Chapter V: Part 5

On the very evening of that day, the brother of Charlie, who was about two years older, was taken with the same disease. I was called in to see him. Oh, how pitiful, how very touching, were the moanings and groanings of that mother! When the sun rose the next morning, the sufferer was better; as night came on he was much worse again, but on the following day was able to ride out.

Within a few days I sought an opportunity to speak with the parents about the management of their little son. It was painful to tell them that I thought they might have prevented the death of Charlie. But I said what I thought was true, and then advised a new policy in the case of the remaining child. I said to them, "Your son who has been taken from you, was carefully screened from the sunshine. When he rode out in the baby-wagon, it was always under cover. And he slept always in that bedroom, into which the direct rays of the sun never come; that great tree makes it impossible. A child cannot live where a plant will not grow; and if you doubt what I am telling you, try a pot of flowers in Charlie's bedroom. You will find that, in a single month, the leaves will fall, and the plant will die. Charlie spent three quarters of his life in that bedroom."

The mother, at length, when convinced, cried out in very anguish of soul, "What shall we do? what shall we do?"

"Well," I said, "my dear friend, if you would save this child, and that is the only available sleeping-room for it, I advise that you have the trees which shade that part of the house cut down. Trees should never be allowed to shade human dwellings. They are very beautiful and noble objects, to my own fancy more beautiful and noble than any other productions of our planet, and I would have them multiplied, but would not have them near our houses."

The trees were cut down, the blessed sunshine came in to dry, sweeten and purify the bedroom. Its atmosphere was so changed that no one could fail to observe it. The child was kept much in the open air, and when taking his midday nap, he was occasionally laid naked upon a mattress, near a window, in the direct rays of the sun, his head protected, but the rest of the body exposed to the sunshine. The little fellow's health greatly improved. I believe he never had another attack of croup.

Our young folks should never sleep in bedrooms that have not the direct sunshine. They should never sleep in bedrooms the windows of which are shaded by a piazza or a tree; and if they would have the very best health, they must live as constantly as possible in the sunshine. And all who have delicate health must, with their clothes removed, take daily sun-baths during the summer season. Such a bath will give them very little trouble, and they have no idea how much it will add to their health and happiness. One good bath in the sunshine is worth more than many baths in water, valuable as these are. Some people admire pale girls. They make very good ghosts, but are not worth much as girls. God hung up that great sun in the heavens as the fountain of light, health, beauty and glory for our earth. Our young folks, by living in houses with piazzas, shade- trees, close blinds and curtains, and by using in their walks broad- brimmed hats, gloves, parasols and veils deprive themselves, in great part, of the many blessings which our Heavenly Father would confer on them through the great sun.

The above was widely circulated in "Our Young Folks," and has been copied into other magazines and papers. I can but trust it has been productive of good.

For many years I have advised, in the case of a weak, emaciated child, the sun-bath. These little, frail, half-baked creatures that die of marasmus, would, in hundreds of cases recover, if they could be thoroughly cooked, or baked over in the sun. With what magical rapidity I have seen little, ghostly, dying things recover, by two or three hours daily sleeping and rolling about naked in the sunshine.

We all know that hot fomentations, sharp friction, mustard poultices, blisters, and other counter-irritants constitute the most effective part of medical treatment; it is the only feature which has continued from age to age in the art of medicine. In everything else there has been constant change, revolution, contradiction. But the practice of counter-irritation has continued, without essential modifications, from time immemorial to the present hour. In exposing the skin to a burning sun, we get more of counter-irritation than by all other means; it reaches every part of the surface, and more than all this, there is, in the sun's rays, a vitalizing power which comes from no other source. Plants soon die in any other light. The strongest gas-light will not help them; but they reflect the gorgeous beauty of the sun, and send up a fragrance of thanksgiving. Men would become ghastly in the concentrated light of a thousand gas-burners; it is only in the sun-light that they can live. If this vitalizing power could flood the entire skin of a pale girl two or three hours a day, in a few months she would astonish us with her abounding vitality and spirit.

EXPERIMENT UPON A HOUSE-PLANT.

I made an experiment upon a house-plant. It had been standing for several weeks in a southern window, and was just beginning to blossom. The flowers and leaves were particularly rich and beautiful. I removed the plant to a shelf on the rear wall of the room, and then holding the newspaper near it, found every word quite legible.

In forty-eight hours the delicate tints began to grow a little dim. In six days, flower and leaf were drooping; in two days more, the petals began to fall away; in two weeks from the beginning of the experiment, the leaves were yellow, and many of them had fallen.

EXPERIMENT UPON A ROSE-BUSH.

I want to tell you of another experiment. In my friend's garden there stood a beautiful rose-bush. It had just begun to bloom, and it gladdened our eyes with twelve full blossoms and eighty-six buds. I directed my carpenter to build a little shanty over it. The bush was thus closed in on every side except the north. But it was light enough inside to read the finest print without difficulty. The little shanty closed over our beautiful roses on Wednesday evening. On the following Sunday afternoon we visited the poor prisoner, and found that already it was beginning to look sad.

