or _during_ dinner,
and one glass _after_ dinner.
95. A young wife sometimes has a languid circulation, a weak digestion,
and constipated bowels; then, a glass of sherry _during_ dinner and
another glass _after_ dinner is beneficial; and however much she might
dislike wine, she should be induced to take it, as the wine will improve
her circulation, will strengthen her digestion, and will tend to open
her bowels. But let me urge her never, unless ordered by a medical man,
to exceed the two glasses of wine daily.
96. If wine does not agree, and if she require a stimulant, a tumblerful
either of home-brewed ale or of Burton bitter ale ought, instead of
water, to be taken at dinner. But remember, if she drink either beer or
porter, she must take a great deal of out-door exercise; otherwise it
will probably make her bilious. If she be inclined to be bilious, wine
is superior to either beer or porter.
91. Brandy ought never to be taken by a young wife but as a medicine,
and then but rarely, and only in cases of extreme exhaustion. It would
be a melancholy and gloomy prospect for her to drink brandy daily; she
would, in all probability, in a short time become a confirmed drunkard.
There is nothing, _when once regularly taken_, more fascinating and more
desperately dangerous than brandy-drinking. It has caused the
destruction of tens of thousands both of men and of women!
98. A wife ought not, if she feel low, to fly on every occasion to wine
to raise her spirits, but should try the effects of a walk in the
country, and
“Draw physic from the fields in _draughts_ of vital air.”[21]
99. An excitable wife is a weakly wife: “excitement is the effect of
weakness, not of strength.” Wine in large quantities will not
strengthen, but, on the contrary, will decidedly weaken; the more the
wine, the greater the debility and the greater the excitement—one
follows the other as the night the day. A person who drinks much wine is
always in a state of excitement, and is invariably weak, low, and
nervous, and frequently barren. Alcoholic stimulants in excess are “a
delusion and a snare,” and are one of the most frequent causes of
excitement, and therefore both of weakness and of barrenness. Alcohol,
pure and undiluted, and in excess, is a poison, and is ranked among the
deadly poisons; if a person were to drink at one draught half a pint of
undiluted alcohol it would be the last draught he or she would ever, in
this world, drink,—it would be as surely fatal as a large dose of either
arsenic or strychnine! Brandy, whisky, gin, and wine are composed of
alcohol as the principal ingredient; indeed, each and all of them
entirely owe their strength to the quantity of alcohol contained
therein. Brandy, whisky, gin, and wine, without the alcohol, would, each
one of them, be as chip in porridge—perfectly inert. Brandy and wine,
the former especially, contain large proportions of alcohol, and both
the one and the other, in excess, either prevents a woman from
conceiving, and thus makes her barren, or if she do conceive, it poisons
the unborn babe within her; and it either makes him puny and delicate,
or it downright kills him in the womb, and thus causes a miscarriage. If
he survive the poison, and he be born alive, he is usually, when born,
delicate and undersized; if such a one be suckled by such a mother, he
is subjected, if the mother can nurse him, which in such cases she
rarely can, to a second course of poisoning; the mother’s milk is
poisoned with the alcohol, and the poor unfortunate little wretch,
having to run the gantlet in the womb and out of the womb, pines and
dwindles away, until at length he finds a resting-place in the grave! If
you wish to make a dog small, give him, when he is a puppy, gin; the
alcohol of the gin will readily do it: this is a well-known fact, and
is, by dog-fanciers, constantly practiced. If you desire, in like
manner, to make a Tom Thumb of a baby, give him the milk of a mother or
of a wet-nurse who imbibes, in the form of wine or of brandy or of gin,
alcohol in quantities, and the deed is done! Gin-drinking nursing
mothers, it is well known, have usually puny children; indeed, the
mother drinking the gin is only another way of giving gin to the babe—an
indirect instead of a direct route, both leading to the same terminus.
Brandy was formerly sold only by the apothecary; brandy is a medicine—a
powerful medicine—and ought only to be prescribed as a medicine; that is
to say, but seldom, in small and in measured quantities at a time, and
only when absolutely necessary: now it is resorted to on every occasion
as a panacea for every ill! If taken regularly, and in quantities, as
unfortunately it frequently now is, it becomes a desperate poison—a
pathway leading to the grave! It is utterly impossible for any person to
hold in the mouth, for five minutes at a time, a mouthful of neat brandy
without experiencing intense suffering: if it has this fearful effect on
the mouth, what effect must this burning fluid, when taken in
quantities, have upon the stomach? Injury, most decided injury to the
stomach, and, through the stomach, disease and weakness to the remainder
of the body! Brandy is a wonderful and powerful agent: brandy has the
effect, if taken in excess and for a length of time, of making the liver
as hard as a board. Brandy in large quantities, and in the course of
time, has the power of making the body marvelously big—as big again; but
not with firm muscle and strong sinew, not with good blood and wholesome
juices—nothing of the kind; but of filling it full, even to bursting,
with water! Brandy has the power of taking away a giant’s strength, and
of making him as helpless as a little child! Habitual brandy-drinking
poisons the very streams of life! It would take more time and space than
I have to spare to tell of the wonderful powers of brandy; but
unfortunately, as a rule, its powers are more those of an angel of
darkness than those of an angel of light! If the above statements be
true (and they cannot be contravened), they show the folly, the utter
imbecility, and the danger, both to mother and to babe, of dosing a
wife, be she strong or be she delicate, and more especially if she be
delicate, with large quantities either of wine or of brandy. Brandy,
gin, and whisky act on the human economy very much alike; for, after
all, it is the quantity of alcohol contained in each of them that gives
them their real strength and danger. I have selected brandy as the type
of all of them, as brandy is now the fashionable remedy for all
complaints, and, unfortunately, in too many instances the habit of
drinking it imperceptibly but rapidly increases, until at length, in
many cases, that which was formerly a teaspoonful becomes a
tablespoonful, and eventually a wineglassful, with what result I have
earnestly endeavored faithfully to portray. Avoid, then, the first step
in regular brandy-drinking: it is the first step that ofttimes leads to
danger, and eventually to destruction!
100. I am quite convinced that one cause of barrenness among ladies of
the present day is _excessive_ wine-drinking. This is an age of
stimulants, and the practice is daily increasing. A delicate lady is
recommended to take three or four glasses of wine daily. It seems for
the moment to do her good, and whenever she feels low she flies to it
again. The consequence is, that she almost lives upon wine, and takes
but little else besides! Who are the fruitful women? Poor women who
cannot afford to drink stimulants; for instance, poor Irish women and
poor curates’ wives, who have only, principally, water and milk and
buttermilk to drink.
101. There is decidedly, among the higher ranks, more barrenness than
formerly, and one cause of it, in my opinion, is the much larger
quantity of wine now consumed than in the olden times. Many ladies now
drink as many glasses of wine in one day as their grandmothers drank in
a week; moreover, the wineglasses of the present day are twice the size
of old-fashioned wineglasses; so that half a dozen glasses of wine will
almost empty a bottle; and many ladies now actually drink, in the day,
half a dozen glasses of wine!
102. In the wine-growing and wine-drinking country of France, barrenness
prevails to a fearful extent; it has become there a serious
consideration and a State question. Wine is largely consumed in France
by ladies as well as by gentlemen. The usual and everyday quantity of
wine allowed _at_ dinner at the _restaurants_ of Paris, for each lady,
is half a wine quart bottle-full—a similar quantity to that allowed for
each gentleman. Where a gentleman and a lady are dining together, and
have a bottle of wine between them, it is probable that the former might
consume more than his own share of the wine; but whether he does or not,
the quantity the lady herself drinks is sadly too much either for her
health or for her fruitfulness. I am, moreover, quite convinced that the
quantity of wine—sour wine—consumed by French wives is not only very
antagonistic to their fertility, but likewise to their complexions.
103. Wine was formerly a luxury, it is now made a necessary of life.
Fruitful women, in olden times, were more common than they are now.
Riches, and consequently wine, did not then so much abound, but children
did much more abound. The richer the person, the fewer the children.
104. Wine is now oftentimes sucked in with a mother’s milk! Do not let
me be misunderstood; wine and brandy, in certain cases of extreme
exhaustion, are, even for very young children, most valuable remedies;
but I will maintain that both wine and brandy require the greatest
judgment and skill in administering, and do irreparable mischief unless
they are most carefully and judiciously prescribed. Wine ought to be
very rarely given to the young; indeed, it should be administered to
them with as much care and as seldom as any other dangerous or potent
medicine.
105. Statistics prove that wine-bibbing in England is greatly on the
increase, and so is barrenness. You might say there is no connection
between the two. I maintain that there is a connection, and that, the
alcohol contained in the wine (_if wine be taken to excess, which
unfortunately it now frequently is_) is most antagonistic to
fruitfulness.
