[See p. 386.

FREE ACADEMY, NEW YORK.

POPULAR EDUCATION:

FOR THE USE OF

PARENTS AND TEACHERS,

AND FOR

YOUNG PERSONS OF BOTH SEXES.

PREPARED AND PUBLISHED
IN ACCORDANCE WITH A RESOLUTION OF THE SENATE AND
HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES OF THE

BY IRA MAYHEW, A.M.,
LATE SUPERINTENDENT OF PUBLIC INSTRUCTION.

NEW YORK:
HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS,
82 CLIFF STREET.
1850.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year one thousand eight hundred and fifty, by
Ira Mayhew,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the District of Michigan.

}

House of Representatives,

Lansing, February 27th 1849.

Hon. Ira Mayhew, Superintendent of Public Instruction:

Sir: I am instructed by the House of Representatives to transmit to you the following preamble and resolution, and to respectfully inform you that the same were this day unanimously adopted by the House.

I am, sir, very respectfully, your obedient servant,
A. W. Hovey, Clerk of the House of Representatives.

Whereas, In the opinion of this House, a Manual on the subject of Popular Education, embracing such considerations as shall have a tendency to arouse the popular mind to a due appreciation of the importance—in a political, social, moral, and religious point of view—of securing to every child in all our borders a good common school education, together with such instructions to citizens and teachers as shall constitute a directory to the highest improvement of which our primary schools are susceptible, is a desideratum; therefore,

Resolved, by the House of Representatives of the State of Michigan: That the Hon. Ira Mayhew, the present Superintendent of Public Instruction in this state, be requested to prepare for publication, in book form, the various matters set forth in his public Lectures, delivered by request of the Legislature, in the Hall of the House, during the present session, together with such other matter as, in his judgment, would tend to the further improvement of our system of public instruction; to the end that the necessary information in regard to this subject may be diffused throughout the state and nation.

⁂ A Preamble and Resolution similar to the preceding were likewise adopted by the Senate.

PREFACE.

Who is sufficient for these things? is a question which any one may well ask when sitting down to the preparation of a treatise on popular education. The author of this work would have shrunk from the undertaking, but from deference to the judgment of the honorable body that unanimously invited its preparation. He has also been encouraged not a little by many kind friends, one of whom, distinguished for his labors in the department of public instruction, writing from New England, says, "I rejoice at your good beginnings at the West. You have a noble and inspiring field of action. 'No pent-up Utica contracts your powers.' I beseech you, fail not to fill it with your glorious educational truth, though you should pour out your spirit and your life to do so."

The duties required by law of the Superintendent of Public Instruction in the State of Michigan are comparatively few. The author, however, five years ago, and soon after entering upon the discharge of those duties, undertook voluntary labors for the purpose of awakening a deeper interest with all classes of the community in behalf of common schools, and of inspiring confidence in their redeeming power, when improved as they may be, constituting, as they do, the only reliable instrumentality for the proper training of the rising generation. These labors, which were hailed as promising great usefulness, and which were prosecuted in every county of the state, were every where received with unexpected favor, and constitute the foundation of the present volume. Many of the subjects then discussed are here greatly amplified.

Among the lectures referred to in the resolution under which this work has been undertaken, was one on the "Michigan School System." But as the Convention for the revision of the Constitution of this state is now in session, it has been deemed advisable to omit, in this connection, the extensive consideration of the details of that system. This may constitute the theme of a small manual which shall hereafter appear.

In the present volume the author has endeavored so to present the subject of popular education, which should have reference to the whole man—the body, the mind, and the heart—and so to unfold its nature, advantages, and claims, as to make it every where acceptable. Nay, more, he would have a good common education considered as the inalienable right of every child in the community, and have it placed first among the necessaries of life. For the better accomplishment of his object, he has freely drawn from the writings of practical educators, his aim being usefulness rather than originality. This course has been adopted, in some instances, for the sole purpose of enforcing the sentiments inculcated by the authority of the names introduced. Acknowledgments have generally been made in the body of the work. These may have been unintentionally omitted in some instances, and especially in those portions of the work which were written several years ago, and the sources whence information was drawn are now unknown.

An examination of the table of contents, and especially of the index at the end of the volume, will show the range of subjects considered, and their adaptation to the wants and necessities, I may say, of the several classes of persons named in the title-page, for whose use it was undertaken. Written, as it has been, for Parents and Teachers, and for Young Persons of both sexes, it is what its title implies—a treatise on Popular Education—and is equally applicable to the wants of families and schools in every portion of our wide-spread country.

With all its imperfections, of which no one can be more sensible than the author, this volume is given to the public, with the hope that it may contribute, in some degree, to advance the work of general education in the United States, but more especially in the State of Michigan.

Ira Mayhew.

Monroe, Mich., July 4th, 1850.

CONTENTS.

NATIONAL POPULAR EDUCATION.

CHAPTER I.

IN WHAT DOES A CORRECT EDUCATION CONSIST?

I call that education which embraces the culture of the whole man, with all his faculties—subjecting his senses, his understanding, and his passions to reason, to conscience, and to the evangelical laws of the Christian revelation.—De Fellenberg.

From the beginning of human records to the present time, the inferior animals have changed as little as the herbage upon which they feed, or the trees beneath which they find shelter. In one generation, they attain all the perfection of which their nature is susceptible. That Being without whose notice not even a sparrow falls to the ground, has provided for the supply of their wants, and has adapted each to the element in which it moves. To birds he has given a clothing of feathers; and to quadrupeds, of furs, adapted to their latitudes. Where art is requisite in providing food for future want, or in constructing a needful habitation, as in the case of the bee and the beaver, a peculiar aptitude has been bestowed, which, in all the inferior races of animals, has been found adequate to their necessities. The crocodile that issues from its egg in the warm sand, and never sees its parent, becomes, it has been well said, as perfect and as knowing as any crocodile.

Not so with man! "He comes into the world," says an eloquent writer, "the most helpless and dependent of living beings, long to continue so. If deserted by parents at an early age, so that he can learn only what the experience of one life may teach him—as to a few individuals has happened, who yet have attained maturity in woods and deserts—he grows up in some respect inferior to the nobler brutes. Now, as regards many regions of the earth, history exhibits the early human inhabitants in states of ignorance and barbarism, not far removed from this lowest possible grade, which civilized men may shudder to contemplate. But these countries, occupied formerly by straggling hordes of miserable savages, who could scarcely defend themselves against the wild beasts that shared the woods with them, and the inclemencies of the weather, and the consequences of want and fatigue; and who to each other were often more dangerous than any wild beasts, unceasingly warring among themselves, and destroying each other with every species of savage, and even cannibal cruelty—countries so occupied formerly, are now become the abodes of myriads of peaceful, civilized, and friendly men, where the desert and impenetrable forest are changed into cultivated fields, rich gardens, and magnificent cities.

"It is the strong intellect of man, operating with the faculty of language as a means, which has gradually worked this wonderful change. By language, fathers communicated their gathered experience and reflections to their children, and these to succeeding children, with new accumulation; and when, after many generations, the precious store had grown until memory could contain no more, the arts of writing, and then of printing, arose, making language visible and permanent, and enlarging illimitably the repositories of knowledge. Language thus, at the present moment of the world's existence, may be said to bind the whole human race of uncounted millions into one gigantic rational being, whose memory reaches to the beginnings of written records, and retains imperishably the important events that have occurred; whose judgment, analyzing the treasures of memory, has discovered many of the sublime and unchanging laws of nature, and has built on them all the arts of life, and through them, piercing far into futurity, sees clearly many of the events that are to come; and whose eyes, and ears, and observing mind at this moment, in every corner of the earth, are watching and recording new phenomena, for the purpose of still better comprehending the magnificence and beautiful order of creation, and of more worthily adoring its beneficent Author.

"It might be very interesting to show here, in minute detail, how the arts of civilization have progressed in accordance with the gradual increase of man's knowledge of the universe; but it would lead too far from the main subject." The preceding sketch may remind us of the low condition of man in a state of ignorance and barbarism, and of the high condition to which he may be brought by cultivation. We possess a material and an immaterial part, mutually dependent on each other. On one hand, we may well say to corruption, Thou art my father; and to the worm, Thou art my mother and my sister. On the other hand, the Psalmist says of man, Thou hast made him a little lower than the angels.

In the Scriptures we learn the origin and history of man—the subject of education. He was created in the image of his Maker. It was his delightful employment, in innocency, to dress the beautiful garden in which he dwelt. Presently we learn he transgressed. His subsequent career becomes infelicitous. In the earlier history of the human race, the days of his pilgrimage were protracted several hundred years. In process of time, because of the prevalence of sin, a universal deluge swept away the entire family of man, save one—a preacher of righteousness—and those of his household. Subsequently his days were shortened to three score years and ten. Much of this time is consumed in helpless infancy, in sleep, and in securing the necessary means of supporting animal life. This, it would seem, is calamity enough; but not so. Man finds himself beset with temptations on every side, to deepen and perpetuate his degradation, by giving reign to unbridled passion.

But a Light has shined upon his dark pathway, pointing him to a brighter country, and beckoning him thither. Under these adverse circumstances, it becomes the duty of the Educator to unfold the opening energies of his youthful charge; to mold their plastic character, and to assist their efforts in the recovery of that which was lost, and in the attainment of immortality and eternal life.

These are strong views, I am aware; but nothing less would be adequate to the nature and wants of man. In these views I am fully sustained by nearly every writer of any distinction in Europe and America. In a volume of prize essays on the expediency and means of elevating the profession of the educator in society, published in London, under the direction of the central society of education, one of the writers, introducing a quotation from an American author, says, I can not resist the pleasure of quoting a few of Alcott's brief sentences, by way of conclusion to the present division of the argument. The voice that has been sent athwart the Atlantic may find an echo in some British bosoms.

These are its words: "Education includes all those influences and disciplines by which the faculties of man are unfolded and perfected. It is that agency that takes the helpless and pleading infant from the hands of its Creator, and, apprehending its entire nature, tempts it forth, now by austere, and now by kindly influences and disciplines, and thus molds it at last into the image of a perfect man; armed at all points to use the body, nature, and life for its growth and renewal, and to hold dominion over the fluctuating things of the outward. It seeks to realize in the soul the image of the Creator. Its end is a perfect man. Its aim, through every stage of influence, is self-renewal. The body, nature, and life are its instruments and materials. Jesus is its worthiest ideal—Christianity its purest organ. The Gospels are its fullest text-book—genius is its inspiration—holiness its law—temperance its discipline—immortality its reward."

Says Dr. Howe, in a lecture before the American Institute of Instruction, "Education should have for its aim the development and greatest possible perfection of the whole nature of man: his moral, intellectual, and physical nature. My beau ideal of human nature would be a being whose intellectual faculties were active and enlightened; whose moral sentiments were dignified and firm; whose physical formation was healthy and beautiful: whoever falls short of this, in one particular—be it in but the least, beauty and vigor of body—falls short of the standard of perfection. To this standard, I believe, man is approaching; and I believe the time will soon be when specimens of it will not be rare."

The following thoughts are drawn from a treatise on the "Mental Illumination and Moral Improvement of Mankind," by that very judicious and celebrated writer, Dr. Dick, of Scotland. The education of human beings, considered in its most extensive sense, comprehends every thing which is requisite to the cultivation and improvement of the faculties bestowed upon them by the Creator. It ought to embrace every thing that has a tendency to strengthen and invigorate the animal system; to enlighten and expand the understanding; to regulate the feelings and dispositions of the heart; and, in general, to direct the moral powers in such a manner as to render those who are the subjects of instruction happy in themselves, useful members of society, and qualified for entering upon the scenes and employments of a future and more glorious existence.

It is a very common but absurd notion, and one that has been too long acted upon, that the education of youth terminates, or should terminate, about the age of thirteen or fourteen years. Hence, in an article on this subject in one of our encyclopedias, education is defined to be "that series of means by which the human understanding is gradually enlightened, between infancy and the period when we consider ourselves as qualified to take a part in active life, and, ceasing to direct our views to the acquisition of new knowledge or the formation of new habits, are content to act upon the principles we have already acquired."

This definition, though accordant with general opinion and practice, is certainly a very limited and defective view of the subject. In the ordinary mode of our scholastic instruction, education, so far from being finished at the age above stated, can scarcely be said to have commenced. The key of knowledge has indeed been put into the hands of the young; but they have never been taught to unlock the gates to the temple of science, to enter within its portals, to contemplate its treasures, and to feast their minds on the entertainments there provided. Several moral maxims have been impressed on their memories; but they have seldom been taught to appreciate them in all their bearings, or to reduce them to practice in the various and minute ramifications of their conduct. Besides, although every rational means were employed for training the youthful mind till the age above named, no valid reason can be assigned why regular instruction should cease at this early period.

Man is a progressive being; his faculties are capable of an indefinite expansion; the objects to which these faculties may be directed are boundless and infinitely diversified; he is moving onward to an eternal world, and, in the present state, can never expect to grasp the universal system of created objects, or to rise to the highest point of moral excellence. His tuition, therefore, can not be supposed to terminate at any period of his terrestrial existence; and the course of his life ought to be considered as nothing more than the course of his education. When he closes his eyes in death, and bids a last adieu to every thing here below, he passes into a more permanent and expansive state of existence, where his education will likewise be progressive, and where intelligences of a higher order may be his instructors; and the education he received in this transitory scene, if it was properly conducted, will found the ground-work of all his future progressions in knowledge and virtue throughout the succeeding periods of eternity.

There are two very glaring defects which appear in most of our treatises on education. In the first place, the moral tuition of youthful minds, and the grand principles of religion which ought to direct their views and conduct, are either entirely overlooked, or treated of in so vague and general a manner, as to induce a belief that they are considered matters of very inferior moment; and, in the business of teaching, and the superintendence of the young, the moral precepts of Christianity are seldom made to bear with particularity upon every malignant affection that manifests itself, and every minor delinquency that appears in their conduct, or to direct the benevolent affections how to operate in every given circumstance, and in all their intercourses and associations. In the next place, the idea that man is a being destined to an immortal existence, is almost, if not altogether overlooked. Volumes have been written on the best modes of training men for the profession of a soldier, of a naval officer, of a merchant, of a physician, of a lawyer, of a clergyman, and of a statesman; but I know of no treatise on this subject which, in connection with other subordinate aims, has for its grand object to develop that train of instruction which is most appropriate for man considered as a candidate for immortality. This is the more unaccountable, since, in the works alluded to, the eternal destiny of human beings is not called in question, and is sometimes referred to as a general position which can not be denied; yet the means of instruction requisite to guide them in safety to their final destination, and to prepare them for the employments of their everlasting abode, are either overlooked, or referred to in general terms, as if they were unworthy of particular consideration. To admit the doctrine of the immortality of the human soul, and yet to leave out the consideration of it, in a system of mental instruction, is both impious and preposterous, and inconsistent with the principle on which we generally act in other cases, which requires that affairs of the greatest moment should occupy our chief attention. If man is only a transitory inhabitant of this lower world; if he is journeying to another and more important scene of action and enjoyment; if his abode in this higher scene is to be permanent and eternal; and if the course of instruction through which he now passes has an important bearing on his happiness in that state, and his preparation for its enjoyments—if all this be true, then surely every system of education must be glaringly defective which either overlooks or throws into the shade the immortal destination of human beings.

If these sentiments be admitted as just, the education of the young becomes a subject of the highest importance. There can not be an object more interesting to Science, to Religion, and to general Christian society, than the forming of those arrangements, and the establishing of those institutions, which are calculated to train the minds of all to knowledge and moral rectitude, and to guide their steps in the path which leads to a blessed immortality. In this process there is no period in human life that aught to be overlooked. We must commence the work of instruction when the first dawning of reason begins to appear, and continue the process through all the succeeding periods of mortal existence, till the spirit takes its flight to the world unknown.

While we would bring clearly into view the nature of that education which is needful for man, considered as a candidate for immortality, we would by no means overlook those subordinate aims which have reference to his present condition, and the relations he sustains in this life. The two are so intimately connected, and sustain such a reciprocal relation to each other, that each is best secured by that system of training and in the use of those appliances by which the other is most successfully promoted. In training the rising generation for the proper discharge of their duty to themselves and to one another—as children, and subsequently as parents; as members of society and citizens of free and independent states—we at the same time best promote their interests as candidates for immortality. It is equally true that any system of education which omits to provide for man's highest and enduring wants as an immortal being, in a proportionate degree falls short of providing for his dearest interests and best good in this life.

The system of education which we should promote comprehends whatever may have any good influence in developing the mind, by giving direction to thought, or bias the motives of action. To lead infancy in the path of duty, to give direction to an immortal spirit, and to teach it to aspire by well-doing to the rewards of virtue, is the first step of instruction. To youth, education imparts that knowledge whose ways are usefulness and honor, and by due restraint and subordination, makes individual to intwine with public good in a just observance of laws, comprehending the path of duty. To manhood, it "leads him to reflect on the ties that unite him with friends, with kindred, and with the great family of mankind, and makes his bosom glow with social tenderness; it confirms the emotions of sympathy into habitual benevolence, imparts to him the elating delight of rejoicing with those who rejoice, and, if his means are not always adequate to the suggestions of his charity, soothes him at last with the melancholy pleasure of weeping with those who weep." To age, it gives consolation, by remembrance of the past, and anticipation of the future. Wisdom is drawn from experience, to give constancy to virtue; and amid all the vicissitudes of life, it enables him to repose unshaken confidence in that goodness which, by the arrangement of the universe, constantly incites him to perpetual progress in excellence and felicity. Education is the growth and improvement of the mind. Its great object is immediate and prospective happiness. That, then, is the best education which secures to the individual and to the world the greatest amount of permanent happiness, and that the best system which most effectually accomplishes this grand design. How far this is accomplished by the present systems of education is not easily determined, but that it fails in many important considerations can not admit of a doubt.

It is feared that, by a great majority, a wrong estimate is made of education. Is it not generally considered as a means which must be employed to accomplish some other purpose, and consequently made subservient and secondary to the employments of life? Is it not considered as being contained in books, and a certain routine of studies, which, when gone through with, is believed to be accomplished, and consequently laid by, to be used as interest may suggest or convenience demand? Education comprehends all the improvements of the mind from the cradle to the grave. Every man is what education has made him, whether he has drunk deep at the Pierian spring, or sipped at the humblest fountain. The philosopher, whose comprehensive mind can scan the universe, and read and interpret the phenomena of nature; whose heaven-aspiring spirit can soar beyond the boundaries of time, indulge in the anticipation of immortality, and discern in the past, the present, and the future the all-pervading spirit of benevolence, is equally the child of education with him whose soul proud science never taught to feel its wants, and know how little may be known.

As we have already said, man possesses a material and an immaterial part, mutually dependent on each other. These are so intimately connected, and sustain such a reciprocal relation to each other, that neither can be neglected without detriment to both. The body continually modifies the state of the mind, and the mind ever varies the condition of the body. Mental and physical training should, then, go together. That system of instruction which relates exclusively to either, is a partial system, and its fate must be that of a house divided against itself. Education has reference to the whole man. It seeks to make him a complete creature after his kind, giving to both mind and body all the power, all the beauty, and all the perfection of which they are capable.

Our systems of education have hitherto fallen far short of this high and only true standard. Education, in too many instances, has been confined, almost entirely, to either the physical, intellectual, or moral energies of men. With the greater part, it has been limited to the physical powers. No effort has been made to develop any but their bodily strength, animal passions, and instinctive feelings. Accordingly, the great mass of mankind are raised but little above inferior animals. They labor hard, and boast of their strength; gratify their passions, and glory in their shame; eat and drink, sleep and wake, supposing to-morrow will be like the present. They are scarcely aware of their rational, intellectual powers, much less of their ever-expanding and never-dying spirits; consequently they feel but imperfectly their responsibility, and are governed principally by the fear of human authority. They have been taught to fear or reverence nothing higher. Their education is confined to animal feeling—physical energies. They have no conception of any thing beyond. The whole intellectual world, and all hereafter, is narrowed down to the animal feeling of the present time. How erroneous! How badly educated! And what are we to anticipate when only the physical energies of men generally are thus developed? Why, surely, what we are beginning to witness—namely, physical power, trampling on all authority.

The education of others is confined principally to intellect. Not that their physical powers are not necessarily more or less developed, but that their attention is directed almost exclusively to intellectual attainments. From the earliest infancy their minds are taxed, though their bodies are neglected, and their souls forgotten. Nor is it unfrequent that their physical strength gives way under the constant pressure of intellectual studies. And thus they are subjected to all the evils of physical inability—the sufferings of living death, in consequence of an erroneous education. Besides, they are destitute of all those kinder feelings and sympathetic emotions which alone result from the cultivation of the moral susceptibilities, and become insensible to the more delicate affections of the soul, and elevating hopes of the truly virtuous. They have nothing on which to rest for enjoyment but intellectual attainments. And even these are small compared with what they might have been under a different course of education. Yet with what delight are the first developments of intellect discovered by the natural guardian of the infant mind! and with what anxious solicitude are they watched through advancing youth and manhood by those employed in their education. In either stage the development of intellect alone seems worthy of an effort. And yet, when carried to the utmost, what may we expect of one destitute of virtue, and without strength of body? Little to benefit himself or others. Like Columbus, Franklin, or La Place, he may employ his intellect in useful discoveries; or, like Hume, Voltaire, and Paine, to curse the world. In either case he may lead astray, and should never be trusted implicitly. As the bark on the ocean without compass or chart, that rides out the storm or sinks to the bottom, he may guide us in safety, or ruin us forever!

The education of others, again, is confined mostly to their moral energies. Those of the body are almost forgotten, only as nature forces their development upon the reluctant soul within. And those of intellect are deemed unworthy of a thought, except as necessary in the rudest stages of society; while the moral susceptibilities are cultivated to the utmost. They are brought into action in every situation. They are employed in private, in the social circle, and around the public altar. Nor are those employing them ever satisfied. They become fanatics—religious enthusiasts. They have zeal without knowledge, and seem resolved on bringing all to their standard. They enlist in the work all the sympathies of the soul—its tenderest sensibilities and most compassionate feelings. Without intellect to guide, and physical strength to sustain them, they sink under moral excitement, and become deranged: a result that might be anticipated from such an education; and one that is often developed, in some of its milder features, among the reformers of the day. Nor may you reason with them. Reckless of consequences and regardless of authority, they are not to be convinced or persuaded. They are right, and know they are right, for the plain reason that they know nothing else, and will not be diverted from their course. What degradation! Who would not shrink from such an education? the development of the moral energies merely? It never qualified men for the highest attainment—the utmost dignity of which they are susceptible.

Diversified as are the developments of human character, and dissimilar as they may appear to the careless observer, there are peculiar characteristics of men that render them similar to one another, and unlike every other being. In their natures, original susceptibilities, and ultimate destinies, they are alike. They are material, intellectual, and spiritual; animal, rational, and immortal. On these uniform traits of character education should be based. It should develop and strengthen the animal functions; classify and improve the rational faculties; and purify and elevate the spiritual affections in harmonious proportion and perfect symmetry.

The animal functions of the human system are to be developed and strengthened by education. Hitherto they have been assigned to the province of nature, and deemed foreign to the objects of education. But a more unphilosophical and dangerous theory has seldom been embraced, as the melancholy results abundantly testify. We shall therefore devote a chapter to physical education, which seems to lie at the foundation of the great work of human improvement; for, as we have seen, in the present state the mind can manifest itself only through the body; after which we shall proceed to the consideration of the other grand divisions of the great work of education.