On the following Sunday our beautiful rose-bush was in a pitiful condition. All the exquisite tints and shades were beginning to fade into a common dullness, while the whole expression was weak and sick.

Buds that would have displayed their full beauty in two days were still hesitating.

After watching our sweet, patient, and dying prisoner for awhile, and wondering that with so much light it could not see its way, we tore away the envious, cruel boards, and let in a flood of sunshine.

The following Sunday we paid another visit to our rose-bush, and I cannot tell you what a glad sight it was. Although the neighboring bushes were much more advanced, nevertheless ours had become brilliant and joyous again.

ANOTHER ROSE-BUSH.

We selected another vigorous bush, and simply put a board cover over it, leaving the sides open; and then we removed even this cover one hour in the middle of each day. When this treatment had been continued for eleven days, we took away the cover, and asked a few lady friends to visit the garden with us. On coming to the clump of rose-bushes, they exclaimed:--

"Oh! how beautiful; how very beautiful."

"Young ladies, which of all these rose-bushes do you most admire? I must first tell you that, some days since, I asked the Deacon which he thought the most fresh and beautiful, and he selected this one."

"What, that one?"

"Yes, he thought this one looked the strongest, and had the richest colors."

"Now, is that really so?"

"Yes, I brought him out here on purpose to ask him, and he selected this one at once."

"Well, he must have queer eyes. That's just like these men, they don't seem to know anything; why, that is really the meanest one in the whole lot. It looks as if it had a fit of the dumps."

Then I had to tell them that the Deacon was right, and that, in his selection, he had shown the characteristic discrimination and taste of men! but that, during a number of days, the great solar artist had been partially interrupted in his exquisite touches upon this particular bush,--in fact, I gave them a little lecture, then and there, upon the relations between sunshine and beauty.

EXPERIMENT UPON A ROSE-GIRL.

One of my neighbors, Major P----, has a daughter, whom we will name Rose. The Major not having a rose-bush, tried an experiment on his Rose-girl. This was his method:--

In the first place, he sent her up into New Hampshire in June, and kept her there, living out in the sunshine, till the last of September. Then he brought her in town, and we all had a chance to examine her. She was really in a very strange condition. In the first place, her manner of walking was singular. I cannot describe it better than to say that she seemed to go by jerk. In putting one foot forward to take a step, the foot behind gave a sudden and vigorous push.

My opinion, as a medical man, was not asked; but my diagnosis, before a medical class, would have been this:--

"Gentlemen, in the case of Miss Rose P---- there is considerable physical vigor, which seems to show itself by an extraordinary activity and strength of muscle, and an unusual ebullition of animal spirits. And, gentlemen, although these manifestations are extraordinary, and very rare among young ladies, I do not regard the case as immediately alarming. Indeed, gentlemen, it is my opinion that this remarkable malady will disappear without active treatment, if the patient be confined in a strait jacket, and kept quiet in a dark room.

"That peculiar sparkle of the young lady's eyes will, likewise, soon disappear, under this treatment."

Without asking my opinion, or a prescription, the Major did exactly what I have suggested. The daughter was laced in a strait jacket, or a corset, (which squeezes a good deal harder,) and she remained in a dark parlor and curtained bedroom all but about an hour a day; and then, unless it was particularly bright and pleasant, she rode during that one hour in a covered carriage.

In two months the experiment was a complete success. As in the case of the rose-bush, so in the case of the Rose-girl, the absence of sunshine had produced a limp, weak, sick state.

Miss Rose had lost all the elastic bound in her manner of walking, all the hearty ring in her laugh, all the color in her face, all the shine of her eyes, all her power of diffusing joy about her.

There are other experiments of a similar kind in progress, and persons who are interested in this sort of scientific observation, will, by calling at their next door neighbor's, find very interesting opportunities to prosecute such studies.

Shade-trees, piazzas, blinds, curtains, carriage-tops and parasols produce weak eyes, weak nerves, weak digestion, weak spines, weak muscles, weak volition, and, in brief, weak women.

As argued in my recent work, "Talks about People's Stomachs," the function of digestion is powerfully affected by the light.

Place the richest earth and plenty of water about a potato-vine in the cellar; it can't digest its food, and must remain pale and weak.

Go up stairs into the drawing-room, and you will find girls, (excuse me, I mean young ladies,) who look so exactly like the potato-vine in the cellar, that you are not at all surprised to find them under the same roof, for they are clearly members of the same family,-- the anti-solar family.

The next system of treatment for invalids will be the "Sun-Cure." Institutions will be established, to which patients will flock for the cure of chronic maladies. Affections of the stomach and liver, will, by the "Sun-Cure," be relieved almost as if by a miracle. One, two or three hours a day, patients will be exposed nude, to the sun, either in part,--for example, the abdomen or back, or over the entire person, when the fault is one of digestion and assimilation. Young ladies in the matrimonial market, who are such ghosts that the men shudder and run away front them, will spend three months in one of these institutions, and return as brown and sweet as their admirers could wish. In the coming "sun-cure," diseases which are now regarded as well-nigh incurable, for example, some forms of neuralgia, will be quickly relieved.