106. It is surprising, nowadays, the quantity of wine some few young
single ladies, at parties, can imbibe without being intoxicated; but
whether, if such ladies marry, they will make fruitful vines is quite
another matter; but of this I am quite sure, that such girls will, as a
rule, make delicate, hysterical, and unhealthy wives. The young are
peculiarly sensitive to the evil effects of overstimulation. Excessive
wine-drinking with them is a canker eating into their very lives. Time
it is that these facts were proclaimed through the length and breadth of
our land, before mischief be done past remedy.
107. Champagne is a fashionable and favorite beverage at parties,
especially at dances. It is a marvel to note how girls will, in
quantities, imbibe the dangerous liquid. How cheerful they are after it;
how bright their colors; how sparkling their eyes; how voluble their
tongues; how brilliant their ideas! But, alas! the effects are very
evanescent—dark clouds soon o’ershadow the horizon, and all is changed!
How pale, after it, they become; how sallow their complexions; how dim
their eyes; how silent their tongues; how depressed their
spirits—depression following in an inverse ratio to overstimulation; and
if depression, as a matter of course, weakness and disease! Champagne is
one of the most fascinating but most desperately dangerous and deceptive
drinks a young girl can imbibe, and should be shunned as the plague!
Young men who witness their proceedings admire them vastly as partners
for the evening, but neither covet nor secure them as partners for life.
Can they be blamed? Certainly not! They well know that girls who, at a
dance, imbibe _freely_ of the champagne-cup, and who at a dinner party
drink, as some few are in the habit of drinking, four or five, or even
six, glasses of wine,—that such wives as these, if ever they do become
mothers (which is very doubtful), will be mothers of a degenerate race.
It is folly blinking the question; it is absolutely necessary that it be
looked boldly in the face, and that the evil be remedied before it be
too late.
108. There is an immense deal of drinking in England, which, I am quite
convinced, is one reason of so few children in families, and of so many
women being altogether barren. It is high time that these subjects were
looked into, and that the torrent be stemmed, ere it o’erflow its banks,
and carry with it a still greater amount of barrenness, of misery, and
of destruction.
109. It might be said that the light wines contain but little alcohol,
and therefore can cause, even if taken to excess, but slight injurious
effects on the constitution. I reply, that even light wines, taken in
quantities, conduce to barrenness, and that, as a rule, if a lady once
unfortunately takes to drinking too much wine, she is not satisfied with
the light wines, but at length flies to stronger wines—to wines usually
fortified with brandy, such as either to sherry or to port wine, or
even, at last, to brandy itself! I know that I am treading on tender
ground, but my duty as a medical man, and as a faithful chronicler of
these matters, obliges me to speak out plainly, without fear or without
favor, and to point out the deplorable consequences of such practices. I
am quite aware that many ladies have great temptations and great
inducements to resort to wine to cheer them in their hours of depression
and of loneliness; but unless the danger be clearly pointed out and
defined, it is utterly impossible to suggest a remedy, and to snatch
such patients from certain destruction.
110. I am quite convinced of one thing, namely, that the drinking of
_much_ wine—be it light as claret, or be it heavy as port—sadly injures
the complexion, and makes it muddy, speckled, broken-out, and toad-like.
111. It is high time that medical men should speak out on the subject,
and that with no “uncertain sound,” before mischief be done past remedy,
and before our island become as barren of children as France
unfortunately now is.
112. If a lady be laboring under debility, she is generally dosed with
quantities of wine—the greater the debility the more wine she is made to
take, until at length the poor unfortunate creature almost lives upon
wine. Her appetite for food is by such means utterly destroyed, and she
is for a time kept alive by stimulants; her stomach will at length take
nothing else, and she becomes a confirmed invalid, soon dropping into an
untimely grave! This is a most grievous, and, unfortunately, in this
country, not an uncommon occurrence. Much wine will never make a
delicate lady strong—it will increase her weakness, not her strength.
Wine in excess does not strengthen, but, on the contrary, produces
extreme debility. Let this be borne in mind, and much misery might then
be averted.
113. Remember I am not objecting to a lady taking wine in
moderation—certainly not; a couple of glasses, for instance, in the day,
of either sherry or claret, might do her great good; but I do strongly
object to her drinking, as many ladies do, five or six glasses of wine
during that time. I will maintain that such a quantity is most
detrimental both to her health and to her fecundity.
114. The effect of the _use_ of wine is beneficial; but the effect of
the _abuse_ of it is deplorable in the extreme. Wine is an edge-tool,
and will, if not carefully handled, assuredly wound most unmercifully. I
have not the slightest doubt that the quantity of wine consumed by many
ladies is one cause, in this our day, of so much delicacy of
constitution. It is a crying evil, and demands speedy redress; and as no
more worthy medical champion has appeared in the field to fight the
battle of _moderate_ wine-drinking, I myself have boldly come forward to
commence the affray, fervently trusting that some earnest men may join
me in the conflict. I consider that the advocates for a plentiful supply
of alcoholic stimulants are wrong, and that the upholders of total
abstinence principles are equally wrong; and that the only path of
health and of safety lies between them both—in moderation. A teetotaller
and an advocate for a plentiful supply of alcoholic drinks are both very
difficult to please; indeed, the one and the other are most intemperate.
I am aware that what I have written will be caviled at, and will give
great offense to both extreme parties; but I am quite prepared and
willing to abide the consequences, and sincerely hope that what I have
said will be the means of ventilating the subject, which is sadly
needed. It is the violence and obstinacy of the contending parties, each
of whom is partly right and partly wrong, that have long ago prevented a
settlement of the question at issue, and have consequently been the
means of causing much heart-burning, misery, and suffering. The _Times_
once pithily remarked that it would be well if the two combatants were
“to mix their liquors.”
115. A young wife ought to rise betimes in the morning, and after she be
once awake should never doze. Dozing is both weakening to the body and
enervating to the mind. It is a species of dram-drinking; let my fair
reader, therefore, shun it with all her might. Let her imitate the
example of _the_ Duke of Wellington, who, whenever he turned in bed,
made a point of turning out of it; indeed, so determined was that
illustrious man not to allow himself to doze after he was once awake,
that he had his bed made so small that he could not conveniently turn in
it without first of all turning out of it. Let her, as soon as she is
married, commence early rising; let her establish the habit, and it will
for life cling to her:
“Awake! the morning shines, and the fresh field
Calls us; we lose the prime, to mark how spring
Our tender plants; how blows the citron grove,
What drops the myrrh, and what the balmy reed;
How Nature paints her colors; how the bee
Sits on the bloom.”[22]
116. It is wonderful how much may be done betimes in the morning. There
is nothing like a good start. It makes for the remainder of the day the
occupation easy and pleasant—
“Happy, thrice happy, every one
Who sees his labor well begun,
And not perplexed and multiplied
By idly waiting for time and tide.”[23]
117. How glorious, and balmy, and health-giving, is the first breath of
the morning, more especially to those living in the country! It is more
exhilarating, invigorating, and refreshing than it is all the rest of
the day. If you wish to be strong, if you desire to retain your good
looks and your youthful appearance, if you are desirous of having a
family, rise betimes in the morning; if you are anxious to lay the
foundation of a long life, jump out of bed the moment you are awake. Let
there be no dallying, no parleying with the enemy, or the battle is
lost, and you will never after become an early riser; you will then lose
one of the greatest charms and blessings of life, and will, probably,
not have the felicity of ever becoming a mother; if you do become one,
it will most likely be of puny children. The early risers make the
healthy, bright, long-lived wives and mothers. But if a wife is to be an
early riser, she must have a little courage and determination; great
advantages in this world are never gained without; but what is either
man or woman good for if they have not those qualities?
118. An early riser ought always to have something to eat and drink,
such as a little bread and butter, and either a cup of tea or a draught
of new milk, before she goes out of a morning; this need not interfere
with, at the usual hour, her regular breakfast. If she were to take a
long walk on an empty stomach, she would for the remainder of the day
feel tired and exhausted, and she would then, but most unfairly, fancy
that early rising did not agree with her.
119. The early morning is one of the best and most enjoyable portions of
the day. There is a perfect charm in nature which early risers alone can
appreciate. It is only the early riser that ever sees “the rosy morn,”
the blushing of the sky, which is gloriously beautiful! Nature, in the
early morning, seems to rejoice and be glad, and to pour out her richest
treasures: the birds vie with each other in their sweetest carols; the
dew on the grass, like unto myriads of diamonds, glittering and
glistening, and glinting in the rays of the sun; occasionally the
cobwebs on the shrubs and bushes, like exquisite lace sparkling with
gems; the fresh and matchless perfume and fragrance of the earth and
flowers;—these, one and all, are gloriously beautiful to behold, and can
only be enjoyed to perfection in the early morning, while the majority
of people, during the choicest periods of their existence, are
sweltering, and dozing, and deteriorating both in body and mind, on beds
of down, when they ought to be up, out, and about! Can it be wondered
at, when such weakening and enervating practices are so much in
vogue—for luxury is the curse of the day—that there are so many barren
wives in England? It looks, on the first blush, that many of the customs
and practices of the present day were to cause barrenness; for,
assuredly, if they had been instituted on purpose, they could not have
performed their task more surely and successfully.
