Part 8

Now look at them. See the red spots on her cheeks; they tell us of struggling modesty and innocence. The story proceeds; the lascivious gestures, the lecherous gaze of the men and half-naked women on the stage, are beginning to tell upon the whole audience. See our girl. That arm is pressing her against his side, and her eyes are busy with the words, as if she were completely absorbed. When she returns to her home to-night, her mind will be filled with thoughts, of which she will not speak to her mother.

God alone knows the number of pure souls that have been ruined by the insidious poison of the opera.

THE STUDY OF FRENCH.

All American girls of the rich class, and a very large number of the poor class, study French.

The reasons given for this immense investment in time and money, are:--

1st. That French words and sentences are common in our literature.

2nd. That educated people must speak French; for it is the language of polite society everywhere.

3rd. Without a knowledge of French, you must forego the science and literature locked up in that language.

4th. The study of the French language involves a peculiar mental discipline of great value.

I am quite ready to admit that a knowledge of French is not only convenient, but indispensable to a liberal education.

But, nevertheless, nineteen in every twenty girls, who study French, simply waste their time and money.

It is not even intended, when they enter upon it, that they shall do anything beyond a little grammar, and one or two readers. It is not expected that they will speak the language, beyond the class conversations.

So whatever may be justly said of the value of French, in view of the considerations I have named, its value, as managed in our schools, cannot be seriously discussed.

As to the words and sentences which occur so frequently in our books and papers, it would be easy for any one to learn the meaning of all such as have been domesticated, in a few hours.

As to French being the language of polite society everywhere; in the first place, it isn't true; and, in the second place, if it were true, the fact would hardly be pertinent in this discussion. I think this will be fully appreciated, when I state that, during my own residence in Paris, I did not hear of more than two or three American girls who could be said to really enjoy a social existence among the French-speaking population. And yet, the American girls residing in Paris had, generally, I presume, made special preparations in the language.

As to the "science and literature locked up in the French language," I can only say, that those of us who know how much science and literature our girls get through their knowledge of French, smile, when we hear this claim mentioned.

As to the peculiar mental discipline involved in the study of the French tongue, it is very easy to put forward this claim, but difficult to defend it. That the study of this language is valuable, as a mental discipline, I believe; but that it is peculiar, or if peculiar, particularly valuable, I do not believe.

I have no doubt that nine-tenths of the money and precious time given to the study of French, in our ladies' seminaries, is, in great part, wasted.

French is studied, in most cases, for the same reason that the piano is,--it is fashionable.

A gentleman without education outside of his store, takes his daughter to a school, when about the following conversation might be heard:--

"I wish to place my daughter in your school."

"What studies would you have her pursue?"

"Well, she has finished the English studies, and I reckon she had better take up music, French and Italian."

"Why do you select these studies?"

"Well, my daughter thinks she would like to finish off with these."

"Does she know anything of these languages?"

"No, I believe not."

"How much longer do you intend to keep her in school?"

"Only this year. I can't afford to send her more than one year longer."

At this stage of the conversation the daughter is brought in; and the teacher sees a pale, round-shouldered, sickly-looking young woman, and, upon a little conversation, finds, judging from her voice, manners and intelligence, that she greatly needs a thorough course of physical and vocal training, with simple, rudimentary, English studies.

The teacher asks her to go into an adjoining room, and write him a letter, giving a brief account of her journey from home. In this note she makes several mistakes in spelling and grammar, while the chirography is very bad. If the teacher is a true educator, he advises a course, which leads the father and daughter to consult a little aside, after which they leave, with the promise that they will think of it, and if he concludes to have her come, he will drop a line.

Wouldn't they like to look at some rooms?

No, not just now; they would think of it, and drop a line.

In passing, let me say, that I can hardly think of a more trying position, than that of the Principal of a private school, when he is assisting parents to determine upon a course of studies for their daughters.

Perhaps his institution is financially weak. He must be full, or stop. He advertises in the papers and sends out circulars. The pupils come in slowly, and the Principal is anxious.

Most of the pupils of private schools are backward in the rudiments. The young ladies, in a great many cases, seek private schools, because they are ashamed to go to the public schools, where there is no mercy for bad spellers and readers. They know that, although they are grown women, and wear silks and gold watches, if they read badly and don't know the multiplication table, they will have to stand up with a row of small boys and girls. So it happens that many of the patrons of private schools are singularly backward in the rudiments.

The Principal is dying for the patronage, and the young ladies are resolved upon French and music. When he sits down to talk with them and their parents, the temptation to acquiesce in their choice of studies is very strong. Only in this way is he likely to get them at all; besides, the departments of French and music are the most profitable.