CHAPTER II.

THE IMPORTANCE OF PHYSICAL EDUCATION.

The influence of the physical frame upon the intellect, morals, and happiness of a human being, is now universally admitted. The extent of this influence will be thought greater in proportion to the accuracy with which the subject is examined. Bodily pain forms a large proportion of the amount of human misery. It is, therefore, of the highest importance that a child should grow up sound and healthy in body, with the utmost degree of muscular strength that education can communicate.—Lalor.

The importance of the department of the great work of education which we now approach has not hitherto been duly appreciated by parents and teachers generally. I shall therefore devote more space to this subject than is usual in works on education, but not more, I trust, than its relative importance demands. Physical, intellectual, and moral education are so intimately connected, that, in order duly to appreciate the importance of either, we must not view it separate and alone merely, but in connection with both of the others. And especially is this true of physical education. However much value, then, we may attach to it on its own account, considering man as a corporeal being, we shall have occasion greatly to magnify its importance when we come to direct our attention to his intellectual culture, and still more when we view it in connection with his moral training. Then, and not till then, shall we be enabled, in some degree, properly to appreciate the importance of physical education.

It has been objected, says Dr. Combe,[1] that to teach any one how to take care of his own health, is sure to do harm, by making him constantly think of this and the other precaution, to the utter sacrifice of every noble and generous feeling, and to the certain production of peevishness and discontent. The result, however, he adds, is exactly the reverse; and it would be a singular anomaly in the constitution of the moral world were it otherwise. He who is instructed in, and is familiar with grammar and orthography, writes and spells so easily and accurately as scarcely to be conscious of attending to the rules by which he is guided; while he, on the contrary, who is not instructed in either, and knows not how to arrange his sentences, toils at the task, and sighs at every line. The same principle holds in regard to health. He who is acquainted with the general constitution of the human body, and with the laws which regulate its action, sees at once his true position when exposed to the causes of disease, decides what ought to be done, and thereafter feels himself at liberty to devote his undivided attention to the calls of higher duties. But it is far otherwise with the person who is destitute of this information. Uncertain of the nature and extent of the danger, he knows not to which hand to turn, and either lives in the fear of mortal disease, or, in his ignorance, resorts to irrational and hurtful precautions, to the certain neglect of those which he ought to use. It is ignorance, therefore, and not knowledge, which renders an individual full of fancies and apprehensions, and robs him of his usefulness. It would be a stigma on the Creator's wisdom if true knowledge weakened the understanding, and led to injurious results. Those who have had the most extensive opportunities of forming an opinion on this subject from extensive experience, bear unequivocal testimony to the advantages which knowledge confers in saving health and life, time and anxiety.

If, indeed, ignorance were itself a preventive of the danger, or could provide a remedy when it approached, then it might well be said that "ignorance is bliss;" but as it gives only the kind of security which shutting the eyes affords against the dangers of a precipice, and consequently leaves its victim doubly exposed, it is high time to renounce its protection, and to seek those of a more powerful and beneficent ally. Every medical man can testify that, natural character and other circumstances being alike, those whose knowledge is the most limited are the fullest of whims and fancies; the most credulous respecting the efficacy of every senseless and preposterous remedy; the most impatient of restraint, and the most discontented at suffering.

If any of my readers be still doubtful of the propriety or safety of communicating physiological knowledge to the public at large, continues the author from whom we last quoted, and think that ignorance is in all circumstances to be preferred, I would beg leave to ask him whether it was knowledge or ignorance which induced the poorer classes in every country of Asia and Europe to attempt to protect themselves from cholera by committing ravages on the medical attendants of the sick, under the plea of their having poisoned the public fountains? And whether it was ignorance or knowledge which prompted the more rational part of the community to seek safety in increased attention to proper food, warmth, cleanliness, and clothing? In both cases, the desire of safety and sense of danger were the same, but the modes resorted to by each were as different in kind as in result, the efficacy of the one having formed a glaring contrast to the failure of the other.

Dr. Southwood Smith, the able author of a volume entitled "The Philosophy of Health," says, The obvious and peculiar advantages of this kind of knowledge are, that it would enable its possessor to take a more rational care of his health; to perceive why certain circumstances are beneficial or injurious; to understand, in some degree, the nature of disease, and the operation as well of the agents which produce it as of those which counteract it; to observe the first beginnings of deranged function in his own person; to give to his physician a more intelligible account of his train of morbid sensations, as they arise; and, above all, to co-operate with him in removing the morbid state on which they depend, instead of defeating, as is now, through ignorance, constantly the case, the best concerted plans for the renovation of health. It would likewise lay the foundation for the attainment of a more just, accurate, and practical knowledge of our intellectual and moral nature. There is a physiology of the mind as well as of the body, and both are so intimately united that neither can be well understood without the study of the other. The physiology of man comprehends both. Were even what is already known of this science and what might be easily communicated made a part of general education, how many evils would be avoided! how much light would be let in upon the understanding! and how many aids would be afforded to the acquisition of a sound body and a vigorous mind! prerequisites more important than are commonly supposed to the attainment of wisdom and the practice of virtue.

Human physiology, says Dr. Combe, in his admirable treatise on that subject, from which I have already quoted, is as important in its practical consequences as it is attractive to rational curiosity. In its widest sense, it comprehends an exposition of the functions of the various organs of which the human frame is composed; of the mechanism by which they are carried on; of their relations to each other, or the means of improving their development and action; of the purposes to which they ought severally to be directed, and of the manner in which exercise ought to be conducted, so as to secure for the organ the best health, and for the function the highest efficacy. A true system of physiology comes thus to be the proper basis, not only of a sound physical, but of a sound moral and intellectual education, and of a rational hygiene; or, in other words, it is the basis of every thing having for its object the physical and mental health and improvement of man; for, so long as life lasts, the mental and moral powers with which he is endowed manifest themselves through the medium of organization, and no plan which he can devise for their cultivation, that is not in harmony with the laws which regulate that organization, can possibly be successful.

Let it not be said that knowledge of this description is superfluous to the unprofessional reader; for society groans under the load of suffering inflicted by causes susceptible of removal, but left in operation in consequence of our unacquaintance with our own structure, and of the relation of different parts of the system to each other and to external objects. Every medical man must have felt and lamented the ignorance so generally prevalent in regard to the simplest functions of the animal system, and the consequent absence of the judicious co-operation of friends in the care and cure of the sick. From ignorance of the commonest facts in physiology, or from want of ability to appreciate their importance, men of much good sense in every other respect not only subject themselves unwittingly to the active causes of disease, but give their sanction to laws and practices destructive equally to life and to morality, and which, if they saw them in their true light, they would shrink from countenancing in the slightest degree.

Were the intelligent classes of society better acquainted with the functions of the human body and the laws by which they are regulated, continues this judicious writer, the sources of much suffering would be dried up, and the happiness of the community at large would be essentially promoted. Medical men would no longer be consulted so exclusively for the cure of disease, but would be called upon to advise regarding the best means of strengthening the constitution, from an early period, against any accidental or hereditary susceptibility which might be ascertained to exist. More attention would be paid to the preservation of health than is at present practicable, and the medical man would then be able to advise with increased effect, because he would be proportionally well understood, and his counsel, in so far, at least, as it was based on accurate observation and a right application of principles, would be perceived to be, not a mere human opinion, but, in reality, an exposition of the will and intentions of a beneficent Creator, and would therefore be felt as carrying with it an authority to which, as the mere dictum of a fallible fellow-creature, it could never be considered as entitled.

It is true that, as yet, medicine has been turned to little account in the way of directly promoting the physical and mental welfare of man. But the day is, perhaps, not far distant, when, in consequence of the improvements both in professional and general education now in progress, a degree of interest will be attached to this application of its doctrines far surpassing what those who have not reflected on the subject will be able to imagine as justly belonging to it, but by no means exceeding that which it truly deserves.

Every person should be acquainted with the organization, structure, and functions of his own body—the house in which he lives: he should know the conditions of health, and the causes of the numerous diseases that flesh is heir to, in order to avoid them, prolong his life, and multiply his means of usefulness. If these things are not otherwise learned, they should be taught—the elements of them at least—in our primary schools. This instruction would come, perhaps, most appropriately from the members of the medical profession. But either society generally, or physicians themselves, or both, have mistaken the true sphere of a physician's usefulness, and what ought to constitute the grand object of his profession, namely, the prevention of disease, and the general improvement of the health, and not the curing of diseases merely. The physician, like the clergyman in his parish, should receive a salary; and he should be occupied, chiefly, in teaching the laws of health to his employers; in imparting to them instruction in relation to the means of avoiding the diseases to which they are more particularly exposed, and in laying before them such information as shall be needful, in order to the highest improvement of their physical organization, and the transmission to posterity of unimpaired constitutions. This he may do by public lectures, at suitable seasons of the year; and by visiting from house to house, and imparting such information as may be particularly needed. The physician should not allow any of his employers blindly to disregard the laws of health, or, knowing them, to violate them unreproved. He should be accounted the best physician, other things being equal, whose employers have the least sickness, and uniformly enjoy the best health. When the relation existing between the members of the medical profession and the well-being of society generally comes to be better understood, and physicians are employed in accordance with the principles just stated, their greatest usefulness to the communities they serve will be found to consist in teaching well men and women how to retain and improve their health, and rear a healthy offspring, and not in partially curing diseased persons who are constantly violating the laws of health. These views will doubtless be new to many of my readers, and seem to them very strange! But let me inquire of such what they would think of the clergyman who should neglect to instruct his parishioners in the ennobling doctrines of morality and religion, and should suffer them to go on in sin unrebuked, until they become a burden to themselves? who should wait until his counsels were solicited before he sounds the note of alarm, and points the guilty sinner to "the Lamb of God which taketh away the sin of the world?" and who should confine his labors almost entirely to condemned criminals? Such conduct on the part of clergymen would doubtless be regarded by these very persons as passing strange! The course commonly pursued in the employment of physicians is equally unphilosophical, and floods society with a legion of evils—physical and intellectual, social and moral—three fourths of which might be avoided, by the proper exercise of the medical profession, in one generation; and ultimately, nineteen twentieths, if not ninety-nine one hundredths of them. As I have already said, this instruction would come, perhaps, most appropriately from the members of the medical profession. But if these things are not taught elsewhere, I repeat it, they should be taught—the elements of them at least—in our primary schools.

I can not better enforce the importance of physical education than by quoting from a lecture "on the education of the blind," by one of the most distinguished practical educators[2] in this country. "That the proportion of the blind to the whole population might be diminished by wise social regulations, and by the dissemination of knowledge of the organic laws of man, there is not a doubt; but whether the time has come, or ever will come, is another question. At any rate, to so enlightened a body[3] as I have the honor of addressing, suggestions of methods by which the extent of blindness may be limited will neither be misapplied, nor liable to offend a mawkish sensibility. That the blindness of a large proportion of society is a social evil will not be denied, nor will the right which society has to diminish that proportion be questioned. But how? in a very simple way; by preventing the transmission of an hereditary blindness to another generation; by preventing the marriage of those who are congenitally blind, or who have lost their sight by reason of hereditary weakness of the visual organs, which disqualifies them to resist the slightest inflammation or injury in childhood.

"I am aware that many people would condemn this proposition as cruel, because it might add to the sadness of the sufferers; and that the whole seven thousand five hundred blind in this country would rise up and scout it, as barbarous and unnatural; for I have experienced the effects of contradiction to the wills of individual blind persons in this respect. But my rule is, the good of the community before that of the individual; the good of the race before that of the community. To give you an instance: the city of Boston, with a population of eighty thousand, is represented in the Institution for the Blind by two blind children only; and I know of but four in the whole population; while Andover, with but five thousand, is fully and ably represented by seven;[4] and it has three more growing up.

"Now how is this? Why, the blind of Andover are mostly from a common stock; three of them are born of one mother, who has had four blind children. Another of the pupils is cousin, in the first degree, to these three; and two other pupils are cousins in a remote degree. Then, from other places, there are two brothers, who have a third at home. There is one blind girl, who has two blind sisters at home. Then there are two pairs of sisters.

"In the immediate vicinity of Boston, I know of a family in which blindness is hereditary; the last generation there were five. Of these five one is married, and has four children, not one of whom can see well enough to read; and if the others marry, they may increase the number to twelve or twenty.

"Now apply this state of things to the whole country, and have you any difficulty in conceiving how it happens that there are seven thousand five hundred blind in the United States? And can you doubt whether or not this great proportion of blind to the whole community might not be considerably diminished, if men and women understood the organic laws of their nature? understood that, very often, blindness is the punishment following an infringement of the natural laws of God; and if they could be made to act upon the holy Christian principles, that we should deny ourselves any individual gratification, any selfish desire, that may result in evil to the whole community?

"I would that every individual whom I have the honor to address would assist in the education of the blind, so far as to give them just and Christian views of this subject. I would that all should work for society; not for society to-day alone, but for the society of future ages; not in any one narrow, partial way, but upon a broad scale, and in every way in which they can be useful. If a person congenitally blind, or strongly predisposed to become so, or one who marries a person so born or so disposed, has blind offspring in consequence of it, I ask, is he not as responsible, in a moral point of view, for the infirmity of his children as though he had put out their eyes with his own hands?

"You may suppose, perhaps, that the infirmity of blindness would incapacitate sufferers from winning the affections of seeing persons; and that, with respect to two blind persons, the sense of incapacity to support a family would prevent them from uniting themselves. In the first place, I answer, that seeing people do no better than the blind. Even a blind man may perceive that many marriages are mere matters of course, resulting from juxtaposition of parties; and rarely matters where the purer affections and higher moral sentiments are consulted. And, in the second place, that incapacity of supporting a family will not weigh a feather in the balance with desire, unless the intellectual and moral nature is enlightened and cultivated. Do we not see, every day, cases of misery entailed upon whole families, because one of the parties had overlooked or disregarded moral infirmity, which ought to have been a greater objection than any physical defect—than even blindness or deafness?

"But no process of reasoning is required, for there stand the facts. The blind not only seek for partners in life, but are sometimes sought by seeing persons; and numerous instances have occurred within my knowledge. It is true, that despair of success in any other quarter, or an equally unworthy motive, may induce some to seek for partners among the blind, or the blind to unite with the blind; but still, there is the evil.

"My observation induces me to think that the blind, far more than seeing persons, are fond of social relations, and desirous of family endearments. A moment's thought would induce one to conclude that this would naturally be the case; a moment's observation convinces one that it is so. Now I have found among them some of the most pious, intelligent, and disinterested beings I ever knew; but hardly more than one who was prepared to forego the enjoyments of domestic relations. And how can we expect them to be so, more than seeing people? The fact is, but very few persons in the community give any attention to the laws of their organic nature, and the tendency to hereditary transmission of infirmities. Very few consider that they owe more to society than to their individual selves; that if we are to love our neighbor as ourself, we must, of course, love all our neighbors, collectively, more than the single unit which each one calls I.

"I would that considerations of this kind had more weight with the community generally. I would that the subject were more attended to, and that the violation of the laws of our organic nature were less frequent in our country. There is one great and crying evil in our system of education; it is, that but part of man's nature is educated, and that our colleges and schools doom young men for years to an uninterrupted and severe exercise of the intellectual faculties, to the comparative neglect of their moral, and still more of their physical nature. Nay, not only do they neglect their physical nature—they abuse it; they sin against themselves and against God; and though they sin in ignorance, they do not escape the penalties of His violated laws. Hence you see them pale, and wan, and feeble; hence you find them acknowledging, when too late, the effects of severe application. But do they acknowledge it humbly and repentingly, as with a consciousness of sin? No, they often do it with a secret exultation, with a lurking feeling that you will say or think, 'Poor fellow, his mind is too much for his body!' Nonsense! his mind is too weak; his knowledge too limited; he is an imperfect man; he knows not his own nature. But if he has no conscientiousness, no scruple about impairing his own health and sowing the seeds of disease, he has less about entailing them upon others. And a consumptive young man or woman—the son or daughter of consumptive parents—hesitates not to spread the evil in society, and entail puny faces, weakness, pain, and early death upon several individuals, and punish their children for their own sins.

"Is this picture too high-colored? Alas! no. And if I showed you satisfactorily that sin against the organic laws caused so great a proportion of blindness, how much more readily will you grant that the same sin gives to so many of our population the narrow chest, the hectic flush, the hollow cough, which makes the victim doomed, by his parent, to consumption and early death! Do you not see, every Sabbath, at church, the young man or woman, upon whose fair and delicate structure the peculiar impress of the early doomed is stamped? and as a slight but hollow cough comes upon your ear, does it not recall the death-knell which rang in the same sad note before to the father or mother? Who of you has not followed some young friend to his long resting-place, and found that the grass had not grown rank upon the grave of his brother? that the row of white marbles, beneath which slept his parents and sisters, were yet glistering in freshness, and that the letters which told their names and their early death seemed clear as if cut but yesterday?

"They tell us that physical education is attended to in this country; and yet, where is the teacher, where is the clergyman even, who dares to step forth in these cases, and say to those who are doomed, you must not and shall not marry? and where are the young men and women who would listen to them if they did? It is not that they are wanting in conscientiousness; they may be conscientious and disinterested; but they do not know that they are doing wrong, because they are not acquainted with the organic laws of their nature. All that is done in schools or colleges toward physical education is the mere strengthening of the muscular system by muscular exercise; but this is not half enough. These remarks may be deemed irrelevant to my subject, but they can not be lost to an audience whose highest interest is the education of man; and if I am mistaken in supposing that little attention has been paid to the subject, its importance will guaranty its repetition."

Before dismissing this subject, I will introduce two additional quotations from American authors, whose opinions are received by the medical profession in this country not only, but throughout Europe. In both instances, I copy from works published in Great Britain, into which the opinions of these American writers have been quoted. In regard to hereditary transmission, Dr. Caldwell observes: "Every constitutional quality, whether good or bad, may descend, by inheritance, from parent to child. And a long-continued habit of drunkenness becomes as essentially constitutional as a predisposition to gout or pulmonary consumption. This increases, in a manifold degree, the responsibility of parents in relation to temperance. By habits of intemperance, they not only degrade and ruin themselves, but transmit the elements of like degradation and ruin to their posterity. This is no visionary conjecture, the fruit of a favorite and long-cherished theory. It is a settled belief resulting from observation—an inference derived from innumerable facts. In hundreds and thousands of instances, parents, having had children born to them while their habits were temperate, have become afterward intemperate, and had other children subsequently born. In such cases, it is a matter of notoriety that the younger children have become addicted to the practice of intoxication much more frequently than the older, in the proportion of five to one. Let me not be told that this is owing to the younger children being neglected, and having corrupt and seducing examples constantly before them. The same neglects and profligate examples have been extended to all, yet all have not been equally injured by them. The children of the earlier births have escaped, while those of the subsequent ones have suffered. The reason is plain. The latter children had a deeper animal taint than the former."—Transylvania Journal.

Physiologists in general coincide in the belief that a vigorous and healthy physical and mental constitution in the parents communicates existence in the most perfect state to their offspring, while impaired constitutions, from whatever cause, are transmitted to posterity. In this sense, all who are competent to judge are agreed that the Giver of life is a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation of them that hate him or violate his laws. Strictly speaking, it is not disease which is transmitted, but organs of such imperfect structure that they are unable to perform their functions properly, and so weak as to be easily put into a morbid state or abnormal condition by causes which unimpaired organs are able to resist.

My last quotation on this point is from a lecture delivered by Dr. Warren before the American Institute of Instruction, copied into the "Schoolmaster," a work published in London under the superintendence of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge:

"Let me conclude by entreating your attention to a revision of the existing plans of education in what relates to the preservation of health. Too much of the time of the better educated part of young persons is, in my humble opinion, devoted to literary pursuits and sedentary occupations, and too little to the acquisition of the corporeal powers indispensable to make the former practically useful. If the present system does not undergo some change, I much apprehend we shall see a degenerate and sinking race, such as came to exist among the higher classes in France before the Revolution, and such as now deforms a large part of the noblest families in Spain;[5] but if the spirit of improvement, so happily awakened, continues—as I trust it will—to animate those concerned in the formation of the young members of society, we shall soon be able, I doubt not, to exhibit an active, beautiful, and wise generation, of which the age may be proud."

CHAPTER III.

PHYSICAL EDUCATION. THE LAWS OF HEALTH.

If man is ever to be elevated to the highest and happiest condition which his nature will permit, it must be, in no small degree, by the improvement—I might say, the redemption—of his physical powers. But knowledge on any subject must precede improvement.—Alcott.

Physical and moral health are as nearly related as the body and the soul.—Hufeland's Art of Prolonging Life.

If the reader is persuaded that the views presented in the last chapter on the importance of physical education are truthful—and they are concurred in by physiologists generally—he will naturally desire to become acquainted with the laws of health, that, by yielding obedience to them, he may improve his physical condition, and most successfully promote his intellectual and moral well-being. I might, then, here refer to some of the many excellent treatises on this subject; but I shall probably better accomplish the object for which this work has been undertaken by presenting, within as narrow limits as practicable, a summary of these laws.

In every department of nature, waste is invariably the result of action. In mechanics, we seek to reduce the waste consequent upon action to the lowest possible degree; but to prevent it entirely is beyond the power of man. Every breath of wind that passes over the surface of the earth, modifies the bodies with which it comes in contact. The great toe of the bronze statue of Saint Peter at Rome has been reduced, it is said, to less than half its original size by the successive kisses of the faithful.

In dead or inanimate matter, the destructive influence of action is constantly forced upon our attention by every thing passing around us, and so much human ingenuity is exercised to counteract its effects that no reflecting person will dispute the universality of its operation. But when we observe shrubs and trees waving in the wind, and animals undergoing violent exertion, year after year, and continuing to increase in size, we may be inclined, on a superficial view, to regard living bodies as constituting an exception to this rule. On more careful examination, however, it will appear that waste goes on in living bodies not only without intermission, but with a rapidity immeasurably beyond that which occurs in inanimate objects.

In the vegetable world, for instance, every leaf of a tree is incessantly pouring out some of its fluids, and every flower forming its own fruit and seed, speedily to be separated from, and lost to its parent stem; thus causing in a few months an extent of waste many hundred times greater than what occurs in the same lapse of time after the tree is cut down, and all its living operations are at a close.

