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Title: After A Shadow and Other Stories

Author: T. S. Arthur

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AFTER A SHADOW, AND OTHER STORIES.

BY T. S. ARTHUR.

NEW YORK:

1868






CONTENTS.





I. AFTER A SHADOW.
II. IN THE WAY OF TEMPTATION.
III. ANDY LOVELL.
IV. A MYSTERY EXPLAINED.
V. WHAT CAN I DO?
VI. ON GUARD.
VII. A VISIT WITH THE DOCTOR.
VIII. HADN'T TIME FOR TROUBLE.
IX. A GOOD NAME.
X. LITTLE LIZZIE.
XI. ALICE AND THE PIGEON.
XII. DRESSED FOR A PARTY.
XIII. COFFEE VS. BRANDY.
XIV. AMY'S QUESTION.
XV. AN ANGEL IN DISGUISE.
XVI. WHICH WAS MOST THE LADY?
XVII. OTHER PEOPLE'S EYES.






AFTER A SHADOW,
AND OTHER STORIES.

I.

AFTER A SHADOW.





"ARTY! Arty!" called Mrs. Mayflower, from the window, one bright
June morning. "Arty, darling! What is the child after? Just look at
him, Mr. Mayflower!"

I leaned from the window, in pleasant excitement, to see what new
and wonderful performance had been attempted by my little prodigy--my
first born--my year old bud of beauty, the folded leaves in whose
bosom were just beginning to loosen themselves, and send out upon
the air sweet intimations of an abounding fragrance. He had escaped
from his nurse, and was running off in the clear sunshine, the slant
rays of which threw a long shadow before him.

"Arty, darling!" His mother's voice flew along and past his ear,
kissing it in gentle remonstrance as it went by. But baby was in
eager pursuit of something, and the call, if heard, was unheeded.
His eyes were opening world-ward, and every new
phenomenon--commonplace and unheeded by us--that addressed itself to
his senses, became a wonder and a delight. Some new object was
drawing him away from the loving heart and protecting arm.

"Run after him, Mr. Mayflower!" said my wife, with a touch of
anxiety in her voice. "He might fall and hurt himself."

I did not require a second intimation as to my duty in the case.
Only a moment or two elapsed before I was on the pavement, and
making rapid approaches towards my truant boy.

"What is it, darling? What is Arty running after?" I said, as I laid
my hand on his arm, and checked his eager speed. He struggled a
moment, and then stood still, stooping forward for something on the
ground.

"O, papa see!" There was a disappointed and puzzled look in his face
as he lifted his eyes to mine. He failed to secure the object of his
pursuit.

"What is it, sweet?" My eyes followed his as they turned upon the
ground.

He stooped again, and caught at something; and again looked up in a
perplexed, half-wondering way.

"Why, Arty!" I exclaimed, catching him up in my arms. "It's only
your shadow! Foolish child!" And I ran back to Mrs. Mayflower, with
my baby-boy held close against my heart.

"After a shadow!" said I, shaking my head, a little soberly, as I
resigned Arty to his mother. "So life begins--and so it ends! Poor
Arty!"

Mrs. Mayflower laughed out right merrily.

"After a shadow! Why, darling!" And she kissed and hugged him in
overflowing tenderness.

"So life begins--so it ends," I repeated to myself, as I left the
house, and walked towards my store. "Always in pursuit of shadows!
We lose to-day's substantial good for shadowy phantoms that keep our
eyes ever in advance, and our feet ever hurrying forward. No
pause--no ease--no full enjoyment of _now_. O, deluded heart!--ever
bartering away substance for shadow!"

I grow philosophic sometimes. Thought will, now and then, take up a
passing incident, and extract the moral. But how little the wiser
are we for moralizing! we look into the mirror of truth, and see
ourselves--then turn away, and forget what manner of men we are.
Better for us if it were not so; if we remembered the image that
held our vision.

The shadow lesson was forgotten by the time I reached my store, and
thought entered into business with its usual ardor. I buried myself,
amid letters, invoices, accounts, samples, schemes for gain, and
calculations of profit. The regular, orderly progression of a fair
and well-established business was too slow for my outreaching
desires. I must drive onward at a higher speed, and reach the goal
of wealth by a quicker way. So my daily routine was disturbed by
impatient aspirations. Instead of entering, in a calm
self-possession of every faculty, into the day's appropriate work,
and finding, in its right performance, the tranquil state that ever
comes as the reward of right-doing in the right place, I spent the
larger part of this day in the perpetration of a plan for increasing
my gains beyond, anything heretofore achieved.

"Mr. Mayflower," said one of the clerks, coming back to where I sat
at my private desk, busy over my plan, "we have a new man in from
the West; a Mr. B----, from Alton. He wants to make a bill of a
thousand dollars. Do you know anything about him?"

Now, even this interruption annoyed me. What was a new customer and
a bill of a thousand dollars to me just at that moment of time? I
saw tens of thousands in prospective.

"Mr. B----, of Alton?" said I, affecting an effort of memory. "Does he
look like a fair man?"

"I don't recall him. Mr. B----? Hum-m-m. He impresses you favorably,
Edward?"

"Yes, sir; but it may be prudent to send and get a report."

"I'll see to that, Edward," said I. "Sell him what he wants. If
everything is not on the square, I'll give you the word in time.
It's all right, I've no doubt."

"He's made a bill at Kline & Co.'s, and wants his goods sent there
to be packed," said my clerk.

"Ah, indeed! Let him have what he wants, Edward. If Kline & Co. sell
him, we needn't hesitate."

And turning to my desk, my plans, and my calculations, I forgot all
about Mr. B----, and the trifling bill of a thousand dollars that he
proposed buying. How clear the way looked ahead! As thought created
the means of successful adventure, and I saw myself moving forward
and grasping results, the whole circle of life took a quicker
motion, and my mind rose into a pleasant enthusiasm. Then I grew
impatient for the initiatory steps that were to come, and felt as if
the to-morrow, in which they must be taken, would never appear. A
day seemed like a week or a month.

Six o'clock found me in not a very satisfactory state of mind. The
ardor of my calculations had commenced abating. Certain elements,
not seen and considered in the outset, were beginning to assume
shape and consequence, and to modify, in many essential particulars,
the grand result towards which I had been looking with so much
pleasure. Shadowy and indistinct became the landscape, which seemed
a little while before so fair and inviting. A cloud settled down
upon it here, and a cloud there, breaking up its unity, and
destroying much of its fair proportion. I was no longer mounting up,
and moving forwards on the light wing of a castle-building
imagination, but down upon the hard, rough ground, coming back into
the consciousness that all progression, to be sure, must be slow and
toilsome.

I had the afternoon paper in my hands, and was running my eyes up
and down the columns, not reading, but, in a half-absent way, trying
to find something of sufficient interest to claim attention, when,
among the money and business items, I came upon a paragraph that
sent the declining thermometer of my feelings away down towards the
chill of zero. It touched, in the most vital part, my scheme of
gain; and the shrinking bubble burst.

"Have the goods sold to that new customer from Alton been
delivered?" I asked, as the real interest of my wasted day loomed up
into sudden importance.

"Yes, sir," was answered by one of my clerks; "they were sent to
Kline & Co.'s immediately. Mr. B----said they were packing up his
goods, which were to be shipped to-day."

"He's a safe man, I should think. Kline & Co. sell him." My voice
betrayed the doubt that came stealing over me like a chilly air.

"They sell him only for cash," said my clerk. "I saw one of their
young men this afternoon, and asked after Mr. B----'s standing. He
didn't know anything about him; said B----was a new man, who bought a
moderate cash bill, but was sending in large quantities of goods to
be packed--five or six times beyond the amount of his purchases with
them."

"Is that so!" I exclaimed, rising to my feet, all awake now to the
real things which I had permitted a shadow to obscure.

"Just what he told me," answered my clerk.

"It has a bad look," said I. "How large a bill did he make with us?"

The sales book was referred to. "Seventeen hundred dollars," replied
the clerk.

"What! I thought he was to buy only to the amount of a thousand
dollars?" I returned, in surprise and dismay.

"You seemed so easy about him, sir," replied the clerk, "that I
encouraged him to buy; and the bill ran up more heavily than I was
aware until the footing gave exact figures."

I drew out my watch. It was close on to half past six.

"I think, Edward," said I, "that you'd better step round to Kline &
Co.'s, and ask if they've shipped B----'s goods yet. If not, we'll
request them to delay long enough in the morning to give us time to
sift the matter. If B----'s after a swindling game, we'll take a short
course, and save our goods."

"It's too late," answered my clerk. "B----called a little after one
o'clock, and gave notes for the amount of his bill. He was to leave
in the five o'clock line for Boston."

I turned my face a little aside, so that Edward might not see all
the anxiety that was pictured there.

"You look very sober, Mr. Mayflower," said my good wife, gazing at
me with eyes a little shaded by concern, as I sat with Arty's head
leaning against my bosom that evening; "as sober as baby looked this
morning, after his fruitless shadow chase."

"And for the same reason," said I, endeavoring to speak calmly and
firmly.

"Why, Mr. Mayflower!" Her face betrayed a rising anxiety. My assumed
calmness and firmness did not wholly disguise the troubled feelings
that lay, oppressively, about my heart.

"For the same reason," I repeated, steadying my voice, and trying to
speak bravely. "I have been chasing a shadow all day; a mere phantom
scheme of profit; and at night-fall I not only lose my shadow, but
find my feet far off from the right path, and bemired. I called Arty
a foolish child this morning. I laughed at his mistake. But, instead
of accepting the lesson it should have conveyed, I went forth and
wearied myself with shadow-hunting all day."

Mrs. Mayflower sighed gently. Her soft eyes drooped away from my
face, and rested for some moments on the floor.

"I am afraid we are all, more or less, in pursuit of shadows," she
said,--"of the unreal things, projected by thought on the canvas of a
too creative imagination. It is so with me; and I sigh, daily, over
some disappointment. Alas! if this were all. Too often both the
shadow-good and the real-good of to-day are lost. When night falls
our phantom good is dispersed, and we sigh for the real good we
might have enjoyed."

"Shall we never grow wiser?" I asked.

"We shall never grow happier unless we do," answered Mrs. Mayflower.

"Happiness!" I returned, as thought began to rise into clearer
perception; "is it not the shadow after which we are all chasing,
with such a blind and headlong speed?"

"Happiness is no shadow. It is a real thing," said Mrs. Mayflower.
"It does not project itself in advance of us; but exists in the
actual and the now, if it exists at all. We cannot catch it by
pursuit; that is only a cheating counterfeit, in guilt and tinsel,
which dazzles our eyes in the ever receding future. No; happiness is
a state of life; and it comes only to those who do each day's work
peaceful self-forgetfulness, and a calm trust in the Giver of all
good for the blessing that lies stored for each one prepared to
receive it in every hour of the coming time."

"Who so does each day's work in a peaceful self-forgetfulness and
patient trust in God?" I said, turning my eyes away from the now
tranquil face of Mrs. Mayflower.

"Few, if any, I fear," she answered; "and few, if any, are happy.
The common duties and common things of our to-days look so plain and
homely in their ungilded actualities, that we turn our thought and
interest away from them, and create ideal forms of use and beauty,
into which we can never enter with conscious life. We are always
losing the happiness of our to-days; and our to-morrows never come."

I sighed my response, and sat for a long time silent. When the tea
bell interrupted me from my reverie, Arty lay fast asleep on my
bosom. As I kissed him on his way to his mother's arms, I said,--

"Dear baby! may it be your first and last pursuit of a shadow."

"No--no! Not yet, my sweet one!" answered Mrs. Mayflower, hugging him
to her heart. "Not yet. We cannot spare you from our world of
shadows."






II.

IN THE WAY OF TEMPTATION.





MARTIN GREEN was a young man of good habits and a good conceit of
himself. He had listened, often and again, with as much patience as
he could assume, to warning and suggestion touching the dangers that
beset the feet of those who go out into this wicked world, and
become subject to its legion of temptations. All these warnings and
suggestions he considered as so many words wasted when offered to
himself.

"I'm in no danger," he would sometimes answer to relative or friend,
who ventured a remonstrance against certain associations, or
cautioned him about visiting certain places.

"If I wish to play a game of billiards, I will go to a billiard
saloon," was the firm position he assumed. "Is there any harm in
billiards? I can't help it if bad men play at billiards, and
congregate in billiard saloons. Bad men may be found anywhere and
everywhere; on the street, in stores, at all public places, even in
church. Shall I stay away from church because bad men are there?"

This last argument Martin Green considered unanswerable. Then he
would say,--

"If I want a plate of oysters, I'll go to a refectory, and I'll take
a glass of ale with my oysters, if it so pleases me. What harm, I
would like to know? Danger of getting into bad company, you say?
Hum-m! Complimentary to your humble servant! But I'm not the kind to
which dirt sticks."

So, confident of his own power to stand safely in the midst of
temptation, and ignorant of its thousand insidious approaches,
Martin Green, at the age of twenty-one, came and went as he pleased,
mingling with the evil and the good, and seeing life under
circumstances of great danger to the pure and innocent. But he felt
strong and safe, confident of neither stumbling nor falling. All
around him he saw young men yielding to the pressure of temptation
and stepping aside into evil ways; but they were weak and vicious,
while he stood firm-footed on the rock of virtue!

It happened, very naturally, as Green was a bright, social young
man, that he made acquaintances with other young men, who were
frequently met in billiard saloons, theatre lobbies, and eating
houses. Some of these he did not understand quite as well as he
imagined. The vicious, who have ends to gain, know how to cloak
themselves, and easily deceive persons of Green's character. Among,
these acquaintances was a handsome, gentlemanly, affable young man,
named Bland, who gradually intruded himself into his confidence.
Bland never drank to excess, and never seemed inclined to sensual
indulgences. He had, moreover, a way of moralizing that completely
veiled his true quality from the not very penetrating Martin Green,
whose shrewdness and knowledge of character were far less acute than
he, in his self-conceit, imagined.

One evening, instead of going with his sister to the house of a
friend, where a select company of highly-intelligent ladies and
gentleman were to meet, and pass an evening together, Martin excused
himself under the pretence of an engagement, and lounged away to an
eating and drinking saloon, there to spend an hour in smoking,
reading the newspapers, and enjoying a glass of ale, the desire for
which was fast growing into a habit. Strong and safe as he imagined
himself, the very fact of preferring the atmosphere of a drinking or
billiard saloon to that in which refined and intellectual people
breathe, showed that he was weak and in danger.

He was sitting with a cigar in his mouth, and a glass of ale beside
him, reading with the air of a man who felt entirely satisfied with
himself, and rather proud than ashamed of his position and
surroundings, when his pleasant friend, Mr. Bland, crossed the room,
and, reaching out his hand, said, with his smiling, hearty manner,--

"How are you, my friend? What's the news to-day?" And he drew a
chair to the table, calling at the same time to a waiter for a glass
of ale.

"I never drink anything stronger than ale," he added, in a
confidential way, not waiting for Green to answer his first remark.
"Liquors are so drugged nowadays, that you never know what poison
you are taking; besides, tippling is a bad habit, and sets a
questionable example. We must, you know, have some regard to the
effect of our conduct on weaker people. Man is an imitative animal.
By the way, did you see Booth's Cardinal Wolsey?"

"Yes."

"A splendid piece of acting,--was it not? You remember, after the
cardinal's fall, that noble passage to which he gives utterance. It
has been running through my mind ever since:--"'Mark but my fall,
and that that ruined me.

Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition:

By that sin fell the angels; how can man, then,

The image of his Maker, hope to win by't?

Love thyself last: Cherish those hearts that hate thee:

Corruption wins not more than honesty.

Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,

To silence envious tongues; be just, and fear not.

Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's,

Thy God's, and truth's; then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell,

Thou fall'st a blessed martyr.'

"'Love thyself last.--Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy
country's, thy God's, and truth's.' Could a man's whole duty in life
be expressed in fewer words, or said more grandly? I think not."

And so he went on, charming the ears of Green, and inspiring him
with the belief that he was a person of the purest instincts and
noblest ends. While they talked, two young men, strangers to Green
came up, and were introduced by Bland as "My very particular
friends." Something about them did not at first impress Martin
favorably. But this impression soon wore off, they were so
intelligent and agreeable, Bland, after a little while, referred
again to the Cardinal Wolsey of Booth, and, drawing a copy of
Shakspeare's Henry VIII. from his pocket, remarked,--

"If it wasn't so public here, I'd like to read a few of the best
passages in Wolsey's part."

"Can't we get a private room?" said one of the two young men who had
joined Bland and Green. "There are plenty in the house. I'll see."

And away he went to the bar.

"Come," he said, returning in a few minutes; and the party followed
a waiter up stairs, and were shown into a small room, neatly
furnished, though smelling villanously of stale cigar smoke.

"This is cosy," was the approving remark of Bland, as they entered.
Hats and overcoats were laid aside, and they drew around a table
that stood in the centre of the room under the gaslight. A few
passages were read from Shakspeare, then drink was ordered by one of
the the party. The reading interspersed with critical comments, was
again resumed; but the reading soon gave way entire to the comments,
which, in a little while, passed from the text of Shakspeare to
actors, actresses, prima donnas, and ballet-dancers, the relative
merits of which were knowingly discussed for some time. In the midst
of this discussion, oysters, in two or three styles, and a smoking
dish of terrapin, ordered by a member of the company--which our young
friend Green did not know--were brought in, followed by a liberal
supply of wine and brandy. Bland expressed surprise, but accepted
the entertainment as quite agreeable to himself.

After the supper, cigars were introduced, and after the cigars,
cards. A few games were played for shilling stakes. Green, under the
influence of more liquor than his head could bear, and in the midst
of companions whose sphere he could not, in consequence, resist,
yielded in a new direction for him. Of gambling he had always
entertained a virtuous disapproval; yet, ere aware of the direction
in which he was drifting, he was staking money at cards, the sums
gradually increasing, until from shillings the ventures increased to
dollars. Sometimes he won, and sometimes he lost; the winnings
stimulating to new trials in the hope of further success, and the
losses stimulating to new trials in order to recover, if possible;
but, steadily, the tide, for all these little eddies of success,
bore him downwards, and losses increased from single dollars to
fives, and from fives to tens, his pleasant friend, Bland, supplying
whatever he wanted in the most disinterested way, until an aggregate
loss of nearly a hundred and fifty dollars sobered and appalled him.

The salary of Martin Green was only four hundred dollars, every cent
of which was expended as fast as earned. A loss of a hundred and
fifty dollars was, therefore, a serious and embarrassing matter.

"I'll call and see you to-morrow, when we can arrange this little
matter," said Mr. Bland, "on parting with Green at his own door. He
spoke pleasantly, but with something in his voice that chilled the
nerves of his victim. On the next day while Green stood at his desk,
trying to fix his mind upon his work, and do it correctly, his
employer said,--

"Martin, there's a young man in the store who has asked for you."

Green turned and saw the last man on the earth he desired to meet.
His pleasant friend of the evening before had called to "arrange
that little matter."

"Not too soon for you, I hope," remarked Bland, with his courteous,
yet now serious, smile, as he took the victim's hand.

"Yes, you _are_, too soon," was soberly answered.

The smile faded off of Bland's face.

"When will you arrange it?"

"In a few days."

"But I want the money to-day. It was a simple loan, you know."

"I am aware of that, but the amount is larger than I can manage at
once," said Green.

"Can I have a part to-day?"

"Not to-day."

"To-morrow, then?"

"I'll do the best in my power."

"Very well. To-morrow, at this time, I will call. Make up the whole
sum if possible, for I want it badly."

"Do you know that young man?" asked Mr. Phillips, the employer of
Green, as the latter came back to his desk. The face of Mr. Phillips
was unusually serious.

"His name is Bland."

"Why has he called to see you?" The eyes of Mr. Phillips were fixed
intently on his clerk.

"He merely dropped in. I have met him a few times in company."

"Don't you know his character?"

"I never heard a word against him," said Green.

"Why, Martin!" replied Mr. Phillips, "he has the reputation of being
one of the worst young men in our city; a base gambler's
stool-pigeon, some say."

"I am glad to know it, sir," Martin had the presence of mind, in the
painful confusion that overwhelmed him, to say, "and shall treat him
accordingly." He went back to his desk, and resumed his work.

It is the easiest thing in the world to go to astray, but always
difficult to return, Martin Green was astray, but how was he to get
into the right path again? A barrier that seemed impassable was now
lying across the way over which he had passed, a little while
before, with lightest footsteps. Alone and unaided, he could not
safely get back. The evil spirits that lure a man from virtue never
counsel aright when to seek to return. They magnify the perils that
beset the road by which alone is safety, and suggest other ways that
lead into labyrinths of evil from which escape is sometimes
impossible. These spirits were now at the ear of our unhappy young
friend, suggesting methods of relief in his embarrassing position.

If Bland were indeed such a character as Mr. Phillips had
represented him, it would be ruin, in his employer's estimation, to
have him call again and again for his debt. But how was he to
liquidate that debt? There was nothing due him on account of salary,
and there was not a friend or acquaintance to whom he could apply
with any hope of borrowing.

"Man's extremity is the devil's opportunity." It was so in the
present case, Green had a number of collections to make on that day,
and his evil counsellors suggested his holding back the return of
two of these, amounting to his indebtedness, and say that the
parties were not yet ready to settle their bills. This would enable
him to get rid of Bland, and gain time. So, acting upon the bad
suggestion, he made up his return of collections, omitting the two
accounts to which we have referred.

Now it so happened that one of the persons against whom these
accounts stood, met Mr. Phillips as he was returning from dinner in
the afternoon, and said to him,--

"I settled that bill of yours to-day."

"That's right. I wish all my customers were as punctual," answered
Mr. Phillips.

"I gave your young man a check for a hundred and five dollars."

"Thank you."

And the two men passed their respective ways.

On Mr. Phillips's return to his store, Martin rendered his account
of collections, and, to the surprise of his employer, omitted the
one in regard to which he had just been notified.

"Is this all?" he asked, in a tone that sent a thrill of alarm to
the guilty heart of his clerk.

"Yes, sir," was the not clearly outspoken answer.

"Didn't Garland pay?"

"N-n-o, sir!" The suddenness of this question so confounded Martin,
that he could not answer without a betraying hesitation.

"Martin!" Astonishment, rebuke, and accusation were in the voice of
Mr. Phillips as he pronounced his clerk's name. Martin's face
flushed deeply, and then grew very pale. He stood the image of guilt
and fear for some moments, then, drawing out his pocket book, he
brought therefrom a small roll of bank bills, and a memorandum slip
of paper.

"I made these collections also." And he gave the money and
memorandum to Mr. Phillips.

"A hundred and fifty dollars withheld! Martin! Martin! what _does_
this mean?"

"Heaven is my witness, sir," answered the young man, with quivering
lips, "that I have never wronged you out of a dollar, and had no
intention of wronging you now. But I am in a fearful strait. My feet
have become suddenly mired, and this was a desperate struggle for
extrication--a temporary expedient only, not a premeditated wrong
against you."

"Sit down, Martin," said Mr. Phillips, in a grave, but not severe,
tone of voice. "Let me understand the case from first to last.
Conceal nothing, if you wish to have me for a friend."

Thus enjoined, Martin told his humiliating story.

"If you had not gone into the way of temptation, the betrayer had
not found you," was the remark of Mr. Phillips, when the young man
ended his confession. "Do you frequent these eating and drinking
saloons?"

"I go occasionally, sir."

"They are neither safe nor reputable, Martin. A young man who
frequents them must have the fine tone of his manhood dimmed. There
is an atmosphere of impurity about these places. Have you a younger
brother?"

"Yes, sir."

"Would you think it good for him, as he emerged from youth to
manhood, to visit refectories and billiard saloons?"

"No, sir, I would do all in my power to prevent it."

"Why?"

"There's danger in them, sir."

"And, knowing this, you went into the way of danger, and have
fallen!"

Martin dropped his eyes to the floor in confusion.

"Bland is a stool-pigeon and you were betrayed."

"What am I to do?" asked the troubled young man. "I am in debt to
him."

"He will be here to-morrow."

"Yes, sir."

"I will have a policeman ready to receive him."

"O, no, no, Sir. Pray don't do that!" answered Martin, with a
distressed look.

"Why not?" demanded Mr. Phillips.

"It will ruin me."

"How?"

"Bland will denounce me."

"Let him."

"I shall be exposed to the policeman."

"An evil, but a mild one, compared with that to which you were
rushing in order to disentangle yourself. I must have my way, sir.
This matter has assumed a serious aspect. You are in my power, and
must submit."

On the next day, punctual to the hour, Bland called.

"This is your man," said Mr. Phillips to his clerk. "Ask him into
the counting-room." Bland, thus invited, walked back. As he entered,
Mr. Phillips said,--

"My clerk owes you a hundred and fifty dollars, I understand."

"Yes, sir;" and the villain bowed.

"Make him out a receipt," said Mr. Phillips.

"When I receive the money," was coldly and resolutely answered.
Martin glanced sideways at the face of Bland, and the sudden change
in its expression chilled him. The mild, pleasant, virtuous aspect
he could so well assume was gone, and he looked more like a fiend
than a man. In pictures he had seen eyes such as now gleamed on Mr.
Phillips, but never in a living face before.

The officer, who had been sitting with a newspaper in his hand, now
gave his paper a quick rattle as he threw it aside, and, coming
forward, stood beside Mr. Phillips, and looked steadily at the face
of Bland, over which passed another change: it was less assured, but
not less malignant.

Mr. Phillips took out his pocket-book, and, laying a twenty-dollar
bill on the desk by which they were standing, said,--

"Take this and sign a receipt."

"No, sir!" was given with determined emphasis. "I am not to be
robbed in this way!"

"Ned," the officer now spoke, "take my advice, and sign a receipt."

"It's a cursed swindle!" exclaimed the baffled villain.

"We will dispense with hard names, sir!" The officer addressed him
sternly. "Either take the money, or go. This is not a meeting for
parley. I understand you and your operations."

A few moments Bland stood, with an irresolute air; then, clutching
desperately at a pen, he dashed off a receipt, and was reaching for
the money, when Mr. Phillips drew it back, saying,--

"Wait a moment, until I examine the receipt." He read it over, and
then, pushing it towards Bland, said,--

"Write 'In full of all demands.'" A growl was the oral response.
Bland took the pen again, and wrote as directed.

"Take my advice, young man, and adopt a safer and more honorable
business," said Mr. Phillips, as he gave him the twenty-dollar bill.

"Keep your advice for them that ask it!" was flung back in his face.
A look of hate and revenge burned in the fellow's eyes. After
glaring at Mr. Phillips and Martin in a threatening way for several
moments, he left more hurriedly than he had entered.

"And take my advice," said the officer, laying his hand on Martin's
arm,--he spoke in a warning tone,--"and keep out of that man's way.
He'll never forgive you. I know him and his prowling gang, and they
are a set of as hardened and dangerous villains as can be found in
the city. You are 'spotted' by them from this day, and they number a
dozen at least. So, if you would be safe, avoid their haunts. Give
drinking saloons and billiard rooms a wide berth. One experience
like this should last you a life-time."

Thus Martin escaped from his dangerous entanglement, but never again
to hold the unwavering confidence of his employer. Mr. Phillips
pitied, but could not trust him fully. A year afterwards came
troublesome times, losses in business, and depression in trade.
Every man had to retrench. Thousands of clerks lost their places,
and anxiety and distress were on every hand. Mr. Phillips, like
others, had to reduce expenses, and, in reducing, the lot to go fell
upon Martin Green. He had been very circumspect, had kept away from
the old places where danger lurked, had devoted himself with renewed
assiduity to his employer's interests; but, for all this, doubts
were forever arising in the mind of Mr. Phillips, and when the
question, "Who shall go?" came up, the decision was against Martin.
We pity him, but cannot blame his employer.






III.

ANDY LOVELL.





ALL the village was getting out with Andy Lovell, the shoemaker; and
yet Andy Lovell's shoes fitted so neatly, and wore so long, that the
village people could ill afford to break with him. The work made by
Tompkins was strong enough, but Tompkins was no artist in leather.
Lyon's fit was good, and his shoes neat in appearance, but they had
no wear in them. So Andy Lovell had the run of work, and in a few
years laid by enough to make him feel independent. Now this feeling
of independence is differently based with different men. Some must
have hundreds of thousands of dollars for it to rest upon, while
others find tens of thousands sufficient. A few drop below the tens,
and count by units. Of this last number was Andy Lovell, the
shoemaker.

When Andy opened his shop and set up business for himself, he was
twenty-four years of age. Previous to that time he had worked as
journeyman, earning good wages, and spending as fast as he earned,
for he had no particular love of money, nor was he ambitious to rise
and make an appearance in the world. But it happened with Andy as
with most young men he fell in love; and as the village beauty was
compliant, betrothal followed. From this time he was changed in many
things, but most of all in his regard for money. From a free-handed
young man, he became prudent and saving, and in a single year laid
by enough to warrant setting up business for himself. The wedding
followed soon after.

The possession of a wife and children gives to most men broader
views of life. They look with more earnestness into the future, and
calculate more narrowly the chances of success. In the ten years
that followed Andy Lovell's marriage no one could have given more
attention to business, or devoted more thought and care to the
pleasure of customers. He was ambitious to lay up money for his
wife's and children's sake, as well as to secure for himself the
means of rest from labor in his more advancing years. The
consequence was, that Andy served his neighbors, in his vocation, to
their highest satisfaction. He was useful, contented, and thrifty.

A sad thing happened to Andy and his wife after this. Scarlet fever
raged in the village one winter, sweeping many little ones into the
grave. Of their three children, two were taken; and the third was
spared, only to droop, like a frost-touched plant, and die ere the
summer came. From that time, all of Andy Lovell's customers noted a
change in the man; and no wonder. Andy had loved these children
deeply. His thought had all the while been running into the future,
and building castles for them to dwell in. Now the future was as
nothing to him; and so his heart beat feebly in the present. He had
already accumulated enough for himself and his wife to live on for
the rest of their days; and, if no more children came, what motive
was there for a man of his views and temperament to devote himself,
with the old ardor, to business?

So the change noticed by his customers continued. He was less
anxious to accommodate; disappointed them oftener; and grew
impatient under complaint or remonstrance. Customers, getting
discouraged or offended, dropped away, but it gave Andy no concern.
He had, no longer, any heart in his business; and worked in it more
like an automaton than a live human being.

At last, Andy suddenly made up his mind to shut up his shop, and
retire from business. He had saved enough to live on--why should he
go on any longer in this halting, miserable way--a public servant,
yet pleasing nobody?

Mrs. Lovell hardly knew what to say in answer to her husband's
suddenly formed resolution. It was as he alleged; they had laid up
sufficient; to make them comfortable for the rest of their lives;
and, sure enough, why should Andy worry himself any longer with the
shop? As far as her poor reason went, Mrs. Lovell had nothing to
oppose; but all her instincts were on the other side--she could not
feel that it would be right.

But Andy, when he made up his mind to a thing, was what people call
hard-headed. His "I won't stand it any longer," meant more than this
common form of speech on the lips of ordinary men. So he gave it out
that he should quit business; and it was soon all over the village.
Of course Tompkins and Lyon were well enough pleased, but there were
a great many who heard of the shoemaker's determination with regret.
In the face of all difficulties and annoyances, they had continued
to depend on him for foot garniture, and were now haunted by
unpleasant images of cramped toes, corns, bunyons, and all the
varied ill attendant on badly made and badly fitting shoes, boots,
and gaiters. The retirement of Andy, cross and unaccommodating as he
had become, was felt, in many homes, to be a public calamity.

"Don't think of such a thing, Mr. Lovell," said one.

"We can't do without you," asserted another.

"You'll not give up altogether," pleaded a third, almost coaxingly.

But Andy Lovell was tired of working without any heart in his work;
and more tired of the constant fret and worry attendant upon a
business in which his mind had ceased to feel interest. So he kept
to his resolution, and went on with his arrangements for closing the
shop.

"What are you going to do?" asked a neighbor.

"Do?" Andy looked, in some surprise, at his interrogator.

"Yes. What are you going to do? A man in good health, at your time
of life, can't be idle. Rust will eat him up."

"Rust?" Andy looked slightly bewildered.

"What's this?" asked the neighbor, taking something from Andy's
counter.

"An old knife," was the reply. "It dropped out of the window two or
three months ago and was lost. I picked it up this morning."

"It's in a sorry condition," said the neighbor. "Half eaten up with
rust, and good for nothing."

"And yet," replied the shoemaker, "there was better stuff in that
knife, before it was lost, than in any other knife in the shop."

"Better than in this?" And the neighbor lifted a clean, sharp-edged
knife from Andy's cutting-board.

"Worth two of it."

"Which knife is oldest?" asked the neighbor.

"I bought them at the same time."

"And this has been in constant use?"

"Yes."

"While the other lay idle, and exposed to the rains and dews?"

"And so has become rusted and good for nothing. Andy, my friend,
just so rusted, and good for nothing as a man, are you in danger of
becoming. Don't quit business; don't fall out of your place; don't
pass from useful work into self-corroding idleness, You'll be
miserable--miserable."

The pertinence of this illustration struck the mind of Andy Lovell,
and set him to thinking; and the more he thought, the more disturbed
became his mental state. He had, as we have see, no longer any heart
in his business. All that he desired was obtained--enough to live on
comfortably; why, then, should he trouble himself with
hard-to-please and ill-natured customers? This was one side of the
question.

The rusty knife suggested the other side. So there was conflict in
his mind; but only a disturbing conflict. Reason acted too feebly on
the side of these new-coming convictions. A desire to be at once,
and to escape daily work and daily troubles, was stronger than any
cold judgement of the case.

"I'll find something to do," he said, within himself, and so pushed
aside unpleasantly intruding thoughts. But Mrs. Lovell did not fail
to observe, that since, her husband's determination to go out of
business, he had become more irritable than before, and less at ease
in every way.

The closing day came at last. Andy Lovell shut the blinds before the
windows of his shop, at night-fall, saying, as he did so, but in a
half-hearted, depressed kind of a way, "For the last time;" and then
going inside, sat down in front of the counter, feeling strangely
and ill at ease. The future looked very blank. There was nothing in
it to strive for, to hope for, to live for. Andy was no philosopher.
He could not reason from any deep knowledge of human nature. His
life had been merely sensational, touching scarcely the confines of
interior thought. Now he felt that he was getting adrift, but could
not understand the why and the wherefore.

As the twilight deepened, his mental obscurity deepened also. He was
still sitting in front of his counter, when a form darkened his open
door. It was the postman, with a letter for Andy's wife. Then he
closed the door, saying in his thought, as he had said when closing
the shutters, "For the last time," and went back into the house with
the letter in his hand. It was sealed with black. Mrs. Lovell looked
frightened as she noticed this sign of death. The contents were soon
known. An only sister, a widow, had died suddenly, and this letter
announced the fact. She left three young children, two girls and a
boy. These, the letter stated, had been dispensed among the late
husband's relatives; and there was a sentence or two expressing a
regret that they should be separated from each other.

Mrs. Lovell was deeply afflicted by this news, and abandoned
herself, for a while, to excessive grief. Her husband had no
consolation to offer, and so remained, for the evening, silent and
thoughtful. Andy Lovell did not sleep well that night. Certain
things were suggested to his mind, and dwelt upon, in spite of many
efforts to thrust them aside. Mrs. Lovell was wakeful also, as was
evident to her husband from her occasional sighs, sobs, and restless
movements; but no words passed between them. Both rose earlier than
usual.

Had Andy Lovell forgotten that he opened his shop door, and put back
the shutters, as usual? Was this mere habit-work, to be corrected
when he bethought himself of what he had done? Judging from his
sober face and deliberate manner--no. His air was not that of a man
acting unconsciously.

Absorbed in her grief, and troubled with thoughts of her sister's
oprhaned children, Mrs. Lovell did not, at first, regard the opening
of her husband's shop as anything unusual. But, the truth flashing
across her mind, she went in where Lovell stood at his old place by
the cutting-board, on which was laid a side of morocco, and said,--

"Why, Andy! I thought you had shut up the shop for good and all."

"I thought so last night, but I've changed my mind," was the
low-spoken but decided answer.

"Changed your mind! Why?"

"I don't know what you may think about it, Sally; but my mind's made
up." And Andy squared round, and looked steadily into his wife's
face. "There's just one thing we've got to do; and it's no use
trying to run away from it. That letter didn't come for nothing. The
fact is, Sally, them children mustn't be separated. I've been
thinking about it all night, and it hurts me dreadfully."

"How can we help it? Mary's dead, and her husband's relations have
divided the children round. I've no doubt they will be well cared
for," said Mrs. Lovell.

She had been thinking as well as her husband, but not to so clear a
result. To bring three little children into her quiet home, and
accept years of care, of work, of anxiety, and responsibility, was
not a thing to be done on light consideration. She had turned from
the thought as soon as presented, and pushed it away from every
avenue through which it sought to find entrance. So she had passed
the wakeful night, trying to convince herself that her dead sister's
children would be happy and well cared for.

"If they are here, Sally, we can be certain that they are well cared
for," replied Andy.

"O, dear! I can never undertake the management of three children!"
said Mrs. Lovell, her countenance expressing the painful reluctance
she felt.

Andy turned partly away from his wife, and bent over the
cutting-board. She saw, as he did so, an expression of countenance
that rebuked her.

"A matter like this should be well considered," remarked Mrs.
Lovell.

"That's true," answered her husband. "So take your time. They're
your flesh and blood, you know, and if they come here, you'll have
the largest share of trouble with them."

Mrs. Lovell went back into the house to think alone, while Andy
commenced cutting out work, his hands moving with the springs of a
readier will than had acted through them for a long time.

It took Mrs. Lovell three or four days to make up her mind to send
for the children, but the right decision came at last. All this
while Andy was busy in his shop--cheerfully at work, and treating the
customers, who, hearing that he had changed his mind, were pressing
in upon him with their orders, much after the pleasant fashion in
which he had treated them in years gone by. He knew that his wife
would send for the children; and after their arrival, he knew that
he would have increased expenses. So, there had come a spur to
action, quickening the blood in his veins; and he was at work once
more, with heart and purpose, a happier man, really, than he had
been for years.

Two or three weeks passed, and then the long silent dwelling of Andy
Lovell was filled with the voices of children. Two or three years
have passed since then. How is it with Andy? There is not a more
cheerful man in all the village, though he is in his shop early and
late. No more complaints from customers. Every one is promptly and
cheerfully served. He has the largest run of work, as of old; and
his income is sufficient not only to meet increased expenses, but to
leave a surplus at the end of every year. He is the bright, sharp
knife, always in use; not the idle blade, which had so narrowly
escaped, falling from the window, rusting to utter worthlessness in
the dew and rain.






IV.

A MYSTERY EXPLAINED.





"GOING to the Falls and to the White Mountains!"

"Yes, I'm off next week."

"How long will you be absent?"

"From ten days to two weeks."

"What will it cost?"

"I shall take a hundred dollars in my pocket-book! That will carry
me through."

"A hundred dollars! Where did you raise that sum? Who's the lender?
Tell him he can have another customer."

"I never borrow."

"Indeed! Then you've had a legacy."

"No, and never expect to have one. All my relations are poor."

"Then unravel the mystery. Say where the hundred dollars came from."

"The answer is easy. I saved it from my salary."

"What?"

"I saved it during the last six months for just this purpose, and
now I am to have two weeks of pleasure and profit combined."

"Impossible!"

"I have given you the fact."

"What is your salary, pray?"

"Six hundred a year."

"So I thought. But you don't mean to say that in six months you have
saved one hundred dollars out of three hundred?"

"Yes; that is just what I mean to say."

"Preposterous. I get six hundred, and am in debt."

"No wonder."

"Why no wonder?"

"If a man spends more than he receives, he will fall in debt."

"Of course he will. But on a salary of six hundred, how is it
possible for a man to keep out of debt?"

"By spending less than he receives."

"That is easily said."

"And as easily done. All that is wanted is prudent forethought,
integrity of purpose, and self-denial. He must take care of the
pennies, and the pounds will take care of themselves."

"Trite and obsolete."

"True if trite; and never obsolete. It is as good doctrine to-day as
it was in poor Richard's time. Of that I can bear witness."

"I could never be a miser or a skinflint."

"Nor I. But I can refuse to waste my money in unconsidered trifles,
and so keep it for more important things; for a trip to Niagara and
the White Mountains, for instance."

The two young men who thus talked were clerks, each receiving the
salary already mentioned--six hundred dollars. One of them, named
Hamilton, understood the use of money; the other, named Hoffman,
practised the abuse of this important article. The consequence was,
that while Hamilton had a hundred dollars saved for a trip during
his summer vacation, Hoffman was in debt for more than two or three
times that amount.

The incredulous surprise expressed by Hoffman was sincere. He could
not understand the strange fact which had been announced. For an
instant it crossed his mind that Hamilton might only have advanced
his seeming impossible economy as a cover to dishonest practices.
But he pushed the thought away as wrong.

"Not much room for waste of money on a salary of six hundred a
year," answered Hoffman.

"There is always room for waste," said Hamilton. "A leak is a leak,
be it ever so small. The quart flagon will as surely waste its
precious contents through a fracture that loses only a drop at a
time, as the butt from which a constant stream is pouring. The fact
is, as things are in our day, whether flagon or butt, leakage is the
rule not the exception."

"I should like to know where the leak in my flagon is to be found,"
said Hoffman. "I think it would puzzle a finance committee to
discover it."

"Shall I unravel for you the mystery?"

"You unravel it! What do you know of my affairs?"

"I have eyes."

"Do I waste my money?"

"Yes, if you have not saved as much as I have during the last six
months; and yes, if my eyes have given a true report."

"What have your eyes reported?"

"A system of waste, in trifles, that does not add anything
substantial to your happiness and certainly lays the foundation for
a vast amount of disquietude, and almost certain embarrassment in
money affairs, and consequent humiliations."

Hoffman shook his head gravely answering, "I can't see it."

"Would you like to see it?"

"O, certainly, if it exists."

"Well, suppose we go down into the matter of expenditures, item by
item, and make some use of the common rules of arithmetic as we go
along. Your salary, to start with, is six hundred dollars, and you
play the same as I do for boarding and washing, that is, four and a
half dollars per week, which gives the sum of two hundred and
thirty-four dollars a year. What do your clothes cost?"

"A hundred and fifty dollars will cover everything!"

"Then you have two hundred and sixteen dollars left. What becomes of
that large sum?"

Hoffman dropped his eyes and went to thinking. Yes, what had become
of these two hundred and sixteen dollars? Here was the whole thing
in a nutshell.

"Cigars," said Hamilton. "How many do you use in a day?"

"Not over three. But these are a part of considered expenses. I am
not going to do without cigars."

"I am only getting down to the items," answered the friend. "We must
find out where the money goes. Three cigars a day, and, on an
average, one to a friend, which makes four."

"Very well, say four."

"At six cents apiece."

Hamilton took a slip of paper and made a few figures.

"Four cigars a day at six cents each, cost twenty-four cents. Three
hundred and sixty-five by twenty-four gives eighty-seven dollars and
sixty cents, as the cost of your cigars for a year."

"O, no! That is impossible," returned Hoffman, quickly.

"There is the calculation. Look at it for yourself," replied
Hamilton, offering the slip of paper.

"True as I live!" ejaculated the other, in unfeigned surprise. "I
never dreamed of such a thing. Eighty-seven dollars. That will never
do in the world. I must cut this down."

"A simple matter of figures. I wonder you had not thought of
counting the cost. Now I do not smoke at all. It is a bad habit,
that injures the health, and makes us disagreeable to our friends,
to say nothing of the expense. So you see how natural the result,
that at the end of the year I should have eighty-seven dollars in
band, while you had puffed away an equal sum in smoke. So much for
the cigar account. I think you take a game of billiards now and
then."

"Certainly I do. Billiards are innocent. I am very fond of the game,
and must have some recreation."

"Exactly so. The question now is, What do they cost?"

"Nothing to speak of. You can't make out a case here."

"We shall see. How often do you play?"

"Two or three times a week."

"Say twice a week."

"Yes."

"Very well. Let it be twice. A shilling a game must be paid for use
of the table?"

"Which comes from the loser's pocket. I, generally, make it a point
to win."

"But lose sometimes."

"Of course. The winning is rarely all on one side."

"One or two games a night?"

"Sometimes."

"Suppose we put down an average loss of three games in a week. Will
that be too high?"

"No. Call it three games a week."

"Or, as to expense. three shillings. Then, after the play, there
comes a glass of ale--or, it may be oysters."

"Usually."

"Will two shillings at week, taking one week with another, pay for
your ale and oysters?"

Hoffman did not answer until he had reflected for a few moments,
Then he said,--

"I'm afraid neither two nor four shillings will cover this item. We
must set it down at six."

"Which gives for billiards, ale and oysters, the sum of one dollar
and a shilling per week. Fifty-two by a dollar twelve-and-a-half,
and we have the sum of fifty-eight dollars and fifty cents. Rather a
serious item this, in the year's expense, where the income is only
six hundred dollars!"

Hoffman looked at his friend in a bewildered kind of way. This was
astounding.

"How often do you go to the theatre and opera?" Hamilton went on
with his questions.

"Sometimes once a week. Sometimes twice or thrice, according to the
attraction."

"And you take a lady now and then?"

"Yes."

"Particularly during the opera season?"

"Yes. I'm not so selfish as always to indulge in these pleasures
alone."

"Very well. Now for the cost. Sometimes the opera is one dollar. So
it costs two dollars when you take a lady."

"Which is not very often."

"Will fifty cents a week, averaging the year, meet this expense?"

After thinking for some time, Hoffman said yes, he thought that
fifty cents a week would be a fair appropriations.

"Which adds another item of twenty-six dollars a year to your
expenses."

"But would you cut off everything?" objected Hoffman. "Is a man to
have no recreations, no amusements?"

"That is another question," coolly answered Hamilton. "Our present
business is to ascertain what has become of the two hundred and
sixteen dollars which remained of your salary after boarding and
clothing bills were paid. That is a handsome gold chain. What did it
cost?"

"Eighteen dollars."

"Bought lately?"

"Within six months."

"So much more accounted for. Is that a diamond pin?"

Hoffman colored a little as he answered,--

"Not a very costly one. Merely a scarf-pin, as you. see. Small,
though brilliant. Always worth what I paid for it."

"Cost twenty-five or thirty dollars?"

"Twenty-five."

"Shall I put that down as one of the year expenses?"

"Yes, you may do so."

"What about stage and car hire? Do you ride or walk to and from
business?"

"I ride, of course. You wouldn't expect me to walk nearly a mile
four times a day."

"I never ride, except in bad weather. The walk gives me just the
exercise I need. Every man, who is confined in a store or
counting-room during business hours, should walk at least four miles
a day. Taken in installments of one mile at a time, at good
intervals, there is surely no hardship in this exercise. Four rides,
at six-pence a ride and we have another item of twenty-five cents at
day. You go down town nearly every evening?"

"Yes."

"And ride both ways?

"Yes."

"A shilling more, or thirty seven and a half cents daily for car and
stage hire. Now for another little calculation. Three hundred days,
at three shillings a day. There it is."

And Hamilton reached a slip of paper to his friend.

"Impossible!" The latter actually started to his feet. "A hundred
and twelve dollars and fifty cents!"

"If you spend three shillings a day, you will spend that sum in a
year. Figures are inexorable."

Hoffman sat down again in troubled surprise, saying,

"Have you got to the end?"

"Not yet," replied his companion.

"Very well. Go on."

"I often notice you with candies, or other confections; and you are,
sometimes, quite free in sharing them with your friends. Burnt
almonds, sugar almonds, Jim Crow's candied fruits, macaroons, etc.
These are not to be had for nothing; and besides their cost they are
a positive injury to the stomach. You, of course, know to what
extent you indulge this weakness of appetite. Shall we say that it
costs an average of ten cents a day?"

"Add fruit, in and out of season, and call it fifteen cents,"
replied Hoffman.

"Very well. For three hundred days this will give another large
sum--forty-five dollars?"

"Anything more?" said Hoffman in a subdued, helpless kind of way,
like one lying prostrate from a sudden blow.

"I've seen you driving out occasionally; sometimes on Sunday. And,
by the way, I think you generally take an excursion on Sunday. over
to Staten Island, or to Hoboken, or up the river, or--but no matter
where; you go about and spend money on the Sabbath day. How much
does all this cost? A dollar a week? Seventy-five cents? Fifty
cents? We are after the exact figures as near as maybe. What does it
cost for drives and excursions, and their spice of refreshment?"

"Say thirty dollars a year."

"Thirty dollars, then, we will call it. And here let us close, in
order to review the ground over which we have been travelling. All
those various expenses, not one of which is for things essential to
health, comfort, or happiness, but rather for their destruction,
amount to the annual sum of four hundred and two dollars sixty
cents,--you can go over the figures for yourself. Add to this three
hundred and eighty-four dollars, the cost of boarding and clothing,
and you swell the aggregate to nearly eight hundred dollars; and
your salary is but six hundred!"

A long silence followed.

"I am amazed, confounded!" said Hoffman, resting his head between
his hands, as he leaned on the table at which they were sitting.
"And not only amazed and confounded," he went on, "but humiliated,
ashamed! Was I a blind fool that I did not see it myself? Had I
forgotten my multiplication table?"

"You are like hundreds--nay, thousands," replied the friend, "to whom
a sixpence, a shilling, or even a dollar spent daily has a very
insignificant look; and who never stop to think that sixpence a day
amounts to over twenty dollars in a year; a shilling a day to over
forty; and a dollar a day to three hundred and sixty-five. We cannot
waste our money in trifles, and yet have it to spend for substantial
benefits. The cigars you smoked in the past year; the games of
billiards you played; the ale and oysters, cakes, confections, and
fruit consumed; the rides in cars and stages; the drives and Sunday
excursions, crave only the briefest of pleasures, and left new and
less easily satisfied desires behind. It will not do, my friend, to
grant an easy indulgence to natural appetite and desire, for they
ever seek to be our masters. If we would be men--self-poised,
self-controlling, self-possessing men--we must let reason govern in
all our actions. We must be wise, prudent, just, and self-denying;
and from this rule of conduct will spring order, tranquillity of
mind, success, and true enjoyment. I think, Hoffman, that I am quite
as happy a man as you are; far happier, I am sure, at this moment;
and yet I have denied myself nearly all theses indulgences through
which you have exhausted your means and embarrassed yourself with
debt. Moreover, I have a hundred dollars clear of everything, with
which I shall take a long-desired excursion, while you will be
compelled, for lack of the very money which has been worse than
wasted, to remain a prisoner in the city. Pray, be counselled to a
different course in future."

"I would be knave or fool to need further incentive," said Hoffman,
with much bitterness. "At the rate I am going on, debt, humiliation,
and disgrace are before me. I may live up to my income without
actually wronging others--but not beyond it. As things are now going,
I am two hundred dollars worse off at the end of each year when than
I began, and, worse still, weaker as to moral purpose, while the
animal and sensual natures, from constant indulgence, have grown
stronger. I must break this thraldom now; for, a year hence, it may
be too late! Thank, you, my friend, for your plain talk. Thank you
for teaching me anew the multiplication table, I shall, assuredly,
not forget it again."






V.

WHAT CAN I DO?





HE was a poor cripple--with fingers twisted out of all useful shape,
and lower limbs paralyzed so that he had to drag them after him
wearily when he moved through the short distances that limited his
sphere of locomotion--a poor, unhappy, murmuring, and, at times,
ill-natured cripple, eating the bread which a mother's hard labor
procured for him. For hours every fair day, during spring, summer,
and autumn, he might be seen in front of the little house where he
lived leaning upon the gate, or sitting on an old bench looking with
a sober face at the romping village children, or dreamily regarding
the passengers who moved with such strong limbs up and down the
street. How often, bitter envy stung the poor cripple's heart! How
often, as the thoughtless village children taunted him cruelly with
his misfortune, would he fling harsh maledictions after them. Many
pitied the poor cripple; many looked upon him with feelings of
disgust and repulsion; but few, if any, sought to do him good.

Not far from where the cripple lived was a man who had been
bedridden for years, and who was likely to remain so to the end of
his days. He was supported by the patient industry of a wife.

"If good works are the only passport to heaven," he said to a
neighbor one day, "I fear my chances will be small."

"'Well done, good and faithful servant,' is the language of
welcome," was replied; and the neighbor looked at the sick man in a
way that made him feel a little uncomfortable.

"I am sick and bedridden--what can I do?" he spoke, fretfully.

"When little is given, little is required. But if there be only a
single talent it must be improved."

"I have no talent," said the invalid.

"Are you sure of that?"

"What can I do? Look at me! No health, no strength, no power to rise
from this bed. A poor, helpless creature, burdening my wife. Better
for me, and for all, if I were in my grave."

"If that were so you would be in your grave. But God knows best.
There is something for you to do, or you would be no longer
permitted to live," said the neighbor.

The sick man shook his head.

"As I came along just now," continued the neighbor, "I stopped to
say a word to poor Tom Hicks, the cripple, as he stood swinging on
the gate before his mother's house, looking so unhappy that I pitied
him in my heart. 'What do you do with yourself all through these
long days, Tom?' I asked. 'Nothing,' he replied, moodily. 'Don't you
read sometimes?' I queried. 'Can't read,' was his sullen answer.
'Were you never at school?' I went on. 'No: how can I get to
school?' 'Why don't your mother teach you?' 'Because she can't read
herself,' replied Tom. 'It isn't too late to begin now,' said I,
encouragingly; 'suppose I were to find some one willing to teach
you, what would you say?' The poor lad's face brightened as if the
sunshine had fallen upon it; and he answered, 'I would say that
nothing could please me better.' I promised to find him a teacher;
and, as I promised, the thought of you, friend Croft, came into my
mind. Now, here is something that you can do; a good work in which
you can employ your one talent."

The sick man did not respond warmly to this proposition. He had been
so long a mere recipient of good offices,--had so long felt himself
the object towards which pity and service must tend,--that he had
nearly lost the relish for good deeds. Idle dependence had made him
selfish.

"Give this poor cripple a lesson every day," went on the neighbor,
pressing home the subject, "and talk and read to him. Take him in
charge as one of God's children, who needs to be instructed and led
up to a higher life than the one he is now living. Is not this a
good and a great work? It is, my friend, one that God has brought to
your hand, and in the doing of which there will be great reward.
What can you do? Much! Think of that poor boy's weary life, and of
the sadder years that lie still before him. What will become of him
when his mother dies? The almshouse alone will open its doors for
the helpless one. But who can tell what resources may open before
him if stimulated by thought. Take him, then, and unlock the doors
of a mind that now sits in darkness, that sunlight may come in. To
you it will give a few hours of pleasant work each day; to him it
will be a life-long benefit. Will you do it?"

"Yes."

The sick man could not say "No," though in uttering that
half-extorted assent he manifested no warm interest in the case of
poor Tom Hicks.

On the next day the cripple came to the sick man, and received his
first lesson; and every day, at an appointed hour, he was in Mr.
Croft's room, eager for the instruction he received. Quickly he
mastered the alphabet, and as quickly learned to construct small
words, preparatory to combining them in a reading lesson.

After the first three or four days the sick man, who, had undertaken
this work with reluctance, began to find his heart going down into
it. Tom was so ready a scholar, so interested, and so grateful, that
Mr. Croft found the task of instructing him a real pleasure. The
neighbor, who had suggested this useful employment of the invalid's
time, looked in now and then to see how matters were progressing,
and to speak words of encouragement.

Poor Tom was seen less frequently than before hanging on the gate,
or sitting idly on the bench before his mother's dwelling; and when
you did find him there, as of old, you saw a different expression on
his face. Soon the children, who had only looked at him, half in
fear, from a distance, or come closer to the gate where he stood
gazing with his strange eyes out into the street, in order to worry
him, began to have a different feelings for the cripple, and one and
another stopped occasionally to speak with him; for Tom no longer
made queer faces, or looked at them wickedly, as if he would harm
them if in his power, nor retorted angrily if they said things to
worry him. And now it often happened that a little boy or girl, who
had pitied the poor cripple, and feared him at the same time, would
offer him a flower, or an apple, or at handful of nuts in passing to
school; and he would take these gifts thankfully, and feel better
all day in remembrance of the kindness with which they had been
bestowed. Sometimes he would risk to see their books, and his eyes
would run eagerly over the pages so far in advance of his
comprehension, yet with the hope in his heart of one day mastering
them; for he had grown all athirst for knowledge.

As soon as Tom could read, the children in the neighborhood, who had
grown to like him, and always gathered around him at the gate, when
they happened to find him there, supplied him with books; so that he
had an abundance of mental food, and now began to repay his
benefactor, the bedridden man, by reading to him for hours every
day.

The mind of Tom had some of this qualities of a sponge: it absorbed
a great deal, and, like a sponge, gave out freely at every pressure.

Whenever his mind came in contact with another mind, it must either
absorb or impart. So he was always talking or always listening when
he had anybody who would talk or listen.

There was something about him that strongly attracted the boys in
the neighborhood, and he usually had three or four of them around
him and often a dozen, late in the afternoon, when the schools were
out. As Tom had entered a new world,--the world of books,--and was
interested in all he found there, the subjects on which he talked
with the boys who sought his company were always instructive. There,
was no nonsense about the cripple: suffering of body and mind had
long ago made him serious; and all nonsense, or low, sensual talk,
to which boys are sometimes addicted, found no encouragement in his
presence. His influence over these boys was therefore of the best
kind. The parents of some of the children, when they found their
sons going so often to the house of Tom Hicks, felt doubts as to the
safety of such intimate intercourse with the cripple, towards whom
few were prepossessed, as he bore in the village the reputation of
being ill-tempered and depraved, and questioned them very closely in
regard to the nature of their intercourse. The report of these boys
took their parents by surprise; but, on investigation, it proved to
be true, and Tom's character soon rose in the public estimation.

Then came, as a natural consequence, inquiry as to the cause of such
a change in the unfortunate lad; and the neighbor of the sick man
who had instructed Tom told the story of Mr. Croft's agency in the
matter. This interested the whole town in both the cripple and his
bedridden instructor. The people were taken by surprise at such a
notable interest of the great good which may sometimes be done where
the means look discouragingly small. Mr. Croft was praised for his
generous conduct, and not only praised, but helped by many who had,
until now, felt indifferent, towards his case--for his good work
rebuked them for neglected opportunities.

The cripple's eagerness to learn, and rapid progress under the most
limited advantages, becoming generally known, a gentleman, whose son
had been one of Tom's visitors, and who had grown to be a better boy
under his influence, offered to send him in his wagon every day to
the school-house, which stood half a mile distant, and have him
brought back in the afternoon.

It was the happiest day in Tom's life when he was helped down from
the wagon, and went hobbling into the school-room.

Before leaving home on that morning he had made his way up to the
sick room of Mr. Croft.

"I owe it all to you," he said, as he brought the white, thin hand
of his benefactor to his lips. It was damp with more than a kiss
when he laid it back gently on the bed. "And our Father in heaven
will reward you."

"You have done a good work," said the neighbor, who had urged Mr.
Croft to improve his one talent, as he sat talking with him on that
evening about the poor cripple and his opening prospects; "and it
will serve you in that day when the record of life is opened. Not
because of the work itself, but for the true charity which prompted
the work. It was begun, I know, in some self-denial, but that
self-denial was for another's good; and because you put away love of
ease, and indifference, and forced yourself to do kind offices,
seeing that it was right to help others, God will send a heavenly
love of doing good into your soul, which always includes a great
reward, and is the passport to eternal felicities.