Whether the banks pay specie or not, whether trade flourishes or languishes, whatever may be our success or failure in life, let us keep wide open the flood-gates of life; let us be true children of the sun, worshipping, not with prostrate forms, but, standing upright in the image of God, express our gratitude by baptismal evolutions in the all-glorious light.

A WORD ABOUT BATHS.

My dear girls, I want to speak to you very plainly about baths.

The clearness of the mind, the brightness of the spirits, the beauty of the skin,--in one word, the purity of the whole system, depends upon the free escape of the worn-out matter. You all know about this economy of nature.

Look at this dish of fruit,--grapes, peaches, pears; how beautiful, how fragrant, how delicious. How lusciously they melt in the mouth!

Transfer them to the stomach. If we could watch the interior processes, we should find, in a few hours, these exquisite fruits changed into filthy, poisonous liquids and gases. How shall we get rid of this stuff? The most simple avenue of escape is found in millions of small holes through the skin. Out of these the effete, poisonous matter passes away.

OILY SECRETIONS OF THE SKIN.

The skin is constantly secreting oil. It oozes out and lies on the surface.

We live in an atmosphere filled with dust, besides, there is constantly escaping from our clothes, dust and dirt of various kinds. These things, with the oil of the skin, plug up a portion of the pores, so that the effete, dirty matter cannot escape.

Keeping these poisons in the system, not only produces pimples upon the face, and discoloration of the skin, but dullness and heaviness of the whole system. The mind becomes foggy, the spirits low, the muscles stiff and sore, the breath and perspiration offensive, the whole system unclean.

Those portions of our skins that we cover with clothes are somewhat difficult to keep clean. Roll up your sleeve when your arm is perspiring, and rub the skin hard with your naked hand. You will be surprised at the rolls of dirt which the rubbing will bring away. You may rub some minutes in the same place, before the little rolls will stop coming. This dirt is held by the oil of the skin.

IMPORTANCE OF SOAP.

Nothing cleans the skin like soap. Wetting the skin every morning with simple water, and wiping it off, will not keep it clean. Such simple water baths contribute to cleanliness, and are useful; but the cleanest condition of the surface cannot be secured by such means.

DETAILS OF THE BATH.

Let me tell you just how to manage your daily baths. You must have a bathing mat, which you can procure at any rubber store. It consists of a circular, thin rubber sheet, four or five feet in diameter, with the edge turned up two inches. This, during the day, has been folded up and thrown aside. When you want to bathe, spread it out, and you have a tub four feet in diameter, and just as good as though the sides were two feet high. This is all the bath-tub you need. Perhaps I ought to say, that if it is not convenient to purchase one of these at a rubber store, you can make one with a large piece of oil-cloth, by sewing a rope into its edge. Of course you must have a wash-bowl with two or three quarts of water. Next, a pair of bathing mittens,--simple bags,--loosely fitting your hands. These are made of the ends of a worn-out crass or Turkish towel, though any thick linen will do.

Now with a piece of good soap,--it matters little what kind,--you are ready.

You have removed your night-dress, you are standing upon the centre of your bathing mat, with your mittens or bags upon your hands. Seize the soap, make abundant soap-suds, and go over every part of the skin. Rub the soap several times, that every portion of the skin may be thoroughly covered with soap-suds. Now, dipping your hands into the water, rinse off the soap, although if it is winter, and the free use of water chills you, you may apply very little water, and wipe the soap-suds from your skin. Indeed, with many persons, it is an excellent practice to leave a certain portion of the soap on the skin. It will continue the process of neutralizing the oil. I have myself derived advantage and satisfaction, during the cold season, by the free use of soap, with very limited quantities of water.

BATH-ROOMS.

The ordinary bath-tub is a humbug. That zinc coffin, in which you lie down, put your head upon a strap at one end, to keep yourself from drowning, and then balance yourself for a while in a sort of floating condition, is simply a stupid absurdity. You can't even rub yourself to advantage; and if you are determined to rub your body, you are sure to bruise your elbows against the sides of the coffin.

With the exception of those baths which are given for some special remedial purpose, all baths should be hand baths. The bather should apply the soap and water to her own skin, and that she may use it freely and in her own comfortable bedroom, the bath-mat, which I have described, is indispensable. It never wears out, gives no care, and is on the whole, a most happy device.

HOT AND COLD BATHS.

The application of cold or hot water to the skin, produces two effects,--a primary and a secondary,--action and reaction.

If the water be _cold_, the _primary_ effect is to make the skin cold. When the _secondary_ effect or reaction comes on, the skin becomes _warm_. If _hot_ water be applied to the skin, the _primary_ effect is to make the skin hot; the _secondary_ effect, or reaction, leaves it cold.

The first effect is a momentary one; the second effect, or reaction, continues a long time.

Timid girls exclaim:--

"_Cold_ water! of course you don't mean _cold_ water! What, _cold_ water, right _on_ me and _all over_ me? Why, Doctor, I couldn't stand it! it would kill me!"

"Do you think you could take a hot bath?"

"Oh, certainly; I could take a hot bath easy enough." This conversation occurs in January.