The same thing holds true in the animal kingdom: so long as life continues, a copious exhalation from the skin, the lungs, the bowels, and the kidneys goes on without a moment's intermission, and not a movement can be performed which does not in some degree increase the circulation, and add to the general waste. In this way, during violent exertion, several ounces of the fluids of the body are sometimes thrown out by perspiration in a very few minutes; whereas, after life is extinguished, all the excretions cease, and waste is limited to that which results from ordinary chemical decomposition.[6]

So far, then, the law that waste is attendant on action applies to both dead and living bodies; but beyond this point a remarkable difference between them presents itself. In the physical or inanimate world, what is once lost or worn away is lost forever; but living bodies, whether vegetable or animal, possess the distinguishing characteristic of being able to repair their own waste and add to their own substance. The possession of such a power is essential to their existence. But there is a wide difference between them in other respects. In surveying the respective modes of existence of vegetables and of animals, we perceive the fixity of position of the one, and the free locomotive power of the other. The vegetable grows, flourishes, and dies, fixed to the same spot of earth from which it sprang. However much external circumstances change around it, it must remain and submit to their influence. At all hours and at all seasons, it is at home, and in direct communication with the soil from which its nourishment is extracted. But it is otherwise with animals: these not only enjoy the privilege of locomotion, but are compelled to use it, and often to go a distance in search of food and shelter. The necessity for a constant change of place being imposed on them, a different arrangement became indispensable for their nutrition. The method which the Creator has provided is not less admirable than simple. To enable animals to move about, and at the same time to maintain a connection with their food, they are provided with a stomach. In this receptacle they can store up a supply of materials from which sustenance may be gradually elaborated during a period of time proportioned to their necessities and mode of life. Animals thus carry with them nourishment adequate to their wants; and the small nutritive vessels imbibe their food from the internal surface of the stomach and bowels, where it is stored up, just as the roots or nutritive vessels of vegetables do from the soil in which they grow. The possession of a stomach or receptacle for food is accordingly a distinguishing characteristic of the animal system.

The sole objects of nutrition being to repair waste and to admit of growth, the Creator has so arranged that within certain limits it is always most vigorous when growth or waste proceeds with the greatest rapidity. Even in vegetables this provision is distinctly observable. It is also strikingly apparent in animals. Whenever growth is proceeding rapidly, or the animal is undergoing much exertion and expenditure of material, an increased quantity of food is invariably required. On the other hand, where no new substance is forming, and where, from bodily inactivity, little loss is sustained, a comparatively small supply will suffice. In endowing animals with the sense of appetite, including the sensation of hunger and thirst, the Creator has effectually provided against any inconvenience which might otherwise exist, and given to them a guide in relation to both the quality and quantity of food needful for them, and the times of partaking of it, with that beneficence which distinguishes all his works. He has not only provided an effectual safeguard in the sensations of hunger and thirst, but he has attached to their regulated indulgence a degree of pleasure which never fails to insure attention to their demands, and which, in highly-civilized communities, is apt to lead to excessive gratification. Their end is manifestly to proclaim that nourishment is required for the support of the system. When the body is very actively exercised, and a good deal of waste is effected by perspiration and exhalation from the lungs, the appetite becomes keener, and more urgent for immediate gratification; and if it is indulged, we eat with a relish unknown on other occasions, and afterward experience a sensation of internal comfort pervading the frame, as if every individual part of the body were imbued with a feeling of contentment and satisfaction; the very opposite of the restless discomfort and depression which come upon us, and extend over the whole system, when appetite is disappointed. There is, in short, an obvious and active sympathy between the condition and bearing of the stomach, and those of every part of the animal frame; in virtue of which, hunger is felt very keenly when the general system stands in urgent need of repair, and very moderately when no waste has been suffered.

We have seen that waste is every where attendant upon action, and that the object of nutrition is to repair waste and admit of growth. We come now to consider the Process of Digestion.

All articles used for food necessarily undergo several changes before they are fitted to constitute a part of the body. In the process of digestion, four different changes should be noticed. More might be specified.

1. Mastication.—The first step in the preparation of food for imparting nourishment to the system consists in proper mastication, or chewing. Food should be thoroughly masticated before it is taken into the stomach. This is necessary in order to break it up and reduce it to a sufficient degree of fineness for the efficient action of the gastric juice. Besides, the action of chewing and the presence of nutrient food constitute a healthful stimulus to the salivary glands, situated in the mouth. By this means, also, the food not only becomes well masticated, but has blended with it a proper amount of saliva, upon both of which conditions the healthy action of the stomach depends. We have here another illustration of the beneficence of the Creator, who has kindly so arranged that the very act of mastication gratifies taste, the mouth being the seat of this sensation. But if we disregard these benevolent laws, and introduce unmasticated food into the stomach, the gastric juice can act only upon its surface, and changes of a purely chemical nature frequently commence in food thus swallowed before digestion can take place. Hence frequently arise—and especially in children and persons of delicate constitution—pains, nausea, and acidity, consequent on the continued presence of undigested aliment in the stomach.

2. Chymification.—As soon as food has been thoroughly masticated and impregnated with saliva, it is ready for transmission to the stomach. This interesting part of the process of digestion, called deglutition or swallowing, is most easily and pleasantly performed, when the alimentary morsel has been well masticated and properly softened, not by drink, which should never be taken at this time, but by saliva. When the food reaches the stomach, it is converted into a soft, pulpy mass, called chyme; and the process by which this change is effected is called chymification. This is the second principal step in digestion, and is effected immediately by the action of the gastric juice. This powerful solvent is secreted by the gastric glands, which are excited to action by the presence of food in the stomach. In health, the gastric secretion always bears a direct relation to the quantity of aliment required by the system. If too much food is taken into the stomach, indigestion is sure to follow, for the sufficient reason that the gastric juice is unable to dissolve it. This is true even when food has been well masticated; but it becomes strikingly apparent when a full meal has been hastily swallowed, both mastication and insalivation having been imperfectly performed.

The time usually occupied in the process of chymification, when food has been properly masticated, varies from three to four hours. Digestion is sometimes effected in less time, as in the case of rice, and pigs' feet soused; but it more commonly requires a longer period, as in the case of salt pork and beef, and many other articles of food, both animal and vegetable.

By the alternate contraction and relaxation of the muscular coat of the stomach, which is excited to action by the presence of food, a kind of churning motion is communicated to its contents that greatly promotes digestion; for by this means every portion of food in turn is brought in contact with the gastric juice as it is discharged from the internal surface of the stomach. This motion continues until the contents of the stomach are converted into chyme, and conveyed into the first intestine, where they undergo another important change.

3. Chylification.—As fast as chyme is formed, it is expelled by the contractile power of the stomach into the duodenum, or first intestine. It there meets with the bile from the liver, and with the pancreatic juice. By the action of these agents, the chyme is converted into two distinct portions: a milky white fluid, called chyle, and a thick yellow residue. This process is called chylification, or chyle-making. The chyle is then taken up by the absorbent vessels, which are extensively ramified over the inner membrane or lining of the bowels. From the white color of the contents of these vessels, they have been named lacteals or milk-bearers, from lac, which signifies milk. These lacteals ultimately converge into one trunk, called the thoracic duct, which terminates in the great vein under the clavicle or collar bone, hence called the subclavian vein, just before that vein reaches the right side of the heart. Here the chyle is poured into the general current of the venous blood, and, mingling with it, is exposed to the action of the air in the lungs during respiration. By this process, both the chyle and the venous blood are converted into red, arterial, or nutritive blood, which is afterward distributed by the heart through the arteries, to supply nourishment and support to every part of the body. The change which takes place in the lungs is called sanguification, or blood-making. The chyle is not prepared to impart nourishment to the system until this change takes place. Respiration, then, is, in reality, the completion of digestion. This interesting and vital part of the process of digestion will be considered more fully in the following chapter.

Before passing from this part of the subject, a few remarks of a more general nature seem called for. The nerves of the stomach have a direct relation to undigested but digestible substances. When any body that can not be digested is introduced into the stomach, distinct uneasiness is speedily excited, and an effort is soon made to expel it, either upward by the mouth or downward by the bowels. It is in this way, says Dr. Combe, that bile in the stomach excites nausea, and that tartar emetic produces vomiting. The nerves of the bowels, on the other hand, are constituted in relation to digested food; and, consequently, when any thing escapes into them from the stomach in an undigested state, it becomes a source of irritative excitement. This accounts for the cholic pains and bowel-complaints which so commonly attend the passage through the intestinal canal of such indigestible substances as fat, husks of fruits, berries, and cherry-stones.

The process of digestion, which commences in the stomach, is completed in the intestines. Physiologists have hence sometimes called the former part of the process, or chymification, by the more simple term stomach digestion; and the latter, or chylification, has been termed intestinal digestion. The bowels have distinct coats corresponding with those of the stomach. By the alternate contraction and relaxation of the muscular coat, their contents are propelled in a downward direction, somewhat as motion is propagated from one end of a worm to the other. It has hence been called vermicular, or wormlike motion. Some medicines have the power of inverting the order of the muscular contractions. Emetics operate in this manner to produce vomiting. Other medicines, again, excite the natural action to a higher degree, and induce a cathartic action of the bowels. When medicines become necessary to obviate that kind of costiveness which arises from imperfect intestinal contraction, physicians usually administer rhubarb, aloes, and similar laxatives, combined with tonics. But when the muscular coat of the bowels is kept in a healthy condition by a natural mode of life, and is aided by the action of the abdominal muscles, it rarely becomes necessary to administer laxative medicines.

The inner or mucous coat of the stomach and bowels is generally regarded by physiologists as a continuation of the skin. They greatly resemble each other in structure, and they are well known to sympathize with each other. Eruptions of the skin are very generally the result of disorders of the digestive organs. On the other hand, bowel complaints are frequently produced by a chill on the surface. The mucous coat and the skin are both charged with the double function of excretion and absorption. By the exercise of the former function, much of the waste matter of the system, requiring to be removed, is thrown into the intestines, and, mingling with the indigestible portion of the food, forms the common excrement; while by the exercise of the latter function the nutritive portion of their contents is taken up, and, as we have seen, passes into the general circulation, and contributes either to promote growth or to repair waste.

4. Evacuation.—This is the fourth and last principal step in the process of digestion. After the chyle is separated from the chyme and passes into the circulation, the indigestible and refuse portion of the food, which is incapable of nourishing the system, passes off through the intestinal canal. In its course its bulk is considerably increased by the excretion of waste matter which has served its purposes in the system, and which, mingling with the innutritious and refuse part of the food, is thrown out of the body in the form of excrement. If the contents of the bowels are too long retained, uneasiness is produced. Hurtful matter, also, which should pass off by evacuation, is reabsorbed, passes again into the general circulation, and is ultimately thrown out of the system either by the lungs or through the pores of the skin.

This part of the process of digestion is very important, for it is impossible to enjoy good health while this function is imperfectly performed. To secure full and natural action in the intestinal canal, several principal conditions are necessary. These are, first, well-digested chyme and chyle; second, a due quantity and quality of secretions from the mucous or lining membrane of the bowels; third, a free and full contractile power of the muscular coat, and the unrestrained action of the abdominal and respiratory muscles; and, finally, a due nervous sensibility to receive impressions and communicate the necessary stimulus. The contractile power of the muscular coat, and the free passage of the intestinal contents from the stomach downward, are greatly aided by the constant but gentle agitation which the whole digestive apparatus receives during the act of breathing, and from exercise of every description. By free and deep inhalations of air into the lungs, the diaphragm is depressed and the bowels are pushed down. But when the air is thrown out from the lungs, the diaphragm rises into the chest, and the bowels follow, being pressed upward by the contractile power of the abdominal muscles. During exercise, breathing is deeper and more free, which gives additional pressure to the bowels from above. The abdominal muscular contraction is also, in turn, more vigorous and extensive, and thus the motion is returned from below. Persons that take little or no exercise, or who allow the chest and bowels to be confined by tight clothing, lose this natural stimulus, and frequently become subjects of immense suffering from habits of costiveness. These should be removed if possible, and they generally can be by a proper course of discipline. This should have reference to both diet and exercise. Such articles of food should be used as tend to keep open the bowels. This should be combined with the free exercise of the lungs and the abdominal muscles. In addition to these, there should be a determination to secure a natural evacuation of the bowels at least once a day. This is regarded by physiologists generally as essential to health. Efforts should be continued until the habit is established. Some definite period should be fixed upon for this purpose. Soon after breakfast is, on many accounts, generally preferable.

Time for Meals.—Before passing from the subject of digestion, I will submit a few thoughts in relation to the times for eating. It has already been observed that three or four hours are generally necessary for the digestion of a simple meal. Usually, perhaps, a greater length of time is required. It is also an established doctrine, based upon the results of careful examination and experiment, that the stomach requires an interval of rest, after the process of digestion is finished, to enable it to recover its tone before it can again enter upon the vigorous performance of its function. As a general rule, then, five or six hours should elapse between meals. If the mode of life is indolent, a greater time is required; if active, less time will suffice. Where the usages of society will allow the principal meal to be taken near the middle of the day, the following time for meals is approved by physiologists generally: breakfast at 7 o'clock, dinner at half past 12, and tea at 6. Luncheons and late suppers should be avoided; for the former will always be found to interfere with the healthful performance of the function of digestion, and the latter will induce restlessness, unpleasant dreams, and pain in the head. "A late supper," says the author of the Philosophy of Health, "generally occasions deranged and disturbed sleep; there is an effort on the part of the nerves to be quiet, while the burdened stomach makes an effort to call them into action, and between these two contending efforts there is disturbance—a sort of gastric riot—during the whole night. This disturbance has sometimes terminated in a fit of apoplexy and in death."

The Skin.—This membranous covering, which is spread over the surface of the body to shield the parts beneath, serves also as an excreting and secreting organ. By the great supply of blood which it receives, it is admirably fitted for this purpose. The whole animal system, as we have seen, is in a state of transition, decay and renovation constantly succeeding each other. While the stomach and alimentary canal take in new materials, the skin forms one of the principal outlets by which particles that are useless to the system are thrown out of the body. Every one knows that the skin perspires, and that checked perspiration is a powerful cause of disease and death; but few have any just notion of the extent and influence of this exhalation. When the body is overheated by exercise, a copious sweat breaks out, which, by evaporation, carries off the excess of heat, and produces an agreeable feeling of coolness and refreshment. The sagacity of Franklin led him to the first discovery of the use of perspiration in reducing the heat of the body, and to point out the analogy subsisting between this process and that of the evaporation of water from a rough porous surface, so constantly resorted to in the East and West Indies, and in other warm countries, as an efficacious means of reducing the temperature of the air in rooms, and of wine and other drinks, much below that of the surrounding atmosphere. This is the higher and more obvious degree of the function of exhalation. But in the ordinary state of the system, the skin is constantly giving out a large quantity of waste materials by what is called insensible perspiration; a process which is of great importance to the preservation of health, and which is called insensible, because the exhalation, being in the form of vapor, and carried off by the surrounding air, is invisible to the eye. But its presence may often be made manifest, even to the sight, by the near approach of a dry cool mirror, on the surface of which it will soon be condensed so as to become visible. It is this which causes so copious deposits upon the windows of a crowded school-room in cold weather. A portion of these exhalations, however, proceed from the lungs.

There is an experiment that may be easily tried, which affords conclusive evidence that the amount of insensible perspiration is much greater than it is ordinarily supposed to be. Take a dry glass jar, with a neck three or four inches in diameter, and thrust the hand and a part of the fore-arm into it, closing the space in the neck about the arm with a handkerchief. After the lapse of a few minutes, it will be seen, by drawing the fingers across the inside of the jar, that the insensible perspiration even from the hand is very considerable. Many attempts have been made to estimate accurately the amount of exhaled matter carried off through the skin; but many difficulties stand in the way of obtaining precise results. There is a great difference in different constitutions, and even in the same person at different times, in consequence of which we must be satisfied with an approximation to the truth.

Although the precise amount of perspiration can not be ascertained, it is generally agreed that the cutaneous exhalation is greater than the united excretions of both bowels and kidneys. Great attention has been given to this subject. Sanctorius, a celebrated medical writer, weighed himself, his food, and his excretions, daily, for thirty days. He inferred from his experiments that five pounds of every eight, of both food and drink, taken into the system, pass out through the skin. All physiologists agree that from twenty to forty ounces pass off through the skin of an adult in usual health every twenty-four hours. Take the lowest estimate, and we find the skin charged with the removal of twenty ounces of waste matter from the system every day. We can thus see ample reason why checked perspiration proves so detrimental to health; for every twenty-four hours during which such a state continues, we must either have this amount of useless and hurtful matter accumulating in the system, or some of the other organs of excretion must be greatly overtasked, which obviously can not happen without disturbing their regularity and well-being. It is generally known that continued exposure in a cold day produces either a bowel complaint or inflammation of some internal organ. Instead of expressing surprise at this, if people generally understood the structure and uses of their own bodies, they would rather wonder why one or the other of these effects is not always attendant upon so great a violation of the laws of health, which are the laws of God.

The lungs also excrete a large proportion of waste matter from the system. So far, then, their office is similar to that of the kidneys, the liver, and the bowels. In consequence of this alliance with the skin, these parts are more intimately connected with each other, in both healthy and diseased action, than with other organs. Whenever an organ is unusually delicate, it will be more easily affected by any cause of disease than those which are sound. Thus, in one instance, checked perspiration may produce a bowel complaint, and in another, inflammation of the lungs, and so on. Hence the fitness, in prescribing remedies, of adapting them not only to the disease itself, but of taking into the account the cause of the disease. A bowel complaint, for example, may arise either from overeating or from a check to perspiration. The thing to be cured is the same in both cases, but the means of cure ought obviously to be different. In one instance, an emetic or laxative, to carry off the offending cause, would be the most rational and efficacious remedy; in the other, a diaphoretic should be administered, to open the skin and restore it to a healthy action. Facts like these expose the ignorance and impudence of the quack, who undertakes to cure every form of disease by one remedy.

It has already been remarked that the skin is charged with the double function of excretion and absorption. We have a striking illustration of the exercise of the latter function in the vaccination of children and others, to protect them from small-pox. A small quantity of cow-pox matter is inserted under the external layer of the skin, where it is acted upon, and in a short time taken into the system by the absorbent vessels. In like manner, when the perspiration is brought to the surface of the skin, and confined there, either by injudicious clothing or by want of cleanliness, there is much reason to believe that its residual parts are again absorbed. It is established by observation that concentrated animal effluvia form a very energetic poison. We can, then, see why the absorption of the residual parts of perspiration produces fever, inflammation, and even death itself, according to its quantity and degree of concentration. This leads me to notice the importance of

Bathing.—The exhalation from the skin being so constant and extensive, and the bad effects of it when confined being so great, it becomes very important that we provide for its removal. This can be most easily and effectually accomplished by frequently bathing the whole body. This is a luxury within the reach of all, but one which is unappreciated by those who have not enjoyed it. An aged gentleman said to me recently, that in early life he "used to go a swimming frequently and enjoyed it much; but," he added, "I have not bathed or washed myself all over for the last thirty years!" This, it is believed, is an extreme case. But it is to be feared there are not wanting instances in which persons do not bathe the entire person once a month, or once a year even! When the residual parts of the perspiration are not removed by washing or bathing, they at last obstruct the pores and irritate the skin. It is apparently for this reason that, in the Eastern and warmer countries, where perspiration is very copious, ablution and bathing have assumed the rank and importance of religious observances. Those who are in the habit of using the flesh-brush daily are at first surprised at the quantity of white dry scurf which it brings off; and those who take a warm bath for half an hour at long intervals can not have failed to notice the great amount of impurities which it removes, and the grateful feeling of comfort which its use imparts. It is remarked by an eminent physician, that the warm, tepid, cold, or shower bath, as a means of preserving health, ought to be in as common use as a change of apparel, for it is equally a measure of necessary cleanliness. Many, no doubt, neglect this, and enjoy health notwithstanding; but many more suffer from its omission; and even the former would be greatly benefited by employing it. Cleanliness, then, is as essential to health as to decency. Still more, it promotes not only physical health, but contributes largely to strengthen and invigorate the intellectual faculties, and to elevate and purify the affections. It comes, then, to be ranked among the cardinal virtues.

To secure the benefits of bathing or ablution, a great amount of apparatus is not necessary. A shower-bath, or plunge-bath, may not be best for all. Every one can procure a wash-bowl and one or two quarts of water, which are all that is necessary. To prevent the reduction of heat in the system by evaporation, and especially in cold weather, it will usually be found best to bathe the body by sections. It is generally agreed that the morning is the best time for bathing. Immediately on rising, then, the clothing being removed, let the head, face, and neck be washed as usual, and thoroughly dried by the use of a towel. Proceed to wash the chest and abdomen, which may be dried as before, after which a coarse towel or a flesh-brush should be vigorously applied, until the skin is perfectly dry, and there is a pleasant glow upon the surface. The back and limbs, in turn, should be washed, dried, and excited to a healthy and pleasant glow by friction. This last is of the utmost importance. If not easily secured, salt or vinegar may be added to the water, both of which are excellent stimulants to the skin.[7] When these are used, and care is taken to excite in the surface, by subsequent friction with a coarse towel, flesh-brush, or hair glove, the healthful glow of reaction, it will be found to contribute largely to both physical and mental comfort. The beneficial results will be more apparent if, while bathing and rubbing the chest and abdomen, pains are taken to throw back the shoulders, expand the lungs, and enlarge the chest.

By an act of the Legislature of the commonwealth of Massachusetts, passed in April last, it is required that "physiology and hygiene shall hereafter be taught in the schools of that commonwealth, in all cases in which the school committee shall deem it expedient."

When physiology is not made a study in school, the teacher should not fail to give familiar and instructive lectures on the subject. I know of instances where, by this simple means, the habits of a whole school, composed of several hundred youth of both sexes, have been radically changed; and the practice of daily ablution has ceased to be the luxury of the few, having become the necessity not only of teachers and scholars, but of the families in which they reside. There is the most satisfactory evidence that cleanliness is conducive to health.[8] How important it is, then, that habits of cleanliness be formed at an early age.

Dr. Weiss, a distinguished German physician, in his remarks on this subject, says, the best time, undoubtedly, for these ablutions, is the morning. They are to be performed immediately after rising from the bed, when the temperature of the body is raised by the heat of the bed. The sudden change favors in a great measure the reaction which ensues, and excites the skin, rendered more sensitive by the perspiration during the night, to renewed activity. Cold ablutions, he adds, are fitted for all constitutions; they are best adapted for purifying and strengthening the body; for women, weak subjects, children, and old age. The room in which the ablution is performed may be slightly heated for debilitated patients in winter, to prevent colds in consequence of too low a temperature of the apartment; this exception is, however, only admissible for very weakly persons. Generally speaking, ablutions may be performed in a cold room, especially where persons get through the operation quickly, and can immediately afterward take exercise in the open air.

It is the opinion of Dr. Combe that bathing is a safe and valuable preservative of health, in ordinary circumstances, and an active remedy in disease. Instead of being dangerous by causing liability to cold, it is, he says, when well managed, so much the reverse, that he has used it much and successfully for the express purpose of diminishing such liability, both in himself and in others in whom the chest is delicate. In his own instance, in particular, he is conscious of having derived much advantage from its regular employment, especially in the colder months of the year, during which he has found himself most effectually strengthened against the impression of cold by repeating the bath at shorter intervals than usual. I shall conclude my remarks on bathing by presenting a paragraph from this transatlantic author.

If the bath can not be had at all places, soap and water may be obtained every where, and leave no apology for neglecting the skin. If the constitution be delicate, water and vinegar, or water and salt, used daily, form an excellent and safe means of cleansing and gently stimulating the skin. To the invalid they are highly beneficial, when the nature of the indisposition does not render them improper. A rough and rather coarse towel is a very useful auxiliary in such ablutions. Few of those who have steadiness to keep up the action of the skin by the above means, and to avoid strong and exciting causes, will ever suffer from colds, sore throats, or similar complaints; while, as a means of restoring health, they are often incalculably serviceable. If one tenth of the persevering attention and labor bestowed to so much purpose in rubbing down and currying the skins of horses were bestowed by the human race in keeping themselves in good condition, and a little attention were paid to diet and clothing, colds, nervous diseases, and stomach complaints would cease to form so large an item in the catalogue of human miseries. Man studies the nature of other animals, and adapts his conduct to their constitution; himself alone he continues ignorant of and neglects. He considers himself a being of superior order, and not subject to the laws of organization which regulate the functions of the lower animals; but this conclusion is the result of ignorance and pride, and not a just inference from the premises on which it is ostensibly founded.