"You said," continued the neighbor, "only a few months ago, 'What
can I do?' and spoke as a man who felt that he was deprived of all
the means of accomplishing good; and yet you have, with but little
effort, lifted a human soul out of the dark valley of ignorance,
where it was groping ill self-torture, and placed it on an ascending
mountain path. The light of hope has fallen, through your aid, with
sunny warmth upon a heart that was cold and barren a little while
ago, but is now green with verdure, and blossoming in the sweet
promise of fruit. The infinite years to come alone can reveal the
blessings that will flow from this one act of a bedridden man, who
felt that in him was no capacity for good deeds."

The advantages of a school being placed within the reach of Tom
Hicks, he gave up every thought to the acquirement of knowledge. And
now came a serious difficulty. His bent, stiff fingers could not be
made to hold either pen or pencil in the right position, or to use
them in such a way as to make intelligible signs. But Tom was too
much in earnest to give up on the first, or second, or third effort.
He found, after a great many trials, that he could hold a pencil
more firmly than at first, and guide his hand in some obedience to
his will. This was sufficient to encourage him to daily
long-continued efforts, the result of which was a gradual yielding
of the rigid muscles, which became in time so flexible that he could
make quite passable figures, and write a fair hand. This did not
satisfy him, however. He was ambitious to do better; and so kept on
trying and trying, until few boys in the school could give a fairer
copy.

"Have you heard the news?" said a neighbor to Mr. Croft, the poor
bedridden man. It was five years from the day he gave the poor
cripple, Tom Hicks, his first lesson.

"What news?" the sick man asked, in a feeble voice, not even turning
his head towards the speaker. Life's pulses were running very low.
The long struggle with disease was nearly over.

"Tom Hicks has received the appointment of teacher to our public
school."

"Are you in earnest?" There was a mingling of surprise and doubt in
the low tones that crept out upon the air.

"Yes. It is true what I say. You know that after Mr. Wilson died the
directors got Tom, who was a favorite with all the scholars, to keep
the school together for a few weeks until a successor could be
appointed. He managed so well, kept such good order, and showed
himself so capable as an instructor, that, when the election took
place to-day, he received a large majority of votes over a number of
highly-recommended teachers, and this without his having made
application for the situation, or even dreaming of such a thing."

At this moment the cripple's well-known shuffling tread and the
rattle of crutches was heard on the stairs. He came up with more
than his usual hurry. Croft turned with an effort, so as to get a
sight of him as he entered the room.

"I have heard the good news," he said, as he reached a hand feebly
towards Tom, "and it has made my heart glad."

"I owe it all to you," replied the cripple, in a voice that trembled
with feeling. "God will reward you."

And he caught the shadowy hand, touched it with his lips, and wet it
with grateful tears, as once before. Even as he held that thin,
white hand the low-moving pulse took an lower beat--lower and
lower--until the long-suffering heart grew still, and the freed
spirit went up to its reward.

"My benefactor!" sobbed the cripple, as he stood by the wasted form
shrouded in grave-clothes, and looked upon it for the last time ere
the coffin-lid closed over it. "What would I have been except for
you?"

Are your opportunities for doing good few, and limited in range, to
all appearances, reader? Have you often said, like the bedridden
man, "What can I do?" Are you poor, weak, ignorant, obscure, or even
sick as he was, and shut out from contact with the busy outside
world? No matter. If you have a willing heart, good work will come
to your hands. Is there no poor, unhappy neglected one to whom you
can speak words of encouragement, or lift out of the vale of
ignorance? Think! Cast around you. You may, by a single sentence,
spoken in the right time and in the right spirit, awaken thoughts in
some dull mind that may grow into giant powers in after times,
wielded for the world's good. While you may never be able to act
directly on society to any great purpose, in consequence of mental
or physical disabilities, you may, by instruction and guidance,
prepare some other mind for useful work, which, but for your agency,
might have wasted its powers in ignorance or crime. All around us
are human souls that may be influenced. The nurse, who ministers to
you in sickness, may be hurt or helped by you; the children, who
look into your face and read it daily, who listen to your speech,
and remember what you say, will grow better or worse, according to
the spirit of your life, as it flows into them; the neglected son of
a neighbor may find in you the wise counsellor who holds him back
from vice. Indeed, you cannot pass a single day, whether your sphere
be large or small, your place exalted or lowly, without abundant
opportunities for doing good. Only the willing heart is required. As
for the harvest, that is nodding, ripe for the sickle, in every
man's field. What of that time when the Lord of the Harvest comes,
and you bind up your sheaves and lay them at his feet?






VI.

ON GUARD.





"O, MAMMA! See that wicked-looking cat on the fence! She'll have one
of those dear little rabbits in a minute!"

Mattie's sweet face grew pale with fear, and she trembled all over.

"It's only a picture, my dear," said Mattie's mother. "The cat can't
get down, and so the rabbits are safe."

"But it looks as if she could--as if she'd jump right upon the dear
little things. I wish there was a big dog, like Old Lion, there.
Wouldn't he make her fly?"

"But it's only a picture. If there was a dog there, he couldn't bark
nor spring at the cat."

"Why didn't the man who made the picture put in a dog somewhere, so
that we could see him, and know the rabbits were safe?"

"Maybe he didn't think of it," said Mattie's mother.

"I wish he had."

"Perhaps," said the mother, "he wished to teach us this lesson,
that, as there are evil and hurtful things in the world, we should
never be so entirely off of our guard as the children playing, with
the rabbits seem to be. Dear little things! How innocent and happy
they are! There is not a thought of danger in their minds. And yet,
close by them is a great cat, with cruel eyes, ready to spring upon
their harmless pets. Yes; I think the artist meant to teach a lesson
when he drew this picture."

"What lesson, mother?" asked Mattie. "O, I remember," she added
quickly. "You said that it might be to teach us never to be off of
our guard, because there are evil and hurtful things in the world."

"Yes; and that is a lesson which cannot be learned too early. Baby
begins to learn it when he touches the fire and is burnt; when he
pulls the cat too hard and she scratches him; when he runs too fast
for his little strength, and gets a fall. And children learn it when
they venture too near vicious animal and are kicked or bitten; when
they tear their clothes, or get their hands and faces scratched with
thorns and briers; when they fall from trees, or into the water, and
in many other ways that I need not mention. And men and women learn,
it very, very, often in pains and sorrows too deep for you to
comprehend."

Mattie drew a long sigh, as she stood before her mother, looking,
soberly into her face.

"I wish there wasn't anything bad in the world," she said. "Nothing
that could hurt us."

"Ah, dear child!" answered the mother, her voice echoing Mattie's
sigh, "from millions and millions of hearts that wish comes up
daily. But we have this to cheer us: if we stand on guard--if we are
watchful as well as innocent--we shall rarely get hurt. It is the
careless and the thoughtless that harm reaches."

"And so we must always be on guard," said Mattie, still looking very
sober.

"There is no other way, my child. 'On guard' is the watchword of
safety for us all, young and old. But the harm that comes from the
outside is of small account compared with the, harm that comes from
within."

"From within, mother! How can harm could from within?"

"You read about the 'hawk among the birds'?"

"Yes, yes--O, now I understand what you mean! Bad thoughts and
feelings can do us harm."

"Yes; and the hurt is deeper and more deadly than any bodily harm,
for it is done to the soul. These rabbits are like good and innocent
things of the mind, and the cat like evil and cruel things. If you
do not keep watch, in some unguarded moment angry passions evil
arise and hurt or destroy your good affections; just as this cat, if
she were real, would tear or kill the tender rabbits."

"O, mother! Is it as bad as that?" said Mattie.

"Yes, my dear; just as bad as that. And when any of these good and
innocent feelings are destroyed by anger, hatred, jealousy, envy,
revenge and the like, then just so much of heavenly good dies in us
and just so far do we come under the power of what is evil and
hurtful. Then we turn aside from safe and pleasant ways and walk
among briers and thorns. Dear Mattie! consider well the lesson of
this picture, and set a watch over your heart daily. But watching is
not all. We are told in the Bible to pray as well as watch. All of
us, young and old, must do this if we would be in safety; for human
will and human effort would all be in vain to overcome evil if
divine strength did not flow into them. And unless we desire and
pray for this divine strength we cannot receive it."






VII.

A VISIT WITH THE DOCTOR.





"HOW are you to-day, Mrs. Carleton?" asked Dr. Farleigh, as he sat
down by his patient, who reclined languidly in a large cushioned
chair.

"Miserable," was the faintly spoken reply. And the word was
repeated,--"Miserable."

The doctor took one of the lady's small, white hands, on which the
network of veins, most delicately traced, spread its blue lines
everywhere beneath the transparent skin. It was a beautiful hand--a
study for a painter or sculptor. It was a soft, flexible hand--soft,
flexible, and velvety to the touch as the hand of a baby, for it was
as much a stranger to useful work. The doctor laid his fingers on
the wrist. Under the pressure he felt the pulse beat slowly and
evenly. He took out his watch and counted the beats, seventy in a
minute. There was a no fever, nor any unusual disturbance of the
system. Calmly the heart was doing its appointed work.

"How is your head, Mrs. Carleton?"

The lady moved her head from side to side two or three times.

"Anything out of the way there?"

"My head is well enough, but I feel so miserable--so weak. I haven't
the strength of a child. The least exertion exhausts me."

And the lady shut her eyes, looking the picture of feebleness.

"Have you taken the tonic, for which I left a prescription
yesterday?"

"Yes; but I'm no stronger."

"How is your appetite?"

"Bad."

"Have you taken the morning walk in the garden that I suggested?"

"O, dear, no! Walk out in the garden? I'm faint by the time I get to
the breakfast-room! I can't live at this rate, doctor. What am I to
do? Can't you build me up in some way? I'm burden to myself and
every one else."

And Mrs. Carleton really looked distressed.

"You ride out every day?"

"I did until the carriage was broken, and that was nearly a week
ago. It has been at the carriage-maker's ever since."

"You must have the fresh air, Mrs. Carleton," said the doctor,
emphatically. "Fresh air, change of scene, and exercise, are
indispensable in your case. You will die if you remain shut up after
this fashion. Come, take a ride with me."

"Doctor! How absurd!" exclaimed Mrs. Carleton, almost shocked by the
suggestion. "Ride with you! What would people think?"

"A fig for people's thoughts! Get your shawl and bonnet, and take a
drive with me. What do you care for meddlesome people's thoughts?
Come!"

The doctor knew his patient.

"But you're not in earnest, surely?" There was a half-amused twinkle
in the lady's eyes.

"Never more in earnest. I'm going to see a patient just out of the
city, and the drive will be a charming one. Nothing would please me
better than to have your company."

There was a vein of humor, and a spirit of "don't care" in Mrs.
Carleton, which had once made her independent, and almost hoydenish.
But fashionable associations, since her woman-life began, had toned
her down into exceeding propriety. Fashion and conventionality,
however, were losing their influence, since enfeebled health kept
her feet back from the world's gay places; and the doctor's
invitation to a ride found her sufficiently disenthralled to see in
it a pleasing novelty.

"I've half a mind to go," she said, smiling. She had not smiled
before since the doctor came in.

"I'll ring for your maid," and Dr. Farleigh's hand was on the
bell-rope before Mrs. Carleton had space to think twice, and
endanger a change of thought.

"I'm not sure that I am strong enough for the effort," said Mrs.
Carleton, and she laid her head back upon the cushions in a feeble
way.

"Trust me for that," replied the doctor.

The maid came in.

"Bring me a shawl and my bonnet, Alice; I am going to ride out with
the doctor." Very languidly was the sentence spoken.

"I'm afraid, doctor, it will be too much for me. You don't know how
weak I am. The very thought of such an effort exhausts me."

"Not a thought of the effort," replied Dr. Farleigh. "It isn't
that."

"What is it?"

"A thought of appearances--of what people will say."

"Now, doctor! You don't think me so weak in that direction?"

"Just so weak," was the free-spoken answer. "You fashionable people
are all afraid of each other. You haven't a spark of individuality
or true independence. No, not a spark. You are quite strong enough
to ride out in your own elegant carriage but with the doctor!--O,
dear, no! If you were certain of not meeting Mrs. McFlimsey, perhaps
the experiment might be adventured. But she is always out on fine
days."

"Doctor, for shame! How can you say that?"

And a ghost of color crept into the face of Mrs. Carleton, while her
eyes grew brighter--almost flashed.

The maid came in with shawl and bonnet. Dr. Farleigh, as we have
intimated, understood his patient, and said just two or three words
more, in a tone half contemptuous.

"Afraid of Mrs. McFlimsey!"

"Not I; nor of forty Mrs. McFlimseys!"

It was not the ghost of color that warmed Mrs. Carleton's face now,
but the crimson of a quicker and stronger heart-beat. She actually
arose from her chair without reaching for her maid's hand and stood
firmly while the shawl was adjusted and the bonnet-strings tied.

"We shall have a charming ride," said the doctor, as he crowded in
beside his fashionable lady companion, and took up the loose reins.
He noticed that she sat up erectly, and with scarcely a sign of the
languor that but a few minutes before had so oppressed her. "Lean
back when you see Mrs. McFlimsey's carriage, and draw your veil
closely. She'll never dream that it's you."

"I'll get angry if you play on that string much longer!" exclaimed
Mrs. Carleton; "what do I care for Mrs. McFlimsey?"

How charmingly the rose tints flushed her cheeks! How the light
rippled in her dark sweet eyes, that were leaden a little while
before!

Away from the noisy streets, out upon the smoothly-beaten road, and
amid green field and woodlands, gardens and flower-decked orchards,
the doctor bore his patient, holding her all the while in pleasant
talk. How different this from the listless, companionless drives
taken by the lady in her own carriage--a kind of easy, vibrating
machine, that quickened the sluggish blood no more than a cushioned
rocking chair!

Closely the doctor observed his patient. He saw how erectly she
continued to sit; how the color deepened in her face, which actually
seemed rounder and fuller; how the sense of enjoyment fairly danced
in her eyes.

Returning to the city by a different road, the doctor, after driving
through streets entirely unfamiliar to his companion, drew up his
horse before a row of mean-looking dwellings, and dropping the
reins, threw open the carriage door, and stepped upon the
pavement--at the same time reaching out his hand to Mrs. Carleton.
But she drew back, saying,--

"What is the meaning of this, doctor?"

"I have a patient here, and I want you to see her."

"O, no; excuse me, doctor. I've no taste for such things," answered
the lady.

"Come--I can't leave you alone in the carriage. Ned might take a
fancy to walk off with you."

Mrs. Carleton glanced at the patient old horse, whom the doctor was
slandering, with a slightly alarmed manner.

"Don't you think he'll stand, doctor?" she asked, uneasily.

"He likes to get home, like others of his tribe. Come;" and the
doctor held out his hand in a persistent way.

Mrs. Carleton looked at the poor tenements before which the doctor's
carriage had stopped with something of disgust and something of
apprehension.

"I can never go in there, doctor."

"Why not?"

"I might take some disease."

"Never fear. More likely to find a panacea there."

The last sentence was in an undertone.

Mrs. Carleton left the carriage, and crossing the pavement, entered
one of the houses, and passed up with the doctor to the second
story. To his light tap at a chamber door a woman's voice said,--

"Come in."

The door was pushed open, and the doctor and Mrs. Carleton went in.
The room was small, and furnished in the humblest manner, but the
air was pure, and everything looked clean and tidy. In a chair, with
a pillow pressed in at her back for a support, sat a pale, emaciated
woman, whose large, bright eyes looked up eagerly, and in a kind of
hopeful surprise, at so unexpected a visitor as the lady who came in
with the doctor. On her lap a baby was sleeping, as sweet, and pure,
and beautiful a baby as ever Mrs. Carleton had looked upon. The
first impulse of her true woman's heart, had she yielded to it,
would have prompted her to take it in her arms and cover it with
kisses.

The woman was too weak to rise from her chair, but she asked Mrs.
Carleton to be seated in a tone of lady-like self-possession that
did not escape the visitor's observation.

"How did you pass the night, Mrs. Leslie?" asked the doctor.

"About as usual," was answered, in a calm, patient way; and she even
smiled as she spoke.

"How about the pain through your side and shoulder?"

"It may have been a little easier."

"You slept?"

"Yes, sir."

"What of the night sweats?"

"I don't think they have diminished any."

The doctor beat his eyes to the floor, and sat in silence for some
time. The heart of Mrs. Carleton was opening towards--the baby and it
was a baby to make its way into any heart. She had forgotten her own
weakness--forgotten, in the presence of this wan and wasted mother,
with a sleeping cherub on her lap, all about her own invalid state.

"I will send you a new medicine," said the doctor, looking up; then
speaking to Mrs. Carleton, he added,--

"Will you sit here until I visit two or three patients in the
block?"

"O, certainly," and she reached out her arms for the baby, and
removed it so gently from its mother's lap that its soft slumber was
not broken. When the doctor returned he noticed that there had been
tears in Mrs. Carleton's eyes. She was still holding the baby, but
now resigned the quiet sleeper to its mother, kissing it as she did
so. He saw her look with a tender, meaning interest at the white,
patient face of the sick woman, and heard her say, as she spoke a
word or two in parting,--

"I shall not forget you."

"That's a sad case, doctor," remarked the lady, as she took her
place in the carriage.

"It is. But she is sweet and patient."

"I saw that, and it filled me with surprise. She tells me that her
husband died a year ago."

"Yes."

"And that she has supported herself by shirt-making."

"Yes."

"But that she had become too feeble for work, and is dependent on a
younger sister, who earns a few dollars, weekly, at book-folding."

"The simple story, I believe," said the doctor.

Mrs. Carleton was silent for most of the way home; but thought was
busy. She had seen a phase of life that touched her deeply.

"You are better for this ride," remarked the doctor, as he handed
her from the carriage.

"I think so," replied Mrs. Carleton.

"There has not been so fine a color on your face for months."

They had entered Mrs. Carleton's elegant residence, and were sitting
in one of her luxurious parlors.

"Shall I tell you why?" added the doctor.

Mrs. Carleton bowed.

"You have had some healthy heart-beats."

She did not answer.

"And I pray you, dear madam, let the strokes go on," continued Dr.
Farleigh. "Let your mind become interested in some good work, and
your hands obey your thoughts, and you will be a healthy woman, in
body and soul. Your disease is mental inaction."

Mrs. Carleton looked steadily at the doctor.

"You are in earnest," she said, in a calm, firm way.

"Wholly in earnest, ma'am. I found you, an hour ago, in so weak a
state that to lift your hand was an exhausting effort. You are
sitting erect now, with every muscle taughtly strung. When will your
carriage be home?"

He asked the closing question abruptly.

"To-morrow," was replied.

"Then I will not call for you, but--"

He hesitated.

"Say on, doctor."

"Will you take my prescription?"

"Yes." There was no hesitation.

"You must give that sick woman a ride into the country. The fresh,
pure, blossom-sweet air will do her good--may, indeed, turn the
balance of health in her favor. Don't be afraid of Mrs. McFlimsey."

"For shame, doctor! But you are too late in your suggestion. I'm
quite ahead of you."

"Ah! in what respect?"

"That drive into the country is already a settled thing. Do you
know, I'm in love with that baby?"

"Othello's occupation's gone, I see!" returned the doctor, rising.
"But I may visit you occasionally as a friend, I presume, if not as
a medical adviser?"

"As my best friend, always," said Mrs. Carleton, with feeling. "You
have led me out of myself, and showed me the way to health and
happiness; and I have settled the question as to my future. It shall
not be as the past."

And it was not.






VIII.

HADN'T TIME FOR TROUBLE.





MRS. CALDWELL was so unfortunate as to have a rich husband. Not that
the possession of a rich husband is to be declared a misfortune,
_per se_, but, considering the temperament of Mrs. Caldwell, the
fact was against her happiness, and therefore is to be regarded,
taking the ordinary significance, of the term, as unfortunate.

Wealth gave Mrs. Caldwell leisure for ease and luxurious
self-indulgence, and she accepted the privileges of her condition.
Some minds, when not under the spur, sink naturally into, a state of
inertia, from which, when any touch of the spur reaches them, they
spring up with signs of fretfulness. The wife and mother, no matter
what her condition, who yields to this inertia, cannot escape the
spur. Children and servant, excepting all other causes, will not
spare the pricking heel.

Mrs. Caldwell was, by nature, a kind-hearted woman, and not lacking
in good sense. But for the misfortune of having a rich husband, she
might have spent an active, useful, happy life. It was the
opportunity which abundance gave for idleness and ease that marred
everything. Order in a household, and discipline among children, do
not come spontaneously. They are the result of wise forecast, and
patient, untiring, never-relaxing effort. A mere conviction of duty
is rarely found to be sufficient incentive; there must be the
impelling force of some strong-handed necessity. In the case of Mrs.
Caldwell, this did not exist; and so she failed in the creation of
that order in her family without which permanent tranquillity is
impossible. In all lives are instructive episodes, and interesting
as instructive. Let us take one of them from the life of this lady,
whose chief misfortune was in being rich.

Mrs. Caldwell's brow was clouded. It was never, for a very long
time, free from, clouds, for it seemed as if all sources of worry
and vexation were on the increase; and, to make matters worse,
patience was assuredly on the decline. Little things, once scarcely
observed, now give sharp annoyance, there being rarely any
discrimination and whether they were of accident, neglect, or
wilfulness.

"Phoebe!" she called, fretfully.

The voice of her daughter answered, half-indifferently, from the
next room.

"Why don't you come when I call you?" Anger now mingled with
fretfulness.

The face of a girl in her seventeenth year, on which sat no very
amiable expression, was presented at the door.

"Is that your opera cloak lying across the chair, and partly on the
floor?"

Phoebe, without answering, crossed the room, and catching up the
garment with as little carefulness as if it had been an old shawl
threw it across her arm, and was retiring, when her mother said,
sharply,--

"Just see how you are rumpling that cloak! What do you mean?"

"I'm not hurting the cloak, mother," answered Phoebe, coolly. Then,
with a shade of reproof, she added, "You fret yourself for nothing."

"Do you call it nothing to abuse an elegant garment like that?"
demanded Mrs. Caldwell. "To throw it upon the floor, and tumble it
about as if it were an old rag?"

"All of which, mother mine, I have not done." And the girl tossed
her head with an air of light indifference.

"Don't talk to me in that way, Phoebe! I'll not suffer it. You are
forgetting yourself." The mother spoke with a sternness of manner
that caused her daughter to remain silent. As they stood looking at
each other, Mrs. Caldwell said, in a changed voice,--

"What is that on your front tooth?"

"A speck of something, I don't know what; I noticed it only
yesterday."

Mrs. Caldwell. crossed the room hastily, with a disturbed manner,
and catching hold of Phoebe's arm, drew her to a window.

"Let me see!" and she looked narrowly at the tooth, "Decay, as I
live!" The last sentence was uttered in a tone of alarm. "You must
go to the dentist immediately. This is dreadful! If your teeth are
beginning to fail now, you'll not have one left in your head by the
time you're twenty-five."

"It's only a speck," said Phoebe, evincing little concern.

"A speck! I And do you know what a speck means?" demanded Mrs.
Caldwell, with no chance in the troubled expression of her face.

"What does it mean?" asked Phoebe.

"Why, it means that the quality of your teeth is not good. One speck
is only the herald of another. Next week a second tooth may show
signs of decay, and a third in the week afterwards. Dear--dear! This
is too bad! The fact is, you are destroying your health. I've talked
and talked about the way you devour candies and sweetmeats; about
the way you sit up at night, and about a hundred other
irregularities. There must be a change in all. This, Phoebe, as I've
told you dozens and dozens of times."

Mrs. Caldwell was growing more and more excited.

"Mother! mother!" replied Phoebe, "don't fret yourself for nothing.
The speck can be removed in an instant."

"But the enamel is destroyed! Don't you see that? Decay will go on."

"I don't believe that follows at all," answered Phoebe, tossing her
head, indifferently, "And even if I believed in the worst, I'd find
more comfort in laughing than crying." And she ran off to her own
room.

Poor Mrs. Caldwell sat down to brood over this new trouble; and as
she brooded, fancy wrought for her the most unpleasing images.

She saw the beauty of Phoebe, a few years later in life, most sadly
marred by broken or discolored teeth. Looking at that, and that
alone, it magnified itself into a calamity, grew to an evil which
overshadowed everything.

She was still tormenting herself about the prospect of Phoebe's loss
of teeth, when, in passing through her elegantly-furnished parlors,
her eyes fell on a pale acid stain, about the size of a shilling
piece, one of the rich figures in the carpet. The color of this
figure was maroon, and the stain, in consequence, distinct; at
least, it became very distinct to her eye as they dwelt upon it as
if held there by a kind of fascination.

Indeed, for a while, Mrs. Caldwell could see nothing else but this
spot on the carpet; no, not even though she turned her eyes in
various directions, the retina keeping that image to the exclusion
of all others.

While yet in the gall of this new bitterness, Mrs. Caldwell heard a
carriage stop in front of the house, and, glancing through the
window, saw that it was on the opposite side of the street. She knew
it to be the carriage of a lady whose rank made her favor a
desirable thing to all who were emulous of social distinction. To be
of her set was a coveted honor. For her friend and neighbor
opposite, Mrs. Caldwell did not feel the highest regard; and it
rather hurt her to see the first call made in that quarter, instead
of upon herself. It was no very agreeable thought, that this
lady-queen of fashion, so much courted and regarded, might really
think most highly of her neighbor opposite. To be second to her,
touched the quick of pride, and hurt.

Only a card was left. Then the lady reentered her carriage. What?
Driving away? Even so. Mrs. Caldwell was not even honored by a call!
This was penetrating the quick. What could it mean? Was she to be
ruled out of this lady's set? The thought was like a wounding arrow
to her soul.

Unhappy Mrs. Caldwell! Her daughter's careless habits; the warning
sign of decay among her pearly teeth; the stain on a beautiful
carpet, and, worse than all as a pain-giver, this slight from a
magnate of fashion;--were not these enough to cast a gloom over the
state of a woman who had everything towards happiness that wealth
and social station could give, but did not know how to extract from
them the blessing they had power to bestow? Slowly, and with
oppressed feelings, she left the parlors, and went up stairs. Half
an hour later, as she sat alone, engaged in the miserable work of
weaving out of the lightest material a very pall of shadows for her
soul, a servant came to the door, and announced a visitor. It was an
intimate friend, whom she could not refuse to see--a lady named Mrs.
Bland.

"How are you, Mrs. Caldwell?" said the visitor, as the two ladies
met.

"Miserable," was answered. And not even the ghost of a smile played
over the unhappy face.

"Are you sick?" asked Mrs. Bland, showing some concern.

"No, not exactly sick. But, somehow or other, I'm in a worry about
things all the while. I can't move a step in any direction without
coming against the pricks. It seems as though all things were
conspiring against me."

And then Mrs. Caldwell went, with her friend, through the whole
series of her morning troubles, ending with the sentence,--

"Now, don't you think I am beset? Why, Mrs. Bland, I'm in a
purgatory."

"A purgatory of your own creating, my friend," answered Mrs. Bland
with the plainness of speech warranted by the intimacy of their
friendship; "and my advice is to come out of it as quickly as
possible."

"Come out of it! That is easily said. Will you show me the way?"

"At some other time perhaps. But this morning I have something else
on hand. I've called for you to go with me on an errand of mercy."

There was no Christian response in the face of Mrs. Caldwell. She
was too deep amid the gloom of her own, wretched state to have
sympathy for others.

"Mary Brady is in trouble," said Mrs. Bland.

"What has happened?" Mrs. Caldwell was alive with interest in a
moment.

"Her husband fell through a hatchway yesterday, and came near being
killed."

"Mrs. Bland!"

"The escape was miraculous."

"Is he badly injured?"

"A leg and two ribs broken. Nothing more, I believe. But that is a
very serious thing, especially where the man's labor is his family's
sole dependence."

"Poor Mary!" said Mrs. Caldwell, in real sympathy. "In what a
dreadful state she must be! I pity her from the bottom of my heart."

"Put on your things, and let us go and see her at once."

Now, it is never a pleasant thing for persons like Mrs. Caldwell to
look other people's troubles directly in the face. It is bad enough
to dwell among their own pains and annoyances, and they shrink from
meddling with another's griefs. But, in the present case, Mrs.
Caldwell, moved by a sense of duty and a feeling of interest in Mrs.
Brady, who had, years before, been a faithful domestic in her
mother's house, was, constrained to overcome all reluctance, and
join her friend in the proposed visit of mercy.

"Poor Mary! What a state she must be in!"

Three or four times did Mrs. Caldwell repeat this sentence, as they
walked towards that part of the town in which Mrs. Brady resided.
"It makes me sick, at heart to think of it," she added.

At last they stood at the door of a small brick house, in a narrow
street, and knocked. Mrs. Caldwell dreaded to enter, and even shrank
a little behind her friend when she heard a hand on the lock. It was
Mary who opened the door--Mary Brady, with scarcely a sign of change
in her countenance, except that it was a trifle paler.

"O! Come in!" she said, a smile of pleasure brightening over her
face. But Mrs. Caldwell could not smile in return. It seemed to her
as if it would be a mockery of the trouble which had come down upon
that humble dwelling.

"How is your husband, Mary?" she asked with a solemn face, as soon
as they had entered. "I only heard a little while ago of this
dreadful occurrence."

"Thank you, ma'am," replied Mrs. Brady, her countenance hardly
falling to a serious tone in its expression. "He's quite comfortable
to-day; and it's such a relief to see him out of pain. He suffered
considerably through the night, but fell asleep just at day dawn,
and slept for several hours. He awoke almost entirely free from
pain."

"There are no internal injuries, I believe," said Mrs. Bland.

"None, the doctor says. And I'm so thankful. Broken bones are bad
enough, and it is hard to see as kind and good a husband as I have
suffer,"--Mary's eyes grew wet, "but they will knit and become strong
again. When I think how much worse it might have been, I am
condemned for the slightest murmur that escapes my lips."

"What are you going to do, Mary?" asked Mrs. Caldwell. "Your husband
won't be fit for work in a month, and you have a good many mouths to
fill."

"A woman's wit and a woman's will can do a great deal," answered
Mrs. Brady, cheerfully. "You see"--pointing to a table, on which lay
a bundle--"that I have already been to the tailor's for work. I'm a
quick sewer, and not afraid but what I can earn sufficient to keep
the pot boiling until John is strong enough to go to work again.
'Where there's a will, there's a way,' Mrs. Caldwell. I've found
that true so far, and I reckon it will be true to the end. John will
have a good resting spell, poor man! And, dear knows, he's a right
to have it, for he's worked hard, and with scarcely a holiday, since
we were married."

"Well, well, Mary," said Mrs. Caldwell, in manifest surprise, "you
beat me out! I can't understand it. Here you are, under
circumstances that I should call of a most distressing and
disheartening nature, almost as cheerful as if nothing had happened.
I expected to find you overwhelmed with trouble, but, instead, you
are almost as tranquil as a June day."

"The truth is," replied Mrs. Brady, drawing, almost for shame, a
veil of sobriety over her face, "I've had no time to be troubled. If
I'd given up, and set myself down with folded hands, no doubt I
should have been miserable enough. But that isn't my way, you see.
Thinking about what I shall do, and their doing it, keep me so well
employed, that I don't get opportunity to look on the dark side of
things. And what would be the use? There's always a bright side as
well as a dark side, and I'm sure it's pleasant to be on the bright
side, if we can get there; and always try to manage it, somehow."

"Your secret is worth knowing, Mary," said Mrs. Bland.

"There's no secret about it," answered the poor woman, "unless it be
in always keeping busy. As I said just now, I've no time to be
troubled, and so trouble, after knocking a few times at my door, and
not gaining admittance, passes on to some other that stands ajar--and
there are a great many such. The fact is, trouble don't like to
crowd in among busy people, for they jostle her about, and never
give her a quiet resting place, and so she soon departs, and creeps
in among the idle ones. I can't give any better explanation, Mrs.
Bland."

"Nor, may be, could the wisest philosopher that lives," returned
that lady.

The two friends, after promising to furnish Mrs. Brady with an
abundance of lighter and more profitable sewing than she had
obtained at a clothier's, and saying and doing whatever else they
felt to be best under the circumstances, departed. For the distance
of a block they walked in silence. Mrs. Caldwell spoke first.

"I am rebuked," she said; "rebuked, as well as instructed. Above all
places in the world, I least expected to receive a lesson there."

"Is it not worth remembering?" asked the friend.

"I wish it were engraved in ineffaceable characters on my heart. Ah,
what a miserable self-tormentor I have been! The door of my heart
stand always ajar, as Mary said, and trouble comes gliding in that
all times, without so much as a knock to herald his coming. I must
shut and bar the door!"

"Shut it, and bar it, my friend!" answered Mrs. Bland. "And when
trouble knocks, say to her, that you are too busy with orderly and
useful things--too earnestly at work in discharging dutiful
obligations, in the larger sphere, which, by virtue of larger means,
is yours to work in--to have any leisure for her poor companionship,
and she will not tarry on your threshold. Throw to the winds such
light causes of unhappiness as were suffered to depress you this
morning, and they will be swept away like thistle down."

"Don't speak of them. My cheek burns at the remembrance," said Mrs.
Caldwell.

They now stood at Mrs. Caldwell's door.

"You will come in?"

"No. The morning has passed, and I must return home."

"When shall I see you?" Mrs. Caldwell grasped tightly her friends'
hand.

"In a day or two."

"Come to-morrow, and help me to learn in this new book that has been
opened. I shall need a wise and a patient teacher. Come, good, true,
kind friend!"

"Give yourself no time for trouble," said Mrs. Bland, with a tender,
encouraging smile. "Let true thoughts and useful deeds fill all your
hours. This is the first lesson. Well in the heart, and all the rest
is easy."

And so, Mrs. Caldwell found it. The new life she strove to lead, was
easy just in the degree she lived in the spirit of this lesson, and
hard just in the degree of her departure.






IX.

A GOOD NAME.





TWO boys, named Jacob Peters and Ralph Gilpin were passing along
Chestnut Street one evening about ten years ago, when one of them,
stopped, and said,--

"Come, Ralph, let us have some oysters. I've got a quarter." They
were in front of an oyster-cellar.

"No," replied Ralph, firmly. "I'm not going down there."

"I didn't mean that we should get anything to drink," replied the
other.

"No matter: they sell liquor, and I don't wish to be seen in such a
place."

"That's silly," said Jacob Peters, speaking with some warmth. "It
can't hurt you to be seen there. They sell oysters, and all we
should go there for would be to buy oysters. Come along. Don't be
foolish!" And Jacob grasped the arm of Ralph, and tried to draw him
towards the refectory. But Ralph stood immovable.

"What harm can it do?" asked Jacob.

"It might do at great deal of harm."

"In what way?"

"By hurting my good name."

"I don't understand you."

"I might be seen going in or coming out by some one who know me, and
who might take it for granted that my visit, was for liquor."

"Well, suppose he did? He would be wrong in his inference; and what
need you care? A clear conscience, I have heard my uncle say, is
better than any man's opinion, good or bad."

"I prefer the clear conscience and the good opinion together, if I
can secure both at the same time," said Ralph.

"O, you're too afraid of other people's opinions," replied Jacob, in
a sneering manner. "As for me, I'll try to do right and be right,
and not bother myself about what people may think. Come, are you
going to join me in a plate of oysters?"

"No."

"Very well. Good by. I'm sorry you're afraid to do right for fear
somebody may think you're going to do wrong," and Jacob Peters
descended to the oyster-cellar, while Ralph Gilpin passed on his way
homeward. As Jacob entered the saloon he met a man who looked at him
narrowly, and as Jacob thought, with surprise. He had seen this man
before, but did not know his name.

A few weeks afterwards, the two boys, who were neighbor, sat
together planning a row-boat excursion on the Schuylkill.

"We'll have Harry Elder, and Dick Jones, and Tom Forsyth," said
Jacob.

"No, not Tom Forsyth," objected Ralph.

"Why not? He's a splendid rower."

"I don't wish to be seen in his company," said Ralph. "He doesn't
bear a good character."

"O, well; that's nothing to us."

"I think it is a great deal to us. We are judged by the company we
keep."

"Let people judge; who cares?" replied Jacob; "not I."

"Well, I do, then," answered Ralph.

"I hate to see a boy so 'fraid of a shadow as you are."

"A tainted name is no shadow; but a real evil to be afraid of."

"I don't see how our taking Tom Forsyth along is going to taint your
name, or mine either."

"He's a bad boy," Ralph firmly objected. "He uses profane language.
You and I have both seen him foolish from drink. And we know that he
was sent home from a good place, under circumstances that threw
suspicion on his honesty. This being so, I am not going to be seen
in his company. I think too much of my good name."

"But, Ralph," urged Jacob, in a persuasive manner, "he's such a
splendid rower. Don't be foolish about it; nobody'll see us. And we
shall have such a grand time. I'll make him promise not to use a
wicked word all day."

"It's no use to talk, Jacob. I'm not going in company with Tom
Forsyth if I never go boating."

"You're a fool!" exclaimed Jacob, losing his temper.

Ralph's face burned with anger, but he kept back the sharp words
that sprung to his lips, and after a few moments said, with forced
composure,--

"There's no use in you're getting mad about it, Jacob. If you prefer
Tom to me, very well. I haven't set my heart on going."

"I've spoken to Tom already" said Jacob, cooling off a little. "And
he's promised to go; so there's no getting away from it. I'm sorry
you're so over nice."

The rowing party came off, but Ralph was not of the number. As the
boys were getting into the boat at Fairmount, Jacob noticed two or
three men standing on the wharf; and on lifting his eyes to the face
of one of them, he recognized the same individual who had looked at
him so intently as he entered the oyster saloon. The man's eyes
rested upon him for a few moments, and then turned to the boy, Tom
Forsyth. Young Peters might have been mistaken, but he thought he
saw on the man's face a look of surprise and disapprobation. Somehow
or other he did not feel very comfortable in mind as the boat pushed
off from shore. Who was this man? and why had he looked at him twice
so intently, and with something of disapproval in his face?

Jacob Peters was fifteen years old. He had left school a few weeks
before, and his father was desirous of getting him into a large
whole-sale house, on Market Street. A friend was acquainted with a
member of the firm, and through his kind offices he hoped to make
the arrangement. Some conversation had already taken place between
the friend and merchant, who said they wished another lad in the
store, but were very particular as to the character of their boys.
The friend assured him that Jacob was a lad of excellent character;
and depending on this assurance, a preliminary engagement had been
made, Jacob was to go into the store just one week from the day on
which he went on the boating excursion. Both his own surprise and
that of his father may be imagined when a note came, saying that the
firm in Market Street had changed its views in regard to a lad, and
would not require the services of Jacob Peters.

The father sent back a polite note, expressing regret at the change
of view, and asking that his son should still be borne in mind, as
he would prefer that situation for him to any other in the city.
Jacob was the bearer of this note. When he entered the store, the
first person he met was the man who looked at him so closely in the
oyster saloon and on the wharf at Fairmount. Jacob handed him the
note, which he opened and read, and then gave him cold bow.

A glimpse of the truth passed through Jacob's mind. He had been
misjudged, and here was the unhappy result. His good name had
suffered, and yet he had done nothing actually wrong. But boys, like
men, are judged by the company they keep and the places in which
they are seen.

"I'm going into a store next week," said Ralph Gilpin, to his friend
Jacob, about a week afterwards.

"Where?" asked Jacob.

"On Market Street."

"In what store?"

"In A. & L.'s," replied Ralph.

"O, no!" ejaculated Jacob, his face flushing, "not there!"

"Yes," replied Ralph. "I'm going to A. & L.'s. Father got me the
place. Don't you think I'm lucky? They're very particular about the
boys they taking that store. Father says he considers their choice
of me quite a compliment. I'm sure I feel proud enough about it."

"Well, I think they acted very meanly," said Jacob, showing sonic
anger. "They promised father that I should have the place."

"Are you sure about that?" asked the young friend.

"Certainly I am. I was to go there this week. But they sent father a
note, saying they had changed their minds about a boy."

"Perhaps," suggested Ralph, "it you were seen going into a drinking
saloons or in company with Tom Forsyth. You remember what I said to
you about preserving a good name."

Jacob's face colored, and his eyes fell to the ground.

"O, that's only your guess," he replied, tossing his head, and
putting on an incredulous look; but he felt in his heart that the
suggestion of Ralph was true.

It was over six months before Jacob Peters was successful in getting
a place, and then he had to go into a third-rate establishment,
where the opportunity for advancement was small, and where his
associates were not of the best character.

The years passed on; and Ralph continued as careful as in the
beginning to preserve a good name. He was not content simply with
doing right; but felt that it was a duty to himself, and to all who
might, in any way be dependent on him, to appear right also. He was,
therefore, particular in regard to the company he kept and the
places he visited. Jacob, on the, contrary, continued to let
inclination rather than prudence govern him in these matters. His
habits were probably as good as those of Ralph, and his business
capacity fully equal. But he was not regarded with the same favor,
for he was often seen in company with young men known to be of loose
morals, and would occasionally, visit billiard-saloons,
tenpin-alleys, and other places where men of disreputable character
are found. His father, who observed Jacob closely, remonstrated with
him occasionally as the boy advanced towards manhood; but Jacob put
on an independent air, and replied that he went on the principle of
being right with himself. "You can't," he would say, "keep free from
misjudgment, do what you will. Men are always more inclined to think
evil of each other than good. I do nothing that I'm ashamed of."

So he continued to go where he pleased, and to associate with whom
he pleased, not caring what people might say.

It is no very easy thing for as young man to make his way in the
world. All the avenues to success are thickly crowded with men of
talent, industry, and energy, and many favorable circumstances must
conspire to help him who gets very far in advance. Talent and
industry are wanted in, business, but the passport of a good
character must accompany them, or they cannot be made rightly
available to their possessor. it is, therefore, of the first
importance to preserved a good name, for this, if united with
ability and industry, with double your chances of success in life;
for men will put confidence in you beyond what they can in others,
who do not stand so fairly in common estimation.

In due time Ralph Gilpin and Jacob Peters entered the world as men,
but not at equal advantage. They had learned the same business, and
were both well acquainted with its details; but Ralph stood fairer
in the eyes of business men, with whom he had come in contact,
because he had been more careful about his reputation.

While Jacob was twenty-three years of age, he was getting a salary
of one thousand dollars a year; but this was too small a sum to meet
the demands that had come upon him. His father, to whom he was
tenderly attached, had lost his health and failed in business. In
consequence of this, the burden of maintaining the family fell
almost entirely on Jacob. It would not have been felt as a burden if
his income had been sufficient for their support. But it was not,
unless their comfortable style of living was changed, and all shrunk
together in a smaller house. He had sisters just advancing towards
womanhood, and for their sakes, particularly, did he regret the
stern necessity that required a change.

About this time, the death of a responsible clerk in the house of A.
& L. left a vacancy to be filled, and as Jacob was in every way
competent to take the position, which commanded a salary of eighteen
hundred dollars he made application; Ralph Gilpin, who was a
salesman in the house, said all that he could in Jacob's favor; but
the latter had not been careful to preserve a good name, and this
was against him. The place was one of trust, and the members of the
firm, after considering the matter, decided adversely. Nothing as to
fact was alleged or known. Not a word as to his conduct in life was
said against him. But he had often been seen in company with young
men who did not bear a solid reputation, and where doubt existed, it
was not considered safe to employ him. So that good opportunity was
lost--lost through his own fault.

Poor Jacob felt gloomy and disappointed for a time; talked of
"fate," "bad luck," and all that kind of nonsense, when the cause of
his ill-success was to be attributed solely to an unwise disregard
of appearances.

"We shall have to remove," he said to his mother in a troubled way,
after this disappointment. "If I had secured the situation at A. &
L.'s all would have been well with us. But now nothing remains but
to seek a humbler place to remain here will only involve us in debt;
and that, above all things, we must avoid. I am sorry for Jane and
Alice; but it can't be helped."

His mother tried to answer cheerfully and hopefully: but her words
did not dispel a single shadow from his mind. A few days after this,
a gentleman said to Jacob Peters,--

"I'll give you a hint of something that is coming in the way of good
fortune. A gentleman, whose name I do not feel at liberty to
mention, contemplates going into your business. He has plenty of
capital, and wishes to unite himself with a young, active, and
experienced man. Two or three have been thought of--you among the
rest; find I believe it has been finally settled that Jacob Peters
is to be the man. So let me congratulate you, my young friend, on
this good fortune."

And he grasped the hand of Jacob, and shook it warmly. From the vale
of despondency, the young man was at once elevated to the
mountain-top of hope, and felt, for a time, bewildered in prospect
of the good fortune awaited him.

Almost in that very hour the capitalist, to whom his friend
referred, was in conversation with Mr. A., of the firm of A. & L.

"I have about concluded to associate with myself in business young
Jacob Peters," said the former; "but before coming to a final
conclusion, I thought it best to ask your opinion in the matter. You
know the young man?"

"Yes," replied Mr. A., "I have known him in a business way for
several years. We have considerable dealing with the house in which
he is employed."

"What do you think of him?"

"He is a young man of decided business qualities."

"So it appear's to me. And you think favorably of him?"

"As to the business qualification I do," replied Mr. A., placing an
emphasis on the word business.

"Then you do not think favorably of him in some other respect?"

Mr. A. was silent.

"I hope," said the, other, "that you will speak out plainly. This is
a matter, to me, of the first importance. If you know of any reason
why I should not associate this young man with me in business I
trust you will speak without reserve."

Mr. A. remained silent for some moments, and then said,--

"I feel considerably embarrassed in regard to this matter. I would
on no account give a wrong impression in regard to the young man. He
may be all right; is all right, perhaps; but--"

"But what, sir?"

"I have seen him in company with young men whose characters are not
fair. And I have seen him entering into and coming out of places
where it is not always safe to go."

"Enough, sir, enough!" said the gentleman, emphatically, "The matter
is settled. It may be all right with him, as you say. I hope it is.
But he can never be a partner of mine. And now, passing from him, I
wish to ask about another young man, who has been in my mind second
to Peters. He is in your employment."

"Ralph Gilpin, you mean."

"Yes."

"In every way unexceptionable. I can speak of him with the utmost
confidence. He is right in all respects--right as to the business
quality, right as to character, and right as to associations. You
could not have a better man."

"The matter is settled, then," replied the gentleman. "I will take
Ralph Gilpin if neither you nor he objects."

"There will be no objection on either side, I can answer for that,"
said Mr. A., and the interview closed.

From the mountain-top of hope, away down into the dark vale of
despondency, passed Jacob Peters, when it was told him that Ralph
Gilpin was to be a partner in the new firm which he had expected to
enter.

"And so nothing is left to us," he said to himself, in bitterness of
spirit, "but go down, while others, no better than we are, move
steadily upwards. Why should Ralph Gilpin be preferred before me? He
has no higher ability nor stricter integrity. He cannot be more
faithful, more earnest, or more active than I would have been in the
new position. But I am set aside and he is taken. It is a bitter,
bitter disappointment!"

Three years have passed, and Ralph Gilpin is on the road to fortune,
while Jacob Peters remains a clerk. And why? The one was careful of
his good name; the other was not.

My young reader, take the lesson to heart. Guard well your good
name; and as name signifies quality, by all means guard your spirit,
so that no evil thing enter there; and your good name shall be only
the expression of your good quality.






X.

LITTLE LIZZIE.





"IF they wouldn't let him have it!" said Mrs. Leslie, weeping. "O,
if they wouldn't sell him liquor, there'd be no trouble! He's one of
the best of men when he doesn't drink. He never brings liquor into
the house; and he tries hard enough, I know, to keep sober, but he
cannot pass Jenks's tavern."

Mrs. Leslie was talking with a sympathizing neighbor, who responded,
by saying, that she wished the tavern would burn down, and that, for
her part, she didn't feel any too good to apply fire to the place
herself. Mrs. Leslie sighed, and wiped away the tears with her
checked apron.

"It's hard, indeed, it is," she murmured, "to see a man like Jenks
growing richer and richer every day out of the earnings of poor
working-men, whose families are in want of bread. For every sixpence
that goes over his counter some one is made poorer--to some heart is
given a throb of pain."

"It's a downright shame!" exclaimed the neighbor, immediately. "If I
had my way with the lazy, good-for-nothing fellow, I'd see that he
did something useful, if it was to break stone on the road. Were it
my husband, instead of yours, that he enticed into his bar, depend
on't he'd get himself into trouble."

While this conversation was going on, a little girl, not over ten
years of age, sat listening attentively. After a while she went
quietly from the room, and throwing her apron over head, took her
way, unobserved by her mother, down the road.

Where was little Lizzie going? There was a purpose in her mind: She
had started on a mission. "O, if they wouldn't sell him liquor!"
These earnest, tearful words of her, mother had filled her thoughts.
If Mr. Jenks wouldn't sell her father anything to drink, "there
would be no more trouble." How simple, how direct the remedy! She
would go to Mr. Jenks, and ask him not to let her father have any
more liquor, and then all would be well again. Artless, innocent
child! And this was her mission.

The tavern kept by Jenks, the laziest man in Milanville,--he was too
lazy to work, and therefore went to tavern-keeping,--stood nearly a
quarter of a mile from the poor tenement occupied by the Leslies.
Towards this point, under a hot, sultry sun, little Lizzie made her
way, her mind so filled with its purpose that she was unconscious of
heat of fatigue.

Not long before a traveller alighted at the tavern. After giving
directions to have his horses fed, he entered the bar-room, and went
to where Jenks stood, behind the counter.

"Have something to drink?" inquired the landlord.

"I'll take a glass of water, if you please."

Jenks could not hide the indifference at once felt towards the
stranger. Very deliberately he set a pitcher and a glass upon the
counter, and then turned partly away. The stranger poured out a
tumbler of water, and drank it off with an air of satisfaction.

"Good water, that of yours, landlord," said he.

"Is it?" was returned, somewhat uncourteously.

"I call it good water--don't you?"

"Never drink water by itself." As Jenks said this, he winked to one
of his good customers, who was lounging, in the bar. "In fact, it's
so long since I drank any water, that I forgot how it tastes. Don't
you, Leslie?"

The man, to whom this was addressed, was not so far lost to shame as
Jenks. He blushed and looked confused, as he replied,--

"It might be better for some of us if we had not lost our relish for
pure water."

"A true word spoken, my friend!" said the stranger, turning to the
man, whose swollen visage, and patched, threadbare garments, too
plainly told the story of his sad life. "'Water, pure water, bright
water;' that is my motto. It never swells the face, nor inflames the
eyes, nor mars the countenance. Its attendants are health, thrift,
and happiness. It takes not away the children's bread, nor the
toiling wife's garments. Water!--it is one of God's chiefest
blessings! Our friend, the landlord here, says he has forgotten how
it tastes; and you have lost all relish for the refreshing draught!
Ah, this is a sad confession!--one which the angels might weep to
hear!"

There were two or three customers in the bar besides Leslie, to whom
this was addressed; and all of them, in spite of the landlord's
angry and sneering countenance, treated the stranger with attention
and respect. Seeing this, Jenks could not restrain himself; so,
coming from behind his bar, he advanced to his side, and, laying his
hand quite rudely on his shoulder, said, in a peremptory manner,--

"See here, my friend! If you are about making a temperance lecture,
you can adjourn to the Town Hall or the Methodist Chapel."

The stranger moved aside a pace or two, so that the hand of Jenks
might fall from his person, and then said, mildly,--

"There must be something wrong here if a man may not speak in praise
of water without giving offense."

"I said you could adjourn your lecture!" The landlord's face was now
fiery red, and he spoke with insolence and passion.

"O, well, as you are president of the meeting, I suppose we must let
you exercise an arbitrary power of adjournment," said the stranger,
good-humoredly. "I didn't think any one had so strong a dislike for
water as to consider its praise an insult."

At this moment a child stepped into the bar-room. Her little face
was flushed, and great beads of perspiration were slowly moving down
her crimson cheeks. Her step was elastic, her manner earnest, and
her large, dark eyes bright with an eager purpose. She glanced
neither to the right nor the left, but walking up to the landlord,
lifted to him her sweet young face, and said, in tones that thrilled
every heart but his,--

"Please, Mr. Jenks, don't sell papa any more liquor!"

"Off home with you, this instant!" exclaimed Jenks, the crimson of
his face deepening to a dark purple. As he spoke, he advanced
towards the child, with his hand uplifted in a threatening attitude.

"Please don't, Mr. Jenks," persisted the child, not moving from
where she stood, nor taking her eyes front the landlord's
countenance. "Mother says, if you wouldn't sell him liquor, there'd
be no trouble. He's kind and good to us all when he doesn't drink."

"Off, I say!" shouted Jenks, now maddened beyond self-control; and
his hand was about descending upon the little one, when the stranger
caught her in his arms, exclaiming, as he did so, with deep
emotion,--

"God bless the child! No, no, precious one!" he added; "don't fear
him. Plead for your father--plead for your home. Your petition must
prevail! He cannot say nay to one of the little ones, whose angels
do always behold the face of their Father in heaven. God bless the
child!" added the stranger, in a choking voice. "O, that the father,
for whom she has come on this touching errand, were present now! If
there were anything of manhood yet left in his nature, this would
awaken it from its palsied sleep."

"Papa! O, papa!" now cried the child, stretching forth her hands. In
the next moment she was clinging to the breast of her father, who,
with his arms clasped tightly around her, stood weeping and mingling
his tears with those now raining from the little one's eyes.

What an oppressive stillness pervaded that room! Jenks stood subdued
and bewildered, his state of mental confusion scarcely enabling him
to comprehend the full import of the scene. The stranger looked on
wonderingly, yet deeply affected. Quietly, and with moist eyes, the
two or three drinking customers who had been lounging in the bar,
went stealthily out; and the landlord, the stranger and the father
and his child, were left the only inmates of the room.

"Come, Lizzie, dear! This is no place for us," said Leslie, breaking
the deep silence. "We'll go home."

And the unhappy inebriate took his child by the hand, and led her
towards the door. But the little one held back.

"Wait, papa; wait!" she said. "He hasn't promised yet. O, I wish he
would promise!"

"Promise her, in Heaven's name!" said the stranger.

"Promise!" said Leslie, in a stern yet solemn voice, as he turned
and fixed his eyes upon the landlord.

"If I do promise, I'll keep it!" returned Jenks, in a threatening
tone, as he returned the gaze of Leslie.

"Then, for God's sake, _promise!_" exclaimed Leslie, in a
half-despairing voice. "_Promise, and I'm safe!_"

"Be it so! May I be cursed, if ever I sell you a drop of drinking at
this bar, while I am landlord of the 'Stag and Hounds'!" Jenks spoke
with with an angry emphasis.

"God be thanked!" murmured the poor drunkard, as he led his child
away. "God be thanked! There is hope for me yet."

Hardly had the mother of Lizzie missed her child, ere she entered,
leading her father by the hand.

"O, mother!" she exclaimed, with a joy-lit countenance, and in a
voice of exultation, "Mr. Jenks has promised."

"Promised what?" Hope sprung up in her heart, on wild and fluttering
wings, her face flushed, and then grew deadly pale. She sat panting
for a reply.

"That he would never sell me another glass of liquor," said her
husband.

A pair of thin, white hands were clasped quickly together, an ashen
face was turned upwards, tearless eyes looked their thankfulness to
heaven.

"There is hope yet, Ellen," said Leslie.

"Hope, hope! And O, Edward, you have said the word!"

"Hope, through our child. Innocence has prevailed over vice and
cruelty. She came to the strong, evil, passionate man, and, in her
weakness and innocence, prevailed over him. God made her fearless
and eloquent."

A year afterwards a stranger came again that way, and stopped at the
"Stag and Hounds." As before, Jenks was behind his well-filled bar,
and drinking customers came and went in numbers. Jenks did not
recognize him until he called for water, and drank a full tumbler of
the pure liquor with a hearty zest. Then he knew him, but feigned to
be ignorant of his identity. The stranger made no reference to the
scene he had witnessed there a twelvemonth before, but lingered in
the bar for most of the day, closely observing every one that came
to drink. Leslie was not among the number.

"What has become of the man and the little girl I saw here, at my
last visit to Milanville?" said the stranger, speaking at last to
Jenks.

"Gone to the devil, for all I care," was the landlord's rude answer,
as he turned off from his questioner.

"For all you care, no doubt," said the stranger to himself. "Men
often speak their real thoughts in a passion."

"Do you see that little white cottage away off there, just at the
edge of the wood? Two tall poplars stand in front."

Thus spoke to the stranger one who had heard him address the
landlord.

"I do. What of it?" he answered.

"The man you asked for lives there."

"Indeed!"

"And what is more, if he keeps on as he has begun, the cottage will
be all his own in another year. Jenks, here, doesn't feel any good
blood for him, as you may well believe. A poor man's prosperity is
regarded as so much loss to him. Leslie is a good mechanic--one of
the best in Milanville. He can earn twelve dollars a week, year in
and year out. Two hundred dollars he has already paid on his
cottage; and as he is that much richer, Jenks thinks himself just so
much poorer; for all this surplus, and more too, would have gone
into his till, if Leslie had not quit drinking."

"Aha! I see! Well, did Leslie, as you call him, ever try to get a
drink here, since the landlord promised never to let him have
another drop?"

"Twice to my knowledge."

"And he refused him?"

"Yes. If you remember, he said, in his anger, '_May I be cursed_, if
I sell him another drop.'"

"I remember it very well."

"That saved poor Leslie. Jenks is superstitious in some things. He
wanted to get his custom again,--for it was well worth having,--and he
was actually handing him the bottle one day, when I saw it, and
reminded him of his self-imprecation. He hesitated, looked
frightened, withdrew the bottle from the counter, and then, with
curses, drove Leslie from his bar-room, threatening, at the same
time, to horsewhip him if ever he set a foot over his threshold
again."

"Poor drunkards!" mused the stranger, as he rode past the neat
cottage of the reformed man a couple of hours afterwards. "As the
case now stands, you are only saved as by fire. All law, all
protection, is on the side of those who are engaged in enticing you
into sin, and destroying you, body and soul. In their evil work,
they have free course. But for you, unhappy wretches, after they
have robbed you of worldly goods, and even manhood itself, are
provided prisons and pauper homes! And for your children,"--a dark
shadow swept over the stranger's face, and a shudder went through
his frame. "Can it be, a Christian country in which I live, and such
things darken the very sun at noonday!" he added as he sprung his
horse into a gallop and rode swiftly onward.






XI.

ALICE AND THE PIGEON.





ONE evening in winter as Alice, a dear little girl whom everybody
loved, pushed aside the curtains of her bedroom window, she saw the
moon half hidden by great banks of clouds, and only a few stars
peeping out here and there. Below, the earth lay dark, and cold. The
trees looked like great shadows.

There was at change in her sweet face as she let fall the curtain
and turned from the window.

"Poor birds!" she said.

"They are all safe," answered her mother, smiling. "God has provided
for every bird a place of rest and shelter, and each one knows where
it is and how to find it. Not many stay here in the winter time, but
fly away to the sunny south, where the air is warm and the trees
green and fruitful."

"God is very good," said the innocent child. Then she knelt with
folded hands, and prayed that her heavenly further would bless
everybody, and let his angels take care of her while she slept. Her
mother's kiss was still warm upon her lips as she passed into the
world of pleasant dreams.

In the morning, when Alice again pushed back the curtains from her
window, what a sight of wonder and beauty met her eyes! Snow had
fallen, and everything wore a garment of dazzling whiteness. In the
clear blue sky, away in the cast, the sun was rising; and as his
beams fell upon the fields, and trees, and houses, every object
glittered as if covered all over with diamonds.

But only for a moment or two did Alice look upon this beautiful
picture, for a slight movement drew her eyes to a corner of the
window-sill, on the outside, and there sat a pigeon close against
the window-pane, with its head drawn down and almost hidden among
the feathers, and its body shivering with cold. The pigeon did not
seem to be afraid of her, though she saw its little pink eyes
looking right into her own.