After having been at the head of a large private school for years, I can truly say that I heartily sympathize with managers of similar institutions, exposed to this temptation.

Believing, as I do, that the study of languages, as such, has been pushed to a most unfortunate, not to say absurd extent, and that, in the case of the particular language under discussion, the waste has become enormous, I will simply express the hope that soon, only those who have the time, capacity and means to really accomplish something, will undertake the French language; and that the millions in our country who now waste months and much money in the "little smattering," will turn their attention into other very important and greatly neglected departments of education.

Perhaps I should add, that what I have said of the French, as generally pursued in our schools, is applicable to the German, Spanish and Italian languages.

DISCIPLINARY VALUE OF FRENCH.

But we are told that many studies are pursued in all schools, which have no direct practical use; that they are introduced for their disciplinary value, and that French is one of them. Twenty years ago this statement would have ended the argument; but now the best educators, on both continents, have something more to say.

A small proportion of the people have the means, leisure and wish to devote their lives to self-culture. These may embrace the broadest curriculum. But the million cannot give themselves up to such indulgences. We must make our school education a means.

Let me illustrate. Learning to spell the words of our language is a valuable discipline; besides, it has a direct, practical value. For the disciplinary service, the Russian language might be added, with great profit. But I should advise the million to forego the intellectual drill involved in the study of Russian orthography, and, in this department, to confine themselves to English words. I should do this,--

1st. Because of the direct, important practical use; and,--

2nd. Because, in the case of the million, all the time which can be afforded for orthographic studies, with reference to mental discipline, may be very profitably devoted to our own language.

COMPARATIVE VALUE OF ENGLISH AND FRENCH.

Our language is as superior to the French, as is our civilization. The language of a people keeps pace with its mental and soul growth. It would require more than a Lamartine to express our ideas of home, and of civil and religious liberty with the French tongue.

ENGLISH CLASSICS.

For us, for our times, the "English classics" are infinitely above the classics of any other language--of all other languages.

Our classics are laden with the richest, ripest, christian thought and sentiment. They are indissolubly interwoven with all the great intellectual and spiritual forces, which, at this hour, are marching on "conquering and to conquer."

How utterly inexplicable that American educators should conduct their pupils away from the vast, rich storehouses of the English classics, radiant all over as the diadem of a queen, to wander amid the lingual mysteries of the classics, of undeveloped, and even pagan peoples.

LATIN AND GREEK.

With regard to the legitimate place of these languages in American education, I can only refer my readers to the numerous and able papers and books which have recently appeared in Great Britain and America. Of these, Grimke's is one of the most philosophical and convincing.

A great number of educators and thinkers have reached the conclusion that the present prominence of the ancient classics in our system, is not only a barbarism transmitted from the dark ages, but that, unlike most anachronisms which generally surprise and amuse us, this emasculates and paralyzes us. This carries us from the real, living present, way back into the dark past.

In the pursuit of the ancient classics we immure ourselves in a cloister, we shut out things, facts, society, nature, and ponder over the fancies and philosophies of peoples who treated woman as a slave, and who never enjoyed the first glimmering of the true social or religious light.

I speak feelingly on this subject. When a young man, I spent several years almost exclusively upon Latin and Greek; first as a student, and then as a teacher.

One of my sincere regrets in life is, that I prepared about fifty young men for college.

But for a painful and rapidly deepening conviction, that the profession of a teacher, which I had embraced with all my heart, would, in the higher departments, bring me into constant collision with my idea of use as the aim and purpose of a manly life,--but for this, I should never have turned to the profession of medicine.

Gladly would I exchange all that the classics gave me, for a familiarity with any one of several natural sciences, which I had but little time to examine during my school days.

The colleges and universities are rapidly emerging from this darkness of the past.

DANCING.

During the years of our school in Lexington, we danced from two to four evenings a week. Beginning about half past seven o'clock, we danced till half past eight, which was always our bed-time. In our school family there were several gentlemen, among them the revered Theodore Weld,--our most inveterate dancer.

The round dances were not admitted, for the following reasons:--

1st. The rotary motion is injurious to the brain and spinal marrow.

2nd. The peculiar contact between the man and the woman, may suggest impure thoughts.

I have many times asked young men what they thought of it, and after saying it was jolly, that they liked it first-rate, they have generally, when urged to tell me seriously their convictions, confessed that, knowing how men feel and sometimes talk about it, if they were women, they should not indulge. I never talked with one father or mother who was not gratified with my rule against round dances, while a number of them wrote me the warmest commendation. I wish I was at liberty to publish a letter on this subject, which I received from a well-known lady,--giving the letter entire, with the writer's name. I have requested her to allow me to publish it; but she says the sneers at Puritanism are too much for her.