Clothing.—The skin is very materially affected in the healthy performance of its functions by the nature and condition of the clothing. It is a very commonly received opinion that one principal object in clothing is to impart heat to the body. This, however, is an erroneous idea; the utmost that it can do is to prevent the escape of heat. All articles of clothing are not alike in this respect. Some conduct the heat from the body readily, and are hence much used in warm weather; as linen, for example. Others, again, have very little tendency to convey heat from the body, and are hence sought in cold weather. Of this nature are furs, and cloths manufactured from wool. I do not intend in this connection to speak of the merits of different kinds of clothing, but to remark simply upon the necessity of changing clothes often, or at least of ventilating them frequently. This remark applies particularly to all articles of clothing worn next to the skin, and to beds. Clothes worn next to the skin during the day should be removed on going to bed, and a fresh sleeping-gown should be put on. The former should be hung up in a situation that will allow the accumulated perspiration of the day to pass off by evaporation. By this means they will become sufficiently freshened and ventilated, by morning, to be worn another day, when the night-clothes, in turn, should be ventilated. Beds also should be thrown open and exposed to fresh air with open doors, or at least windows, several hours before being made. In our best-regulated boarding schools, and literary and benevolent institutions of all kinds, particular attention is now paid to this subject. In some instances, lodging rooms are furnished with frames for the express purpose of facilitating the ventilation of the bed-clothes. Immediately on rising in the morning, the clothes are removed from the beds, and exposed upon these frames to a current of fresh air for several hours, the windows being opened for that purpose. Notwithstanding care be taken to promote personal cleanliness by daily ablutions, if the ventilation of beds and clothing be neglected, and perspiration be suffered to accumulate in them, it may be reabsorbed, and, passing again into the circulation, produce all the mischief of which I have before spoken.

The Teeth.—I have already spoken of the relation the teeth sustain to digestion. Their use in the proper mastication of food is essential to the healthy and vigorous performance of this important function. The proper use of a good set of teeth contributes largely to both the physical comfort, and the intellectual and moral well-being of their possessor; but when neglected, they very commonly decay and become useless; nay, more, they are not unfrequently a source of great and almost constant discomfort for years. In order to preserve the teeth, they must be kept clean. After every meal, they should be cleaned with a brush and water. A tooth-pick will sometimes be found necessary in the removal of particles of food that are inaccessible to the brush. Metallic tooth-picks injure the enamel, and should not be used. Those made of ivory, or the common goose-quill, are unobjectionable. The brush should be used, not only after each meal, but the last thing at night and the first thing in the morning. This will prevent the accumulation of tartar, which so commonly incrusts neglected teeth. If suffered to remain, it gradually accumulates, presses upon the gums, and destroys their health. By this means the roots of the teeth become bare, and thus deprived of their natural stimulus, they prematurely decay. Food or drink either very hot or very cold is exceedingly injurious to the teeth. Sour drops, acidulated drinks, and all articles of food that "set the teeth on edge," are injurious, and should be carefully avoided. Should it become necessary to take sour drops as a medicine, they should be given through a quill, and every precaution should be taken to prevent their coming in contact with the teeth. Even then the mouth should be well rinsed immediately after they are swallowed.

Disordered digestion is a great source of injury to the teeth both in childhood and in mature age. When digestion is vigorous, there is less deposition of tartar, and the teeth are naturally of a purer white. Especially is this true when the general health is good, and the diet plain, and contains a full proportion of vegetable matter. This accounts for the fact that many rustics and savages possess teeth that would be envied in town. Tobacco is sometimes used as a preservative of the teeth. It is, indeed, occasionally prescribed as a curative by ignorant physicians, and those who are willing to pander to the diseased appetites of their patients. But there is the best medical testimony that the use of this filthy weed "debilitates the vessels of the gums, turns the teeth yellow, and renders the appearance of the mouth disagreeable." Dr. Rush informs us that he knew a man in Philadelphia who lost all his teeth by smoking. In speaking of the moral effects of this practice, he adds, "Smoking and chewing tobacco, by rendering water and other simple liquors insipid to the taste, dispose very much to the stronger stimulus of ardent spirits; hence the practice of smoking cigars throughout our country has been followed by the use of brandy and water as a common drink." A dentist of extensive and successful practice in the Middle and Western States, after listening to the reading of this article, said to me, he had a patient, a young lady, two of whose front teeth had decayed through, laterally, in consequence of smoking. On removing the caries, he found it impossible to fill her teeth, because the openings continued through them. He thinks, as do many others, that the heat of the smoke is a principal cause of the injury.

Among the conditions upon which the healthy action of the voluntary organs depends is a due degree of appropriate exercise. This is a general law, and holds with reference to the teeth as well as to any other organ or set of organs. The proper mastication of healthful and nutritious food constitutes the appropriate exercise of the teeth, and is a condition upon which their health, and the healthy exercise of the function of digestion, alike depend. If from any cause the teeth of one jaw are removed, the corresponding teeth of the other jaw, being thus deprived of that exercise which is essential to their health, are pressed out of the jaw, appear to grow long, become loose in their sockets, and sometimes fall out. Hence the propriety and advantage of inserting artificial teeth where the natural ones fail; an event which rarely happens when they are properly taken care of. I need hardly add that nuts, and other hard substances that break the enamel, are injurious to the teeth, and should be avoided.

The Bones.—The bones constitute the frame-work of the system. They consist of two substances, being formed of both animal and earthy matter. To the former belongs every thing connected with their life and growth, while the latter gives to them solidity and strength. The proportions of the animal and earthy elements of which the bones are composed vary at different ages. In childhood and early youth, when but little strength is needed, and great growth of bone is required, the animal part preponderates. As growth advances the animal part decreases, and the earthy part increases. In middle life, when growth is finished and the strength is greatest, and when nutrition is required only to repair waste, the proportions are changed, and the solid or earthy part exceeds the vital or animal; and in extreme old age, the earthy part so predominates as to cause the bones to become very brittle.

The bones, like other parts of the system, require exercise. If properly used, they increase in size and strength. But while a due degree of exercise is beneficial, it ought to be remarked that severe and continued labor should not be required of children and youth; for its tendency is to increase the deposition of earthy matter to a hurtful extent. It is by this means that many children are made dwarfs for life, their bones being consolidated by an undue amount of exercise and excessive labor before they have attained their full growth. Multitudes of children in our country, from this and kindred causes, fail of attaining the size of their ancestors. These remarks may be turned to a practical account in the family and in the school. At birth, many of the bones are scarcely more than cartilage; yet children are frequently urged to stand and walk long before the bones become sufficiently strong to sustain the pressure; and, as a consequence, their legs become crooked, and they are perhaps other ways deformed for life. Children ought always, when seated, to be able to rest their feet upon the floor. When they occupy a seat that is too high, and especially when they are unable to reach their feet to the floor, the thigh bones very frequently become curved. If, in addition to high seats, the back is not supported, children become round shouldered, their chests contract, their constitutions become permanently enfeebled, and they become peculiarly susceptible to pulmonary disease. The back to the seat should afford a pleasant and agreeable support to the small of the back, but it ought not to reach to the shoulder blades.

Parents and teachers should never forget that children are as susceptible to physical training as to intellectual or moral culture. And here, especially, they should be "trained up in the way they should go." Physical uprightness is next to moral. If children are allowed to contract bad physical habits, they are liable not only to grow crooked, but to become deformed in various ways. But so great is the power of education, that by it even the physically crooked may be made straight; the chest may be enlarged, the general health may be improved, and much may be done in many ways to fortify those who have inherited feeble constitutions against the attacks of disease. The benefits resulting from maintaining an upright form, and a free and open chest, have already been considered, and I shall have occasion to refer to them again. The chest of most adults, although incased with bone, may be increased several inches by drawing the arms back in the use of nature's own shoulder-braces, and at the same time taking deep inhalations of air, and filling the lungs to their utmost capacity. Hundreds of individuals in different parts of the country have borne testimony to the efficacy of this treatment in the improvement of their health. The good results of such discipline in childhood are still more manifest.

A stooping posture is frequently induced by sitting at tables and desks that are too low. It has been erroneously maintained by some that the top of the desk should be on the same plane with the elbow when the arm hangs by the side. When the desk is higher, it has been said the tendency is to elevate one shoulder, to depress the other, and to produce a permanent curvature of the spinal column. Although this may have been frequently the result of sitting at a high desk, yet it is not a necessary result. To prevent the projection of one shoulder, and the consequent spinal curvature, both of the arms must be kept on the same level. For this purpose, there should be room to support them equally; and care should be taken to see that this support is regularly sought. If this be not done, the right arm will be apt to rise above the left, from its more constant use and elevation. A physician, highly celebrated for the success that has attended his treatment for lung affections, after dwelling upon the injury to the health that frequently results from sitting at too low desks, remarks, that "every parent should go to the school-rooms, and know for a certainty that the desks at which his children write or study are fully up to the arm-pits, and in no case allow them to sit stooping, or leaning the shoulders forward on the chest. If fatigued by this posture, they should be called to stand, or go out of doors and run about." The height of table I find most conducive to comfort for my own use is midway between the two; that is, half way from the elbow (as the arm hangs by the side) to the arm-pit. It is necessary, however, to rest both arms equally upon the table. The secret of posture consists in avoiding all bad positions, and in not continuing any one position too long. The ordinary carriage of the body is an object worthy of the attention of every parent and instructor. The more favorable impression which a man of erect and commanding attitude is sure to make, should not be overlooked. But there is a greater good than this; for he who walks erect, enjoys better health, possesses increased powers of usefulness, realizes more that he is a man, and has more to call forth gratitude to a beneficent Creator, than he who adopts an oblique posture. It was just remarked that "physical uprightness is next to moral." Physical obliquity, it may be added, is akin to moral. If they are not German-cousins, there can be little doubt but that, considered in all its bearings, the tendency of the former is to induce the latter.

Important as an erect posture and a well-developed chest are to gentlemen, they are in some respects even more so to the fairer sex; for, in addition to the advantages already considered, which both enjoy in common, these impart to them a peculiar charm, that to men of sense is far greater than pretty faces, which Nature has not given to all. "For a great number of years, it has been the custom in France to give young females, of the earliest age, the habit of holding back the shoulders, and thus expanding the chest. From the observations of anatomists lately made, it appears that the clavicle or collar bone is actually longer in females of the French nation than in those of the English. As the two nations are of the same race, as there is no remarkable difference in their bones, and this is peculiar to the sex, it must be attributed, as I believe, to the habit above mentioned, which, by the extension of the arms, has gradually produced an elongation of this bone. Thus we see that habit may be employed to alter and improve the solid bones. The French have succeeded in the development of a part in a way that adds to health and beauty, and increases a characteristic that distinguishes the human being from the brute."[9]

The Muscles.—The muscles consist of compact bundles of fleshy fibers, which are found in animals on removing the skin. They constitute the red fleshy part of meat, and give form and symmetry to the body. In the limbs they surround and protect the bones, while in the trunk they spread out and constitute a defensive wall for the protection of the vital parts beneath. The muscles have been divided into three parts, of which the middle and fleshy portion, called the belly, is most conspicuous. The other two parts are the opposite ends, and are commonly called the origin and insertion of the muscle. The origin is usually fastened to one bone, and the insertion is attached to another. By the contraction of the belly of the muscle, the insertion, which is movable, is drawn toward the origin, which is fixed, and brings with it the bone to which it is attached. This any one can see illustrated in bending the arm. The muscle which performs this function lies between the elbow and the shoulder. It is attached to the shoulder by its origin, and to one of the bones of the fore-arm, just below the elbow, by its insertion. By grasping the arm midway between the shoulder and the elbow with the opposite hand, and then bending the arm, the enlargement of the belly of the muscle by the contraction will be at once perceived. Then, by moving the hand down on the inside of the arm toward the elbow, the lessening muscle may be readily traced until it terminates in a tendon, of much less size than the muscle, but of great strength, which is inserted into the bone just below the elbow. As the fore-arm is drawn up, and especially if there be a weight in the hand, the tendon may be felt just within the elbow-joint, running toward the point of insertion. Extend the arm at the elbow, and the muscle on the outside of the arm will swell and become firm, while the inside muscle, and its tendon at the elbow, will be relaxed. This example well illustrates the principle on which all the joints of the system are moved. Those who are acquainted with mechanics will readily perceive that the action just described is an example of the "third kind of lever," where the power is applied between the weight and the fulcrum. The elbow is the fulcrum, the hand contains the weight, and the tendon, inserted into the bone just below the elbow, is the power. This kind of lever requires the power to be greater than the weight, and acts under what is called a mechanical disadvantage. What is lost in power, however, is compensated in increased velocity.

There are upward of four hundred muscles in the human body. Some of these are voluntary in their motions, as those I have described, while others are involuntary, as the action of the heart and the respiratory muscles. Had the action of these depended upon the will, as does the action of the muscles of locomotion, the circulation of the blood and the process of breathing would cease, and life would become extinct whenever sleep or any other cause should overcome the attention. Here, then, we have another beautiful illustration of the wisdom and beneficence of the Creator in so ordering that those muscles which are essential to the continuation of life shall perform their functions without the control or attention of the individual.

The study of the muscular system involves an exposition of the principles by which exercise should be regulated, and can scarcely fail to excite the attention of the general reader, and especially of those who, as parents or teachers, are interested in the education of the young.

The muscles enable us to move the frame-work of the system. Their chief purpose obviously is to enable us to carry into effect the various resolutions and designs which have been formed by the mind. But, while fulfilling this grand object, their active exercise is, at the same time, highly conducive to the well-being of many other important functions. By muscular contraction, the blood is gently assisted in its course through the smaller vessels to the more distant parts of the body; and by it the important processes of digestion, respiration, secretion, absorption, and nutrition are promoted; and by it the health of the whole body is immediately and greatly influenced. The mind itself is exhilarated or depressed by the proper or improper use of muscular exercise. It thus becomes a point of no slight importance to establish general principles by which that exercise may be regulated.

In every part of the animal economy, the muscles are proportioned in size and structure to the efforts required of them. Whenever a muscle is called into frequent use, its fibers increase in thickness within certain limits, and become capable of acting with greater force and readiness. On the other hand, when a muscle is little used, its volume and power decrease in a corresponding degree.

In order to secure the most beneficial results from exercise, reference should be had to the time at which it is taken. Those who are in perfect health may engage in it at almost any hour except immediately after a meal; but those who are not robust ought to confine their hours of exercise within narrower limits. To a person in full vigor, a good walk, or other brisk exercise before breakfast may be highly beneficial and exhilarating, while to an invalid or delicate person it will be likely to prove detrimental. In order to prove beneficial, exercise must be resorted to only when the system is sufficiently vigorous to be able to meet it. This is usually the case after a lapse of from two to four hours after a moderate meal. The forenoon, then, will generally be found the best time for exercise for persons whose habits are sedentary. If exercise be delayed till the system feels exhaustion from want of food, its tendency will be to dissipate the strength that remains and impair digestion; while, if taken at the proper time, it will invigorate the system and promote digestion. The reasons are obvious; for exercise of every kind causes increased action and waste in the organ, and if there be not materials and vigor enough in the system to keep up that action and supply the waste, nothing but increased debility can reasonably be expected.

Active exercise immediately before meals is injurious. The reasons are apparent, for muscular exercise directs a flow of blood and nervous energy to the surface and extremities; and it is an established law in physiology, that energetic action can not be kept up in two distant parts of the system at the same time. Hence, whenever a meal is taken immediately after vigorous exercise, the stomach is taken at disadvantage, and, from want of the necessary action in its vessels and nerves, is unable to carry on digestion with success. This is very obviously the case where the exercise has been severe or protracted.

Active exercise ought to be equally avoided immediately after a heavy meal, for then the functions of the digestive organs are in the highest state of activity. If the muscular system be called into vigorous action under such circumstances, it will cause a withdrawal of the vital stimuli of the blood and nervous influence from the stomach to the extremities, which can not fail greatly to retard the digestive process. In accordance with this well-established fact, there is a natural and marked aversion to active pursuits after a full meal. A mere stroll, which requires no exertion and does not fatigue, will not be injurious before or after eating; but exercise beyond this limit is at such times hurtful. All, therefore, who would preserve and improve their health, will find it to their advantage to observe faithfully this important law, otherwise they will deprive themselves of most of the benefits that are usually attendant upon judicious exercise. All, then, who are forced to much exertion immediately after eating, should satisfy themselves with partaking of a very moderate meal. These remarks apply to both physical and mental exercise; for if the intellect be intently occupied in profound and absorbing thought, the nervous energy will be concentrated in the brain, and any demands made on it by the stomach or muscles will be very imperfectly attended to. So, also, if the stomach be actively engaged in digesting a full meal, and some subject of thought be presented to the mind, considerable difficulty will be felt in pursuing it, and most probably both thought and digestion will be disturbed.

Another law of the muscular system requires that relaxation and contraction should alternate; or, in other words, that rest should follow exercise. In accordance with this law, it is easier to walk than to stand; and in standing, it is easier to change from one foot to the other than to stand still. To require a child to extend his arm and hold a book in his hand, or even to keep the arm extended but a short time, is a violation of this law which should never be permitted. Akin to this is the very injudicious practice, which is sometimes resorted to in schools, of requiring a boy to stoop over, and, placing his finger upon a nail in the floor, "hold it in." Teachers who are disposed to inflict punishments like these ought first to try the experiment themselves. Such protracted tension of the muscles enfeebles their action, and ultimately destroys their power of contraction.

These remarks sufficiently explain why small children, after sitting a while in school, become restless. Proper regard for this organic law requires that the smaller children in school be allowed a recess as often, at least, as once an hour; and that all be allowed and encouraged frequently to change their position. I fully concur in the opinion expressed by Dr. Caldwell, who says, "It would be infinitely wiser and better to employ suitable persons to superintend the exercises and amusements of children under seven years of age, in the fields, orchards, and meadows, and point out to them the richer beauties of nature, than to have them immured in crowded school-rooms, in a state of inaction, poring over torn books and primers, conning words of whose meaning they are ignorant, and breathing foul air."

A change of position calls into action a different set of muscles, and relieves those that are exhausted. The object of exercise is to employ all the muscles of the body, and especially to strengthen those that are weak. It ought hence to be frequently varied, and always adapted to the peculiarities of individuals. Different kinds of exercise will therefore be found to suit different constitutions. Sedentary persons best enjoy, and will be most profited by, that kind of exercise which brings into action the greatest number of muscles.

To give exercise its greatest value, it should be taken at the same hour every day. This is well-nigh as important as the rule that requires meals to be taken regularly. If exercise be taken irregularly, one day in the morning, another day at noon, and another day at night, if at all, it is possible that good may result from it, but its beneficial effects would be greatly increased if the same amount of exercise were taken every day at the same hours. Give the system an opportunity of establishing good habits in this respect, and it will derive great advantage from them; but it is difficult for it to derive any benefit from a habit of irregularity, if such may be called a habit. Students, teachers, and all persons who lead sedentary lives, should have their regular times for exercise as well as for meals, and if they find it necessary to do without one, they will generally find it advantageous to dispense with the other also.

Walking, it has been said, agrees with every body. But as it brings into play chiefly the lower limbs and muscles of the loins, and affords little scope for the play of the arms and muscles of the chest, it is of itself insufficient to constitute adequate exercise. To render it most beneficial, the shoulders should be drawn back, and the chest should be enlarged by taking deep inspirations of pure air. The muscles of the chest, and of every part of the body, should be free to move and unconfined by tight clothing. Fencing, shuttlecock, and such other useful sports as combine with them free movements of the upper part of the body, are doubly advantageous, for they not only exercise the muscles of the whole body, but possess the additional advantage of animating the mind and increasing the nervous stimulus, by which exercise is rendered easy, pleasant, and invigorating. For the purpose of developing the chest, physiologists generally concur in recommending fencing as a good exercise for boys. Shuttlecock is a very beneficial exercise for females, calling into play, as it does, the muscles of the chest, trunk, and arms. It ought to be practiced in the open air. When played with both hands, as it may be after a little practice, it is very useful in preventing curvature, and in giving vigor to the spine. It is an excellent plan to play with a battledore in each hand, and to strike with them alternately. The graces is another play well adapted for expanding the chest, and giving strength to the muscles of the back, and has the advantage of being practicable in the open air. It is very important that the muscles of the back be strengthened by due exercise, for their proper use contributes to both health and beauty.

When managed with due regard to the natural powers of the individual, and so as to avoid effort and fatigue, reading aloud becomes a very useful and invigorating exercise. In forming and undulating the voice, not only the chest, but also the diaphragm and abdominal muscles are in constant action, and communicate to the stomach and bowels a healthy and agreeable stimulus. Where the voice is raised and the elocution is rapid, the muscular effort becomes fatiguing; but when care is taken not to carry reading aloud so far at one time as to excite a sensation of soreness or fatigue in the chest, and the exercise is duly repeated, it is extremely useful in developing and giving tone to the organs of respiration and to the general system.

"Vocal music is also very useful, by its direct effect on the constitution. It was the opinion of Dr. Rush, that young ladies especially, who, by the custom of society, are debarred from many kinds of salubrious exercise, should cultivate singing, not only as an accomplishment, but as a means of preserving health. He particularly insists that it should never be neglected in the education of females; and states that, besides its salutary operation in enabling them to soothe the cares of domestic life, and quiet sorrow by the united assistance of the sound and sentiment of a properly chosen song, it has a still more direct and important effect. 'I here introduce a fact,' he remarks, 'which has been suggested to me by my profession, and that is, that the exercise of the organs of the breast by singing contributes very much to defend them from those diseases to which the climate and other causes expose them. The Germans are seldom afflicted with consumption, nor have I ever known but one instance of spitting blood among them. This, I believe, is in part occasioned by the strength which their lungs acquire by exercising them frequently in vocal music, for this constitutes an essential branch of their education. The music-master of our academy has furnished me with an observation still more in favor of this opinion. He informed me that he had known several instances of persons who were strongly disposed to consumption, who were restored to health by the exercise of their lungs in singing.'"[10]

Bathing or ablution, when conducted as recommended on pages 60 and 61, is not only a means of cleanliness and of exciting a healthy action in the skin, but it constitutes, at the same time, a most admirable exercise. If a lodging-room has been properly ventilated by leaving open windows, or otherwise, so that the air is pure and healthful in the morning, ten or fifteen minutes spent in bathing and friction, with a proper exercise of the muscles of the back and abdomen, will contribute more to invigorate the system and promote the general health than twice the amount of exercise taken at any other time or in any other way.

From the foregoing remarks, it appears that the most perfect of all exercises are those which combine the free play of all the muscles of the body, mental interest and excitement, and the unrestrained use of the voice.

CHAPTER IV.

THE LAWS OF HEALTH. PHILOSOPHY OF RESPIRATION.