"O, poor, dear bird!" she said in soft, pitying tones, raising the
window gently, so that it might not be frightened away. Then she
stepped back and waited to see if the bird would not come in. Pigeon
raised its brown head in a half scared away; turned it to this side
and to that; and after looking first at the, comfortable chamber and
then away at the snow-covered earth, quietly hopped upon the sill
inside. Next he flew upon the back of a chair, and then down upon
the floor.

"Little darling," said Alice, softly. Then she dressed herself
quickly, and went down stairs for some crumbs of bread, which she
scattered on the floor. The pigeon picked them up, with scarcely a
sign of fear.

As soon as he had eaten up all the crumbs, he flew back towards the
window and resting on the sill, swelled his glossy throat and cooed
his thanks to his little friend. After which darted away, the
morning sunshine glancing from wings.

A feeling of disappointment crept into the heart of Alice as the
bird swept out of sight. "Poor little darling!" she sighed. "If he
had only known how kind I would have been, and how safe he was here,
what nice food and pure water would have been given, he wouldn't
have flown away."

When Alice told about the visit of pigeon, at breakfast time, a
pleasant surprise was felt by all at the table. And they talked of,
doves and wood-pigeons, her father telling her once or two nice
stories, with which she was delighted. After breakfast, her mother
took a volume from the library containing Willis's exquisite poem,
"The little Pigeon," and gave it to Alice to read. She soon knew it
all by heart.

A great many times during the day Alice stood at the open door, or
looked from the windows, in hope of seeing the pigeon again. On a
distant house-top, from which the snow had been melted or blown
away, or flying through the air, she would get sight of a bird now
and then; but she couldn't tell whether or not it was the white and
brown pigeon she had sheltered and fed in the morning. But just
before sundown, as she stood by the parlor window, a cry of joy fell
from her lips. There was the pigeon sitting on a fence close by, and
looking, it seemed to her, quite forlorn.

Alice threw open the window, and then ran into the kitchen for some
crumbs of bread. When she came back, pigeon was still on the fence.
Then she called to him, holding out her her hand scattering a few
crumbs on the window-sill. The bird was hungry and had sharp eyes,
and when he saw Alice he no doubt remembered the nice meal she had
given him in the morning, in a few moments he flew to the window,
but seemed half afraid. So Alice stood a little back in the room,
when he began to pick up the crumbs. Then she came nearer and
nearer, holding out her hand that was full of crumbs, and as soon as
pigeon had picked up all that was on the sill, he took the rest of
his evening meal from the dear little girl's hand. Every now and
then he would stop and look up at his kind friend, as much as to
say, "Thank you for my nice supper. You are so good!" When he had
eaten enough, he cooed a little, bobbed his pretty head, and then
lifted his wings and flew away.

He did not come back again. At first Alice, was disappointed, but
this soon wore off, and only a feeling of pleasure remained.

"I would like so much to see him and feed him," she said. "But I
know he's better off and happier at his own home, with a nice place
to sleep in and plenty to eat, than sitting on a window-sill all
night in a snow storm." And then she would say over that sweet poem,
"The City Pigeon," which her mother had given her to get by heart.
Here it is, and I hope every one of my little readers will get it by
heart also:--

"Stoop to my window, thou beautiful dove!
Thy daily visits have touched my love.
I watch thy coming, and list the note
That stirs so low in thy mellow throat,
And my joy is high
To catch the glance of thy gentle eye.

"Why dost thou sit on the heated eaves,
And forsake the wood with its freshened leaves?
Why dost thou haunt the sultry street,
When the paths of the forest are cool and sweet?
How canst thou bear
This noise of people--this sultry air?

"Thou alone of the feathered race
Dost look unscared on the human face;
Thou alone, with a wing to flee,
Dost love with man in his haunts to be;
And the 'gentle dove'
Has become a name for trust and love.

"A holy gift is thine, sweet bird!
Thou'rt named with childhood's earliest word!
Thou'rt linked with all that is fresh and wild
In the prisoned thoughts of the city child;
And thy glossy wings
Are its brightest image of moving things.

"It is no light chance. Thou art set apart,
Wisely by Him who has tamed thy heart,
To stir the love for the bright and fair
That else were sealed in this crowded air
I sometimes dream
Angelic rays front thy pinions stream.

"Come then, ever, when daylight leaves
The page I read, to my humble eaves,
And wash thy breast in the hollow spout,
And murmur thy low sweet music out!
I hear and see
Lessons of heaven, sweet bird, in thee!"






XII.

DRESSED FOR A PARTY.





A LADY sat reading. She was so absorbed in her book as to be nearly
motionless. Her face, in repose, was serious, almost sad; for twice
a score of years had not passed without leaving the shadow of a
cloud or the mark of a tempest. The door opened, and, as she looked
up, pleasant smile lay softly on her lips. A beautiful girl,
elegantly attired for an evening party, came in.

"All ready?" said the lady, closing her volume, and looking at the
maiden with a lively interest, that blended thoughtfulness with
affection.

"All ready," aunt Helen. "And now what do you think of me? What is
the effect?" Tone, expression, and manner, all gave plainly enough
speaker's own answer to her questions. She thought the make up
splendid--the effect striking.

"Shall I say just what I think, Alice?"

A thin veil of shadows fell over the bright young countenance.

"Love will speak tenderly. But even tenderly-spoken things, not
moving with the current of our feelings, are not pleasant to hear."

"Say on, aunt Helen. I can listen to anything from you. You think me
overdressed. I see it in your eyes."

"You have read my thought correctly, dear."

"In what particular am I overdressed? Nothing could be simpler than
a white illusion."

"Without an abundance of pink trimming, it would be simple and
becoming enough. Your dressmaker has overloaded it with ribbon; at
least, so it appears to me. But, passing that let me suggest a
thought touching those two heavy bracelets. One, on the exposed arm,
is sufficiently attractive. Two will create the impression that you
are weakly fond of ornament; and in the eyes of every one who feels
this, the effect of your dress will be marred. Men and women see
down into our states of feeling with wonderful quick intuitions, and
read us while we are yet ignorant in regard to ourselves."

Alice unclasped, with a faint sigh, one of the bracelets, and laid
it on her aunt's bureau.

"Is that better?" she asked.

"I think so."

"But the arm is so naked, aunt. It wants something, just for
relief."

"To me the effect would be improved if arms and neck were covered.
But, as it is, if you think something required to draw attention
from the bare skin, let one ornament be the most simple in your
jewel box. You have a bracelet of hair, with neat mountings. Take
that."

Alice stood for a while pondering her aunt's suggestion. Then, with
half-forced cheerfulness of tone, she answered,--

"May be you're right, I'll take the hair bracelets instead. And now,
what else?"

"The critic's task is never for me a pleasant one, Alice. Least
pleasant when it touches one I love. If you had not asked what I
thought of your appearance, I would have intruded no exceptions. I
have been much in society since I was very young, and have always
been an observer. Two classes of women, I notice, usually make up
the staple of our social assemblages: those who consult taste in
dress, and those who study effect; those who think and appreciate,
and those who court admiration. By sensible people,--and we need not
pay much regard to the opinion of others,--these two classes are well
understood, and estimated at their real value."

"It is quite plain, aunt Helen," said Alice, her color much
heightened, "that you have set me over to the side of those who
study effect and court admiration."

"I think you are in danger of going over to that side, my dear," was
gently answered, "and I love you too well not to desire something
better for my niece. Turn your thought inward and get down, if
possible, to your actual state of mind. Why have you chosen this
very effective style of dress? It is not in good taste--even you, I
think, will agree with me so far."

"Not in good taste, aunt Helen!"

"A prima donna, or a ballet--"

"How, aunt!" Alice made a quick interruption.

"You see, my child, how I am affected. Let me say it out in plain
words--your appearance, when, you came in a few minutes ago actually
shocked me."

"Indeed, indeed, aunt Helen, you are too severe in your tastes! We
are not Friends."

"You are not going in the character of a May queen, Alice, that you
should almost hide your beautiful hair in ribbons and flowers. A
stiff bouquet in a silver holder is simply an impediment, and does
not give a particle of true womanly grace. That necklace of pearls,
if half hidden among soft laces, would be charming; but banding the
uncovered neck and half-exposed chest, it looks bald, inharmonious,
and out of place. White, with a superfluity of pink trimming,
jewelry and flowers, I call on the outside of good taste; and if you
go as you are, you will certainly attract all eyes, but I am sure
you will not win admiration for these things from a single heart
whose regard is worth having. Don't be hurt with me, Alice. I am
speaking with all love and sincerity, and from a wider experience
and observation than it is possible for you to have reached. Don't
go as you are, if you can possibly make important changes. What time
is left?"

Alice stood silent, with a clouded face. Her aunt looked at her
watch.

"There is a full half hour. You may do much in that time. But you
had best refer to your mother. Her taste and mine may not entirely
accord."

"O, as to that, mother is on your side. But she is always so plain
in her notions," said Alice, with a slight betrayal of impatience.

"A young lady will always be safest in society, Alice--always more
certain to make a good impression, if she subordinate her love of
dress and ornament as much as possible to her mother's taste. In
breaking away from this, my dear, you have gone over to an extreme
that, if persisted in, will class you with vain lovers of
admiration; with mere show girls, who, conscious of no superior
moral and mental attractions, seek to win by outward charms. Be not
of them, dear Alice, but of the higher class, whose minds are
clothed in beautiful garments whose loveliest and most precious
things are, like jewels, shut within a casket."

Alice withdrew, silent, almost hurt, though not offended, and more
than half resolved to give up the party. But certainly recollections
checked this forming resolve before it reached a state of full
decision.

"How will this do?" She pushed open the door of her aunt's room half
an hour afterwards with this sentence on her lips. Her cheeks were
glowing, and her eyes full of sparkles. So complete was the change,
that for a brief space the aunt gazed at her wonderingly. She wore a
handsome fawn-colored silk, made high in the neck, around which was
a narrow lace collar of exceeding fineness, pinned with a single
diamond. A linked band of gold, partly hidden by the lace
undersleeve, clasped one of her wrists. A small spray of pearls and
silver formed the only ornament for her hair, and nestled,
beautifully contrasted among its dark and glossy braids.

"Charming!" replied aunt Helen, in no feigned admiration. "In my
eyes you are a hundred times more attractive than you were, a little
while ago, and will prove more attractive to all whose favor is
worth the winning." And she arose and kissed her nice lovingly.

"I am not overdressed." Alice smiled.

"Better underdressed than overdressed, always, my dear, If there is
any fault, it is on the right side."

"I am glad you are pleased, aunt Helen."

"Are you not better pleased with yourself?" was asked.

"I can't just say that, aunt. I've worn this dress in company
several times, and it's very plain."

"It is very becoming, dear; and we always appear to best advantage
in that which most accords with our style of person and complexion.
To my eyes, in this more simple yet really elegant apparel, you look
charming. Before, you impressed me with a sense of vulgarity; now,
the impression, is one of refinement."

"Thank you for such flattering words, aunt Helen. I will accept the
pictures in your eyes as justly contrasted. Of one thing I am sure,
I shall feel more at ease, and less conscious of observation, than
would have been the case had I gone in my gayer attire. Good
evening. It is growing late, and I must be away."

The maiden stooped, and kissed her aunt affectionately.

"Good evening, dear, and may the hours be pleasant ones."

When Alice entered the drawing-room, where the company were
assembling her eyes were almost dazzled with the glitter of jewelry
and the splendor of colors. Most of the ladies present seemed
ambitious of display, emulous of ornament. She felt out of place, in
her grave and simple costume, and moved to a part of the room where
she would be away from observation. But her eyes were soon wandering
about, scanning forms and faces, not from simple curiosity, but with
an interest that was visible in her countenance. She looked for the
presence of one who had been, of late, much in her thoughts: of one
for whose eyes, more than for the eyes of any other, she apparelled
herself with that studied effect which received so little approval
from her aunt Helen. Alice felt sober. If she entertained doubts
touching her change of dress they were gone now. Plainly, to her
convictions, aunt Helen was wrong and she had been wrong in yielding
her own best judgement of the case.

Alice had been seated only for a little while, when she saw the
young man to whom we have just referred. He was standing at the
extreme end of the room, talking in a lively manner with a
gayly-dressed girl, who seemed particularly pleased with his
attentions. Beside her Alice would have seemed almost Quaker-like in
plainness. And Alice felt this with something like a pang. Soon they
passed across the room, approaching very near, and stood within a
few feet of her for several minutes. Then they moved away, and sit
down together not far off, still chatting in the lively manner at
first observed. Once or twice the young man appeared to look
directly at Alice, but no sign of recognition was visible on his
face.

After the first emotions of disappointment in not being recognized
had subsided, the thoughts of Alice began to lift her out of the
state in much she bad been resting.

"If fine feathers make the fine bird," she said to herself, "let him
have the gay plumage. As for me, I ask a higher estimate. So I will
be content."

With the help of pride she rose above the weakness that was
depressing her. A lady friend joined her at the moment, and she was
soon interested in conversation.

"Excuse me for a personal reference, Alice," said this friend in a
familiar way, "and particularly for speaking of dress. But the fact
is, you shame at least one half of us girls by your perfect
subordination of everything to good taste. I never saw you so
faultlessly attired in my life."

"The merit, if there is any," replied Alice, "is not mine. I was
coming like a butterfly, but my aunt Helen, who is making us a
visit, objected so strongly that I took off my party dress and
head-dress, made for the occasion, and, in a fit of half-don't-care
desperation, got myself up after this modest fashion that you are
pleased to call in such good taste."

"Make your aunt Helen my compliments, and say to her that I wish she
were multiplied a thousands times. You will be the belle to-night,
if there are many sensible man present. Ah, there comes Mr. Benton!"
At this name the heart of Alice leaped. "He has spied you out
already. You are the attraction, of course, not me."

Mr. Benton, who had been, of late, so much in her thought, now stood
bowing before the two young ladies, thus arresting their
conversation. The last speaker was right. Alice had drawn him across
the room, as was quickly apparent, for to her alone he was soon
addressing himself. To quite the extent allowable in good breeding,
was Alice monopolized by Mr. Benton during the evening and when he
left her, with scarcely-concealed reluctance, another would take his
place, and enjoy the charm of her fine intelligence.

"Have you been introduced to Alice T----?" she heard one gentleman ask
of another, as she stood near a window opening into the
conservatory, and partly hidden by curtains.

"Yes," was the answer.

"She is a pleasant girl."

"By odds the most charming I have met to-night. And then she has had
the good taste to dress in a modest, womanly manner. How beautifully
she contrasts with a dozen I could name, all radiant with colors as
a bed of tulips."

She heard no more. But this was enough.

"You had a pleasant evening judging from your face," said aunt
Helen, when she meet her niece on the next morning.

"Yes; it was a very pleasant one--very pleasant." Her color deepened
and her eyes grew brighter.

"You were not neglected on account of you attractive style of
dress?"

"Judging from the attentions I received, it must have been very
attractive. A novelty, perhaps. You understand human nature better
than I do, aunt Helen."

"Was it the plainest in the room?"

"It was plainer than that of half a dozen ladies old enough to have
grandchildren."

The aunt smiled.

"Then it has not hurt your prospects?"

The question was in jest; but aunt Helen saw instantly into the
heart of her niece. For a moment their eyes lingered in each other;
then Alice looked down upon the floor.

"No it has not hurt my prospects." The answer was in a softer voice,
and then followed a long-drawn inspiration, succeeded by the
faintest of sighs.

A visit from Mr. Benton, on the next evening, removed all doubt from
the dress question, if any remained.






XIII.

COFFEE vs. BRANDY.





"WE shall have to give them a wedding party," said Mrs. Eldridge to
her husband.

Mr. Eldridge assented.

"They will be home to-morrow, and I think of sending out of
invitations for Thursday."

"As you like about that," replied Mr. Eldridge. "The trouble will be
yours."

"You have no objections?"

"O, none in the world. Fanny is a good little girl, and the least we
can do is to pay her this compliment on her marriage. I am not
altogether satisfied about her husband, however; he was rather a
wild sort of a boy a year or two ago."

"I guess he's all right now," remarked Mrs. Eldridge; "and he
strikes me as a very kind-hearted, well-meaning young man. I have
flattered myself that Fanny has done quite well as the average run
of girls."

"Perhaps so," said Mr. Eldridge, a little thoughtfully.

"Will you be in the neighborhood of Snyder's?" inquired the lady.

"I think not. We are very busy just now, and I shall hardly have
time to leave the store to-day. But I can step around there
to-morrow."

"To-morrow, or even the next day, will answer," replied Mrs.
Eldridge. "You must order the liquors. I will attend to everything
else."

"How many are you going to invite?" inquired Mr. Eldridge.

"I have not made out a list yet, but it will not fall much short of
seventy or eighty."

"Seventy or eighty!" repeated Mr. Eldridge.

"Let me see. Three dozen of champagne; a dozen of sherry; a dozen of
port; a dozen of hock, and a gallon of brandy,--that will be enough
to put life into them I imagine."

"Or death!" Mrs. Eldridge spoke to herself, in an undertone.

Her husband, if he noticed the remark, did not reply to it, but
said, "Good morning," and left the house. A lad about sixteen years
of age sat in the room during this conversation, with a book in his
hand and his eyes on the page before him. He did not once look up or
move; and an observer would have supposed him so much interested in
his book as not to have heard the passing conversation. But he had
listened to every word. As soon as Mr. Eldridge left the room his
book fell upon his lap, and looking towards Mrs. Eldridge, he said,
in an earnest but respectful manner,--

"Don't have any liquor, mother."

Mrs s Eldridge looked neither offended nor irritated by this
remonstrance, as she replied,--

"I wish it were possible to avoid having liquor, my son; but it is
the custom of society and if we give a party it must be in the way
it is done by other people."

This did not satisfy the boy, who had been for some time associated
with the Cadets of Temperance, and he answered, but with modesty and
great respect of, manner,--"If other people do wrong, mother--what
then?"

"I am not so sure of its being wrong, Henry."

"O, but mother," spoke out the boy, quickly, "if it hurts people to
drink, it must be wrong to give them liquor. Now I've been thinking
how much better it would be to have a nice cup of coffee. I am sure
that four out of five would like it a great deal better than wine or
brandy. And nobody could possibly receive any harm. Didn't you hear
what father said about Mr. Lewis? That he had been rather wild? I am
sure I shall never forget seeing him stagger in the street once. I
suppose he has reformed. But just think, if the taste should be
revived again and at our house, and he should become intoxicated at
this wedding party! O, mother! It makes me feel dreadfully to think
about it. And dear Cousin Fanny! What sorrow it would bring to her!"

"O, dear, Henry! Don't talk in that kind of a way! You make me
shudder all over. You're getting too much carried away by this
subject of temperance"

And Mrs. Eldridge left the room to look after her domestic duties.
But she could not push from her mind certain uneasy thoughts which
her son's suggestions had awakened. During the morning an intimate
lady friend came in to whom Mrs. Eldridge spoke of the intended
party.

"And would you believe it," she said, "that old-fashioned boy of
mine actually proposed that we should have coffee instead of wine
and brandy."

"And you're going to adopt the suggestion," replied the lady, her
face lighten up with a pleasant smile.

"It would suit my own views exactly; but then such an innovation
upon a common usage as that; is not to be thought of for a moment."

"And why not?" asked the lady. "Coffee is safe, while wine and
brandy are always dangerous in promiscuous companies. You can never
tell in what morbid appetite you may excite an unhealthy craving.
You may receive into your house a young man with intellect clear,
and moral purposes well-balanced, and send him home at midnight, to
his mother, stupid from intoxication! Take your son's advice, my
friend. Exclude the wine and brandy, and give a pleasant cup of
coffee to your guests instead."

"O, dear, no, I can't do that!" said Mrs. Eldridge. "It would look
as if we were too mean to furnish wines and brandy. Besides, my
husband would never consent to it."

"Let me give you a little experience of my own. It may help you to a
right decision in this case."

The lady spoke with some earnestness, and a sober cast of thought in
her countenance. "It is now about three years since I gave a large
party, at which a number of young men were present,--boys I should
rather say. Among these was the son of an old and very dear friend.
He was in his nineteenth year,--a handsome, intelligent, and most
agreeable person--full of life and pleasant humor. At supper time I
noticed him with a glass of champagne in his hand, gayly talking
with some ladies. In a little while after, my eyes happening to rest
on him, I saw him holding, a glass of port wine to his lips, which
was emptied at a single draught. Again passing near him, in order to
speak to a lady, I observed a tumbler in his hand, and knew the
contents to be brandy and water. This caused me to feel some
concern, and I kept him, in closer observation. In a little while he
was at the table again, pouring out another glass of wine. I thought
it might be for a lady upon whom he was in attendance; but no, the
sparkling liquor touched his own lips. When the company returned to
the parlors, the flushed face, swimming eyes, and over-hilarious
manner of my young friend, showed too plainly that he had been
drinking to excess. He was so much excited as to attract the
attention of every one, and his condition became the subject of
remark. He was mortified and distressed at the occurrence, and
drawing him from the room, made free to tell him the truth. He
showed some indignation at first, and intimated that I had insulted
him but I rebuked him sternly, and told him he had better go home. I
was too much excited to act very wisely. He took me at my word, and
left the house. There was no sleep for my eyes on that night, Mrs.
Eldridge. The image of that boy going home to his mother at
midnight, in such a condition, and made so by my hand haunted me
like a rebuking spectre; and I resolved never again to set out a
table with liquors to a promiscuous company of young and old, and I
have kept that word of promise. My husband is not willing to have a
party unless there is wine with the refreshments, and I would rather
forego all entertainments than put temptation in the way of any one.
Your son's suggestion is admirable. Have the independence to act
upon it, and set an example which many will be glad to follow. Don't
fear criticism or remark; don't stop to ask what this one will say
or that one think. The approval of our own consciences is worth far
more than the opinions of men. Is it right? That is the question to
ask; not How will it appear? or What will people say? There will be
a number of parties given to your niece, without doubt; and if you,
lead off with coffee instead of wine, all the rest of Fanny's
friends may follow the good example."

When Mr. Eldridge came home at dinner-time, his wife said to him,--

"You needn't order any liquors from Snyder."

"Why not?" Mr. Eldridge looked at his wife with some surprise.

"I'm going to have coffee, instead of wine, and brandy," said Mrs.
Eldridge, speaking firmly.

"Nonsense!" You're jesting."

"No, I'm in earnest. These liquors are not only expensive, but
dangerous things to offer freely in mixed companies. Many boys get
their first taste for drink at fashionable parties, and many
reformed men have the old fiery thirst revived by a glass of wine
poured out for them in social hospitality. I am afraid to have my
conscience burdened with the responsibility which this involves."

"There is no question as to the injury that is done by this free
pouring out of liquors at our fashionable entertainments. I've long
enough seen that," said Mr. Eldridge; "but she will be a bold lady
who ventures to offer a cup of coffee in place of a glass of wine.
You had better think twice on this subject before you act once."

"I've done little else I but think about it for the last two hours,
and the more I think about it the more settled my purpose becomes."

"But what put this thing into your head?" inquired Mr. Eldridge.
"You were in full sail for party this morning, liquor and all; this
sudden tacking for a new course is a little surprising. I'm
puzzled."

"Your son put it into my head," replied Mrs. Eldridge.

"Henry? Well, that boy does beat all!" Mr. Eldridge did not speak
with disapprobation, but with a tone of pleasure in his voice. "And
so he proposed that we should have coffee instead of wine and
brandy?"

"Yes."

"Bravo for Henry! I like that. But what will people say, my dear? I
don't want to become a laughing stock."

"I'd rather have other people laugh at me for doing right," said
Mrs. Eldridge, "than to have my conscience blame me for doing
wrong."

"Must we give the party?" asked Mr. Eldridge, who did not feel much
inclined to brave public opinion.

"I don't see that we can well avoid doing so. Parties will be given,
and as Fanny is our niece, it will look like a slight towards her if
we hold back. No, she must have a party; and as I am resolved to
exclude liquor, we must come in first. Who knows but all the rest
may follow our example."

"Don't flatter yourself on any such result. We shall stand alone,
you may depend upon it."

The evening of the party came and a large company assembled at the
house of Mr. and Mrs. Eldridge. At eleven o'clock they passed to the
supper-room. On this time the thoughts of the host and hostess had
passed, ever and anon, during the whole evening, and not without
many misgivings as to the effect their entertainment would produce
on the minds of the company. Mr. Eldridge was particularly nervous
on the subject. There were several gentlemen present whom he knew to
be lovers of good wine; gentlemen at whose houses he had often been
entertained, and never without the exhilarating glass. How would
they feel? What would they think? What would they say? These
questions fairly haunted him; and he regretted, over and over again,
that he had yielded to his wife and excluded the liquors.

But there was no holding back now; the die was cast, and they must
stand to the issue. Mr. Eldridge tried to speak pleasantly to the
lady on his arm, as he ascended to the supper-room; but the words
came heavily from his tongue, for his heart was dying in him. Soon
the company were around the table, and eyes, critical in such
matters, taking hurried inventories of what it contained. Setting
aside the wine and brandy, the entertainment was of the most liberal
character, and the whole arrangement extremely elegant. At each end
of the table stood a large coffee-urn, surrounded with cups, the
meaning of which was not long a mystery to the company. After the
terrapin, oysters, salad, and their accompaniments, Mr. Eldridge
said to a lady, in a half-hesitating voice, as if he were almost
ashamed to ask the question,--

"Will you have a cup of coffee?"

"If you please," was the smiling answer. "Nothing would suit me
better."

"Delicious!" Mr. Eldridge heard one of the gentlemen, of whom he
stood most in dread, say. "This is indeed a treat. I wouldn't give
such a cup of coffee for the best glass of wine you could bring me."

"I am glad you are pleased," Mr. Eldridge could not help remarking,
as he turned to the gentleman.

"You couldn't have pleased me better," was replied.

Soon the cups were circling through the room, and every one seemed
to enjoy the rich beverage. It was not the ghost of coffee, nor
coffee robbed of its delicate aroma; but clear, strong, fragrant,
and mellowed by the most delicious cream. Having elected to serve
coffee, Mrs. Eldridge was careful that her entertainment should not
prove a failure through any lack of excellence in this article. And
it was very far from proving a failure. The first surprise being
over, one and another began to express an opinion on the subject to
the host and hostess.

"Let me thank you," said a lady, taking the hand of Mrs. Eldridge,
and speaking very warmly, "for your courage in making this
innovation upon a custom of doubtful prudence. I thank you, as a
mother, who has two sons here to-night."

She said no more, but Mrs. Eldridge understood well her whole
meaning.

"You are a brave man, and I honor you," was the remark of a
gentleman to Mr. Eldridge. "There will be many, I think, to follow
your good example. I should never have had the courage to lead, but
I think I shall be brave enough to follow, when it comes my turn to
entertain my friends."

Henry was standing by his father when this was said listening with
respectful, but deeply gratified attention.

"My son, sir," said Mr. Eldridge.

The gentleman took the boy by the hand, and while he held it, the
father added,--

"I must let the honor go to where it really is due. The suggestion
came from him. He is a Cadet of Temperance, and when the party was
talked of, he pleaded so earnestly for the substitution of coffee
for wine and brandy, and used such good reason for the change, that
we saw only one right course before us, and that we have adopted."

The gentleman, on hearing this, shook the lad's hand warmly, and
said,--

"Your father has reason to be proud of you, my brave boy! There is
no telling what good may grew out of this thing. Others will follow
your father's example, and hundreds of young men be saved from the
enticements of the wine cup."

With what strong throbs of pleasure did the boy's heart beat when
these words came to his ears! He had scarcely hoped for success when
he pleaded briefly, but earnestly, with his mother. Yet he felt that
he must speak, for to his mind, what she proposed doing was a great
evil. Since it had been resolved to banish liquor from the
entertainment, he had heard his father and mother speak several
times doubtfully as to the result; and more than once his father
expressed result that any such "foolish" attempt to run in the face
of people's prejudices had been thought of. Naturally, he had felt
anxious about the result; but now that the affair had gone off so
triumphantly, his heart was outgushing with pleasure.

The result was as had been predicted. Four parties were given to the
bride, and in each case the good example of Mrs. Eldridge was
followed. Coffee took the place of wine and brandy, and it was the
remark of nearly all, that there had been no pleasant parties during
the season.

So much for what a boy may do, by only a few right words spoken at
the right time, and in the right manner. Henry Eldridge was
thoughtful, modest, and earnest-minded. His attachment to the cause
of temperance was not a mere boyish enthusiasm, but the result of a
conviction that intemperance was a vice destructive, to both soul
and body, and one that lay like a curse and a plague-spot on
society, He could understand how, if the boys rejected, entirely,
the cup of confusion, the next, generation of men would be sober;
and this had led him to join the Cadets, and do all in his power to
get other lads to join also. In drawing other lads into the order,
he had been very successful; and now, in a few respectfully uttered,
but earnest words, he had checked the progress of intemperance in a
circle far beyond the ordinary reach of his influence.

Henry Eldridge was a happy boy that night.






XIV.

AMY'S QUESTION.





"AMY!"

Mrs. Grove called from the door that opened towards the garden. But
no answer came. The sun had set half an hour before, and his
parting, rays, were faintly tinging with gold and purple few clouds
that lay just alone the edge of the western sky. In the east, the
full moon was rising in all her beauty, making pale the stars that
were sparking in the firmament.

"Where is Amy?" she asked. "Has any one seen her come in?"

"I saw her go up stairs with her knitting in her hand half an hour
ago," said Amy's brother, who was busily at work with his knife on a
block of pine wood, trying to make a boat.

Mrs. Grove went to the foot of the stairs, and called again. But
there was no reply.

"I wonder where the child can be," she said to herself, a slight
feeling of anxiety crossing her mind. So she went up stairs to looks
for her. The door of Amy's bedroom was shut, but on pushing it open
Mrs. Grove saw her little girl sitting at the open window, so lost
in the beauty of the moonlit sky and her own thoughts that she did
not hear the noise of her mother's entrance.

"Amy," said Mrs. Grove.

The child started, and then said quickly,--

"O, mother! Come and see! Isn't it lovely?"

"What are you looking at, dear?" asked Mrs. Grove, as she sat down
by her side, and drew an arm around her.

"At the moon, and stars, and the lake away off by the hill. See what
a great road of light lies across the water! Isn't it beautiful,
mother? And it makes me feel so quiet and happy. I wonder why it
is?"

"Shall I tell you the reason?"

"O, yes, mother, dear! What is the reason?"

"God made everything that is good and beautiful."

"O, yes, I know that!"

"Good and beautiful for the sake of man; because man is the highest
thing of creation and nearest to God. All things below him were
created for his good; that is, God made them for him to use in
sustaining the life of his body or the life of his soul."

"I don't see what use I can make of the moon and stars," said Amy.

"And yet," answered her mother, "you said only a minute ago that the
beauty of this moon-light evening made you feel so quiet and happy."

"O, yes! That is so; and you were going to tell me why it was."

"First," said the mother, "let me, remind you that the moon and
stars give us light by night, and that, if you happened to be away
at a neighbor's after the sun went down, they would be of great use
in showing you the path home-ward."

"I didn't think of that when I spoke of not seeing what use I could
make, of the moon and stars," Amy replied.

Her mother went on,--

"God made everything that is good and beautiful for the stake of
man, as I have just told you; and each of these good and beautiful
things of creation comes to us with a double blessing,--one for our
bodies and the other for our souls. The moon and stars not only give
light this evening to make dark ways plain, but their calm presence
fills our souls with peace. And they do so, because all things of
nature being the work of God, have in them a likeness of something
in himself not seen by our eyes, but felt in our souls. Do you
understand anything of what I mean, Amy?"

"Just a little, only," answered the child. "Do you mean, mother
dear, that God is inside of the moon and stars, and everything else
that he has made?"

"Not exactly what I mean; but that he has so made them, that each
created thin is as a mirror in which our souls may see something of
his love and his wisdom reflected. In the water we see an image of
his truth, that, if learned, will satisfy our thirsty minds and
cleanse us from impurity. In the sun we see an image of his love,
that gives light, and warmth, and all beauty and health to our
souls."

"And what in the moon?" asked Amy.

"The moon is cold and calm, not warm and brilliant like the sun,
which tells us of God's love. Like truths learned, but not made warm
and bright by love, it shows us the way in times of darkness. But
you are too young to understand much about this. Only keep in your
memory that every good and beautiful thing you see, being made by
God, reflects something of his nature and quality to your soul and
that this is why the lovely, the grand, the beautiful, the pure, and
sweet things of nature fill your heart with peace or delight when
you gaze at them."

For a little while after this they sat looking out of the window,
both feeling very peaceful in the presence of God and his works.
Then voice was heard below, and Amy, starting up, exclaimed,--

"O, there is father!" and taking her mother's hand, went down to
meet him.






XV.

AN ANGEL IN DISGUISE.





IDLENESS, vice, and intemperance had done their miserable work, and
the dead mother lay cold and still amid her wretched children. She
had fallen upon the threshold of her own door in a drunken fit, and
died in the presence of her frightened little ones.

Death touches the spring of our common humanity. This woman had been
despised, scoffed at, and angrily denounced by nearly every man,
woman, and child in the village; but now, as the fact of, her death
was passed from lip to lip, in subdued tones, pity took the place of
anger, and sorrow of denunciation. Neighbors went hastily to the old
tumble-down hut, in which she had secured little more than a place
of shelter from summer heats and winter cold: some with
grave-clothes for a decent interment of the body; and some with food
for the half-starving children, three in number. Of these, John, the
oldest, a boy of twelve, was a stout lad, able to earn his living
with any farmer. Kate, between ten and eleven, was bright, active
girl, out of whom something clever might be made, if in good hands;
but poor little Maggie, the youngest, was hopelessly diseased. Two
years before a fall from a window had injured her spine, and she had
not been able to leave her bed since, except when lifted in the arms
of her mother.

"What is to be done with the children?" That was the chief question
now. The dead mother would go underground, and be forever beyond all
care or concern of the villagers. But the children must not be left
to starve. After considering the matter, and talking it over with
his wife, farmer Jones said that he would take John, and do well by
him, now that his mother was out of the way; and Mrs. Ellis, who had
been looking out for a bound girl, concluded that it would be
charitable in her to make choice of Katy, even though she was too
young to be of much use for several years.

"I could do much better, I know," said Mrs. Ellis; "but as no one
seems inclined to take her, I must act from a sense of duty expect
to have trouble with the child; for she's an undisciplined
thing--used to having her own way."

But no one said "I'll take Maggie." Pitying glances were cast on her
wan and wasted form and thoughts were troubled on her account.
Mothers brought cast-off garments and, removing her soiled and
ragged clothes, dressed her in clean attire. The sad eyes and
patient face of the little one touched many hearts, and even knocked
at them for entrance. But none opened to take her in. Who wanted a
bed-ridden child?

"Take her to the poorhouse," said a rough man, of whom the question
"What's to be done with Maggie?" was asked. "Nobody's going to be
bothered with her."

"The poorhouse is a sad place for a sick and helpless child,"
answered one.

"For your child or mine," said the other, lightly speaking; "but for
tis brat it will prove a blessed change, she will be kept clean,
have healthy food, and be doctored, which is more than can be said
of her past condition."

There was reason in that, but still it didn't satisfy. The day
following the day of death was made the day of burial. A few
neighbors were at the miserable hovel, but none followed dead cart
as it bore the unhonored remains to its pauper grave. Farmer Jones,
after the coffin was taken out, placed John in his wagon and drove
away, satisfied that he had done his part. Mrs. Ellis spoke to Kate
with a hurried air, "Bid your sister good by," and drew the tearful
children apart ere scarcely their lips had touched in a sobbing
farewell. Hastily others went out, some glancing at Maggie, and some
resolutely refraining from a look, until all had gone. She was
alone! Just beyond the threshold Joe Thompson, the wheelwright,
paused, and said to the blacksmith's wife, who was hastening off
with the rest,--

"It's a cruel thing to leave her so."

"Then take her to the poorhouse: she'll have to go there," answered
the blacksmith's wife, springing away, and leaving Joe behind.

For a little while the man stood with a puzzled air; then he turned
back, and went into the hovel again. Maggie with painful effort, had
raised herself to an upright position and was sitting on the bed,
straining her eyes upon the door out of which all had just departed,
A vague terror had come into her thin white face.

"O, Mr. Thompson!" she cried out, catching her suspended breath,
"don't leave me here all alone!"

Though rough in exterior, Joe Thompson, the wheelwright, had a
heart, and it was very tender in some places. He liked children, and
was pleased to have them come to his shop, where sleds and wagons
were made or mended for the village lads without a draft on their
hoarded sixpences.

"No, dear," he answered, in a kind voice, going to the bed, and
stooping down over the child, "You sha'n't be left here alone." Then
he wrapped her with the gentleness almost of a woman, in the clean
bedclothes which some neighbor had brought; and, lifting her in his
strong arms, bore her out into the air and across the field that lay
between the hovel and his home.

Now, Joe Thompson's wife, who happened to be childless, was not a
woman of saintly temper, nor much given to self-denial for others'
good, and Joe had well-grounded doubts touching the manner of
greeting he should receive on his arrival. Mrs. Thompson saw him
approaching from the window, and with ruffling feathers met him a
few paces from the door, as he opened the garden gate, and came in.
He bore a precious burden, and he felt it to be so. As his arms held
the sick child to his breast, a sphere of tenderness went out from
her, and penetrated his feelings. A bond had already corded itself
around them both, and love was springing into life.

"What have you there?" sharply questioned Mrs. Thompson.

Joe, felt the child start and shrink against him. He did not reply,
except by a look that was pleading and cautionary, that said, "Wait
a moment for explanations, and be gentle;" and, passing in, carried
Maggie to the small chamber on the first floor, and laid her on a
bed. Then, stepping back, he shut the door, and stood face to face
with his vinegar-tempered wife in the passage-way outside.

"You haven't brought home that sick brat!" Anger and astonishment
were in the tones of Mrs. Joe Thompson; her face was in a flame.

"I think women's hearts are sometimes very hard," said Joe. Usually
Joe Thompson got out of his wife's way, or kept rigidly silent and
non-combative when she fired up on any subject; it was with some
surprise, therefore, that she now encountered a firmly-set
countenance and a resolute pair of eyes.

"Women's hearts are not half so hard as men's!"

Joe saw, by a quick intuition, that his resolute bearing had
impressed his wife and he answered quickly, and with real
indignation, "Be that as it may, every woman at the funeral turned
her eyes steadily from the sick child's face, and when the cart went
off with her dead mother, hurried away, and left her alone in that
old hut, with the sun not an hour in the sky."

"Where were John and Kate?" asked Mrs. Thompson.

"Farmer Jones tossed John into his wagon, and drove off. Katie went
home with Mrs. Ellis; but nobody wanted the poor sick one. 'Send her
to the poorhouse,' was the cry."

"Why didn't you let her go, then. What did you bring her here for?"

"She can't walk to the poorhouse," said Joe; "somebody's arms must
carry her, and mine are strong enough for that task."

"Then why didn't you keep on? Why did you stop here?" demanded the
wife.

"Because I'm not apt to go on fools' errands. The Guardians must
first be seen, and a permit obtained."

There was no gainsaying this.

"When will you see the Guardians?" was asked, with irrepressible
impatience.

"To-morrow."

"Why put it off till to-morrow? Go at once for the permit, and get
the whole thing off of your hands to-night."

"Jane," said the wheelwright, with an impressiveness of tone that
greatly subdued his wife, "I read in the Bible sometimes, and find
much said about little children. How the Savior rebuked the
disciples who would not receive them; how he took them up in his
arms, and blessed them; and how he said that 'whosoever gave them
even a cup of cold water should not go unrewarded.' Now, it is a
small thing for us to keep this poor motherless little one for a
single night; to be kind to her for a single night; to make her life
comfortable for a single night."

The voice of the strong, rough man shook, and he turned his head
away, so that the moisture in his eyes might not be seen. Mrs.
Thompson did not answer, but a soft feeling crept into her heart.

"Look at her kindly, Jane; speak to her kindly," said Joe. "Think of
her dead mother, and the loneliness, the pain, the sorrow that must
be on all her coming life." The softness of his heart gave unwonted
eloquence to his lips.

Mrs. Thompson did not reply, but presently turned towards the little
chamber where her husband had deposited Maggie; and, pushing open
the door, went quietly in. Joe did not follow; he saw that, her
state had changed, and felt that it would be best to leave her alone
with the child. So he went to his shop, which stood near the house,
and worked until dusky evening released him from labor. A light
shining through the little chamber windows was the first object that
attracted Joe's attention on turning towards the house: it was a
good omen. The path led him by this windows and, when opposite, he
could not help pausing to look in. It was now dark enough outside to
screen him from observation. Maggie lay, a little raised on the
pillow with the lamp shining full upon her face. Mrs. Thompson was
sitting by the bed, talking to the child; but her back was towards
the window, so that her countenance was not seen. From Maggie's
face, therefore, Joe must read the character of their intercourse.
He saw that her eyes were intently fixed upon his wife; that now and
then a few words came, as if in answers from her lips; that her
expression was sad and tender; but he saw nothing of bitterness or
pain. A deep-drawn breath was followed by one of relief, as a weight
lifted itself from his heart.

On entering, Joe did not go immediately to the little chamber. His
heavy tread about the kitchen brought his wife somewhat hurriedly
from the room where she had been with Maggie. Joe thought it best
not to refer to the child, nor to manifest any concern in regard to
her.

"How soon will supper be ready?" he asked.

"Right soon," answered Mrs. Thompson, beginning to bustle about.
There was no asperity in her voice.

After washing from his hands and face the dust and soil of work, Joe
left the kitchen, and went to the little bedroom. A pair of large
bright eyes looked up at him from the snowy bed; looked at him
tenderly, gratefully, pleadingly. How his heart swelled in his
bosom! With what a quicker motion came the heart-beats! Joe sat
down, and now, for the first time, examining the thin free carefully
under the lamp light, saw that it was an attractive face, and full
of a childish sweetness which suffering had not been able to
obliterate.

"Your name is Maggie?" he said, as he sat down and took her soft
little hand in his.

"Yes, sir." Her voice struck a chord that quivered in a low strain
of music.

"Have you been sick long?"

"Yes, sir." What a sweet patience was in her tone!

"Has the doctor been to see you?"

"He used to come."

"But not lately?"

"No, sir."

"Have you any pain?"

"Sometimes, but not now."

"When had you pain?"

"This morning my side ached, and my back hurt when you carried me."

"It hurts you to be lifted or moved about?"

"Yes, sir."

"Your side doesn't ache now?"

"No, sir."

"Does it ache a great deal?"

"Yes, sir; but it hasn't ached any since I've been on this soft
bed."

"The soft bed feels good."

"O, yes, sir--so good!" What a satisfaction, mingled with gratitude,
was in her voice!

"Supper is ready," said Mrs. Thompson, looking into the room a
little while afterwards.

Joe glanced from his wife's face to that of Maggie; she understood
him, and answered,--

"She can wait until we are done; then I will bring her somethings to
eat." There was an effort at indifference on the part of Mrs.
Thompson, but her husband had seen her through the window, and
understood that the coldness was assumed. Joe waited, after sitting
down to the table, for his wife to introduce the subject uppermost
in both of their thoughts; but she kept silent on that theme, for
many minutes, and he maintained a like reserve. At last she said,
abruptly,--

"What are you going to do with that child?"

"I thought you understood me that she was to go to the poorhouse,"
replied Joe, as if surprised at her question.

Mrs. Thompson looked rather strangely at her husband for sonic
moments, and then dropped her eyes. The subject was not again
referred to during the meal. At its close, Mrs. Thompson toasted a
slice of bread, and softened, it with milk and butter; adding to
this a cup of tea, she took them into Maggie, and held the small
waiter, on which she had placed them, while the hungry child ate
with every sign of pleasure.

"Is it good?" asked Mrs. Thompson, seeing with what a keen relish
the food was taken.

The child paused with the cup in her hand, and answered with a look
of gratitude that awoke to new life old human feelings which had
been slumbering in her heart for half a score of years.

"We'll keep her a day or two longer; she is so weak and helpless,"
said Mrs. Joe Thompson, in answer to her husband's remark, at
breakfast-time on the next morning, that he must step down and see
the Guardians of the Poor about Maggie.

"She'll be so much in your way," said Joe.

"I sha'n't mind that for a day or two. Poor thing!"

Joe did not see the Guardians of the Poor on that day, on the next,
nor on the day following. In fact, he never saw them at all on
Maggie's account, for in less than a week Mrs. Joe Thompson would as
soon leave thought of taking up her own abode in the almshouse as
sending Maggie there.

What light and blessing did that sick and helpless child bring to
the home of Joe Thompson, the poor wheelwright! It had been dark,
and cold, and miserable there for a long time just because his wife
had nothing to love and care for out of herself, and so became soar,
irritable, ill-tempered, and self-afflicting in the desolation of
her woman's nature. Now the sweetness of that sick child, looking
ever to her in love, patience, and gratitude, was as honey to her
soul, and she carried her in her heart as well as in her arms, a
precious burden. As for Joe Thompson, there was not a man in all the
neighborhood who drank daily of a more precious wine of life than
he. An angel had come into his house, disguised as a sick, helpless,
and miserable child, and filled all its dreary chambers with the
sunshine of love.






XVI.

WHICH WAS MOST THE LADY?





"DID you ever see such a queer looking figure?" exclaimed a young
lady, speaking loud enough to be heard by the object of her remark.
She was riding slowly along in an open carriage, a short distance
from the city, accompanied by a relative. The young man, her
companion, looked across the, road at a woman, whose attire was
certainly not in any way very near approach to the fashion of the
day. She had on a faded calico dress, short in the waist; stout
leather shoes; the remains of what had once been a red merino long
shawl, and a dingy old Leghorn bonnet of the style of eighteen
hundred and twenty.

As the young man turned to look at the woman, the latter raised her
eyes and fixed them steadily upon the young lady who had so rudely
directed towards her the attention of her companion. Her face, was
not old nor faded, as the dress she wore. It was youthful, but plain
almost to homeliness; and the smallness of her eyes, which were
close together and placed at the Mongolian angle, gave to her
countenance a singular aspect.

"How do you do, aunty?" said the young man gently drawing on the
rein of his horse so as still further to diminish his speed.

The face of the young girl--for she was quite young--reddened, and she
slackened her steps so as to fall behind the rude, unfeeling couple,
who sought to make themselves merry at her expense.

"She is gypsy!" said the young lady, laughing.

"Gran'mother! How are catnip and hoarhound, snakeroot and tansy,
selling to-day? What's the state of the herb market?" joined the
young man with increasing rudeness.

"That bonnet's from the ark--ha! ha!"

"And was worn by the wife of Shem, Ham or Japheth. Ha! now I've got
it! This is the great, great, great granddaughter of Noah. What a
discovery! Where's Barnum? Here's a chance for another fortune!"

The poor girl made no answer to this cruel and cowardly assault, but
turned her face away, and stood still, in order to let the carriage
pass on.

"You look like a gentleman and a lady," said a man whom was riding
by, and happened to overhear some of their last remarks; "and no
doubt regard yourselves as such. But your conduct is anything but
gentlemanly and lady-like; and if I had the pleasure of knowing your
friends, I would advise them to keep you in until you had sense and
decency enough not to disgrace yourselves and them!"

A fiery spot burned instantly on the young man's face, and fierce
anger shot from his eyes. But the one who had spoken so sharply
fixed upon him a look of withering contempt, and riding close up to
the carriage, handed him his card, remarking coldly, as he did so,--

"I shall be pleased to meet you again, sir. May I ask your card in
return?"

The young man thrust his hand indignantly into his pocket, and
fumbled there for some moments, but without finding a card.

"No matter," said he, trying to speak fiercely; "you will hear from
me in good time."

"And you from me on the spot, if I should happen to catch you at
such mean and cowardly work as you were just now engaged in," said
the stranger, no seeking to veil his contempt.

"The vulgar brute! O, he's horrid!" ejaculated the young lady as her
rather crestfallen companion laid the whip upon his horse and dashed
ahead. "How he frightened me!"

"Some greasy butcher or two-fisted blacksmith," said the elegant
young man with contempt. "But," he added boastfully, "I'll teach him
a lesson!"

Out into the beautiful country, with feeling a little less buoyant
than when they started, rode our gay young couple. As the excitement
of passion died away both feel a little uncomfortable in mind, for
certain unpleasant convictions intruded themselves, and certain
precepts in the code of polite usage grew rather distinct in their
memories. They had been thoughtless, to say the least of it.

"But the girl looked so queer!" said the young lady. "I couldn't
help laughing to save my life. Where on earth did she come from?"

Not very keen was their enjoyment of the afternoon's ride, although
the day was particularly fine, and their way was amid some bits of
charming scenery. After going out into the country some five or six
miles, the horse's head was turned, and they took their way
homeward. Wishing to avoid the Monotony of a drive along the same
road the young man struck across the country in order to reach
another avenue leading into the city, but missed his way and
bewildered in a maze of winding country roads. While descending a
steep hill, in a very secluded place, a wheel came off, and both
were thrown from the carriage. The young man received only a slight
bruise, but the girl was more seriously injured. Her head had struck
against a stone with so strong a concussion as to render her
insensible.

Eagerly glancing around for aid, the young man saw, at no great
distance from the road, a poor looking log tenement, from the mud
chimney of which curled a thin column of smoke, giving signs of
inhabitants. To call aloud was his first impulse, and he raised his
voice with the cry of "Help!"

Scarcely had the sound died away, ere he saw the door of the cabin
flung open, and a woman and boy looked eagerly around.

"Help!" he cried again, and the sound of his voice directed their
eyes towards him. Even in his distress, alarm, and bewilderment, the
young man recognized instantly in the woman the person they had so
wantonly insulted only an hour or two before. As soon as she saw
them, she ran forward hastily, and seeing the white face of the
insensible girl, exclaimed, with pity and concern,--

"O, sir! is she badly hurt?"

There was heart in that voice of peculiar sweetness.

"Poor lady!" she said, tenderly, as she untied the bonnet strings
with gentle care, and placed her hand upon the clammy temples.

"Shall I help you to take her over to the house?" she added, drawing
an arm beneath the form of the insensible girl.

"Thank you!" There was a tone of respect in the young man's voice.
"But I can carry her myself;" and he raised the insensible form in
his arms, and, following the young stranger, bore it into her humble
dwelling. As he laid her upon a bed, he asked, eagerly,--

"Is there a doctor near?"

"Yes, sir," replied the girl. "If you will come to the door, I will
show you the doctor's house; and I think he must be at home, for I
saw him go by only a quarter of an hour since. John will take care
of your horse while you are away, and I will do my best for the poor
lady."

The doctor's house, about a quarter of a mile distant, was pointed
out, and the young man hurried off at a rapid speed. He was gone
only a few minutes when his insensible companion revived, and,
starting up, looked wildly around her.

"Where am I? Where is George?" she asked, eagerly.

"He has gone for the doctor; but will be back very soon," said the
young woman, in a kind, soothing voice.

"For the doctor! Who's injured?" She had clasped her hands across
her forehead, and now, on removing them, saw on one a wet stain of
blood. With a frightened cry she fell backs upon the pillow from
which she had risen.

"I don't think you are much hurt," was said, in a tone of
encouragement, as with a damp cloth the gentle stranger wiped very
tenderly her forehead. "The cut is not deep. Have you pain
anywhere?"

"No," was faintly answered.

"You can move your arms; so _they_ are uninjured. And now, won't you
just step on to the floor, and see if you can bear your weight? Let
me raise you up, There, put your foot down--now the other--now take a
step--now another. There are no bones broken! How glad I am!"

How earnest, how gentle, how pleased she was. There was no acting in
her manner. Every tone, expression, and gesture showed that heart
was in everything.

"O, I am glad!" she repeated. "It might have been so much worse."

The first glance into the young girl's face was one of
identification; and even amid the terror that oppressed her heart,
the unwilling visitor felt a sense of painful mortification. There
was no mistaking that peculiar countenance. But how different she
seemed! Her voice was singularly sweet, her manner gentle and full
of kindness, and in her movements and attitude a certain ease that
marked her as one not to be classed, even by the over-refined young
lady who was so suddenly brought within her power, among the common
herd.

All that assiduous care and kind attention could do for the unhappy
girl, until the doctor's arrival, was done. After getting back to
the bed from which she bad been induced to rise, in order to see if
all her limbs were sound, she grew sick and faint, and remained so
until the physician came. He gave it as his opinion that she had
received some internal injuries, and that it would not be safe to
attempt her removal.

The young couple looked at each other with dismay pictured in their
countenances.

"I wish it were in my power to make you more comfortable," said the
kind-hearted girl, in whose humble abode they were. "What we have is
at your service in welcome, and all that it is in my power to do
shall be done for you cheerfully. If father was only at home--but
that can't be helped."

The young man dazed upon her in wonder and shame--wonder at the charm
that now appeared in her singularly marked countenance, and shame
for the disgraceful and cowardly cruelty with which he had a little
while before so wantonly assailed her.

The doctor was positive about the matter, and so there was no
alternative. After seeing his unhappy relative in as comfortable a
condition as possible, the young man, with the doctor's aid,
repaired his crippled vehicle by the restoration of a linchpin, and
started for the city to bear intelligence of the sad accident, and
bring out the mother of the injured girl.

Alone with the person towards whom she had only a short time before
acted in such shameless violation of womanly kindness and lady-like
propriety, our "nice young lady" did not feel more comfortable in
mind than body. Every look--every word--every tone--every act of the
kind-hearted girl--was a rebuke. The delicacy of her attentions, and
the absence of everything like a desire to refund her of the recent
unpleasant incident, marked her as possessing, even if her face and
attire were plain, and her position humble, all the elements of a
true lady.

Although the doctor, when he left, did not speak very encouragingly,
the vigorous system of the young girl began to react and she grew
better quite rapidly so that when her parents arrived with the
family physician, she was so much improved that it was at once
decided to take her to the city.

For an hour before her parents came she lay feigning to be in sleep,
yet observing every movement and word of her gentle attendant. It
was an hour of shame, self-reproaches, and repentance. She was not
really bad at heart; but false estimates of things, trifling
associations, and a thoughtless disregard of others, had made her
far less a lady in act than she imagined herself to be in quality.
Her parents, when they arrived, overwhelmed the young girl with
thankfulness; and the father, at parting, tried to induce her to
accept a sum of money. But the offers seemed to disturb her.

"O, no, sir!" she said, drawing back, while a glow came into her
pale face, and made it almost beautiful; "I have only done a simple
duty."

"But you are poor," he urged, glancing around. "Take this, and let
it make you more comfortable."

"We are contented with what God has given to us," she replied,
cheerfully. "For what he gives is always the best portion. No, sir;
I cannot receive money for doing only a common duty."

"Your reward is great," said the father, touched with the noble
answer, "may God bless you, my good girl! And if you will not
receive my money, accept my grateful thanks."

As the daughter parted from the strange young girl, she bent down
and kissed her hand; then looking up into her face, with tearful
eyes, she whispered for her ears alone,--

"I am punished, and you are vindicated. O, let your heart forgive
me!"

"It was God whom you offended," was whispered back. "Get his
forgiveness, and all will be right. You have mine, and also the
prayer of my heart that you may be good and wise, for only such are
happy."

The humbled girl grasped her hand tightly, and murmured, "I shall
never forget you--never!"

Nor did she. If the direct offer of her father was declined,
indirect benefits reached, through her means, the lonely log
cottage, where everything in time put on a new and pleasant aspect,
wind the surroundings of the gentle spirit that presides there were
more in agreement with her true internal quality. To the thoughtless
young couple the incidents of that day were a life-lesson that never
passed entirely from their remembrance. They obtained a glance below
the surface of things that surprised them, learning that, even in
the humblest, there may be hearts in the right places--warm with pure
feelings, and inspired by the noblest sentiments of humanity; and
that highly as they esteem themselves on account of their position,
there was one, at least, standing below them so far as external
advantages were concerned, who was their superior in all the higher
qualities that go to make up the real lady and gentleman.






XVII.

OTHER PEOPLE'S EYES.





"OUR parlor carpet is beginning to look real shabby," said Mrs.
Cartwright. "I declare! if I don't feel right down ashamed of it,
every time a visitor, who is anybody, calls in to see me."

"A new one will cost--"

The husband of Mrs. Cartwright, a good-natured, compliant man, who
was never better pleased than when he could please his wife, paused
to let her finish the sentence, which she did promptly, by saying,--

"Only forty dollars. I've counted it all up. It will take thirty-six
yards. I saw a beautiful piece at Martin's--just the thing--at one
dollar a yard. Binding, and other little matters, won't go beyond
three or four dollars, and I can make it myself, you know."

"Only forty dollars! Mr. Cartwright glanced down at the carpet which
had decorated the floor of their little parlor for nearly five
years. It had a pleasant look in his eyes, for it was associated
with many pleasant memories. Only forty dollars for a new one! If
the cost were only five, instead of forty, the inclination to banish
this old friend to an out-of-the-way chamber would have been no
stronger in the mind of Mr. Cartwright. But forty dollars was an
item in the calculation, and to Mr. Cartwright a serious one. Every
year he was finding it harder to meet the gradually increasing
demand upon his purse; for there was a steadily progressive
enlargement of his family, and year after year the cost of living
advanced. He was thinking of this when his wife said,--

"You know, Henry, that cousin Sally Gray is coming here on a visit
week after next. Now I do want to put the very best face on to
things while she is here. We were married at the same time, and I
hear that her husband is getting rich. I feel a little pride about
the matter, and don't want her to think that we're growing worse off
than when we began life, and can't afford to replace this shabby old
carpet by a new one." No further argument was needed. Mr. Cartwright
had sixty dollars in one of the bureau drawers,--a fact well known to
his wife. And it was also well known to her that it was the
accumulation of very careful savings, designed, when the sum reached
one hundred dollars, to cancel a loan made by a friend, at a time
when sickness and a death in the family had run up their yearly
expenses beyond the year's income. Very desirous was Mr. Cartwright
to pay off this loan, and he had felt lighter in heart as those
aggregate of his savings came nearer and nearer to the sum required
for that purpose.

But he had no firmness to oppose his wife in anything. Her wishes in
this instance, as in many others, he unwisely made a law. The
argument about cousin Sally Gray was irresistible. No more than his
wife did he wish to look poor in her eyes; and so, for the sake of
her eyes, a new carpet was bought, and the old one--not by any means
as worn and faded as the language of his wife indicated--sent up
stairs to do second-hand duty in the spare bedroom.

Not within the limit of forty dollars was the expense confined. A
more costly pattern than could be obtained for one dollar a yard
tempted the eyes of Mrs. Cartwright, and abstracted from her
husband's savings the sum of over fifty dollars. Mats and rugs to go
with the carpet were indispensable, to give the parlor the right
effect in the eyes of cousin Sally Gray, and the purchase of these
absorbed the remainder of Mr. Cartwright's carefully hoarded sixty
dollars.

Unfortunately, for the comfortable condition of Mrs. Cartwright's
mind, the new carpet, with its flaunting colors, put wholly out of
countenance the cane-seat chairs and modest pier table, and gave to
the dull paper on the wall a duller aspect. Before, she had scarcely
noticed the hangings on the Venetian blinds, now, it seemed as if
they had lost their freshness in a day; and the places where they
were broken, and had been sewed again, were singularly apparent
every time her eye rested upon them.

"These blinds do look dreadfully!" she said to her husband, on the
day after the carpet went down. "Can you remember what they cost?"

"Eight dollars," replied Mr. Cartwright.

"So much?" The wife sighed as she spoke.

"Yes, that was the price. I remember it very well."