My dear child, you are entirely mistaken. Everybody can take a cold bath, if properly managed, every day of the year; but, during the cold weather, it takes a strong constitution to bear a hot bath; for although the first, or momentary effect, is to make the skin warm and comfortable, the secondary effect, or reaction, which comes on very soon and lasts a long time, is to make the surface very cold.

During the warm weather, the hot bath is a great luxury. For the moment it makes you warm, but the secondary effect, or reaction, which will continue for a long time, leaves you in a cool, comfortable state.

Foot baths afford a happy illustration of this Homoeopathic law, "_Similia Similibus Curantur_,"--"_like are cured by like_."

You are troubled with cold feet. Dip the bottoms of your feet in cold water. Let the water be half an inch deep. Hold the feet there four or five minutes, and then give them a good rubbing. Perhaps stand on the carpet with your naked feet, and twist from side to side, until your feet are burning. Not only will your feet remain warm all night, but after practicing this two or three weeks, unless your digestion is _very_ weak, your feet will become warm as a habit.

On the contrary, if you are troubled with burning feet, a frequent hot foot bath will cure you.

But in every case the employment of hot foot baths will give tendency to cold in the head.

But you say again that you like cold baths well enough in warm weather; but if you use the cold bath in the winter, it makes you cold and shivery, it gives you headache and depresses you.

Ah, I see you haven't taken the bath in the right way. If you take it in the way I suggest, no such effects will follow. Apply soap to every part of your skin rapidly with your bathing mittens. That is the most important part of the bath. Now put on just as much or just as little water as your comfort may suggest. If you can bear a good deal, you may put it on; but if you are sensitive to the cold, manage in the way I have suggested,--put on the soap, follow with a damp mitten, and do it all just as rapidly as your hands can move, so that from the time you take off your night dress, until the soap has been applied to every part of the body, and followed by the damp mitten and dry towels, will not be more than one to two minutes. If this is done in your bedroom, instead of a cold bath-room, you will hardly be chilled or depressed by it. If you are so exceedingly sensitive that even this momentary exposure with a moist skin produces an unpleasant chilliness, then follow the soap bath by the most vigorous use of a pair of hair gloves.

HAIR GLOVES OR MITTENS.

For three thousand years, hair mittens have been in use. Hippocrates rubbed himself with a pair.

Girls, you should all have a pair of hair mittens. Buy Lawrence's English patent. They are the best in the market. At night, when you are about to retire, rub every part of the skin till it is as red as a boiled lobster. Ah, how sweet it makes the sleep, how sure to remove all tendency to morning headache. I have seen this practice entirely break up unpleasant dreams. Your skins are always in the dark. They become pale and bloodless. The blood which should circulate in the skin, retires within the body, producing congestion of the liver, with bad complexion; congestion of the stomach, with dyspepsia; congestion of the heart and lungs, with short and labored breath, and congestion of the brain, with headache.

If the skin, which has so many blood-vessels, and is designed to hold so large a quantity of blood,--if the skin enjoyed a constant, free, vigorous circulation, it would relieve the organs within the body of most of their sufferings. I know of no other simple or single means, by which such circulation can be established and maintained in the skin, as by the constant and spirited use of the hair mittens. Besides, it will do wonders for the beauty of your face. Giving the skin of the residue of the body a free circulation, the skin of the face is not likely to be called upon to do more than its share of removing the effete matter in the system, and, therefore, is not likely to take on pimples and other evidences of impurities in the blood.

HOME GYMNASIUM.

The effeminacy of our civilized life, with the employment of machinery for the hard work, necessitates a resort to artificial physical exercise.

Every home, especially where there are children, should have a room devoted altogether, or, on occasions, to gymnastic exercises.

Happily, Schreber, the most eminent of the German school of physical training, has devised a complete apparatus for family use, to which he has given the name of "Pangymnastikon," (which may be translated as meaning all exercises upon one piece of apparatus).

This piece of apparatus weighs not more than ten pounds, may be put into a small box, can be hung up in any room or hall, a parlor, for example, in a minute, and offers complete facilities for a greater variety of fascinating and effective physical exercises than can be found in a gymnastic hall a hundred feet long, fifty feet wide, and filled with the ordinary gymnastic apparatus.

When no longer needed, it may be taken down and put away in a moment.

This piece of apparatus is pretty, inexpensive, and perfectly safe. The manufacturers furnish with it six little wall maps, on which are represented, in engravings, one hundred different exercises, arranged in six groups, and adapted to the varying strength and capacity of the pupils. A very considerable number of the best of these can be performed by girls and women in their ordinary long skirts.

But if I had daughters in my own family, and we were using the Pangymnastikon, I should urge them to drop their long skirts at the hour of exercise, and wear a pair of loose pants and a jacket. Such a dress would permit many profitable exercises for the legs and hips, which women greatly need.

They seem now, except, perhaps, in the case of dancing girls, to be almost as helpless, in any extraordinary circumstances, as our wooden-legged soldiers.

For example, if a woman undertakes to step upon a street car when it is motion, she is sure to lose her balance; and if she steps off the car when it is in motion, though the horses are only walking, down she goes. An hour's exercise each day with the Pangymnastikon would soon cure her of this awkward helplessness, and, at the same time, would develop the muscles about the lower part of her body, and thus save her numberless weaknesses and sufferings.