We instinctively shun approach to the dirty, the squalid, and the diseased, and use no garment that may have been worn by another. We open sewers for matters that offend the sight or the smell, and contaminate the air. We carefully remove impurities from what we eat and drink, filter turbid water, and fastidiously avoid drinking from a cup that may have been pressed to the lips of a friend. On the other hand, we resort to places of assembly, and draw into our mouths air loaded with effluvia from the lungs, skin, and clothing of every individual in the promiscuous crowd—exhalations offensive, to a certain extent, from the most healthy individuals; but when arising from a living mass of skin and lungs in all stages of evaporation, disease, and putridity, they are in the highest degree deleterious and loathsome.—Birnan.

Respiration is usually defined as the process by which air is taken into the lungs and expelled from them. It explains the changes that take place in these organs, in the conversion of chyle and venous, or worn-out blood, into arterial or nutrient blood. In order to be clearly understood, I must premise a few observations on the circulation of the blood.[11] The blood circulating through the body is of two different kinds; the one red or arterial, and the other dark or venous blood. The former alone is capable of affording nourishment and supporting life. It is distributed from the left side of the heart all over the body by means of a great artery, which subdivides in its course, and ultimately terminates in myriads of very minute ramifications closely interwoven with, and in reality constituting a part of, the texture of every living part. On reaching this extreme point of its course, the blood passes into equally minute ramifications of the veins, which in their turn gradually coalesce, and form larger and larger trunks, till they at last terminate in two large veins, by which the whole current of the venous blood is brought back in a direction contrary to that of the blood in the arteries, and poured into the right side of the heart. On examining the quality of the blood in the arteries and veins, it is found to have undergone a great change in its passage from the one to the other. The florid hue which distinguished it in the arteries has disappeared, and given place to the dark color characteristic of venous blood. Its properties, too, have changed, and it is now no longer capable of sustaining life.

Two conditions are essential to the reconversion of venous into arterial blood, and to the restoration of its vital properties. The first is an adequate provision of new materials from the food to supply the place of those which have been expended in nutrition, and the second is the free exposure of the venous blood to the atmospheric air. The first condition is fulfilled by the chyle, or nutrient portion of the food, being regularly poured into the venous blood just before it reaches the right side of the heart, and the second by the important process of respiration, which takes place in the air-cells of the lungs. The venous blood, having arrived at the right side of the heart, is propelled by the contraction of that organ into a large artery, leading directly, by separate branches, to the two lungs, and hence called the pulmonary artery. In the innumerable branches of this artery expanding themselves throughout the substance of the lungs, the dark blood is subjected to the contact of the air inhaled in breathing, and a change in the composition both of the blood and of the inhaled air takes place, in consequence of which the former is found to have reassumed its florid or arterial hue, and to have regained its power of supporting life. The blood then enters minute venous ramifications, which gradually coalesce into larger branches, and at last terminate in four large trunks in the left side of the heart, whence the blood, in its arterial form, is again distributed over the body, to pursue the same course and undergo the same change as before.

It will be perceived that there are two distinct circulations, each of which is carried on by its own system of vessels. The one is from the left side of the heart to every part of the body, and back to the right side of the heart. The other is from the right side of the heart to the lungs, and back to the left side of the heart. The former has for its object nutrition and the maintenance of life; and the latter, the restoration of the deteriorated blood, and the animalization or assimilation of the chyle from which the blood is formed. This process has already been referred to as the completion of digestion; for chyle is not fitted to nourish the system until, by its exposure to the atmospheric air in the lungs, it is converted into arterial blood.

As the food can not become a part of the living animal, or the venous blood regain its lost properties until they have undergone the requisite changes in the air-cells of the lungs, the function of respiration by which these are effected is one of pre-eminent importance in the animal economy, and well deserves the most careful examination. The term respiration is frequently restricted to the mere inhalation and expiration of air from the lungs, but more generally it is employed to designate the whole series of phenomena which occur in these organs. The term sanguification is occasionally used to denote that part of the process in which the blood, by exposure to the action of the air, passes from the venous to the arterial state. As the chyle does not become assimilated to the blood until it has passed through the lungs, this term, which signifies blood-making, is not unaptly used.

The quantity and quality of the blood have a most direct and material influence upon the condition of every part of the body. If the quantity sent to the arm, for example, be diminished by tying the artery through which it is conveyed, the arm, being then imperfectly nourished, wastes away, and does not regain its plumpness till the full supply of blood be restored. In like manner, when the quality of that fluid is impaired by deficiency of food, bad digestion, impure air, or imperfect sanguification in the lungs, the body and all its functions become more or less disordered. Thus, in consumption, death takes place chiefly in consequence of respiration not being sufficiently perfect to admit of the formation of proper blood in the lungs. A knowledge of the structure and functions of the lungs, and of the conditions favorable to their healthy action, is therefore very important, for on their welfare depends that of every organ of the body.

The exposure of the blood to the action of the air seems to be indispensable to every variety of animated creatures. In man and the more perfect of the lower animals, it is carried on in the lungs, the structure of which is admirably adapted for the purpose. In many animals, however, the requisite action is effected without the intervention of lungs. In fishes, for example, that live in water and do not breathe, the blood circulates through the gills, and in them is exposed to the air which the water contains. So necessary is the atmospheric air to the vitality of the blood in all animals, that the want of it inevitably proves fatal. A fish can no more live in water deprived of air, than a man could in an atmosphere devoid of oxygen, which is the element that unites with the blood in the lungs in sanguification.

In man the lungs are those large, light, spongy bodies which, along with the heart, completely fill up the cavity of the chest. They vary much in size in different persons; and as the chest is formed for their protection, it is either large and capacious, or the reverse, according to the size of the lungs.

The substance of the lungs consists of bronchial tubes, air-cells, blood-vessels, nerves, and cellular membrane. The bronchial tubes are merely continuations and subdivisions of the windpipe, and serve to convey the external air to the air-cells of the lungs. The air-cells constitute the chief part of the lungs, and are the termination of the smaller branches of the bronchial tubes. When fully distended, they are so numerous as in appearance to constitute almost the whole lung. They are of various sizes, from the twentieth to the hundredth of an inch in diameter, and are lined with an exceedingly fine, thin membrane, on which the minute capillary branches of the pulmonary arteries and veins are copiously ramified. It is while circulating in the small vessels of this membrane, and there exposed to the air, that the blood undergoes the change from the venous to the arterial state. So numerous are these air-cells, that the aggregate extent of their lining membrane in man has been computed to exceed twenty thousand square inches, or about ten times the surface of the human body. Some writers place the estimate considerably higher.

A copious exhalation of moisture takes place in breathing, which presents a striking analogy to the exhalation from the surface of the skin already described. In the former as in the latter instance, the exhalation is carried on by the innumerable minute capillary vessels in which the small arterial branches terminate in the air-cells. Pulmonary exhalation is, in fact, one of the chief outlets of waste matter from the system; and the air we breathe is thus vitiated, not only by the subtraction of its oxygen and the addition of carbonic acid gas, but also by animal effluvia, with which it is loaded when returned from the lungs. In some individuals this last source of impurity is so great as to render their vicinity offensive, and even insupportable. It is this which gives the disagreeable, sickening smell to crowded rooms. The air which is expired from the lungs is rendered offensive by various other causes. When spirituous liquors are taken into the stomach, for example, they are absorbed by the veins and mixed with the venous blood, in which they are carried to the lungs to be expelled from the body. In some instances, when persons have drank copiously of spirits, their breath has been so saturated with them as actually to take fire and burn. An instance of this kind has recently been communicated to me by several reliable witnesses, in which the flame was extinguished by closing the mouth and nose, thus excluding the pure air that supported the combustion, until the unfortunate experimenter could remove the candle by which his breath had taken fire. This illustration will explain how the odor of different substances is frequently perceptible in the breath long after the mouth is free from them.

The lungs not only exhale waste matter, but absorption takes place from their lining membrane. In both of these respects there is a striking analogy between the functions performed by the lungs and the skin. When a person breathes an atmosphere loaded with the fumes of spirits, tobacco, turpentine, or of any other volatile substance, a portion of the fumes is taken up by the absorbing vessels of the lungs, and carried into the system, and there produces precisely the same effects as if introduced into the stomach. Dogs, for example, have been killed by being made to inhale the fumes of prussic acid for a few minutes. The lungs thus become a ready inlet to contagion, miasmata, and other poisonous influences diffused through the air we breathe.

From this general explanation of the structure and uses of the lungs, it is obvious that several conditions which it is our interest to know and observe are essential to the healthy performance of the important function of respiration. The first among these is a healthy original formation of the lungs. No fact in medicine is better established, says Dr. Combe, than that which proves the hereditary transmission, from parents to children, of a constitutional liability to pulmonary disease, and especially to consumption; yet, continues he, no condition is less attended to in forming matrimonial engagements.

Another requisite to the well-being of the lungs, and to the free and salutary exercise of respiration, is a due supply of rich and healthy blood. When, from defective food or impaired digestion, the blood is impoverished in quality, and rendered unfit for adequate nutrition, the lungs speedily suffer, and that often to a fatal extent. The free and easy expansion of the chest is also indispensable to the full play and dilation of the lungs. Whatever interferes with or impedes it, either in dress or in position, is obviously prejudicial to health. On the other hand, whatever favors the free expansion of the chest equally promotes the healthy action of the respiratory organs. Stays and corsets, and tight vests and waistbands, operate most injuriously, compressing as they do the thoracic cavity, and interfering with the healthy dilation of the lungs.

The admirable harmony established by the Creator between the various constituent parts of the animal frame, renders it impossible to pay regard to the conditions required for the health of any one, or to infringe the conditions required therefor, without all the rest participating in the benefit or injury. Thus, while cheerful exercise in the open air and in the society of equals is directly and eminently conducive to the well-being of the muscular system, the advantage does not stop there, the beneficent Creator having kindly so ordered it that the same exercise shall be scarcely less advantageous to the important function of respiration. Active exercise calls the lungs into play, favors their expansion, promotes the circulation of the blood through their substance, and leads to their complete and healthy development. The same end is greatly facilitated by that free and vigorous exercise of the voice, which so uniformly accompanies and enlivens the sports of the young, and which doubles the benefits derived from them considered as exercise. The excitement of the social and moral feelings which children experience while engaged in play is another powerful tonic, the influence of which on the general health ought not to be overlooked; for the nervous influence is as indispensable to the right performance of respiration as it is to the action of the muscles or to the digestion of food.

The regular supply of pure fresh air is another essential condition of healthy respiration, without which the requisite changes in the constitution of the blood, as it passes through the lungs, can not be effected. To enable the reader to appreciate this condition, it is necessary to consider the nature of the changes alluded to.

It is ascertained by analysis that the air we breathe is composed chiefly of the two gases nitrogen and oxygen, united in the ratio of four to one by volume, with exceedingly small and variable quantities of carbonic acid and aqueous vapor. No other mixture of these, or of any other gases, will sustain healthy respiration. To be more specific—atmospheric air consists of about seventy-eight per cent. of nitrogen, twenty-one per cent. of oxygen, and not quite one per cent. of carbonic acid. Such is its constitution when taken into the lungs in the act of breathing. When it is expelled from them, however, its composition is found to be greatly altered. The quantity of nitrogen remains nearly the same, but eight or eight and a half per cent. of the oxygen or vital air have disappeared, and been replaced by an equal amount of carbonic acid. In addition to these changes, the expired air is loaded with moisture. Simultaneously with these occurrences, the blood collected from the veins, which enters the lungs of a dark color and unfit for the support of life, assumes a florid hue and acquires the power of supporting life.

Physiologists are not fully agreed in explaining the processes by which these changes are effected in the lungs. All, however, agree that the change of the blood in the lungs is essentially dependent on the supply of oxygen contained in the air we breathe, and that air is fit or unfit for respiration in exact proportion as its quantity of oxygen approaches to, or differs from, that contained in pure air. If we attempt to breathe nitrogen, hydrogen, or any other gas that does not contain oxygen, the result will be speedy suffocation. If, on the other hand, we breathe air containing too great a proportion of oxygen, the vital powers will speedily suffer from excess of stimulus.

The chief chemical properties of the atmosphere are owing to the presence of oxygen. Nitrogen, which constitutes about four fifths of its volume, has been supposed to act as a mere diluent to the oxygen. Increase the proportion of oxygen in the atmosphere, and, as already stated, the vital powers will speedily suffer from excess of stimulus, the circulation and respiration become too rapid, and the system generally becomes highly excited. Diminish the proportion of oxygen, and the circulation and respiration become too slow, weakness and lassitude ensue, and a sense of heaviness and uneasiness pervades the entire system. As has been observed, air loses during each respiration a portion of its oxygen, and gains an equal quantity of carbonic acid, which is an active poison. When mixed with atmospheric air in the ratio of one to four, it extinguishes animal life. It is this gas that is produced by burning charcoal in a confined portion of common air. Its effect upon the system is well known to every reader of our newspapers. It causes dimness of sight, weakness, dullness, a difficulty of breathing, and ultimately apoplexy and death.[12]

Respiration produces the same effect upon air that the burning of charcoal does. It converts its oxygen, which is the aliment of animal life, into carbonic acid, which, be it remembered, is an active poison. Says Dr. Turner, in his celebrated work on chemistry, "An animal can not live in air which is unable to support combustion." Says the same author again, "An animal can not live in air which contains sufficient carbonic acid for extinguishing a candle." It will presently be seen why these quotations are made.

It is stated in several medical works that the quantity of air that enters the lungs at each inspiration of an adult varies from thirty-two to forty cubic inches. To establish more definitely some data upon which a calculation might safely be based, I some years ago conducted an experiment whereby I ascertained the medium quantity of air that entered the lungs of myself and four young men was thirty-six cubic inches, and that respiration is repeated once in three seconds, or twenty times a minute. I also ascertained that respired air will not support combustion. This truth, taken in connection with the quotations just made, establishes another and a more important truth, viz., that air once respired will not further sustain animal life. That part of the experiment by which it was ascertained that respired air will not support combustion is very simple, and I here give it with the hope that it may be tried at least in every school-house, if not in every family of our wide-spread country. It was conducted as follows:

I introduced a lighted taper into an inverted receiver (glass jar) which contained seven quarts of atmospheric air, and placed the mouth of the receiver into a vessel of water. The taper burned with its wonted brilliancy about a minute, and, growing dim gradually, became extinct at the expiration of three minutes. I then filled the receiver with water, and inverting it, placed its mouth beneath the surface of the same fluid in another vessel. I next removed the water from the receiver by breathing into it. This was done by filling the lungs with air, which, after being retained a short time in the chest, was exhaled through a siphon (a bent lead tube) into the receiver. I then introduced the lighted taper into the receiver of respired air, by which it was immediately extinguished. Several persons present then received a quantity of respired air into their lungs, whereupon the premonitory symptoms of apoplexy, as already given, ensued. The experiment was conducted with great care, and several times repeated in the presence of respectable members of the medical profession, a professor of chemistry, and several literary gentlemen, to their entire satisfaction.

Before proceeding further, I will make a practical application of the principles already established. Within the last ten years I have visited half of the states of the Union for the purpose of becoming acquainted with the actual condition of our common schools. I have therefore noticed especially the condition of school-houses. Although there is a great variety in their dimensions, yet there are comparatively few school-houses less than sixteen by eighteen feet on the ground, and fewer still larger than twenty-four by thirty feet, exclusive of our principal cities and villages. From a large number of actual measurements, not only in New York and Michigan, but east of the Hudson River and west of the great lakes, I conclude that, exclusive of entry and closets, when they are furnished with these appendages, school-houses are not usually larger than twenty by twenty-four feet on the ground, and seven feet in height. They are, indeed, more frequently smaller than larger. School-houses of these dimensions have a capacity of 3360 cubic feet, and are usually occupied by at least forty-five scholars in the winter season. Not unfrequently sixty or seventy, and occasionally more than a hundred scholars occupy a room of this size.

A simple arithmetical computation will abundantly satisfy any person who is acquainted with the composition of the atmosphere, the influence of respiration upon its fitness to sustain animal life, and the quantity of air that enters the lungs at each inspiration, that a school-room of the preceding dimensions contains quite too little air to sustain the healthy respiration of even forty-five scholars three hours—the usual length of each session; and frequently the school-house is imperfectly ventilated between the sessions at noon, and sometimes for several days together.

Mark the following particulars: 1. The quantity of air breathed by forty-five persons in three hours, according to the data just given, is 3375 cubic feet. 2. Air once respired will not sustain animal life. 3. The school-room was estimated to possess a capacity of 3360 cubic feet—fifteen feet less than is necessary to sustain healthy respiration. 4. Were forty-five persons whose lungs possess the estimated capacity placed in an air-tight room of the preceding dimensions, and could they breathe pure air till it was all once respired, and then enter upon its second respiration, they would all die with the apoplexy before the expiration of a three hours' session.

From the nature of the case, these conditions can not conveniently be fulfilled. But numerous instances of fearful approximation exist. We have no air-tight houses. But in our latitude, comfort requires that rooms which are to be occupied by children in the winter season, be made very close. The dimensions of rooms are, moreover, frequently narrowed, that the warm breath may lessen the amount of fuel necessary to preserve a comfortable temperature. It is true, on the other hand, that the quantity of air which children breathe is somewhat less than I have estimated. But the derangement resulting from breathing impure air, in their case, is greater than in the case of adults whose constitutions are matured, and who are hence less susceptible of injury. It is also true in many schools that the number occupying a room of the dimensions supposed is considerably greater than I have estimated. Moreover, in many instances, a great proportion of the larger scholars will respire the estimated quantity of air.

Again, all the air in a room is not respired once before a portion of it is breathed the second, or even the third and fourth time. The atmosphere is not suddenly changed from purity to impurity—from a healthful to an infectious state. Were it so, the change, being more perceptible, would be seen and felt too, and a remedy would be sought and applied. But because the change is gradual, it is not the less fearful in its consequences. In a room occupied by forty-five persons, the first minute, thirty-two thousand four hundred cubic inches of air impart their entire vitality to sustain animal life, and, mingling with the atmosphere of the room, proportionately deteriorate the whole mass. Thus are abundantly sown in early life the fruitful seeds of disease and premature death.

This detail shows conclusively sufficient cause for that uneasy, listless state of feeling which is so prevalent in crowded school-rooms. It explains why children that are amiable at home are mischievous in school, and why those that are troublesome at home are frequently well-nigh uncontrollable in school. It discloses the true cause why so many teachers who are justly considered both pleasant and amiable in the ordinary domestic and social relations, are obnoxious in the school-room, being there habitually sour and fretful. The ever-active children are disqualified for study, and engage in mischief as their only alternative. On the other hand, the irritable teacher, who can hardly look with complaisance upon good behavior, is disposed to magnify the most trifling departure from the rules of propriety. The scholars are continually becoming more ungovernable, and the teacher more unfit to govern them. Week after week they become less and less attached to him, and he, in turn, becomes less interested in them.

This detail explains, also, why so many children are unable to attend school at all, or become unwell so soon after commencing to attend, when their health is sufficient to engage in other pursuits. The number of scholars answering this description is greater than most persons are aware of. In one district that I visited a few years ago in the State of New York, it was acknowledged by competent judges to be emphatically true in the case of not less than twenty-five scholars. Indeed, in that same district, the health of more than one hundred scholars was materially injured every year in consequence of occupying an old and partially-decayed house, of too narrow dimensions, with very limited facilities for ventilation. The evil, even after the cause was made known, was suffered to exist for years, although the district was worth more than three hundred thousand dollars. And what was true[13] of this school, is now, with a few variations, true in the case of scores, if not hundreds of schools with which I am acquainted, from far-famed New England to the Valley of the Mississippi.

This detail likewise explains why the business of teaching has acquired, and justly too, the reputation of being unhealthy. There is, however, no reason why the health of either teacher or pupils should sooner fail in a well-regulated school, taught in a house properly constructed, and suitably warmed and ventilated, than in almost any other business. If this statement were not true, an unanswerable argument might be framed against the very existence of schools; and it might clearly be shown that it is policy, nay, duty, to close at once and forever the four thousand school-houses of Michigan, and the hundred thousand of the nation, and leave the rising generation to perish for lack of knowledge. But our condition in this respect is not hopeless. The evil in question may be effectually remedied by enlarging the house, or, which is easier, cheaper, and more effectual, by frequent and thorough ventilation. It would be well, however, to unite the two methods.

In the winter of 1841-2, I visited a school in which the magnitude of the evil under consideration was clearly developed. Five of the citizens of the district attended me in my visit to the school. We arrived at the school-house about the middle of the afternoon. It was a close, new house, eighteen by twenty-four feet on the ground—two feet less in one of its dimensions than the house concerning which the preceding calculation is made. There were present forty-three scholars, the teacher, five patrons, and myself, making fifty in all. Immediately after entering the school-house, one of the trustees remarked to me, "I believe our school-house is too tight to be healthy." I made no reply, but secretly resolved that I would sacrifice my comfort for the remainder of the afternoon, and hazard my health, and my life even, to test the accuracy of the opinions I had entertained on this important subject. I marked the uneasiness and dullness of all present, and especially of the patrons, who had been accustomed to breathe a purer atmosphere. School continued an hour and a half, at the close of which I was invited to make some remarks. I arose to do so, but was unable to proceed till I opened the outer door, and snuffed a few times the purer air without. When I had partially recovered my wonted vigor, I observed with delight the renovating influence of the current of air that entered the door, mingling with and gradually displacing the fluid poison that filled the room, and was about to do the work of death. It seemed as though I was standing at the mouth of a huge sepulcher, in which the dead were being restored to life. After a short pause, I proceeded with a few remarks, chiefly, however, on the subject of respiration and ventilation. The trustees, who had just tested their accuracy and bearing upon their comfort and health, resolved immediately to provide for ventilation according to the suggestions in the article on school-houses in the last chapter of this work.

Before leaving the house on that occasion, I was informed an evening meeting had been attended there the preceding week, which they were obliged to dismiss before the ordinary exercises were concluded, because, as they said, "We all got sick, and the candles went almost out." Little did they realize, probably, that the light of life became just as nearly extinct as did the candles. Had they remained there a little longer, both would have gone out together, and there would have been reacted the memorable tragedy of the Black Hole in Calcutta, into which were thrust a garrison of one hundred and forty-six persons, one hundred and twenty-three of whom perished miserably in a few hours, being suffocated by the confined air.

What has been said in the preceding pages on the philosophy of respiration was first given to the public nearly ten years ago, in a report of the author's in the State of New York. He has since seen the same sentiments inculcated by many of our most eminent practical educators, some of whom had written upon the subject at an earlier date. Allen and Pepy showed by experiment that air which has been once breathed contains eight and a half per cent. of carbonic acid, and that no continuance of the respiration of the same air could make it take up more than ten per cent. Air, then, when once respired, has taken up more than four fifths of the amount of this noxious gas that it can be made to by any number of breathings.

Dr. Clark, in his work on Consumption, remarks as follows: "Were I to select two circumstances which influence the health, especially during the growth of the body, more than others, and concerning which the public, ignorant at present, ought to be well informed, they would be the proper adaptation of food to difference of age and constitution, and the constant supply of pure air for respiration." Dr. William A. Alcott, who has given especial attention to this subject, after quoting the preceding remark of Dr. Clark, adds: "We believe this is the opinion of all medical men who have studied the constitution of man, and its relation to outward objects."