"I wonder what new hangings would cost?" Mrs. Cartwright's manner
grew suddenly more cheerful, as the suggestion of a cheaper way to
improve the windows came into her thought.

"Not much, I presume," answered her husband.

"Don't you think we'd better have it done?"

"Yes," was the compliant answer.

"Will you stop at the blind-maker's, as you go to the store, and
tell him to send up for them to-day? It must be attended to at once,
you know, for cousin Sally will be here on next Wednesday."

Mr. Cartwright called at the blind-maker's, as requested, and the
blind-maker promised to send for the blinds. From there he continued
onto the store in which he was employed. There he found a note on
his desk from the friend to whom he was indebted for the one hundred
dollars.

"Dear Cartwright" (so the note ran), "if it is possible for you to
let me have the one hundred dollars I loaned you, its return
to-morrow will be a particular favor, as I have a large payment to
make, and have been disappointed in the receipt of a sum of money
confidently expected."

A very sudden change of feeling did Mr. Cartwright experience. He
had, in a degree, partaken of his wife's pleasure in observing the
improved appearances of their little parlor but this pleasure was
now succeeded by a sense of painful regret and mortification. It was
nearly two hours before Mr. Cartwright returned an answer to his
friend's note. Most of that time had been spent in the vain effort
to discover some way out of the difficulty in which he found himself
placed. He would have asked an advance of one hundred dollars on his
salary, but he did not deem that a prudent step, and for two
reasons. One was, the known character of his employers; and the
other was involved in the question of how he was to support his
family for the time he was working out this advance? At last, in
sadness and humiliation, he wrote a brief reply, regretting his
inability to replace the loan now, but promising to do it in a very
short time. Not very long after this answer was sent, there came
another note from his friend, written in evident haste, and under
the influence of angry feelings. It was in these words:--

"I enclose your due bill, which I, yesterday, thought good for its
face. But, as it is worthless, I send it back. The man who buys new
carpets and new furniture, instead of paying his honest debts, can
be no friend of mine. I am sorry to have been mistaken in Henry
Cartwright."

Twice did the unhappy man read this cutting letter; then, folding it
up slowly, be concealed it in one of his pockets. Nothing was said
about it to his wife, whose wordy admiration of the new carpet, and
morning, noon, and night, for the next two or three days, was a
continual reproof of his weakness for having yielded to her wishes
in a matter where calm judgement and a principle of right should
have prevailed. But she could not help noticing that he was less
cheerful; and once or twice he spoke to her in a way that she
thought positively ill-natured. Something was wrong with him; but
what that something was, she did not for an instant imagine.

At last the day arrived for cousin Sally Gray's visit. Unfortunately
the Venetian blinds were still at the blind-maker's, where they were
likely to remain for a week longer, as it was discovered, on the
previous afternoon, that he had never touched them since they came
into his shop. Without them the little parlor had a terribly bare
look; the strong light coming in, and contrasting harshly the new,
gaudy carpet with the old, worn, and faded furniture. Mrs.
Cartwright fairly cried with vexation.

"We must have something for the windows, Henry," she said, as she
stood, disconsolate, in the parlor, after tea. "It will never do in
the world to let cousin Sally find us in this trim."

"Cousin Sally will find a welcome in our hearts," replied her
husband, in a sober voice, "and that, I am sure, will be more
grateful to her than new carpets and window blinds."

The way in which this was spoken rather surprised Mrs. Cartwright,
and she felt just a little rebuked.

"Don't you think," she said, after a few moments of silence on both
sides, "that we might afford to buy a few yards of lace to put up to
the windows, just for decency's sake?"

"No," answered the husband, firmly. "We have afforded too much
already."

His manner seemed to Mrs. Cartwright almost ill-natured. It hurt her
very much. Both sat down in the parlor, and both remained silent.
Mrs. Cartwright thought of the mean appearance everything in that
"best room" would have in the eyes of cousin Sally, and Mr.
Cartwright thought of his debt to his friend, and of that friend's
anger and alienation. Both felt more uncomfortable than they had
been for a long time.

On the next day cousin Sally arrived. She had not come to spy out
the nakedness of the land,--not for the purpose of making contrasts
between her own condition in life and that of Mr. Cartwright,--but
from pure love. She had always been warmly attached to her cousin;
and the years during which new life-associations had separated them
had increased rather than diminished this attachment. But the
gladness of their meeting was soon overshadowed; at least for cousin
Sally. She saw by the end of the first day's visit that her cousin
was more concerned to make a good appearance in her eyes,--to have
her understand that she and her husband were getting along bravely
in the world,--than to open her heart to her as of old, and exchange
with her a few pages in the history of their inner lives. What
interest had she in the new carpet, or the curtainless window, that
seemed to be the most prominent of all things in the mind of her
relative? None whatever! If the visit had been from Mary Cartwright
to herself, she would never have thought for an instant of making
preparations for her coming in the purchase of new furniture, or by
any change in the externals of her home. All arrangements for the
reception would have been in her heart.

Cousin Sally was disappointed. She did not find the relative, with
whom so many years of her life had been spent in sweet intercourse,
as she had hoped to find her. The girlish warmth of feelings had
given place to a cold worldliness that repelled instead of
attracting her. She had loved, and suffered much; had passed through
many trials, and entered through many opening doors into new
experiences, during the years since their ways parted. And she had
come to this old, dear friend, yearning for that heart
intercourse,--that reading together of some of the pages of their
books of life,--which she felt almost as a necessity. What interest
had she for the mere externals of Mary's life? None! None! And the
constant reference thereto, by her cousin, seemed like a
desecration. Careful and troubled about the little things of life,
she found the dear old friend of her girlish days, to whom she had
come hopefully, as to one who could comprehend, as in earlier years,
the feelings, thoughts, and aspirations which had grown stronger,
deeper, and of wider range.

Alas! Alas! How was the fine gold dimmed in her eyes!

"Dear Mary!" she said to her cousin, on the morning of the day that
was, to end her visit,--they were sitting, together in the little
parlor, and Mrs. Cartwright had referred, for the fortieth time, to
the unshaded windows, and declared herself mortified to death at the
appearance of things,--"Dear Mary! It was to see you, not your
furniture, that I came. To look into your heart and feel it beating
against mine as of old; not to pry, curiously, into your ways of
living, nor to compare your house-furnishing with my own. But for
your constant reference to these things, I should not have noticed,
particularly, how your house was attired; and if asked about them,
could only have answered, 'She's living very nicely.' Forgive me for
this plain speech, dear cousin. I did not mean to give utterance to
such language; but the words are spoken now, and cannot be
recalled."

Mrs. Cartwright, if not really offended, was mortified and rebuked
and these states of feeling united with pride, served to give
coldness to her exterior. She tried to be cordial in manner towards
her cousin; to seem as if she had not felt her words; but this was
impossible, for she had felt them too deeply. She saw that the
cherished friend and companion of her girlhood was disappointed in
her; that she had come to look into her heart, and not into the
attiring of her home; and was going away with diminished affection.
After years of divergence, their paths had touched; and, separating
once more, she felt that they would never run parallel again.

A few hours later, cousin Sally gave her a parting kiss. How
different in warmth to the kiss of meeting! Very sad, very
dissatisfied with herself,--very unhappy did Mrs. Cartwright feel, as
she sat musing alone after her relative had departed. She was
conscious of having lost a friend forever, because she had not risen
to the higher level to which that friend had attained--not in
external, but in the true internal life.

But a sharper mortification was in store for her. The letter of her
husband's friend, in which he had returned the due bill for one
hundred dollars, fell accidentally into her hands, and overwhelmed
her with consternation. For that new carpet, which had failed to win
more than a few extorted sentences of praise from cousin Sally Gray,
her husband had lost the esteem of one of his oldest and best
friends, and was now suffering, in silence, the most painful trial
of his life.

Poor, weak woman! Instead of the pleasure she had hoped to gain in
the possession of this carpet, it had made her completely wretched.
While sitting almost stupefied with the pressure that was on her
feelings, a neighbor called in, and she went down to the parlor to
meet her.

"What a lovely carpet!" said the neighbor, in real admiration.
"Where did you buy it?"

"At Martin's," was answered.

"Had they any more of the same pattern?" inquired the neighbor.

"This was the last piece."

The neighbor was sorry. It was the most beautiful pattern she had
ever seen; and she would hunt the city over but what she would find
another just like it.

"You may have this one," said Mrs Cartwright, on the impulse of the
moment. "My husband doesn't particularly fancy it. Your parlor is
exactly the size of mine. It is all made and bound nicely as you can
see; and this work on it shall cost you nothing. We paid a little
over fifty dollars for the carpet before a stitch was taken in it;
and fifty dollars will make you the possessor."

"Are you really in earnest?" said the neighbor.

"Never more so in my life."

"It is a bargain, then."

"Very well."

"When can I have it?"

"Just as soon as I can rip it from the floor," said Mrs. Cartwright,
in real earnest.

"Go to work," replied the neighbor, laughing out at the novelty of
the affair. "Before your task is half done, I will be back with the
fifty dollars, and a man to carry home the carpet."

And so she was. In less than half an hour after the sale was made,
in this off-hand fashion, Mrs. Cartwright sat alone in her parlor,
looking down upon the naked floor. But she had five ten-dollar gold
pieces in her hand, and they were of more value in her eyes than
twenty carpets. Not long did she sit musing here. There was other
work to do. The old carpet must be replaced upon the parlor floor
ere her husband's return. And it was replaced. In the midst of her
hurried operations the old blinds with the new hangings came in, and
were put up to the windows. When Mr. Cartwright returned home, and
stepped inside of the little parlor, where he found his wife
awaiting him, he gave an exclamation of surprise.

"Why, Mary! What is the meaning of this? Where is the new carpet?"

She laid the five gold pieces in his hand, and then looked
earnestly, and with tears in her eyes, upon his wondering face.

"What are these, Mary? Where did they come from?"

"Cousin Sally is gone. The carpet didn't seem attractive in her
eyes, and it has lost all beauty in mine. So I sold the unlovely
thing, and here is the money. Take it, dear Henry, and let it serve
the purpose for which it was designed."

"All right again!" exclaimed Mr. Cartwright, as soon as the whole
matter was clear to him. "All right, Mary, dear! That carpet, had it
remained, would have wrecked, I fear, the happiness of our home. Ah,
let us consult only our own eyes hereafter, Mary--not the eyes of
other people! None think the better of us for what we seem--only for
what we are. It is not from fine furniture that our true pleasure in
life is to come, but from a consciousness of right-doing. Let the
inner life be right, and the outer life will surely be in just
harmony. In the humble abode of virtue there is more real happiness
than in the palace-homes of the unjust, the selfish, and
wrong-doers. The sentiment is old as the world, but it must come to
every heart, at some time in life, with all the force of an original
utterance. And let it so come to us now, dear wife!"

And thus it did come. This little experience showed them an aspect
of things that quickened their better reasons, and its smart
remained long enough to give it the power of a monitor in all their
after lives. They never erred again in this wise. For two or three
years more the old carpet did duty in their neat little parlor, and
when it was at last replaced by a new one, the change was made for
their own eyes, and not for the eyes of another.
The Project Gutenberg Etext of After A Shadow and Other Stories
by T. S. Arthur
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On the Economy of Machinery and Manufactures
by Charles Babbage
1832



Preface


The present volume may be considered as one of the
consequences that have resulted from the calculating engine, the
construction of which I have been so long superintending. Having
been induced, during the last ten years, to visit a considerable
number of workshops and factories, both in England and on the
Continent, for the purpose of endeavouring to make myself
acquainted with the various resources of mechanical art, I was
insensibly led to apply to them those principles of
generalization to which my other pursuits had naturally given
rise. The increased number of curious processes and interesting
facts which thus came under my attention, as well as of the
reflections which they suggested, induced me to believe that the
publication of some of them might be of use to persons who
propose to bestow their attention on those enquiries which I have
only incidentally considered. With this view it was my intention
to have delivered the present work in the form of a course of
lectures at Cambridge; an intention which I was subsequently
induced to alter. The substance of a considerable portion of it
has, however, appeared among the preliminary chapters of the
mechanical part of the Encyclopedia Metropolitana.

I have not attempted to offer a complete enumeration of all
the mechanical principles which regulate the application of
machinery to arts and manufactures, but I have endeavoured to
present to the reader those which struck me as the most
important, either for understanding the actions of machines, or
for enabling the memory to classify and arrange the facts
connected with their employment. Still less have I attempted to
examine all the difficult questions of political economy which
are intimately connected with such enquiries. It was impossible
not to trace or to imagine, among the wide variety of facts
presented to me, some principles which seemed to pervade many
establishments; and having formed such conjectures, the desire to
refute or to verify them, gave an additional interest to the
pursuit. Several of the principles which I have proposed, appear
to me to have been unnoticed before. This was particularly the
case with respect to the explanation I have given of the division
of labour; but further enquiry satisfied me that I had been
anticipated by M. Gioja, and it is probable that additional
research would enable me to trace most of the other principles,
which I had thought original, to previous writers, to whose merit
I may perhaps be unjust, from my want of acquaintance with the
historical branch of the subject.

The truth however of the principles I have stated, is of much
more importance than their origin; and the utility of an enquiry
into them, and of establishing others more correct, if these
should be erroneous, can scarcely admit of a doubt.

The difficulty of understanding the processes of manufactures
has unfortunately been greatly overrated. To examine them with
the eye of a manufacturer, so as to be able to direct others to
repeat them, does undoubtedly require much skill and previous
acquaintance with the subject; but merely to apprehend their
general principles and mutual relations, is within the power of
almost every person possessing a tolerable education.

Those who possess rank in a manufacturing country, can
scarcely be excused if they are entirely ignorant of principles,
whose development has produced its greatness. The possessors of
wealth can scarcely be indifferent to processes which, nearly or
remotely have been the fertile source of their possessions. Those
who enjoy leisure can scarcely find a more interesting and
instructive pursuit than the examination of the workshops of
their own country, which contain within them a rich mine of
knowledge, too generally neglected by the wealthier classes.

It has been my endeavour, as much as possible, to avoid all
technical terms, and to describe, in concise language, the arts I
have had occasion to discuss. In touching on the more abstract
principles of political economy, after shortly stating the
reasons on which they are founded, I have endeavoured to support
them by facts and anecdotes; so that whilst young persons might
be amused and instructed by the illustrations, those of more
advanced judgement may find subject for meditation in the general
conclusions to which they point. I was anxious to support the
principles which I have advocated by the observations of others,
and in this respect I found myself peculiarly fortunate. The
reports of committees of the House of Commons, upon various
branches of commerce and manufactures, and the evidence which
they have at different periods published on those subjects, teem
with information of the most important kind, rendered doubly
valuable by the circumstances under which it has been collected.
From these sources I have freely taken, and I have derived some
additional confidence from the support they have afforded to my
views. *

Charles Babbage
Dorset Street
Manchester Square
8 June, 1832

[*Footnote: I am happy to avail myself of this occasion of expressing
my obligations to the Right Hon. Manners Sutton, the Speaker of the
House of Commons, to whom I am indebted for copies of a considerable
collection of those reports.]


Preface to the Second Edition


In two months from the publication of the first edition of
this volume, three thousand copies were in the hands of the
public. Very little was spent in advertisements; the booksellers,
instead of aiding, impeded its sale; * it formed no part of any
popular series and yet the public, in a few weeks, purchased the
whole edition. Some small part of this success, perhaps, was due
to the popular exposition of those curious processes which are
carried on in our workshops, and to the endeavour to take a short
view of the general principles which direct the manufactories of
the country. But the chief reason was the commanding attraction
of the subject, and the increasing desire to become acquainted
with the pursuits and interests of that portion of the people
which has recently acquired so large an accession of political
influence.


[*Footnote: I had good evidence of this fact from various quarters;
and being desirous of verifying it, I myself applied for a copy at
the shop of a bookseller of respectability, who is probably not aware
that he refused to procure one even for its author.]


A greater degree of attention than I had expected has been
excited by what I have stated in the first edition, respecting
the 'Book-trade'. Until I had commenced the chapter, 'On the
separate cost of each process of a manufacture', I had no
intention of alluding to that subject: but the reader will
perceive that I have throughout this volume, wherever I could,
employed as illustrations, objects of easy access to the reader;
and, in accordance with that principle, I selected the volume
itself. When I arrived at the chapter, 'On combinations of
masters against the public', I was induced, for the same reason,
to expose a combination connected with literature, which, in my
opinion, is both morally and politically wrong. I entered upon
this enquiry without the slightest feeling of hostility to that
trade, nor have I any wish unfavourable to it; but I think a
complete reform in its system would add to its usefulness and
respectability. As the subject of that chapter has been much
discussed, I have thought it right to take a view of the various
arguments which have been advanced, and to offer my own opinion
respecting their validity--and there I should have left the
subject, content to allow my general character to plead for me
against insinuations respecting my motives--but as the remarks
of some of my critics affect the character of another person, I
think it but just to state circumstances which will clearly
disprove them.

Mr Fellowes, of Ludgate Street, who had previously been the
publisher of some other volumes for me, had undertaken the
publication of the first edition of the present work. A short
time previous to its completion, I thought it right to call his
attention to the chapter in which the book-trade is discussed;
with the view both of making him acquainted with what I had
stated, and also of availing myself of his knowledge in
correcting any accidental error as to the facts. Mr Fellowes,
'differing from me entirely respecting the conclusions I had
arrived at', then declined the publication of the volume. If I
had then chosen to apply to some of those other booksellers,
whose names appear in the Committee of 'The Trade', it is
probable that they also would have declined the office of
publishing for me; and, had my object been to make a case against
the trade, such a course would have assisted me. But I had no
such feeling; and having procured a complete copy of the whole
work, I called with it on Mr Knight, of Pall Mall East, whom
until that day I had never seen, and with whom I had never
previously had the slightest communication. I left the book in Mr
Knight's hands, with a request that, when he had read it, I might
be informed whether he would undertake the publication of it; and
this he consented to do. Mr Knight, therefore, is so far from
being responsible for a single opinion in the present volume,
that he saw it only, for a short time, a few days previous to its
publication.

It has been objected to me, that I have exposed too freely
the secrets of trade. The only real secrets of trade are
industry, integrity, and knowledge: to the possessors of these no
exposure can be injurious; and they never fail to produce respect
and wealth.

The alterations in the present edition are so frequent, that
I found it impossible to comprise them in a supplement. But the
three new chapters, 'On money as a medium of exchange'; 'On a new
system of manufacturing'; and 'On the effect of machinery in
reducing the demand for labour'; will shortly be printed
separately, for the use of the purchasers of the first edition.

I am inclined to attach some importance to the new system of
manufacturing; and venture to throw it out with the hope of its
receiving a full discussion among those who are most interested
in the subject. I believe that some such system of conducting
manufactories would greatly increase the productive powers of any
country adopting it; and that our own possesses much greater
facilities for its application than other countries, in the
greater intelligence and superior education of the working
classes. The system would naturally commence in some large town,
by the union of some of the most prudent and active workmen; and
their example, if successful, would be followed by others. The
small capitalist would next join them, and such factories would
go on increasing until competition compelled the large capitalist
to adopt the same system; and, ultimately, the whole faculties of
every man engaged in manufacture would be concentrated upon one
object--the art of producing a good article at the lowest
possible cost--whilst the moral effect on that class of the
population would be useful in the highest degree, since it would
render character of far greater value to the workman than it is
at present.

To one criticism which has been made, this volume is
perfectly open. I have dismissed the important subject of the
patent-laws in a few lines. The subject presents, in my opinion,
great difficulties, and I have been unwilling to write upon it,
because I do not see my way. I will only here advert to one
difficulty. What constitutes an invention? Few simple mechanical
contrivances are new; and most combinations may be viewed as
species, and classed under genera of more or less generality; and
may, in consequence, be pronounced old or new, according to the
mechanical knowledge of the person who gives his opinion.

Some of my critics have amused their readers with the
wildness of the schemes I have occasionally thrown out; and I
myself have sometimes smiled along with them. Perhaps it were
wiser for present reputation to offer nothing but profoundly
meditated plans, but I do not think knowledge will be most
advanced by that course; such sparks may kindle the energies of
other minds more favourably circumstanced for pursuing the
enquiries. Thus I have now ventured to give some speculations on
the mode of blowing furnaces for smelting iron; and even
supposing them to be visionary, it is of some importance thus to
call the attention of a large population, engaged in one of our
most extensive manufactures, to the singular fact, that
four-fifths of the steam power used to blow their furnaces
actually cools them.

I have collected, with some pains, the criticisms* on the
first edition of this work, and have availed myself of much
information which has been communicated to me by my friends, for
the improvement of the present volume. If I have succeeded in
expressing that I had to explain with perspicuity, I am aware
that much of this clearness is due to my friend, Dr Fitton, to
whom both the present and the former edition are indebted for
such an examination and correction, as an author himself has very
rarely the power to bestow.


[*Footnote: Several of these have probably escaped me, and I shall
feel indebted to any one who will inform my publisher of any future
remarks.]


22 November, 1832.




Section I.




INTRODUCTION.

The object of the present volume is to point out the effects
and the advantages which arise from the use of tools and
machines;--to endeavour to classify their modes of action;--and to
trace both the causes and the consequences of applying machinery
to supersede the skill and power of the human arm.

A view of the mechanical part of the subject will, in the
first instance, occupy our attention, and to this the first
section of the work will be devoted. The first chapter of the
section will contain some remarks on the general sources from
whence the advantages of machinery are derived, and the
succeeding nine chapters will contain a detailed examination of
principles of a less general character. The eleventh chapter
contains numerous subdivisions, and is important from the
extensive classification it affords of the arts in which copying
is so largely employed. The twelfth chapter, which completes the
first section, contains a few suggestions for the assistance of
those who propose visiting manufactories.

The second section, after an introductory chapter on the
difference between making and manufacturing, will contain, in the
succeeding chapters, a discussion of many of the questions which
relate to the political economy of the subject. It was found that
the domestic arrangement, or interior economy of factories, was
so interwoven with the more general questions, that it was deemed
unadvisable to separate the two subjects. The concluding chapter
of this section, and of the work itself, relates to the future
prospects of manufactures, as arising from the application of
science.



Chapter 1

Sources of the Advantages arising from Machinery and Manufactures

1. There exists, perhaps, no single circumstance which
distinguishes our country more remarkably from all others, than
the vast extent and perfection to which we have carried the
contrivance of tools and machines for forming those conveniences
of which so large a quantity is consumed by almost every class of
the community. The amount of patient thought, of repeated
experiment, of happy exertion of genius, by which our
manufactures have been created and carried to their present
excellence, is scarcely to be imagined. If we look around the
rooms we inhabit, or through those storehouses of every
convenience, of every luxury that man can desire, which deck the
crowded streets of our larger cities, we shall find in the
history of each article, of every fabric, a series of failures
which have gradually led the way to excellence; and we shall
notice, in the art of making even the most insignificant of them,
processes calculated to excite our admiration by their
simplicity, or to rivet our attention by their unlooked-for
results.

2. The accumulation of skill and science which has been
directed to diminish the difficulty of producing manufactured
goods, has not been beneficial to that country alone in which it
is concentrated; distant kingdoms have participated in its
advantages. The luxurious natives of the East,(1*) and the ruder
inhabitants of the African desert are alike indebted to our
looms. The produce of our factories has preceded even our most
enterprising travellers.(2*) The cotton of India is conveyed by
British ships round half our planet, to be woven by British skill
in the factories of Lancashire: it is again set in motion by
British capital; and, transported to the very plains whereon it
grew, is repurchased by the lords of the soil which gave it
birth, at a cheaper price than that at which their coarser
machinery enables them to manufacture it themselves.(3*)

3. The large proportion of the population of this country,
who are engaged in manufactures, appears from the following table
deduced from a statement in an Essay on the Distribution of
Wealth, by the Rev. R. Jones:

For every hundred persons employed in agriculture, there are:

                    Agriculturists Non-agriculturists

 In Bengal          100             25
 In Italy           100             31
 In France          100             50
 In England         100             200


The fact that the proportion of non-agricultural to
agricultural persons is continually increasing, appears both from
the Report of the Committee of the House of Commons upon
Manufacturers' Employment, July, 1830, and from the still later
evidence of the last census; from which document the annexed
table of the increase of population in our great manufacturing
towns, has been deduced.

Increase of population per cent

Names of places
                     1801-11   1811-21   1821-31   Total
Manchester           22        40        47       151
Glasgow              30        46        38       161
Liverpool(4*)        26        31        44       138
Nottingham           19        18        25        75
Birmingham           16        24        33        90
Great Britain        14.2      15.7      15.5      52.5


Thus, in three periods of ten years, during each of which the
general population of the country has increased about 15 per
cent, or about 52 per cent upon the whole period of thirty years,
the population of these towns has, on the average, increased 132
per cent. After this statement, there requires no further
argument to demonstrate the vast importance to the well-being of
this country, of making the interests of its manufacturers well
understood and attended to.

4. The advantages which are derived from machinery and
manufactures seem to arise principally from three sources: The
addition which they make to human power. The economy they produce
of human time. The conversion of substances apparently common and
worthless into valuable products.

5. Of additions to human power. With respect to the first of
these causes, the forces derived from wind, from water, and from
steam, present themselves to the mind of every one; these are, in
fact, additions to human power, and will be considered in a
future page: there are, however, other sources of its increase,
by which the animal force of the individual is itself made to act
with far greater than its unassisted power; and to these we shall
at present confine our observations.

The construction of palaces, of temples, and of tombs, seems
to have occupied the earliest attention of nations just entering
on the career of civilization; and the enormous blocks of stone
moved from their native repositories to minister to the grandeur
or piety of the builders, have remained to excite the
astonishment of their posterity, long after the purposes of many
of these records, as well as the names of their founders, have
been forgotten. The different degrees of force necessary to move
these ponderous masses, will have varied according to the
mechanical knowledge of the people employed in their transport;
and that the extent of power required for this purpose is widely
different under different circumstances, will appear from the
following experiment, which is related by M. Rondelet, Sur L'Art
de Batir. A block of squared stone was taken for the subject of
experiment:

1. Weight of stone 1080 lbs

2. In order to drag this stone along the floor of the quarry,
roughly chiselled, it required a force equal to 758 lbs

3. The same stone dragged over a floor of planks required 652 lbs

4. The same stone placed on a platform of wood, and dragged over
a floor of planks, required 606 lbs

5. After soaping the two surfaces of wood which slid over each
other, it required 182 lbs

6. The same stone was now placed upon rollers of three inches
diameter, when it required to put it in motion along the floor of
the quarry 34 lbs

7. To drag it by these rollers over a wooden floor 28 lbs

8. When the stone was mounted on a wooden platform, and the same
rollers placed between that and a plank floor, it required 22 lbs


From this experiment it results, that the force necessary to
move a stone along

                                     Part of its weight

The roughly chiselled floor of its quarry is nearly 2/3
Along a wooden floor                                3/5
By wood upon wood                                   5/9
If the wooden surfaces are soaped                   1/6
With rollers on the floor of the quarry             1/32
On rollers on wood                                  1/40
On rollers between wood                             1/50


At each increase of knowledge, as well as on the contrivance
of every new tool, human labour becomes abridged. The man who
contrived rollers, invented a tool by which his power was
quintupled. The workman who first suggested the employment of
soap or grease, was immediately enabled to move, without exerting
a greater effort, more than three times the weight he could
before.(5*)

6. The economy of human time is the next advantage of
machinery in manufactures. So extensive and important is this
effect, that we might, if we were inclined to generalize, embrace
almost all the advantages under this single head: but the
elucidation of principles of less extent will contribute more
readily to a knowledge of the subject; and, as numerous examples
will be presented to the reader in the ensuing pages, we shall
restrict our illustrations upon this point.

As an example of the economy of time, the use of gunpowder in
blasting rocks may be noticed. Several pounds of powder may be
purchased for a sum acquired by a few days' labour: yet when this
is employed for the purpose alluded to, effects are frequently
produced which could not, even with the best tools, be
accomplished by other means in less than many months.

The dimensions of one of the blocks of limestone extracted
from the quarries worked for the formation of the breakwater at
Plymouth were 26 1/2 ft long, 13 ft wide, and 16 ft deep. This
mass, containing above 4,800 cubic feet, and weighing about 400
tons, was blasted three times. Two charges of 50 lbs each were
successively exploded in a hole 13 feet deep, the bore being 3
inches at top and 2 1/2 inches at bottom: 100 lbs of powder were
afterwards exploded in the rent formed by those operations. Each
pound of gunpowder separated from the rock two tons of matter, or
nearly 4,500 times its own weight. The expense of the powder was
L 6, or nearly 7 1/2d. per lb: the boring occupied two men during
a day and a half, and cost about 9s.; and the value of the
produce was, at that time, about L 45.

7. The simple contrivance of tin tubes for speaking through,
communicating between different apartments, by which the
directions of the superintendent are instantly conveyed to the
remotest parts of an establishment, produces a considerable
economy of time. It is employed in the shops and manufactories in
London, and might with advantage be used in domestic
establishments, particularly in large houses, in conveying orders
from the nursery to the kitchen, or from the house to the stable.
Its convenience arises not merely from saving the servant or
workman useless journeys to receive directions, but from
relieving the master himself from that indisposition to give
trouble, which frequently induces him to forego a trifling want,
when he knows that his attendant must mount several flights of
stairs to ascertain his wishes, and, after descending, must mount
again to supply them. The distance to which such a mode of
communication can be extended, does not appear to have been
ascertained, and would be an interesting subject for enquiry.
Admitting it to be possible between London and Liverpool, about
seventeen minutes would elapse before the words spoken at one end
would reach the other extremity of the pipe.

8. The art of using the diamond for cutting glass has
undergone, within a few years, a very important improvement. A
glazier's apprentice, when using a diamond set in a conical
ferrule, as was always the practice about twenty years since,
found great difficulty in acquiring the art of using it with
certainty; and, at the end of a seven years' apprenticeship, many
were found but indifferently skilled in its employment. This
arose from the difficulty of finding the precise angle at which
the diamond cuts, and of guiding it along the glass at the proper
inclination when that angle is found. Almost the whole of the
time consumed and of the glass destroyed in acquiring the art of
cutting glass, may now be saved by the use of an improved tool.
The gem is set in a small piece of squared brass with its edges
nearly parallel to one side of the square. A person skilled in
its use now files away the brass on one side until, by trial, he
finds that the diamond will make a clean cut, when guided by
keeping this edge pressed against a ruler. The diamond and its
mounting are now attached to a stick like a pencil, by means of a
swivel allowing a small angular motion. Thus, even the beginner
at once applies the cutting edge at the proper angle, by pressing
the side of the brass against a ruler; and even though the part
he holds in his hand should deviate a little from the required
angle, it communicates no irregularity to the position of the
diamond, which rarely fails to do its office when thus employed.

The relative hardness of the diamond, in different
directions, is a singular fact. An experienced workman, on whose
judgement I can rely, informed me that he has seen a diamond
ground with diamond powder on a cast-iron mill for three hours
without its being at all worn, but that, on changing its
direction with respect to the grinding surface, the same edge was
ground away.

9. Employment of materials of little value. The skins used by
the goldbeater are produced from the offal of animals. The hoofs
of horses and cattle, and other horny refuse, are employed in the
production of the prussiate of potash, that beautiful, yellow,
crystallized salt, which is exhibited in the shops of some of our
chemists. The worn-out saucepans and tinware of our kitchens,
when beyond the reach of the tinker's art, are not utterly
worthless. We sometimes meet carts loaded with old tin kettles
and worn-out iron coal-skuttles traversing our streets. These
have not yet completed their useful course; the less corroded
parts are cut into strips, punched with small holes, and
varnished with a coarse black varnish for the use of the
trunk-maker, who protects the edges and angles of his boxes with
them; the remainder are conveyed to the manufacturing chemists in
the outskirts of the town, who employ them in combination with
pyroligneous acid, in making a black die for the use of calico
printers.

10. Of tools. The difference between a tool and a machine is
not capable of very precise distinction; nor is it necessary, in
a popular explanation of those terms, to limit very strictly
their acceptation. A tool is usually more simple than a machine;
it is generally used with the hand, whilst a machine is
frequently moved by animal or steam power. The simpler machines
are often merely one or more tools placed in a frame, and acted
on by a moving power. In pointing out the advantages of tools, we
shall commence with some of the simplest.

11. To arrange twenty thousand needles thrown promiscuously
into a box, mixed and entangled in every possible direction, in
such a form that they shall be all parallel to each other, would,
at first sight, appear a most tedious occupation; in fact, if
each needle were to be separated individually, many hours must be
consumed in the process. Yet this is an operation which must be
performed many times in the manufacture of needles; and it is
accomplished in a few minutes by a very simple tool; nothing more
being requisite than a small flat tray of sheet iron, slightly
concave at the bottom. In this the needles are placed, and shaken
in a peculiar manner, by throwing them up a very little, and
giving at the same time a slight longitudinal motion to the tray.
The shape of the needles assists their arrangement; for if two
needles cross each other (unless, which is exceedingly
improbable, they happen to be precisely balanced), they will,
when they fall on the bottom of the tray, tend to place
themselves side by side, and the hollow form of the tray assists
this disposition. As they have no projection in any part to
impede this tendency, or to entangle each other, they are, by
continually shaking, arranged lengthwise, in three or four
minutes. The direction of the shake is now changed, the needles
are but little thrown up, but the tray is shaken endways; the
result of which is, that in a minute or two the needles which
were previously arranged endways become heaped up in a wall, with
their ends against the extremity of the tray. They are then
removed, by hundreds at a time, with a broad iron spatula, on
which they are retained by the forefinger of the left hand. As
this parallel arrangement of the needles must be repeated many
times, if a cheap and expeditious method had not been devised,
the expense of the manufacture would have been considerably
enhanced.

12. Another process in the art of making needles furnishes an
example of one of the simplest contrivances which can come under
the denomination of a tool. After the needles have been arranged
in the manner just described, it is necessary to separate them
into two parcels, in order that their points may be all in one
direction. This is usually done by women and children. The
needles are placed sideways in a heap, on a table, in front of
each operator, just as they are arranged by the process above
described. From five to ten are rolled towards this person with
the forefinger of the left hand; this separates them a very small
space from each other, and each in its turn is pushed lengthwise
to the right or to the left, according to the direction of the
point. This is the usual process, and in it every needle passes
individually under the finger of the operator. A small alteration
expedites the process considerably: the child puts on the
forefinger of its right hand a small cloth cap or fingerstall,
and rolling out of the heap from six to twelve needles, he keeps
them down by the forefinger of the left hand, whilst he presses
the forefinger of the right hand gently against their ends: those
which have the points towards the right hand stick into the
fingerstall; and the child, removing the finger of the left hand,
slightly raises the needles sticking into the cloth, and then
pushes them towards the left side. Those needles which had their
eyes on the right hand do not stick into the finger cover, and
are pushed to the heap on the right side before the repetition of
this process. By means of this simple contrivance each movement
of the finger, from one side to the other, carries five or six
needles to their proper heap; whereas, in the former method,
frequently only one was moved, and rarely more than two or three
were transported at one movement to their place.

13. Various operations occur in the arts in which the
assistance of an additional hand would be a great convenience to
the workman, and in these cases tools or machines of the simplest
structure come to our aid: vices of different forms, in which the
material to be wrought is firmly grasped by screws, are of this
kind, and are used in almost every workshop; but a more striking
example may be found in the trade of the nail-maker.

Some kinds of nails, such as those used for defending the
soles of coarse shoes, called hobnails, require a particular form
of the head, which is made by the stroke of a die. The workman
holds one end of the rod of iron out of which he forms the nails
in his left hand; with his right hand he hammers the red-hot end
of it into a point, and cutting the proper length almost off,
bends it nearly at a right angle. He puts this into a hole in a
small stake-iron immediately under a hammer which is connected
with a treadle, and has a die sunk in its surface corresponding
to the intended form of the head; and having given one part of
the form to the head with the small hammer in his hand, he moves
the treadle with his foot, disengages the other hammer, and
completes the figure of the head; the returning stroke produced
by the movement of the treadle striking the finished nail out of
the hole in which it was retained. Without this substitution of
his foot for another hand, the workman would, probably, be
obliged to heat the nails twice over.

14. Another, though fortunately a less general substitution
of tools for human hands, is used to assist the labour of those
who are deprived by nature, or by accident, of some of their
limbs. Those who have had an opportunity of examining the
beautiful contrivances for the manufacture of shoes by machinery,
which we owe to the fertile invention of Mr Brunel, must have
noticed many instances in which the workmen were enabled to
execute their task with precision, although labouring under the
disadvantages of the loss of an arm or leg. A similar instance
occurs at Liverpool, in the Institution for the Blind, where a
machine is used by those afflicted with blindness, for weaving
sash-lines; it is said to have been the invention of a person
suffering under that calamity. Other examples might be mentioned
of contrivances for the use, the amusement, or the instruction of
the wealthier classes, who labour under the same natural
disadvantages. These triumphs of skill and ingenuity deserve a
double portion of our admiration when applied to mitigate the
severity of natural or accidental misfortune; when they supply
the rich with occupation and knowledge; when they relieve the
poor from the additional evils of poverty and want.

15. Division of the objects of machinery. There exists a
natural, although, in point of number, a very unequal division
amongst machines: they may be classed as; first, those which are
employed to produce power, and as, secondly, those which are
intended merely to transmit force and execute work. The first of
these divisions is of great importance, and is very limited in
the variety of its species, although some of those species
consist of numerous individuals.

Of that class of mechanical agents by which motion is
transmitted--the lever, the pulley, the wedge, and many others--
it has been demonstrated, that no power is gained by their use,
however combined. Whatever force is applied at one point can only
be exerted at some other, diminished by friction and other
incidental causes; and it has been further proved, that whatever
is gained in the rapidity of execution is compensated by the
necessity of exerting additional force. These two principles,
long since placed beyond the reach of doubt, cannot be too
constantly borne in mind. But in limiting our attempts to things
which are possible, we are still, as we hope to shew, possessed
of a field of inexhaustible research, and of advantages derived
from mechanical skill, which have but just begun to exercise
their influence on our arts, and may be pursued without limit
contributing to the improvement, the wealth, and the happiness of
our race.

16. Of those machines by which we produce power, it may be
observed, that although they are to us immense acquisitions, yet
in regard to two of the sources of this power--the force of wind
and of water--we merely make use of bodies in a state of motion
by nature; we change the directions of their movement in order to
render them subservient to our purposes, but we neither add to
nor diminish the quantity of motion in existence. When we expose
the sails of a windmill obliquely to the gale, we check the
velocity of a small portion of the atmosphere, and convert its
own rectilinear motion into one of rotation in the sails; we thus
change the direction of force, but we create no power. The same
may be observed with regard to the sails of a vessel; the
quantity of motion given by them is precisely the same as that
which is destroyed in the atmosphere. If we avail ourselves of a
descending stream to turn a water-wheel, we are appropriating a
power which nature may appear, at first sight, to be uselessly
and irrecoverably wasting, but which, upon due examination, we
shall find she is ever regaining by other processes. The fluid
which is falling from a higher to a lower level, carries with it
the velocity due to its revolution with the earth at a greater
distance from its centre. It will therefore accelerate, although
to an almost infinitesimal extent, the earth's daily rotation.
The sum of all these increments of velocity, arising from the
descent of all the falling waters on the earth's surface, would
in time become perceptible, did not nature, by the process of
evaporation, convey the waters back to their sources; and thus
again, by removing matter to a greater distance from the centre,
destroy the velocity generated by its previous approach.

17. The force of vapour is another fertile source of moving
power; but even in this case it cannot be maintained that power
is created. Water is converted into elastic vapour by the
combustion of fuel. The chemical changes which thus take place
are constantly increasing the atmosphere by large quantities of
carbonic acid and other gases noxious to animal life. The means
by which nature decomposes these elements, or reconverts them
into a solid form, are not sufficiently known: but if the end
could be accomplished by mechanical force, it is almost certain
that the power necessary to produce it would at least equal that
which was generated by the original combustion. Man, therefore,
does not create power; but, availing himself of his knowledge of
nature's mysteries, he applies his talents to diverting a small
and limited portion of her energies to his own wants: and,
whether he employs the regulated action of steam, or the more
rapid and tremendous effects of gunpowder, he is only producing
on a small scale compositions and decompositions which nature is
incessantly at work in reversing, for the restoration of that
equilibrium which we cannot doubt is constantly maintained
throughout even the remotest limits of our system. The operations
of man participate in the character of their author; they are
diminutive, but energetic during the short period of their
existence: whilst those of nature, acting over vast spaces, and
unlimited by time, are ever pursuing their silent and resistless
career.

18. In stating the broad principle, that all combinations of
mechanical art can only augment the force communicated to the
machine at the expense of the time employed in producing the
effect, it might, perhaps, be imagined, that the assistance
derived from such contrivances is small. This is, however, by no
means the case: since the almost unlimited variety they afford,
enables us to exert to the greatest advantage whatever force we
employ. There is, it is true, a limit beyond which it is
impossible to reduce the power necessary to produce any given
effect, but it very seldom happens that the methods first
employed at all approach that limit. In dividing the knotted root
of a tree for fuel, how very different will be the time consumed,
according to the nature of the tool made use of! The hatchet, or
the adze, will divide it into small parts, but will consume a
large portion of the workman's time. The saw will answer the same
purpose more quickly and more effectually. This, in its turn, is
superseded by the wedge, which rends it in a still shorter time.
If the circumstances are favourable, and the workman skilful, the
time and expense may be still further reduced by the use of a
small quantity of gunpowder exploded in holes judiciously placed
in the block.

19. When a mass of matter is to be removed a certain force
must be expended; and upon the proper economy of this force the
price of transport will depend. A country must, however, have
reached a high degree of civilization before it will have
approached the limit of this economy. The cotton of Java is
conveyed in junks to the coast of China; but from the seed not
being previously separated, three-quarters of the weight thus
carried is not cotton. This might, perhaps, be justified in Java
by the want of machinery to separate the seed, or by the relative
cost of the operation in the two countries. But the cotton
itself, as packed by the Chinese, occupies three times the bulk
of an equal quantity shipped by Europeans for their own markets.
Thus the freight of a given quantity of cotton costs the Chinese
nearly twelve times the price to which, by a proper attention to
mechanical methods, it might be reduced. *

NOTES:

1. 'The Bandana handkerchiefs manufactured at Glasgow have long
superseded the genuine ones, and are now committed in large
quantities both by the natives and Chines.' Crawford's Indian
Archipelago, vol. iii, p. 505.

2. 'Captain Clapperton, when on a visit at the court of the
Sultan Bello, states, that provisionswere regularly sent me from
the sultan's table on pewter dishes with the London stamp; and I
even had a piece of meat served up on a white wash-hand basin of
English manufacture.' Clapperton's Journey, p. 88.

3. At Calicut, in the East Indies (whence the cotton cloth caled
calico derivesits name), the price of labour is one-seventh of
that in England, yet the market is supplied from British looms.

4. Liverpool, though not itself a manufacturing town, has been
placed in this list, from its connection with Manchester, of
which it is the port.

5. So sensible are the effects of grease in diminishing friction,
that the drivers of sledges in Amsterdam, on which heavy goodsare
transported, cary in their hand a rope soaked in tallow, which
they thrown down from time to time before the sledge, in order
that, by passing over the rope, it may become greased.



Chapter 2

Accumulating Power

20. Whenever the work to be done requires more force for its
execution than can be generated in the time necessary for its
completion, recourse must be had to some mechanical method of
preserving and condensing a part of the power exerted previously
to the commencement of the process. This is most frequently
accomplished by a fly-wheel, which is in fact nothing more than a
wheel having a very heavy rim, so that the greater part of its
weight is near the circumference. It requires great power applied
for some time to put this into rapid motion; but when moving with
considerable velocity, the effects are exceedingly powerful, if
its force be concentrated upon a small object. In some of the
iron works where the power of the steam-engine is a little too
small for the rollers which it drives, it is usual to set the
engine at work a short time before the red-hot iron is ready to
be removed from the furnace to the rollers, and to allow it to
work with great rapidity until the fly has acquired a velocity
rather alarming to those unused to such establishments. On
passing the softened mass of iron through the first groove, the
engine receives a great and very perceptible check; and its speed
is diminished at the next and at each succeeding passage, until
the iron bar is reduced to such a size that the ordinary power of
the engine is sufficient to roll it.

21. The powerful effect of a large flywheel when its force
can be concentrated on a point, was curiously illustrated at one
of the largest of our manufactories. The proprietor was shewing
to a friend the method of punching holes in iron plates for the
boilers of steam-engines. He held in his hand a piece of
sheet-iron three-eighths of an inch thick, which he placed under
the punch. Observing, after several holes had been made, that the
punch made its perforations more and more slowly, he called to
the engine-man to know what made the engine work so sluggishly,
when it was found that the flywheel and punching apparatus had
been detached from the steam-engine just at the commencement of
his experiment.

22. Another mode of accumulating power arises from lifting a
weight and then allowing it to fall. A man, even with a heavy
hammer, might strike repeated blows upon the head of a pile
without producing any effect. But if he raises a much heavier
hammer to a much greater height, its fall, though far less
frequently repeated, will produce the desired effect.

When a small blow is given to a large mass of matter, as to a
pile, the imperfect elasticity of the material causes a small
loss of momentum in the transmission of the motion from each
particle to the succeeding one; and, therefore, it may happen
that the whole force communicated shall be destroyed before it
reaches the opposite extremity.

23. The power accumulated within a small space by gunpowder
is well known; and, though not strictly an illustration of the
subject discussed in this chapter, some of its effects, under
peculiar circumstances, are so singular, that an attempt to
explain them may perhaps be excused. If a gun is loaded with ball
it will not kick so much as when loaded with small shot; and
amongst different kinds of shot, that which is the smallest,
causes the greatest recoil against the shoulder. A gun loaded
with a quantity of sand, equal in weight to a charge of
snipe-shot, kicks still more. If, in loading, a space is left
between the wadding and the charge, the gun either recoils
violently, or bursts. If the muzzle of a gun has accidentally
been stuck into the ground, so as to be stopped up with clay, or
even with snow, or if it be fired with its muzzle plunged into
water, the almost certain result is that it bursts.

The ultimate cause of these apparently inconsistent effects
is, that every force requires time to produce its effect; and if
the time requisite for the elastic vapour within to force out the
sides of the barrel, is less than that in which the condensation
of the air near the wadding is conveyed in sufficient force to
drive the impediment from the muzzle, then the barrel must burst.
If sometimes happens that these two forces are so nearly balanced
that the barrel only swells; the obstacle giving way before the
gun is actually burst.

The correctness of this explanation will appear by tracing
step by step the circumstances which arise on discharging a gun
loaded with powder confined by a cylindrical piece of wadding,
and having its muzzle filled with clay, or some other substance
having a moderate degree of resistance. In this case the first
effect of the explosion is to produce an enormous pressure on
everything confining it, and to advance the wadding through a
very small space. Here let us consider it as at rest for a
moment, and examine its condition. The portion of air in
immediate contact with the wadding is condensed; and if the
wadding were to remain at rest, the air throughout the tube would
soon acquire a uniform density. But this would require a small
interval of time; for the condensation next the wadding would
travel with the velocity of sound to the other end, from whence,
being reflected back, a series of waves would be generated,
which, aided by the friction of the tube, would ultimately
destroy the motion.

But until the first wave reaches the impediment at the
muzzle, the air can exert no pressure against it. Now if the
velocity communicated to the wadding is very much greater than
that of sound, the condensation of the air immediately in advance
of it may be very great before the resistance transmitted to the
muzzle is at all considerable; in which case the mutual repulsion
of the particles of air so compressed, will offer an absolute
barrier to the advance of the wadding.(1*)

If this explanation be correct, the additional recoil, when a
gun is loaded with small shot or sand, may arise in some measure
from the condensation of the air contained between their
particles; but chiefly from the velocity communicated by the
explosion to those particles of the substances in immediate
contact with the powder being greater than that with which a wave
can be transmitted through them. It also affords a reason for the
success of a method of blasting rocks by filling the upper part
of the hole above the powder with sand, instead of clay rammed
hard. That the destruction of the gun barrel does not arise from
the property possessed by fluids, and in some measure also by
sand and small shot, of pressing equally in all directions, and
thus exerting a force against a large portion of the interior
surface, seems to be proved by a circumstance mentioned by Le
Vaillant and other travellers, that, for the purpose of taking
birds without injuring their plumage, they filled the barrel of
their fowling pieces with water, instead of loading them with a
charge of shot.

24. The same reasoning explains a curious phenomenon which
occurs in firing a still more powerfully explosive substance. If
we put a small quantity of fulminating silver upon the face of an
anvil, and strike it slightly with a hammer, it explodes; but
instead of breaking either the hammer or the anvil, it is found
that that part of the face of each in contact with the
fulminating silver is damaged. In this case the velocity
communicated by the elastic matter disengaged may be greater than
the velocity of a wave traversing steel; so that the particles at
the surface are driven by the explosion so near to those next
adjacent, that when the compelling force is removed, the
repulsion of the particles within the mass drives back those
nearer to the surface, with such force, that they pass beyond the
limits of attraction, and are separated in the shape of powder.

25. i) The success of the experiment of firing a tallow candle
through a deal board, would be explained in the same manner, by
supposing the velocity of a wave propagated through deal to be
greater than that of a wave passing through tallow.

25. ii) The boiler of a steam-engine sometimes bursts even
during the escape of steam through the safety-valve. If the water
in the boiler is thrown upon any part which happens to be red
hot, the steam formed in the immediate neighbourhood of that part
expands with greater velocity than that with which a wave can be
transmitted through the less heated steam; consequently one
particle is urged against the next, and an almost invincible
obstacle is formed, in the same manner as described in the case
of the discharge of a gun. If the safety-valve is closed, it may
retain the pressure thus created for a short time, and even when
it is open the escape may not be sufficiently rapid to remove all
impediment; there may therefore exist momentarily within the
boiler pressures of various force, varying from that which can
just lift the safety-valve up to that which is sufficient, if
exerted during an extremely small space of time, to tear open the
boiler itself.

26. This reasoning ought, however, to be admitted with
caution; and perhaps some inducement to examine it carefully may
be presented by tracing it to extreme cases. It would seem, but
this is not a necessary consequence, that a gun might be made so
long, that it would burst although no obstacle filled up its
muzzle. It should also follow that if, after the gun is charged,
the air were extracted from the barrel, though the muzzle be then
left closed, the gun ought not to burst. It would also seem to
follow from the principle of the explanation, that a body might
be projected in air, or other elastic resisting medium, with such
force that, after advancing a very short space it should return
in the same direction in which it was projected.

NOTES:

1. See Poisson's remarks, Ecole Polytec. Cahier, xxi, p. 191.



Chapter 3

Regulating Power

27. Uniformity and steadiness in the rate at which machinery
works, are essential both for its effect and its duration. The
first illustration which presents itself is that beautiful
contrivance, the governor of the steam-engine, which must
immediately occur to all who are familiar with that admirable
engine. Wherever the increased speed of the engine would lead to
injurious or dangerous consequences, this is applied; and it is
equally the regulator of the water-wheel which drives a
spinning-jenny, or of the windmills which drain our fens. In the
dockyard at Chatham, the descending motion of a large platform,
on which timber is raised, is regulated by a governor; but as the
weight is very considerable, the velocity of this governor is
still further checked by causing its motion to take place in
water.

28. Another very beautiful contrivance for regulating the
number of strokes made by a steam-engine, is used in Cornwall: it
is called the cataract, and depends on the time required to fill
a vessel plunged in water, the opening of the valve through which
the fluid is admitted being adjustable at the will of the
engine-man.

29. The regularity of the supply of fuel to the fire under
the boilers of steam-engines is another mode of contributing to
the uniformity of their rate, and also economizes the consumption
of coal. Several patents have been taken out for methods of
regulating this supply: the general principle being to make the
engine supply the fire with small quantities of fuel at regular
intervals by means of a hopper, and to make it diminish this
supply when the engine works too quickly. One of the incidental
advantages of this plan is, that by throwing on a very small
quantity of coal at a time, the smoke is almost entirely
consumed. The dampers of ashpits and chimneys are also, in some
cases, connected with machines in order to regulate their speed.

30. Another contrivance for regulating the effect of
machinery consists in a vane or fly, of little weight, but
presenting a large surface. This revolves rapidly, and soon
acquires a uniform rate, which it cannot greatly exceed, because
any addition to its velocity produces a much greater addition to
the resistance it meets with from the air. The interval between
the strokes on the bell of a clock is regulated in this way, and
the fly is so contrived, that the interval may be altered by
presenting the arms of it more or less obliquely to the direction
in which they move. This kind of fly, or vane, is generally used
in the smaller kinds of mechanism, and, unlike the heavy fly, it
is a destroyer instead of a preserver of force. It is the
regulator used in musical boxes, and in almost all mechanical
toys.

31. The action of a fly, or vane, suggests the principle of
an instrument for measuring the altitude of mountains, which
perhaps deserves a trial, since, if it succeed only tolerably, it
will form a much more portable instrument than the barometer. It
is well known that the barometer indicates the weight of a column
of the atmosphere above it, whose base is equal to the bore of
the tube. It is also known that the density of the air adjacent
to the instrument will depend both on the weight of air above it,
and on the heat of the air at that place. If, therefore, we can
measure the density of the air, and its temperature, the height
of a column of mercury which it would support in the barometer
can be found by calculation. Now the thermometer gives
information respecting the temperature of the air immediately;
and its density might be ascertained by means of a watch and a
small instrument, in which the number of turns made by a vane
moved by a constant force, should be registered. The less dense
the air in which the vane revolves, the greater will be the
number of its revolutions in a given time: and tables could be
formed from experiments in partially exhausted vessels, aided by
calculation, from which, if the temperature of the air, and the
number of revolutions of the vane are given, the corresponding
height of the barometer might be found.(1*)

NOTES:

1. To persons who may be inclined to experiment upon this or any
other instrument, I would beg to suggest the perusal of the
section 'On the art of Observing', Observations on the Decline of
Science in England, p. 170, Fellowes, 1828.



Chapter 4

Increase and Diminution of Velocity

32. The fatigue produced on the muscles of the human frame
does not altogether depend on the actual force employed in each
effort, but partly on the frequency with which it is exerted. The
exertion necessary to accomplish every operation consists of two
parts: one of these is the expenditure of force which is
necessary to drive the tool or instrument; and the other is the
effort required for the motion of some limb of the animal
producing the action. In driving a nail into a piece of wood, one
of these is lifting the hammer, and propelling its head against
the nail; the other is, raising the arm itself, and moving it in
order to use the hammer. If the weight of the hammer is
considerable, the former part will cause the greatest portion of
the exertion. If the hammer is light, the exertion of raising the
arm will produce the greatest part of the fatigue. It does
therefore happen, that operations requiring very trifling force,
if frequently repeated, will tire more effectually than more
laborious work. There is also a degree of rapidity beyond which
the action of the muscles cannot be pressed.

33. The most advantageous load for a porter who carries wood
up stairs on his shoulders, has been investigated by M. Coulomb;
but he found from experiment that a man walking up stairs without
any load, and raising his burden by means of his own weight in
descending, could do as much work in one day, as four men
employed in the ordinary way with the most favourable load.

34. The proportion between the velocity with which men or
animals move, and the weights they carry, is a matter of
considerable importance, particularly in military affairs. It is
also of great importance for the economy of labour, to adjust the
weight of that part of the animal's body which is moved, the
weight of the tool it urges, and the frequency of repetition of
these efforts, so as to produce the greatest effect. An instance
of the saving of time by making the same motion of the arm
execute two operations instead of one, occurs in the simple art
of making the tags of bootlaces: these tags are formed out of
very thin, tinned, sheet-iron, and were formerly cut out of long
strips of that material into pieces of such a breadth that when
bent round they just enclosed the lace. Two pieces of steel have
recently been fixed to the side of the shears, by which each
piece of tinned-iron as soon as it is cut is bent into a
semi-cylindrical form. The additional power required for this
operation is almost imperceptible, and it is executed by the same
motion of the arm which produces the cut. The work is usually
performed by women and children; and with the improved tool more
than three times the quantity of tags is produced in a given
time.(1*)

35. Whenever the work is itself light, it becomes necessary,
in order to economize time, to increase the velocity. Twisting
the fibres of wool by the fingers would be a most tedious
operation: in the common spinning-wheel the velocity of the foot
is moderate, but by a very simple contrivance that of the thread
is most rapid. A piece of catgut passing round a large wheel, and
then round a small spindle, effects this change. This contrivance
is common to a multitude of machines, some of them very simple.
In large shops for the retail of ribands, it is necessary at
short intervals to 'take stock', that is, to measure and rewind
every piece of riband, an operation which, even with this mode of
shortening it, is sufficiently tiresome, but without it would be
almost impossible from its expense. The small balls of sewing
cotton, so cheap and so beautifully wound, are formed by a
machine on the same principle, and but a few steps more
complicated.

36. In turning from the smaller instruments in frequent use
to the larger and more important machines, the economy arising
from the increase of velocity becomes more striking. In
converting cast into wrought-iron, a mass of metal, of about a
hundredweight, is heated almost to white heat, and placed under a
heavy hammer moved by water or steam power. This is raised by a
projection on a revolving axis; and if the hammer derived its
momentum only from the space through which it fell, it would
require a considerably greater time to give a blow. But as it is
important that the softened mass of red-hot iron should receive
as many blows as possible before it cools, the form of the cam or
projection on the axis is such, that the hammer, instead of being
lifted to a small height, is thrown up with a jerk, and almost
the instant after it strikes against a large beam, which acts as
a powerful spring, and drives it down on the iron with such
velocity that by these means about double the number of strokes
can be made in a given time. In the smaller tilt-hammers, this is
carried still further by striking the tail of the tilt-hammer
forcibly against a small steel anvil, it rebounds with such
velocity, that from three to five hundred strokes are made in a
minute. In the manufacture of anchors, an art in which a similar
contrivance is of still greater importance, it has only been
recently applied.

37. In the manufacture of scythes, the length of the blade
renders it necessary that the workman should move readily, so as
to bring every part of it on the anvil in quick succession. This
is effected by placing him in a seat suspended by ropes from the
ceiling: so that he is enabled, with little bodily exertion, to
vary his distance, by pressing his feet against the block which
supports the anvil, or against the floor.

38. An increase of velocity is sometimes necessary to render
operations possible: thus a person may skate with great rapidity
over ice which would not support his weight if he moved over it
more slowly. This arises from the fact, that time is requisite
for producing the fracture of the ice: as soon as the weight of
the skater begins to act on any point, the ice, supported by the
water, bends slowly under him; but if the skater's velocity is
considerable, he has passed off from the spot which was loaded
before the bending has reached the point which would cause the
ice to break.

39. An effect not very different from this might take place
if very great velocity were communicated to boats. Let us suppose
a flatbottomed boat, whose bow forms an inclined plane with the
bottom, at rest in still water. If we imagine some very great
force suddenly to propel this boat, the inclination of the plane
at the forepart would cause it to rise in the water; and if the
force were excessive, it might even rise out of the water, and
advance, by a series of leaps, like a piece of slate or an oyster
shell, thrown as a 'duck and drake'.

If the force were not sufficient to pull the boat out of the
water, but were just enough to bring its bottom to the surface,
it would be carried along with a kind of gliding motion with
great rapidity; for at every point of its course it would require
a certain time before, it could sink to its usual draft of water;
but before that time had elapsed, it would have advanced to
another point, and consequently have been raised by the reaction
of the water on the inclined plane at its forepart.