120. It might be said that the dews of the morning are dangerous! The
dews of the early morning are beneficial to health, while the dews of
the evening are detrimental. How truly the poet sings—
“Dew-drops are the gems of morning,
But the tears of mournful eve!”[24]
121. Early rising imparts health to the frame, strength to the muscles,
and comeliness to the countenance; it clears the brain, and thus
brightens the intellect; it is a panacea for many of the ills of life,
and, unlike many panaceas, it is both simple and pleasant in its
operation; it calms the troubled breast; it gives a zest to the
after-employments and pleasures of the day; and makes both man and woman
look up from “nature’s works to nature’s God!”
122. Early rising rejuvenizes the constitution: it makes the middle-aged
look young, and the old look middle-aged; it is the finest cosmetic in
the world, and tints the cheeks with a bloom the painter emulates, but
in vain! On the other hand, late rising adds years to the looks, fills
the body with aches and pains, and the countenance with crow-feet and
wrinkles; gives a yellowness and pimples to the face, and depression to
the spirits. Aged looks and ill health invariably follow in the wake of
late rising.
123. If a mistress rise early the servants are likely to follow suit: a
lazy mistress is almost sure to have lazy servants; the house becomes a
sluggard’s dwelling! Do not let me be misunderstood; I do not recommend
any unreasonable hours for rising in the morning; I do not advise a wife
to rise early for the sake of rising early: there would be neither merit
nor sense in it; I wish her to have her full complement of sleep—seven
or eight hours; but I do advise her _to go to bed early_, in order that
she might be up every morning at six o’clock in the summer, and at seven
o’clock in the winter. I maintain that it is the _duty_ of every wife,
unless prevented by illness, to be an early riser. This last reason
should have greater weight with her than any other that can possibly be
brought forward! All things in this world ought to be done from a sense
of duty; duty ought to be a wife’s and every other person’s pole-star!
124. There is a wonderful and glorious object in creation which few,
very few, ladies, passing strange though it be, have ever seen—the
rising of the sun! The few who have seen it are, probably, those who
have turned night into day, who are returning home in the early morning,
jaded and tired, after dancing the whole of the previous night. These,
of course, cannot enjoy, and most likely do not even see, the
magnificent spectacle!
125. I am not advising my fair reader to rise every morning with the
rising of the sun—certainly not; but if she be an early riser, she might
occasionally indulge herself in beholding the glorious sight!
126. “The top of the morning to you” is a favorite Irish salutation, and
is very expressive and complimentary. “The top of the morning”—the early
morning, the time when the sun first rises in his majesty and
splendor—is the most glorious, and health-giving, and best part of the
whole day; when nature and all created beings rejoice and are glad:
“But mighty Nature bounds as from her birth,
The sun is in the heavens, and life on earth;
Flowers in the valley, splendor in the beam,
Health in the gale, and freshness in the stream.”[25]
127. Let a young wife, if she be anxious to have a family and healthy
progeny, be in bed betimes. It is impossible that she can rise early in
the morning unless she retire early at night. “One hour’s sleep before
midnight is worth three after.” Sleep before midnight is most essential
to health, and if to health, to beauty; hence, sleep before midnight is
called _beauty-sleep_. The finest cosmetic is health!
128. She ought to pay particular attention to the _ventilation_ of her
sleeping apartment, and she herself, before leaving the chamber in the
morning, ought never to omit to open the windows; and in the summer, if
the room be large, she should during the night leave, for about six or
eight inches, the window-sash open. If the room be small it will be
desirable to have, instead of the window, the door (secured from
intrusion by a door-chain) unclosed; and to have, as well, either the
skylight or the landing window open. There ought by some means or other,
if the inmates of the room are to have sweet and refreshing sleep, to be
thorough ventilation of the sleeping apartment. I have no patience to
hear some men assert that it is better to sleep in a close room—in a
foul room! They might, with equal truth, declare that it is desirable
for a healthy person to swallow every night a dose of arsenic in order
to prolong his life! Carbonic acid gas is as truly a poison as arsenic!
If there be a dressing-room next to the bedroom, it will be well to have
the dressing-room window, instead of the bedroom window, open at night.
The dressing-room door will regulate the quantity of air to be admitted
into the bedroom, opening it either little or much as the weather might
be cold or otherwise.[26] The idea that it will give cold is erroneous;
it will be more likely, by strengthening the system and by carrying off
the impurities of the lungs and skin, to prevent cold.
129. Some persons, accustomed all their lives to sleep in a close, foul
room—in a room contaminated with carbonic acid gas—cannot sleep in a
fresh, well-ventilated chamber, in a chamber with either door or window
open: they seem to require the stupefying effects of the carbonic acid
gas, and cannot sleep without it! If such be the case, and as sleep is
of such vital importance to the human economy, let both window and door
be closed, but do not, on any account, let the chimney be stopped, as
there must be, in a bedroom, ventilation of some kind or another, or ill
health will inevitably ensue.
130. It is madness to sleep in a room without ventilation—_it is
inhaling poison_; for the carbonic acid gas, the refuse of respiration,
which the lungs are constantly throwing off, is a poison—a deadly
poison—and, of course, if there be no ventilation, a person must breathe
this carbonic acid gas mixed with the atmospheric air. Hence the
importance, the vital importance, of either an _open_ chimney or of an
_open_ window, or of both. The chimney, then, even if the window be
closed, ought _never_ to be stopped; and the window, either of the
bedroom or of the dressing-room, should not be closed, even in the
night, unless the weather be either very wet or bitterly cold. I should
strongly recommend my fair reader, and, indeed, every one else, to
peruse the good and talented Florence Nightingale’s _Notes on Nursing_.
They ought to be written in letters of gold, and should be indelibly
impressed on the memory of every one who has the interest of human life
and happiness at heart. Florence Nightingale declares _that no one,
while in bed, ever catches cold from proper ventilation_. I believe her;
and I need not say that no one has had more experience and better
opportunities of judging about what she writes than this accomplished
authoress.
131. I fearlessly assert that no one can sleep sweetly and refreshingly
unless there be _thorough_ ventilation of the chamber. She may have, in
an _unventilated_ apartment, heavy, drowsy, deathlike sleep, and well
she might! She is under the stupefying effects of poison; the carbonic
acid gas, which is constantly being evolved from the lungs, and which
wants a vent, but cannot obtain it, is, as I have before remarked, a
_deadly poison_! She may as well take every night a stupefying opiate,
as breathe nightly a bedroom charged with carbonic acid gas; the one
would, in the long run, be as pernicious as the other. To show the power
of carbonic acid gas in sending people to sleep, we have only to notice
a crowded church of an evening; when, even if the preacher be an
eloquent man, the majority of the congregation is fast asleep,—is, in
point of fact, under the soporific influence of the carbonic acid gas,
the church being at the time full of it. Carbonic acid gas is as
certain, if not more certain, to produce a heavy deathlike slumber as
either numbing opium or drowsy poppy.
132. I moreover declare that she cannot have sweet refreshing sleep at
night unless during the day she take plenty of exercise, and unless she
has an abundance of active, useful occupation.
133. Occupation—active, useful occupation—is the best composing medicine
in the world; and the misfortune of it is that the wealthy have little
or no occupation to cause them to sleep. Pleasure they have in
abundance, but little or no real occupation. “The sleep of a laboring
man is sweet, whether he eat little or much: but the abundance of the
rich will not suffer them to sleep.”[27]
134. Sleep is of more consequence to the human economy than food.
Nothing should therefore be allowed by a young wife to interfere with
sleep. And as the attendance on large assemblies, balls, and concerts
sadly, in every way, interfere with sleep, they ought, one and all, to
be sedulously avoided.
135. As exercise is very conducive and provocative of sleep—sound,
sweet, childlike sleep—exercise must be practiced, and that not by fits
and starts, but regularly and systematically. She ought, then, during
the day, with exercise and with occupation, to tire herself, and she
will then have sweet and refreshing sleep. But some ladies never do tire
themselves except with excitement; they do not know what it is to be
tired either by a long walk or by household work. They can tire
themselves with dancing at a ball; poor fragile creatures can remain up
the whole night waltzing, quadrilling, and galloping, but would be
shocked at the idea and at the vulgarity of walking a mile at a stretch!