A distinguished surgeon[14] of Leeds, England, goes somewhat further in praising pure air than most of his contemporaries. "Be it remembered," says he, "that man subsists more upon air than upon his food and drink." There is some novelty in this remark, I admit: but is it not truthful? Men have been known to live three weeks without eating. But exclude the atmospheric air from the lungs for the space of three minutes, and death generally ensues. We thus see that life will continue with abstinence from food three thousand times as long as it is safe to protract an atmospheric fast.

Let us take another view of the subject. Men usually eat three times in twenty-four hours. This is all that is necessary to, or compatible with, the enjoyment of uninterrupted good health. But we involuntarily breathe nearly thirty thousand times in the same length of time. We need, then, fresh supplies of pure air ten thousand times as often as it is necessary to partake of meals. Is it not apparent, then, that man subsists more upon air than upon his food and drink?

The atmosphere which we so frequently inhale, and upon which our well-being so much depends, surrounds the earth to the height of about forty-five miles. The surface of the earth contains about two hundred millions of square miles, and it is estimated that there dwell upon it eight hundred millions of inhabitants. This gives to each individual about eleven cubic miles of air. But the air is breathed by the inferior animals as well as by man. It is also rendered impure by combustion. If by both of these causes ten times as much air is consumed as by man, there is still left one cubic mile of uncontaminated atmospheric air to every human being dwelling upon the surface of the earth. This would allow him to live more than twice the age allotted to man, without breathing any portion of the atmosphere a second time. And still, as if to avoid the possibility of evil to man on this account, the beneficent Creator has wisely so ordered, that while we do not interfere with the laws of Nature, there is not even the possibility of rebreathing respired air until it has been purified and restored to its natural and healthful state; for carbonic acid, the vitiating product of respiration, although immediately fatal to animals, constitutes the very life of vegetation. When brought in contact with the upper surface of the green leaves of trees and plants, and acted upon by the direct solar rays, this gas is decomposed, and its carbon is absorbed to sustain, in part, the life of the plant, by affording it one element of its food, while the oxygen is liberated and restored to the atmosphere. Vegetables and animals are thus perpetually interchanging kindly offices, and each flourishes upon that which is fatal to the other. It is in this way that the healthful state of the atmosphere is kept up. Its equilibrium seems never to be disturbed, or, if disturbed at all, it is immediately restored by the mutual exchange of poison for aliment, which is constantly going on between the animal and vegetable worlds. This interchange of kindly offices is constantly going on all over the earth, even in the highest latitudes, and in the very depths of winter; for air which has been respired is rarefied, and, when thrown from the lungs, ascends, and is thus not only out of our reach, whereby we are protected from respiring it a second time, but this (to us) deadly poison falls into the great aërial current which is constantly flowing from the polar to the tropical regions, where it is converted into vegetable growth. The oxygen which is exhaled in the processes of tropical vegetation, heated and rarefied by the vertical rays of the sun, mounts to the upper regions of the atmosphere, and, falling into a returning current, in its appointed time revisits the higher latitudes. So wisely has the Divine Author ordered these processes, that air, in its natural state[15] in any part of the world, does not contain more than one half of one per cent. of carbonic acid gas, although, as already stated, air which has been once respired contains eight and a half per cent. of this gas, which is at least seventeen times its natural quantity.

There are other agencies than carbonic acid gas which in civic life render the atmosphere impure. Of this nature is carbureted hydrogen gas, which is produced in various ways. This, says Dr. Comstock, is immediately destructive to animal life, and will not support combustion. It exists in stagnant water, especially in warm weather, and is generated by the decomposition of vegetable products. Dr. Arnott expresses the conviction that the immediate and chief cause of many of the diseases which impair the bodily and mental health of the people, and bring a considerable portion prematurely to the grave, is the poison of atmospheric impurity, arising from the accumulation in and around their dwellings of the decomposing remnants of the substances used for food and in their arts, and of the impurities given out from their own bodies. If you allow the sources of aërial impurity to exist in or around dwellings, he continues, you are poisoning the people; and while many die at early ages of fevers and other acute diseases, the remainder will have their health impaired and their lives shortened.

There are many instances on record where the progress of an epidemic has been speedily arrested by ventilation. A striking instance is given by the writer last quoted. "When I visited Glasgow with Mr. Chadwick," says he, "there was described to us one vast lodging-house, in connection with a manufactory there, in which formerly fever constantly prevailed, but where, by making an opening from the top of each room through a channel of communication to an air-pump common to all the channels, the disease had disappeared altogether. The supply of pure air obtained by that mode of ventilation was sufficient to dilute the cause of the disease, so that it became powerless."

Sulphureted hydrogen gas is also exceedingly poisonous to the lungs and to every part of the system. When pure, this gas is described as instantly fatal to animal life. Even when diluted with fifteen hundred times its bulk of air, it has been found so poisonous as to destroy a bird in a few seconds. "This gas," says Dr. Dunglison, in his Elements of Hygiene, "is extremely deleterious.[16] When respired in a pure state it kills instantly; and its deadly agency is rapidly exerted when put in contact with any of the tissues of the body, through which it penetrates with astonishing rapidity. Even when mixed with a portion of air, it has proved immediately destructive. Dr. Paris refers to the case of a chemist of his acquaintance, who was suddenly deprived of sense as he stood over a pneumatic trough in which he was collecting this gas. From the experiments of Dupuytren and Thenard, air that contains a thousandth part of sulphureted hydrogen kills birds immediately. A dog perished in air containing a hundredth part, and a horse in air containing a fiftieth part of it."

The preceding are far from being all the causes of atmospheric impurity. Besides these, there are numerous exhalations, as well as gases, that are poisonous. Some of these exhalations are more abundant in the night, and about the time of the morning and evening twilight. "Hence the importance," says a writer on health, "to those who are feeble, of avoiding the air at all hours except when the sun is considerably above the horizon."

Although the atmosphere, in its natural state, is not at all times perfectly pure, still it is comparatively so, and especially in the daytime. All, therefore, who would retain and improve their health, should inhale the open air as much as possible, even though they can not, like Franklin's Methusalem,[17] be always in it. This remark is applicable to both sexes, and to every age and condition of life.

The following, from the pen of an American author[18] who has written much and well on physical education, is pertinent to the subject under consideration: "We breathe bad air principally as the production of our own bodies. Here is the source of a large share of human wo; and to this point must his attention be particularly directed who would save himself from disease, and promote, in the highest possible degree, his health and longevity. We must avoid breathing over the carbonic acid gas contained in the tight or unventilated rooms in which we labor or remain for a long time, whether parlors, school-rooms, counting-rooms, bed-rooms, shops, or factories. The individual who lives most according to nature—who observes with most care the laws of life and health—must necessarily throw off much carbonic acid from his lungs, if not from his skin. It does not follow, however, that because this gas is formed we are obliged to inhale it. We may change our position, change our clothing, ventilate our rooms of all sorts, shake up our bed-clothing often and air our bed, and use clean, loose, and porous clothing by night and by day. We may thus very effectually guard against injuries from a very injurious agent.

"One thing should be remembered in connection with this subject which is truly encouraging. The more we accustom ourselves to pure air, the more easily will our lungs and nasal organs detect its presence. He who has redeemed his senses and restored his lungs to integrity, like him who has redeemed a conscience once deadened, is so alive to every bad impression made upon any of these, that he can often detect impurity around or within him, and thus learn to avoid it. It will scarcely be possible for such a person long to breathe bad air, or nauseous or unwholesome effluvia, without knowing it, and learning to avoid the causes which produce it. Such a person will not neglect long to remove the impurities which accumulate so readily on the surface of his body, or suffer himself to use food or drink which induces flatulence, and thus exposes either his intestines or his lungs, or the lungs of others, to that most extremely poisonous agent, sulphureted hydrogen gas. Nor will he be likely to permit the accumulation of filth, liquid or solid, around or in his dwelling. There are those whose senses will detect a very small quantity of stagnant water, or vinegar, or other liquids, or fruit, or changed food in the house, or even the presence of those semi-putrid substances, wine and cider. But some will indeed say that such integrity of the senses would be an annoyance rather than a blessing. On the same principle, however, would a high degree of conscientiousness in regard to right and wrong in moral conduct be a curse to us. If it be desirable to have our physical sense of right and wrong benumbed, it is so to have our moral sense benumbed also. Yet what person of sense ever complained of too tender a conscience, or too perfect a sense of right and wrong in morals?"

Exercise of the Lungs.—Judicious exercise of the lungs, in the opinion of that eminent physiologist, Dr. Andrew Combe, is one of the most efficacious means which can be employed for promoting their development and warding off their diseases. In this respect the organs of respiration closely resemble the muscles and all other organized parts. They are made to be used, and if they are left in habitual inactivity, their strength and health are unavoidably impaired; while, if their exercise be ill-timed or excessive, disease will as certainly follow.

The lungs may be exercised directly by the use of the voice in speaking, reading aloud, or singing, and indirectly by such kinds of bodily or muscular exertion as require quicker and deeper breathing. In general, both ought to be conjoined. But where the chief object is to improve the lungs, those kinds which have a tendency to expand the chest and call the organs of respiration into play ought to be especially preferred. Rowing a boat, fencing, quoits, shuttlecock, the proper use of skipping the rope, dumb-bells, and gymnastics are of this description, and have been recommended for this purpose. All of them employ actively the muscles of the chest and trunk, and excite the lungs themselves to freer and fuller expansion. Climbing up a hill is, for the same reason, an exercise of high utility in giving tone and freedom to the pulmonary functions. Where, either from hereditary predisposition or accidental causes, the chest is unusually weak, every effort should be made, from infancy upward, to favor the growth and strength of the lungs, by the habitual use of such of these exercises as can most easily be practiced. The earlier they are resorted to, and the more steadily they are pursued, the more certainly will their beneficial results be experienced.

If the direct exercise of the lungs in practicing deep inspiration, speaking, reading aloud, and singing, is properly managed and persevered in, particularly before the frame has become consolidated, it will exert a very beneficial influence in expanding the chest, and giving tone and imparting health to the important organs contained in it. As a preventive measure, Dr. Clark, in his treatise on Consumption and Scrofula, recommends the full expansion of the chest in the following manner: "We desire the young person, while standing, to throw his arms and shoulders back, and, while in this position, to inhale slowly as much air as he can, and repeat this exercise at short intervals several times in succession. When this can be done in the open air it is most desirable, a double advantage being thus obtained from the practice. Some exercise of this kind should be adopted daily by all young persons, more especially by those whose chests are narrow or deformed, and should be slowly and gradually increased."

In this preventive measure recommended by Dr. Clark, some of our most eminent physiologists heartily concur. They also express the opinion that, for the same reason, even the crying and sobbing of children, when not caused by disease, contribute to their future health. Dr. Combe says, "The loud laugh and noisy exclamations attending the sports of the young have an evident relation to the same beneficial end, and ought, therefore, to be encouraged." But beneficial as the direct exercise of the lungs is thus shown to be, in expanding and strengthening the chest, its influence extends still further, and, as we have already seen, contributes greatly to promote the important process of digestion. If, therefore, the lungs be rarely called into active exercise, not only do they suffer, but an important aid to digestion being withdrawn, the stomach and bowels also become weakened, and indigestion and costiveness ensue.

The exercise of what has not unaptly been called Vocal Gymnastics, and the loud and distinct speaking enforced in many of our schools, not only fortify the vocal organs against the attacks of disease, but tend greatly to promote the general health. For this purpose, also, as well as for its social and moral influences, vocal music should be introduced into all our schools. That by these and like exercises deep inspirations and full expirations are encouraged, any one may become convinced who will attend to what passes in his own body while reading aloud a single paragraph.

There is danger of exercising the lungs too much when disease exists in the chest. At such times, not only speaking, reading aloud, and singing, but ordinary muscular exertion, ought to be refrained from, or be regulated by professional advice. When a joint is sore or inflamed, we know that motion impedes its recovery. When the eye is affected, we, for a similar reason, shut out the light. So, when the stomach is disordered, we respect its condition, and are more careful about diet. The lungs demand a treatment founded on the same general principle. When inflamed, they should be exercised as little as possible. All violent exercise ought, therefore, to be refrained from during at least the active stages of a cold; but colds may often be entirely prevented at the time of exposure by a proper exercise of the lungs.

In conversing with an eminent physician recently on this subject, he expressed the conviction that one of the most effectual methods of warding off a cold, when exposed by wet feet or otherwise, is to take frequent deep inhalations of air. By this means the carbonic acid, which the returning circulation deposits in the lungs, is not only more effectually disengaged, but, at the same time, the greater amount of oxygen that enters the lungs and combines with the blood quickens the circulation, and thus, imparting increased vitality to the system, enables it more effectually to resist any attack that may be induced by unusual exposure.

A late medical writer, who has become quite celebrated in this country for the successful treatment of pulmonary consumption,[19] expresses the opinion that, to the consumptive, air is a most excellent medicine, and "far more valuable than all other remedies." He thinks it "the grand agent in expanding the chest." In urging the importance of habitually maintaining an erect position, he expresses the conviction that "practice will soon make sitting or standing perfectly erect vastly more agreeable and less fatiguing than a stooping posture." To persons predisposed to consumption, these hints, he thinks, are of the greatest importance. While walking, he says, "the chest should be carried proudly erect and straight, the top of it pointing rather backward than forward." To illustrate the advantages of habitually maintaining this position, he refers to the North American Indians, who never had consumption, and who are remarkable for their perfectly erect posture while walking. "Next to this," he adds, "it is of vast importance to the consumptive to breathe well. He should make a practice of taking long breaths, sucking in all the air he can, and holding it in the chest as long as possible." He recommends the repetition of this a hundred times a day, and especially with those who have a slight cold or symptoms of weak lungs. When practiced in pure cold air, its advantages are most apparent. To increase the benefits resulting from this practice, he recommends the use of the "inhaling tube." He thinks that inhaling tubes made of silver or gold are much better than those made of wood or India-rubber. In this opinion I fully concur, for I think with him that gold and silver tubes will not so readily "contract any impure or poisonous matter." But there is another and a stronger reason why I prefer silver, and especially gold inhaling tubes, to those made of wood or India-rubber. They would be more highly prized and more frequently used.

The same writer entertains the belief that about one third of all the consumptions originate from weakness of the abdominal belts. He hence, in such cases, recommends the use of the "abdominal supporter." In order to favor an erect posture and an open chest, he also recommends the use of "shoulder-braces." He says the proper use of these, with other remedies, will "entirely prevent the possibility of consumption, from whatever cause." The inhaling-tube, together with the shoulder-braces and supporter when needed, he says are perfect preventives, and should not be neglected; for if the shoulders are kept off the chest, and the abdomen is well supported, and then an inhaling tube is faithfully used, "the lungs can never become diseased. Any person in this way, who chooses to take the trouble, can have a large chest and healthy lungs."

When persons have contracted disease they may require these artificial helps; but it should be borne in mind that an all-wise and beneficent Creator has kindly given to each of his creatures two inhaling tubes, admirably adapted to their wants. He has also furnished them with a set of abdominal muscles which, when properly used, have generally been found to supersede the necessity of artificial "supporters." He has, moreover, in the plenitude of his goodness, furnished each member of the human family with a good pair of shoulder-braces. It should also be borne in mind that Nature's shoulder-braces improve by use, while the artificial ones not only soon fail, but their very use generally impairs the healthy action of the natural ones; for these, like all other muscles, improve by use and become enfeebled by disuse. Parents and teachers, then, and all who have the care of the young, should encourage the correct use of Nature's inhaling tubes, shoulder-braces, and abdominal supporters; for in this way they have it in their power not only to supersede the necessity of resorting to artificial ones later in life, but of preventing much of human misery, and contributing to the permanent elevation of the race.

CHAPTER V.

THE NATURE OF INTELLECTUAL AND MORAL EDUCATION.

In the cultivation and expansion of the faculties of the mind, we act altogether upon organized matter—and this, too, of the most delicate kind—which, while it serves as the mediator between body and spirit, partakes so largely of the nature, character, and essential attributes of the former, that, without its proper physical growth and development, all the manifestations of the latter sink into comparative insignificance; so that, without a perfect organization of the brain, the mental powers must be proportionally paralyzed; without its maintaining a healthy condition, they must be rendered proportionally weak and inactive.[20] —Dr. J. L. Peirce.

It has already been stated that there exists such an intimate connection between physical, intellectual, and moral education, that, in order duly to appreciate the importance of either, we must not view it separate and alone merely, but in connection with both of the others. However much value, then, we may attach to physical education on its own account, considering man as a corporeal being, we shall have occasion greatly to magnify its importance as we direct our attention to the cultivation and development of his mental faculties. We have no means of becoming acquainted with the laws which govern independent mind; but that mind separate from body is, from its very nature, all-knowing and intelligent, is an opinion that has obtained to a considerable extent. Be this as it may, it does not immediately concern us in the present state. This much we know, that embodied mind acquires knowledge slowly, and with a degree of perfection depending upon the condition of the brain and the bodily organs of sense, through the medium of which mind communicates with the external world. We do not even know whether education modifies the mind itself; and, if at all, how it affects it in its disembodied state. Neither is it important that we should possess this knowledge. There is, however, much reason for believing that the mind of man in the future state will be permanently affected by, and enjoy the full benefit of, the preparatory training it has received in this life; that then, as now, it will be progressive in its attainments; and that the rapidity with which it will then acquire knowledge, and the nature of its pursuits, will depend upon the degree of cultivation, and the habits and character formed in this life.

From what we know of the beneficent and all-wise Creator, as manifested in his word and works, we have abundant reason for believing that our highest and enduring good will be best promoted by becoming acquainted with, and yielding a cheerful obedience to, the laws of organic mind. Whatever the effect of education upon independent mind may be, we may rest well assured that man's everlasting well-being in the future state will be most directly and certainly reached by a strict conformity to those laws which regulate mind in its present mode of being. It should be borne in mind, also, that just in proportion as man remains ignorant of those laws, or, knowing them, disregards them, will he fail to secure his best good in this life not only, but in that which is to come, to an extent corresponding with the influence which education may exert upon independent mind. In order, then, most successfully to carry forward the great work of intellectual and moral culture, and to secure to man the fullest benefits of education in the present life, and in that higher mode of being which awaits him in the future, we have only to acquaint him with the laws by which embodied mind is governed, and to induce him to yield a ready, cheerful, and uniform obedience to those laws. We shall therefore devote the following pages to an inquiry into the laws which must be observed by embodied mind in order to render it the fittest possible instrument for discovering, applying, and obeying the laws under which God has placed the universe, which constitutes the one great object of education, when considered in its widest and true sense.

All physiologists and philosophers regard the brain as the organ of the mind. Although it is not befitting here to give a particular description of this complicated organ, still it may be well further to premise that, by nearly universal consent, it is regarded as the immediate seat of the intellectual faculties not only, but of the passions and moral feelings of our nature, as well as of consciousness and every other mental act. It is also well established that the brain is the principal source of that nervous influence which is essential to vitality, and to the action of each and all of our bodily organs. As, then, its functions are the highest and most important in the animal economy, it becomes an object of paramount importance in education to discover the laws by which they are regulated, that by yielding obedience to them we may avoid the evils consequent on their violation.

Let no one suppose these evils are few or small; for, in the language of an eloquent writer, "the system of education which is generally pursued in the United States is unphilosophical in its elementary principles, ill adapted to the condition of man, practically mocks his necessities, and is intrinsically absurd. The high excellences of the present system, in other respects, are fully appreciated. Modern education has indeed achieved wonders. It has substituted things for names, experiment for hypothesis, first principles for arbitrary rules. It has simplified processes, stripped knowledge of its abstraction and thrown it into visibility, made practical results rather than mystery the standard by which to measure the value of attainment, and facts rather than conjecture its circulating medium."[21]

A sound original constitution may be regarded as the first condition of the healthy action of the brain; for, being a part of the animal economy, it is subject to the same general laws that govern the other bodily organs. When a healthy brain is transmitted to children, and their treatment from infancy is judicious and rational, its health becomes so firmly established that, in after life, its power of endurance will be greatly increased, and it will be enabled most effectually to ward off the insidious attacks of disease. On the other hand, where this organ has either inherited deficiencies and imperfections, or where they have been subsequently induced by early mismanagement, it becomes peculiarly susceptible, and frequently yields to the slightest attacks. The most eminent physiologists of the age concur in the opinion that, of all the causes which predispose to nervous and mental disease, the transmission of hereditary tendency from parents to children is the most powerful, producing, as it does, in the children, an unusual liability to those maladies under which their parents have labored.

When both parents are descended from tainted families, their progeny, as a matter of course, will be more deeply affected than where one of them is from a pure stock. This sufficiently accounts for the fact that hereditary predisposition is a more common cause of nervous disease in those circles that intermarry much with each other than where a wider choice is exercised. Fortunately, such is the constitution of society in this country, that there are fewer evils of this kind among us than are manifest in many of the European states, where intermarriages are restricted to persons of the same rank, as has already been illustrated by reference to the grandees of Spain, who have become a race of dwarfs intellectually as well as physically. But even in this country there are painful illustrations of the truth of the popular belief that when cousins intermarry their offspring are liable to be idiotic. The command of God not to marry within certain degrees of consanguinity is, then, in accordance with the organic laws of our being, and the wisdom of the prohibition is abundantly confirmed by observation.

What was said of hereditary transmission in the second chapter of this work applies here with increased force. It is of the highest possible importance that this subject should receive the especial attention of every parent, and of all who may hereafter sustain the parental relation; for posterity, to the latest generations, will be affected by the laws of hereditary transmission, whether those laws are understood and obeyed or not. The importance of this subject, already inconceivably vast, becomes infinitely momentous in view of the probability that the evils under consideration are not confined to this life, but must, from the nature of the case, continue to be felt while mind endures.

Unfortunately, it is not merely as a cause of disease that hereditary predisposition is to be dreaded. The obstacles which it throws in the way of permanent recovery are even more formidable, and can never be entirely removed. Safety is to be found only in avoiding the perpetuation of the mischief. When, therefore, two persons, each naturally of an excitable and delicate nervous temperament, choose to unite for life, they have themselves to blame for the concentrated influence of similar tendencies in destroying the health of their offspring, and subjecting them to all the miseries of nervous disease, melancholy, or madness.

There is another consideration that should be noticed here: it is this. Even where no hereditary defect exists, the state of the mother during pregnancy has an influence on the mental character and health of the offspring, of which even few parents have any adequate conception. "It is often in the maternal womb that we are to look for the true cause not only of imbecility, but of the different kinds of mania. During the agitated periods of the French Revolution, many ladies then pregnant, and whose minds were kept constantly on the stretch by the anxiety and alarm inseparable from the epoch in which they lived, and whose nervous systems were thereby rendered irritable in the highest degree compatible with sanity, were afterward delivered of infants whose brains and nervous systems had been affected to such a degree by the state of their parent, that, in future life, as children they were subject to spasms, convulsions, and other nervous affections, and in youth to imbecility or madness, almost without any exciting cause."[22]

Dr. Caldwell, too, an able and philanthropic advocate of an improved system of physical, intellectual, and moral education in this country, is very urgent in enforcing rational care, during the period of gestation, on the part of every mother who values the future health and happiness of her offspring. Among other things, he insists on mothers taking more active exercise in the open air than they usually do. He also cautions them against allowing a feeling of false delicacy to keep them confined in their rooms for weeks and months together. At such times especially the mind ought to be kept free from gloom or anxiety, and in that state of cheerful activity which results from the proper exercise of the intellect, and especially of the moral and social feelings.