40. The same fact, that bodies moving with great velocity
have not time to exert the full effect of their weight, seems to
explain a circumstance which appears to be very unaccountable. It
sometimes happens that when foot-passengers are knocked down by
carriages, the wheels pass over them with scarcely any injury,
though, if the weight of the carriage had rested on their body,
even for a few seconds, it would have crushed them to death. If
the view above taken is correct, the injury in such circumstances
will chiefly happen to that part of the body which is struck by
the advancing wheel.

41. An operation in which rapidity is of essential importance
is in bringing the produce of mines up to the surface. The shafts
through which the produce is raised are sunk at a very great
expense, and it is, of course, desirable to sink as few of them
as possible. The matter to be extracted is therefore raised by
steam-engines with considerable, and without this many of our
mines could not be worked velocity, with profit.

42. The effect of great velocity in modifying the form of a
cohesive substance is beautifully shown in the process for making
window glass, termed "flashing", which is one of the most striking
operations in our domestic arts. A workman having dipped his iron
tube into the glass pot, and loaded it with several pounds of the
melted "metal", blows out a large globe, which is connected with
his rod by a short thick hollow neck. Another workman now fixes
to the globe immediately opposite to its neck, an iron rod, the
extremity of which has been dipped in the melted glass; and when
this is firmly attached, a few drops of water separate the neck
of the globe from the iron tube. The rod with the globe attached
to it is now held at the mouth of a glowing furnace: and by
turning the rod the globe is made to revolve slowly, so as to be
uniformly exposed to the heat: the first effect of this softening
is to make the glass contract upon itself and to enlarge the
opening of the neck. As the softening proceeds, the globe is
turned more quickly on its axis, and when very soft and almost
incandescent, it is removed from the fire, and the velocity of
rotation being still continually increased, the opening enlarges
from the effect of the centrifugal force, at first gradually,
until at last the mouth suddenly expands or "flashes" out into one
large circular sheet of red hot glass. The neck of the original
globe, which is to become the outer part of the sheet, is left
thick to admit of this expansion, and forms the edge of the
circular plate of glass, which is called a "Table". The centre
presents the appearance of a thick boss or prominence, called the
"Bull's-eye", at the part by which it was attached to the iron
rod.

43. The most frequent reason for employing contrivances for
diminishing velocity, arises from the necessity of overcoming
great resistances with small power. Systems of pulleys, the
crane, and many other illustrations, might also be adduced here
as examples; but they belong more appropriately to some of the
other causes which we have assigned for the advantages of
machinery. The common smoke-jack is an instrument in which the
velocity communicated is too great for the purpose required, and
it is transmitted through wheels which reduce it to a more
moderate rate.

44. Telegraphs are machines for conveying information over
extensive lines with great rapidity. They have generally been
established for the purposes of transmitting information during
war, but the increasing wants of man will probably soon render
them subservient to more peaceful objects.

A few years since the telegraph conveyed to Paris information
of the discovery of a comet, by M. Gambart, at Marseilles: the
message arrived during a sitting of the French Board of
Longitude, and was sent in a note from the Minister of the
Interior to Laplace, the President, who received it whilst the
writer of these lines was sitting by his side. The object in this
instance was, to give the earliest publicity to the fact, and to
assure to M. Gambart the title of its first discoverer.

At Liverpool a system of signals is established for the
purposes of commerce, so that each merchant can communicate with
his own vessel long before she arrives in the port.

NOTES:

1. See Transactions of the Society of Arts, 1826.



Chapter 5

Extending the Time of Action of Forces

45. This is one of the most common and most useful of the
employments of machinery. The half minute which we daily devote
to the winding-up of our watches is an exertion of labour almost
insensible; yet, by the aid of a few wheels, its effect is spread
over the whole twenty-four hours. In our clocks, this extension
of the time of action of the original force impressed is carried
still further; the better kind usually require winding up once in
eight days, and some are occasionally made to continue in action
during a month, or even a year. Another familiar illustration may
be noticed in our domestic furniture: the common jack by which
our meat is roasted, is a contrivance to enable the cook in a few
minutes to exert a force which the machine retails out during the
succeeding hour in turning the loaded spit; thus enabling her to
bestow her undivided attention on the other important duties of
her vocation. A great number of automatons and mechanical toys
moved by springs, may be classed under this division.

46. A small moving power, in the shape of a jack or a spring
with a train of wheels, is often of great convenience to the
experimental philosopher, and has been used with advantage in
magnetic and electric experiments where the rotation of a disk of
metal or other body is necessary, thus allowing to the enquirer
the unimpeded use of both his hands. A vane connected by a train
of wheels, and set in motion by a heavy weight, has also, on some
occasions, been employed in chemical processes, to keep a
solution in a state of agitation. Another object to which a
similar apparatus may be applied, is the polishing of small
specimens of minerals for optical experiments.



Chapter 6

Saving time in Natural Operations

47. The process of tanning will furnish us with a striking
illustration of the power of machinery in accelerating certain
processes in which natural operations have a principal effect.
The object of this art is to combine a certain principle called
tanning with every particle of the skin to be tanned. This, in
the ordinary process, is accomplished by allowing the skins to
soak in pits containing a solution of tanning matter: they remain
in the pits six, twelve, or eighteen months; and in some
instances (if the hides are very thick), they are exposed to the
operation for two years, or even during a longer period. This
length of time is apparently required in order to allow the
tanning matter to penetrate into the interior of a thick hide.
The improved process consists in placing the hides with the
solution of tan in close vessels, and then exhausting the air.
The effect is to withdraw any air which may be contained in the
pores of the hides, and to aid capillary attraction by the
pressure of the atmosphere in forcing the tan into the interior
of the skins. The effect of the additional force thus brought
into action can be equal only to one atmosphere, but a further
improvement has been made: the vessel containing the hides is,
after exhaustion, filled up with a solution of tan; a small
additional quantity is then injected with a forcing-pump. By
these means any degree of pressure may be given which the
containing vessel is capable of supporting; and it has been found
that, by employing such a method, the thickest hides may be
tanned in six weeks or two months.

48. The same process of injection might be applied to
impregnate timber with tar, or any other substance capable of
preserving it from decay, and if it were not too expensive, the
deal floors of houses might thus be impregnated with alumine or
other substances, which would render them much less liable to be
accidentally set on fire. In some cases it might be useful to
impregnate woods with resins, varnish, or oil; and wood saturated
with oil might, in some instances, be usefully employed in
machinery for giving a constant, but very minute supply of that
fluid to iron or steel, against which it is worked. Some idea of
the quantity of matter which can be injected into wood by great
pressure, may be formed, from considering the fact stated by Mr
Scoresby, respecting an accident which occurred to a boat of one
of our whaling-ships. The harpoon having been struck into the
fish, the whale in this instance, dived directly down, and
carried the boat along with him. On returning to the surface the
animal was killed, but the boat, instead of rising, was found
suspended beneath the whale by the rope of the harpoon; and on
drawing it up, every part of the wood was found to be so
completely saturated with water as to sink immediately to the
bottom.

49. The operation of bleaching linen in the open air is one
for which considerable time is necessary; and although it does
not require much labour, yet, from the risk of damage and of
robbery from long /exposure, a mode of shortening the process was
highly desirable. The method now practised, although not
mechanical, is such a remarkable instance of the application of
science to the practical purposes of manufactures, that in
mentioning the advantages derived from shortening natural
operations, it would have been scarcely pardonable to have
omitted all allusion to the beautiful application of chlorine, in
combination with lime, to the art of bleaching.

50. Another instance more strictly mechanical occurs in some
countries where fuel is expensive, and the heat of the sun is not
sufficient to evaporate the water from brine springs. The water
is first pumped up to a reservoir, and then allowed to fall in
small streams through faggots. Thus it becomes divided; and,
presenting a large surface, evaporation is facilitated, and the.
brine which is collected in the vessels below the faggots is
stronger than that which was pumped up. After thus getting rid of
a large part of the water, the remaining portion is driven off by
boiling. The success of this process depends on the condition of
the atmosphere with respect to moisture. If the air, at the time
the brine falls through the faggots, holds in solution as much
moisture as it can contain in an invisible state, no more can be
absorbed from the salt water, and the labour expended in pumping
is entirely wasted. The state of the air, as to dryness, is
therefore an important consideration in fixing the time when this
operation is to be performed; and an attentive examination of its
state, by means of the hygrometer, might be productive of some
economy of labour.

51. In some countries, where wood is scarce, the evaporation
of salt water is carried on by a large collection of ropes which
are stretched perpendicularly. In passing down the ropes, the
water deposits the sulphate of lime which it held in solution,
and gradually incrusts them, so that in the course of twenty
years, when they are nearly rotten, they are still sustained by
the surrounding incrustation, thus presenting the appearance of a
vast collection of small columns.

52. Amongst natural operations perpetually altering the
surface of our globe, there are some which it would be
advantageous to accelerate. The wearing down of the rocks which
impede the rapids of navigable rivers, is one of this class. A
very beautiful process for accomplishing this object has been
employed in America. A boat is placed at the bottom of the rapid,
and kept in its position by a long rope which is firmly fixed on
the bank of the river near the top. An axis, having a wheel
similar to the paddle-wheel of a steamboat fixed at each end of
it, is placed across the boat; so that the two wheels and their
connecting axis shall revolve rapidly, being driven by the force
of the passing current. Let us now imagine several beams of wood
shod with pointed iron fixed at the ends of strong levers,
projecting beyond the bow of the boat, as in the annexed
representation.

If these levers are at liberty to move up and down, and if
one or more projecting pieces, called cams, are fixed on the axis
opposite to the end of each lever, the action of the stream upon
the wheels will keep up a perpetual succession of blows. The
sharp-pointed shoe striking upon the rock at the bottom, will
continually detach small pieces, which the stream will
immediately carry off. Thus, by the mere action of the river
itself, a constant and most effectual system of pounding the rock
at its bottom is established. A single workman may, by the aid of
a rudder, direct the boat to any required part of the stream; and
when it is necessary to move up the rapid, as the channel is cut,
he can easily cause the boat to advance by means of a capstan.

53. When the object of the machinery just described has been
accomplished, and the channel is sufficiently deep, a slight
alteration converts the apparatus to another purpose almost
equally advantageous. The stampers and the projecting pieces on
the axis are removed, and a barrel of wood or metal, surrounding
part of the axis, and capable, at pleasure, of being connected
with, or disconnected from the axis itself, is substituted. The
rope which hitherto fastened the boat, is now fixed to this
barrel; and if the barrel is loose upon the axis, the
paddle-wheel makes the axis only revolve, and the boat remains in
its place: but the moment the axis is attached to its surrounding
barrel, this begins to turn, and winding up the rope, the boat is
gradually drawn up against the stream; and may be employed as a
kind of tug-boat for vessels which have occasion to ascend the
rapid. When the tug-boat reaches the summit the barrel is
released from the axis, and friction being applied to moderate
its velocity, the boat is allowed to descend.

54. Clocks occupy a very high place amongst instruments by
means of which human time is economized: and their multiplication
in conspicuous places in large towns is attended with many
advantages. Their position, nevertheless, in London, is often
very ill chosen; and the usual place, halfway up on a high
steeple, in the midst of narrow streets, in a crowded city, is
very unfavourable, unless the church happen to stand out from the
houses which form the street. The most eligible situation for a
clock is, that it should project considerably into the street at
some elevation, with a dial-plate on each side, like that which
belonged to the old church of St Dunstan, in Fleet Street, so
that passengers in both directions would have their attention
directed to the hour.

55. A similar remark applies, with much greater force, to the
present defective mode of informing the public of the position of
the receiving houses for the twopenny and general post. In the
lowest corner of the window of some attractive shop is found a
small slit, with a brass plate indicating its important office so
obscurely that it seems to be an object rather to prevent its
being conspicuous. No striking sign assists the anxious enquirer,
who, as the moments rapidly pass which precede the hour of
closing, torments the passenger with his enquiries for the
nearest post-office. He reaches it, perhaps, just as it is
closed; and must then either hasten to a distant part of the town
in order to procure the admission of his letters or give up the
idea of forwarding them by that post; and thus, if they are
foreign letters, he may lose, perhaps, a week or a fortnight by
waiting for the next packet.

The inconvenience in this and in some other cases, is of
perpetual and everyday occurrence; and though, in the greater
part of the individual cases, it may be of trifling moment, the
sum of all these produces an amount, which it is always worthy of
the government of a large and active population to attend to. The
remedy is simple and obvious: it would only be necessary, at each
letter-box, to have a light frame of iron projecting from the
house over the pavement, and carrying the letters G. P., or T.
P., or any other distinctive sign. All private signs are at
present very properly prohibited from projecting into the street:
the passenger, therefore, would at once know where to direct his
attention, in order to discover a post-office; and those
letter-boxes which occurred in the great thoroughfares could not
fail to be generally known.



Chapter 7

Exerting Forces Too Great for Human Power, and Executing
Operations Too Delicate for Human Touch

56. It requires some skill and a considerable apparatus to
enable many men to exert their whole force at a given point; and
when this number amounts to hundreds or to thousands, additional
difficulties present themselves. If ten thousand men were hired
to act simultaneously, it would be exceedingly difficult to
discover whether each exerted his whole force, and consequently,
to be assured that each man did the duty for which he was paid.
And if still larger bodies of men or animals were necessary, not
only would the difficulty of directing them become greater, but
the expense would increase from the necessity of transporting
food for their subsistence.

The difficulty of enabling a large number of men to exert
their force at the same instant of time has been almost obviated
by the use of sound. The whistle of the boatswain performs this
service on board ships; and in removing, by manual force, the
vast mass of granite, weighing above 1,400 tons, on which the
equestrian figure of Peter the Great is placed at St Petersburgh,
a drummer was always stationed on its summit to give the signal
for the united efforts of the workmen.

An ancient Egyptian drawing was discovered a few years since,
by Champollion, in which a multitude of men appeared harnessed to
a huge block of stone, on the top of which stood a single
individual with his hands raised above his head, apparently in
the act of clapping them, for the purpose of insuring the
exertion of their combined force at the same moment of time.

57. In mines, it is sometimes necessary to raise or lower
great weights by capstans requiring the force of more than one
hundred men. These work upon the surface; but the directions must
be communicated from below, perhaps from the depth of two hundred
fathoms. This communication, however, is accomplished with ease
and certainty by signals: the usual apparatus is a kind of
clapper placed on the surface close to the capstan, so that every
man may hear, and put in motion from below by a rope passing up
the shaft.

At Wheal Friendship mine in Cornwall, a different contrivance
is employed: there is in that mine an inclined plane, passing
underground about two-thirds of a mile in length. Signals are
communicated by a continuous rod of metal, which being struck
below, the blow is distinctly heard on the surface.

58. In all our larger manufactories numerous instances occur
of the application of the power of steam to overcome resistances
which it would require far greater expense to surmount by means
of animal labour. The twisting of the largest cables, the
rolling, hammering, and cutting large masses of iron, the
draining of our mines, all require enormous exertions of physical
force continued for considerable periods of time. Other means are
had recourse to when the force required is great, and the space
through which it is to act is small. The hydraulic press of
Bramah can, by the exertion of one man, produce a pressure of
1,500 atmospheres; and with such an instrument a hollow cylinder
of wrought iron three inches thick has been burst. In rivetting
together the iron plates, out of which steam-engine boilers are
made, it is necessary to produce as close a joint as possible.
This is accomplished by using the rivets red-hot: while they are
in that state the two plates of iron are rivetted together, and
the contraction which the rivet undergoes in cooling draws them
together with a force which is only limited by the tenacity of
the metal of which the rivet itself is made.

59. It is not alone in the greater operations of the engineer
or the manufacturer, that those vast powers which man has called
into action, in availing himself of the agency of steam, are
fully developed. Wherever the individual operation demanding
little force for its own performance is to be multiplied in
almost endless repetition, commensurate power is required. It is
the same 'giant arm' which twists 'the largest cable', that spins
from the cotton plant an 'almost gossamer thread'. Obedient to
the hand which called into action its resistless powers, it
contends with the ocean and the storm, and rides triumphant
through dangers and difficulties unattempted by the older modes
of navigation. It is the same engine that, in its more regulated
action, weaves the canvas it may one day supersede, or, with
almost fairy fingers, entwines the meshes of the most delicate
fabric that adorns the female form.(1*)

60. The Fifth Report of the Select Committee of the House of
Commons on the Holyhead Roads furnishes ample proof of the great
superiority of steam vessels. The following extracts are taken
from the evidence of Captain Rogers, the commander of one of the
packets:

Question. Are you not perfectly satisfied, from the experience
you have had, that the steam vessel you command is capable of
performing what no sailing vessel can do?
Answer. Yes.

Question. During your passage from Gravesend to the Downs, could
any square-rigged vessel, from a first-rate down to a sloop of
war, have performed the voyage you did in the time you did it in
the steamboat?
Answer. No: it was impossible. In the Downs we passed several
Indiamen, and 150 sail there that could not move down the
channel: and at the back of Dungeness we passed 120 more.

Question. At the time you performed that voyage, with the weather
you have described, from the Downs to Milford, if that weather
had continued twelve months, would any square-rigged vessel have
performed it?
Answer. They would have been a long time about it: probably,
would have been weeks instead of days. A sailing vessel would not
have beat up to Milford, as we did, in twelve months.


61. The process of printing on the silver paper, which is
necessary for bank-notes, is attended with some inconvenience,
from the necessity of damping the paper previously to taking the
impression. It was difficult to do this uniformly and in the old
process of dipping a parcel of several sheets together into a
vessel of water, the outside sheets becoming much more wet than
the others, were very apt to be torn. A method has been adopted
at the Bank of Ireland which obviates this inconvenience. The
whole quantity of paper to be damped is placed in a close vessel
from which the air is exhausted; water is then admitted, and
every leaf is completely wetted; the paper is then removed to a
press, and all the superfluous moisture is squeezed out.

62. The operation of pulverizing solid substances and of
separating the powders of various degrees of fineness, is common
in the arts: and as the best graduated sifting fails in effecting
this separation with sufficient delicacy, recourse is had to
suspension in a fluid medium. The substance when reduced by
grinding to the finest powder is agitated in water which is then
drawn off: the coarsest portion of the suspended matter first
subsides, and that which requires the longest time to fall down
is the finest. In this manner even emery powder, a substance of
great density, is separated into the various degrees of fineness
which are required. Flints, after being burned and ground, are
suspended in water, in order to mix them intimately with clay,
which is also suspended in the same fluid for the formation of
porcelain. The water is then in part evaporated by heat, and the
plastic compound, out of which our most beautiful porcelain is
formed, remains. It is a curious fact, and one which requires
further examination than it has yet received, that, if this
mixture be suffered to remain long at rest before it is worked
up, it becomes useless; for it is then found that the silex,
which at first was uniformly mixed, becomes aggregated together
in small lumps. This parallel to the formation of flints in the
chalk strata deserves attention.(2*)

63. The slowness with which powders subside, depends partly
on the specific gravity of the substance, and partly on the
magnitude of the particles themselves. Bodies, in falling through
a resisting medium, after a certain time acquire a uniform
velocity, which is called their terminal velocity, with which
they continue to descend: when the particles are very small, and
the medium dense, as water, this terminal velocity is soon
arrived at. Some of the finer powders even of emery require
several hours to subside through a few feet of water, and the mud
pumped up into our cisterns by some of the water companies is
suspended during a still longer time. These facts furnish us with
some idea of the great extent over which deposits of river mud
may be spread; for if the mud of any river whose waters enter the
Gulf Stream, sink through one foot in an hour, it might be
carried by that stream 1,500 miles before it had sunk to the
depth of 600 or 700 feet.

64. A number of small filaments of cotton project from even
the best spun thread, and when this thread is woven into muslin
they injure its appearance. To cut these off separately is quite
impossible, but they are easily removed by passing the muslin
rapidly over a cylinder of iron kept at a dull red heat: the time
during which each portion of the muslin is in contact with the
red-hot iron is too short to heat it to the burning point; but
the filaments being much finer, and being pressed close to the
hot metal, are burnt.

The removal of these filaments from patent net is still more
necessary for its perfection. The net is passed at a moderate
velocity through a flame of gas issuing from a very long and
narrow slit. Immediately above the flame a long funnel is fixed,
which is connected with a large air-pump worked by a
steam-engine. The flame is thus drawn forcibly through the net,
and all the filaments on both sides of it are burned off at one
operation. Previously to this application of the air-pump, the
net acting in the same way, although not to the same extent, as
the wire-gauze in Davy's safety lamp, cooled down the flame so as
to prevent the combustion of the filaments on the upper side: the
air-pump by quickening the current of ignited gas, removes this
inconvenience.

NOTES:

1. The importance and diversified applications of the steam
engine were most ably enforced in the speeches made at a public
meeting held (June 1824) for the purpose of proposing the
erection of a monument to the memory of James Watt; these were
subsequently printed.

2. Some observations on the subject, by Dr Fitton, occur in the
appendix to Captain King's Survey of the Coast of Australia, vol.
ii, p. 397. London, 1826.



Chapter 8

Registering Operations

65. One great advantage which we may derive from machinery is
from the check which it affords against the inattention, the
idleness, or the dishonesty of human agents. Few occupations are
more wearisome than counting a series of repetitions of the same
fact; the number of paces we walk affords a tolerably good
measure of distance passed over, but the value of this is much
enhanced by possessing an instrument, the pedometer, which will
count for us the number of steps we have made. A piece of
mechanism of this kind is sometimes applied to count the number
of turns made by the wheel of a carriage, and thus to indicate
the distance travelled: an instrument, similar in its object,
but differing in its construction, has been used for counting the
number of strokes made by a steam-engine, and the number of coins
struck in a press. One of the simplest instruments for counting
any series of operations, was contrived by Mr Donkin.(1*)

66. Another instrument for registering is used in some
establishments for calendering and embossing. Many hundred
thousand yards of calicoes and stuffs undergo these operations
weekly; and as the price paid for the process is small, the value
of the time spent in measuring them would bear a considerable
proportion to the profit. A machine has, therefore, been
contrived for measuring and registering the length of the goods
as they pass rapidly through the hands of the operator, by which
all chance of erroneous counting is avoided.

67. Perhaps the most useful contrivance of this kind, is one
for ascertaining the vigilance of a watchman. It is a piece of
mechanism connected with a clock placed in an apartment to which
the watchman has not access; but he is ordered to pull a string
situated in a certain part of his round once in every hour. The
instrument, aptly called a tell-tale, informs the owner whether
the man has missed any, and what hours during the night.

68. It is often of great importance, both for regulations of
excise as well as for the interest of the proprietor, to know the
quantity of spirits or of other liquors which have been drawn off
by those persons who are allowed to have access to the vessels
during the absence of the inspectors or principals. This may be
accomplished by a peculiar kind of stop-cock--which will, at
each opening, discharge only a certain measure of fluid the
number of times the cock has been turned being registered by a
counting apparatus accessible only to the master.

69. The time and labour consumed in gauging the contents of
casks partly filled, has led to an improvement which, by the
simplest means, obviates a considerable inconvenience, and
enables any person to read off, on a scale, the number of gallons
contained in any vessel, as readily as he does the degree of heat
indicated by his thermometer. A small stop-cock connects the
bottom of the cask with a glass tube of narrow bore fixed to a
scale on the side of the cask, and rising a little above its top.
The plug of the cock may be turned into three positions: in the
first, it cuts off all communication with the cask: in the
second, it opens a communication between the cask and the glass
tube: and, in the third. It cuts off the connection between the
cask and the tube, and opens a communication between the tube and
any vessel held beneath the cock to receive its contents. The
scale of the tube is graduated by pouring into the cask
successive quantities of water, while the communication between
the cask and the tube is open. Lines are then drawn on the scale
opposite the places in the tube to which the water rises at each
addition, and the scale being thus formed by actual
measurement,(2*) the contents of each cask are known by
inspection, and the tedious process of gauging is altogether
dispensed with. Other advantages accrue from this simple
contrivance, in the great economy of time which it introduces in
making mixtures of different spirits, in taking stock, and in
receiving spirit from the distiller.

70. The gas-meter, by which the quantity of gas used by each
consumer is ascertained, is another instrument of this kind. They
are of various forms, but all of them intended to register the
number of cubic feet of gas which has been delivered. It is very
desirable that these meters should be obtainable at a moderate
price, and that every consumer should employ them; because, by
making each purchaser pay only for what he consumes, and by
preventing that extravagant waste of gas which we frequently
observe, the manufacturer of gas will be enabled to make an equal
profit at a diminished price to the consumer.

71. The sale of water by the different companies in London,
might also, with advantage, be regulated by a meter. If such a
system were adopted, much water which is now allowed to run to
waste would be saved, and an unjust inequality between the rates
charged on different houses by the same company be avoided.

72. Another most important object to which a meter might be
applied, would be to register the quantity of water passing into
the boilers of steam-engines. Without this, our knowledge of the
quantity evaporated by different boilers, and with fireplaces of
different constructions, as well as our estimation of the duty of
steam-engines, must evidently be imperfect.

73. Another purpose to which machinery for registering
operations is applied with much advantage is the determination of
the average effect of natural or artificial agents. The mean
height of the barometer, for example, is ascertained by noting
its height at a certain number of intervals during the
twenty-four hours. The more these intervals are contracted, the
more correctly will the mean be ascertained; but the true mean
ought to be influenced by each momentary change which has
occurred. Clocks have been proposed and made with this object, by
which a sheet of paper is moved, slowly and uniformly, before a
pencil fixed to a float upon the surface of the mercury in the
cup of the barometer. Sir David Brewster proposed, several years
ago to suspend a barometer, and swing it as a pendulum. The
variations in the atmosphere would thus alter the centre of
oscillation, and the comparison of such an instrument with a good
clock, would enable us to ascertain the mean altitude of the
barometer during any interval of the observer's absence.(3*)

An instrument for measuring and registering the quantity of
rain, was invented by Mr John Taylor, and described by him in the
Philosophical Magazine. It consists of an apparatus in which a
vessel that receives the rain falling into the reservoir tilts
over as soon as it is full, and then presents another similar
vessel to be filled, which in like manner, when full, tilts the
former one back again. The number of times these vessels are
emptied is registered by a train of wheels; and thus, without the
presence of the observer, the quantity of rain falling during a
whole year may be measured and recorded.

Instruments might also be contrived to determine the average
force of traction of horses--of the wind--of a stream or of any
irregular and fluctuating effort of animal or other natural
force.

74. Clocks and watches may be considered as instruments for
registering the number of vibrations performed by a pendulum or a
balance. The mechanism by which these numbers are counted is
technically called a scapement. It is not easy to describe: but
the various contrivances which have been adopted for this
purpose, are amongst the most interesting and most ingenious to
which mechanical science has given birth. Working models, on an
enlarged scale, are almost necessary to make their action
understood by the unlearned reader; and, unfortunately, these are
not often to be met with. A very fine collection of such models
exists amongst the collection of instruments at the University of
Prague.

Instruments of this kind have been made to extend their
action over considerable periods of time, and to register not
merely the hour of the day, but the days of the week, of the
month, of the year, and also to indicate the occurrence of
several astronomical phenomena.

Repeating clocks and watches may be considered as instruments
for registering time, which communicate their information only
when the owner requires it, by pulling a string, or by some
similar application.

An apparatus has recently been applied to watches, by which
the hand which indicates seconds leaves a small dot of ink on the
dial-plate whenever a certain stop or detent is pushed in. Thus,
whilst the eye is attentively fixed on the phenomenon to be
observed, the finger registers on the face of the watch-dial the
commencement and the end of its appearance.

75. Several instruments have been contrived for awakening the
attention of the observer at times previously fixed upon. The
various kinds of alarums connected with clocks and watches are of
this kind. In some instances it is desirable to be able to set
them so as to give notice at many successive and distant points
of time, such as those of the arrival of given stars on the
meridian. A clock of this kind is used at the Royal Observatory
at Greenwich.

76. An earthquake is a phenomenon of such frequent occurrence,
and so interesting, both from its fearful devastations as well as
from its connection with geological theories, that it becomes
important to possess an instrument which shall, if possible,
indicate the direction of the shock, as well as its intensity.
An observation made a few years since at Odessa, after an
earthquake which happened during the night, suggests a simple
instrument by which the direction of the shock may be determined.

A glass vase, partly filled with water, stood on the table of
a room in a house at Odessa; and, from the coldness of the glass,
the inner part of the vessel above the water was coated with dew.
Several very perceptible shocks of an earthquake happened between
three and four o'clock in the morning; and when the observer got
up, he remarked that the dew was brushed off at two opposite
sides of the glass by a wave which the earthquake had caused in
the water. The line joining the two highest points of this wave
was, of course, that in which the shock travelled. This
circumstance, which was accidentally noticed by an engineer at
Odessa,(4*) suggests the plan of keeping, in countries subject to
earthquakes, glass vessels partly filled with treacle, or some
unctuous fluid, so that when any lateral motion is communicated
to them from the earth, the adhesion of the liquid to the glass
shall enable the observer, after some interval of time, to
determine the direction of the shock.

In order to obtain some measure of the vertical oscillation
of the earth, a weight might be attached to a spiral spring, or a
pendulum might be sustained in a horizontal position, and a
sliding index be moved by either of them, so that the extreme
deviations should be indicated by it. This, however, would not
give even the comparative measure accurately, because a
difference in the velocity of the rising or falling of the
earth's surface would affect the instrument.

NOTES:

1. Transactions of the Society of Arts, 1819, p. 116.

2. The contrivance is due to Mr Hencky, of High Holborn, in whose
establishment it is in constant use.

3. About seven or eight years since, without being aware of Sir
David Brewster's proposal. I adapted a barometer, as a pendulum,
to the works of a common eight day clock: it remained in my
library for several months, but I have mislaid the observations
which were made.

4. Memoires de l'Academie des Sciences de Petersburgh, 6e serie,
tom. i. p. 4.



Chapter 9

Economy of the Materials Employed

77. The precision with which all operations by machinery are
executed, and the exact similarity of the articles thus made,
produce a degree of economy in the consumption of the raw
material which is, in some cases, of great importance. The
earliest mode of cutting the trunk of a tree into planks, was by
the use of the hatchet or the adze. It might, perhaps, be first
split into three or four portions, and then each portion was
reduced to a uniform surface by those instruments. With such
means the quantity of plank produced would probably not equal the
quantity of the raw material wasted by the process: and, if the
planks were thin, would certainly fall far short of it. An
improved tool, completely reverses the case: in converting a tree
into thick planks, the saw causes a waste of a very small
fractional part; and even in reducing it to planks of only an
inch in thickness, does not waste more than an eighth part of the
raw material. When the thickness of the plank is still further
reduced, as is the case in cutting wood for veneering, the
quantity of material destroyed again begins to bear a
considerable proportion to that which is used; and hence circular
saws, having a very thin blade, have been employed for such
purposes. In order to economize still further the more valuable
woods, Mr Brunel contrived a machine which, by a system of
blades, cut off the veneer in a continuous shaving, thus
rendering the whole of the piece of timber available.

78. The rapid improvements which have taken place in the
printing press during the last twenty years, afford another
instance of saving in the materials consumed, which has been well
ascertained by measurement, and is interesting from its
connection with literature. In the old method of inking type, by
large hemispherical balls stuffed and covered with leather, the
printer, after taking a small portion of ink from the ink-block,
was continually rolling the balls in various directions against
each other, in order that a thin layer of ink might be uniformly
spread over their surface. This he again transferred to the type
by a kind of rolling action. In such a process, even admitting
considerable skill in the operator, it could not fail to happen
that a large quantity of ink should get near the edges of the
balls, which, not being transferred to the type, became hard and
useless, and was taken off in the form of a thick black crust.
Another inconvenience also arose--the quantity of ink spread on
the block not being regulated by measure, and the number and
direction of the transits of the inking-balls over each other
depending on the will of the operator, and being consequently
irregular, it was impossible to place on the type a uniform layer
of ink, of the quantity exactly sufficient for the impression.
The introduction of cylindrical rollers of an elastic substance,
formed by the mixture of glue and treacle, superseded the
inking-balls, and produced considerable saving in the consumption
of ink: but the most perfect economy was only to be produced by
mechanism. When printing-presses, moved by the power of steam,
were introduced, the action of these rollers was found to be well
adapted to their performance; and a reservoir of ink was formed,
from which a roller regularly abstracted a small quantity at each
impression. From three to five other rollers spread this portion
uniformly over a slab (by most ingenious contrivances varied in
almost each kind of press), and another travelling roller, having
fed itself on the slab, passed and repassed over the type just
before it gave the impression to the paper.

In order to shew that this plan of inking puts the proper
quantity of ink upon the type, we must prove, first--that the
quantity is not too little: this would soon have been discovered
from the complaints of the public and the booksellers; and,
secondly that it is not too great. This latter point was
satisfactorily established by an experiment. A few hours after
one side of a sheet of paper has been printed upon, the ink is
sufficiently dry to allow it to receive the impression upon the
other; and, as considerable pressure is made use of, the tympan
on which the side first printed is laid, is guarded from soiling
it by a sheet of paper called the set-off sheet. This paper
receives, in succession, every sheet of the work to be printed,
acquiring from them more or less of the ink, according to their
dryness, or the quantity upon them. It was necessary in the
former process, after about one hundred impressions, to change
this set-off sheet, which then became too much soiled for further
use. In the new method of printing by machinery, no such sheet is
used, but a blanket is employed as its substitute; this does not
require changing above once in five thousand impressions, and
instances have occurred of its remaining sufficiently clean for
twenty thousand. Here, then, is a proof that the quantity of
superfluous ink put upon the paper in machine-printing is so
small, that, if multiplied by five thousand, and in some
instances even by twenty thousand, it is only sufficient to
render useless a single piece of clean cloth.(1*) The following
were the results of an accurate experiment upon the effect of the
process just described, made at one of the largest printing
establishments in the metropolis.(2*) Two hundred reams of paper
were printed off, the old method of inking with balls being
employed; two hundred reams of the same paper, and for the same
book, were then printed off in the presses which inked their own
type. The consumption of ink by the machine was to that by the
balls as four to nine, or rather less than one-half.

NOTES:

1. In the very best kind of printing, it is necessary, in the old
method, to change the set-off sheet once in twelve times. In
printing the same kind of work by machinery, the blanket is
changed once in 2000.

2. This experiment was made at the establishment of Mr Clowes, in
Stamford Street.



Chapter 10

Of the Identity of the Work When It is of the Same Kind, and its
Accuracy when of Different Kinds

79. Nothing is more remarkable, and yet less unexpected, than
the perfect identity of things manufactured by the same tool. If
the top of a circular box is to be made to fit over the lower
part, it may be done in the lathe by gradually advancing the tool
of the sliding-rest; the proper degree of tightness between the
box and its lid being found by trial. After this adjustment, if a
thousand boxes are made, no additional care is required; the tool
is always carried up to the stop, and each box will be equally
adapted to every lid. The same identity pervades all the arts of
printing; the impressions from the same block, or the same
copperplate, have a similarity which no labour could produce by
hand. The minutest traces are transferred to all the impressions,
and no omission can arise from the inattention or unskilfulness
of the operator. The steel punch, with which the cardwadding for
a fowling-piece is cut, if it once perform its office with
accuracy, constantly reproduces the same exact circle.

80. The accuracy with which machinery executes its work is,
perhaps, one of its most important advantages: it may, however,
be contended, that a considerable portion of this advantage may
be resolved into saving of time; for it generally happens, that
any improvement in tools increases the quantity of work done in a
given time. Without tools, that is, by the mere efforts of the
human hand, there are, undoubtedly, multitudes of things which it
would be impossible to make. Add to the human hand the rudest
cutting instrument, and its powers are enlarged: the fabrication
of many things then becomes easy, and that of others possible
with great labour. Add the saw to the knife or the hatchet, and
other works become possible, and a new course of difficult
operations is brought into view, whilst many of the former are
rendered easy. This observation is applicable even to the most
perfect tools or machines. It would be possible for a very
skilful workman, with files and polishing substances, to form a
cylinder out of a piece of steel; but the time which this would
require would be so considerable, and the number of failures
would probably be so great, that for all practical purposes such
a mode of producing a steel cylinder might be said to be
impossible. The same process by the aid of the lathe and the
sliding-rest is the everyday employment of hundreds of workmen.

81. Of all the operations of mechanical art, that of turning
is the most perfect. If two surfaces are worked against each
other, whatever may have been their figure at the commencement,
there exists a tendency in them both to become portions of
spheres. Either of them may become convex, and the other concave,
with various degrees of curvature. A plane surface is the line of
separation between convexity and concavity, and is most difficult
to hit; it is more easy to make a good circle than to produce a
straight line. A similar difficulty takes place in figuring
specula for telescopes; the parabola is the surface which
separates the hyperbolic from the elliptic figure, and is the
most difficult to form. If a spindle, not cylindrical at its end,
be pressed into a hole not circular, and kept constantly turning,
there is a tendency in these two bodies so situated to become
conical, or to have circular sections. If a triangular-pointed 
piece of iron be worked round in a circular hole the edges will 
gradually wear, and it will become conical. These facts, if
they do not explain, at least illustrate the principles on
which the excellence of work formed in the lathe depends.



Chapter 11

Of Copying

82. The two last-mentioned sources of excellence in the work
produced by machinery depend on a principle which pervades a very
large portion of all manufactures, and is one upon which the
cheapness of the articles produced seems greatly to depend. The
principle alluded to is that of copying, taken in its most
extensive sense. Almost unlimited pains are, in some instances,
bestowed on the original, from which a series of copies is to be
produced; and the larger the number of these copies, the more
care and pains can the manufacturer afford to lavish upon the
original. It may thus happen, that the instrument or tool
actually producing the work, shall cost five or even ten thousand
times the price of each individual specimen of its power.

As the system of copying is of so much importance, and of
such extensive use in the arts, it will be convenient to classify
a considerable number of those processes in which it is employed.
The following enumeration however is not offered as a complete
list; and the explanations are restricted to the shortest
possible detail which is consistent with a due regard to making
the subject intelligible.

Operations of copying are effected under the following
circumstances:

by printing from cavities          by stamping
by printing from surface           by punching
by casting                         with elongation
by moulding                        with altered dimensions


Of printing from cavities

83. The art of printing, in all its numerous departments, is
essentially an art of copying. Under its two great divisions,
printing from hollow lines, as in copperplate, and printing from
surface, as in block printing, are comprised numerous arts.

84. Copperplate printing. In this instance, the copies are
made by transferring to paper, by means of pressure, a thick ink,
from the hollows and lines cut in the copper. An artist will
sometimes exhaust the labour of one or two years upon engraving a
plate, which will not, in some cases furnish above five hundred
copies in a state of perfection.

85. Engravings on steel. This art is like that of engraving
on copper, except that the number of copies is far less limited.
A bank-note engraved as a copperplate, will not give above three
thousand impressions without a sensible deterioration. Two
impressions of a bank-note engraved on steel were examined by one
of our most eminent artists,(1*) who found it difficult to
pronounce with any confidence, which was the earliest impression.
One of these was a proof from amongst the first thousand, the
other was taken after between seventy and eighty thousand had
been printed off.

86. Music printing. Music is usually printed from pewter
plates, on which the characters have been impressed by steel
punches. The metal being much softer than copper, is liable to
scratches, which detain a small portion of the ink. This is the
reason of the dirty appearance of printed music. A new process
has recently been invented by Mr Cowper, by which this
inconvenience will be avoided. The improved method, which give
sharpness to the characters, is still an art of copying; but it
is effected by surface printing, nearly in the same manner as
calico-printing from blocks, to be described hereafter, 96. The
method of printing music from pewter plates, although by far the
most frequently made use of, is not the only one employed, for
music is occasionally printed from stone. Sometimes also it is
printed with moveable type; and occasionally the musical
characters are printed on the paper, and the lines printed
afterwards. Specimens of both these latter modes of
music-printing may be seen in the splendid collection of
impressions from the types of the press of Bodoni at Parma: but
notwithstanding the great care bestowed on the execution of that
work, the perpetual interruption of continuity in the lines,
arising from the use of moveable types, when the characters and
lines are printed at the same time, is apparent.

87. Calico printing from cylinders. Many of the patterns on
printed calicos are copies by printing from copper cylinders
about four or five inches in diameter, on which the desired
pattern has been previously engraved. One portion of the
cylinders is exposed to the ink, whilst an elastic scraper of
very thin steel, by being pressed forcibly against another part,
removes all superfluous ink from the surface previously to its
reaching the cloth. A piece of calico twenty-eight yards in
length rolls through this press, and is printed in four or five
minutes.

88. Printing from perforated sheets of metal, or stencilling.
Very thin brass is sometimes perforated in the form of letters,
usually those of a name; this is placed on any substance which it
is required to mark, and a brush dipped in some paint is passed
over the brass. Those parts which are cut away admit the paint.
and thus a copy of the name appears on the substance below. This
method, which affords rather a coarse copy, is sometimes used for
paper with which rooms are covered, and more especially for the
borders. If a portion be required to match an old pattern, this
is, perhaps the most economical way of producing it.

89. Coloured impressions of leaves upon paper may be made by
a kind of surface printing. Such leaves are chosen as have
considerable inequalities: the elevated parts of these are
covered, by means of an inking ball, with a mixture of some
pigment ground up in linseed oil; the leaf is then placed between
two sheets of paper, and being gently pressed, the impression
from the elevated parts on each side appear on the corresponding
sheets of paper.

90. The beautiful red cotton handkerchiefs dyed at Glasgow
have their pattern given to them by a process similar to
stencilling, except that instead of printing from a pattern, the
reverse operation that of discharging a part of the colour from a
cloth already dyed--is performed. A number of handkerchiefs are
pressed with very great force between two plates of metal, which
are similarly perforated with round or lozenge-shaped holes,
according to the intended pattern. The upper plate of metal is
surrounded by a rim, and a fluid which has the property of
discharging the red dye is poured upon that plate. This liquid
passes through the holes in the metal, and also through the
calico; but, owing to the great pressure opposite all the parts
of the plates not cut away, it does not spread itself beyond the
pattern. After this, the handkerchiefs are washed, and the
pattern of each is a copy of the perforations in the metal-plate
used in the process.

Another mode by which a pattern is formed by discharging
colour from a previously dyed cloth, is to print on it a pattern
with paste; then, passing it into the dying-vat, it comes out
dyed of one uniform colour But the paste has protected the fibres
of the cotton from the action of the dye or mordant; and when the
cloth so dyed is well washed, the paste is dissolved, and leaves
uncoloured all those parts of the cloth to which it was applied.


Printing from surface

91. This second department of printing is of more frequent
application in the arts than that which has just been considered.

92. Printing from wooden blocks. A block of box wood is, in
this instance, the substance out of which the pattern is formed:
the design being sketched upon it, the workman cuts away with
sharp tools every part except the lines to be represented in the
impression. This is exactly the reverse of the process of
engraving on copper, in which every line to be represented is cut
away. The ink, instead of filling the cavities cut in the wood,
is spread upon the surface which remains, and is thence
transferred to the paper.

93. Printing from moveable types. This is the most important
in its influence of all the arts of copying. It possesses a
singular peculiarity, in the immense subdivision of the parts
that form the pattern. After that pattern has furnished thousands
of copies, the same individual elements may be arranged again and
again in other forms, and thus supply multitudes of originals,
from each of which thousands of their copied impressions may
flow. It also possesses this advantage, that woodcuts may be used
along with the letterpress, and impressions taken from both at
the same operation.

94. Printing from stereotype. This mode of producing copies
is very similar to the preceding. There are two modes by which
stereotype plates are produced. In that most generally adopted a
mould is taken in plaster from the moveable types, and in this
the stereotype plate is cast. Another method has been employed in
France: instead of composing the work in moveable type, it was
set up in moveable copper matrices; each matrix being in fact a
piece of copper of the same size as the type, and having the
impression of the letter sunk into its surface instead of
projecting in relief. A stereotype plate may, it is evident, be
obtained at once from this arrangement of matrices. The objection
to the plan is the great expense of keeping so large a collection
of matrices.

As the original composition does not readily admit of change,
stereotype plates can only be applied with advantage to cases
where an extraordinary number of copies are demanded, or where
the work consists of figures, and it is of great importance to
ensure accuracy. Trifling alterations may, however, be made in it
from time to time; and thus mathematical tables may, by the
gradual extirpation of error, at last become perfect. This mode
of producing copies possesses, in common with that by moveable
types, the advantage of admitting the use of woodcuts: the copy
of the woodcut in the stereotype plate being equally perfect.
with that of the moveable type. This union is of considerable
importance, and cannot be accomplished with engravings on copper.

95. Lettering books. The gilt letters on the backs of books
are formed by placing a piece of gold leaf upon the leather, and
pressing upon it brass letters previously heated: these cause the
gold immediately under them to adhere to the leather, whilst the
rest of the metal is easily brushed away. When a great number of
copies of the same volume are to be lettered, it is found to be
cheaper to have a brass pattern cut with the whole of the proper
title: this is placed in a press, and being kept hot, the covers,
each having a small bit of leaf-gold placed in the proper
position, are successively brought under the brass, and stamped.
The lettering at the back of the volume in the reader's hand was
executed in this manner.

96. Calico printing from blocks. This is a mode of copying,
by surface printing, from the ends of small pieces of copper
wire, of various forms, fixed into a block of wood. They are all
of one uniform height, about the eighth part of an inch above the
surface of the wood, and are arranged by the maker into any
required pattern. If the block be placed upon a piece of fine
woollen cloth, on which ink of any colour has been uniformly
spread, the projecting copper wires receive a portion, which they
give up when applied to the calico to be printed. By the former
method of printing on calico, only one colour could be used; but
by this plan, after the flower of a rose, for example, has been
printed with one set of blocks, the leaves may be printed of
another colour by a different set.

97. Printing oilcloth. After the canvas, which forms the
basis of oilcloth, has been covered with paint of one uniform
tint, the remainder of the processes which it passes through, are
a series of copyings by surface printing, from patterns formed
upon wooden blocks very similar to those employed by the calico
printer. Each colour requiring a distinct set of blocks, those
oilcloths with the greatest variety of colours are most
expensive.

There are several other varieties of printing which we shall
briefly notice as arts of copying; which, although not strictly
surface printing, yet are more allied to it than that from
copperplates.

98. Letter copying. In one of the modes of performing this
process, a sheet of very thin paper is damped, and placed upon
the writing to be copied. The two papers are then passed through
a rolling press, and a portion of the ink from one paper is
transferred to the other. The writing is, of course, reversed by
this process; but the paper to which it is transferred being
thin, the characters are seen through it on the other side, in
their proper position. Another common mode of copying letters is
by placing a sheet of paper covered on both sides with a
substance prepared from lamp-black, between a sheet of thin paper
and the paper on which the letter to be despatched is to be
written. If the upper or thin sheet be written upon with any hard
pointed substance, the word written with this style will be
impressed from the black paper upon both those adjoining it. The
translucency of the upper sheet, which is retained by the writer,
is in this instance necessary to render legible the writing which
is on the back of the paper. Both these arts are very limited in
their extent, the former affording two or three, the latter from
two to perhaps ten or fifteen copies at the same time.

99. Printing on china. This is an art of copying which is
carried to a very great extent. As the surfaces to which the
impression is to be conveyed are often curved, and sometimes even
fluted, the ink, or paint, is first transferred from the copper
to some flexible substance, such as paper, or an elastic compound
of glue and treacle. It is almost immediately conveyed from this
to the unbaked biscuit, to which it more readily adheres.

100. Lithographic printing. This is another mode of producing
copies in almost unlimited number. The original which supplies
the copies is a drawing made on a stone of a slightly porous
nature, the ink employed for tracing it is made of such greasy
materials that when water is poured over the stone it shall not
wet the lines of the drawing. When a roller covered with printing
ink, which is of an oily nature, is passed over the stone
previously wetted, the water prevents this ink from adhering to
the uncovered portions; whilst the ink used in the drawing is of
such a nature that the printing ink adheres to it. In this state,
if a sheet of paper be placed upon the stone, and then passed
under a press, the printing ink will be transferred to the paper,
leaving the ink used in the drawing still adhering to the stone.

101. There is one application of lithographic printing which
does not appear to have received sufficient attention, and
perhaps further experiments are necessary to bring it to
perfection. It is the reprinting of works which have just arrived
from other countries. A few years ago one of the Paris newspapers
was reprinted at Brussels as soon as it arrived by means of
lithography. Whilst the ink is yet fresh, this may easily be
accomplished: it is only necessary to place one copy of the
newspaper on a lithographic stone; and by means of great pressure
applied to it in a rolling press, a sufficient quantity of the
printing ink will be transferred to the stone. By similar means,
the other side of the newspaper may be copied on another stone,
and these stones will then furnish impressions in the usual way.
If printing from stone could be reduced to the same price per
thousand as that from moveable types, this process might be
adopted with great advantage for the supply of works for the use
of distant countries possessing the same language. For a single
copy might be printed off with transfer ink, and thus an English
work, for example, might be published in America from stone,
whilst the original, printed from moveable types, made its
appearance on the same day in England.

102. It is much to be wished that such a method were
applicable to the reprinting of facsimiles of old and scarce
books. This, however, would require the sacrifice of two copies,
since a leaf must be destroyed for each page. Such a method of
reproducing a small impression of an old work, is peculiarly
applicable to mathematical tables, the setting up of which in
type is always expensive and liable to error, but how long ink
will continue to be transferable to stone, from paper on which it
has been printed, must be determined by experiment. The
destruction of the greasy or oily portion of the ink in the
character of old books, seems to present the greatest impediment;
if one constituent only of the ink were removed by time, it might
perhaps be hoped, that chemical means would ultimately be
discovered for restoring it: but if this be unsuccessful, an
attempt might be made to discover some substance having a strong
affinity for the carbon of the ink which remains on the paper,
and very little for the paper itself.(2*)

103. Lithographic prints have occasionally been executed in
colours. In such instances a separate stone seems to have been
required for each colour, and considerable care, or very good
mechanism, must have been employed to adjust the paper to each
stone. If any two kinds of ink should be discovered mutually
inadhesive, one stone might be employed for two inks; or if the
inking-roller for the second and subsequent colours had portions
cut away corresponding to those parts of the stone inked by the
previous ones, then several colours might be printed from the
same stone: but these principles do not appear to promise much,
except for coarse subjects.

104. Register printing. It is sometimes thought necessary to
print from a wooden block, or stereotype plate, the same pattern
reversed upon the opposite side of the paper. The effect of this,
which is technically called Register printing, is to make it
appear as if the ink had penetrated through the paper, and
rendered the pattern visible on the other side. If the subject
chosen contains many fine lines, it seems at first sight
extremely difficult to effect so exact a super position of the
two patterns, on opposite sides of the same piece of paper, that
it shall be impossible to detect the slightest deviation; yet the
process is extremely simple. The block which gives the impression
is always accurately brought down to the same place by means of a
hinge; this spot is covered by a piece of thin leather stretched
over it; the block is now inked, and being brought down to its
place, gives an impression of the pattern to the leather: it is
then turned back; and being inked a second time, the paper
intended to be printed is placed upon the leather, when the block
again descending, the upper surface of the paper is printed from
the block, and its undersurface takes up the impression from the
leather. It is evident that the perfection of this mode of
printing depends in a great measure on finding some soft
substance like leather, which will take as much ink as it ought
from the block, and which will give it up most completely to
paper. Impressions thus obtained are usually fainter on the lower
side; and in order in some measure to remedy this defect, rather
more ink is put on the block at the first than at the second
impression.


Of copying by casting

105. The art of casting, by pouring substances in a fluid
state into a mould which retains them until they become solid, is
essentially an art of copying; the form of the thing produced
depending entirely upon that of the pattern from which it was
formed.

106. Of casting iron and other metals.--Patterns of wood or
metal made from drawings are the originals from which the moulds
for casting are made: so that, in fact, the casting itself is a
copy of the mould; and the mould is a copy of the pattern. In
castings of iron and metals for the coarser purposes, and, if
they are afterwards to be worked even for the finer machines,
the exact resemblance amongst the things produced, which takes
place in many of the arts to which we have alluded, is not
effected in the first instance, nor is this necessary. As the
metals shrink in cooling, the pattern is made larger than the
intended copy; and in extricating it from the sand in which it is
moulded, some little difference will occur in the size of the
cavity which it leaves. In smaller works where accuracy is more
requisite, and where few or no after operations are to be
performed, a mould of metal is employed which has been formed
with considerable care. Thus, in casting bullets, which ought to
be perfectly spherical and smooth, an iron instrument is used, in
which a cavity has been cut and carefully ground; and, in order
to obviate the contraction in cooling, a jet is left which may
supply the deficiency of metal arising from that cause, and which
is afterwards cut off. The leaden toys for children are cast in
brass moulds which open, and in which have been graved or
chiselled the figures intended to be produced.

107. A very beautiful mode of representing small branches of
the most delicate vegetable productions in bronze has been
employed by Mr Chantrey. A small strip of a fir-tree, a branch of
holly, a curled leaf of broccoli, or any other vegetable
production, is suspended by one end in a small cylinder of paper
which is placed for support within a similarly formed tin case.
The finest river silt, carefully separated from all the coarser
particles, and mixed with water, so as to have the consistency of
cream, is poured into the paper cylinder by small portions at a
time, carefully shaking the plant a little after each addition,
in order that its leaves may be covered, and that no bubbles of
air may be left. The plant and its mould are now allowed to dry,
and the yielding nature of the paper allows the loamy coating to
shrink from the outside.  When this is dry it is surrounded by a
coarser substance; and, finally, we have the twig with all its
leaves embedded in a perfect mould. This mould is carefully
dried, and then gradually heated to a red heat. At the ends of
some of the leaves or shoots, wires have been left to afford
airholes by their removal, and in this state of strong ignition a
stream of air is directed into the hole formed by the end of the
branch. The consequence is, that the wood and leaves which had
been turned into charcoal by the fire, are now converted into
carbonic acid by the current of air; and, after some time, the
whole of the solid matter of which the plant consisted is
completely removed, leaving a hollow mould, bearing on its
interior all the minutest traces of its late vegetable occupant.
When this process is completed, the mould being still kept at
nearly a red heat, receives the fluid metal, which, by its
weight, either drives the very small quantity of air, which at
that high temperature remains behind, out very through the
airholes, or compresses it into the pores of very porous
substance of which the mould is formed.

108. When the form of the object intended to be cast is such
that the pattern cannot be extricated from its mould of sand or
plaster, it becomes necessary to make the pattern with wax, or
some other easily fusible substance. The sand or plaster is
moulded round this pattern, and, by the application of heat, the
wax is extricated through an opening left purposely for its
escape.

109. It is often desirable to ascertain the form of the
internal cavities, inhabited by molluscous animals, such as those
of spiral shells, and of the various corals. This may be
accomplished by filling them with fusible metal, and dissolving
the substance of the shell by muriatic acid; thus a metallic
solid will remain which exactly filled all the cavities. If such
forms are required in silver, or any other difficulty fusible
metal, the shells may be filled with wax or resin, then dissolved
away; and the remaining waxen form may serve as the pattern from
which a plaster mould may be made for casting the metal. Some
nicety will be required in these operations; and perhaps the
minuter cavities can only be filled under an exhausted receiver.

110. Casting in plaster. This is a mode of copying applied to
a variety of purposes: to produce accurate representations of the
human form--of statues--or of rare fossils--to which latter
purpose it has lately been applied with great advantage. In all
casting, the first process is to make the mould; and plaster is
the substance which is almost always employed for the purpose.
The property which it possesses of remaining for a short time in
a state of fluidity, renders it admirably adapted to this object,
and adhesion, even to an original of plaster, is effectually
prevented by oiling the surface on which it is poured. The mould
formed round the subject which is copied, removed in separate
pieces and then reunited, is that in which the copy is cast. This
process gives additional utility and value to the finest works of
art. The students of the Academy at Venice are thus enabled to
admire the sculptured figures of Egina, preserved in the gallery
at Munich; as well as the marbles of the Parthenon, the pride of
our own Museum. Casts in plaster of the Elgin marbles adorn many
of the academies of the Continent; and the liberal employment of
such presents affords us an inexpensive and permanent source of
popularity.

111. Casting in wax. This mode of copying, aided by proper
colouring, offers the most successful imitations of many objects
of natural history, and gives an air of reality to them which
might deceive even the most instructed. Numerous figures of
remarkable persons, having the face and hands formed in wax, have
been exhibited at various times; and the resemblances have, in
some instances been most striking. But whoever would see the art
of copying in wax carried to the highest perfection, should
examine the beautiful collection of fruit at the house of the
Horticultural Society; the model of the magnificent flower of the
new genus Rafflesia--the waxen models of the internal parts of
the human body which adorn the anatomical gallery of the Jardin
des Plantes at Paris, and the Museum at Florence--or the
collection of morbid anatomy at the University of Bologna. The
art of imitation by wax does not usually afford the multitude of
copies which flow from many similar operations. This number is
checked by the subsequent stages of the process, which, ceasing
to have the character of copying by a tool or pattern, become
consequently more expensive. In each individual production, form
alone is given by casting; the colouring must be the work of the
pencil, guided by the skill of the artist.


Of copying by moulding

112. This method of producing multitudes of individuals
having an exact resemblance to each other in external shape, is
adopted very widely in the arts. The substances employed are,
either naturally or by artificial preparation, in a soft or
plastic state; they are then compressed by mechanical force,
sometimes assisted by heat, into a mould of the required form.

113. Of bricks and tiles. An oblong box of wood fitting upon
a bottom fixed to the brickmaker's bench, is the mould from which
every brick is formed. A portion of the plastic mixture of which
the bricks consist is made ready by less skilful hands: the
workman first sprinkles a little sand into the mould, and then
throws the clay into it with some force; at the same time rapidly
working it with his fingers, so as to make it completely close up
to the corners. He next scrapes off, with a wetted stick, the
superfluous clay, and shakes the new-formed brick dexterously out
of its mould upon a piece of board, on which it is removed by
another workman to the place appointed for drying it. A very
skilful moulder has occasionally, in a long summer's day,
delivered from ten to eleven thousand bricks; but a fair average
day's work is from five to six thousand. Tiles of various kinds
and forms are made of finer materials, but by the same system of
moulding. Among the ruins of the city of Gour, the ancient
capital of Bengal, bricks are found having projecting ornaments
in high relief: these appear to have been formed in a mould, and
subsequently glazed with a coloured glaze. In Germany, also,
brickwork has been executed with various ornaments. The cornice
of the church of St Stephano, at Berlin, is made of large blocks
of brick moulded into the form required by the architect. At the
establishment of Messrs Cubitt, in Gray's Inn Lane, vases,
cornices, and highly ornamented capitals of columns are thus
formed which rival stone itself in elasticity, hardness, and
durability.

114. Of embossed china. Many of the forms given to those
beautiful specimens of earthenware which constitute the equipage
of our breakfast and our dinner-tables, cannot be executed in the
lathe of the potter. The embossed ornaments on the edges of the
plates, their polygonal shape, the fluted surface of many of the
vases, would all be difficult and costly of execution by the
hand; but they become easy and comparatively cheap, when made by
pressing the soft material out of which they are formed into a
hard mould. The care and skill bestowed on the preparation of
that mould are repaid by the multitude it produces. In many of
the works of the china manufactory, one part only of the article
is moulded; the upper surface of the plate, for example, whilst
the under side is figured by the lathe. In some instances, the
handle, or only a few ornaments, are moulded, and the body of the
work is turned.

115. Glass seals. The process of engraving upon gems requires
considerable time and skill. The seals thus produced can
therefore never become common. Imitations, however, have been
made of various degrees of resemblance. The colour which is given
to glass is, perhaps, the most successful part of the imitation.
A small cylindrical rod of coloured glass is heated in the flame
of a blowpipe, until the extremity becomes soft. The operator
then pinches it between the ends of a pair of nippers, which are
formed of brass, and on one side of which the device intended for
the seal has been carved in relief. When the mould has been well
finished and care is taken in heating the glass properly, the
seals thus produced are not bad imitations; and by this system of
copying they are so multiplied, that the more ordinary kinds are
sold at Birmingham for three pence a dozen.