Poor creatures, they are to be pitied; and, if they ever marry, so are
their husbands. Are such wives as these likely to be mothers, and if
they are, are their offspring likely to be strong? Are such wives as
these likely to be the mothers of our future warriors, of our future
statesmen, and of our other worthies—men of mark, who,
“Departing, leave behind them
Footprints on the sands of time!”
136. Sleep is the choicest gift of God. Sleep is a comforter, a solace,
a boon, a nourisher, a friend. Happy, thrice happy, is a wife who can
sleep like unto a little child! When she is well, what a comfort is
sleep; when she is ill, what a soother of pain is sleep; when she is in
trouble, what a precious balm is sleep!
137. Hear what our noblest poet, Shakspeare, says of sleep:
“Sleep that knits up the raveled sleeve of care,
The death of each day’s life, sore labor’s bath,
Balm of hurt minds, great nature’s second course
Chief nourisher in life’s feast.”
138. A luxurious, idle wife cannot sleep; she, night after night,
tumbles and tosses on her bed of down. What has she done during the day
to tire herself, and thus to induce sleep? Alas, nothing! She in
consequence never experiences
“Tired nature’s sweet restorer, balmy sleep.”
For, after all, out-door exercise and useful occupation are the best
composing medicines in the world! Encompassed as she is with every
luxury—partaking of all the delicacies of the season, of the richest
viands, and of the choicest wines—decked out in costly apparel—reclining
on the softest cushions—surrounded with exquisite scenery, with troops
of friends, and with bevies of servants;—yet, notwithstanding all these
apparent advantages, she is oftentimes one of the most debilitated,
complaining, “nervous,” hysterical and miserable of mortals. The
_causes_ of all these afflictions are—she has nothing to do; she is
overwhelmed with prosperity; she is like a fire that is being
extinguished in consequence of being overloaded with fuel; she is being
killed with overmuch kindness; she is a drone in a hive where _all_ must
work if they are to be strong and well, and bright and cheerful; for
labor is the lot of _all_ and the law for _all_, for “God is no
respecter of persons.” The _remedies_ for a lady affected as above
described are simple and yet efficacious—namely, simplicity of living,
and an abundance of out-door exercise and of useful occupation. It would
have been to the manifest advantage of many a fair dame if she were
obliged to put down her close carriage, and were compelled to walk
instead of drive. Riding in close carriages nurse many ailments which
walking would banish; a brisk walk is the best tonic and the most
reviving medicine in the world, and would prevent the necessity of her
swallowing so much nauseous physic. Nature’s simple remedies are
oftentimes far superior and far more agreeable than any to be found in
the Pharmacopœia. It would have been a blessing to many a rich,
indolent, and luxurious lady if she had been born in a lower rank—in one
in which she had been compelled to work for her daily bread; if she had
been, she would, in many instances, have been far happier and healthier
than she now is. Indolence and luxury kill more than hard work and hard
fare ever did or ever will kill. Indolence and luxury are slow poisons;
they destroy by degrees, but are in the end as certain in their
deleterious effects as either arsenic or deadly nightshade—
“Come hither, ye that press your beds of down,
And sleep not; see him sweating o’er his bread
Before he eats it. ’Tis the primal curse,
But softened into mercy—made the pledge
Of cheerful days, and nights without a groan.”
139. I must not forget to speak of the paramount importance in a
dwelling of an abundance of _light_—of _daylight_. Light is life, light
is health, light is a physician! Light is life: the sun gives life as
well as light; if it were not for the sun, all creation would wither and
die. There is “no vitality or healthful structure without light.”[28]
Light is health: it strengthens the frame, it cheers the heart, and
tints the cheeks with a roseate hue! Light is a physician: it drives
away many diseases, as the mists vanish at the approach of the sun; and
it cures numerous ailments which drugs alone are unable to relieve.
140. Look at the bloom on the face of a milkmaid! What is it that tints
her cheeks? An abundance of light. Behold the pallid, corpselike
countenance of a factory girl! What blanches her cheek? The want of
light, of air, and of sunshine.
141. A room, then, ought to have _large_ windows in order that the sun
might penetrate into every nook and corner of the apartment. A gardener
thoroughly appreciates the importance of light to his flowers; he knows,
also, that if he wishes to blanch some kinds of vegetables—such as
celery and sea-kale—he must keep the light from them; and if my fair
reader desires to blanch her own cheeks, she ought to keep the light
from them; but, on the other hand, if she be anxious to be healthy and
rosy, she must have plenty of light in her dwelling.
142. The want of light stunts the growth, dims the sight, and damps the
spirits. Colliers, who a great part of their lives live in the bowels of
the earth, are generally stunted; prisoners, confined for years in a
dark dungeon, frequently become blind; people who live in dark houses
are usually melancholic.
143. Light banishes from rooms foulness, fustiness, mustiness, and
smells. Light ought therefore to be freely allowed to enter every house,
and be esteemed as the most welcome of visitors. Let me then advise
every young wife to admit into her dwelling an abundance of light, of
air, and of sunshine.
144. Some ladies, to keep off the sun, to prevent it from fading the
furniture, have, in the summer time, all the blinds of the windows of
the house down. Hence they save the fading of their furniture, and,
instead of which, they fade their own and their children’s cheeks. Many
houses, with all their blinds down, look like so many prisons, or as if
the inmates were in deep affliction, or as if they were performing
penance; for is it not a penance to be deprived of the glorious light of
day, which is as exhilarating to the spirits as, and much more
beneficial than, a glass of champagne?
145. It is a grievous sin to keep out from a dwelling the glorious
sunshine. We have heard of “a trap to catch a sunbeam:” let the open
windows be a trap, and a more desirable prize cannot be caught than a
sunbeam. Sunbeams, both physical and metaphorical, make a house a
paradise upon earth!
146. Let me strongly caution the newly made wife against the evil
effects of _tight lacing_. The waist ought, as a rule, to be from
twenty-seven to twenty-nine inches in circumference; if, therefore, she
bind and gird herself in until she be only twenty-three inches, and, in
some cases, until she be only twenty-one inches, it must be done at the
expense of comfort, of health, and happiness. If stays be worn tightly,
they press down the contents of the lower part of the belly, which might
either prevent a lady from having a family, or might produce a
miscarriage.[29]
147. Let her dress be loose, and be adapted to the season. She ought not
to adopt the fashion of wearing in the morning warm clothes with long
sleeves, and in the evening thin dresses with short sleeves. “It is
hopeless to battle with fashion in matters of dress; women will never
believe that their bonnets, neck-wrappers, or huge petticoats (until
they go out of fashion) can have anything to do with headaches, sore
throats, or rheumatism; but they ought to know that the more they swathe
themselves, the more tender and delicate they are likely to be. If they
wish to withstand cold, they should accustom themselves to bear it.”[30]
148. If a young wife be delicate, and if her circulation be languid, a
flannel vest next the skin, and in the daytime, should, winter and
summer, be worn. Scarlet is, in such a case, a favorite color, and may
be selected for the purpose.
149. It is important that it should be borne in mind that the wearing of
flannel next the skin is more necessary in the summer than in the winter
time. A lady in the summer is apt, when hot, either from the weather or
from exertion, to get into a draught to cool herself, and not wearing
flannel next the skin, she is almost sure at such times to catch a cold.
Now, flannel being a bad conductor of heat, keeps the body at a
tolerably equal temperature, and thus materially lessens the risk. When
it is considered that many of the diseases afflicting humanity arise
from colds, the value of wearing flannel next the skin as a preventive
is at once apparent.
150. Never was there such a time as the present when dress was so much
thought of. Grand dresses now sweep our dirty streets and thoroughfares;
rich velvets, silks, and satins are as plentiful as dead leaves in
autumn. “There is so much to gaze and stare at in the dress, one’s eyes
are quite dazzled and weary, and can hardly pierce through to that which
is clothed upon.” Dress is become a crying evil; many ladies clothe
themselves in gorgeous apparel at the expense of household comforts, and
even of household necessaries:
“We sacrifice to dress, till household joys
And comforts cease. Dress drains our cellars dry,
And keeps our larder lean—puts out our fires,
And introduces hunger, frost, and woe,
Where peace and hospitality might reign.”[31]
151. It might be said, What has all this to do with the health of a
wife? I reply, much. The customs, habits, and luxuries of the present
day are very antagonistic both to health and fecundity.
152. She must not coddle, nor should she muffle up her throat with furs.
Boas are the most frequent cause of sore throats and quinsies, and
therefore the sooner they are discarded the better. “And this is
perfectly true, though few seem to be aware of the fact. Relaxed throats
would be rare if cold water was more plentifully used, both externally
and internally, and mufflers were laid aside.”[32]
153. If my gentle reader will freely use _cold_ water ablutions, she
will find that she will not require nearly so much clothing and muffling
up. It is those who use so _little_ water who have to wear so _much_
clothing; and the misfortune of it is, the more clothes they wear the
more they require. Many young people are wrapped and muffled up in the
winter time like old folks, and by coddling they become prematurely
old—frightened at a breath of air and at a shower of rain, and shaking
in their shoes at an easterly wind! Should such things be?