But if seclusion and depression be hurtful to the unborn progeny, surely thoughtless dissipation and late hours, dancing and waltzing, together with irritability of temper and peevishness of disposition, can not be less injurious. Every female that is about to become a mother should treasure up the remark of that sensible lady, the Margravine of Anspach, who says, "when a female is likely to become a mother, she ought to be doubly careful of her temper, and, in particular, to indulge no ideas that are not cheerful and no sentiments that are not kind. Such is the connection between the mind and the body, that the features of the face are moulded commonly into an expression of the internal disposition; and is it not natural to think that an infant, before it is born, may be affected by the temper of its mother?" If these things are true—and they are as well authenticated as any physiological facts are or can be—then not only mothers, but all with whom they associate, and especially fathers, are interested in knowing these important physiological laws; and they should aim, from the very beginning, so to observe them as to secure to posterity, physically and mentally, the full benefits that are connected with cheerful obedience.

A due supply of properly oxygenated blood is another condition upon which the healthy action of the brain depends. Although it may not be easy to perceive the effects of slight differences in the quality of the blood, still, when these differences exist in a considerable degree, the effects are too obvious to be overlooked. Withdraw entirely the stimulus of arterial blood, and the brain ceases to act, and sensibility and consciousness become extinct. When carbonic acid gas is inhaled, the blood circulating through the lungs does not undergo that process of oxygenation which is essential to life, as has been explained in a preceding chapter. As the venous blood in this unchanged state is unfit to excite or sustain the action of the brain, the mental functions become impaired, and death speedily ensues, as in the case of a number of persons breathing a portion of confined air, or inhaling the fumes of charcoal. On the other hand, if oxygen gas be inhaled instead of common air, the blood becomes too much oxygenated, and, as a consequence, the brain is unduly stimulated, and an intensity of action bordering on inflammation takes place, which also soon terminates in death.

These are extreme cases, I admit; but their consequences are equally remarkable and fatal. The slighter variations in the state of the blood produce equally sure, though less palpable effects. Whenever its vitality is impaired by breathing an atmosphere so vitiated as not to produce the proper degree of oxygenation, the blood can only afford an imperfect stimulus to the brain. As a necessary consequence, languor and inactivity of the mental and nervous functions ensue, and a tendency to headache, fainting, or hysteria makes its appearance. This is seen every day in the listlessness and apathy prevalent in crowded and ill-ventilated school-rooms, and in the headaches and liability to fainting which are so sure to attack persons of a delicate habit, in the contaminated atmospheres of crowded theaters, churches, and assemblies of whatever kind. The same effects, although less strikingly apparent, are perhaps more permanently felt by the inmates of cotton manufactories and public hospitals, who are noted for being irritable and sensitive. The languor and nervous debility consequent on confinement in ill-ventilated apartments, or in air vitiated by the breath of many people, are neither more nor less than minor degrees of the process of poisoning, which was particularly explained in the preceding chapter, while treating upon the philosophy of respiration.

That it is not real debility which produces these effects, is apparent from the fact, that egress to the open air almost instantly restores activity and vigor to both mind and body, unless the exposure has been very long. There is an interesting but fearful illustration of the truth of this statement at the 96th page of this work, to which I beg leave to refer. Where the exposure has been very long continued, more time is of course required to re-establish the exhausted powers of the brain. Indeed, we may not, in such cases, hope for complete recovery; for when persons remain several hours a day in a vitiated atmosphere, for weeks and months together, both mind and body become permanently diseased. It is well known to every person who has given attention to the subject, that hitherto this has been the condition of public schools, generally, in every part of the United States, and throughout the civilized world. This has, perhaps, tended more than all other causes combined, to render the profession of teaching disreputable, and to constitute the very name of schoolmaster, or pedagogue, a hissing and a by-word. And why is this? I can account for it in but one way. The school teacher is subject to the same organic laws as other men; and, either on account of the ignorance or parsimony of his employers, he has been shut up with their children several hours a day, in narrow and ill-ventilated apartments, where, whatever else they may have done, their principal business has of necessity been to poison one another to death. And, as if not satisfied with this, when the teacher has ruined his health in our employment, and become a mere wreck, physically and mentally, we despise him. This is a double injustice, and is adding insult to injury. And the consequences are hardly less fatal to the children. The situation of the majority of our schools, when viewed in connection with the physiological laws already explained, sufficiently accounts for that irritability, listlessness, and languor which have been so often observed in both teachers and pupils. Both irritability of the nervous system and dullness of the intellect are unquestionably the direct and necessary result of a want of pure air. The vital energies of the pupils are thus prostrated, and they become not only restless and indisposed to study, but absolutely incapable of studying. Their minds hence wander, and they unavoidably seek relief in mischievous and disorderly conduct. This doubly provokes the already exasperated teacher, who can hardly look with complaisance upon good behavior, and who, from a like cause, is in the same irritable condition of both body and mind with themselves. He, too, must needs give vent to his irascible feelings some how. And what way is more natural, under such circumstances, than to resort to the use of the ferule, the rod, and the strap! We have already referred to a case, in which formerly fever constantly prevailed, but where disease disappeared altogether upon the introduction of pure air. Let the same prudential course be adopted in our schools, in connection with other appropriate means, and we shall readily see the superiority of the natural stimulus of oxygen over the artificial sedative of the rod.

The regular and systematic exercise of the functions of the brain is another condition upon which its healthy action depends. The brain is an organized part, and is subject to precisely the same laws of exercise that the other bodily organs are. If it is doomed to inactivity, its health decays, and the mental operations and feelings, as a necessary consequence, become dull, feeble, and slow. But let it be duly exercised after regular intervals of repose, and the mind acquires activity and strength. Too severe or too protracted exercise of the brain is as great a violation of the organic law just stated as inactivity is, and is sometimes productive of the most fearful consequences. By over-tasking this organ, either in the force or duration of its activity, its functions become impaired, and irritability and disease take the place of health and vigor.

So important is the law under consideration, and so essential to the health of the brain and to the welfare of man, that I deem it advisable to explain more particularly the consequences of both inadequate and excessive exercise.

We have seen that by disuse the muscles become emaciated and the bones soften. The blood-vessels, in like manner, become obliterated, and the nerves lose their characteristic structure. The brain is no exception to this general rule. Its tone is impaired by permanent inactivity, and it becomes less fit to manifest the mental powers with readiness and energy. Nor will this surprise any reflecting person, who considers that the brain, as a part of the same animal system, is nourished by the same blood, and regulated by the same vital laws as the muscles, bones, arteries, and nerves.

It is the withdrawal of the stimulus necessary to the healthy exercise of the brain, and the consequent weakening and depressing effect produced upon this organ, that renders solitary confinement so severe a punishment even to the most daring minds. It is a lower degree of the same cause that renders continuous seclusion from society so injurious to both mental and physical health. This explains why persons who are cut off from social converse by some bodily infirmity so frequently become discontented and morose, in spite of every resolution to the contrary. The feelings and faculties of the mind, which had formerly full play in their intercourse with their fellow-creatures, have no longer scope for sufficient exercise, and the almost inevitable result is irritability and weakness in the corresponding parts of the brain.

This fact is strikingly illustrated by reference to the deaf and blind, who, by the loss of one or more of the senses, are precluded from a full participation in all the varied sources of interest which their more favored brethren enjoy without abatement, and in whom irritability, weakness of mind, and idiocy are known to be much more prevalent than among other classes of people. "The deaf and dumb," says Andral, "presents, in intelligence, character, and the development of his passions, certain modifications, which depend on his state of isolation in the midst of society. He remains habitually in a state of half childishness, is very credulous, but, like the savage, remains free from many of the prejudices acquired in society. In him the tender feelings are not deep; he appears susceptible neither of strong attachment nor of lively gratitude; pity moves him feebly; he has little emulation, few enjoyments, and few desires. This is what is commonly observed in the deaf and dumb; but the picture is far from being of universal application; some, more happily endowed, are remarkable for the great development of their intellectual and moral nature; but others, on the contrary, remain immersed in complete idiocy."

Andral adds, that we must not infer from this that the deaf and dumb are therefore constitutionally inferior in mind to other men. "Their powers are not developed, because they live isolated from society. Place them, by some means or other, in relation with their fellow-men, and they will become their equals." This is the cause of the rapid brightening up of both mind and features, which is so often observed in blind or deaf children when transferred from home to public institutions, and there taught the means of converse with their fellows.

I have myself witnessed several striking illustrations of the benefits resulting from mental culture in persons who have lost one or more of their senses. Among these I would especially instance the American Asylum at Hartford for the education and instruction of the deaf and dumb, and the Perkins Institution and Massachusetts Asylum for the Blind, located at South Boston, to the accomplished principals and teachers of both of which institutions I would acknowledge my indebtedness for valuable reports and the information of various kinds which they obligingly communicated to me at the time of my visits during the past summer.

Dr. Howe, the accomplished director of the Asylum for the Blind, after many years of experience and careful observation in this country and in Europe, expresses the conviction that the blind, as a class, are inferior to other persons in mental power and ability. The opinions put forth in almost every report of the institutions for the blind in this country, in almost all books on the subject, and even the doctor's earlier writings, may be brought to disprove this statement. He is now, nevertheless, fully convinced that it will be found true. This erroneous conviction, every where so prevalent, may be accounted for from the fact that none but intelligent parents of blind children could at first comprehend the possibility of their being educated, and even they would not think of trying the experiment except upon a child of more than ordinary ability. As soon, however, as the experiment proved successful, and institutions for the blind became generally known, the blind, without distinction—the bright and the backward, the bold and the timid—resorted to them, which gave an opportunity of judging of the whole class. The result is, that now, while the schools for the blind present a certain number of children who make more rapid progress in intellectual studies than the average of seeing children, they also present a much larger number who are decidedly inferior to them in both physical and mental vigor.

The loss of one sense makes us exercise the others so constantly and so effectually as to acquire a power quite unknown to common persons. This goes far to compensate the blind man who is in the pursuit of knowledge, and enables him to learn vastly more of some subjects than other men; but there are capacities of his nature which can never be developed. Perfect harmony in the exercise and development of his mental faculties he can never possess, any more than he can exhibit perfect physical beauty and proportion.

The proposition that the blind, as a class, are inferior in mental power and ability to ordinary persons, has been established beyond a doubt. Take an equal number of blind and seeing persons, of as nearly the same age and situation in life as may be, and it has been established by well authenticated data, that when all the blind have died, there will still be about half of the seeing ones alive. In other words, the chance of life among the blind is only about half what it is among the seeing. The standard of bodily health and vigor, then, being so much lower among the blind, the inevitable inference is that mental power and ability will be proportionably less also; for such is the dependence of the mind upon the body, that there can be no continuance of mental health and vigor without bodily health and vigor.

It is also true that the deaf and dumb, as a class, are inferior to other persons in mental power and ability. The general reasons for this are the same as those already given in the case of blind persons, and need not hence be repeated. The truth of this proposition is established beyond a doubt by the concurrent testimony of those who have had the greatest experience with this unfortunate class of persons both in this country and in Europe. The report of the directors of the American Asylum for the year 1845 shows that two pupils had died during the year. One of these had an affection of the lungs which terminated in consumption, and the disease of the other was dropsy on the brain. In a third, hereditary consumption was rapidly developing itself. Others, still, had been subject to more or less of bodily indisposition.

After speaking of the case of a young man in whom hereditary consumption had been rapidly developed, the following statement is introduced: "This great destroyer of our race is found extensively in Europe, as well as in our own country, to be a common disease among the deaf and dumb. It is brought on by scrofula, by fevers, by violent colds, and by various other causes; and there is often, no doubt, a hereditary tendency to it in families connected by blood". If this is the effect of the loss of one of the senses upon the bodily health, keeping in view the principle already stated, we shall naturally enough be led to inquire what the influence is upon the health of the mind. A careful examination of the educational statistics of several states has convinced me that an unusually large proportion of the deaf and dumb—and perhaps an equally large proportion of the blind, and especially those who have remained uneducated and unenlightened—have been visited with mental derangement, and have lived and died insane.

This is easily accounted for. Uneducated persons, who are deprived of one or more of the senses, are isolated from the world in which they live. The book of nature is open before them, but they are unable to peruse it. The simplest operations constantly going on around them are locked in mystery. They are an enigma to themselves. Even those who are endowed with inquisitive minds are perplexed with the existing state of things. They know nothing of the physical organization of the planet we inhabit, of its political and civil divisions, and of the whole machinery of human society, and are profoundly ignorant of the past history and future destiny of the race to which they belong. It is not remarkable that mind so unnaturally and peculiarly circumstanced—with its usual inlets of knowledge so obstructed, and deprived of external objects to act upon—should prey upon itself, and thus superinduce insanity in its usual forms, and more especially when unaided and undirected by education.

Keeping the same principle in view, we shall not be surprised to find that want of exercise of the brain and nervous system, or, in other words, that inactivity of intellect and feeling, is a very frequent predisposing cause of every form of nervous disease, even with those who have not been deprived of any of their senses. For demonstrative evidence of this position, we have only to look at the numerous victims to be found among females of the middle and higher ranks, who have no call to exertion in gaining the means of subsistence, and no objects of interest on which to exercise their mental faculties, and who consequently sink into a state of mental sloth and nervous weakness, which not only deprives them of much enjoyment, but subjects them to suffering, both of body and mind, from the slightest causes.

In looking abroad upon society, we find innumerable examples of mental and nervous debility from this cause. When a person of some mental capacity is confined for a long time to an unvarying round of employment, which affords neither scope nor stimulus for one half of his faculties, and, from want of education or society, has no external resources, his mental powers, for want of exercise to keep up due vitality in their cerebral organs, become blunted, and his perceptions slow and dull. Unusual subjects of thought become to him disagreeable and painful. The intellect and feelings not being provided with interests external to themselves, must either become inactive and weak, or work upon themselves and become diseased.

But let the situation of such persons be changed; bring them, for instance, from the listlessness of retirement to the business and bustle of a city; give them a variety of imperative employments, and place them in society so as to supply to their cerebral organs that extent of exercise which gives health and vivacity of action, and in a few months the change produced will be surprising. Health, animation, and acuteness will take the place of former insipidity and dullness. In such instances, it would be absurd to suppose that it is the mind itself which becomes heavy and feeble, and again revives into energy by these changes in external circumstances. The effects arise entirely from changes in the state of the brain, and the mental manifestations and the bodily health have been improved solely by the improvement of its condition.

The evils arising from excessive or ill-timed exercise of the brain, or any of its parts, are numerous, and equally in accordance with the ordinary laws of physiology. When we use the eye too long or in too bright a light, it becomes bloodshot, and the increased action of its vessels and nerves gives rise to a sensation of fatigue and pain requiring us to desist. If we turn away and relieve the eye, the irritation gradually subsides, and the healthy state returns; but if we continue to look intently, or resume our employment before the eye has regained its natural state by repose, the irritation at last becomes permanent, and disease, followed by weakness of sight, or even blindness, may ensue, as often happens to glass-blowers, smiths, and others who are obliged to work in an intense light.

Precisely analogous phenomena occur when, from intense mental excitement, the brain is kept long in a state of excessive activity. The only difference is, that we can always see what happens in the eye, but rarely what takes place in the brain. Occasionally, however, cases of fracture of the skull occur, in which, part of the bone being removed, we can see the quickened circulation in the vessels of the brain as easily as in those of the eye. Sir Astley Cooper had a young gentleman brought to him who had lost a portion of his skull just above the eyebrow. "On examining the head," says Sir Astley, "I distinctly saw that the pulsation of the brain was regular and slow; but at this time he was agitated by some opposition to his wishes, and directly the blood was sent with increased force to the brain, and the pulsation became frequent and violent." Sir Astley hence concludes that, in the treatment of injuries of the brain, if you omit to keep the mind free from agitation, your other means will be unavailing.

A still more remarkable case is said to have occurred in the hospital of Montpellier in 1821. The subject of it was a female who had lost a large portion of her scalp, skull-bone, and dura mater. A corresponding portion of her brain was consequently bare, and subject to inspection. When she was in a dreamless sleep, her brain was motionless, and lay within the cranium; but when her sleep was imperfect, and she was agitated by dreams, her brain moved and protruded without the cranium. In vivid dreams the protrusion was considerable; and when she was awake and engaged in active thought or sprightly conversation, it was still greater.

In alluding to this subject, Dr. Caldwell remarks, that if it were possible, without doing an injury to other parts, to augment the constant afflux of healthy arterial blood to the brain, the mental operations would be invigorated by it. This position is illustrated by reference to the fact that when a public speaker is flushed and heated in debate, his mind works more freely and powerfully than at any other time. And why? Because his brain is in better tune. What has thus suddenly improved its condition? An increased current of blood into it, produced by the excitement of its own increased action. That the blood does, on such occasions, flow more copiously into the brain, no one can doubt who is at all acquainted with the cerebral sensations which the orator himself experiences at the time, or who witnesses the unusual fullness and flush of his countenance, and the dewiness, flashing, and protrusion of his eye.

Indeed, in many instances, the increased circulation in the brain attendant on high mental excitement reveals itself by its effects when least expected, and leaves traces after death which are but too legible. Many are the instances in which public men have been suddenly arrested in their career by the inordinate action of the brain induced by incessant toil, and more numerous still are those whose mental power has been forever impaired by similar excess.

It is generally known that the eye, when tasked beyond its strength, becomes insensible to light, and ceases to convey impressions to the mind. The brain, in like manner, when much exhausted, becomes incapable of thought, and consciousness is well-nigh lost in a feeling of utter confusion. At any time in life, excessive and continued mental exertion is hurtful; but in infancy and early youth, when the structure of the brain is still immature and delicate, permanent injury is more easily produced by injudicious treatment than at any subsequent period. In this respect, the analogy is complete between the brain and the other parts of the body, as we have already seen exemplified in the injurious effects of premature exercise of the bones and muscles. Scrofulous and rickety children are the most usual sufferers in this way. They are generally remarkable for large heads, great precocity of understanding, and small, delicate bodies. But in such instances, the great size of the brain, and the acuteness of the mind, are the results of morbid growth, and even with the best management, the child passes the first years of its life constantly on the brink of active disease. Instead, however, of trying to repress its mental activity, as they should, the fond parents, misled by the promise of genius, too often excite it still further by unceasing cultivation and the never-failing stimulus of praise; and finding its progress, for a time, equal to their warmest wishes, they look forward with ecstasy to the day when its talents will break forth and shed a luster on their name. But in exact proportion as the picture becomes brighter to their fancy, the probability of its becoming realized becomes less; for the brain, worn out by premature exertion, either becomes diseased or loses its tone, leaving the mental powers feeble and depressed for the remainder of life. The expected prodigy is thus, in the end, easily outstripped in the social race by many whose dull outset promised him an easy victory.

To him who takes for his guide the necessities of the constitution, it will be obvious that the modes of treatment commonly resorted to should in such cases be reversed; and that, instead of straining to the utmost the already irritable powers of the precocious child, leaving his dull competitors to ripen at leisure, a systematic attempt ought to be made, from early infancy, to rouse to action the languid faculties of the latter, while no pains should be spared to moderate and give tone to the activity of the former. But instead of this, the prematurely intelligent child is generally sent to school, and tasked with lessons at an unusually early age, while the healthy but more backward boy, who requires to be stimulated, is kept at home in idleness merely on account of his backwardness. A double error is here committed, and the consequences to the active-minded boy are not unfrequently the permanent loss both of health and of his envied superiority of intellect.

In speaking of children of this description, Dr. Brigham, in an excellent little work on the influence of mental excitement on health, remarks as follows: "Dangerous forms of scrofulous disease among children have repeatedly fallen under my observation, for which I could not account in any other way than by supposing that the brain had been excited at the expense of the other parts of the system, and at a time in life when nature is endeavoring to perfect all the organs of the body; and after the disease commenced, I have seen, with grief, the influence of the same cause in retarding or preventing recovery. I have seen several affecting and melancholy instances of children, five or six years of age, lingering a while with diseases from which those less gifted readily recover, and at last dying, notwithstanding the utmost efforts to restore them. During their sickness they constantly manifested a passion for books and mental excitement, and were admired for the maturity of their minds. The chance for the recovery of such precocious children is, in my opinion, small when attacked by disease; and several medical men have informed me that their own observations had led them to form the same opinion, and have remarked that, in two cases of sickness, if one of the patients was a child of superior and highly-cultivated mental powers, and the other one equally sick, but whose mind had not been excited by study, they should feel less confident of the recovery of the former than of the latter. This mental precocity results from an unnatural development of one organ of the body at the expense of the constitution."

There can be little doubt but that ignorance on the part of parents and teachers is the principal cause that leads to the too early and excessive cultivation of the minds of children, and especially of such as are precocious and delicate. Hence the necessity of imparting instruction on this subject to both parents and teachers, and to all persons who are in any way charged with the care and education of the young. This necessity becomes the more imperative from the fact that the cupidity of authors and publishers has led to the preparation of "children's books," many of which are announced as purposely prepared "for children from two to three years old!" I might instance advertisements of "Infant Manuals" of Botany, Geometry, and Astronomy!

In not a few isolated families, but in many neighborhoods, villages, and cities, in various parts of the country, children under three years of age are not only required to commit to memory many verses, texts of Scripture, and stories, but are frequently sent to school for six hours a day. Few children are kept back later than the age of four, unless they reside a great distance from school, and some not even then. At home, too, they are induced by all sorts of excitement to learn additional tasks, or peruse juvenile books and magazines, till the nervous system becomes enfeebled and the health broken. "I have myself," says Dr. Brigham, "seen many children who are supposed to possess almost miraculous mental powers, experiencing these effects and sinking under them. Some of them died early, when but six or eight years of age, but manifested to the last a maturity of understanding, which only increased the agony of separation. Their minds, like some of the fairest flowers, were 'no sooner blown than blasted;' others have grown up to manhood, but with feeble bodies and disordered nervous system, which subjected them to hypochondriasis, dyspepsy, and all the Protean forms of nervous disease; others of the class of early prodigies exhibit in manhood but small mental powers, and are the mere passive instruments of those who in early life were accounted far their inferiors."

This hot-bed system of education is not confined to the United States, but is practiced less or more in all civilized countries. Dr. Combe, of Scotland, gives an account of one of these early prodigies whose fate he witnessed. The circumstances were exactly such as those above described. The prematurely developed intellect was admired, and constantly stimulated by injudicious praise, and by daily exhibition to every visitor who chanced to call. Entertaining books were thrown in its way, reading by the fireside encouraged, play and exercise neglected, the diet allowed to be full and heating, and the appetite pampered by every delicacy. The results were the speedy deterioration of a weak constitution, a high degree of nervous sensibility, deranged digestion, disordered bowels, defective nutrition, and, lastly, death, at the very time when the interest excited by the mental precocity was at its height.

Such, however, is the ignorance of the majority of parents and teachers on all physiological subjects, that when one of these infant prodigies dies from erroneous treatment, it is not unusual to publish a memoir of his life, that other parents and teachers may see by what means such transcendent qualities were called forth. Dr. Brigham refers to a memoir of this kind, in which the history of a child, aged four years and eleven months, is narrated as approved by "several judicious persons, ministers and others, all of whom united in the request that it might be published, and all agreed in the opinion that a knowledge of the manner in which the child was treated, together with the results, would be profitable to both parents and children, and a benefit to the cause of education." This infant philosopher was "taught hymns before he could speak plainly;" "reasoned with" and constantly instructed until his last illness, which, "without any assignable cause," put on a violent and unexpected form, and carried him off!