116. Square glass bottles. The round forms which are usually
given to vessels of glass are readily produced by the expansion
of the air with which they are blown. It is, however, necessary
in many cases to make bottles of a square form, and each capable
of holding exactly the same quantity of fluid. It is also
frequently desirable to have imprinted on them the name of the
maker of the medicine or other liquid they are destined to
contain. A mould of iron, or of copper, is provided of the
intended size, on the inside of which are engraved the names
required. This mould, which is used in a hot state, opens into
two parts, to allow the insertion of the round, unfinished
bottle, which is placed in it in a very soft state before it is
removed from the end of the iron tube with which it was blown.
The mould is now closed, and the glass is forced against its
sides, by blowing strongly into the bottle.

117. Wooden snuff boxes. Snuff boxes ornamented with devices,
in imitation of carved work or of rose engine turning, are sold
at a price which proves that they are only imitations. The wood,
or horn, out of which they are formed, is softened by long
boiling in water, and whilst in this state it is forced into
moulds of iron, or steel, on which are cut the requisite
patterns, where it remains exposed to great pressure until it is
dry.

118. Horn knife handles and umbrella handles. The property
which horn possesses of becoming soft by the action of water and
of heat, fits it for many useful purposes. It is pressed into
moulds, and becomes embossed with figures in relief, adapted to
the objects to which it is to be applied. If curved, it may be
straightened; or if straight, it may be bent into any forms which
ornament or utility may require; and by the use of the mould
these forms may be multiplied in endless variety. The commoner
sorts of knives, the crooked handles for umbrellas, and a
multitude of other articles to which horn is applied, attest the
cheapness which the art of copying gives to the things formed of
this material.

119. Moulding tortoise-shell. The same principle is applied
to things formed out of the shell of the turtle, or the land
tortoise. From the greatly superior price of the raw material,
this principle of copying is, however, more rarely employed upon
it; and the few carvings which are demanded, are usually
performed by hand.

120. Tobacco-pipe making. This simple art is almost entirely
one of copying. The moulds are formed of iron, in two parts, each
embracing one half of the stem; the line of junction of these
parts may generally be observed running lengthwise from one end
of the pipe to the other. The hole passing to the bowl is formed
by thrusting a long wire through the clay before it is enclosed
in the mould. Some of the moulds have figures, or names, sunk in
the inside, which give a corresponding figure in relief upon the
finished pipe.

121. Embossing upon calico. Calicoes of one colour, but
embossed all over with raised patterns, though not much worn in
this country, are in great demand in several foreign markets.
This appearance is produced by passing them between rollers, on
one of which is figured in intaglio the pattern to be transferred
to the calico. The substance of the cloth is pressed very
forcibly into the cavities thus formed, and retains its pattern
after considerable use. The watered appearance in the cover of
the volume in the reader's hands is produced in a similar manner.
A cylinder of gun-metal, on which the design of the watering is
previously cut, is pressed by screws against another cylinder,
formed out of pieces of brown paper which have been strongly
compressed together and accurately turned. The two cylinders are
made to revolve rapidly, the paper one being slightly damped,
and, after a few minutes, it takes an impression from the upper
or metal one. The glazed calico is now passed between the
rollers, its glossy surface being in contact with the metal
cylinder, which is kept hot by a heated iron enclosed within it.
Calicoes are sometimes watered by placing two pieces on each
other in such a position that the longitudinal threads of the one
are at right angles to those of the other, and compressing them
in this state between flat rollers. The threads of the one piece
produce indentations in those of the other, but they are not so
deep as when produced by the former method.

122. Embossing upon leather. This art of copying from
patterns previously engraved on steel rollers is in most respects
similar to the preceding. The leather is forced into the
cavities, and the parts which are not opposite to any cavity are
powerfully condensed between the rollers.

123. Swaging. This is an art of copying practised by the
smith. In order to fashion his iron and steel into the various
forms demanded by his customers, he has small blocks of steel
into which are sunk cavities of different shapes; these are
called swages, and are generally in pairs. Thus if he wants a
round bolt, terminating in a cylindrical head of larger diameter,
and having one or more projecting rims, he uses a corresponding
swaging tool; and having heated the end of his iron rod, and
thickened it by striking the end in the direction of the axis
(which is technically called upsetting), he places its head upon
one part of the lage; and whilst an assistant holds the other
part on the top of the hot iron, he strikes it several times with
his hammer, occasionally turning the head one quarter round. The
heated iron is thus forced by the blows to assume the form of the
mould into which it is impressed.

124. Engraving by pressure. This is one of the most beautiful
examples of the art of copying carried to an almost unlimited
extent; and the delicacy with which it can be executed, and the
precision with which the finest traces of the graving tool can be
transferred from steel to copper, or even from hard steel to soft
steel, is most unexpected. We are indebted to Mr Perkins for most
of the contrivances which have brought this art at once almost to
perfection. An engraving is first made upon soft steel, which is
hardened by a peculiar process without in the least injuring its
delicacy. A cylinder of soft steel, pressed with great force
against the hardened steel engraving, is now made to roll very
slowly backward and forward over it, thus receiving the design,
but in relief. The cylinder is in its turn hardened without
injury., and if it be slowly rolled to and fro with strong
pressure on successive plates of copper, it will imprint on a
thousand of them a perfect facsimile of the original steel
engraving from which it was made. Thus the number of copies
producible from the same design may be multiplied a
thousand-fold. But even this is very far short of the limits to
which the process may be extended. The hardened steel roller,
bearing the design upon it in relief may be employed to make a
few of its first impressions upon plates of soft steel, and these
being hardened become the representatives of the original
engraving, and may in their turn be made the parents of other
rollers, each generating copperplates like their prototype. The
possible extent to which facsimiles of one original engraving may
thus be multiplied, almost confounds the imagination, and appears
to be for all practical purposes unlimited.

This beautiful art was first proposed by Mr Perkins for the
purpose of rendering the forgery of bank notes a matter of great
difficulty; and there are two principles which peculiarly adapt
it to that object: first, the perfect identity of all the
impressions, so that any variation in the minutest line would at
once cause detection; secondly, that the original plates may be
formed by the united labours of several artists most eminent in
their respective departments; for as only one original of each
design is necessary, the expense, even of the most elaborate
engraving, will be trifling, compared with the multitude of
copies produced from it.

125. It must, however, be admitted that the principle of
copying itself furnishes an expedient for imitating any engraving
or printed pattern, however complicated; and thus presents a
difficulty which none of the schemes devised for the prevention
of forgery appear to have yet effectually obviated. In attempting
to imitate the most perfect banknote, the first process would be
to place it with the printed side downwards upon a stone or other
substance, on which, by passing it through a rolling-press, it
might be firmly fixed. The next object would be to discover some
solvent which should dissolve the paper, but neither affect the
printing-ink, nor injure the stone or substance to which it is
attached. Water does not seem to do this effectually, and perhaps
weak alkaline or acid solutions would be tried. If, however, this
could be fully accomplished, and if the stone or other substance,
used to retain the impression, had those properties which enable
us to print from it, innumerable facsimiles of the note might
obviously be made, and the imitation would be complete. Porcelain
biscuit, which has recently been used with a black lead pencil
for memorandum books, seems in some measure adapted for such
trials, since its porosity may be diminished to any required
extent by regulating the dilution of the glazing.

126. Gold and silver moulding. Many of the mouldings used by
jewellers consist of thin slips of metal, which have received
their form by passing between steel rollers, on which the pattern
is embossed or engraved; thus taking a succession of copies of
the devices intended.

127. Ornamental papers. Sheets of paper coloured or covered
with gold or silver leaf, and embossed with various patterns, are
used for covering books, and for many ornamental purposes. The
figures upon these are produced by the same process, that of
passing the sheets of paper between engraved rollers.


Of copying by stamping

128. This mode of copying is extensively employed in the
arts. It is generally executed by means of large presses worked
with a screw and heavy flywheel. The materials on which the
copies are impressed are most frequently metals, and the process
is sometimes executed when they are hot, and in one case when the
metal is in a state between solidity and fluidity.

129. Coins and medals. The whole of the coins which circulate
as money are produced by this mode of copying. The screw presses
are either worked by manual labour, by water, or by steam power.
The mint which was sent a few years since to Calcutta was capable
of coining 200,000 pieces a day. Medals, which usually have their
figures in higher relief than coins, are produced by similar
means; but a single blow is rarely sufficient to bring them to
perfection, and the compression of the metal which arises from
the first blow renders it too hard to receive many subsequent
blows without injury to the die. It is therefore, after being
struck, removed to a furnace, in which it is carefully heated
red-hot and annealed, after which operation it is again placed
between the dies, and receives additional blows. For medals, on
which the figures are very prominent, these processes must be
repeated many times. One of the largest medals hitherto struck
underwent them nearly a hundred times before it was completed.

130. Ornaments for military accoutrements, and furniture.
These are usually of brass, and are stamped up out of solid or
sheet brass by placing it between dies, and allowing a heavy
weight to drop upon the upper die from a height of from five to
fifteen feet.

131. Buttons and nail heads. Buttons embossed with crests or
other devices are produced by the same means; and some of those
which are plain receive their hemispherical form from the dies in
which they are struck. The heads of several kinds of nails which
are portions of spheres, or polyhedrons, are also formed by these
means.

132. Of a process for copying, called in France clichee. This
curious method of copying by stamping is applied to medals, and
in some cases to forming stereotype plates. There exists a range
of temperature previous to the melting point of several of the
alloys of lead, tin, and antimony, in which the compound is
neither solid, nor yet fluid. In this kind of pasty state it is
placed in a box under a die, which descends upon it with
considerable force. The blow drives the metal into the finest
lines of the die, and the coldness of the latter immediately
solidifies the whole mass. A quantity of the half-melted metal is
scattered in all directions by the blow, and is retained by the
sides of the box in which the process is carried on. The work
thus produced is admirable for its sharpness, but has not the
finished form of a piece just leaving the coining-press: the
sides are ragged, and it must be trimmed, and its thickness
equalized in the lathe.


Of copying by punching

133. This mode of copying consists in driving a steel punch
through the substance to be cut, either by a blow or by pressure.
In some cases the object is to copy the aperture, and the
substance separated from the plate is rejected; in other cases
the small pieces cut out are the objects of the workman's labour.

134. Punching iron plate for boilers. The steel punch used
for this purpose is from three-eighths to three-quarters of an
inch in diameter, and drives out a circular disk from a plate of
iron from one-quarter to five eighths of an inch thick.

135. Punching tinned iron. The ornamental patterns of open
work which decorate the tinned and japanned wares in general use,
are rarely punched by the workman who makes them. In London the
art of punching out these patterns in screw-presses is carried on
as a separate trade; and large quantities of sheet tin are thus
perforated for cullenders, wine-strainers, borders of waiters,
and other similar purposes. The perfection and the precision to
which the art has been carried are remarkable. Sheets of copper,
too, are punched with small holes about the hundredth of an inch
in diameter, in such multitudes that more of the sheet metal is
removed than remains behind; and plates of tin have been
perforated with above three thousand holes in each square inch.

136. The inlaid plates of brass and rosewood, called buhl
work, which ornament our furniture, are, in some instances,
formed by punching; but in this case, both the parts cut out, and
those which remain, are in many cases employed. In the remaining
illustrations of the art of copying by punching, the part made
use of is that which is punched out.

137. Cards for guns. The substitution of a circular disk of
thin card instead of paper, for retaining in its place the charge
of a fowling-piece, is attended with considerable advantage. It
would, however, be of little avail, unless an easy method was
contrived of producing an unlimited number of cards, each exactly
fitting the bore of the barrel. The small steel tool used for
this purpose cuts out innumerable circles similar to its cutting
end, each of which precisely fills the barrel for which it was
designed.

138. Ornaments of gilt paper. The golden stars, leaves, and
other devices, sold in shops for the purpose of ornamenting
articles made of paper and pasteboard, and other fancy works, are
cut by punches of various forms out of sheets of gilt paper.

139. Steel chains. The chain used in connecting the
mainspring and fusee in watches and clocks, is composed of small
pieces of sheet steel, and it is of great importance that each of
these pieces should be of exactly the same size. The links are of
two sorts; one of them consisting of a single oblong piece of
steel with two holes in it, and the other formed by connecting
two of the same pieces of steel, placed parallel to each other,
and at a small distance apart, by two rivets. The two kinds of
links occur alternately in the chain: each end of the single
pieces being placed between the ends of two others, and connected
with them by a rivet passing through all three. If the rivet
holes in the pieces for the double links are not precisely at
equal distances, the chain will not be straight, and will,
consequently, be unfit for its purpose.


Copying with elongation

140. In this species of copying there exists but little
resemblance between the copy and the original. It is the
cross-section only of the thing produced which is similar to the
tool through which it passes. When the substances to be operated
upon are hard, they must frequently pass in succession through
several holes, and it is in some cases necessary to anneal them
at intervals.

141. Wire drawing. The metal to be converted into wire is
made of a cylindrical form, and drawn forcibly through circular
holes in plates of steel: at each passage it becomes smaller.
and, when finished, its section at any point is a precise copy of
the last hole through which it passed. Upon the larger kinds of
wire, fine lines may sometimes be traced, running longitudinally.
these arise from slight imperfections in the holes of the
draw-plates. For many purposes of the arts, wire, the section of
which is square or half round, is required: the same method of
making it is pursued, except that the holes through which it is
drawn are in such cases themselves square, or half-round, or of
whatever other form the wire is required to be. A species of wire
is made, the section of which resembles a star with from six to
twelve rays; this is called pinion wire, and is used by the
clockmakers. They file away all the rays from a short piece,
except from about half an inch near one end: this becomes a
pinion for a clock; and the leaves or teeth are already burnished
and finished, from having passed through the draw-plate.

142. Tube drawing. The art of forming tubes of uniform
diameter is nearly similar in its mode of execution to wire
drawing. The sheet brass is bent round and soldered so as to form
a hollow cylinder; and if the diameter outside is that which is
required to be uniform, it is drawn through a succession of
holes, as in wire drawing: If the inside diameter is to be
uniform, a succession of steel cylinders, called triblets, are
drawn through the brass tube. In making tubes for telescopes, it
is necessary that both the inside and outside should be uniform.
A steel triblet, therefore, is first passed into the tube, which
is then drawn through a succession of holes, until the outside
diameter is reduced to the required size. The metal of which the
tube is formed is condensed between these holes and the steel
cylinder within; and when the latter is withdrawn the internal
surface appears polished. The brass tube is considerably extended
by this process, sometimes even to double its first length.

143. Leaden pipes. Leaden pipes for the conveyance of water
were formerly made by casting; but it has been found that they
can be made both cheaper and better by drawing them through holes
in the manner last described. A cylinder of lead, of five or six
inches in diameter and about two feet long, is cast with a small
hole through its axis, and an iron triblet of about fifteen feet
in length is forced into the hole. It is then drawn through a
series of holes, until the lead is extended upon the triblet from
one end to the other, and is of the proper thickness in
proportion to the size of the pipe.

144. Iron rolling. When cylinders of iron of greater
thickness than wire are required, they are formed by passing
wrought iron between rollers, each of which has sunk in it a
semi-cylindrical groove; and as such rollers rarely touch
accurately, a longitudinal line will usually be observed in the
cylinders so manufactured. Bar iron is thus shaped into all the
various forms of round, square, half-round, oval, etc. in which
it occurs in commerce. A particular species of moulding is thus
made, which resembles, in its section, that part of the frame of
a window which separates two adjacent panes of glass. Being much
stronger than wood, it can be considerably reduced in thickness,
and consequently offers less obstruction to the light; it is much
used for skylights.

145. It is sometimes required that the iron thus produced
should not be of uniform thickness throughout. This is the case
in bars for railroads, where greater depth is required towards
the middle of the rail which is at the greatest distance from the
supports. This form is produced by cutting the groove in the
rollers deeper at those parts where additional strength is
required, so that the hollow which surrounds the roller would, if
it could be unwound, be a mould of the shape the iron is intended
to fit.

146. Vermicelli. The various forms into which this paste is
made are given by forcing it through holes in tin plate. It
passes through them, and appears on the other side in long
strings. The cook makes use of the same method in preparing
butter and ornamental pastry for the table, and the confectioner
in forming cylindrical lozenges of various composition.


Of copying with altered dimensions

147. Of the pentagraph. This mode of copying is chiefly used
for drawings or maps: the instrument is simple; and, although
usually employed in reducing, is capable of enlarging the size of
the copy. An automaton figure, exhibited in London a short time
since, which drew profiles of its visitors, was regulated by a
mechanism on this principle. A small aperture in the wall,
opposite the seat in which the person is placed whose profile is
taken, conceals a camera lucida, which is placed in an adjoining
apartment: and an assistant, by moving a point, connected by a
pentagraph with the hand of the automaton, over the outline of
the head, causes the figure to trace a corresponding profile.

148. By turning. The art of turning might perhaps itself be
classed amongst the arts of copying. A steel axis, called a
mandril, having a pulley attached to the middle of it, is
supported at one end either by a conical point, or by a
cylindrical collar, and at the other end by another collar,
through which it passes. The extremity which projects beyond this
last collar is formed into a screw, by which various instruments,
called chucks, can be attached to it. These chucks are intended
to hold the various materials to be submitted to the operation of
turning, and have a great variety of forms. The mandril with the
chuck is made to revolve by a strap which passes over the pulley
that is attached to it, and likewise over a larger wheel moved
either by the foot, or by its connection with steam or water
power. All work which is executed on a mandril partakes in some
measure of the irregularities in the form of that mandril; and
the perfect circularity of section which ought to exist in every
part of the work, can only be ensured by an equal accuracy in the
mandril and its collar.

149. Rose engine turning. This elegant art depends in a great
measure on copying. Circular plates of metal called rosettes,
having various indentations on the surfaces and edges, are fixed
on the mandril, which admits of a movement either end-wise or
laterally: a fixed obstacle called the 'touch', against which the
rosettes are pressed by a spring, obliges the mandril to follow
their indentations, and thus causes the cutting tool to trace out
the same pattern on the work. The distance of the cutting tool
from the centre being usually less than the radius of the
rosette, causes the copy to be much diminished.

150. Copying dies. A lathe has been long known in France, and
recently been used at the English mint for copying dies. A blunt
point is carried by a very slow spiral movement successively over
every part of the die to be copied, and is pressed by a weight
into all the cavities; while a cutting point connected with it by
the machine traverses the face of a piece of soft steel, in which
it cuts the device of the original die on the same or on a
diminished scale. The degree of excellence of the copy increases
in proportion as it is smaller than the original. The die of a
crown-piece will furnish by copy a very tolerable die for a
sixpence. But the chief use to be expected from this lathe is to
prepare all the coarser parts, and leave only the finer and more
expressive lines for the skill and genius of the artist.

151. Shoe-last making engine. An instrument not very unlike
in principle was proposed for the purpose of making shoe lasts. A
pattern last of a shoe for the right foot was placed in one part
of the apparatus, and when the machine was moved, two pieces of
wood, placed in another part which had been previously adjusted
by screws, were cut into lasts greater or less than the original,
as was desired; and although the pattern was for the right foot,
one of the lasts was for the left, an effect which was produced
by merely interposing a wheel which reversed the motion between
the two pieces of wood to be cut into lasts.

152. Engine for copying busts. Many years since, the late Mr
Watt amused himself with constructing an engine to produce copies
of busts or statues, either of the same size as the original, or
in a diminished proportion. The substances on which he operated
were various, and some of the results were shewn to his friends,
but the mechanism by which they were made has never been
described. More recently, Mr Hawkins, who, nearly at the same
time, had also contrived a similar machine, has placed it in the
hands of an artist, who has made copies in ivory from a variety
of busts. The art of multiplying in different sizes the figures
of the sculptor, aided by that of rendering their acquisition
cheap through the art of casting, promises to give additional
value to his productions, and to diffuse more widely the pleasure
arising from their possession.

153. Screw cutting. When this operation is performed in the
lathe by means of a screw upon the mandril, it is essentially an
art of copying, but it is only the number of threads in a given
length which is copied; the form of the thread, and length as
well as the diameter of the screw to be cut, are entirely
independent of those from which the copy is made. There is
another method of cutting screws in a lathe by means of one
pattern screw, which, being connected by wheels with the mandril,
guides the cutting point. In this process, unless the time of
revolution of the mandril is the same as that of the screw which
guides the cutting point, the number of threads in a given length
will be different. If the mandril move quicker than the cutting
point, the screw which is produced will be finer than the
original; if it move slower, the copy will be more coarse than
the original. The screw thus generated may be finer or coarser--
it may be larger or smaller in diameter--it may have the same or
a greater number of threads than that from which it is copied;
yet all the defects which exist in the original will be
accurately transmitted, under the modified circumstances, to
every individual generated from it.

154. Printing from copper plates with altered dimensions.
Some very singular specimens of an art of copying, not yet made
public, were brought from Paris a few years since. A watchmaker
in that city, of the name of Gonord, had contrived a method by
which he could take from the same copperplate impressions of
different sizes, either larger or smaller than the original
design. Having procured four impressions of a parrot, surrounded
by a circle, executed in this manner, I shewed them to the late
Mr Lowry, an engraver equally distinguished for his skill, and
for the many mechanical contrivances with which he enriched his
art. The relative dimensions of the several impressions were 5.5,
6.3, 8.4, 15.0, so that the largest was nearly three times the
linear size of the smallest; and Mr Lowry assured me, that he was
unable to detect any lines in one which had not corresponding
lines in the others. There appeared to be a difference in the
quantity of ink, but none in the traces of the engraving; and,
from the general appearance, it was conjectured that the largest
but one was the original impression from the copperplate.

The means by which this singular operation was executed have
not been published; but two conjectures were formed at the time
which merit notice. It was supposed that the artist was in
possession of some method of transferring the ink from the lines
of a copperplate to the surface of some fluid, and of
retransferring the impression from the fluid to paper. If this
could be accomplished, the print would, in the first instance, be
of exactly the same size as the copper from which it was derived;
but if the fluid were contained in a vessel having the form of an
inverted cone, with a small aperture at the bottom, the liquid
might be lowered or raised in the vessel by gradual abstraction
or addition through the apex of the cone; in this case, the
surface to which the printing-ink adhered would diminish or
enlarge, and in this altered state the impression might be
retransferred to paper. It must be admitted, that this
conjectural explanation is liable to very considerable
difficulties; for, although the converse operation of taking an
impression from a liquid surface has a parallel in the art of
marbling paper, the possibility of transferring the ink from the
copper to the fluid requires to be proved.

Another and more plausible explanation is founded on the
elastic nature of the compound of glue and treacle, a substance
already in use in transferring engravings to earthenware. It is
conjectured, that an impression from the copperplate is taken
upon a large sheet of this composition; that this sheet is then
stretched in both directions, and that the ink thus expanded is
transferred to paper. If the copy is required to be smaller than
the original, the elastic substance must first be stretched, and
then receive the impression from the copperplate: on removing the
tension it will contract, and thus reduce the size of the design.
It is possible that one transfer may not in all cases suffice; as
the extensibility of the composition of glue and treacle,
although considerable, is still limited. Perhaps sheets of India
rubber of uniform texture and thickness, may be found to answer
better than this composition; or possibly the ink might be
transferred from the copper plate to the surface of a bottle of
this gum, which bottle might, after being expanded by forcing air
into it, give up the enlarged impression to paper. As it would
require considerable time to produce impressions in this manner,
and there might arise some difficulty in making them all of
precisely the same size, the process might be rendered more
certain and expeditious by performing that part of the operation
which depends on the enlargement or diminution of the design only
once; and, instead of printing from the soft substance.
transferring the design from it to stone: thus a considerable
portion of the work would be reduced to an art already well
known, that of lithography. This idea receives some confirmation
from the fact, that in another set of specimens, consisting of a
map of St Petersburgh, of several sizes, a very short line,
evidently an accidental defect, occurs in all the impressions of
one particular size, but not in any of a different size.

155. Machine to produce engraving from medals. An instrument
was contrived, a long time ago, and is described in the Manuel de
Tourneur, by which copperplate engravings are produced from
medals and other objects in relief. The medal and the copper are
fixed on two sliding plates at right angles to each other, so
connected that, when the plate on which the medal is fixed is
raised vertically by a screw, the slide holding the copperplate
is advanced by an equal quantity in the horizontal direction. The
medal is fixed on the vertical slide with its face towards the
copperplate, and a little above it.

A bar, terminating at one end in a tracing point, and at the
other in a short arm, at right angles to the bar, and holding a
diamond point, is placed horizontally above the copper; so that
the tracing point shall touch the medal to which the bar is
perpendicular, and the diamond point shall touch the copperplate
to which the arm is perpendicular.

Under this arrangement, the bar being supposed to move
parallel to itself, and consequently to the copper, if the
tracing point pass over a flat part of the medal, the diamond
point will draw a straight line of equal length upon the copper;
but, if the tracing point pass over any projecting part of the
medal, the deviation from the straight line by the diamond point,
will be exactly equal to the elevation of the corresponding point
of the medal above the rest of the surface. Thus, by the transit
of this tracing point over any line upon the medal, the diamond
will draw upon the copper a section of the medal through that
line.

A screw is attached to the apparatus, so that if the medal be
raised a very small quantity by the screw, the copperplate will
be advanced by the same quantity, and thus a new line of section
may be drawn: and, by continuing this process, the series of
sectional lines on the copper produces the representation of the
medal on a plane: the outline and the form of the figure arising
from the sinuosities of the lines, and from their greater or less
proximity. The effect of this kind of engraving is very striking;
and in some specimens gives a high degree of apparent relief. It
has been practised on plate glass, and is then additionally
curious from the circumstance of the fine lines traced by the
diamond being invisible, except in certain lights.

From this description, it will have been seen that the
engraving on copper must be distorted; that is to say, that the
projection on the copper cannot be the same as that which arises
from a perpendicular projection of each point of the medal upon a
plane parallel to itself. The position of the prominent parts
will be more altered than that of the less elevated; and the
greater the relief of the medal the more distorted will be its
engraved representation. Mr John Bate, son of Mr Bate, of the
Poultry, has contrived an improved machine, for which he has
taken a patent, in which this source of distortion is remedied.
The head, in the title page of the present volume, is copied from
a medal of Roger Bacon, which forms one of a series of medals of
eminent men, struck at the Royal Mint at Munich, and is the first
of the published productions of this new art.(3*)

The inconvenience which arises from too high a relief in the
medal, or in the bust, might be remedied by some mechanical
contrivance, by which the deviation of the diamond point from the
right line (which it would describe when the tracing point
traverses a plane), would be made proportional not to the
elevation of the corresponding point above the plane of the
medal, but to its elevation above some other parallel plane
removed to a fit distance behind it. Thus busts and statues might
be reduced to any required degree of relief.

156. The machine just described naturally suggests other
views which seem to deserve some consideration, and, perhaps,
some experiment. If a medal were placed under the tracing point
of a pentagraph, an engraving tool substituted for the pencil,
and a copperplate in the place of the paper; and if, by some
mechanism, the tracing point, which slides in a vertical plane,
could, as it is carried over the different elevations of the
medal, increase or diminish the depth of the engraved line
proportionally to the actual height of the corresponding point on
the medal, then an engraving would be produced, free at least
from any distortion, although it might be liable to objections of
a different kind. If, by any similar contrivance, instead of
lines, we could make on each point of the copper a dot, varying
in size or depth with the altitude of the corresponding point of
the medal above its plane, than a new species of engraving would
be produced: and the variety of these might again be increased,
by causing the graving point to describe very small circles, of
diameters, varying with the height of the point on the medal
above a given plane; or by making the graving tool consist of
three equidistant points, whose distance increased or diminished
according to some determinate law, dependent on the elevation of
the point represented above the plane of the medal. It would,
perhaps, be difficult to imagine the effects of some of these
kinds of engraving; but they would all possess, in common, the
property of being projections, by parallel lines, of the objects
represented, and the intensity of the shade of the ink would
either vary according to some function of the distance of the
point represented from some given plane, or it would be a little
modified by the distances from the same plane of a few of the
immediately contiguous points.

157. The system of shading maps by means of lines of equal
altitude above the sea bears some analogy to this mode of
representing medals, and if applied to them would produce a
different species of engraved resemblance. The projections on the
plane of the medal, of the section of an imaginary plane, placed
at successive distances above it, with the medal itself, would
produce a likeness of the figure on the medal, in which all the
inclined parts of it would be dark in proportion to their
inclination. Other species of engraving might be conceived by
substituting, instead of the imaginary plane, an imaginary sphere
or other solid, intersecting the figure in the medal.

158. Lace made by caterpillars. A most extraordinary species
of manufacture, which is in a slight degree connected with
copying, has been contrived by an officer of engineers residing
at Munich. It consists of lace, and veils, with open patterns in
them, made entirely by caterpillars. The following is the mode of
proceeding adopted: he makes a paste of the leaves of the plant,
which is the usual food of the species of caterpillar(4*) he
employs, and spreads it thinly over a stone, or other flat
substance. He then, with a camel-hair pencil dipped in olive oil,
draws upon the coating of paste the pattern he wishes the insects
to leave open. This stone is then placed in an inclined position,
and a number of the caterpillars are placed at the bottom. A
peculiar species is chosen, which spins a strong web; and the
animals commencing at the bottom, eat and spin their way up to
the top, carefully avoiding every part touched by the oil, but
devouring all the rest of the paste. The extreme lightness of
these veils, combined with some strength, is truly surprising.
One of them, measuring twenty-six and a half inches by seventeen
inches, weighed only 1.51 grains; a degree of lightness which
will appear more strongly by contrast with other fabrics. One
square yard of the substance of which these veils are made weighs
4 1/3 grains, whilst one square yard of silk gauze weighs 137
grains, and one square yard of the finest patent net weighs 262
1/2 grains. The ladies' coloured muslin dresses, mentioned in the
table subjoined, cost ten shillings per dress, and each weigh six
ounces; the cotton from which they are made weighing nearly six
and two-ninth ounces avoirdupois weight.

Weight of one square yard of each of the following articles(5*)

                                                     Weight of
                                        Weight      cotton used
                             Value    finished of    in waking
                            per yard  one square    one square
 Description of goods       measure     yard            yard

                            s. d.    Troy grains    Troy grains

 Caterpillar veils           --         4 1/3           --
 Silk gauze 3-4 wide        1  0         137            --
 Finest patent net           --       262 1/2           --
 Fine cambric muslin         --          551            --
 6-4ths jaconet muslin      2  0         613           670
 Ladies' coloured muslin dresses 3 0     788           875
 6-4ths cambric             1  2         972          1069
 9-8ths calico              0  9         988          1085
 1/2-yard nankeen           0  8        2240          2432


159. This enumeration, which is far from complete, of the
arts in which copying is the foundation, may be terminated with
an example which has long been under the eye of the reader;
although few, perhaps, are aware of the number of repeated
copyings of which these very pages are the subject.

1. They are copies, by printing, from stereotype plates.

2. These stereotype plates are copied, by the art of casting,
from moulds formed of plaster of Paris.

3. These moulds are themselves copied by casting the plaster
in a liquid state upon the moveable types set up by the
compositor.

[It is here that the union of the intellectual and the
mechanical departments takes place. The mysteries, however, of an
author's copying, form no part of our enquiry, although it may be
fairly remarked, that, in numerous instances, the mental far
eclipses the mechanical copyist.]

4. These moveable types, the obedient messengers of the most
opposite thoughts, the most conflicting theories, are themselves
copies by casting from moulds of copper called matrices.

5. The lower part of those matrices, bearing the impressions
of the letters or characters, are copies, by punching, from steel
punches on which the same characters exist in relief.

6. These steel punches are not themselves entirely exempted
from the great principle of art. Many of the cavities which exist
in them, such as those in the middle of the punches for the
letters a, b, d, e, g, etc., are produced from other steel
punches in which these parts are in relief.

We have thus traced through six successive stages of copying
the mechanical art of printing from stereotype plates: the
principle of copying contributing in this, as in every other
department of manufacture, to the uniformity and the cheapness of
the work produced.

NOTES:

1. The late Mr Lowry.

2. I posses a lithographic reprint of a page of a table, which
appears, from the from of the type, to have been several years
old.

3. The construction of the engraving becomes evident on examining
it with a lens of sufficient power to show the continuity of the
lines.

4. The Phalaena pardilla, which feeds on the Prunus padus.

5. Some of these weights and measures are calculated from a
statement in the Report of the Committee of the House of Commons
on Printed Cotton Goods; and the widths of the pieces there given
are presumed to be the real widths, not those by which they are
called in the retail shops.



Chapter 12

On the Method of Observing Manufacturies

160. Having now reviewed the mechanical principles which
regulate the successful application of mechanical science to
great establishments for the production of manufactured goods, it
remains for us to suggest a few enquiries, and to offer a few
observations, to those whom an enlightened curiosity may lead to
examine the factories of this or of other countries.

The remark--that it is important to commit to writing all
information as soon as possible after it is received, especially
when numbers are concerned--applies to almost all enquiries. It
is frequently impossible to do this at the time of visiting an
establishment, although not the slightest jealousy may exist; the
mere act of writing information as it is communicated orally, is
a great interruption to the examination of machinery. In such
cases, therefore, it is advisable to have prepared beforehand the
questions to be asked, and to leave blanks for the answers, which
may be quickly inserted, as, in a multitude of cases, they are
merely numbers. Those who have not tried this plan will be
surprised at the quantity of information which may, through its
means, be acquired, even by a short examination. Each manufacture
requires its own list of questions, which will be better drawn up
after the first visit. The following outline, which is very
generally applicable, may suffice for an illustration; and to
save time, it may be convenient to have it printed; and to bind
up, in the form of a pocket-book, a hundred copies of the
skeleton forms for processes, with about twenty of the general
enquiries.


GENERAL ENQUIRIES


Outlines of a description of any of the mechanical arts ought to
contain information on the following points

Brief sketch of its history, particularly the date of its
invention, and of its introduction into England.

Short reference to the previous states through which the
material employed has passed: the places whence it is procured:
the price of a given quantity.

[The various processes must now be described successively
according to the plan which will be given in (161); after which
the following information should be given.]

Are various kinds of the same article made in one establishment, 
or at different ones, and are there differences in the processes?

To what defects are the goods liable?

What substitutes or adulterations are used?

What waste is allowed by the master?

What tests are there of the goodness of the manufactured
articles?

The weight of a given quantity, or number, and a comparison
with that of the raw material?

The wholesale price at the manufactory? (L  s. d.) per (  )

The usual retail price? (L  s. d.)

Who provide tools? Master, or men? Who repair tools? Master,
or men?

What is the expense of the machinery?

What is the annual wear and tear, and what its duration?

Is there any particular trade for making it? Where?

Is it made and repaired at the manufactory?

In any manufactory visited, state the number ( ) of
processes; and of the persons employed in each process; and the
quantity of manufactured produce.

What quantity is made annually in Great Britain?

Is the capital invested in manufactories large or small?

Mention the principal seats of this manufacture in England;
and if it flourishes abroad, the places where it is established.

The duty, excise. or bounty, if any, should be stated, and
any alterations in past years; and also the amount exported or
imported for a series of years.

Whether the same article, but of superior, equal, or inferior
make, is imported?

Does the manufacturer export, or sell, to a middleman, who
supplies the merchant?

To what countries is it chiefly sent? and in what goods are
the returns made?


161. Each process requires a separate skeleton, and the
following outline will be sufficient for many different
manufactories:

  Process ( ) Manufacture ( )
    Place ( ) Name ( )
         date    183


The mode of executing it, with sketches of the tools or
machine if necessary.

The number of persons necessary to attend the machine. Are
the operatives men. ( ) women, ( ) or children? ( ) If mixed,
what are the proportions?

What is the pay of each? (s. d.) (s. d. ) (s. d.) per ( )

What number ( ) of hours do they work per day?

Is it usual, or necessary, to work night and day without
stopping? Is the labour performed by piece--or by day-work?

Who provide tools? Master, or men? Who repair tools? Master,
or men? What degree of skill is required, and how many years' ( )
apprenticeship?

The number of times ( ) the operation is repeated per day or
per hour?

The number of failures ( ) in a thousand?

Whether the workmen or the master loses by the broken or
damaged articles?

What is done with them?

If the same process is repeated several times, state the
diminution or increase of measure, and the loss, if any, at each
repetition.


162. In this skeleton, the answers to the questions are in
some cases printed, as "Who repair the tools?--Masters, Men"; in
order that the proper answer may be underlined with a pencil. In
filling up the answers which require numbers, some care should be
taken: for instance, if the observer stands with his watch in his
hand before a person heading a pin, the workman will almost
certainly increase his speed, and the estimate will be too large.
A much better average will result from enquiring what quantity is
considered a fair day's work. When this cannot be ascertained,
the number of operations performed in a given time may frequently
be counted when the workman is quite unconscious that any person
is observing him. Thus the sound made by the motion of a loom may
enable the observer to count the number of strokes per minute,
even though he is outside the building in which it is contained.
M. Coulomb, who had great experience in making such observations,
cautions those who may repeat his experiments against being
deceived by such circumstances: 'Je prie' (says he) 'ceux qui
voudront les repeter, s'ils n'ont pas le temps de mesurer les
resultats apres plusiers jours d'un travail continu, d'observer
les ouvriers a differentes reprises dans la journee, sans qu'ils
sachent qu'ils sont observes. L'on ne peut trop avertir combien
l'on risque de se tromper en calculant, soit la vitesse, soit le
temps effectif du travail, d'apres une observation de quelques
minutes.' Memoires de l'Institut. vol. II, p. 247. It frequently
happens, that in a series of answers to such questions, there are
some which, although given directly, may also be deduced by a
short calculation from others that are given or known; and
advantage should always be taken of these verifications, in order
to confirm the accuracy of the statements; or, in case they are
discordant, to correct the apparent anomalies. In putting lists
of questions into the hands of a person undertaking to give
information upon any subject, it is in some cases desirable to
have an estimate of the soundness of his judgement. The questions
can frequently be so shaped, that some of them may indirectly
depend on others; and one or two may be inserted whose answers
can be obtained by other methods: nor is this process without its
advantages in enabling us to determine the value of our own
judgement. The habit of forming an estimate of the magnitude of
any object or the frequency of any occurrence, immediately
previous to our applying to it measure or number, tends
materially to fix the attention and to improve the judgement.





Section II

On the domestic and political economy of manufactures



Chapter 13

Distinction Between Making and Manufacturing

163. The economical principles which regulate the application
of machinery, and which govern the interior of all our great
factories, are quite as essential to the prosperity of a great
commercial country, as are those mechanical principles, the
operation of which has been illustrated in the preceding section.

The first object of every person who attempts to make any
article of consumption, is, or ought to be, to produce it in a
perfect form; but in order to secure to himself the greatest and
most permanent profit, he must endeavour, by every means in his
power, to render the new luxury or want which he has created,
cheap to those who consume it. The larger number of purchasers
thus obtained will, in some measure, secure him from the caprices
of fashion, whilst it furnishes a far greater amount of profit,
although the contribution of each individual is diminished. The
importance of collecting data, for the purpose of enabling the
manufacturer to ascertain how many additional customers he will
acquire by a given reduction in the price of the article he
makes, cannot be too strongly pressed upon the attention of those
who employ themselves in statistical enquiries. In some ranks of
society, no diminution of price can bring forward a great
additional number of customers; whilst, amongst other classes, a
very small reduction will so enlarge the sale, as to yield a
considerable increase of profit. Materials calculated to assist
in forming a table of the numbers of persons who possess incomes
of different amount, occur in the 14th Report of the
Commissioners of Revenue Inquiry, which includes a statement of
the amount of personal property proved at the legacy office
during one year; the number of the various classes of testators;
and an account of the number of persons receiving dividends from
funded property, distributed into classes. Such a table, formed
even approximately, and exhibited in the form of a curve, might
be of service.

164. A considerable difference exists between the terms
making and manufacturing. The former refers to the production of
a small, the latter to that of a very large number of
individuals; and the difference is well illustrated in the
evidence, given before the Committee of the House of Commons, on
the Export of Tools and Machinery. On that occasion Mr Maudslay
stated, that he had been applied to by the Navy Board to make
iron tanks for ships, and that he was rather unwilling to do so,
as he considered it to be out of his line of business; however,
he undertook to make one as a trial. The holes for the rivets
were punched by hand-punching with presses, and the 1680 holes
which each tank required cost seven shillings. The Navy Board,
who required a large number, proposed that he should supply forty
tanks a week for many months. The magnitude of the order made it
worth his while to commence manufacture, and to make tools for
the express business. Mr Maudslay therefore offered, if the Board
would give him an order for two thousand tanks, to supply them at
the rate of eighty per week. The order was given: he made tools,
by which the expense of punching the rivet-holes of each tank was
reduced from seven shillings to ninepence; he supplied
ninety-eight tanks a week for six months, and the price charged
for each was reduced from seventeen pounds to fifteen.

165. If, therefore, the maker of an article wish to become a
manufacturer, in the more extended sense of the term, he must
attend to other principles besides those mechanical ones on which
the successful execution of his work depends; and he must
carefully arrange the whole system of his factory in such a
manner, that the article he sells to the public may be produced
at as small a cost as possible. Should he not be actuated at
first by motives so remote, he will, in every highly civilized
country, be compelled, by the powerful stimulus of competition,
to attend to the principles of the domestic economy of
manufactures. At every reduction in price of the commodity he
makes, he will be driven to seek compensation in a saving of
expense in some of the processes; and his ingenuity will be
sharpened in this enquiry by the hope of being able in his turn
to undersell his rivals. The benefit of the improvements thus
engendered is, for a short time, confined to those from whose
ingenuity they derive their origin; but when a sufficient
experience has proved their value, they become generally adopted,
until in their turn they are superseded by other more economical
methods.



Chapter 14

Of Money as a Medium of Exchange

166. In the earlier stages of societies the interchange of
the few commodities required was conducted by barter, but as soon
as their wants became more varied and extensive, the necessity of
having some common measure of the value of all commodities--
itself capable of subdivision--became apparent: thus money was
introduced. In some countries shells have been employed for this
purpose; but civilized nations have, by common consent, adopted
the precious metals.(1*) The sovereign power has, in most
countries, assumed the right of coining; or, in other words, the
right of stamping with distinguishing marks, pieces of metal
having certain forms and weights and a certain degree of
fineness: the marks becoming a guarantee, to the people amongst
whom the money circulates, that each piece is of the required
weight and quality.

The expense of manufacturing gold into coin, and that of the
loss arising from wear, as well as of interest on the capital
invested in it, must either be defrayed by the State, or be
compensated by a small reduction in its weight, and is a far less
cost to the nation than the loss of time and inconvenience which
would arise from a system of exchange or barter.

167. These coins are liable to two inconveniences: they may
be manufactured privately by individuals, of the same quality,
and similarly stamped; or imitations may be made of inferior
metal, or of diminished weight. The first of these inconveniences
would be easily remedied by making the current value of the coin
nearly equal to that of the same weight of the metal; and the
second would be obviated by the caution of individuals in
examining the external characters of each coin, and partly by the
punishment inflicted by the State on the perpetrators of such
frauds.

168. The subdivisions of money vary in different countries,
and much time may be lost by an inconvenient system of division.
The effect is felt in keeping extensive accounts, and
particularly in calculating the interest on loans, or the
discount upon bills of exchange. The decimal system is the best
adapted to facilitate all such calculations; and it becomes an
interesting question to consider whether our own currency might
not be converted into one decimally divided. The great step, that
of abolishing the guinea, has already been taken without any
inconvenience, and but little is now required to render the
change complete.

169. If, whenever it becomes necessary to call in the
half-crowns, a new coin of the value of two shillings were
issued, which should be called by some name implying a unit (a
prince, for instance), we should have the tenth part of a
sovereign. A few years after, when the public were familiar with
this coin, it might be divided into one hundred instead of
ninety-six farthings; and it would then consist of twenty-five
pence, each of which would be four per cent. less in value than
the former penny. The shillings and six-pences being then
withdrawn from circulation, their place might be supplied with
silver coins each worth five of the new pence, and by others of
ten-pence, and of twopence halfpenny; the latter coin, having a
distinct name, would be the tenth part of a prince.

170. The various manufactured commodities, and the various
property possessed by the inhabitants of a country, all become
measured by the standard thus introduced. But it must be observed
that the value of gold is itself variable; and that, like all
other commodities, its price depends on the extent of the demand
compared with that of the supply.

171. As transactions multiply, and the sums to be paid become
large, the actual transfer of the precious metals from one
individual to another is attended with inconvenience and
difficulty, and it is found more convenient to substitute written
promises to pay on demand specified quantities of gold. These
promises are called bank-notes; and when the person or body
issuing them is known to be able to fulfil the pledge, the note
will circulate for a long time before it gets into the hands of
any person who may wish to make use of the gold it represents.
These paper representatives supply the place of a certain
quantity of gold; and, being much cheaper, a large portion of the
expense of a metallic circulation is saved by their employment.

172. As commercial transactions increase, the transfer of
bank-notes is, to a considerable extent, superseded by shorter
processes. Banks are established, into which all monies are paid,
and out of which all payments are made, through written orders
called checks, drawn by those who keep accounts with them. In a
large capital, each bank receives, through its numerous
customers, checks payable by every other; and if clerks were sent
round to receive the amount in banknotes due from each, it would
occupy much time, and be attended with some risk and
inconvenience.

173. Clearing house. In London this is avoided, by making all
checks paid in to bankers pass through what is technically called
The Clearing House. In a large room in Lombard Street, about
thirty clerks from the several London bankers take their
stations, in alphabetical order, at desks placed round the room;
each having a small open box by his side, and the name of the
firm to which he belongs in large characters on the wall above
his head. From time to time other clerks from every house enter
the room, and, passing along, drop into the box the checks due by
that firm to the house from which this distributor is sent. The
clerk at the table enters the amount of the several checks in a
book previously prepared, under the name of the bank to which
they are respectively due.

Four o'clock in the afternoon is the latest hour to which the
boxes are open to receive checks; and at a few minutes before
that time, some signs of increased activity begin to appear in
this previously quiet and business-like scene. Numerous clerks
then arrive, anxious to distribute, up to the latest possible
moment, the checks which have been paid into the houses of their
employers.

At four o'clock all the boxes are removed, and each clerk
adds up the amount of the checks put into his box and payable by
his own to other houses. He also receives another book from his
own house, containing the amounts of the checks which their
distributing clerk has put into the box of every other banker.
Having compared these, he writes out the balances due to or from
his own house, opposite the name of each of the other banks; and
having verified this statement by a comparison with the similar
list made by the clerks of those houses, he sends to his own bank
the general balance resulting from this sheet, the amount of
which, if it is due from that to other houses, is sent back in
bank-notes.

At five o'clock the Inspector takes his seat; when each
clerk, who has upon the result of all the transactions a balance
to pay to various other houses, pays it to the inspector, who
gives a ticket for the amount. The clerks of those houses to whom
money is due, then receive the several sums from the inspector,
who takes from them a ticket for the amount. Thus the whole of
these payments are made by a double system of balance, a very
small amount of bank-notes passing from hand to hand, and
scarcely any coin.

174. It is difficult to form a satisfactory estimate of the
sums which daily pass through this operation: they fluctuate from
two millions to perhaps fifteen. About two millions and a half
may possibly be considered as something like an average,
requiring for its adjustment, perhaps, L200,000 in bank notes and
L20 in specie. By an agreement between the different bankers, all
checks which have the name of any firm written across them must
pass through the clearing house: consequently, if any such check
should be lost, the firm on which it is drawn would refuse to pay
it at the counter; a circumstance which adds greatly to the
convenience of commerce.

The advantage of this system is such, that two meetings a day
have been recently established--one at twelve, the other at
three o'clock; but the payment of balances takes place once only,
at five o'clock.

If all the private banks kept accounts with the Bank of
England, it would be possible to carry on the whole of these
transactions with a still smaller quantity of circulating medium.

175. In reflecting on the facility with which these vast
transactions are accomplished--supposing, for the sake of
argument, that they form only the fourth part of the daily
transactions of the whole community--it is impossible not to be
struck with the importance of interfering as little as possible
with their natural adjustment. Each payment indicates a transfer
of property made for the benefit of both parties; and if it were
possible, which it is not, to place, by legal or other means,
some impediment in the way which only amounted to one-eighth per
cent, such a species of friction would produce a useless
expenditure of nearly four millions annually: a circumstance
which is deserving the attention of those who doubt the good
policy of the expense incurred by using the precious metals for
one portion of the currency of the country.

176. One of the most obvious differences between a metallic
and a paper circulation is, that the coin can never, by any panic
or national danger, be reduced below the value of bullion in
other civilized countries; whilst a paper currency may, from the
action of such causes, totally lose its value. Both metallic and
paper money, it is true, may be depreciated, but with very
different effects.

1. Depreciation of coin. The state may issue coin of the same
nominal value, but containing only half the original quantity of
gold, mixed with some cheap alloy; but every piece so issued
bears about with it internal evidence of the amount of the
depreciation: it is not necessary that every successive
proprietor should analyse the new coin; but a few having done so,
its intrinsic worth becomes publicly known. Of course the coin
previously in circulation is now more valuable as bullion, and
quickly disappears. All future purchases adjust themselves to the
new standard, and prices are quickly doubled; but all past
contracts also are vitiated, and all persons to whom money is
owing, if compelled to receive payment in the new coin, are
robbed of one-half of their debt, which is confiscated for the
benefit of the debtor.

2. Depreciation of paper. The depreciation of paper money
follows a different course. If, by any act of the Government
paper is ordained to be a legal tender for debts, and, at the
same time, ceases to be exchangeable for coin, those who have
occasion to purchase of foreigners, who are not compelled to take
the notes, will make some of their payments in gold; and if the
issue of paper, unchecked by the power of demanding the gold it
represents, be continued, the whole of the coin will soon
disappear. But the public, who are obliged to take the notes, are
unable, by any internal evidence, to detect the extent of their
depreciation; it varies with the amount in circulation, and may
go on till the notes shall be worth little more than the paper on
which they are printed. During the whole of this time every
creditor is suffering to an extent which he cannot measure; and
every bargain is rendered uncertain in its advantage, by the
continually changing value of the medium through which it is
conducted. This calamitous course has actually been run in
several countries: in France, it reached nearly its extreme limit
during the existence of assignats. We have ourselves experienced
some portion of the misery it creates; but by a return to sounder
principles, have happily escaped the destruction and ruin which
always attends the completion of that career.

177. Every person in a civilized country requires, according
to his station in life, the use of a certain quantity of money,
to make the ordinary purchases of the articles which he consumes.
The same individual pieces of coin, it is true, circulate again
and again, in the same district: the identical piece of silver,
received by the workman on Saturday night, passing through the
hands of the butcher, the baker, and the small tradesman, is,
perhaps, given by the latter to the manufacturer in exchange for
his check, and is again paid into the hands of the workman at the
end of the succeeding week. Any deficiency in this supply of
money is attended with considerable inconvenience to all parties.
If it be only in the smaller coins, the first effect is a
difficulty in procuring small change; then a disposition in the
shopkeepers to refuse change unless a purchase to a certain
amount be made; and, finally, a premium in money will be given
for changing the larger denominations of coin.

Thus money itself varies in price, when measured by other
money in larger masses: and this effect takes place whether the
circulating medium is metallic or of paper. These effects have
constantly occurred, and particularly during the late war; and,
in order to relieve it, silver tokens for various sums were
issued by the Bank of England.

The inconvenience and loss arising from a deficiency of small
money fall with greatest weight on the classes whose means are
least; for the wealthier buyers can readily procure credit for
their small purchases, until their bill amounts to one of the
larger coins.

178. As money, when kept in a drawer, produces nothing, few
people, in any situation of life, will keep, either in coin or in
notes, more than is immediately necessary for their use; when,
therefore, there are no profitable modes of employing money, a
superabundance of paper will return to the source from whence it
issued, and an excess of coin will be converted into bullion and
exported.

179. Since the worth of all property is measured by money, it
is obviously conducive to the general welfare of the community,
that fluctuations in its value should be rendered as small and as
gradual as possible.

The evils which result from sudden changes in the value of
money will perhaps become more sensible, if we trace their
effects in particular instances. Assuming, as we are quite at
liberty to do, an extreme case, let us suppose three persons,
each possessing a hundred pounds: one of these, a widow advanced
in years, and who, by the advice of her friends, purchases with
that sum an annuity of twenty pounds a year during her life: and
let the two others be workmen, who, by industry and economy, have
each saved a hundred pounds out of their wages; both these latter
persons proposing to procure machines for calendering, and to
commence that business. One of these invests his money in a
savings' bank; intending to make his own calendering machine, and
calculating that he shall expend twenty pounds in materials, and
the remaining eighty in supporting himself and in paying the
workmen who assist him in constructing it. The other workman,
meeting with a machine which he can buy for two hundred pounds,
agrees to pay for it a hundred pounds immediately, and the
remainder at the end of a twelvemonth. Let us now imagine some
alteration to take place in the currency, by which it is
depreciated one-half: prices soon adjust themselves to the new
circumstances, and the annuity of the widow, though nominally of
the same amount, will, in reality, purchase only half the
quantity of the necessaries of life which it did before. The
workman who had placed his money in the savings' bank, having
perhaps purchased ten pounds' worth of materials, and expended
ten pounds in labour applied to them, now finds himself, by this
alteration in the currency, possessed nominally of eighty pounds,
but in reality of a sum which will purchase only half the labour
and materials required to finish his machine; and he can neither
complete it, from want of capital, nor dispose of what he has
already done in its unfinished state for the price it has cost
him. In the meantime, the other workman, who had incurred a debt
of a hundred pounds in order to complete the purchase of his
calendering machine, finds that the payments he receives for
calendering, have, like all other prices, doubled, in consequence
of the depreciation of the currency; and he has therefore, in
fact, obtained his machine for one hundred and fifty pounds.
Thus, without any fault or imprudence, and owing to circumstances
over which they have no control, the widow is reduced almost to
starve; one workman is obliged to renounce, for several years,
his hope of becoming a master; and another, without any superior
industry or skill, but in fact, from having made, with reference
to his circumstances, rather an imprudent bargain, finds himself
unexpectedly relieved from half his debt, and the possessor of a
valuable source of profit; whilst the former owner of the
machine, if he also has invested the money arising from its sale
in the savings' bank, finds his property suddenly reduced
one-half.

180. These evils, to a greater or less extent, attend every
change in the value of the currency; and the importance of
preserving it as far as possible unaltered in value, cannot be
too strongly impressed upon all classes of the community.

NOTES:

1. In Russia platinum has been employed for coin; and it
possesses a peculiarity which deserves notice. Platinum cannot be
melted in our furnaces, and is chiefly valuable in commerce when
in the shape of ingots, from which it may be forged into useful
forms. But when a piece of platinum is cut into two parts, it
cannot easily be reunited except by means of a chemical process,
in which both parts are dissolved in an acid. Hence, when
platinum coin is too abundant, it cannot, like gold, be reduced
into masses by melting, but must pass through an expensive
process to render it useful.



Chapter 15

On the Influence of Verification on Price

181. The money price of an article at any given period is
usually stated to depend upon the proportion between the supply
and the demand. The average price of the same article during a
long period, is said to depend, ultimately, on the power of
producing and selling it with the ordinary profits of capital.
But these principles, although true in their general sense, are
yet so often modified by the influence of others, that it becomes
necessary to examine a little into the disturbing forces.

182. With respect to the first of these propositions, it may
be observed, that the cost of any article to the purchaser
includes, besides the ratio of the supply to the demand, another
element, which, though often of little importance, is, in many
cases, of great consequence. The cost, to the purchaser, is the
price he pays for any article, added to the cost of verifying the
fact of its having that degree of goodness for which he
contracts. In some cases the goodness of the article is evident
on mere inspection: and in those cases there is not much
difference of price at different shops. The goodness of loaf
sugar, for instance, can be discerned almost at a glance; and the
consequence is, that the price is so uniform, and the profit upon
it so small, that no grocer is at all anxious to sell it; whilst,
on the other hand, tea, of which it is exceedingly difficult to
judge, and which can be adulterated by mixture so as to deceive
the skill even of a practised eye, has a great variety of
different prices, and is that article which every grocer is most
anxious to sell to his customers.

The difficulty and expense of verification are, in some
instances, so great, as to justify the deviation from
well-established principles. Thus it is a general maxim that
Government can purchase any article at a cheaper rate than that
at which they can manufacture it themselves. But it has
nevertheless been considered more economical to build extensive
flour-mills (such are those at Deptford), and to grind their own
corn, than to verify each sack of purchased flour, and to employ
persons in devising methods of detecting the new modes of
adulteration which might be continually resorted to.

183. Some years since, a mode of preparing old clover and
trefoil seeds by a process called doctoring, became so prevalent
as to excite the attention of the House of Commons. It appeared
in evidence before a committee, that the old seed of the white
clover was doctored by first wetting it slightly, and then drying
it with the fumes of burning sulphur, and that the red clover
seed had its colour improved by shaking it in a sack with a small
quantity of indigo; but this being detected after a time, the
doctors then used a preparation of logwood, fined by a little
copperas, and sometimes by verdigris; thus at once improving the
appearance of the old seed, and diminishing, if not destroying,
its vegetative power already enfeebled by age. Supposing no
injury had resulted to good seed so prepared, it was proved that
from the improved appearance, the market price would be enhanced
by this process from five to twenty-five shillings a hundred
weight. But the greatest evil arose from the circumstance of
these processes rendering old and worthless seed equal in
appearance to the best. One witness had tried some doctored seed,
and found that not above one grain in a hundred grew, and that
those which did vegetate died away afterwards; whilst about
eighty or ninety per cent of good seed usually grows. The seed so
treated was sold to retail dealers in the country, who of course
endeavoured to purchase at the cheapest rate, and from them it
got into the hands of the farmers; neither of these classes being
capable of distinguishing the fraudulent from the genuine seed.
Many cultivators, in consequence, diminished their consumption of
the article; and others were obliged to pay a higher price to
those who had skill to distinguish the mixed seed, and who had
integrity and character to prevent them from dealing in it.

184. In the Irish flax trade, a similar example of the high
price paid for verification occurs. It is stated in the report of
the committee, "That the natural excellent quality of Irish flax,
as contrasted with foreign or British, has been admitted." Yet
from the evidence before that committee it appears that Irish
flax sells, in the market, from 1d. to 2d. per pound less than
other flax of equal or inferior quality. Part of this difference
of price arises from negligence in its preparation, but a part
also from the expense of ascertaining that each parcel is free
from useless matter to add to its weight: this appears from the
evidence of Mr J. Corry, who was, during twenty-seven years,
Secretary to the Irish Linen-Board:--

"The owners of the flax, who are almost always people in the lower
classes of life, believe that they can best advance their own
interests by imposing on the buyers. Flax being sold by weight,
various expedients are used to increase it; and every expedient
is injurious, particularly the damping of it; a very common
practice, which makes the flax afterwards heat. The inside of
every bundle (and the bundles all vary in bulk) is often full of
pebbles, or dirt of various kinds, to increase the weight. In
this state it is purchased, and exported to Great Britain. The
natural quality of Irish flax is admitted to be not inferior to
that produced by any foreign country; and yet the flax of every
foreign country, imported into Great Britain, obtains a
preference amongst the purchasers, because the foreign flax is
brought to the British market in a cleaner and more regular
state. The extent and value of the sales of foreign flax in Great
Britain can be seen by reference to the public accounts; and I am
induced to believe, that Ireland, by an adequate extension of her
flax tillage, and having her flax markets brought under good
regulations, could, without encroaching in the least degree upon
the quantity necessary for her home consumption, supply the whole
of the demand of the British market, to the exclusion of the
foreigners."