WHAT YOU SHOULD EAT

In all countries where food is plenty and cheap, excessive eating is well-nigh universal.

The parents indulge in excesses, the father inflames his appetite with narcotics, the children inherit an unnatural craving; during the nursing period they are fed constantly; during childhood they are bated with cakes, candies and other sweetmeats, and afterwards they are tempted with a variety of condimented meats, and these are followed with appetizing desserts, fruits, and other tit-bits.

CONSEQUENCES.

The results are seen on every hand, in almost every individual. The stomach becomes weak and deranged, the body heavy and in-elastic, the mind foggy and sluggish, the temper irritable.

In no other department of American life do we so much need a thorough reform. Fashionable people hate the word _reform_, but in this connection no other word will answer; we must set about a thorough, earnest, radical _reform._

The Creator has so contrived our bodies, He has made them so resistant and elastic, that an occasional abuse seems to make little impression.

For example, a man may get drunk once a month, and at the end of a dozen years he seems scarcely touched by the vice; although, as the physiologist has shown us, upon each indulgence the lining coat of the stomach is strangely inflamed, and changed in appearance; indeed, for three or four days after each debauch the mucous lining of the stomach continues to exude a matter which closely resembles pus. Besides these marked and apparently alarming effects, it is well known that alcohol is a powerful poison to every tissue of the body, especially to the nerve; and yet the alcohol is not digested, but goes, bodily and unchanged, creeping through every atom of the brain itself; nevertheless, after hours of deep, death-like lethargy, the man awakens, and his wonderful mechanism is ready to grapple again with the duties of life.

A child takes into its mouth a bit of tobacco. It is followed by a pale face, cold sweat, alarming palpitations, and violent vomiting. And yet, after a little practice, the human system may be deluged with this powerful, narcotic poison,--a man's mouth may be kept swimming, month after month, with the strongest juice of the strongest tobacco,--his very perspiration may be so filled with this intense poison, that, falling on the battle-field, the most loathsome beast of prey will not touch his body. Yet so complete is his facility of adaptation, so immense his power of resistance, that, for a life-time, his bodily, mental and moral machinery will struggle on in the midst of this sea of poison.

And so it is with this almost universal vice of improper and excessive eating. The stomach and liver are clogged and deranged, the blood is filled with crudities and impurities, the brain is crowded with this vicious blood, and yet the Good Father has given us such an immense reserve, that we can bear all this, and still have force enough left to move about, to think, to feel, and sometimes to have hours of real enjoyment.

Our Father gives us "signs;" he hangs out "flags of distress,"-- pimples, and blotches, and sores, a red nose, inflamed eyelids, etc.; besides, he gives us rheumatism, gout, and numerous other aches, but he lets us live on for years, apparently in the hope that we may learn something.

Our American system of diet is altogether bad. There is too great variety, the food is too rich, the cooking is often very bad, we eat too frequently, and we eat at the wrong times.

I confess to a deep personal interest in this subject. It is my sad, but most deliberate conviction, that I have wasted a large part of my life-force by taking too much food. I have not made this mistake for some years; but the gray hairs began to make their appearance before I learned about it.

Ah, my dear young friends, how deeply do I yearn to help you in this vital department of your life!

Will you permit me a little of my own experience? I believe that, in this way, I can speak more acceptably and more effectively, than by giving the deductions of physiology.

For nearly thirty years I have been in the habit of visiting one dear woman, in the State of New York, once or twice a year. (She does not seem any older to me now, than she did when, from the front window, she watched me on my way to Sunday-school, on a beautiful Sabbath morning, forty years ago.

On my visits at the old home for these thirty years, I have been tempted by those dishes which no one but a mother can make, and have eaten more than usual; and, although the visit was, otherwise, such as freshens and invigorates the faculties, I constantly observed that, upon my return, my lectures were duller rather than sprightlier as they should have been after such a pleasant rest. At length, I came to suspect that visiting, even with my own mother, did not agree with me. But it occurred to me, a few years ago, to deny myself the custard pie so thick and luscious, to refuse the chicken pie, with its rich crust, to deny myself all the desserts and other tit-bits, and live on a moderate quantity of plain beef and bread. Since then, my pilgrimages to the home-shrine have greatly refreshed both body and soul, and I return home to resume my duties with new pleasure and new strength. Why will people, (I trust my mother will pardon the question,) why will people prepare such elaborate and tempting dishes for their friends? If one has a keen appetite, and sits at the table in a social spirit, and takes even a little of each article urged upon him, the variety and quantity must derange his digestion, and then his capacity for enjoyment is at an end.

I was invited, a few months ago, to dine at the house of a lady, who is recognized as standing at the head of the intellectual aristocracy of a most intellectual and refined city. The lady is noted, likewise, as the best of housekeepers, and as a most charming hostess. The plate and crockery were the finest I have ever seen at a private table. We had four courses: 1st, a small glass of lemonade, 2nd, a bit of melon, 3rd, roast beef and sweet potatoes, 4th, ice-cream.