As a warning to others not to force education too soon or too fast, this case may be truly profitable to both parents and children, and a benefit to the cause of education; but as an example to be followed, it assuredly can not be too strongly or too loudly condemned. While I speak thus strongly, I am ready to admit that infant schools in which physical health and moral training are duly attended to are excellent institutions, and are particularly advantageous where parents, from want of leisure or from other causes, are unable to bestow upon their children that attention which their tender years require.

In youth, too, much mischief is done by the long daily periods of attendance at school, and the continued application of mind which the ordinary system of education requires. The law of exercise already more than once repeated, that long-sustained action exhausts the vital powers of an organ, applies as well to the brain as to the muscles. Hence the necessity of varying the occupations of the young, and allowing frequent intervals of active exercise in the open air, instead of enforcing the continued confinement now so common. This exclusive attention to mental culture fails, as might be expected, even in its essential object; for all experience shows that, with a rational distribution of employment and exercise, a child will make greater progress in a given period than in double the time employed in continuous mental exertion. If the human being were made up of nothing but a brain and nervous system, we might do well to content ourselves with sedentary pursuits, and to confine our attention entirely to the mind. But when we learn from observation that we have numerous other important organs of motion, sanguification, digestion, circulation, and nutrition, all demanding exercise in the open air, as alike essential to their own health and to that of the nervous system, it is worse than folly to shut our eyes to the truth, and to act as if we could, by denying it, alter the constitution of nature, and thereby escape the consequences of our own misconduct.

Reason and experience being thus set at naught by both parents and teachers in the education of their children, young people naturally grow up with the notion that no such influences as the laws of organization exist, and that they may follow any course of life which inclination leads them to prefer without injury to health, provided they avoid what is called dissipation. It is owing to this ignorance that young men of a studious or literary habit enter heedlessly upon an amount of mental exertion, unalleviated by bodily exercise or intervals of repose, which is quite incompatible with the continued enjoyment of a sound mind in a sound body. Such, however, is the effect of the total neglect of all instruction in the laws of the organic frame during early education, that it becomes almost impossible effectually to warn an ardent student against the dangers to which he is constantly exposing himself. Nothing but actual experience will convince him of the truth.

Numerous are the instances in which young men of the first promise have almost totally disqualified themselves for future useful exertion in consequence of long-protracted and severe study, who, under a more rational system of education, might have attained that eminence, the injudicious pursuit of which has defeated their own most cherished hopes, and ruined their general health. Such persons might be saved to themselves and to society by early instruction in the nature and laws of the animal economy. They mean well, but err from ignorance more than from headstrong zeal.

I shall conclude this chapter with a few rules relating to mental exercise, and the development and culture of the mind and brain. It is a law of the animal economy that two classes of functions can not be called into vigorous action at the same time without one or the other, or both, sooner or later sustaining injury. Hence the important rule never to enter upon continued mental exertion or to rouse deep feeling immediately after a full meal, otherwise the activity of the brain is sure to interfere with that of the stomach, and disorder its functions. Even in a perfectly healthy person, unwelcome news, sudden anxiety, or mental excitement, occurring after eating, will put an entire stop to digestion, and cause the stomach to loathe the sight of food. In accordance with this rule, we learn by experience that the very worst forms of indigestion and nervous depression are those which arise from excessive mental application, or turmoil of feeling and distraction of mind, conjoined with unrestrained indulgence in the pleasures of the table. In such circumstances, the stomach and brain react upon and disturb each other, till all the horrors of nervous disease make their unwelcome appearance, and render life miserable. The tendency to inactivity and sleep, which besets most animals after a full meal, shows repose to be, in such circumstances, the evident intention of Nature. The bad effects of violating this rule, although not in all cases immediately apparent, will most assuredly be manifest at a period less or more remote.

Dr. Caldwell, who has devoted much time and talent to the diffusion of sound physiological information and the general improvement of the race, and whose opportunities of observation have been very extensive, expressly states, that dyspepsy and madness prevail more extensively in the United States than among the people of any other nation. Of the amount of our dyspeptics, he says, no estimate can be formed; but it is immense. Whether we inquire in cities, towns, villages, or country places; among the rich, the poor, or those in moderate circumstances, we find dyspepsy more or less prevalent throughout the land.

The early part of the day is the best time for severe mental exertion. Nature has allotted the darkness of night for repose, and for the restoration by sleep of the exhausted energies of both body and mind. If study or composition be ardently engaged in toward the close of the day, and especially at a late hour of the evening, sound and invigorating sleep may not be expected until the night is far spent, for the increased action of the brain which always accompanies activity of mind requires a long time to subside. Persons who practice night study, if they be at all of an irritable habit of body, will be sleepless for hours after going to bed, and be tormented perhaps by unpleasant dreams, which will render their sleep unrefreshing. If this practice be long continued, the want of refreshing repose will ultimately induce a state of morbid irritability of the nervous system bordering on insanity. It is therefore of great advantage to engage in severer studies early in the day, and to devote the after part of the day and the evening to less intense application. It will be well to devote a portion of the evening, and especially the latter part of it, to light reading, music, or cheerful and amusing conversation. The excitement induced in the brain by previous study will be soothed by these influences, and will more readily subside, and sound and refreshing sleep will be much more likely to follow. This rule is of the utmost importance to those who are obliged to perform a great amount of mental labor. It is only by conforming to it, and devoting their mornings to study and their evenings to relaxation, that many of our most prolific writers have been enabled to preserve their health. By neglecting this rule, others of the fairest promise have been cut down in the midst of their usefulness.

Regularity is of great importance in the development and culture of the moral and intellectual powers, the tendency to resume the same mode of action at stated times being peculiarly the characteristic of the nervous system. It is this principle of our nature which promotes the formation of what are called habits. By repeating any kind of mental effort every day at the same hour, we at length find ourselves entering upon it, without premeditation, when the time approaches. In like manner, by arranging our studies in accordance with this law, and taking up each regularly in the same order, a natural aptitude is soon produced, which renders application more easy than it would be were we to take up the subjects as accident might dictate. The tendency to periodical and associated activity sometimes becomes so strong, that the faculties seem to go through their operations almost without conscious effort, while their facility of action becomes so much increased as ultimately to give unerring certainty where at first great difficulty was experienced. It is not so much the soul or abstract principle of mind which is thus changed, as the organic medium through which mind is destined to act in the present mode of being.

The necessity of judicious repetition in mental and moral education is, in fact, too little adverted to, because the principle on which it is effectual has not hitherto been generally understood. Practice is as necessary to induce facility of action in the organs of the mind as in those of motion. The idea or feeling must not only be communicated, but it must be represented and reproduced in different forms till all the faculties concerned in understanding it come to work efficiently together in the conception of it, and until a sufficient impression is made upon the organ of mind to enable the latter to retain it. Servants and others are frequently blamed for not doing a thing at regular intervals when they have been but once told to do so. We learn, however, from the organic laws, that it is presumptuous to expect the formation of a habit from a single act, and that we must reproduce the associated activity of the requisite faculties many times before the result will certainly follow, just as we must repeat the movement in dancing or skating many times before we become master of it.

We may understand a new subject by a single perusal, but we can fully master it only by dwelling upon it again and again. In order to make a durable impression on the mind, repetition is necessary. It follows, hence, that in learning a language or science, six successive months of application will be more effectual in fixing it indelibly in the mind, and making it a part of the mental furniture, than double or even treble the time if the lessons are interrupted by long intervals. The too common practice of beginning a study, and, after pursuing it a little time, leaving it to be completed at a later period, is unphilosophical and very injurious. The fatigue of study is thus doubled, and the success greatly diminished. Studies should not, as a general thing, be entered upon until the mind is sufficiently mature to understand them thoroughly, and, when begun, they should not be discontinued until they are completely mastered. By this means the mind becomes accustomed to sound and healthy action, which alone can qualify the student for eminent usefulness in after life. Much of the want of success in the various departments of industry, and many of the failures that are constantly occurring among business men, are justly attributable to the fits of attention and the irregular modes of study they became habituated to in their school-boy days. Hence the mischief of long vacations, and the evil of beginning studies before the age at which they may be understood. Parents and teachers should hence, at an early period, impress indelibly upon the minds of their children and pupils the ever true and practical sentiment, that what is worth doing at all is worth doing well. Although, at first, their progress may seem to be retarded thereby, still, in the end, it will contribute greatly to accelerate their real advancement, and in after life, whether employed in literary or business pursuits, will be a means of augmenting their happiness and increasing their prospect of success in whatever department of labor they may be engaged.

In physical education most persons seem well aware of the advantages of repetition. They know, for instance, that if practice in dancing, fencing, skating, and riding is persevered in for a sufficient length of time to give the muscles the requisite promptitude and harmony of action, the power will be ever afterward retained, although rarely called into use. But if we stop short of this point, we may reiterate practice by fits and starts without any proportional advancement. The same principle is equally applicable to the moral and intellectual powers which operate by means of material organs.

The impossibility of successfully playing the hypocrite for any considerable length of time, and the necessity of being in private what we wish to appear in public, spring from the same rule. If we wish to be ourselves polite, just, kind, and sociable, or to induce others to become so, we must act habitually under the influence of the corresponding sentiments, in the domestic circle, in the school-room, and in every-day life, as well as in the company of strangers and on great occasions. It is the private and daily practice of individuals that gives ready activity to the sentiments and marks the real character. If parents or teachers indulge habitually in vulgarities of speech and behavior in the family or in the school, and put on politeness occasionally for the reception and entertainment of strangers, their true character will shine through the mask which is intended to conceal it. The habitual association to which the organs and faculties have been accustomed can not thus be controlled. Parents hence, in addition to correct personal influence in the family, should provide for their children teachers whose habits and character are in all respects what they are willing their children should form. If they neglect to do this, the utmost they can reasonably expect is that their children will become what the teacher is.

The principle that repetition is necessary in order to make a durable impression on the organ of the mind, and thus constitute a mental habit, explains how natural endowments are modified by external situation. The extent to which this modification may be carried, and is actually carried in every community, is much greater than most persons are aware of. Take a child, for example, of average propensities, sentiments, and intellect, and place him among a class of people in whom the selfish faculties are exclusively exercised—a class who regard gain as the end of life, and look upon cunning and cheating as legitimate means, and who never express disapprobation or moral indignation against either crime or selfishness—and his lower faculties, being exclusively exercised, will increase in strength, while the higher ones, remaining unemployed, will become enfeebled. A child thus situated will, consequently, not only act as those around him do, but insensibly grow up resembling them in disposition and character; for, by the law of repetition, the organs of the selfish qualities will have acquired proportionally greater aptitude and vigor, just as do the muscles of the fencer or dancer. But suppose the same individual placed, from infancy, in the society of a superiorly endowed moral and intellectual people, the moral faculties will then be habitually excited, and their organs invigorated by repetition, till a greater aptitude will be induced in them, or, in other words, till a higher moral character will be formed. The natural endowments of individuals set limits to these modifications of character; but where original dispositions and tendencies are not strongly marked, the range is very wide.

In the cultivation of the brain and mental faculties, each organ should be exercised directly upon its own appropriate objects, and not merely roused or addressed through the medium of another organ. When we wish to teach the graceful and rapid evolutions of fencing, we do not content ourselves with merely giving directions, but our chief attention is employed in making the muscles themselves go through the evolutions, till, by frequent repetition and correction, they acquire the requisite quickness and precision of action. So, when we wish to teach music, we do not merely address the understanding and explain the qualities of sounds. We train the ear to an attentive discrimination of these sounds, and the hand or the vocal organs, as the case may be, to the reproduction of the motions which call them into existence. We follow this plan, because the laws of organization require the direct practice of the organs concerned, and we feel instinctively that we can succeed only by obeying these laws. The purely mental faculties are connected during life with material organs, and are hence subjected to precisely the same laws. If, therefore, we wish to improve these faculties—the reasoning powers, for example—we must exercise them regularly in tracing the cause and relations of things. In like manner, if our aim is the development of the sentiments of attachment, benevolence, justice, or respect, we must exercise each of them directly and for its own sake, otherwise neither it nor its organ will ever acquire promptitude or strength.

It is the brain, or organ of the mind, more than the abstract immaterial principle itself, that requires cultivation, or can, indeed, receive it in this life. Education hence operates invariably in subjection to the laws of organization. In improving the external senses, we admit this principle readily enough; but when we come to the internal faculties of thought and feeling, it is either denied or neglected. That the superior quickness of touch, sight, and hearing, consequent upon judicious exercise, is referable to increased facility of action in their appropriate organs, is readily admitted. But when we explain, on the same principle, the superior development of the reasoning powers, or the greater warmth of feeling produced by similar exercise in these and other internal faculties, few are inclined to listen to our proposition, or allow to it half the weight or attention its importance demands, although every fact in philosophy and experience concurs in supporting it. We see the mental powers of feeling and of thought unfolding themselves in infancy and youth in exact accordance with the progress of the organization. We see them perverted or suspended by the sudden inroad of disease. We sometimes observe every previous acquirement obliterated from the adult mind by fever or by accident, leaving education to be commenced anew, as if it had never been; and yet, with all these evidences of the organic influence, the proposition that the established laws of physiology, as applied to the brain, should be considered our best and surest guide in education, seems to many a novelty. Among the numerous treatises on education, there are very few volumes in which it is even hinted that these laws have the slightest influence over either intellectual or moral improvement.

As God has given us bones and muscles, and blood-vessels and nerves, for the purpose of being used, let us not despise the gift, but consent at once to turn them to account, and to reap health and vigor as the reward which he has associated with moderate labor. As he has given us lungs to breathe with and blood to circulate, let us at once and forever abandon the folly of shutting ourselves up with little intermission, whether engaged in study or other sedentary occupations, and consent to inhale, copiously and freely, that wholesome atmosphere which his benevolence has spread around us in such rich profusion. As he has given us appetites and organs of digestion, let us profit by his bounty, and earn their enjoyment by healthful exercise in some department of productive industry. As he has given us a moral and a social nature, which is invigorated by activity, and impaired by solitude and restraint, let us cultivate good feelings, and act toward each other on principles of kindness, justice, forbearance, and mutual assistance; and as he has given us intellect, let us exercise it in seeking a knowledge of his works and of his laws, and in tracing out the relation in which we stand toward him, toward our fellow-men, and toward the various objects of the external world. In so doing, we may be well assured we shall find a reward a thousand times more rich and pure, yea, infinitely more delightful and enduring, than we can hope to experience in following our own blind devices, regardless of his will and benevolent intentions toward us.

CHAPTER VI.

THE EDUCATION OF THE FIVE SENSES.

If the eye be obstructed, the ear opens wide its portals, and hears your very emotions in the varying tones of your voice; if the ear be stopped, the quickened eye will almost read the words as they fall from your lips; and if both be close sealed up, the whole body becomes like a sensitive plant—the quickened skin perceives the very vibrations of the air, and you may even write your thoughts upon it, and receive answers from the sentient soul within.—Annual Report of the Trustees of the Perkins Institution and Massachusetts Asylum for the Blind, 1841.

He who formed man of the dust of the earth, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, has honored his material organs by associating them with the immaterial soul. In this life the senses constitute the great conveyances of knowledge to the human mind. It then becomes not only a legitimate object of inquiry, but one which commends itself to every human being, and especially to every parent and teacher, Can these senses be improved by human interference? And if so, how can that improvement be best effected?

The senses are the interpreters between the material universe without and the spirit within. Without the celestial machinery of sensation, man must have ever remained what Adam was before the Almighty breathed into his form of clay the awakening breath of life. The dormant energies of the mind can be aroused, and the soul can be put into mysterious communion with external nature only by the magical power of sensation.

The possession of all the corporeal senses, and their systematic and judicious culture by all proper appliances, are necessary in order to place man in such a relation to the material universe and its great Architect as most fully and successfully to cultivate the varied capabilities of his nature, and best to subserve the purposes of his creation. He who is deprived of the healthful exercise of one or more of his senses, or, possessing them all unimpaired, has neglected their proper culture, is, from the nature of the case, in a proportionate degree cut off from a knowledge of God as manifested in his works, and from that happiness which is the legitimate fruit of such knowledge.

Much light has been thrown upon this subject within a few years by the judicious labors of that class of practical educators who have devoted their lives to the amelioration of the condition of persons deprived of one or more of the senses. It is difficult to conceive the real condition of the minds of persons thus situated, and especially while they remain uneducated. He who is deprived of the sense of sight has the windows of his soul closed, and is effectually shut out from this world of light and beauty. In like manner, he who is deprived of the sense of hearing is excluded from the world of music and of speech. What, then, must be the condition of persons deprived of both of these senses? How desolate and cheerless! Yet some such there are.

While on a visit to the Asylum for the Blind, in Boston, a few months ago, I met two of this unfortunate class of persons—Laura Bridgman and Oliver Caswell. Laura has been several years connected with the institution.

Laura Bridgman, the Deaf, Dumb, and Blind Girl.—So remarkable is the case of this interesting girl, so full of interest, so replete with instruction, and in every way so admirably adapted to illustrate the subject of this chapter, that I proceed to give to my readers a sketch of the method pursued in her instruction, together with the results attendant upon it. My information in relation to her is derived from both personal acquaintance and the reports of her case, though principally from the latter source.

Laura was born in Hanover, New Hampshire, on the 21st of December, 1829. She is described as having been a very sprightly and pretty infant. During the first years of her existence she held her life by the feeblest tenure, being subject to severe fits, which seemed to rack her frame almost beyond the power of endurance. At the age of four years her bodily health seemed restored; but what a situation was hers! The darkness and silence of the tomb were around her. No mother's smile called forth her answering smile. No father's voice taught her to imitate his sounds. To her, brothers and sisters were but forms of matter which resisted her touch, but which hardly differed from the furniture of the house save in warmth and in the power of locomotion, and not even in these respects from the dog and the cat. But the immortal spirit implanted within her could not die, nor could it be maimed or mutilated; and, though most of its avenues of communication with the world were cut off, it began to manifest itself through the others. As soon as she could walk, she began to explore the room, and then the house. She thus soon became familiar with the form, density, weight, and heat of every article she could lay her hands upon. She followed her mother, and felt of her hands and arms, as she was occupied about the house, and her disposition to imitate led her to repeat every thing herself. She even learned to sew a little and to knit.

Her affections, too, began to expand, and seemed to be lavished upon the members of her family with peculiar force. But the means of communication with her were very limited. She could be told to go to a place only by being pushed, or to come to one by a sign of drawing her. Patting her gently on the head signified approbation, on the back disapprobation. She showed every disposition to learn, and manifestly began to use a natural language of her own. She had a sign to express her idea of each member of the family, as drawing her fingers down each side of her face to allude to the whiskers of one, twirling her hand around in imitation of the motion of a spinning-wheel for another, and so on. But, although Laura received all the aid a kind mother could bestow, she soon began to give proof of the importance of language in the development of human character. By the time she was seven years old the moral effects of her privation began to appear, for there was no way of controlling her will but by the absolute power of another, and at this humanity revolts.

At this time, Dr. Samuel G. Howe, the distinguished and successful director of the asylum, learned of her situation, and hastened to see her. He found her with a well-formed figure, a strongly-marked nervous-sanguine temperament, a large and beautifully shaped head, and the whole system in healthy action. Here seemed a rare opportunity of trying a plan for the education of a deaf and blind person, which the doctor had formed on seeing Julia Brace at Hartford. The parents readily consented to her going to the institution in Boston, where Laura was received in October, 1837, just before she had completed her eighth year. For a while she was much bewildered. After waiting about two weeks, and until she became acquainted with her new locality, and somewhat familiar with the inmates, the attempt was made to give her a knowledge of arbitrary signs, by which she could interchange thoughts with others. One of two methods was to be adopted. Either the language of signs, on the basis of the natural language she had already commenced herself, was to be built up, or it remained to teach her the purely arbitrary language in common use. The former would have been easy, but very ineffectual. The latter, although very difficult, if accomplished, would prove vastly superior. It was therefore determined upon.

The blind learn to read by means of raised letters, which they gain a knowledge of by the sense of feeling. The ends of the fingers, resting upon the raised letters, thus constitute, in part, the eyes of the blind. This, although apparently difficult, becomes comparatively easy when the blind person possesses the sense of hearing, and is thus enabled to become acquainted with spoken language. On the contrary, the deaf, and consequently dumb, are unable to acquire a knowledge of spoken language so as to use it with any degree of success. In their education, hence, the language of signs, which can be addressed to the eye, is substituted for spoken language. In communicating with one another, by means of the manual alphabet, they substitute positions of the hand, which they can both make and see, for letters and words, which they can neither pronounce nor hear.

To be deprived of either sight or hearing was formerly regarded as an almost insuperable obstacle in the way of education. Persons deprived of both these senses have heretofore been considered by high legal authorities,[23] as well as by public opinion, as occupying, of necessity, a state of irresponsible and irrecoverable idiocy. By the education of the remaining senses, however, this formidable and heretofore insuperable barrier has been overleaped, or, rather, the obstacle has been met and overcome. The experiment has been successfully tried, once and again, in our own country. The deaf and blind mute has not only acquired a knowledge of reading and writing, and of the common branches of education, but has been enabled successfully to prosecute the study of natural philosophy, of mental science, and of geometry. The accomplishment of all this has resulted from the successful cultivation of the sense of touch or of feeling. The raised letter of the blind has been used for written language, and the manual language of the mute, taken by the finger-eyes of the blind, has been successfully substituted for spoken language.

Laura's mind dwelt in darkness and silence. In order, therefore, to communicate to her a knowledge of the arbitrary language in common use, it was necessary to combine the methods of instructing the blind and the deaf. The first experiments in instructing her were made by taking articles in common use, such as knives, forks, spoons, keys, etc., and pasting upon them labels with their names printed in raised letters. These she felt of very carefully, and soon, of course, distinguished that the crooked lines spoon differed as much from the crooked lines key, as the spoon differed from the key in form. Small detached labels, with the same words printed upon them, were then put into her hands, and she soon observed that they were similar to those pasted on the articles. She showed her perception of this similarity by laying the label key upon the key, and the label spoon upon the spoon. When this was done she was encouraged by the natural sign of approbation—patting on the head.

The same process was then repeated with all the articles which she could handle, and she very easily learned to place the proper labels upon them. After a while, instead of labels, the individual letters were given to her, on detached bits of paper. These were at first arranged side by side, so as to spell book, key, &c. They were then mixed up, and a sign was made for her to arrange them herself, so as to express the words book, key, etc., and she did so.

The process of instruction, hitherto, had been mechanical, and the success attending it about as great as that in teaching a very knowing dog a variety of tricks. The poor child sat in mute amazement, and patiently imitated every thing her teacher did. Presently the truth began to flash upon her; her intellect began to work; she perceived that here was a way by which she could herself make up a sign of any thing that was in her own mind, and show it to another mind, and at once her countenance lighted up with a human expression! her immortal spirit eagerly seizing upon a new link of union with other spirits! Dr. Howe says he could almost fix upon the moment when this truth dawned upon her mind and spread its light to her countenance. He saw at once that nothing but patient and persevering, but judicious efforts were needed in her instruction, and that these would most assuredly be crowned with success.