154. Pleasure, to a certain degree, is as necessary to the health of a
young wife, and every one else, as the sun is to the earth—to warm, to
cheer, and to invigorate it, and to bring out its verdure. Pleasure, in
moderation, rejuvenizes, humanizes, and improves the character, and
expands and exercises the good qualities of the mind; but, like the sun,
in its intensity it oppresseth drieth up, and withereth. Pleasures kept
within due bounds are good, but in excess are utterly subversive of
health and happiness. A wife who lives in a whirl of pleasure and
excitement is always weakly and “nervous,” and utterly unfitted for her
duties and responsibilities.
155. Let the _pleasures_ of a newly-married wife, then, be dictated by
reason, and not by fashion. She ought to avoid all recreations of an
exciting kind, as depression always follows excitement. I would have her
prefer the amusements of the country to those of the town, such as a
flower-garden, botany, archery, croquet, bowls,—everything, in fact,
that will take her into the open air, and will cause her to appreciate
the pure, simple, and exquisite beauties of nature. Croquet I consider
to be one of the best games ever invented: it induces a lady to take
exercise which perhaps she would not otherwise do; it takes her into the
open air, it strengthens her muscles, it expands her chest, it promotes
digestion, it circulates her blood, and it gives her an interest in the
game which is most beneficial both to mind and body.
156. Oh, that my countrywomen should prefer the contaminated and foul
air of ball and of concert-rooms, to the fresh, sweet, and health-giving
air of the country!
157. Let me in this place enter my strong protest against a young wife
_dancing_, more especially if she be _enceinte_. If she be anxious to
have a family, it is a most dangerous amusement, as it is a fruitful
source of miscarriage; and the misfortune is, that if she once have a
miscarriage, she might go on again and again, until her constitution be
severely injured, and until all hopes of her ever becoming a mother are
at an end.
158. The quiet retirement of her own home ought then to be her greatest
pleasure and her most precious privilege. Home is, or ought to be, the
kingdom of woman, and she should be the reigning potentate. England is
the only place in the world that truly knows what _home_ really means.
The French have actually no word in their language to express its
meaning:
“That home, the sound we English love so well,
Has been as strange to me as to those nations
That have no word, they tell me, to express it.”[33]
159. Cheerfulness, contentment, occupation, and healthy activity of mind
cannot be too strongly recommended. A cheerful, happy temper is one of
the most valuable attributes a wife can have. The possession of such a
virtue not only makes herself, but every one around her, happy. It gilds
with sunshine the humblest dwelling, and often converts an indifferent
husband into a good one. Contentment is the finest medicine in the
world; it not only frequently prevents disease, but, if disease be
present, it assists in curing it. Happy is the man who has a contented
wife! A peevish, discontented helpmate (helpmate, save the mark!) is
always ailing, is never satisfied, and does not know, and does not
deserve to know, what real happiness is. She is “a thorn in the flesh.”
160. One of the greatest requisites, then, for a happy home is a
cheerful, contented, bright, and merry wife; her face is a perpetual
sunshine, her presence is that of an angel; she is happy in herself, and
she imparts happiness to all around her. A gentle, loving, confiding,
placid, hopeful, and trusting disposition has a great charm for a
husband, and ought, by a young wife, to be assiduously cultivated—
“For gentleness, and love, and trust
Prevail o’er angry wave and gust.”[34]
161. Every young wife, let her station be ever so exalted, ought to
attend to her _household duties_. Her health, and consequently her
happiness, demand the exertion. The want of occupation—healthy, useful
occupation—is a fruitful source of discontent, of sin,[35] of disease,
and barrenness. If a young married lady did but know the importance of
occupation—how much misery might be averted, and how much happiness
might, by attending to her household duties, be insured—she would
appreciate the importance of the advice. Occupation improves the health,
drives away _ennui_, cheers the hearth and home, and, what is most
important, if household duties be well looked after, her house becomes a
paradise, and she the ministering angel to her husband. But she might
say—I cannot always be occupied; it bores me; it is like a common
person: I am a lady; I was not made to work; I have neither the strength
nor the inclination for it; I feel weak and tired, nervous and
spiritless, and must have rest. I reply, in the expressive words of the
poet, that—
“Absence of occupation is not rest,—
A mind quite vacant is a mind distress’d.”[36]
“If time be heavy on your hands,” are there no household duties to look
after, no servants to instruct, no flower-beds to arrange, no school
children to teach, no sick-room to visit, no aged people to comfort, no
widow nor orphan to relieve?—
“Nor any poor about your lands?
Oh! teach the orphan boy to read,
Or teach the orphan girl to sew—
Pray Heaven for a human heart.”[37]
162. To have nothing to do is most wretched, wearisome, and destructive
to the mind. The words of Martin Luther on this subject should be
written in letters of gold, and ought to be kept in constant remembrance
by every man and woman, be they rich or poor, lettered or unlettered,
gentle or simple. “The mind,” said he, “is like a mill that cannot stop
working; give it something to grind, and it will grind _that_. If it has
nothing to grind, it grinds on yet, but it is itself it grinds and wears
away.”
163. A lady in this enlightened age of ours considers it to be horribly
low and vulgar to strengthen her loins with exercise and her arms with
occupation, although such a plan of procedure is recommended in the
Bible by the wisest of men,—“She girdeth her loins with strength, and
strengthened her arms.”[38]
164. A husband soon becomes tired of grand performances on the piano, of
crotchet and worsted work, and of other fiddle-faddle employments; but
he can always appreciate a comfortable, clean, well-ordered, bright,
cheerful, happy home, and a good dinner. It might be said that a wife is
not the proper person to cook her husband’s dinner. True; but a wife
should see and know that the cook does her duty; and if she did,
perchance, understand _how_ the dinner ought to be cooked, I have yet to
learn that the husband would for such knowledge think any the worse of
her.
165. A grazing farmer is three or four years in bringing a beast to
perfection, fit for human food. Is it not a sin, after so much time and
pains, for an idiot of a cook, in the course of one short hour or two,
to ruin, by vile cookery, a joint of such meat? Is it not time, then,
that a wife herself should know how a joint of meat ought to be cooked,
and thus to be able to give instructions accordingly?
166. A boy is brought up to his profession, and is expected to know it
thoroughly; how is it that a girl is not brought up to her profession of
a wife; and why is it that she is not taught to thoroughly understand
all household duties? The daughters of a gentleman’s family in olden
time spent an hour or two every morning in the kitchen and in the
laundry, and were initiated into the mysteries of pastry and
pudding-making, of preserving fruit, of ironing, etc. Their mothers’ and
their grandmothers’ receipt-books were at their finger-ends. But now
look at the picture; the daughters of a gentleman’s family of the
present day consider it very low and horridly vulgar to understand any
such matters. It is just as absurd to ask a lady to play on the piano
who has never been taught music as to ask a wife to direct her servants
to perform duties which she herself knows nothing about. The duties of a
wife cannot come either by intuition or by instinct more than music can.
Again I say, every lady, before she be married, ought to be thoroughly
taught her profession—the duties of a wife; she then would not be at the
tender mercies of her servants, many of whom are either unprincipled or
inefficient.
167. Do not think that I am overstating the importance of the subject. A
good dinner—I mean a well-cooked dinner (which, be it ever so plain, is
really a good dinner)—is absolutely essential to the health, to the very
existence of yourself and your husband; and how, if it be left to the
tender mercies of the present race of cooks, can you have it? High time
it is that every wife, let her station be either high or low, should
look into the matter herself, and remedy the crying evil of the day.
They manage these things better in Sweden. There the young ladies of
wealthy families cook—actually themselves cook—the dinners; and instead
of their considering it a disgrace, and to be horridly low and vulgar,
they look upon it as one of their greatest privileges! And what is the
consequence? A badly-cooked dinner is rare, and not, as it frequently is
in this country, of frequent occurrence; and “peace and happiness” reign
triumphant. It is a pity, too, that we do not take a leaf out of the
book of our neighbors the French. Every woman in France is a good cook;
good cookery with them is the rule—with us it is the exception. A
well-cooked dinner is a blessing to all who partake of it; it promotes
digestion, it sweetens the temper, it cheers the hearth and home. There
is nothing tries the temper more than an ill-cooked dinner; it makes
people dyspeptic, and for a dyspeptic to be sweet-tempered is an utter
impossibility. Let me, therefore, advise my fair reader to look well
into the matter; either the gloom or the sunshine of a house much
depends upon herself and upon her household management. It might be
said—What a poor creature a man must be to require so much attention.