Our hostess, with her fine conceptions of life, could no more have given us soup, fish, meat, game, puddings, pies, raisins, nuts, fruits and ice-creams, than she could have offered us whiskey, rum, gin, brandy and all the rest of them. All this sort of thing, whether of foods or drinks, belongs to the vulgar and barbarous.

Some time since an august Medical Association assembled for its annual meeting in Boston. The city government voted a large sum of money to the entertainment of the "distinguished visitors." It was a precious opportunity for the homoepathic physicians of the city, under whose management the money was to be spent, to show what a generous and refined hospitality could do.

Boston has a peculiar reputation. In some respects it stands alone among American cities. And this was a peculiar occasion. Several hundred representatives of a dominant school of medicine, one which now commands the intelligence of the country, were to convene in Boston. The strangers stopped at hotels and with the brethren, and, it may be fairly presumed, got enough to eat.

What do you suppose our doctors did? I will tell you. The evening before the convention, the delegates were invited to attend a preparatory meeting, at which meeting the _preparation_ consisted in eating, in the evening after supper, sundry salads, cold chickens, cakes, oysters, creams, &c.

The convention adjourned next day at twelve o'clock, for a collation, although it may be supposed that the members had all been to breakfast. After the collation, many of them went to dinner, then came the afternoon session, then another stuffing, then an evening session, then a surfeit, and even when the entertainment was given in Music Hall, which was really fine, the members were invited to another hall to fill up their stomachs before they went to bed.

If this meeting had occurred in some frontier town, where they had nothing but victuals, it would have been tolerable, as a good- natured back-woods hospitality; but in Boston, something better was expected.

If I had been a member of that convention, I could have said:

"Gentlemen, we can get cold turkey and chicken salad at home, but if you will permit us to assemble in the art gallery of your splendid Atheneum, and your artists who have made this gallery a special study, will give us their bright thoughts in connection with the works of the great masters there collected; if you will allow us to spend a half day in your 'Natural History Building,' and give us Prof. Agassiz to explain things; if you will permit us to assemble in that crowning glory of New England Education--'The Institute of Technology,' and give us President Rogers for a brief explanation; yes, gentlemen, if you will show us any of twenty Boston institutions with the assistance of intelligent guides, we shall be most grateful. Gentlemen, don't be afraid of us, we shall not be offended if you happen to appeal to something above our stomachs. Gentlemen, we have come from the West to Boston, imagining that your two hundred years of uninterrupted growth and accumulations, have enriched you with something besides chicken salad, but here we find, that nothing is thoroughly organized and placed within our reach, except another dinner, exactly such as we get at home at any of our village taverns. Gentlemen, you think we can't appreciate anything else, and so you kindly condescend to our condition and feed us, but really we could appreciate your finest music, and best dramas, your great pictures, und your matchless educational institutions. At any rate you should have given us a chance at some of these things, under the guidance of your eminent specialists, and if we had shown that lack of appreciation which Red-Cloud and Spotted-Tail--the Indian chiefs--exhibited when taken through the Patent Buildings in Washington, then you could have fallen back on victuals again; but until we had shown that utter lack of sense seen in R. Cloud, Esq., and S. Tail, Esq., it was hardly fair to deny us all opportunity to examine the treasures of your city.

Two or three years ago, while visiting a dear friend in the country, in a neighborhood where I knew many of the people, my friend proposed to invite in my acquaintances for an evening's chat. I replied that I should be most happy, should feel myself honored, but could not consent to such a gathering on my account if there was to be any eating. Mrs. L. was already overwhelmed with cares; if these were to be increased by the re-union, I should be obliged to decline; besides, on principle I was opposed to evening suppers. Mrs. L. couldn't think of such an omission for a moment, it would be the talk of the town for months; but I insisted, and finally she consented if I would take the responsibility, and explain it to the company. I did explain it, and gave my reasons for it. Most of them thought it was the right thing to do, several wished with all their hearts that the practice could become general, but one embryotic clergyman said he thought it well enough, perhaps, but it was pleasant, and he did not think it hurtful, to take refreshments in the evening; since that time, however, under the lash of dyspepsia, he has changed his opinion.

If people have beautiful homes and wealth, and desire to make the party a _recherche_ affair, are there not professional players, singers, actors, readers, florists etc., etc.? Something grand could be given for half the expense of an elaborate supper.

I need hardly hint to bright people of a less pretentious class, that social singing, dancing, charades, and a hundred beautiful games are all open to them. These are ten-fold more enjoyable than the more stately methods of the rich.

The time will soon come when people of really fine culture will not think of giving their guests a late supper; indeed, of the twenty most intellectual and refined homes to which I have been invited in America and Europe, not one gave any refreshments at an evening party, with perhaps the exception of wine in France, and lemonade in this country.

If people have no brains, but have good stomachs, then I advise eating on all occasions; in fact it is the only thing left. Such people may have already eaten three meals, but when they assemble in the evening at a sociable, they had better feed again, and feed hearty; what else is there to do? They can't sit and stare at each other by the hour, and it wouldn't be good manners to lie down on the floor and go to sleep. After they finish the more substantial meats and things, they can fill up the rest of the evening with nuts, doughnuts, apples, cider, and other trifling things.