I ask my reader, if a mother, whether, if her daughter were away from home, and attending dancing parties, dancing now with Lieut. S., and then with Capt. W.; in brief, with such gentlemen as the managers choose to introduce to her; whether she would like to know that her daughter was being hugged up, and whisked about in the German? Very few mothers would answer yes, to this question.

The square dances are certainly very beautiful, graceful, chaste, and healthful. Besides, in a large and interesting way they are social. A large company may join in these dances.

The round dance is another illustration of the tendency toward individual display, so strikingly exhibited in the department of music. How constantly we see at dancing parties a single young lady and gentleman start out alone for a dizzy whirl about the hall. I will not comment upon the wild whirligig of her skirts, for I don't think a girl need be ashamed to show her legs. I only say that her contact with her partner is not a modest one.

Let a couple stand, in the presence of a company, with their arms about each other, and their persons in contact as for the "German," let them stand, thus intertwined, and what should we think? The dance is made the excuse for what, without it, would be a gross indelicacy. It is as with much of the opera, in which the fine music is made the apology for words that could not be spoken without it.

THE THEATRE.

Girls, I advise you not to go to the theatre. I know how much can be said in its favor. I know that, at one time in the history of the world, it really served the cause of morality and religion.

But how can we study Shakspeare so advantageously as in the impersonations of the stage?"

I confess I do not know where the great master can be studied so advantageously as in the best impersonations of the stage, but, nevertheless, I strongly advise that you should stay away from the theatre.

My first objection to the theatre is, that it is never well ventilated. You must breathe, three or four hours, a vitiated atmosphere, which unfits you for the best physical and mental labor during the whole of the next day, perhaps even longer.

My second objection, likewise physiological, is, that it keeps you up till midnight.

My third objection is that which we all make to the yellow-covered literature. While there may be a good thing here and there, the general tone is morbid, not to say impure.

The managers are opening their theatres once or twice a week for a matinee, and, knowing that women and children are likely to constitute a large part of the audience, they present the most decent representations. I advise that, if you attend the theatre at all, you should attend the matinees.

SYMPATHY BETWEEN THE STOMACH AND THE SOUL.

Conceding the extremest views cherished by the Christian believer, in regard to the influence of the Holy Spirit, in the redemption of man's soul, we cannot shut our eyes to the intimate sympathy between the stomach and the moral nature.

The moral sentiments and sympathies are bewildered and lost when the intellect is deranged. No matter though the coronal portion of the brain is grandly developed, if the intellect be insane, or if the digestive function be insane, pure and noble moral impulses are no longer possible. Man is one,--body, mind and heart. These are not three distinct individual partners in a firm, but they are interlinked and interwoven so completely that they are one and not three. My highest conceptions of the Trinitarian idea find illustration in this trinity in man.

The great function of digestion--assimilation--underlies, as a foundation, the intellectual superstructure, while high above all, rising into the very heavens, the moral nature lifts up its sublime heights.

BOWELS OF COMPASSION.

When a phrenologist is examining a man's head, and wishes to know about his heart, he feels of the stomach. There's where the heart lies.

The sacred writer understood it, when he spoke of the "bowels of compassion."

A man utters wiser than he knows, often, when, in a crowd surrounding some object appealing to the heart, he cries out,--

"Gentlemen, have you no bowels?"

The dear Christ suggests the intimate relations between the soul and the stomach, when, before appealing to the hearts of the multitude, he filled their stomachs with good food.

In the Bible there are scores of expressions and phrases which point to the stomach as the seat of the sympathies.

All the bright ones, with subscription papers in their hands, wait till after dinner.

If they catch a man with a perfectly satisfied stomach, they are likely to get a good round sum, even for the Hottentot-red- flannel-shirt-fund.

The fact that the bumps of the heart are in the upper part of the brain, matters little, if the condition of the digestive apparatus controls their action. When I remark that the heart is located in the stomach, it will, of course, be understood in a practical, rather than in an anatomical sense.

The condition of the stomach determines the action of the emotions to an extent which cannot be predicated of the intellectual faculties. When one is dyspeptic, he may multiply and divide; he may not disgrace himself even in the role of a logician; but if you appeal to his sympathies,--to any of his emotions,--you will wake up a pig, a porcupine, or, possibly, a tiger.

Leaving out the Bible intimations and statements, and the illustrations which abound in English and German biography, no observing person will fail to recall numerous illustrations in his own experience.

THE WAISTS OF JOLLY GRANDMOTHERS.

What sort of a waist has the grandmother who comes in from the country to take care of you through a typhoid fever?