Truly, if his health be not looked after, if his comforts be not
attended to, he is indeed a poor creature!
168. Every young wife should be able—ought to be instructed by her
mother or by some competent person—it should be a part of her
education—to teach and to train her own servants aright. Unfortunately,
in the present day there is too much cant and humbug about the
instruction of the lower orders, and domestic servants among the rest.
They are instructed in many things that are perfectly useless to them,
the knowledge of which only makes them dissatisfied with their lot and
tends to make them bad servants. Among other useless subjects taught
them are the “ologies.” It would be much more to the purpose if they
were thoroughly instructed in all household duties, and “in the three
R’s—reading, ’riting, and ’rithmetic,”—in obedience to their mistresses,
and in simplicity of demeanor and dress. The servants themselves would
be immensely benefited by such lessons.
169. A “blue-stocking” makes, as a rule, a wretched wife; it would be
far better for the health of her husband, of herself, and her family,
if, instead of cultivating Latin and Greek, she would cultivate her
household duties, more especially a thorough knowledge of the culinary
department. “A man is, in general, better pleased when he has a good
dinner upon his table than when his wife speaks Greek.”[39]
170. As soon as a lady marries, the romantic nonsense of school-girls
will rapidly vanish, and the stern realities of life will take their
place, and she will then know, and sometimes to her grievous cost, that
a _useful_ wife will be thought much more of than either an _ornamental_
or a _learned_ one.
171. It is better for a young wife, and for every one else, to have too
much than too little occupation. The misfortune of the present day is,
that servants are made to do _all_ the work, while the mistress of the
house remains idle. Remains idle! Yes; and by remaining idle, remains
out of health! Idleness is a curse, and brings misery in its train! How
slow the hours crawl on when a person has nothing to do; but how rapidly
they fly when she is fully occupied! Besides, idleness is a frequent
cause of barrenness. Hard-worked, industrious women are prolific; while
idle ladies are frequently childless, or, if they do have a family,
their children are puny, and their labors are usually both hard and
lingering. We doctors know full well the difference there often is
between the labor of a poor hard-worked woman and of a rich, idle lady:
in the one case the labor is usually quick and easy; in the other, it is
often hard and lingering. Oh, if wives would consider betimes the
importance of an abundance of exercise and of occupation, what an
immense amount of misery, of pain, of anxiety, and anguish they might
avert! Work is a blessed thing; if we do not work we pay the penalty—we
suffer “in mind, body, and estate.” An idle man or an idle woman is an
object of the deepest pity and commiseration.
172. Longfellow, in his _Song of the Blacksmith_, beautifully and
graphically describes the importance and the value of occupation; and as
occupation is as necessary to a woman as to a man, I cannot resist
transcribing it:
“Toiling—rejoicing—sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees its close;
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night’s repose.”
173. Truly may it be said that “occupation earns a night’s repose.” It
is the finest composing medicine in the world, and, unlike an opiate, it
never gives a headache; it never produces costiveness; and never, by
repetition, loses its effect. Sloth and restlessness, even on down, are
generally bed-fellows:
“Weariness
Can snore upon the flint, when rusty sloth
Finds the down pillow hard.”
174. The mind, it is well known, exerts great influence over the body in
promoting health, and in causing and in curing disease. A delicate woman
is always nervous; she is apt to make mountains of molehills; she is
usually too prone to fancy herself worse than she really is. I should
recommend my gentle reader not to fall into this error, and not to
magnify every slight ache or pain. Let her, instead of whining and
repining, use the means which are within the reach of all to strengthen
her frame; let her give battle to the enemy; let her fight him with the
simple weapons indicated in these pages, and the chances are she will
come off victorious.
175. There is nothing like occupation, active occupation, to cure slight
pains—“constant occupation physics pain”—to drive away little ailments,
and the dread of sickness. “The dread of sickness,” says Dr. Grosvenor,
“is a distemper of itself, and the next disposition to a many more. What
a bondage does this keep some people in! ’Tis an easy transition from
the fear and fancy of being sick to sickness indeed. In many cases there
is but little difference between those two. There is one so afraid of
being ill that he would not stir out of doors, and for want of air and
exercise he contracts a distemper that kills him.”
176. What a blessed thing is work! What a precious privilege for a girl
to have a mother who is both able and anxious to instruct her daughter,
from her girlhood upwards, in all household management and duties!
Unfortunately, in this our age girls are not either educated or prepared
to be made wives—useful, domesticated wives. Accomplishments they have
without number, but of knowledge of the management of an establishment
they are as ignorant as the babe unborn. Verily, they and their
unfortunate husbands and offspring will in due time pay the penalty of
their ignorance and folly! It is, forsooth, unladylike for a girl to eat
much; it is unladylike for her to work at all; it is unladylike for her
to take a long walk; it is unladylike for her to go into the kitchen; it
is unladylike for her to make her own bed; it is unladylike for her to
be useful; it is unladylike for her to have a bloom upon her cheek like
unto a milkmaid![40] All these are said to be horridly low and vulgar,
and to be only fit for the common people! Away with such folly! The
system of the bringing up of the young ladies of the present day is
“rotten to the core.”
177. If a young married lady, without having any actual disease about
her, be delicate and nervous, there is no remedy equal in value to
change of air—more especially to the sea-coast. The sea breezes, and, if
she be not pregnant, sea-bathing, frequently act like magic upon her in
restoring her to perfect health. I say, if she be not pregnant; if she
be, it would, without first obtaining the express permission of a
medical man, be highly improper for her to bathe.
178. A walk on the mountains is delightful to the feelings and
beneficial to the health. In selecting a sea-side resort, it is always,
where it be practicable, to have mountain-air as well as the sea breeze.
The mounting of high hills, if a lady be pregnant, would not be
desirable, as the exertion would be too great, and, if she be
predisposed, might bring on a miscarriage; but the climbing of hills and
mountains, if she be not _enceinte_, is most advantageous to health,
strengthening the frame, and exhilarating to the spirits. Indeed, we may
compare the exhilaration it produces to the drinking of champagne, with
this difference,—it is much more beneficial to health than champagne,
and does not leave, the next morning, as champagne sometimes does,
either a disagreeable taste in the mouth or headache behind,—
“Oh, there is a sweetness in the mountain-air,
And life, that bloated ease can never hope to share!”[41]
179. _Bugs and fleas._—This is a very commonplace subject, but like most
commonplace subjects is one necessary to be known, as these pests of
society sometimes destroy the peace, comfort, and enjoyment of a person
when away from home. Many ladies who travel from home are made miserable
and wretched by having to sleep in strange beds—in beds infested either
with bugs or with fleas. Now, it will be well for such ladies never to
go any distance from home without having four things in their trunks
with them, namely: (1) A box of matches, in order, at any moment of the
night, to strike a light, both to discover and frighten the enemies
away. (2) A box of night-lights. Bugs never bite when there is a light
in the room. It would therefore be well, in an infested room, and until
fresh lodgings can be procured, to keep a night-light burning all night.
(3) A packet of “_La Poudre Insecticide_,” manufactured in France, but
which may be procured in England: a preparation which, although
perfectly harmless to the human economy, is utterly destructive to
fleas. (4) A 4 oz. bottle of oil of turpentine, a little of which, in
case of a discovery of bugs in the bed, should be sprinkled between the
sheets and on the pillow. The oil of turpentine will, until fresh
lodgings can be procured, keep the bugs at a respectful distance. Care
should be observed while sprinkling the sheets with the turpentine not
to have (on account of its inflammability) a lighted candle too near the
bed. I know, from experience, that bugs and fleas are, when ladies are
away from home, a source of torment and annoyance, and am therefore
fully persuaded of the value and importance of the above advice.
180. If it be not practicable for her to visit the sea-coast, let her be
in the fresh air—in the country air. Let her mornings be spent out of
doors; and if she cannot inhale the _sea_ breezes, let her inhale the
_morning_ breezes—
“The skies, the air, the morning’s breezy call
Alike are free, and full of health to all.”[42]
181. Cheerfulness and evenness of temper ought, by a young wife, to be
especially cultivated. There is nothing that promotes digestion, and
thus good health, more than a cheerful, placid temper. We know that the
converse is very detrimental to that process; that violent passion takes
away the appetite, deranges the stomach, and frequently disorders the
bowels. Hence it is that those who attain great ages are usually of an
even, cheerful temper. “Our passions are compared to the winds in the
air, which, when gentle and moderate, let them fill the sail, and they
will carry the ship on smoothly to the desired port; but when violent,
unmanageable, and boisterous, it grows to a storm, and threatens the
ruin and destruction of all.”[43]
182. A young wife is apt to take too much opening medicine; the more she
takes, the more she requires. Hence she irritates the nerves of the
stomach and bowels, and injures herself beyond measure. If the bowels
are costive, and variety of food, and of fruit, and of other articles of
diet, which I either have or will recommend in these pages, together
with an abundance of air, and of exercise, and of occupation, will not
open, then let her give herself an enema; which she can, without the
slightest pain or annoyance, and with very little trouble, readily do,
provided she has a proper apparatus for the purpose, namely, a
“self-injecting enema apparatus,”—one made purposely for the patient,
either to administer it to herself, or to be administered to her by
another person. A pint of _cold_ water is as good an enema as can be
used, and which, if the first should not operate, ought in a few minutes
to be repeated. The clyster does nothing more than wash the bowels out,
removing any offending matter, and any depression of spirits arising
therefrom, and neither interfering with the stomach nor with the
digestion.