185. The lace trade affords other examples; and, in enquiring
into the complaints made to the House of Commons by the framework
knitters, the committee observe, that, "It is singular that the
grievance most complained of one hundred and fifty years ago,
should, in the present improved state of the trade, be the same
grievance which is now most complained of: for it appears, by the
evidence given before your committee, that all the witnesses
attribute the decay of the trade more to the making of fraudulent
and bad articles, than to the war, or to any other cause." And it
is shewn by the evidence, that a kind of lace called "single-press"
was manufactured, which, although good to the eye, became nearly
spoiled in washing by the slipping of the threads; that not one
person in a thousand could distinguish the difference between
"single-press" and "double-press" lace; and that, even workmen and
manufacturers were obliged to employ a magnifying glass for that
purpose; and that, in another similar article, called "warp lace,"
such aid was essential. It was also stated by one witness, that

"The trade had not yet ceased, excepting in those places where the
fraud had been discovered; and from those places no orders are
now sent for any sort of Nottingham lace, the credit being
totally ruined."

186. In the stocking trade similar frauds have been practised. It
appeared in evidence, that stockings were made of uniform width
from the knee down to the ankle, and being wetted and stretched
on frames at the calf, they retained their shape when dry, but
that the purchaser could not discover the fraud until, after the
first washing, the stockings hung like bags about his ankles.

187. In the watch trade the practice of deceit, in forging
the marks and names of respectable makers, has been carried to a
great extent both by natives and foreigners; and the effect upon
our export trade has been most injurious, as the following
extract from the evidence before a committee of the House of
Commons will prove:--

"Question. How long have you been in the trade?
Answer. Nearly thirty years.
Question. The trade is at present much depressed?
Answer. Yes, sadly.
Question. What is your opinion of the cause of that distress?
Answer. I think it is owing to a number of watches that have been
made so exceedingly bad that they will hardly look at them in the
foreign markets; all with a handsome outside show, and the works
hardly fit for anything.
Question. Do you mean to say, that all the watches made in this
country are of that description?
Answer. No; only a number which are made up by some of the Jews,
and other low manufacturers. I recollect something of the sort
years ago, of a falloff of the East India work, owing to there
being a number of handsome-looking watches sent out, for
instance, with hands on and figures, as if they shewed seconds,
and had not any work regular to shew the seconds: the hand went
round, but it was not regular.
Question. They had no perfect movements?
Answer. No, they had not; that was a long time since, and we had
not any East India work for a long time afterwards."

In the home market, inferior but showy watches are made at a
cheap rate, which are not warranted by the maker to go above half
an hour; about the time occupied by the Jew pedlar in deluding
his country customer.

188. The practice, in retail linen-drapers' shops, of calling
certain articles yard wide when the real width is perhaps, only
seven-eighths or three-quarters, arose at first from fraud, which
being detected, custom was pleaded in its defence: but the result
is, that the vender is constantly obliged to measure the width of
his goods in the customer's presence. In all these instances the
object of the seller is to get a higher price than his goods
would really produce if their quality were known; and the
purchaser, if not himself a skilful judge (which rarely happens
to be the case), must pay some person, in the shape of an
additional money price, who has skill to distinguish, and
integrity to furnish, articles of the quality agreed on. But as
the confidence of persons in their own judgement is usually
great, large numbers will always flock to the cheap dealer, who
thus, attracting many customers from the honest tradesman,
obliges him to charge a higher price for his judgement and
character than, without such competition, he could afford to do.

189. There are few things which the public are less able to
judge of than the quality of drugs; and when these are compounded
into medicines it is scarcely possible, even for medical men, to
decide whether pure or adulterated ingredients have been
employed. This circumstance, concurring with the present
injudicious mode of paying for medical assistance, has produced a
curious effect on the price of medicines. Apothecaries, instead
of being paid for their services and skill, are remunerated by
being allowed to place a high charge upon their medicines, which
are confessedly of very small pecuniary value. The effect of such
a system is an inducement to prescribe more medicine than is
necessary; and in fact, even with the present charges, the
apothecary, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, cannot be
fairly remunerated unless the patient either takes, or pays for,
more physic than he really requires. The apparent extravagance of
the charge of eighteen pence for a two-ounce phial(1*) of
medicine, is obvious to many who do not reflect on the fact that
a great part of the charge is, in reality, payment for the
exercise of professional skill. As the same charge is made by the
apothecary, whether he attends the patient or merely prepares the
prescription of a physician, the chemist and druggist soon
offered to furnish the same commodity at a greatly diminished
price. But the eighteen pence charged by the apothecary might
have been fairly divided into two parts, three pence for medicine
and bottle, and fifteen pence for attendance. The chemist,
therefore, who never attends his customers, if he charges only a
shilling for the same medicine, realizes a profit of 200 or 300
per cent upon its value. This enormous profit has called into
existence a multitude of competitors; and in this instance the
impossibility of verifying has, in a great measure, counteracted
the beneficial effects of competition. The general adulteration
of drugs, even at the extremely high price at which they are
retailed as medicine, enables those who are supposed to sell them
in an unadulterated state to make large profits, whilst the same
evil frequently disappoints the expectation, and defeats the
skill, of the most eminent physician.

It is difficult to point out a remedy for this evil without
suggesting an almost total change in the system of medical
practice. If the apothecary were to charge for his visits, and to
reduce his medicines to one-fourth or one-fifth of their present
price, he would still have an interest in procuring the best
drugs, for the sake of his own reputation or skill. Or if the
medical attendant, who is paid more highly for his time, were to
have several pupils, he might himself supply the medicines
without a specific charge, and his pupils would derive
improvement from compounding them, as well as from examining the
purity of the drugs he would purchase. The public would gain
several advantages by this arrangement. In the first place, it
would be greatly for the interest of the medical practitioner to
have the best drugs; it would be in his interest also not to give
more physic than needful; and it would enable him, through some
of his more advanced pupils, to watch more frequently the changes
of any malady.

190. There are many articles of hardware which it is
impossible for the purchaser to verify at the time of purchase,
or even afterwards, without defacing them. Plated harness and
coach furniture may be adduced as examples: these are usually of
wrought iron covered with silver, owing their strength to the one
and a certain degree of permanent beauty to the other metal. Both
qualities are, occasionally, much impaired by substituting cast-
for wrought-iron, and by plating with soft solder (tin and lead)
instead of with hard solder (silver and brass). The loss of
strength is the greatest evil in this case; for cast iron, though
made for this purpose more tough than usual by careful annealing,
is still much weaker than wrought-iron, and serious accidents
often arise from harness giving way. In plating with soft
solder, a very thin plate of silver is made to cover the iron,
but it is easily detached, particularly by a low degree of heat.
Hard soldering gives a better coat of silver, which is very
firmly attached, and is not easily injured unless by a very high
degree of heat. The inferior can be made to look nearly as well
as the better article, and the purchaser can scarcely discover
the difference without cutting into it.

191. The principle that price, at any moment, is dependent on
the relation of the supply to the demand, is true to the full
extent only when the whole supply is in the hands of a very large
number of small holders, and the demand is caused by the wants of
another set of persons, each of whom requires only a very small
quantity. And the reason appears to be, that it is only in such
circumstances that a uniform average can be struck between the
feelings, the passions, the prejudices, the opinions, and the
knowledge, of both parties. If the supply, or present stock in
hand, be entirely in the possession of one person, he will
naturally endeavour to put such a price upon it as shall produce
by its sale the greatest quantity of money; but he will be guided
in this estimate of the price at which he will sell, both by the
knowledge that increased price will cause a diminished
consumption, and by the desire to realize his profit before a new
supply shall reach the market from some other quarter. If,
however, the same stock is in the hands of several dealers, there
will be an immediate competition between them, arising partly
from their different views of the duration of the present state
of supply, and partly from their own peculiar circumstances with
respect to the employment of their capital.

192. The expense of ascertaining that the price charged is
that which is legally due is sometimes considerable. The
inconvenience which this verification produces in the case of
parcels sent by coaches is very great. The time lost in
recovering an overcharge generally amounts to so many times the
value of the sum recovered, that it is but rarely resorted to. It
seems worthy of consideration whether it would not be a
convenience to the public if government were to undertake the
general conveyance of parcels somewhat on the same system with
that on which the post is now conducted. The certainty of their
delivery, and the absence of all attempt at overcharge, would
render the prohibition of rival carriers unnecessary. Perhaps an
experiment might be made on this subject by enlarging the weight
allowed to be sent by the two-penny post, and by conveying works
in sheets by the general post.

This latter suggestion would be of great importance to
literature, and consequently to the circulation of knowledge. As
the post-office regulations stand at present, it constantly
happens that persons who have an extensive reputation for
science, receive by post, from foreign countries, works, or parts
of works, for which they are obliged to pay a most extravagant
rate of postage, or else refuse to take in some interesting
communication. In France and Germany, printed sheets of paper are
forwarded by post at a very moderate expense, and it is fit that
the science and literature of England should be equally favoured.

193. It is important, if possible, always to connect the name
of the workman with the work he has executed: this secures for
him the credit or the blame he may justly deserve; and
diminishes, in some cases, the necessity of verification. The
extent to which this is carried in literary works, published in
America, is remarkable. In the translation of the Mecanique
Celeste by Mr Bowditch, not merely the name of the printer, but
also those of the compositors, are mentioned in the work.

194. Again, if the commodity itself is of a perishable
nature, such, for example, as a cargo of ice imported into the
port of London from Norway a few summers since, then time will
supply the place of competition; and, whether the article is in
the possession of one or of many persons, it will scarcely reach
a monopoly price. The history of cajeput oil during the last few
months, offers a curious illustration of the effect of opinion
upon price. In July of last year, 1831, cajeput oil was sold,
exclusive of duty, at 7 d. per ounce. The disease which had
ravaged the East was then supposed to be approaching our shores,
and its proximity created alarm. At this period, the oil in
question began to be much talked of, as a powerful remedy in that
dreadful disorder; and in September it rose to the price of 3s.
and 4s. the ounce. In October there were few or no sales: but in
the early part of November, the speculations in this substance
reached their height, and between the 1st and the 15th it
realized the following prices: 3s. 9d., 5s., 6s. 6d., 7s. 6d.,
8s., 9s., 10s., 10s. 6d., 11s. After 15 November, the holders of
cajeput oil were anxious to sell at much lower rates; and in
December a fresh arrival was offered by public sale at 5s., and
withdrawn, being sold afterwards, as it was understood, by
private contract, at 4s. or 4s. 6d. per oz. Since that time, 1s.
6d. and 1s. have been realized; and a fresh arrival, which is
daily expected (March, 1832) will probably reduce it below the
price of July. Now it is important to notice, that in November,
the time of greatest speculation, the quantity in the market was
held by few persons, and that it frequently changed hands, each
holder being desirous to realize his profit. The quantity
imported since that time has also been considerable.(2*)

195. The effect of the equalization of price by an increased
number of dealers, may be observed in the price of the various
securities sold at the Stock Exchange. The number of persons who
deal in the 3 per cent stock being large, any one desirous of
selling can always dispose of his stock at one-eighth per cent
under the market price; but those who wish to dispose of bank
stock, or of any other securities of more limited circulation,
are obliged to make a sacrifice of eight or ten times this amount
upon each hundred pounds value.

196. The frequent speculations in oil, tallow, and other
commodities, which must occur to the memory of most of my
readers, were always founded on the principle of purchasing up
all the stock on hand, and agreeing for the purchase of the
expected arrivals; thus proving the opinion of capitalists to be,
that a larger average price may be procured by the stock being
held by few persons.

NOTES:

1. Apothecaries frequently purchase these phials at the old
bottle warehouses at ten shillings per gross; so that when their
servant has washed them, the cost of the phial is nearly one
penny.

2. I have understood that the price of camphor, at the same time,
suffered similar changes.



Chapter 16

On the Influence of Durability on Price

197. Having now considered the circumstances that modify what
may be called the momentary amount of price, we must next examine
a principle which seems to have an effect on its permanent
average. The durability of any commodity influences its cost in a
permanent manner. We have already stated that what may be called
the momentary price of any commodity depends upon the proportion
existing between the supply and demand, and also upon the cost of
verification. The average price, during a long period, will
depend upon the labour required for producing and bringing it to
market, as well as upon the average supply and demand; but it
will also be influenced by the durability of the article
manufactured.

Many things in common use are substantially consumed in
using: a phosphorus match, articles of food, and a cigar, are
examples of this description. Some things after use become
inapplicable to their former purposes, as paper which has been
printed upon: but it is yet available for the cheesemonger or the
trunk-maker. Some articles, as pens, are quickly worn out by use;
and some are still valuable after a long continued wear. There
are others, few perhaps in number, which never wear out; the
harder precious stones, when well cut and polished, are of this
later class: the fashion of the gold or silver mounting in which
they are set may vary with the taste of the age, and such
ornaments are constantly exposed for sale as second-hand, but the
gems themselves, when removed from their supports, are never so
considered. A brilliant which has successively graced the necks
of a hundred beauties, or glittered for a century upon patrician
brows, is weighed by the diamond merchant in the same scale with
another which has just escaped from the wheel of the lapidary,
and will be purchased or sold by him at the same price per carat.
The great mass of commodities is intermediate in its character
between these two extremes, and the periods of respective
duration are very various. It is evident that the average price
of those things which are consumed in the act of using them, can
never be less than that of the labour of bringing them to market.
They may for a short time be sold for less, but under such
circumstances their production must soon cease altogether. On the
other hand, if an article never wears out, its price may continue
permanently below the cost of the labour expended in producing
it; and the only consequence will be, that no further production
will take place: its price will continue to be regulated by the
relation of the supply to the demand; and should that at any
aftertime rise, for a considerable period, above the cost of
production, it will be again produced.

198. Articles become old from actual decay, or the wearing
out of their parts; from improved modes of constructing them; or
from changes in their form and fashion, required by the varying
taste of the age. In the two latter cases, their utility is but
little diminished; and, being less sought after by those who have
hitherto employed them, they are sold at a reduced price to a
class of society rather below that of their former possessors.
Many articles of furniture, such as well-made tables and chairs,
are thus found in the rooms of those who would have been quite
unable to have purchased them when new; and we find constantly,
even in the houses of the more opulent, large looking-glasses
which have passed successively through the hands of several
possessors, changing only the fashion of their frames; and in
some instances even this alteration is omitted, an additional
coat of gilding saving them from the character of being
second-hand. Thus a taste for luxuries is propagated downwards in
society', and, after a short period, the numbers who have
acquired new wants become sufficient to excite the ingenuity of
the manufacturer to reduce the cost of supplying them, whilst he
is himself benefited by the extended scale of demand.

199. There is a peculiarity in looking-glasses with reference
to the principle just mentioned. The most frequent occasion of
injury to them arises from accidental violence; and the
peculiarity is, that, unlike most other articles, when broken
they are still of some value. If a large mirror is accidentally
cracked, it is immediately cut into two or more smaller ones,
each of which may be perfect. If the degree of violence is so
great as to break it into many fragments, these smaller pieces
may be cut into squares for dressing-glasses; and if the
silvering is injured, it can either be resilvered or used as
plate-glass for glazing windows. The addition from our
manufactories to the stock of plate-glass in the country is
annually about two hundred and fifty thousand square feet. It
would be very difficult to estimate the quantity annually
destroyed or exported, but it is probably small; and the effect
of these continual additions is seen in the diminished price and
increased consumption of the article. Almost all the better order
of shop fronts are now glazed with it. If it were quite
indestructible, the price would continually diminish; and unless
an increased demand arose from new uses, or from a greater number
of customers, a single manufactory, unchecked by competition,
would ultimately be compelled to shut up, driven out of the
market by the permanance of its own productions.

200. The metals are in some degree permanent, although
several of them are employed in such forms that they are
ultimately lost.

Copper is a metal of which a great proportion returns to use:
a part of that employed in sheathing ships and covering houses is
lost from corrosion; but the rest is generally remelted. Some is
lost in small brass articles, and some is consumed in the
formation of salts, Roman vitriol (sulphate of copper), verdigris
(acetate of copper), and verditer.

Gold is wasted in gilding and in embroidering; but a portion
of this is recovered by burning the old articles. Some portion is
lost by the wear of gold, but, upon the whole, it possesses
considerable permanence.

Iron. A proportion of this metal is wasted by oxidation, in
small nails, in fine wire; by the wear of tools, and of the tire
of wheels, and by the formation of some dyes: but much, both of
cast- and of wrought-iron, returns to use.

Lead is wasted in great quantities. Some portion of that
which is used in pipes and in sheets for covering roofs returns
to the melting-pot; but large quantities are consumed in the form
of small shot, or sometimes in that of musket balls, litharge,
and red lead, for white and red paints, for glass-making, for
glazing pottery, and for sugar of lead (acetate of lead).

Silver is rather a permanent metal. Some portion is consumed
in the wear of coin, in that of silver plate, and a portion in
silvering and embroidering.

Tin. The chief waste of this metal arises from tinned iron;
some is lost in solder and in solutions for the dyers.



Chapter 17

Of Price as Measured by Money

201. The money price at which an article sells furnishes us
with comparatively little information respecting its value, if we
compare distant intervals of time and different countries; for
gold and silver, in which price is usually measured, are
themselves subject, like all other commodities, to changes in
value; nor is there any standard to which these variations can be
referred. The average price of a certain quality of different
manufactured articles, or of raw produce, has been suggested as a
standard; but a new difficulty then presents itself; for the
improved methods of producing such articles render their money
price extremely variable within very limited periods. The annexed
table will afford a striking instance of this kind of change
within a period of only twelve years.

 Prices of the following articles at Birmingham, in the
undermentioned years

 Description 1818 1824 1828 1830
 s. d. s. d. s. d. s. d.
 Anvils cwt 25 0 20 0 16 0 13 0
 Awls, polished, Liverpool gross 2 6 2 0 1 6 1 2
 Bed-screws, 6 inches long gross 18 0 15 0 6 0 5 0
 Bits, tinned. for bridles doz. 5 0 5 0 3 3 2 6
 Bolts for doors, 6 inches doz. 6 0 5 0 2 3 1 6
 Braces for carpenters, with 12 bits set 9 0 4 0 4 2 3 5
 Buttons, for coats gross 4 6 6 3 3 0 2 2
 Buttons, small, for waistcoats gross 2 6 2 0 1 2 0 8
 Candlesticks, 6 in., brass pair 2 1 1 2 0 1 7 1 2
 Curry-combs, six barred doz. 2 9 2 6 1 5 0 1 1
 Frying-pans cwt 25 0 21 0 18 0 16 0
 Gun-locks, single roller each 6 0 5 2 1 10 1 6
 Hammers. shoe, No. 0 doz. 6 9 3 9 3 0 2 9



Description 1818 1824 1828 1830
 s. d. s. d. s. d. s. d.
 Hinges, cast-butts, 1 inch doz. 0 10 0 71/2 0 31/4 0 21/4
 Knobs, brass, 2 inches for commodes doz. 4 0 3 6 1 6 1 2
 Latches for doors, bright thumb doz. 2 3 2 2 1 0 0 9
 Locks for doors, iron rim, 6 inches doz. 38 0 32 0 15 0 13 6
 Sad-irons and other castings cwt 22 6 20 0 14 0 11 6
 Shovel and tongs, fire-irons pair 1 0 1 0 0 9 0 6
 Spoons, tinned table gross 17 6 15 0 10 0 7 0
 Stirrups, plated pair 4 6 3 9 1 6 1 1
 Trace-chains cwt 28 0 25 0 19 6 16 6
 Trays, japanned tea, 30 inches each 4 6 3 0 2 0 1 5
 Vices for blacksmiths cwt 30 0 28 0 22 0 19 6
 Wire, brass lb. 1 10 1 4 1 0 0 9
 --, iron, No. 6 bund. 16 0 13 0 9 0 7 0


202. I have taken some pains to assure myself of the accuracy
of the above table: at different periods of the years quoted the
prices may have varied; but I believe it may be considered as a
fair approximation. In the course of my enquiries I have been
favoured with another list, in which many of the same articles
occur, but in this last instance the prices quoted are separated
by an interval of twenty years. It is extracted from the books of
a highly respectable house at Birmingham; and the prices confirm
the accuracy of the former table, so far as they relate to the
articles which are found in that list.

 Prices of 1812 and 1832
 Reduction
 per cent in
 price of
 Description 1812 1832 1812
 s. d. s. d.

 Anvils cwt 25 0 14 0 44
 Awls, Liverpool blades gross 3 6 1 0 71
 Candlesticks, iron, plain 3 103/4 2 31/2 41
 screwed 6 41/2 3 9 41
 Bed screws, 6 inch square head gross 7 6 4 6 40
 flat head gross 8 6 4 8 45
 Curry-combs, 6 barred dozen 4 01/2 1 0 75

 Reduction
 per cent in
 price of
 Description 1812 1832 1812
 s. d. s. d.

Curry-combs, 8 barred dozen 5 51/2 1 5 74
 patent, 6 barred dozen 7 11/2 1 5 80
 8 barred dozen 8 63/4 1 10 79
 Fire-irons, iron head, No. 1. 1 41/2 0 73/4 53
 No. 2 1 6 0 81/2 53
 No. 3 1 81/4 0 91/2 53
 No. 4 1 101/2 0 101/2 53
 Gun-locks, single roller each 7 21/2 1 11 73
 Locks, 1 1/4 brass, port. pad 16 0 2 6 85
 2 1/2 inch 3 keyed till-locks each 2 2 0 9 65
 Shoe tacks gross 5 0 2 0 60
 Spoons, tinned, iron table gross 22 6 7 0 69
 Stirrups. com. tinned, 2 bar dozen 7 0 2 9 61
 Trace-chains, iron cwt 46 91/2 15 0 68

 Prices of the principal materials, used in mines in Cornwall, at
different periods [I am indebited to Mr John Taylor for this
interesting table]

 ALL DELIVERED AT THE MINES

 Description 1800 1810 1820 1830 1832
 s. d. s. d. s. d. s. d. s. d.
 Coals wey 81 7 85 5 53 4 51 0 40 0
 Timber (balk) foot 2 0 4 0 1 5 1 0 0 10
 (oak) foot 3 31/2 3 0 3 6 3 3
 Ropes cwt 66 0 84 0 48 6 40 0 40 0
 Iron (common bar) cwt 20 6 14 6 11 0 7 0 6 6
 Common castings cwt 16 0 15 0 8 0 6 6
 Pumps cwt 16s. & 17s. 17s. & 18s. 12s. & 15s. 6 6 6 10
 Gunpowder 100 lbs. 114 2 117 6 68 0 52 6 49 0
 Candles 9 3 10 0 8 9 5 11 4 10
 Tallow cwt 72 0 84 0 65 8 52 6 43 0
 Leather lb. 2 4 2 3 24 22 21
 Blistered steel cwt 50 0 44 0 38 0
 2s. nails cwt 32 0 28 6 22 0 17 0 16 6


203. I cannot omit availing myself of this opportunity of
calling the attention of the manufacturers, merchants, and
factors, in all our manufacturing and commercial towns, to the
great importance, both for their own interests, and for that of
the population to which their capital gives employment, of
collecting with care such averages from the actual sales
registered in their books. Nor, perhaps, would it be without its
use to suggest, that such averages would be still more valuable
if collected from as many different quarters as possible; that
the quantity of the goods from which they are deduced, together
with the greatest deviations from the mean, ought to be given;
and that if a small committee were to undertake the task, it
would give great additional weight to the information. Political
economists have been reproached with too small a use of facts,
and too large an employment of theory. If facts are wanting, let
it be remembered that the closet-philosopher is unfortunately too
little acquainted with the admirable arrangements of the factory,
and that no class of persons can supply so readily, and with so
little sacrifice of time, the data on which all the reasonings of
political economists are founded, as the merchant and
manufacturer; and, unquestionably, to no class are the deductions
to which they give rise so important. Nor let it be feared that
erroneous deductions may be made from such recorded facts: the
errors which arise from the absence of facts are far more
numerous and more durable than those which result from unsound
reasoning respecting true data.

204. The great diminution in price of the articles here
enumerated may have arisen from several causes: 1. The alteration
in the value of the currency. 2. The increased value of gold in
consequence of the increased demand for coin. The first of these
causes may have had some influence, and the second may have had a
very small effect upon the two first quotations of prices, but
none at all upon the two latter ones. 3. The diminished rate of
profit produced by capital however employed. This may be
estimated by the average price of three per cents at the periods
stated. 4. The diminished price of the raw materials out of which
these articles were manufactured. The raw material is principally
brass and iron, and the reduction upon it may, in some measure,
be estimated by the diminished price of iron and brass wire, in
the cost of which articles, the labour bears a less proportion
than it does in many of the others. 5. The smaller quantity of
raw material employed, and perhaps, in some instances, an
inferior, quality of workmanship. 6. The improved means by which
the same effect was produced by diminished labour.

205. In order to afford the means of estimating the influence
of these several causes, the following table is subjoined:

 1812 1818 1824 1828 1830 1832
 Average Price of L s d. L s. d. L s d L s. d L s d L s. d
 Gold. per oz 4 15 6 4 0 3 17 61/2 3 17 7 3 17 91/2 3 17 10 1/2
 Value of currency. per cent 79 5 3 97 6 10 100 100 100 100
 Price of 3 per cent consols 591/4 781/4 935/8 86 893/4 821/2
 Wheat per quarter 6 5 0 4 1 0 3 2 l 3 1 1 10 3 14 6 2 19 3

 English pig iron at Birmingham 7 l0 0 6 7 6 6 l0 0 5 10 0 4 l0 0

 English bar iron at Birmingham 10 10 0 9 10 0 7 15 0 6 0 0 5 0 0
 Swedish bar iron in London, excluding duty of from L4 to L6 10s
per ton 16 10 0 17 10 0 14 0 0 14 10 0 13 15 0 13 2 0


As this table, if unaccompanied by any explanation, might
possibly lead to erroneous conclusions, I subjoin the following
observations, for which I am indebted to the kindness of Mr
Tooke, who may yet, I hope, be induced to continue his valuable
work on High and Low Prices, through the important period which
has elapsed since its publication.

'The table commences with 1812, and exhibits a great falling
off in the price of wheat and iron coincidently with a fall in
the price of gold, and leading to the inference of cause and
effect. Now, as regards wheat, it so happened that in 1812 it
reached its highest price in consequence of a series of bad
harvests, when relief by importation was difficult and enormously
expensive. In December, 1813, whilst the price of gold had risen
to L5, the price of wheat had fallen to 73s., or 50 per cent
under what it had been in the spring of 1812; proving clearly
that the two articles were under the influence of opposite
causes.

'Again, in 1812, the freight and insurance on Swedish iron
were so much higher than at present as to account for nearly the
whole of the difference of price: and in 1818 there had been an
extensive speculation which had raised the price of all iron, so
that a part of the subsequent decline was a mere reaction from a
previously unfounded elevation. More recently, in 1825, there was
a great speculative rise in the article, which served as a strong
stimulus to increased production: this, aided by improved power
of machinery, has proceeded to such an extent as fully to account
for the fall of price.'

To these reflections I will only add, that the result of my
own observation leads me to believe that by far the most
influential of these causes has been the invention of cheaper
modes of manufacturing. The extent to which this can be carried,
while a profit can yet be realized at the reduced price, is truly
astonishing, as the following fact, which rests on good
authority, will prove. Twenty years since, a brass knob for the
locks of doors was made at Birmingham; the price, at that time,
being 13s. 4d. per dozen. The same article is now manufactured,
having the same weight of metal, and an equal, or in fact a
slightly superior finish, at 1s. 9 1/4d. per dozen. One
circumstance which has produced this economy in the manufacture
is, that the lathe on which these knobs are finished is now
turned by a steam-engine; so that the workman, relieved from that
labour, can make them twenty times as fast as he did formerly.

206. The difference of price of the same article, when of
various dimensions at different periods in the same country--and
in different countries--is curiously contrasted in the annexed
table.

 Comparative price of plate glass, at the manufactories of
London, Paris, Berlin, and Petersburg

 DIMENSIONS LONDON PARIS BERLIN PETERSBURG
 Height Breadth 1771 1794 1832 1825 1835 1828 1825
 in inches in inches L s d L s d L s d L s d L s d L s d L s d
 16 16 0103 0101 0176 087 076 081 0410
 30 20 146 232 2610 11610 1710 0106 1210
 50 30 24 2 4 11 5 0 6 12 10 9 0 5 5 0 3 8 13 0 5 15 0
 60 40 67 14 10 27 0 0 13 9 6 22 7 5 10 4 3 21 18 0 12 9 0
 76 40 43 6 0 19 2 9 36 4 5 14 17 5 35 2 11 17 5 0
 90 50 84 8 0 34 12 9 71 3 8 28 13 4 33 18 7
 100 75 275 0 0 74 5 10 210 13 3 70 9 7
 120 75 97 15 9 354 3 2 98 3 10


The price of silvering these plates is twenty per cent on the
cost price for English glass; ten per cent on the cost price for
Paris plates; and twelve and a half on those of Berlin.

The following table shews the dimensions and price, when
silvered, of the largest plates of glass ever made by the British
Plate Glass Company, which are now at their warehouse in London:

Height Breadth Price when silvered
 Inches Inches L s. d.

 132 84 200 8 0
 146 81 220 7 0
 149 84 239 1 6
 131 83 239 10 7
 160 80 246 15 4


The prices of the largest glass in the Paris lists when
silvered, and reduced to English measure, were:

Year Inches Inches Price when silvered
                        L  s. d.
 1825 128 80           629 12 0
 1835 128 80           136 19 0


207. If we wish to compare the value of any article at
different periods of time, it is clear that neither any one
substance, nor even the combination of all manufactured goods,
can furnish us with an invariable unit by which to form our scale
of estimation. Mr Malthus has proposed for this purpose to
consider a day's labour of an agricultural labourer, as the unit
to which all value should be referred. Thus, if we wish to
compare the value of twenty yards of broad cloth in Saxony at the
present time, with that of the same kind and quantity of cloth
fabricated in England two centuries ago, we must find the number
of days' labour the cloth would have purchased in England at the
time mentioned, and compare it with the number of days' labour
which the same quantity of cloth will now purchase in Saxony.
Agricultural labour appears to have been selected, because it
exists in all countries, and employs a large number of persons,
and also because it requires a very small degree of previous
instruction. It seems, in fact, to be merely the exertion of a
man's physical force; and its value above that of a machine of
equal power arises from its portability, and from the facility of
directing its efforts to arbitrary and continually fluctuating
purposes. It may perhaps be worthy of enquiry, whether a more
constant average might not be deduced from combining with this
species of labour those trades which require but a moderate
exertion of skill and which likewise exist in all civilized
countries, such as those of the blacksmith and carpenter,
etc.(1*) In all such comparisons there is, however, another
element, which, though not essentially necessary, will yet add
much to our means of judging.

It is an estimate of the quantity of that food on which the
labourer usually subsists, which is necessary for his daily
support, compared with the quantity which his daily wages will
purchase.

208. The existence of a class of middlemen, between small
producers and merchants, is frequently advantageous to both
parties; and there are certain periods in the history of several
manufactures which naturally call that class of traders into
existence. There are also times when the advantage ceasing, the
custom of employing them also terminates; the middlemen,
especially when numerous, as they sometimes are in retail trades,
enhancing the price without equivalent good. Thus, in the recent
examination by the House of Commons into the state of the coal
trade, it appears that five-sixths of the London public is
supplied by a class of middlemen who are called in the trade
Brass plate coal merchants: these consist principally of
merchants' clerks, gentlemen's servants, and others, who have no
wharfs of their own, but merely give their orders to some true
coal merchant, who sends in the coals from his wharf: the brass
plate coal merchants, of course, receiving a commission for his
agency.

209. In Italy this system is carried to a great extent
amongst the voituriers, or persons who undertake to convey
travellers. There are some possessed of greater fluency and a
more persuasive manner who frequent the inns where the English
resort, and who, as soon as they have made a bargain for the
conveyance of a traveller, go out amongst their countrymen and
procure some other voiturier to do the job for a considerably
smaller sum, themselves pocketing the difference. A short time
before the day of starting, the contractor appears before his
customer in great distress, regretting his inability to perform
the journey on account of the dangerous illness of a mother or
some relative, and requesting to have his cousin or brother
substituted for him. The English traveller rarely fails to
acquiesce in this change, and often praises the filial piety of
the rogue who has deceived him.

NOTES:

1. Much information for such an enquiry is to be found, for the
particular period to which it refers, in the Report of the
Committee of the House of Commons on Manufacturers' Employment, 2
July, 1830.



Chapter 18

Of Raw Materials

210. Although the cost of any article may be reduced in its
ultimate analysis to the quantity of labour by which it was
produced; yet it is usual, in a certain state of the manufacture
of most substances, to call them by the term raw material. Thus
iron, when reduced from the ore and rendered malleable, is in a
state fitted for application to a multitude of useful purposes,
and is the raw material out of which most of our tools are made.
In this stage of its manufacture, but a moderate quantity of
labour has been expended on the substance; and it becomes an
interesting subject to trace the various proportions in which raw
material, in this sense of the term, and labour unite to
constitute the value of many of the productions of the arts.

211. Gold leaf consists of a portion of the metal beaten out
to so great a degree of thinness, as to allow a greenish-blue
light to be transmitted through its pores. About 400 square
inches of this are sold, in the form of a small book containing
25 leaves of gold, for 1s. 6d. In this case, the raw material, or
gold, is worth rather less than two-thirds of the manufactured
article. In the case of silver leaf, the labour considerably
exceeds the value of the material. A book of fifty leaves, which
would cover above 1000 square inches, is sold for 1s. 3d.

212. We may trace the relative influence of the two causes
above referred to, in the prices of fine gold chains made at
Venice. The sizes of these chains are known by numbers, the
smallest having been (in 1828) No. 1, and the numbers 2, 3, 4,
etc., progressively increasing in size. The following table shews
the numbers and the prices of those made at that time.(1*) The
first column gives the number by which the chain is known; the
second expresses the weight in grains of one inch in length of
each chain; the third column the number of links in the same
length; and the last expresses the price, in francs worth
tenpence each, of a Venetian braccio, or about two English feet
of each chain.

 Venetian gold chains
 Price of a Venetian
 Braccio, equal to
 Weight of Number of links two feet 1/8 inch
 No. one inch, in grains in one inch English
 0.44 98 to 100 60 francs
 1.56 92 40
 1 1/2.77 88 26
 2.99 84 20
 3 1.46 72 20
 4 1.61 64 21
 5 2.09 64 23
 6 2.61 60 24
 7 3.36 56 27
 8 3.65 56 29
 9 3.72 56 32
 10 5.35 50 34
 24 9.71 32 60


Amongst these chains, that numbered 0 and that numbered 24
are exactly of the same price, although the quantity of gold in
the latter is twenty-two times as much as in the former. The
difficulty of making the smallest chain is so great, that the
women who make it cannot work above two hours at a time. As we
advance from the smaller chain, the proportionate value of the
work to the worth of the material becomes less and less, until at
the numbers 2 and 3, these two elements of cost balance each
other: after which, the difficulty of the work decreases, and the
value of the material increases.

213. The quantity of labour expended on these chains is,
however, incomparably less than that which is applied in some of
the manufactures of iron. In the case of the smallest Venetian
chain the value of the labour is not above thirty times that of
the gold. The pendulum spring of a watch, which governs the
vibrations of the balance, costs at the retail price two pence,
and weighs fifteen one-hundredths of a grain, whilst the retail
price of a pound of the best iron, the raw material out of which
fifty thousand such springs are made, is exactly the same sum of
two pence.

214. The comparative price of labour and of raw material
entering into the manufactures of France, has been ascertained
with so much care, in a memoir of M. A. M. Heron de Villefosse,
Recherches statistiques, sur les Metaux de France.(2*) that we
shall give an abstract of his results reduced to English
measures. The facts respecting the metals relate to the year
1825.

In France the quantity of raw material which can be purchased
for L1, when manufactured into

 Silk goods is worth L2.37
 Broad cloth and woollens 2.15
 Hemp and cables 3.94
 Linen comprising thread laces 5.00
 Cotton goods 2.44

 The price of pig-lead was L1 1s. per cwt; and lead of the value
of L1 sterling, became worth, when manufactured into

 Sheets or pipes of moderate dimensions L 1. 25
 White lead 2.60
 Ordinary printing characters 4.90
 The smallest type 28.30

 The price of copper was L5 2s. per cwt. Copper worth L1 became
when manufactured into

 Copper sheeting L1.26
 Household utensils 4.77
 Common brass pins tinned 2.34
 Rolled into plates covered with 1/20 silver 3.56
 Woven into metallic cloth, each square inch of which contains
10,000 meshes 52.23


The price of tin was L4 12s. per cwt. Tin worth L1 when
manufactured into

 Leaves for silvering glass became L1.73
 Household utensils 1.85


Quicksilver cost L10 16s. per cwt. Quicksilver worth L1 when
manufactured into

 Vermilion of average quality became L1.81


Metallic arsenic cost L1 4s. per cwt. Arsenic worth L1 when
manufactured into

 White oxide of arsenic became L1.83
 Sulphuret (orpiment) 4.26


The price of cast-iron was 8s. per cwt. Cast-iron worth L1
when manufactured into

 Household utensils became L2.00
 Machinery 4.00
 Ornamental. as buckles. etc 45.00
 Bracelets. figures, buttons. etc. 147.00


8ar-iron cost L1 6s. per cwt. Bar-iron worth L1 when
manufactured into

 Agricultural instruments became L3.57
 Barrels, musket 9. 10
 Barrels of double-barrel guns. twisted and damasked 238.08
 Blades of penknives 657.14
 razor. cast steel 53.57 sabre, for cavalry. infantry, and
artillery. etc. from 9.25 to 16.07
 of table knives 35.70
 Buckles of polished steel, used as jewellery 896.66
 Clothiers' pins 8.03
 Door-latches and bolts from 4.85 to 8.50
 Files, common 2.55 flat, cast steel 20.44
 Horseshoes 2.55
 Iron, small slit, for nails 1. 10
 Metallic cloth, iron wire, No. 80 96.71
 Needles of various sizes from 17.33 to 70.85
 Reeds for weaving 3-4ths calico 21.87
 Saws (frame) of steel 5. 12
 for wood 14.28
Scissors, finest kind 446.94
 Steel, cast 4.28
 cast, in sheets 6.25
 cemented 2.41
 natural 1.42
 Sword handles, polished steel 972.82
 Tinned iron from 2.04 to 2.34
 Wire, iron from 2. 14 to 10.71


215. The following is stated by M. de Villefosse to be the
price of bar-iron at the forges of various countries, in January,
1825.

per ton
 L s. d.
 France 26 10 0
 Belgium and Germany 16 14 0
 Sweden and Russia, at Stockholm and St Petersburg 13 13 0
 England, at Cardiff 10 1 0

 The price of the article in 1832 was 5 0 0


M. De Villefosse states, that in France bar-iron, made as it
usually is with charcoal, costs three times the price of the
cast-iron out of which it is made; whilst in England, where it is
usually made with coke, the cost is only twice the price of
cast-iron.

216. The present price (1832) of lead in England is L13 per
ton, and the worth of L1 of it manufactured into

 Milled sheet lead becomes Ll.08


The present price of cake copper is L84 per ton, and the
worth of L1 of it manufactured into

 Sheet copper becomes L1.11

NOTES:

1. A still finer chain is now manufactured (1832).

2.  Memoires de l'Institut. 1826



Chapter 29

On the Division of Labour

217. Perhaps the most important principle on which the
economy of a manufacture depends, is the division of labour
amongst the persons who perform the work. The first application
of this principle must have been made in a very early stage of
society, for it must soon have been apparent, that a larger
number of comforts and conveniences could be acquired by each
individual, if one man restricted his occupation to the art of
making bows, another to that of building houses, a third boats,
and so on. This division of labour into trades was not, however,
the result of an opinion that the general riches of the community
would be increased by such an arrangement; but it must have
arisen from the circumstance of each individual so employed
discovering that he himself could thus make a greater profit of
his labour than by pursuing more varied occupations. Society must
have made considerable advances before this principle could have
been carried into the workshop; for it is only in countries which
have attained a high degree of civilization, and in articles in
which there is a great competition amongst the producers, that
the most perfect system of the division of labour is to be
observed. The various principles on which the advantages of this
system depend, have been much the subject of discussion amongst
writers on political economy; but the relative importance of
their influence does not appear, in all cases, to have been
estimated with sufficient precision. It is my intention, in the
first instance, to state shortly those principles, and then to
point out what appears to me to have been omitted by those who
have previously treated the subject.

218. 1. Of the time required for learning. It will readily be
admitted, that the portion of time occupied in the acquisition of
any art will depend on the difficulty of its execution; and that
the greater the number of distinct processes, the longer will be
the time which the apprentice must employ in acquiring it. Five
or seven years have been adopted, in a great many trades, as the
time considered requisite for a lad to acquire a sufficient
knowledge of his art, and to enable him to repay by his labour,
during the latter portion of his time, the expense incurred by
his master at its commencement. If, however, instead of learning
all the different processes for making a needle, for instance,
his attention be confined to one operation, the portion of time
consumed unprofitably at the commencement of his apprenticeship
will be small, and all the rest of it will be beneficial to his
master: and, consequently, if there be any competition amongst
the masters, the apprentice will be able to make better terms,
and diminish the period of his servitude. Again, the facility of
acquiring skill in a single process, and the early period of life
at which it can be made a source of profit, will induce a greater
number of parents to bring up their children to it; and from this
circumstance also, the number of workmen being increased, the
wages will soon fall.

219. 2. Of waste of materials in learning. A certain quantity
of material will, in all cases, be consumed unprofitably, or
spoiled by every person who learns an art; and as he applies
himself to each new process, he will waste some of the raw
material, or of the partly manufactured commodity. But if each
man commit this waste in acquiring successively every process,
the quantity of waste will be much greater than if each person
confine his attention to one process; in this view of the
subject, therefore, the division of labour will diminish the
price of production.

220. 3. Another advantage resulting from the division of
labour is, the saving of that portion of time which is always
lost in changing from one occupation to another. When the human
hand, or the human head, has been for some time occupied in any
kind of work, it cannot instantly change its employment with full
effect. The muscles of the limbs employed have acquired a
flexibility during their exertion, and those not in action a
stiffness during rest, which renders every change slow and
unequal in the commencement. Long habit also produces in the
muscles exercised a capacity for enduring fatigue to a much
greater degree than they could support under other circumstances.
A similar result seems to take place in any change of mental
exertion; the attention bestowed on the new subject not being so
perfect at first as it becomes after some exercise.

221. 4. Change of tools. The employment of different tools in
the successive processes is another cause of the loss of time in
changing from one operation to another. If these tools are
simple, and the change is not frequent, the loss of time is not
considerable; but in many processes of the arts the tools are of
great delicacy, requiring accurate adjustment every time they are
used; and in many cases the time employed in adjusting bears a
large proportion to that employed in using the tool. The
sliding-rest, the dividing and the drilling-engine, are of this
kind; and hence, in manufactories of sufficient extent, it is
found to be good economy to keep one machine constantly employed
in one kind of work: one lathe, for example, having a screw
motion to its sliding-rest along the whole length of its bed, is
kept constantly making cylinders; another, having a motion for
equalizing the velocity of the work at the point at which it
passes the tool, is kept for facing surfaces; whilst a third is
constantly employed in cutting wheels.

222. 5. Skill acquired by frequent repetition of the same
processes. The constant repetition of the same process
necessarily produces in the workman a degree of excellence and
rapidity in his particular department, which is never possessed
by a person who is obliged to execute many different processes.
This rapidity is still further increased from the circumstance
that most of the operations in factories, where the division of
labour is carried to a considerable extent, are paid for as
piece-work. It is difficult to estimate in numbers the effect of
this cause upon production. In nail-making, Adam Smith has
stated, that it is almost three to one; for, he observes, that a
smith accustomed to make nails, but whose whole business has not
been that of a nailer, can make only from eight hundred to a
thousand per day; whilst a lad who had never exercised any other
trade, can make upwards of two thousand three hundred a day.

223. In different trades, the economy of production arising
from the last-mentioned cause will necessarily be different. The
case of nail-making is, perhaps, rather an extreme one. It must,
however, be observed, that, in one sense, this is not a permanent
source of advantage; for, though it acts at the commencement of
an establishment, yet every month adds to the skill of the
workmen; and at the end of three or four years they will not be
very far behind those who have never practised any other branch
of their art. Upon an occasion when a large issue of bank-notes
was required, a clerk at the Bank of England signed his name,
consisting of seven letters, including the initial of his
Christian name, five thousand three hundred times during eleven
working hours, besides arranging the notes he had signed in
parcels of fifty each.

224. 6. The division of labour suggests the contrivance of
tools and machinery to execute its processes. When each
processes, by which any article is produced, is the sole
occupation of one individual, his whole attention being devoted
to a very limited and simple operation, improvements in the form
of his tools, or in the mode of using them, are much more likely
to occur to his mind, than if it were distracted by a greater
variety of circumstances. Such an improvement in the tool is
generally the first step towards a machine. If a piece of metal
is to be cut in a lathe, for example, there is one particular
angle at which the cutting-tool must be held to insure the
cleanest cut; and it is quite natural that the idea of fixing the
tool at that angle should present itself to an intelligent
workman. The necessity of moving the tool slowly, and in a
direction parallel to itself, would suggest the use of a screw,
and thus arises the sliding-rest. It was probably the idea of
mounting a chisel in a frame, to prevent its cutting too deeply,
which gave rise to the common carpenter's plane. In cases where a
blow from a hammer is employed, experience teaches the proper
force required. The transition from the hammer held in the hand
to one mounted upon an axis, and lifted regularly to a certain
height by some mechanical contrivance, requires perhaps a greater
degree of invention than those just instanced; yet it is not
difficult to perceive, that, if the hammer always falls from the
same height, its effect must be always the same.

225. When each process has been reduced to the use of some
simple tool, the union of all these tools, actuated by one moving
power, constitutes a machine. In contriving tools and simplifying
processes, the operative workmen are, perhaps, most successful;
but it requires far other habits to combine into one machine
these scattered arts. A previous education as a workman in the
peculiar trade, is undoubtedly a valuable preliminary; but in
order to make such combinations with any reasonable expectation
of success, an extensive knowledge of machinery, and the power of
making mechanical drawings, are essentially requisite. These
accomplishments are now much more common than they were
formerly, and their absence was, perhaps, one of the causes of
the multitude of failures in the early history of many of our
manufactures.

226. Such are the principles usually assigned as the causes
of the advantage resulting from the division of labour. As in the
view I have taken of the question, the most important and
influential cause has been altogether unnoticed, I shall restate
those principles in the words of Adam Smith:

"The great increase in the quantity of work, which, in consequence
of the division of labour, the same number of people are capable
of performing, is owing to three different circumstances: first,
to the increase of dexterity in every particular workman;
secondly, to the saving of time, which is commonly lost in
passing from one species of work to another; and, lastly, to the
invention of a great number of machines which facilitate and
abridge labour, and enable one man to do the work of many."

Now, although all these are important causes, and each has
its influence on the result; yet it appears to me, that any
explanation of the cheapness of manufactured articles, as
consequent upon the division of labour, would be incomplete if
the following principle were omitted to be stated.

That the master manufacturer, by dividing the work to be
executed into different processes, each requiring different
degrees of skill or of force, can purchase exactly that precise
quantity of both which is necessary for each process; whereas, if
the whole work were executed by one workman, that person must
possess sufficient skill to perform the most difficult, and
sufficient strength to execute the most laborious, of the
operations into which the art is divided.(1*)

227. As the clear apprehension of this principle, upon which
a great part of the economy arising from the division of labour
depends, is of considerable importance, it may be desirable to
point out its precise and numerical application in some specific
manufacture. The art of making needles is, perhaps, that which I
should have selected for this illustration, as comprehending a
very large number of processes remarkably different in their
nature; but the less difficult art of pinmaking, has some claim
to attention, from its having been used by Adam Smith; and I am
confirmed in the choice of it, by the circumstance of our
possessing a very accurate and minute description of that art, as
practised in France above half a century ago.

228. Pin-making. In the manufacture of pins in England the
following processes are employed:

1. Wire-drawing. (a) The brass wire used for making pins is
purchased by the manufacturer in coils of about twenty-two inches
in diameter, each weighing about thirty-six pounds. (b) The coils
are wound off into smaller ones of about six inches in diameter,
and between one and two pounds' weight. (c) The diameter of this
wire is now reduced, by drawing it repeatedly through holes in
steel plates, until it becomes of the size required for the sort
of pins intended to be made. During this process the wire is
hardened, and to prevent its breaking, it must be annealed two or
three times, according to the diminution of diameter required.
(d) The coils are then soaked in sulphuric acid, largely diluted
with water, in order to clean them, and are then beaten on stone,
for the purpose of removing any oxidated coating which may adhere
to them. These operations are usually performed by men, who draw
and clean from thirty to thirty-six pounds of wire a day. They
are paid at the rate of five farthings per pound, and generally
earn about 3s. 6d. per day.

M. Perronnet made some experiments on the extension the wire
undergoes in passing through each hole: he took a piece of thick
Swedish brass wire, and found

 Feet Inches
 Its length to be before drawing 3 8
 After passing the first hole 5 5
 second hole 7 2
 third hole 7 8

 It was now annealed, and the length became

 After passing the fourth hole 10 8
 fifth hole 13 1
 sixth hole 16 8
 And finally, after passing through six other holes 144 0


The holes through which the wire was drawn were not, in this
experiment, of regularly decreasing diameter: it is extremely
difficult to make such holes, and still more to preserve them in
their original dimensions.

229. 2. Straightening the wire. The coil of wire now passes
into the hands of a woman, assisted by a boy or girl. A few
nails, or iron pins, not quite in a line, are fixed into one end
of a wooden table about twenty feet in length; the end of the
wire is passed alternately between these nails, and is then
pulled to the other end of the table. The object of this process
is to straighten the wire, which had acquired a considerable
curvature in the small coils in which it had been wound. The
length thus straightened is cut off, and the remainder of the
coil is drawn into similar lengths. About seven nails or pins are
employed in straightening the wire, and their adjustment is a
matter of some nicety. It seems, that by passing the wire between
the first three nails or pins, a bend is produced in an opposite
direction to that which the wire had in the coil; this bend, by
passing the next two nails, is reduced to another less curved in
the first direction, and so on till the curve of the wire may at
last be confounded with a straight line.

230. 3. Pointing. (a) A man next takes about three hundred of
these straightened pieces in a parcel, and putting them into a
gauge, cuts off from one end, by means of a pair of shears, moved
by his foot, a portion equal in length to rather more than six
pins. He continues this operation until the entire parcel is
reduced into similar pieces. (b) The next step is to sharpen the
ends: for this purpose the operator sits before a steel mill,
which is kept rapidly revolving: it consists of a cylinder about
six inches in diameter, and two and a half inches broad, faced
with steel, which is cut in the manner of a file. Another
cylinder is fixed on the same axis at a few inches distant; the
file on the edge of which is of a finer kind, and is used for
finishing off the points. The workman now takes up a parcel of
the wires between the finger and thumb of each hand, and presses
the ends obliquely on the mill, taking care with his fingers and
thumbs to make each wire slowly revolve upon its axis. Having
thus pointed all the pieces at one end, he reverses them, and
performs the same operation on the other. This process requires
considerable skill, but it is not unhealthy; whilst the similar
process in needlemaking is remarkably destructive of health. (c)
The pieces now pointed at both ends, are next placed in gauges,
and the pointed ends are cut off, by means of shears, to the
proper length of which the pins are to be made. The remaining
portions of the wire are now equal to about four pins in length,
and are again pointed at each end, and their lengths again cut
off. This process is repeated a third time, and the small portion
of wire left in the middle is thrown amongst the waste, to be
melted along with the dust arising from the sharpening. It is
usual for a man, his wife, and a child, to join in performing
these processes; and they are paid at the rate of five farthings
per pound. They can point from thirty-four to thirty-six and a
half pounds per day, and gain from 6s. 6d. to 7s., which may be
apportioned thus; 5s. 6d. the man. 1s. the woman, 6d. to the boy
or girl.

231. 4. Twisting and cutting the heads. The next process is
making the heads. For this purpose (a) a boy takes a piece of
wire, of the same diameter as the pin to be headed, which he
fixes on an axis that can be made to revolve rapidly by means of
a wheel and strap connected with it. This wire is called the
mould. He then takes a smaller wire, which having passed through
an eye in a small tool held in his left hand, he fixes close to
the bottom of the mould. The mould is now made to revolve rapidly
by means of the right hand, and the smaller wire coils round it
until it has covered the whole length of the mould. The boy now
cuts the end of the spiral connected with the foot of the mould,
and draws it off. (b) When a sufficient quantity of heading is
thus made, a man takes from thirteen to twenty of these spirals
in his left hand, between his thumb and three outer fingers:
these he places in such a manner that two turns of the spiral
shall be beyond the upper edge of a pair of shears, and with the
forefinger of the same hand he feels that only two turns do so
project. With his right hand he closes the shears; and the two
turns of the spiral being cut off, drop into a basin; the
position of the forefinger preventing the heads from flying about
when cut off. The workmen who cut the heads are usually paid at
the rate of 2 1/2d. to 3d. per pound for large heads, but a
higher price is given for the smaller heading. Out of this they
pay the boy who spins the spiral; he receives from 4d. to 6d. a
day. A good workman can cut from six to about thirty pounds of
heading per day, according to its size.

232. 5. Heading. The process of fixing the head on the body
of the pin is usually executed by women and children. Each
operator sits before a small steel stake, having a cavity, into
which one half of the intended head will fit; immediately above
is a steel die, having a corresponding cavity for the other half
of the head: this latter die can be raised by a pedal moved by
the foot. The weight of the hammer is from seven to ten pounds,
and it falls through a very small space, perhaps from one to two
inches. The cavities in the centre of these dies are connected
with the edge of a small groove, to admit of the body of the pin,
which is thus prevented from being flattened by the blow of the
die. (a) The operator with his left hand dips the pointed end of
the body of a pin into a tray of heads; having passed the point
through one of them, he carries it along to the other end with
the forefinger. He now takes the pin in the right hand, and
places the head in the cavity of the stake, and, lifting the die
with his foot, allows it to fall on the head. This blow tightens
the head on the shank, which is then turned round, and the head
receives three or four blows on different parts of its
circumference. The women and children who fix the heads are paid
at the rate of 1s. 6d. for every twenty thousand. A skilful
operator can with great exertion do twenty thousand per day, but
from ten to fifteen thousand is the usual quantity: children head
a much smaller number: varying, of course, with the degree of
their skill. About one per cent of the pins are spoiled in the
process; these are picked out afterwards by women, and are
reserved, along with the waste from other processes, for the
melting-pot. The die in which the heads are struck is varied in
form according to the fashion of the time; but the repeated blows
to which it is subject render it necessary that it should be
repaired after it has been used for about thirty pounds of pins.

233. 6. Tinning. The pins are now fit to be tinned, a process
which is usually executed by a man, assisted by his wife, or by a
lad. The quantity of pins operated upon at this stage is usually
fifty-six pounds. (a) They are first placed in a pickle, in order
to remove any grease or dirt from their surface, and also to
render them rough, which facilitates the adherence of the tin
with which they are to be covered. (b) They are then placed in a
boiler full of a solution of tartar in water, in which they are
mixed with a quantity of tin in small grains. In this they are
generally kept boiling for about two hours and a half, and are
then removed into a tub of water into which some bran has been
thrown, for the purpose of washing off the acid liquor. (c) They
are then taken out, and, being placed in wooden trays, are well
shaken in dry bran: this removes any water adhering to them; and
by giving the wooden tray a peculiar kind of motion, the pins are
thrown up, and the bran gradually flies off, and leaves them
behind in the tray. The man who pickles and tins the pins usually
gets one penny per pound for the work, and employs himself,
during the boiling of one batch of pins, in drying those
previously tinned. He can earn about 9s. per day; but out of this
he pays about 3s. for his assistant.

234. 7. Papering. The pins come from the tinner in wooden
bowls, with the points projecting in all directions: the
arranging of them side by side in paper is generally performed by
women. (a) A woman takes up some, and places them on a comb, and
shaking them, some of the pins fall back into the bowl, and the
rest, being caught by their heads, are detained between the teeth
of the comb. (b) Having thus arranged them in a parallel
direction, she fixes the requisite number between two pieces of
iron, having twenty-five small grooves, at equal distances; (c)
and having previously doubled the paper, she presses it against
the points of the pins until they have passed through the two
folds which are to retain them. The pins are then relieved from
the grasp of the tool, and the process is repeated. A woman gains
about 1s. 6d. per day by papering; but children are sometimes
employed, who earn from 6d. per day, and upwards.

235. Having thus generally described the various processes of
pin-making, and having stated the usual cost of each, it will be
convenient to present a tabular view of the time occupied by each
process, and its cost, as well as the sums which can be earned by
the persons who confine themselves solely to each process. As the
rate of wages is itself fluctuating, and as the prices paid and
quantities executed have been given only between certain limits,
it is not to be expected that this table can represent the cost
of each part of the work with the minutest accuracy, nor even
that it shall accord perfectly with the prices above given: but
it has been drawn up with some care, and will be quite sufficient
to serve as the basis of those reasonings which it is meant to
illustrate. A table nearly similar will be subjoined, which has
been deduced from a statement of M. Perronet, respecting the art
of pin-making in France, above seventy years ago.

English manufacture

236. Pins, Elevens, 5546 weigh one pound; one dozen = 6932
pins weigh twenty ounces, and require six ounces of paper.

 Name of the process
 Workman
 Time for making 1 lb of pins Hours
 Cost of making 1 lb of pins Pence
 Workmen earns per day s. d.
 Price of making each part of a single pin in millionths of a
penny


 1. Drawing wire (224)         Man    .3636  1.2500   3 3     225
 2. Straightening wire ( 225)  Woman  .3000   .2840   1 0      51
                               Girl   .3000   .1420   0 6      26
 3. Pointing (226)             Man    .3000  1.7750   5 3     319
 4. Twisting and cutting heads Boy    .0400   .0147   0 4 1/2   3
   (227)                       Man    .0400   .2103   5 4 1/2  38
 5. Heading (228)              Woman 4.0000  5.0000   1 3     901
 6 Tinning or whitening        Man    .1071   .6666   6 0     121
   (229)                       Woman  .1071   .3333   3 0      60
 7. Papering (230)             Woman 2.1314  3.1973   1 6     576
                                     7.6892 12.8732   - -    2320

Number of persons employed: Men. 4; Women. 4; Children, 2.
Total, 10.

French manufacture

237. Cost of 12,000 pins, No. 6, each being eight-tenths of an
English inch in length,--as they were manufactured in France about
1760; with the cost of each operation: deduced from the
observations and statement of M. Perronet.