When nine o'clock comes, she drives the young ladies off to bed. She may not speak it out, but she thinks, "trash! trash! Oh, do get out of my way, and lie down carefully on a soft couch, where you can rest, or I shall soon have you too on my hands."

Has she one of these wasp-waists? No indeed; hers is a jolly one!

Who ever saw a happy, helpful grandmother with an hour-glass waist?

Is a grandmother full of tickle? Can she join with the young people in laughter and sports? Can she? Then I know, without seeing her, the style of her form.

You see all the tickle comes from that part of the body.

The conditions of the organs within that part of the body known as the waist, decide whether you shall be happy or unhappy; jolly or blue. One condition, and the most important one, is that those vital organs shall have room to work in. If you squeeze them, you squeeze and strangle all the jolly in you.

Tie a cord about a child's arms and legs, and then say, "Now, my dear, you may run and play."

Ah, I used to know a grandmother, and, although she has been among the angels thirty years or more, I can't think of her even now, without a sigh of regret that she could not have lived forever in this world, she was such a joy to us all.

She is happier in heaven, I suppose, but I don't see how she could be happier anywhere, than she used to be here.

When her loving, laughing face appeared at the door, how we small chaps did tickle and squirm all over. But I must stop writing of her, or I shall have to lay down my pen. Never have I seen a girl of eighteen who was half so lovely.

But let me think; why did I bring forward this treasure of my heart? Oh, I remember; it was to speak of her waist. How we used to laugh at her shape. We insisted that she was bigger around the waist than anywhere else.

"Well, perhaps so, boys, but there is where all my jolly comes from. Look at your little slender things, they aint jolly; they can't laugh; they only give little giggles."

Ah, the dear, beautiful, blessed soul! What a jolly angel she must make. Oh, I do hope, if I ever reach there, I may be a little angel, so that she can take me into her arms, and press me into her warm, loving bosom just as she used to. When I hear her laugh I am sure I shall feel at home, no matter how grand and dazzling the great White Throne may be.

ABOUT THE TREATMENT OF DISEASES.

Dear girls, bye and bye you will be wives and mothers, and will have occasion to consider the treatment of various diseases. Not that diseases are inevitable, but we must consider things as they are, and not as they might be.

The mother, if she be wise, has the selection of the doctor, and the management of the sick ones. This supervision of the health of the household falls so naturally into the hands of women, the nursing and other duties incidental to sickness, are so universally hers, that even among peoples and tribes where women are but slaves, their authority in all that concerns the management of the sick is unquestioned.

En passant it may be remarked that nothing but the blind, stupid prejudice of men would oppose the introduction of women to the medical profession.

It is a profession which belongs to them. Nature herself has decreed it, and when the hard, selfish, overbearing tyranny of men shall permit things to take their natural course, we shall have very few men in the medical profession.

But my object in this chapter is to speak of a fundamental misapprehension underlying the profession of medicine. This misapprehension is, that diseases are local.

Let me give an illustration or two.

A doctor attempts a case of catarrh. He opens the nostril with his speculum, turns in a strong light, takes a long, careful look, then examines, perhaps with a microscope, some of the fluid which the patient blows out of his nose, and then the doctor says, "Ahem! ahem! this is a case of sick nose. It is a case of nasal catarrh. The pituitary membrane is congested, and is secreting a morbid mucus. Ahem! you really should have called upon me before."

Then the doctor proceeds to inject various stimulating caustic fluids into the nostrils. He gives a snuff. He introduces a crooked tube into the man's mouth, and turns the end up back of his palate, and, getting into the back opening of the nostrils, he blows in certain medicated powders. The nose is better at once, the treatment is continued, the patient is soon cured; with the first cold or stomach derangement the symptoms return, the second cure is more difficult, the third is very difficult, and then the patient goes to another doctor, who tells him he is very sorry that he has been so quacked, but he will make a sure cure this time. He goes through with the same performance, with similar results. The patient now abandons hope, and goes snuffling about, to the great discomfort of himself and friends. In just this way a hundred maladies are treated,--an inflamed eye, a noise in the ear, a rheumatic knee, a gouty toe, a pain in the liver or spine, a sore throat, and so on through the whole list. The doctor finds the sick place, and then proceeds to attack it.

The idea that the disease is in a certain part of the system, and that the artillery must be directed to that precise spot, is not only common among the doctors, but is so plausible that the people all adopt it. This is the fundamental misapprehension underlying the disastrous failure in medicine.

The catarrh is not of the nose, but of the man, showing itself in the nose. The bronchitis is not a disease of the throat, but of the man, showing itself in the throat. The sore eye is not a disease of the eye, but of the man, showing itself in the eye.