183. Until she become accustomed to the cold, she might for the first
few mornings slightly warm the water; but gradually she should reduce
the temperature of it until she use it quite cold. A _cold_ water is
more bracing and strengthening to the bowels, and more efficacious in
action, than a _warm_ water enema.
184. It will, during pregnancy and after a confinement, be safer to use
a _tepid_ than a _cold_ water enema.
185. No family ought to be without a _good_ enema apparatus, to fly to
in any emergency. Many valuable lives have been saved by means of it,
and having it always in good order and at hand.
186. By adopting the dictates of reason and of common sense, many of the
nervous, useless, lackadaisical, fine ladies will be unknown; and we
shall have instead blooming wives, who will in due time become the
mothers of hardy, healthy, happy children.
187. In the foregoing pages the burden of my song has been health—the
preservation of health—the most precious of God’s gifts, and one that is
frittered and fooled away as though it were but of little value. Health
ought to be the first consideration of all, and of every young wife
especially, as, when she is married, her life, her health is not
altogether her own, but her husband’s and her family’s. Oh! it is a
glorious gift, a precious boon, to be in the enjoyment of perfect
health, and is worth a little care and striving for.
188. In concluding the first division of my subject, let me entreat my
fair reader to ponder well on what I have already said; let her remember
that she has a glorious mission; let her thoroughly understand that if
good habits and good rules be not formed and followed during the first
year of her wifehood, they are not at all likely to be instituted
afterwards. The first year, then, is the golden opportunity to sow the
seeds of usefulness; to make herself healthy and strong, and to cause
her to be a blessing, a solace, and a comfort to her husband, her
children, and all around her.
189. Menstruation, during a period of about thirty years, plays a
momentous part in the female economy; indeed, unless it be _in every
way_ properly and duly performed, it is neither possible that such a
lady can be well, nor is it at all probable that she will conceive. I
therefore purpose devoting an especial chapter to its due and careful
consideration.
PART I.
MENSTRUATION.
190. There are two most important epochs in the life of a woman—namely
(1) the commencement, and (2) the close of menstruation. Each is apt,
unless carefully watched and prevented, to bring in its train many
serious diseases. Moreover, unless menstruation be healthfully and
properly performed, conception, as a rule, is not likely to take place:
hence the importance of our subject.
191. Menstruation—the appearance of the catamenia or the menses—is then
_one of the most important epochs_ in a girl’s life. It is the boundary
line, the landmark, between childhood and womanhood; it is the
threshold, so to speak, of a _woman’s_ life. Her body now develops and
expands, and her mental capacity enlarges and improves. She then ceases
to be a child, and she becomes a woman. She is now for the first time,
as a rule, able to conceive.
192. Although puberty has at this time commenced, it cannot be said that
she is at her full perfection; it takes eight or ten years more to
complete her organization, which will bring her to the age of
twenty-three or twenty-five years; which perhaps are the best ages for a
woman, if she have both the chance and the inclination, to marry.
193. If she marry when very young, marriage weakens her system, and
prevents a full development of the body. Besides, if she marry when she
be only eighteen or nineteen, the bones of the pelvis—the bones of the
lower part of the belly—are not at that time sufficiently developed; are
not properly shaped for the purpose of labor; do not allow of sufficient
space for the head of the child to _readily_ pass, as though she were of
the riper age of twenty-three or twenty-five. She might have in
consequence a severe and dangerous confinement. If she marry late in
life, say after she be thirty, the soft parts engaged in parturition are
more rigid and more tense, and thus become less capable of dilatation,
which might cause, for the _first_ time, a hard and tedious labor.
Again, when she marries late in life, she might not live to see her
children grow up to be men and women. Moreover, as a rule, “the
offspring of those that are very young or very old lasts not.”
Everything, therefore, points out that the age above indicated—namely,
somewhere between twenty and thirty—is the most safe and suitable time
for a woman to marry.
194. Menstruation generally comes on once every month—that is to say,
every twenty-eight days; usually to the very day, and frequently to the
hour. Some ladies, instead of being “regular” every month, are “regular”
every three weeks.
195. Each menstruation continues from three to five days; in some for a
week; and in others for a longer period. It is estimated that, during
each menstruation, from four to six ounces is, on an average, the
quantity discharged.
196. A lady seldom conceives unless she be “regular,” although there are
cases on record where women have conceived who have never been “unwell;”
but such cases are extremely rare.
197. Menstruation in this country usually commences at the ages of from
thirteen to sixteen, sometimes earlier; occasionally as early as eleven
or twelve; at other times later, and not until a girl be seventeen or
eighteen years of age. Menstruation in large towns is supposed to
commence at an earlier period than in the country, and earlier in
luxurious than in simple life.[44]
198. Menstruation continues for thirty, and sometimes even for
thirty-five years; and, while it lasts, is a sign that a lady is liable
to become pregnant—unless, indeed, menstruation should be protracted
much beyond the usual period of time. As a rule, then, when a woman
“ceases to be unwell,” she ceases to have a family; therefore, as
menstruation usually leaves her at forty-five, it is seldom, after that
age, that she has a child.
199. I have known ladies become mothers when they have been upwards of
fifty years of age. I myself delivered a woman in her fifty-first year
of a fine healthy child. She had a kind and easy labor, and was the
mother of a large family, the youngest being at the time twelve years
old.[45] “Dr. Carpenter, of Durham, tells us that he has attended in
their confinements several women whose ages were fifty. ‘I well
recollect a case occurring in my father’s practice in 1839, where a
woman became a widow at forty-nine years of age. Shortly afterwards she
married her second husband, and within twelve months of this time gave
birth to her _first_ child. These cases belong to the working classes.
But I know of two others, where gentlewomen became mothers at fifty-one
with her first child, the other with her eighth. I can say nothing of
how they menstruated, but I know of a virgin in whom the catamenia
appeared _regularly_ and undiminished up to and at the end of sixty.’
Dr. Powell says that he last year attended a woman in her fifty-second
year; and Mr. Heckford, that he attended a woman who stated her age to
be at least fifty. Mr. Clarke, of Mold, states that he has attended
several women whose ages were upwards of forty-four, and that he lately
delivered a woman of her first child at forty-eight. Mr. Bloxham, of
Portsmouth, delivered at fifty-two, in her first confinement, a woman
who had been married thirty-five years.”[46]
200. In very warm climates, such as in Abyssinia and in India, girls
menstruate when very young—at ten or eleven years old; indeed, they are
sometimes mothers at those ages.[47] But when it commences early, it
leaves early; so that they are old women at thirty. “Physically, we know
that there is a very large latitude of difference in the periods of
human maturity, not merely between individual and individual, but also
between nation and nation—differences so great that in some southern
regions of Asia we hear of matrons at the age of twelve.”[48] Dr.
Montgomery[49] brings forward some interesting cases of early maturity.
He says: “Bruce mentions that in Abyssinia he has frequently seen
mothers of eleven years of age; and Dunlop witnessed the same in Bengal.
Dr. Goodeve, Professor of Midwifery at Calcutta, in reply to a query on
the subject, said: ‘The earliest age at which I have _known_ a Hindu
woman bear a child is ten years, but I have _heard_ of one at nine.’”
201. In cold climates, such as Russia, women begin to menstruate late in
life, frequently not until they are between twenty and thirty years old;
and, as it lasts on them thirty or thirty-five years, it is not an
unusual occurrence for them to bear children at a very advanced age—even
so late as sixty. They are frequently not “regular” oftener than three
or four times a year, and when it does occur the menstrual discharge is
generally sparing in quantity.
202. The menstrual fluid is not exactly blood, although, both in
appearance and in properties, it much resembles it; yet it never in the
healthy state clots as blood does. It is a secretion from the womb, and,
when healthy, ought to be of a bright-red color, in appearance very much
like blood from a recently cut finger.[50]
203. The menstrual fluid ought not, as before observed, to clot. If it
does, a lady, during menstruation, suffers intense pain; moreover, she
seldom conceives until the clotting has ceased. Application must
therefore, in such a case, be made to a medical man, who will soon
relieve the above painful symptoms, and, by doing so, will probably pave
the way to her becoming pregnant.