But if people happen to have a love of music, paintings, conversation, (the finest of the fine arts,) bright games, charades, dramatics, or any other of twenty amusements; if they happen to have a love for anything above cold pork, then I advise them, when assembled in a social way, to give their brains a chance, and not stuff their stomachs; the former is human, the latter is piggish.

Few changes in our social life have afforded me such genuine satisfaction as the recent changes, among a few of our best people, in the forms and methods of hospitality. Only a few years ago, even among the intelligent class, the first question was:

"Will you have something to eat?"

Now you frequently hear such questions as:

"Have you seen those new stereoscopic views of the Yosemite?"

"No!"

"Please come this way and I will show you one of the most beautiful series you ever saw!"

Or: "Do let me read you, or you read to me, three of the funniest anecdotes I have seen for months!" Or: "Have you seen that remarkable statement in the papers this morning, in the circular letter from Bismark? He affirms that in twenty wars between Prussia and France, France has been the aggressor every time! If this be true, our sympathy for the French would seem to be thrown away; for after such a history, Prussia can hardly be blamed for wishing to so cripple France that she shall be unable for half a century, at least, to trouble her neighbors."

The change from "Will you have a glass of whiskey?" which was addressed to callers fifty years ago, to the question, "Will you have something to eat?" which was addressed to them twenty-five years ago, was, on the whole, a great improvement. The change which has now been inaugurated of addressing your hospitality to something above the stomach, is a still greater improvement.

When this has been fairly established, housekeepers can entertain company, in the evening, with real pleasure and profit to all concerned. When an evening sociable means a "big feed," it involves a great sacrifice; there is roasting, baking and fussing for two or three days, and the expense is such as only a few can well afford. And what is it all for? Why, I can't think of anything, unless it is to make the company sick. Does anyone doubt that eating late in the evening is injurious? And does any one doubt that the preparation and cost of the supper involve a sacrifice to the housekeeper? If these are admitted, I can't imagine any decent apology for the custom.

What shall be done? Every important movement must be inaugurated by individual action. Let those who have the idea, and the moral courage, excuse themselves from all evening refreshments, and the fashion will soon become general. It is a real pleasure to say, that already thousands have determined upon this course, so that now it is quite safe to entertain company without refreshments.

Well, after all this about what and how you should _not_ eat, now I will tell you what and how you _should_ eat.

To secure a clear, fresh skin, bright eye, active limbs, a quick brain, and a cheerful, pleasant temper, and if you would enjoy a long life, you should live about as follows:--

BREAKFAST.

Oatmeal porridge with milk and sugar. Or, Graham mush with a little good syrup. Or, cracked wheat, with milk and sugar. Or, baked potatoes with bread and butter. Or, beef-steak or mutton-chop with baked potatoes, and bread and butter.

If you are thin, and need fat, use the first three, if you are too fat, use the last named two. Drink cold water or a little weak coffee.

DINNER.

Beef or mutton, roasted, or stewed, with any vegetables you may like, (though tomatoes should be used very sparingly,) good bread and butter, and, close the meal with a glass of weak lemonade. Eat no dessert, unless it be a little fruit, and eat nothing more till the next morning.

There is no rule in regard to diet about which I am so fixed in my convictions as, that nothing should be eaten after dinner, and I think that the dinner should be taken early in the day; not later, if it can be so managed, than two o'clock. In regard to the precise hour for the dinner, I am not so clear, though for myself one o'clock is the best hour; but in reference to the omission of the third meal, I have, after long observation, _no doubt whatever_.

Hundreds of persons have come to me with indigestion in some of its many forms, and have experienced such relief in a single week from omitting the supper, that I have, for a number of years, depended upon this point in the diet as the best item in my prescriptions for indigestion. I have never met one person suffering from indigestion, who was not greatly relieved at once, by omitting the third meal.

Eat nothing between meals, not even an apple or peach. If you eat fruit, let it be with the breakfast and dinner. Cooked fruit is best for persons of weak digestion. I have met hundreds of people who could digest a large beefsteak without a pang, but who could not manage a single uncooked apple. I think certain dietetic reformers have somewhat overrated the value of fruit.

_Avoid cake, pie, all sweetmeats, nuts, raisins and candies_.

Manage your stomach as above, and at the end of ten years you will look back upon these table habits as the source of great advantages, and happiness.

For thirty years I have been a constant and careful observer, (I have no hobbies about diet,) and in the light of my own experience and these long observations, I assure you that the table habits I have advised, are vital to your health and happiness.

Pimples, blotches, yellow spots, nasal catarrh, biliousness, liver torpidity, constipation, sleepiness, dullness, low-spirits, and many other common affections would generally disappear with the adoption of these rules.

JACOB SCHNEIDER AND HIS DOUGHNUTS.

I cannot close this subject better than with a "little story" about my friend Jacob.

I called upon him about nine o'clock in the evening, and found him alone, and very seriously occupied with a big wooden bowl of doughnuts. I asked him:

"How many, so far?"