204. Menstruation ceases _entirely_ in pregnancy, during suckling, and
usually both in diseased and in disordered states of the womb. It also
ceases in cases of extreme debility, and in severe illness, especially
in consumption; indeed, in the latter disease—consumption—it is one of
the most unfavorable of the symptoms.
205. It has been asserted, and by men of great experience, that
sometimes a woman _menstruates_ during pregnancy. In this assertion I
cannot agree; it appears utterly impossible that she should be able to
do so. The moment she conceives, the neck of the womb becomes plugged up
by means of mucus; it is, in fact, hermetically sealed. There certainly
is sometimes a slight red discharge, looking very much like menstrual
fluid, and coming on at her monthly periods; but being usually very
sparing in quantity, and lasting only a day or so, and sometimes only
for an hour or two; but this discharge does not come from the cavity of,
but from some small vessels at, the mouth of the womb, and is not
menstrual fluid at all, but a few drops of real blood. If this discharge
came from the cavity of the womb, it would probably lead to a
miscarriage. My old respected and talented teacher, the late Dr. D. D.
Davis,[51] declared that it would be quite impossible during pregnancy
for menstruation to occur. He considered that the discharge which was
taken for menstruation arose from the rupture of some small vessels
about the mouth of the womb.
206. Some ladies, though comparatively few, menstruate during suckling;
when they do, it may be considered not the rule, but the exception. It
is said, in such instances, that they are more likely to conceive. Many
persons have an idea that when a woman, during lactation, menstruates,
the milk is both sweeter and purer. Such is an error. Menstruation
during suckling is more likely to weaken the mother, and consequently to
deteriorate the milk. It therefore behooves a parent never to take a wet
nurse who menstruates during the period of suckling.
207. A lady sometimes suffers severe pains both just before and during
her “poorly” times. When such be the case, she seldom conceives until
the pain be removed. She ought therefore to apply to a medical man, as
relief may soon be obtained. When she is freed from the pain, she will,
in all probability, in due time become _enceinte_.
208. If a married woman have painful menstruation, even if she become
pregnant, she is more likely, in the early stage, to miscarry. This is
an important consideration, and requires the attention of a doctor.
209. If a single lady, who is about to be married, have painful
menstruation, it is incumbent on either her mother or a female friend to
consult, two or three months before the marriage takes place, an
experienced medical man, on her case; if this be not done, she will most
likely, after marriage, either labor under ill health, or be afflicted
with barrenness, or, if she do conceive, be prone to miscarry.
210. The menstrual discharge, as before remarked, ought, if healthy, to
be of the color of blood—of fresh, unclotted blood. If it be either too
pale (and it sometimes is almost colorless), or, on the other hand, if
it be both dark and thick (it is occasionally as dark, and sometimes
nearly as thick, as treacle), there will be but scant hopes of a lady
conceiving. A medical man ought, therefore, at once to be consulted, who
will in the generality of cases, be able to remedy the defect. The
chances are, that as soon as the defect be remedied, she will become
pregnant.
211. Menstruation at another time is too sparing; this is a frequent
cause of a want of family. Luckily a doctor is, in the majority of
cases, able to remedy the defect, and by doing so will probably be the
means of bringing the womb into a healthy state, and thus predispose her
to become a mother.
212. A married lady is very subject to the “whites;” the more there will
be of the “whites” the less there will usually be of the menstrual
discharge;—so that in a bad case of the “whites” menstruation might
entirely cease, until proper means be used both to restrain the one and
to bring back the other. Indeed, as a rule, if the menstrual discharge,
by proper treatment, be healthily established and restored, the “whites”
will often cease of themselves. Deficient menstruation is a frequent
cause of the “whites,” and the consequent failure of a family; and as
deficient menstruation is usually curable, a medical man ought, in all
such cases, to be consulted.
213. Menstruation at other times is either too profuse or too long
continued. Either the one or the other is a frequent source of
barrenness, and is also weakening to the constitution, and thus tends to
bring a lady into a bad state of health. This, like the former cases, by
judicious management may generally be rectified; and being rectified,
will in all probability result in the wife becoming a mother.
214. When a lady is neither pregnant nor “regular,” she ought
immediately to apply to a doctor, as she may depend upon it there is
something wrong about her, and that she is not likely to become
_enceinte_[52] until menstruation be properly established. As soon as
menstruation be duly and healthily established, pregnancy will most
likely, in due time, ensue.
215. When a lady is said to be “regular,” it is understood that she is
“regular” as to _quality_, and _quantity_, and _time_. If she be only
“regular” as to the _time_, and the _quantity_ be either deficient or in
excess, or if she be “regular” as to the _time_, and the _quality_ be
bad, either too pale or too dark; or if she be “regular” as to the
_quality_ and _quantity_, and be irregular as to the _time_, she cannot
be well; and the sooner means are adopted to rectify the evil, the
better it will be for her health and happiness.
216. There is among young wives, of the higher ranks, of the present
time, an immense deal of hysteria; indeed it is, among them, in one form
or another, the most frequent complaint of the day. Can it be wondered
at? Certainly not. The fashionable system of spending married life, such
as late hours, close rooms, excitement, rounds of visiting, luxurious
living, is quite enough to account for its prevalence. The menstrual
functions in a case of this kind are not duly performed; she is either
too much or too little “unwell;” menstruation occurs either too soon, or
too late, or at irregular periods. I need scarcely say that such a one,
until a different order of things be instituted, and until proper and
efficient means be used to restore healthy menstruation, is not likely
to conceive; or, if she did conceive, she would most likely either
miscarry, or, if she did go her time, bring forth a puny, delicate
child. A fashionable wife and happy mother are incompatibilities! Oh, it
is sad to contemplate the numerous victims that are sacrificed yearly on
the shrine of fashion! The grievous part of the business is, that
fashion is not usually amenable to reason and common sense; argument,
entreaty, ridicule, are each and all alike in turn powerless in the
matter. Be that as it might, I am determined boldly to proclaim the
truth, and to make plain the awful danger of a wife becoming a votary of
fashion.
217. Many a lady, either from suppressed or from deficient menstruation,
who is now chlorotic, hysterical, and dyspeptic, weak and nervous,
looking wretchedly, and whose very life is a burden, may, by applying to
a medical man, be restored to health and strength.
218. As soon as a lady “ceases to be after the manner of women”—that is
to say, as soon as she _ceases to menstruate_—it is said that she has “a
change of life;” and if she does not take care, she will soon have “a
change of health” to boot, which, in all probability, will be for the
worse.
219. After a period of about thirty years’ continuation of menstruation,
a woman _ceases to menstruate_; that is to say, when she is about
forty-four or forty-five years of age, and, occasionally, as late in
life as when she is forty-eight years of age, she has “change of life,”
or, as it is sometimes called, a “turn of years.” Now, before this takes
place, she oftentimes becomes very “irregular;” at one time she is
“regular” before her proper period; at another time either before or
after; so that it becomes a _dodging time_ with her, as it is so styled.
In a case of this kind menstruation is sometimes very profuse; at
another it is very sparing; occasionally it is light colored, almost
colorless; sometimes it is as red as from a cut finger; while now and
then it is as black as ink.
220. When “change of life” is about, and during the time, and for some
time afterwards, a lady labors under, at times, great flushings of heat;
she, as it were, blushes all over; she goes very hot and red, almost
scarlet; then perspires; and afterwards becomes cold and chilly. These
flushings occur at very irregular periods; they might come on once or
twice a day, at other times only once or twice a week, and occasionally
only at what would have been her “poorly times.” These flushings might
be looked upon as rather favorable symptoms, and as an effort of nature
to relieve itself through the skin. These flushings are occasionally,
although rarely, attended with hysterical symptoms. A little appropriate
medicine is for these flushings desirable. A lady while laboring under
these heats is generally both very much annoyed and distressed; but she
ought to comfort herself with the knowledge that they are in all
probability doing her good service, and that they might be warding off,
from some internal organ of her body, serious mischief.
221. “Change of life” is one of the most important periods of a lady’s
existence, and generally determines whether, for the rest of her days,
she shall either be healthy or otherwise; it therefore imperatively
behooves her to pay attention to the subject, and in all cases when it
is about taking place to consult a medical man, who will, in the
majority of cases, be of great benefit to her, as he will be able to
ward off many important and serious diseases to which she would
otherwise be liable. When “change of life” ends favorably, which, if
properly managed, it most likely will do, she may improve in
constitution, and may really enjoy better health and spirits, and more
comfort, then she has done for many previous years. A lady who has
during the whole of her wifehood eschewed fashionable society, and who
has lived simply, plainly, and sensibly, and who has taken plenty of
out-door exercise, will, during the autumn and winter of life, reap her
reward by enjoying what is the greatest earthly blessing—health!