"Oh, eight or ten, perhaps."

"Did you have supper?"

"Oh, yes; I ate supper, and I shouldn't touched these, but somehow I didn't feel very well, and was sorter lonesome, and these doughnuts are kinder company for me, ye know. The old woman always fries them in the evening, and when they are nice and hot I sometimes eat more 'n twenty on 'em, just to sorter pass away the time, ye know."

WINES AND OTHER ALCOHOLIC DRINKS.

Woman rules in the social sphere, and is responsible for its vices. If women would expressly disapprove of wine-drinking, soon, among the decent classes, it would become obsolete.

Clara P. came from Portsmouth to Boston about twenty years ago, to seek her fortune as a teacher of the piano. Wholesome in person, and interesting in manners, she not only won pupils, but social recognition.

At a reception in Somerset St., she was asked to join in a glass of wine. Hinting at a shadow in her family history, she quietly declined, and fell into a sad, thoughtful mood.

A month later, at a similar gathering in the same house, she was confidentially told by the lady of the house, that two gentlemen who were present at the previous reception, had just requested her not to offer wines, as Miss. P. was made unhappy by it. The wines were not brought out, and no farther allusion was made to the subject. At several other social gatherings, when Miss P. was present, the same respectful deference was paid to her feelings; and yet this young woman did not belong to the most influential class.

Mrs. F. was married two years, when rum turned her little quiet home into a hell. Broken-hearted and sick, she left her baby son with her sister, and came to Boston to rest her aching head and sore heart, and to earn a living. She advertised for a place as housekeeper, and had several interviews with ladies and gentlemen who were in pursuit of a housekeeper. She told her story to each one in turn, and was quickly dropped by one and another, until her last dollar had been paid for bread and shelter; and then came a manly man who was touched by her sad recital, and said at once:

"Come, work and rest with us."

He took her to a beautiful house in Mt. Vernon St. and left her in charge of a fashionable, helpless family. Mrs. F. soon established herself in the confidence of the household. In a few days there came a party, and the housekeeper was busy enough. Among other duties was the delivery to the waiters of bottles of wine. Mrs. F. called the gentleman of the house, and said:

"You have been very kind to me, and I will do anything for you, but I hope you will excuse me from this; my hands refuse." The Colonel called one of the colored boys, and gave him the key of the wine- cellar, and the entertainment went on as usual. Up stairs the housekeeper's notion was mentioned, and one of the young men cried out:

"Come gentlemen, fill up, fill up; here's to the health of the brave housekeeper, and long may she wave."

The lady of the house thought it very queer, and next day sought an explanation. It was, after some reluctance, given with tears and passionate ejaculations. The lady thought there might be danger; indeed her husband and oldest son had of late seemed too fond of wine. Several conversations followed between the two mothers, and the lady, just previous to the next social gathering, said to her husband at the breakfast table, in the presence of her sons:

"What do you say to having no wine tonight? That story of Mrs. F.'s has really frightened me?"

"Now," said the husband, "don't _you_ go to preaching temperance; it's enough to have one woman in the house teaching morals."

"But," said the anxious wife and mother, "I was not preaching; I was just asking what you thought of it; and if you were willing, I had made up my mind to turn over a new leaf in our receptions."

_Husband_,--"Well, then I shall go in for abandoning coffee and tea. I think they do a great deal more harm than wine!"

_Herbert_,--"Yes, and how it would sound with all our fellows here, to tell them with solemn faces, that we were afraid they would all become drunkards, and so we must deny them. Oh, pshaw! I should never hear the last of it."

_Mother_,--"I can only say that when they were here last, several of them, including my own dear Herbert, drank too much."

_Herbert_,--"I think we had better turn it into a prayer-meeting at once."

_Father_,--"Oh well, mother, let us eat our breakfast in peace. We will speak of it some other time."

During the day the two mothers held a long conversation, in which Mrs. F described the beautiful, fresh face and spirit of Charles, before the dreadful thirst took possession of him, and the horrible, brutal oaths and passion which followed.

The two sad ones closed their long conversation, as women are wont to when in real trouble, by earnest, tearful prayer.

The lady of the house said to herself, "My husband is always declaring that I am the queen of his castle; that he attends to everything in his business outside, and never wants me to interfere; but that he leaves everything at home to me,--that here I am mistress of all. I wonder if this is so. God helping me, I will try my authority, this very night."

John was ordered to bring round the carriage, and soon after, a lady might have been seen down in Kilby St., in earnest conversation with a certain well-known wine merchant; and just before dark, two men, with a wagon at the back door, were very busy up in the rear of Mt. Vernon St.

About eleven o'clock that evening, the Colonel rang the bell for Richard, when the good wife interrupted him by saying:

"Gentlemen, will you not join me in a cup of coffee to-night, instead of the wine?"

"Certainly, madam, most certainly! while we are your guests, we place ourselves at your disposal!"

The bright urn was brought in, and placed upon the side-board, and the waiters, who had received special instructions, acquitted themselves with marked success.

If you could have placed your ear at a certain keyhole, after the family had retired that night, you would have heard a very earnest conversation.