 Name of the process
 Time for making twelve thousand pins Hours
 Cost of  making twelve thousand  pins Pence
 Workman usually earns per day Pence
 Expense of tools and materials Pence

 1. Wire                      --   --      --  24.75
 2. Straightening and cutting 1.2 .5     4.5      --
 3. Coarse pointing           1.2 .625  10.0      --
    Turning wheel(2*)         1.2 .875   7.0      --
    Fine Pointing              .8 .5     9.375    --
    Turning wheel             1.2 .5     4.75     --
    Cutting off pointed ends   .6 .375   7.5      --
 4. Turning spiral             .5 .125   3.0      --
    Cutting off heads          .8 .375   5.625    --
    Fuel to anneal ditto      --   --      --    .125
 5. Heading                  12.0 .333   4.25     --
 6. Tartar for cleaning       --   --      --    .5
    Tartar for whitening      --   --      --    .5
 7. Papering                  4.8 .5     2.0      --
    Paper                     --   --      --   1.0
    Wear of tools             --   --      --   2.0
                             24.3 4.708

 The great expense of turning the wheel appears to have arisen
from the person so occupied being unemployed during half his
time, whilst the pointer went to another manufactory


338. It appears from the analysis we have given of the art of
pinmaking, that it occupies rather more than seven hours and a
half of time, for ten different individuals working in succession
on the same material, to convert it into a pound of pins; and
that the total expense of their labour, each being paid in the
joint ratio of his skill and of the time he is employed, amounts
very nearly to 1s. 1d. But from an examination of the first of
these tables, it appears that the wages earned by the persons
employed vary from 4 1/2d. per day up to 6s., and consequently
the skill which is required for their respective employments may
be measured by those sums. Now it is evident, that if one person
were required to make the whole pound of pins, he must have skill
enough to earn about 5s. 3d. per day, whilst he is pointing the
wires or cutting off the heads from the spiral coils--and 6s.
when he is whitening the pins; which three operations together
would occupy little more than the seventeenth part of his time.
It is also apparent, that during more than one half of his time
he must be earning only 1s. 3d, per day, in putting on the heads;
although his skill, if properly employed, would, in the same
time, produce nearly five times as much. If, therefore, we were
to employ, for all the processes, the man who whitens the pins,
and who earns 6s. per day, even supposing that he could make the
pound of pins in an equally short time, yet we must pay him for
his time 46. 14 pence, or about 3s. 10d. The pins would therefore
cost, in making, three times and three quarters as much as they
now do by the application of the division of labour.

The higher the skill required of the workman in any one
process of a manufacture, and the smaller the time during which
it is employed, so much the greater will be the advantage of
separating that process from the rest, and devoting one person's
attention entirely to it. Had we selected the art of
needle-making as our illustration, the economy arising from the
division of labour would have been still more striking; for the
process of tempering the needles requires great skill, attention,
and experience, and although from three to four thousand are
tempered at once, the workman is paid a very high rate of wages.
In another process of the same manufacture, dry-pointing, which
also is executed with great rapidity, the wages earned by the
workman reach from 7s. to 12s., 15s., and even, in some
instances, to 20s. per day; whilst other processes are carried on
by children paid at the rate of 6d. per day.

239. Some further reflections suggested by the preceding
analysis, will be reserved until we have placed before the reader
a brief description of a machine for making pins, invented by an
American. It is highly ingenious in point of contrivance, and, in
respect to its economical principles, will furnish a strong and
interesting contrast with the manufacture of pins by the human
hand. In this machine a coil of brass wire is placed on an axis;
one end of this wire is drawn by a pair of rollers through a
small hole in a plate of steel, and is held there by a forceps.
As soon as the machine is put in action, -

1. The forceps draws the wire on to a distance equal in
length to one pin: a cutting edge of steel then descends close to
the hole through which the wire entered, and severs the piece
drawn out.

2. The forceps holding the piece thus separated moves on,
till it brings the wire to the centre of the chuck of a small
lathe, which opens to receive it. Whilst the forceps is returning
to fetch another piece of wire, the lathe revolves rapidly, and
grinds the projecting end of the wire upon a steel mill, which
advances towards it.

3. After this first or coarse pointing, the lathe stops, and
another forceps takes hold of the half-pointed pin, (which is
instantly released by the opening of the chuck), and conveys it
to a similar chuck of an adjacent lathe, which receives it, and
finishes the pointing on a finer steel mill.

4. This mill again stops, and another forceps removes the
pointed pin into a pair of strong steel clams, having a small
groove in them by which they hold the pin very firmly. A part of
this groove, which terminates at that edge of the steel clams
which is intended to form the head of the pin, is made conical. A
small round steel punch is now driven forcibly against the end of
the wire thus clamped, and the head of the pin is partially
formed by compressing the wire into the conical cavity.

NOTES:

1. I have already stated that this principle presented itself to
me after a personal examination of a number of manufactories and
workshops devoted to different purposes; but I have since found
that it had been distinctly pointed out in the work of Gioja.
Nuovo Prospetto delle Scienze Economiche. 6 tom. 4to. Milano,
1815, tom. i. capo iv.

2. The great expense of turning the wheel appears to have arisen
from the person so occupied being unemployed during half his
time, whilst the pointer went to another manufactory.



Chapter 20

On the Division of Labour

241. We have already mentioned what may, perhaps, appear
paradoxical to some of our readers that the division of labour
can be applied with equal success to mental as to mechanical
operations, and that it ensures in both the same economy of time.
A short account of its practical application, in the most
extensive series of calculations ever executed, will offer an
interesting illustration of this fact, whilst at the same time it
will afford an occasion for shewing that the arrangements which
ought to regulate the interior economy of a manufactory, are
founded on principles of deeper root than may have been supposed,
and are capable of being usefully employed in preparing the road
to some of the sublimest investigations of the human mind.

242. In the midst of that excitement which accompanied the
Revolution of France and the succeeding wars, the ambition of the
nation, unexhausted by its fatal passion for military renown, was
at the same time directed to some of the nobler and more
permanent triumphs which mark the era of a people's greatness and
which receive the applause of posterity long after their
conquests have been wrested from them, or even when their
existence as a nation may be told only by the page of history.
Amongst their enterprises of science, the French Government was
desirous of producing a series of mathematical tables, to
facilitate the application of the decimal system which they had
so recently adopted. They directed, therefore, their
mathematicians to construct such tables, on the most extensive
scale. Their most distinguished philosophers, responding fully to
the call of their country, invented new methods for this
laborious task; and a work, completely answering the large
demands of the Government, was produced in a remarkably short
period of time. M. Prony, to whom the superintendence of this
great undertaking was confided, in speaking of its commencement,
observes: Je m'y livrai avec toute l'ardeur dont j'etois capable,
et je m'occupai d'abord du plan general de l'execution. Toutes
les conditions que j'avois a remplir necessitoient l'emploi d'un
grand nombre de calculateurs; et il me vint bientot a la pensee
d'appliquer a la connection de ces Tables la division du travail,
dont les Arts de Commerce tirent un parti si avantageux pour
reunir a la pernection de main-d'oeuvre l'economie de la depense
et du temps. The circumstance which gave rise to this singular
application of the principle of the division on labour is so
interesting, that no apology is necessary for introducing it from
a small pamphlet printed at Paris a few years since, when a
proposition was made by the English to the French Government,
that the two countries should print these tables at their joint
expense.

243. The origin of the idea is related in the following
extract:

C'est a un chapitre d'un ouvrage Anglais,(1*) justement
celebre, (I.) qu'est probablement due l'existence de l'ouvrage
dont le gouvernement Britannique veut faire jouir le monde
savant:

Voici l'anecdote: M. de Prony s'etait engage. avec les
comites de gouvernement. a composer pour la division centesimale
du cercle, des tables logarithmiques et trigonometriques, qui,
non seulement ne laissassent rien a desirer quant a l'exactitude,
mais qui formassent le monument de calcul 1e plus vaste et le
plus imposant qui eut jamais ete execute, ou meme concu. Les
logarithmes des nombres de 1 a 200.000 formaient a ce travail un
supplement necessaire et exige. Il fut aise a M. de Prony de
s'assurer que meme en s'associant trois ou quatre habiles
co-operateurs. la plus grande duree presumable de sa vie ne lui
sufirai pas pour remplir ses engagements. Il etait occupe de
cette facheuse pensee lorsque. se trouvant devant la boutique
d'un marchand de livres. il appercut la belle edition Anglaise de
Smith, donnee a Londres en 1776: il ouvrit le livre au hazard. et
tomba sur le premier chapitre, qui traite de la division du
travail, et ou la fabrication des epingles est citee pour
exemple. A peine avait-il parcouru les premieres pages, que, par
une espece d'inspiration. il concut l'expedient de mettre ses
logarithmes en manufacture comme les epingles. Il faisait en ce
moment, a l'ecole polytechnique, des lecons sur une partie
d'analyse liee a ce genre de travail, la methode des differences,
et ses applications a l'interpolation. Il alla passer quelques
jours a la campagne. et revint a Paris avec le plan de
fabrication. qui a ete suivi dans l'execution. Il rassembla deux
ateliers. qui faisai ent separement les memes calculs, et se
servaient de verification reciproque.(2*)

244. The ancient methods of computing tables were altogether
inapplicable to such a proceeding. M. Prony, therefore, wishing
to avail himself of all the talent of his country in devising new
methods, formed the first section of those who were to take part
in this enterprise out of five or six of the most eminent
mathematicians in France.

First section. The duty of this first section was to
investigate, amongst the various analytical expressions which
could be found for the same function, that which was most readily
adapted to simple numerical calculation by many individuals
employed at the same time. This section had little or nothing to
do with the actual numerical work. When its labours were
concluded, the formulae on the use of which it had decided, were
delivered to the second section.

Second section. This section consisted of seven or eight
persons of considerable acquaintance with mathematics: and their
duty was to convert into numbers the formulae put into their
hands by the first section an operation of great labour; and then
to deliver out these formulae to the members of the third
section, and receive from them the finished calculations. The
members of this second section had certain means of verifying the
calculations without the necessity of repeating, or even of
examining, the whole of the work done by the third section.

Third section. The members of this section, whose number
varied from sixty to eighty, received certain numbers from the
second section, and, using nothing more than simple addition and
subtraction, they returned to that section the tables in a
finished state. It is remarkable that nine-tenths of this class
had no knowledge of arithmetic beyond the two first rules which
they were thus called upon to exercise, and that these persons
were usually found more correct in their calculations, than those
who possessed a more extensive knowledge of the subject.

245. When it is stated that the tables thus computed occupy
seventeen large folio volumes, some idea may perhaps be formed of
the labour. From that part executed by the third class, which may
almost be termed mechanical, requiring the least knowledge and by
far the greatest exertions, the first class were entirely exempt.
Such labour can always be purchased at an easy rate. The duties
of the second class, although requiring considerable skill in
arithmetical operations, were yet in some measure relieved by the
higher interest naturally felt in those more difficult
operations. The exertions of the first class are not likely to
require, upon another occasion, so much skill and labour as they
did upon the first attempt to introduce such a method; but when
the completion of a calculating engine shall have produced a
substitute for the whole of the third section of computers, the
attention of analysts will naturally be directed to simplifying
its application, by a new discussion of the methods of converting
analytical formulae into numbers.

246. The proceeding of M. Prony, in this celebrated system of
calculation, much resembles that of a skilful person about to
construct a cotton or silk mill, or any similar establishment.
Having, by his own genius, or through the aid of his friends,
found that some improved machinery may be successfully applied to
his pursuit, he makes drawings of his plans of the machinery, and
may himself be considered as constituting the first section. He
next requires the assistance of operative engineers capable of
executing the machinery he has designed, some of whom should
understand the nature of the processes to be carried on; and
these constitute his second section. When a sufficient number of
machines have been made, a multitude of other persons, possessed
of a lower degree of skill, must be employed in using them; these
form the third section: but their work, and the just performance
of the machines, must be still superintended by the second class.

247. As the possibility of performing arithmetical
calculations by machinery may appear to non-mathematical readers
to be rather too large a postulate, and as it is connected with
the subject of the division of labour, I shall here endeavour, in
a few lines, to give some slight perception of the manner in
which this can be done--and thus to remove a small portion of
the veil which covers that apparent mystery.

248. That nearly all tables of numbers which follow any law,
however complicated, may be formed, to a greater or less extent,
solely by the proper arrangement of the successive addition and
subtraction of numbers befitting each table, is a general
principle which can be demonstrated to those only who are well
acquainted with mathematics; but the mind, even of the reader who
is but very slightly acquainted with that science, will readily
conceive that it is not impossible, by attending to the following
example.

The subjoined table is the beginning of one in very extensive
use, which has been printed and reprinted very frequently in many
countries, and is called a table of square numbers.


Terms of Table  A Table  B first Difference  C second Difference

        1           1
                                3
        2           4                           2
                                5
        3           9                           2
                                7
        4          16                           2
                                9
        5          25                           2
                               11
        6          36                           2
                               13
        7          49


Any number in the table, column A, may be obtained, by
multiplying the number which expresses the distance of that term
from the commencement of the table by itself; thus, 25 is the
fifth term from the beginning of the table, and 5 multiplied by
itself, or by 5, is equal to 25. Let us now subtract each term of
this table from the next succeeding term, and place the results
in another column (B), which may be called first difference
column. If we again subtract each term of this first difference
from the succeeding term, we find the result is always the number
2, (column C); and that the same number will always recur in that
column, which may be called the second difference, will appear to
any person who takes the trouble to carry on the table a few
terms further. Now when once this is admitted, it is quite clear
that, provided the first term (1) of the table, the first term
(3) of the first differences, and the first term (2) of the
second or constant difference, are originally given, we can
continue the table of square numbers to any extent, merely by
addition: for the series of first differences may be formed by
repeatedly adding the constant difference (2) to (3) the first
number in column B, and we then have the series of numbers, 3, 5,
6, etc.: and again, by successively adding each of these to the
first number (1) of the table, we produce the square numbers.

249. Having thus, I hope, thrown some light upon the
theoretical part of the question, I shall endeavour to shew that
the mechanical execution of such an engine, as would produce this
series of numbers, is not so far removed from that of ordinary
machinery as might be conceived.(3*) Let the reader imagine three
clocks, placed on a table side by side, each having only one
hand, and each having a thousand divisions instead of twelve
hours marked on the face; and every time a string is pulled, let
them strike on a bell the numbers of the divisions to which their
hands point. Let him further suppose that two of the clocks, for
the sake of distinction called B and C, have some mechanism by
which the clock C advances the hand of the clock B one division,
for each stroke it makes upon its own bell: and let the clock B
by a similar contrivance advance the hand of the clock A one
division, for each stroke it makes on its own bell. With such an
arrangement, having set the hand of the clock A to the division
I, that of B to III, and that of C to II, let the reader imagine
the repeating parts of the clocks to be set in motion continually
in the following order: viz.--pull the string of clock A; pull
the string of clock B; pull the string of clock C.

The table on the following page will then express the series
of movements and their results.

If now only those divisions struck or pointed at by the clock
A be attended to and written down, it will be found that they
produce the series of the squares of the natural numbers. Such a
series could, of course, be carried by this mechanism only so far
as the numbers which can be expressed by three figures; but this
may be sufficient to give some idea of the construction--and
was, in fact, the point to which the first model of the
calculating engine, now in progress, extended.

250. We have seen, then, that the effect of the division of
labour, both in mechanical and in mental operations, is, that it
enables us to purchase and apply to each process precisely that
quantity of skill and knowledge which is required for it: we
avoid employing any part of the time of a man who can get eight
or ten shillings a day by his skill in tempering needles, in
turning a wheel, which can be done for sixpence a day; and we
equally avoid the loss arising from the employment of an
accomplished mathematician in performing the lowest processes of
arithmetic.

251. The division of labour cannot be successfully practised
unless there exists a great demand for its produce; and it
requires a large capital to be employed in those arts in which it
is used. In watchmaking it has been carried, perhaps, to the
greatest extent. It was stated in evidence before a committee of
the House of Commons, that there are a hundred and two distinct
branches of this art, to each of which a boy may be put
apprentice: and that he only learns his master's department, and
is unable, after his apprenticeship has expired, without
subsequent instruction, to work at any other branch. The
watch-finisher, whose business is to put together the scattered
parts, is the only one, out of the hundred and two persons, who
can work in any other department than his own.

252. In one of the most difficult arts, that of mining, great
improvements have resulted from the judicious distribution of the
duties; and under the arrangments which have gradually been
introduced, the whole system of the mine and its government is
now placed under the control of the following officers.


1. A manager, who has the general knowledge of all that is to
be done, and who may be assisted by one or more skilful persons.

2. Underground captains direct the proper mining operations,
and govern the working miners.

3. The purser and book-keeper manage the accounts.

4. The engineer erects the engines, and superintends the men
who work them.

5. A chief pitman has charge of the pumps and the apparatus
of the shafts.

6. A surface-captain, with assistants, receives the ores
raised, and directs the dressing department, the object of which
is to render them marketable.

7. The head carpenter superintends many constructions.

8. The foreman of the smiths regulates the ironwork and
tools.

9. A materials man selects, purchases, receives and delivers
all articles required.

10. The roper has charge of ropes and cordage of all sorts.

Notes:

1. An Enquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of
Nations, by Adam Smith.

2. Note sur la publication, proposee par le gouvernement Anglais
des grandes tables logarithmiques et trigonometriques de M de
Prony De l'imprimerie de F. Didot, December 1, 1829, p. 7

3. Since the publication of the second edition of this work, one
portion of the engine which I have been constructing for some
years past has been put together. It calculates, in three
columns, a table with its first and second differences. Each
column can be expressed as far as five figures, so that these
fifteen figures constitute about one ninth part of the larger
engine. The ease and precision with which it works leave no room
to doubt its success in the more extended form. Besides tables of
squares, cubes, and portions of logarithmic tables, it possesses
the power of calculating certain series whose differences are not
constant; and it has already tabulated parts of series formed
from the following equations:

The third differential of ux = units figur of delta ux

The third differential of ux = nearest whole no. to (1/10,000
delta ux)

The subjoined is one amongst the series which it has calculated:

     0   3,486       42,972
     0   4,991       50,532
     1   6,907       58,813
    14   9,295       67,826
    70  12,236       77,602
   230  15,741       88,202
   495  19,861       99,627
   916  24,597      111,928
 1,504  30,010      125,116
 2,340  36,131      139,272

The general term of this is,

    ux = (x(x-1)(x-2))/(1 X 2 X 3) + the whole number in x/10 +
10 Sigma^3 (units figure of (x(x-1)/2)



Chapter 21

On the Cost of Each Separate Process in a Manufacture

253. The great competition introduced by machinery, and the
application of the principle of the subdivision of labour, render
it necessary for each producer to be continually on the watch, to
discover improved methods by which the cost of the article he
manufactures may be reduced; and, with this view, it is of great
importance to know the precise expense of every process, as well
as of the wear and tear of machinery which is due to it. The same
information is desirable for those by whom the manufactured goods
are distributed and sold; because it enables them to give
reasonable answers or explanations to the objections of
enquirers, and also affords them a better chance of suggesting to
the manufacturer changes in the fashion of his goods, which may
be suitable either to the tastes or to the finances of his
customers. To the statesman such knowledge is still more
important; for without it he must trust entirely to others, and
can form no judgement worthy of confidence, of the effect any tax
may produce, or of the injury the manufacturer or the country may
suffer by its imposition.

254. One of the first advantages which suggests itself as
likely to arise from a correct analysis of the expense of the
several processes of any manufacture, is the indication which it
would furnish of the course in which improvement should be
directed. If a method could be contrived of diminishing by one
fourth the time required for fixing on the heads of pins, the
expense of making them would be reduced about thirteen per cent;
whilst a reduction of one half the time employed in spinning the
coil of wire out of which the heads are cut, would scarcely make
any sensible difference in the cost of manufacturing of the
whole article. It is therefore obvious, that the attention would
be much more advantageously directed to shortening the former
than the latter process.

255. The expense of manufacturing, in a country where
machinery is of the rudest kind, and manual labour is very cheap,
is curiously exhibited in the price of cotton cloth in the island
of Java. The cotton, in the seed, is sold by the picul, which is
a weight of about 133 lbs. Not above one fourth or one fifth of
this weight, however, is cotton: the natives, by means of rude
wooden rollers, can only separate about 1 1/4 lb. of cotton from
the seed by one day's labour. A picul of cleansed cotton,
therefore, is worth between four and five times the cost of the
impure article; and the prices of the same substance, in its
different stages of manufacture, are--for one picul:

 Dollars Cotton in the seed 2 to 3
 Clean cotton 10 to 11
 Cotton thread 24
 Cotton thread dyed blue 35
 Good ordinary cotton cloth 50


Thus it appears that the expense of spinning in Java is 117
per cent on the value of the raw material; the expense of dying
thread blue is 45 per cent on its value; and that of weaving
cotton thread into cloth 117 per cent on its value. The expense
of spinning cotton into a fine thread is, in England, about 33
per cent. (1*)

256. As an example of the cost of the different processes of
a manufacture, perhaps an analytical statement of the expense of
the volume now in the reader's hands may not be uninteresting;
more especially as it will afford an insight into the nature and
extent of the taxes upon literature. It is found economical to
print it upon paper of a very large size, so that although
thirty-two pages, instead of sixteen, are really contained in
each sheet, this work is still called octavo.

                                    L s. d.

 To printer, for composing (per sheet of 32 pages) L3 1s. 10 1/2
sheets 32 0 6 [This relates to the ordinary size of the type used
in the volume.]

 To printer for composing small type, as in extracts and 2 0 3
contents, extra per sheet, 3s. 10d.

 To printer, for composing table work, extra per sheet, 2 17 9
5s. 6d.
 Average charge for corrections, per sheet, L3 2s. 10d. 33 0 0
 Press work, 3000 being printed off, per sheet, L3 10s. 36 15 0
 Paper for 3000, at L1 11s. 6d. per ream, weighing 28 lbs: the
duty on paper at 3d. per lb. amounts to 7s. per ream, so that the
63 reams which are required for the work will cost:

 Paper 77 3 6
 Excise Duty 22 1 0
 Total expense of paper 99 4 6

 Total expense of printing and paper 205 18 0
 Steel-plate for title-page 0 7 6
 Engraving on ditto, Head of Bacon 2 2 0
 Ditto letters 1 1 0
 Total expense of title-page 3 10 6
 Printing title-page, at 6s. per 100 9 0 0
 Paper for ditto, at 1s. 9d. per 100 2 12 6
 Expenses of advertising 40 0 0
 Sundries. 5 0 0

 Total expense in sheets 266 1 0

 Cost of a single copy in sheets; 3052 being printed, including
the overplus 0 1 9
 Extra boarding 0 0 6

 Cost of each copy, boarded(2*) 0 2 3


257. This analysis requires some explanation. The printer
usually charges for composition by the sheet, supposing the type
to be all of one kind; and as this charge is regulated by the
size of the letter, on which the quantity in a sheet depends,
little dispute can arise after the price is agreed upon. If there
are but few extracts, or other parts of the work, which require
to be printed in smaller type; or if there are many notes, or
several passages in Greek, or in other languages, requiring a
different type, these are considered in the original contract,
and a small additional price per sheet allowed. If there is a
large portion of small type, it is better to have a specific
additional charge for it per sheet. If any work with irregular
lines and many figures, and what the printers call rules, occurs,
it is called table work, and is charged at an advanced price per
sheet. Examples of this are frequent in the present volume. If
the page consists entirely of figures, as in mathematical tables,
which require very careful correction, the charge for composition
is usually doubled. A few years ago I printed a table of
logarithms, on a large-sized page, which required great
additional labour and care from the readers,(3*) in rendering the
proofs correct, and for which, although new punches were not
required, several new types were prepared, and for which
stereotype plates were cast, costing about L2 per sheet. In this
case L11 per sheet were charged, although ordinary composition,
with the same sized letter, in demy octavo, could have been
executed at thirty-eight shillings per sheet: but as the expense
was ascertained before commencing the work, it gave rise to no
difficulties.

258. The charge for corrections and alterations is one which,
from the difficulty of measuring them, gives rise to the greatest
inconvenience, and is as disagreeable to the publisher (if he be
the agent between the author and the printer), and to the master
printer or his foreman, as it is to the author himself. If the
author study economy, he should make the whole of his corrections
in the manuscript, and should copy it out fairly: it will then be
printed correctly, and he will have little to pay for
corrections. But it is scarcely possible to judge of the effect
of any passage correctly, without having it set up in type; and
there are few subjects, upon which an author does not find he can
add some details or explanation, when he sees his views in print.
If, therefore, he wish to save his own labour in transcribing,
and to give the last polish to the language, he must be content
to accomplish these objects at an increased expense. If the
printer possess a sufficient stock of type, it will contribute
still more to the convenience of the author to have his whole
work put up in what are technically called slips,(4*) and then to
make all the corrections, and to have as few revises as he can.
The present work was set up in slips, but the corrections have
been unusually large, and the revises frequent.

259. The press work, or printing off, is charged at a price
agreed upon for each two hundred and fifty sheets; and any broken
number is still considered as two hundred and fifty. When a large
edition is required, the price for two hundred and fifty is
reduced; thus, in the present volume, two hundred and fifty
copies, if printed alone, would have been charged eleven
shillings per sheet, instead of 5s. 10d., the actual charge. The
principle of this mode of charging is good, as it obviates all
disputes; but it is to be regretted that the custom of charging
the same price for any small number as for two hundred and fifty,
is so pertinaciously adhered to, that the workmen will not agree
to any other terms when only twenty or thirty copies are
required, or even when only three or four are wanted for the sake
of some experiment. Perhaps if all numbers above fifty were
charged as two hundred and fifty, and all below as for half two
hundred and fifty, both parties would derive an advantage.

260. The effect of the excise duty is to render the paper
thin, in order that it may weigh little; but this is counteracted
by the desire of the author to make his book look as thick as
possible, in order that he may charge the public as much as he
decently can; and so on that ground alone the duty is of no
importance. There is, however, another effect of this duty, which
both the public and the author feel; for they pay, not merely the
duty which is charged, but also the profit on that duty, which
the paper-maker requires for the use of additional capital; and
also the profit to the publisher and bookseller on the increased
price of the volume.

261. The estimated charge for advertisements is, in the
present case, about the usual allowance for such a volume; and,
as it is considered that advertisements in newspapers are the
most effectual, where the smallest pays a duty of 3s. 6d., nearly
one half of the charge of advertising is a tax.

262. It appears then, that, to an expenditure of L224
necessary to produce the present volume, L42 are added in the
shape of a direct tax. Whether the profits arising from such a
mode of manufacturing will justify such a rate of taxation, can
only be estimated when the returns from the volume are
considered, a subject that will be discussed in a subsequent
chapter.(5*) It is at present sufficient to observe, that the tax
on advertisements is an impolitic tax when contrasted with that
upon paper, and on other materials employed. The object of all
advertisements is, by making known articles for sale, to procure
for them a better price, if the sale is to be by auction; or a
larger extent of sale if by retail dealers. Now the more any
article is known, the more quickly it is discovered whether it
contributes to the comfort or advantage of the public; and the
more quickly its consumption is assured if it be found valuable.
It would appear, then, that every tax on communicating
information respecting articles which are the subjects of
taxation in another shape, is one which must reduce the amount
that would have been raised, had no impediment been placed in the
way of making known to the public their qualities and their
price.

NOTES:

1. These facts are taken from Crawford's Indian Archipelago.

2. These charges refer to the edition prepared for the public,
and do not relate to the large paper copies in the hands of some
of the author's friends.

3. Readers are persons employed to correct the press at the
printing office.

4. Slips are long pieces of paper on which sufficient matter is
printed to form, when divided, from two to four pages of text.

5. Chapter 31.



Chapter 22

On the Causes and Consequences of Large Factories

263. On examining the analysis which has been given in
chapter XIX of the operations in the art of pin-making, it will
be observed, that ten individuals are employed in it, and also
that the time occupied in executing the several processes is very
different. In order, however, to render more simple the reasoning
which follows, it will be convenient to suppose that each of the
seven processes there described requires an equal quantity of
time. This being supposed, it is at once apparent, that, to
conduct an establishment for pin-making most profitably, the
number of persons employed must be a multiple of ten. For if a
person with small means has only sufficient capital to enable him
to employ half that number of persons, they cannot each of them
constantly adhere to the execution of the same process; and if a
manufacturer employs any number not a multiple of ten, a similar
result must ensue with respect to some portion of them. The same
reflection constantly presents itself on examining any
well-arranged factory. In that of Mr Mordan, the patentee of the
ever-pointed pencils, one room is devoted to some of the
processes by which steel pens are manufactured. Six fly-presses
are here constantly at work; in the first a sheet of thin steel
is brought by the workman under the die which at each blow cuts
out a flat piece of the metal, having the form intended for the
pen. Two other workmen are employed in placing these flat pieces
under two other presses, in which a steel chisel cuts the slit.
Three other workmen occupy other presses, in which the pieces so
prepared receive their semi-cylindrical form. The longer time
required for adjusting the small pieces in the two latter
operations renders them less rapid in execution than the first;
so that two workmen are fully occupied in slitting, and three in
bending the flat pieces, which one man can punch out of the sheet
of steel. If, therefore, it were necessary to enlarge this
factory, it is clear that twelve or eighteen presses would be
worked with more economy than any number not a multiple of six.

The same reasoning extends to every manufacture which is
conducted upon the principle of the division of labour, and we
arrive at this general conclusion: When the number of processes
into which it is most advantageous to divide it, and the number
of individuals to be employed in it, are ascertained, then all
factories which do not employ a direct multiple of this latter
number, will produce the article at a greater cost. This
principle ought always to be kept in view in great
establishments, although it is quite impossible, even with the
best division of the labour, to attend to it rigidly in practice.
The proportionate number of the persons who possess the greatest
skill, is of course to be first attended to. That exact ratio
which is more profitable for a factory employing a hundred
workmen, may not be quite the best where there are five hundred;
and the arrangements of both may probably admit of variations,
without materially increasing the cost of their produce. But it
is quite certain that no individual, nor in the case of
pin-making could any five individuals, ever hope to compete with
an extensive establishment. Hence arises one cause of the great
size of manufacturing establishments, which have increased with
the progress of civilization. Other circumstances, however,
contribute to the same end, and arise also from the same cause--
the division of labour.

264. The material out of which the manufactured article is
produced, must, in the several stages of its progress, be
conveyed from one operator to the next in succession: this can be
done at least expense when they are all working in the same
establishment. If the weight of the material is considerable,
this reason acts with additional force; but even where it is
light, the danger arising from frequent removal may render it
desirable to have all the processes carried on in the same
building. In the cutting and polishing of glass this is the case;
whilst in the art of needle-making several of the processes are
carried on in the cottages of the workmen. It is, however, clear
that the latter plan, which is attended with some advantages to
the family of the workmen, can be adopted only where there exists
a sure and quick method of knowing that the work has been well
done, and that the whole of the materials given out have been
really employed.

265. The inducement to contrive machines for any process of
manufacture increases with the demand for the article; and the
introduction of machinery, on the other hand, tends to increase
the quantity produced and to lead to the establishment of large
factories. An illustration of these principles may be found in
the history of the manufacture of patent net.

The first machines for weaving this article were very
expensive, costing from a thousand to twelve or thirteen hundred
pounds. The possessor of one of these, though it greatly
increased the quantity he could produce, was nevertheless unable,
when working eight hours a day, to compete with the old methods.
This arose from the large capital invested in the machinery; but
he quickly perceived that with the same expense of fixed capital,
and a small addition to his circulating capital, he could work
the machine during the whole twenty-four hours. The profits thus
realized soon induced other persons to direct their attention to
the improvement of those machines; and the price was greatly
reduced, at the same time that the rapidity of production of the
patent net was increased. But if machines be kept working through
the twenty-four hours, it is necessary that some person shall
attend to admit the workmen at the time they relieve each other;
and whether the porter or other servant so employed admit one
person or twenty, his rest will be equally disturbed. It will
also be necessary occasionally to adjust or repair the machine;
and this can be done much better by a workman accustomed to
machine-making, than by the person who uses it. Now, since the
good performance and the duration of machines depend to a very
great extent upon correcting every shake or imperfection in their
parts as soon as they appear, the prompt attention of a workman
resident on the spot will considerably reduce the expenditure
arising from the wear and tear of the machinery. But in the case
of single lace frame, or a single loom, this would be too
expensive a plan. Here then arises another circumstance which
tends to enlarge the extent of a factory. It ought to consist of
such a number of machines as shall occupy the whole time of one
workman in keeping them in order: if extended beyond that number,
the same principle of economy would point out the necessity of
doubling or tripling the number of machines, in order to employ
the whole time of two or three skilful workmen.

266. Where one portion of the workman's labour consists in
the exertion of mere physical force, as in weaving and in many
similar arts, it will soon occur to the manufacturer, that if
that part were executed by a steam-engine, the same man might, in
the case of weaving, attend to two or more looms at once; and,
since we already suppose that one or more operative engineers
have been employed, the number of his looms may be so arranged
that their time shall be fully occupied in keeping the
steam-engine and the looms in order. One of the first results
will be, that the looms can be driven by the engine nearly twice
as fast as before: and as each man, when relieved from bodily
labour, can attend to two looms, one workman can now make almost
as much cloth as four. This increase of producing power is,
however, greater than that which really took place at first; the
velocity of some of the parts of the loom being limited by the
strength of the thread, and the quickness with which it commences
its motion: but an improvement was soon made, by which the motion
commenced slowly, and gradually acquired greater velocity than it
was safe to give it at once; and the speed was thus increased
from 100 to about 120 strokes per minute.

267. Pursuing the same principles, the manufactory becomes
gradually so enlarged, that the expense of lighting during the
night amounts to a considerable sum; and as there are already
attached to the establishment persons who are up all night, and
can therefore constantly attend to it, and also engineers to make
and keep in repair any machinery, the addition of an apparatus
for making gas to light the factory leads to a new extension, at
the same time that it contributes, by diminishing the expense of
lighting, and the risk of accidents from fire, to reduce the cost
of manufacturing.

268. Long before a factory has reached this extent, it will
have been found necessary to establish an accountant's
department, with clerks to pay the workmen, and to see that they
arrive at their stated times; and this department must be in
communication with the agents who purchase the raw produce, and
with those who sell the manufactured article.

269. We have seen that the application of the division of
labour tends to produce cheaper articles; that it thus increases
the demand; and gradually, by the effect of competition, or by
the hope of increased gain, that it causes large capitals to be
embarked in extensive factories. Let us now examine the influence
of this accumulation of capital directed to one object. In the
first place, it enables the most important principle on which the
advantages of the division of labour depends to be carried almost
to its extreme limits: not merely is the precise amount of skill
purchased which is necessary for the execution of each process,
but throughout every stage--from that in which the raw material
is procured, to that by which the finished produce is conveyed
into the hands of the consumer--the same economy of skill
prevails. The quantity of work produced by a given number of
people is greatly augmented by such an extended arrangement; and
the result is necessarily a great reduction in the cost of the
article which is brought to market.

270. Amongst the causes which tend to the cheap production of
any article, and which are connected with the employment of
additional capital, may be mentioned, the care which is taken to
prevent the absolute waste of any part of the raw material. An
attention to this circumstance sometimes causes the union of two
trades in one factory, which otherwise might have been separated.

An enumeration of the arts to which the horns of cattle are
applicable, will furnish a striking example of this kind of
economy. The tanner who has purchased the raw hides, separates
the horns, and sells them to the makers of combs and lanterns.
The horn consists of two parts, an outward horny case, and an
inward conical substance, somewhat intermediate between indurated
hair and bone. The first process consists in separating these two
parts, by means of a blow against a block of wood. The horny
exterior is then cut into three portions with a frame-saw.

1. The lowest of these, next the root of the horn, after
undergoing several processes, by which it is flattened, is made
into combs.

2. The middle of the horn, after being flattened by heat, and
having its transparency improved by oil, is split into thin
layers, and forms a substitute for glass, in lanterns of the
commonest kind.

3. The tip of the horn is used by the makers of knife
handles, and of the tops of whips, and for other similar
purposes.

4. The interior, or core of the horn, is boiled down in
water. A large quantity of fat rises to the surface; this is put
aside, and sold to the makers of yellow soap.

5. The liquid itself is used as a kind of glue, and is
purchased by cloth dressers for stiffening.

6. The insoluble substance, which remains behind, is then
sent to the mill, and, being ground down, is sold to the farmers
for manure.

7. Besides these various purposes to which the different
parts of the horn are applied, the clippings, which arise in comb
making, are sold to the farmer for manure. In the first year
after they are spread over the soil they have comparatively
little effect, but during the next four or five their efficiency
is considerable. The shavings which form the refuse of the
lantern maker, are of a much thinner texture: some of them are
cut into various figures and painted, and used as toys; for being
hygrometric, they curl up when placed on the palm of a warm hand.
But the greater part of these shavings also are sold for manure,
and from their extremely thin and divided form, the full effect
is produced upon the first crop.

271. Another event which has arisen, in one trade at least,
from the employment of large capital, is, that a class of
middlemen, formerly interposed between the maker and the
merchant, now no longer exist. When calico was woven in the
cottages of the workmen, there existed a class of persons who
travelled about and purchased the pieces so made, in large
numbers, for the purpose of selling them to the exporting
merchant. But the middlemen were obliged to examine every piece,
in order to know that it was perfect, and of full measure. The
greater number of the workmen, it is true, might be depended
upon, but the fraud of a few would render this examination
indispensable: for any single cottager, though detected by one
purchaser, might still hope that the fact would not become known
to all the rest.

The value of character, though great in all circumstances of
life, can never be so fully experienced by persons possessed of
small capital, as by those employing much larger sums: whilst
these larger sums of money for which the merchant deals, render
his character for punctuality more studied and known by others.
Thus it happens that high character supplies the place of an
additional portion of capital; and the merchant, in dealing with
the great manufacturer, is saved from the expense of
verification, by knowing that the loss, or even the impeachment,
of the manufacturer's character, would be attended with greater
injury to himself than any profit upon a single transaction could
compensate.

272. The amount of well-grounded confidence, which exists in
the character of its merchants and manufacturers, is one of the
many advantages that an old manufacturing country always
possesses over its rivals. To such an extent is this confidence
in character carried in England, that, at one of our largest
towns, sales and purchases on a very extensive scale are made
daily in the course of business without any of the parties ever
exchanging a written document.

273. A breach of confidence of this kind, which might have
been attended with very serious embarrassment, occurred in the
recent expedition to the mouth of the Niger.

'We brought with us from England,' Mr Lander states, 'nearly
a hundred thousand needles of various sizes, and amongst them was
a great quantity of Whitechapel sharps warranted superfine, and
not to cut in the eye. Thus highly recommended, we imagined that
these needles must have been excellent indeed; but what was our
surprise, some time ago, when a number of them which we had
disposed of were returned to us, with a complaint that they were
all eyeless, thus redeeming with a vengeance the pledge of the
manufacturer, "that they would not cut in the eye". On
examination afterwards, we found the same fault with the
remainder of the "Whitechapel sharps", so that to save our credit
we have been obliged to throw them away.'(1*)

274. The influence of established character in producing
confidence operated in a very remarkable manner at the time of
the exclusion of British manufactures from the continent during
the last war. One of our largest establishments had been in the
habit of doing extensive business with a house in the centre of
Germany; but, on the closing of the continental ports against our
manufactures, heavy penalties were inflicted on all those who
contravened the Berlin and Milan decrees. The English
manufacturer continued, nevertheless, to receive orders, with
directions how to consign them, and appointments for the time and
mode of payment, in letters, the handwriting of which was known
to him, but which were never signed, except by the christian name
of one of the firm, and even in some instances they were without
any signature at all. These orders were executed; and in no
instance was there the least irregularity in the payments.

275. Another circumstance may be noticed, which to a small
extent is more advantageous to large than to small factories. In
the export of several articles of manufacture, a drawback is
allowed by government, of a portion of the duty paid on the
importation of the raw material. In such circumstances, certain
forms must be gone through in order to protect the revenue from
fraud; and a clerk, or one of the partners, must attend at the
custom-house. The agent of the large establishment occupies
nearly the same time in receiving a drawback of several
thousands, as the smaller exporter does of a few shillings. But
if the quantity exported is inconsiderable, the small
manufacturer frequently does not find the drawback will repay him
for the loss of time.

276. In many of the large establishments of our manufacturing
districts, substances are employed which are the produce of
remote countries, and which are, in several instances, almost
peculiar to a few situations. The discovery of any new locality,
where such articles exist in abundance, is a matter of great
importance to any establishment which consumes them in large
quantities; and it has been found, in some instances, that the
expense of sending persons to great distances, purposely to
discover and to collect such produce, has been amply repaid. Thus
it has happened, that the snowy mountains of Sweden and Norway,
as well as the warmer hills of Corsica, have been almost stripped
of one of their vegetable productions, by agents sent expressly
from one of our largest establishments for the dying of calicos.
Owing to the same command of capital, and to the scale upon which
the operations of large factories are carried on, their returns
admit of the expense of sending out agents to examine into the
wants and tastes of distant countries, as well as of trying
experiments, which, although profitable to them, would be ruinous
to smaller establishments possessing more limited resources.

These opinions have been so well expressed in the Report of
the Committee of the House of Commons on the Woollen Trade, in
1806, that we shall close this chapter with an extract, in which
the advantages of great factories are summed up.

Your committee have the satisfaction of seeing, that the
apprehensions entertained of factories are not only vicious in
principle, but they are practically erroneous: to such a degree.
that even the very opposite principles might be reasonably
entertained. Nor would it be difficult to prove, that the
factories, to a certain extent at least, and in the present day,
seem absolutely necessary to the wellbeing of the domestic
system: supplying those very particulars wherein the domestic
system must be acknowledged to be inherently defective: for it is
obvious, that the little master manufacturers cannot afford, like
the man who possesses considerable capital, to try the
experiments which are requisite, and incur the risks, and even
losses, which almost always occur, in inventing and perfecting
new articles of manufacture, or in carrying to a state of greater
perfection articles already established. He cannot learn, by
personal inspection, the wants and habits, the arts,
manufactures, and improvements of foreign countries; diligence,
economy, and prudence, are the requisites of his character, not
invention, taste, and enterprise: nor would he be warranted in
hazarding the loss of any part of his small capital. He walks in
a sure road as long as he treads in the beaten track; but he must
not deviate into the paths of speculation. The owner of a
factory, on the contrary, being commonly possessed of a large
capital, and having all his workmen employed under his own
immediate superintendence, may make experiments, hazard
speculation, invent shorter or better modes of performing old
processes, may introduce new articles, and improve and perfect
old ones, thus giving the range to his taste and fancy, and,
thereby alone enabling our manufacturers to stand the competition
with their commercial rivals in other countries. Meanwhile, as is
well worthy of remark (and experience abundantly warrants the
assertion), many of these new fabrics and inventions, when their
success is once established, become general amongst the whole
body of manufacturers: the domestic manufacturers themselves thus
benefiting, in the end, from those very factories which had been
at first the objects of their jealousy. The history of almost all
our other manufactures, in which great improvements have been
made of late years in some cases at an immense expense, and after
numbers of unsuccessful experiments, strikingly illustrates and
enforces the above remarks. It is besides an acknowledged fact,
that the owners of factories are often amongst the most extensive
purchasers at the halls, where they buy from the domestic
clothier the established articles of manufacture, or are able at
once to answer a great and sudden order; whilst, at home, and
under their own superintendence, they make their fancy goods, and
any articles of a newer, more costly, or more delicate quality,
to which they are enabled by the domestic system to apply a much
larger proportion of their capital. Thus, the two systems,
instead of rivalling, are mutual aids to each other: each
supplying the other's defects, and promoting the other's
prosperity.

Notes:

1. Lander's Journal of an Expedition to the Mouth of the Niger,
vol. ii., p. 42.



Chapter 23

On the Position of Large Factories

277. It is found in every country, that the situation of
large manufacturing establishments is confined to particular
districts. In the earlier history of a manufacturing community,
before cheap modes of transport have been extensively introduced,
it will almost always be found that manufactories are placed near
those spots in which nature has produced the raw material:
especially in the case of articles of great weight, and in those
the value of which depends more upon the material than upon the
labour expended on it. Most of the metallic ores being
exceedingly heavy, and being mixed up with large quantities of
weighty and useless materials, must be smelted at no great
distance from the spot which affords them: fuel and power are the
requisites for reducing them; and any considerable fall of water
in the vicinity will naturally be resorted to for aid in the
coarser exertions of physical force; for pounding the ore, for
blowing the furnaces, or for hammering and rolling out the iron.
There are indeed peculiar circumstances which will modify this.
Iron, coal, and limestone, commonly occur in the same tracts; but
the union of the fuel in the same locality with the ore does not
exist with respect to other metals. The tracts generally the most
productive of metallic ores are, geologically speaking, different
from those affording coal: thus in Cornwall there are veins of
copper and of tin, but no beds of coal. The copper ore, which
requires a very large quantity of fuel for its reduction, is sent
by sea to the coalfields of Wales, and is smelted at Swansea;
whilst the vessels which convey it, take back coals to work the
steam-engines for draining the mines, and to smelt the tin, which
requires for that purpose a much smaller quantity of fuel than
copper.

278. Rivers passing through districts rich in coal and
metals, will form the first highroads for the conveyance of
weighty produce to stations in which other conveniences present
themselves for the further application of human skill. Canals
will succeed, or lend their aid to these; and the yet unexhausted
applications of steam and of gas, hold out a hope of attaining
almost the same advantages for countries to which nature seemed
for ever to have denied them. Manufactures, commerce, and
civilization, always follow the line of new and cheap
communications. Twenty years ago, the Mississippi poured the vast
volume of its waters in lavish profusion through thousands of
miles of countries, which scarcely supported a few wandering and
uncivilized tribes of Indians. The power of the stream seemed to
set at defiance the efforts of man to ascend its course; and, as
if to render the task still more hopeless, large trees, torn from
the surrounding forests, were planted like stakes in its bottom,
forming in some places barriers, in others the nucleus of banks;
and accumulating in the same spot, which but for accident would
have been free from both, the difficulties and dangers of shoals
and of rocks. Four months of incessant toil could scarcely convey
a small bark with its worn-out crew two thousand miles up this
stream. The same voyage is now performed in fifteen days by large
vessels impelled by steam, carrying hundreds of passengers
enjoying all the comforts and luxuries of civilized life. Instead
of the hut of the Indian, and the far more unfrequent log house
of the thinly scattered settlers--villages, towns, and cities,
have arisen on its banks; and the same engine which stems the
force of these powerful waters, will probably tear from their
bottom the obstructions which have hitherto impeded and rendered
dangerous their navigation.(1*)

279. The accumulation of many large manufacturing
establishments in the same district has a tendency to bring
together purchasers or their agents from great distances, and
thus to cause the institution of a public mart or exchange. This
contributes to diffuse information relative to the supply of raw
materials, and the state of demand for their produce, with which
it is necessary manufacturers should be well acquainted. The very
circumstance of collecting periodically, at one place, a large
number both of those who supply the market and of those who
require its produce, tends strongly to check the accidental
fluctuations to which a small market is always subject, as well
as to render the average of the prices much more uniform.

280. When capital has been invested in machinery, and in
buildings for its accommodation, and when the inhabitants of the
neighbourhood have acquired a knowledge of the modes of working
at the machines, reasons of considerable weight are required to
cause their removal. Such changes of position do however occur;
and they have been alluded to by the Committee on the Fluctuation
of Manufacturers' Employment, as one of the causes interfering
most materially with an uniform rate of wages: it is therefore of
particular importance to the workmen to be acquainted with the
real causes which have driven manufactures from their ancient
seats.

"The migration or change of place of any manufacture has
sometimes arisen from improvements of machinery not applicable to
the spot where such manufacture was carried on, as appears to
have been the case with the woollen manufacture, which has in
great measure migrated from Essex, Suffolk, and other southern
counties, to the northern districts, where coal for the use of
the steam-engine is much cheaper. But this change has, in some
instances, been caused or accelerated by the conduct of the
workmen, in refusing a reasonable reduction of wages, or opposing
the introduction of some kind of improved machinery or process;
so that, during the dispute, another spot has in great measure
supplied their place in the market. Any violence used by the
workmen against the property of their masters, and any
unreasonable combination on their part, is almost sure thus to be
injurious to themselves."

281. These removals become of serious consequence when the
factories have been long established, because a population
commensurate with their wants invariably grows up around them.
The combinations in Nottinghamshire, of persons under the name of
Luddites, drove a great number of lace frames from that district,
and caused establishments to be formed in Devonshire. We ought
also to observe, that the effect of driving any establishment
into a new district, where similar works have not previously
existed, is not merely to place it out of the reach of such
combinations; but, after a few years, the example of its success
will most probably induce other capitalists in the new district
to engage in the same manufacture: and thus, although one
establishment only should be driven away, the workmen, through
whose combination its removal is effected, will not merely suffer
by the loss of that portion of demand for their labour which the
factory caused; but the value of that labour will itself be
reduced by the competition of a new field of production.

282. Another circumstance which has its influence on this
question, is the nature of the machinery. Heavy machinery, such
as stamping-mills, steam-engines, etc., cannot readily be moved,
and must always be taken to pieces for that purpose; but when the
machinery of a factory consists of a multitude of separate
engines, each complete in itself, and all put in motion by one
source of power, such as that of steam, then the removal is much
less inconvenient. Thus, stocking frames, lace machines, and
looms, can be transported to more favourable positions, with but
a small separation of their parts.

283. It is of great importance that the more intelligent
amongst the class of workmen should examine into the correctness
of these views; because, without having their attention directed
to them, the whole class may, in some instances, be led by
designing persons to pursue a course, which, although plausible
in appearance, is in reality at variance with their own best
interests. I confess I am not without a hope that this volume may
fall into the hands of workmen, perhaps better qualified than
myself to reason upon a subject which requires only plain common
sense, and whose powers are sharpened by its importance to their
personal happiness. In asking their attention to the preceding
remarks, and to those which I shall offer respecting
combinations, I can claim only one advantage over them; namely,
that I never have had, and in all human probability never shall
have, the slightest pecuniary interest, to influence even
remotely, or by anticipation, the judgements I have formed on the
facts which have come before me.

NOTES:

1. The amount of obstructions arising from the casual fixing of
trees in the bottom of the river, may be estimated from the
proportion of steamboats destroyed by running upon them. The
subjoined statement is taken from the American Almanack for 1832.

Between the years 1811 and 1831, three hundred and
forty-eight steamboats were built on the Mississippi and its
tributary streams. During that period a hundred and fifty were
lost or worn out.

Of this hundred and fifty: worn out         63
                           lost by snags    36
                           burnt            14
                           lost by collision 3
                           by accidents not ascertained 34
Thirty six or nearly one fourth, being destroyed by accidental
obstruction.

Snag is the name given in America to trees which stand nearly
upright in the stream with their roots fixed at the bottom.

It is usual to divide off at the bow of the steamboats a
watertight chamber, in order that when a hole is made in it by
running against the snags, the water may not enterthe rest of the
vessel and sink it intantly.



Chapter 24

On Over Manufacturing

284. One of the natural and almost inevitable consequences of
competition is the production of a supply much larger than the
demand requires. This result usually arises periodically; and it
is equally important, both to the masters and to the workmen, to
prevent its occurrence, or to foresee its arrival. In situations
where a great number of very small capitalists exist--where each
master works himself and is assisted by his own family, or by a
few journeymen--and where a variety of different articles is
produced, a curious system of compensation has arisen which in
some measure diminishes the extent to which fluctuations of wages
would otherwise reach. This is accomplished by a species of
middlemen or factors, persons possessing some capital, who,
whenever the price of any of the articles in which they deal is
greatly reduced, purchase it on their own account, in the hopes
of selling at a profit when the market is better. These persons,
in ordinary times, act as salesmen or agents, and make up
assortments of goods at the market price, for the use of the home
or foreign dealer. They possess large warehouses in which to make
up their orders, or keep in store articles purchased during
periods of depression; thus acting as a kind of flywheel in
equalizing the market price. 285. The effect of
over-manufacturing upon great establishments is different. When
an over supply has reduced prices, one of two events usually
occurs: the first is a diminished payment for labour; the other
is a diminution of the number of hours during which the labourers
work, together with a diminished rate of wages. In the former
case production continues to go on at its ordinary rate: in the
latter, the production itself being checked, the supply again
adjusts itself to the demand as soon as the stock on hand is
worked off, and prices then regain their former level. The latter
course appears, in the first instance, to be the best both for
masters and men; but there seems to be a difficulty in
accomplishing this, except where the trade is in few hands. In
fact, it is almost necessary, for its success, that there should
be a combination amongst the masters or amongst the men; or, what
is always far preferable to either, a mutual agreement for their
joint interests. Combination amongst the men is difficult, and is
always attended with the evils which arise from the ill-will
excited against any persons who, in the perfectly justifiable
exercise of their judgement, are disposed not to act with the
majority. The combination of the masters, on the other hand, is
unavailing, unless the whole body of them agree, for if any one
master can procure more labour for his money than the rest, he
will be able to undersell them.

286. If we look only at the interests of the consumer, the
case is different. When too large a supply has produced a great
reduction of price, it opens the consumption of the article to a
new class, and increases the consumption of those who previously
employed it: it is therefore against the interest of both these
parties that a return to the former price should occur. It is
also certain, that by the diminution of profit which the
manufacturer suffers from the diminished price, his ingenuity
will be additionally stimulated; that he will apply himself to
discover other and cheaper sources for the supply of his raw
material; that he will endeavour to contrive improved machinery
which shall manufacture it at a cheaper rate; or try to introduce
new arrangements into his factory, which shall render the economy
of it more perfect. In the event of his success, by any of these
courses or by their joint effects, a real and substantial good
will be produced. A larger portion of the public will receive
advantage from the use of the article, and they will procure it
at a lower price; and the manufacturer, though his profit on each
operation is reduced, will yet, by the more frequent returns on
the larger produce of his factory, find his real gain at the end
of the year, nearly the same as it was before; whilst the wages
of the workman will return to their level, and both the
manufacturer and the workman will find the demand less
fluctuating, from its being dependent on a larger number of
customers.

287. It would be highly interesting, if we could trace, even
approximately, through the history of any great manufacture, the
effects of gluts in producing improvements in machinery, or in
methods of working; and if we could shew what addition to the
annual quantity of goods previously manufactured, was produced by
each alteration. It would probably be found, that the increased
quantity manufactured by the same capital, when worked with the
new improvement, would produce nearly the same rate of profit as
other modes of investment.

Perhaps the manufacture of iron(1*) would furnish the best
illustration of this subject; because, by having the actual price
of pig and bar iron at the same place and at the same time, the
effect of a change in the value of currency, as well as several
other sources of irregularity, would be removed.

288. At the present moment, whilst the manufacturers of iron
are complaining of the ruinously low price of their produce, a
new mode of smelting iron is coming into use, which, if it
realizes the statement of the patentees, promises to reduce
greatly the cost of production.

The improvement consists in heating the air previously to
employing it for blowing the furnace. One of the results is, that
coal may be used instead of coke; and this, in its turn,
diminishes the quantity of limestone which is required for the
fusion of the iron stone.

The following statement by the proprietors of the patent is
extracted from Brewster's Journal, 1832, p. 349:

Comparative view of the quantity of materials required at the
Clyde iron works to smelt a ton of foundry pig-iron, and of the
quantity of foundry pig-iron smelted from each furnace weekly

Fuel in tons of 20 cwt each cwt 112 lbs; Iron-stone; Lime-stone
Cwt; Weekly produce in pig-iron Tons

1. With air not heated and coke; 7;3 1/4; 15; 45
2. With air heated and coke; 4 3/4; 3 1/4; 10; 60
3. With air heated and coals not coked; 2 1/4; 3 1/4; 7 1/2; 65

Notes. 1. To the coals stated in the second and third lines, must
be added 5 cwt of small coals, required to heat the air.

2. The expense of the apparatus for applying the heated air
will be from L200 to L300 per furnace.

3. No coals are now coked at the Clyde iron works; at all the
three furnaces the iron is smelted with coals.

4. The three furnaces are blown by a double-powered
steam-engine, with a steam cylinder 40 inches in diameter, and a
blowing cylinder 80 inches in diameter, which compresses the air
so as to carry 2 1/2 lbs per square inch. There are two tuyeres
to each furnace. The muzzles of the blowpipes are 3 inches in
diameter.

5. The air heated to upwards of 600 degrees  of Fahrenheit.
It will melt lead at the distance of three inches from the
orifice through which it issues from the pipe.

289. The increased effect produced by thus heating the air is
by no means an obvious result; and an analysis of its action will
lead to some curious views respecting the future application of
machinery for blowing furnaces.

Every cubic foot of atmospheric air, driven into a furnace,
consists of two gases.(2*) about one-fifth being oxygen, and
four-fifths azote.

According to the present state of chemical knowledge, the
oxygen alone is effective in producing heat; and the operation of
blowing a furnace may be thus analysed.

1. The air is forced into the furnace in a condensed state,
and, immediately expanding, abstracts heat from the surrounding
bodies.

2. Being itself of moderate temperature, it would, even
without expansion, still require heat to raise it to the
temperature of the hot substances to which it is to be applied.

3. On coming into contact with the ignited substances in the
furnace, the oxygen unites with them, parting at the same moment
with a large portion of its latent heat, and forming compounds
which have less specific heat than their separate constituents.
Some of these pass up the chimney in a gaseous state, whilst
others remain in the form of melted slags, floating on the
surface of the iron, which is fused by the heat thus set at
liberty.

4. The effects of the azote are precisely similar to the
first and second of those above described; it seems to form no
combinations, and contributes nothing, in any stage, to augment
the heat.

The plan, therefore, of heating the air before driving it
into the furnace saves, obviously, the whole of that heat which
the fuel must have supplied in raising it from the temperature
of the external air up to that of 600 degrees  Fahrenheit; thus
rendering the fire more intense, and the glassy slags more
fusible, and perhaps also more effectually decomposing the iron
ore. The same quantity of fuel, applied at once to the furnace,
would only prolong the duration of its heat, not augment its
intensity.

290. The circumstance of so large a portion of the air(3*)
driven into furnaces being not merely useless, but acting really
as a cooling, instead of a heating, cause, added to so great a
waste of mechanical power in condensing it, amounting, in fact,
to four-fifths of the whole, clearly shews the defects of the
present method, and the want of some better mode of exciting
combustion on a large scale. The following suggestions are thrown
out as likely to lead to valuable results, even though they
should prove ineffectual for their professed object.

291. The great difficulty appears to be to separate the
oxygen, which aids combustion, from the azote which impedes it.
If either of those gases becomes liquid at a lower pressure than
the other, and if those pressures are within the limits of our
present powers of compression, the object might be accomplished.

Let us assume, for example, that oxygen becomes liquid under
a pressure of 200 atmospheres, whilst azote requires a pressure
of 250. Then if atmospheric air be condensed to the two hundredth
part of its bulk, the oxygen will be found in a liquid state at
the bottom of the vessel in which the condensation is effected,
and the upper part of the vessel will contain only azote in the
state of gas. The oxygen, now liquefied, may be drawn off for the
supply of the furnace; but as it ought when used, to have a very
moderate degree of condensation, its expansive force may be
previously employed in working a small engine. The compressed
azote also in the upper part of the vessel, though useless for
combustion, may be employed as a source of power, and, by its
expansion, work another engine. By these means the mechanical
force exerted in the original compression would all be restored,
except that small part retained for forcing the pure oxygen into
the furnace, and the much larger part lost in the friction of the
apparatus.

292. The principal difficulty to be apprehended in these
operations is that of packing a working piston so as to bear the
pressure of 200 or 300 atmospheres: but this does not seem
insurmountable. It is possible also that the chemical combination
of the two gases which constitute common air may be effected by
such pressures: if this should be the case, it might offer a new
mode of manufacturing nitrous or nitric acids. The result of such
experiments might take another direction: if the condensation
were performed over liquids, it is possible that they might enter
into new chemical combinations. Thus, if air were highly
condensed in a vessel containing water, the latter might unite
with an additional dose of oxygen, (4*) which might afterwards
be easily disengaged for the use of the furnace.

293. A further cause of the uncertainty of the results of
such an experiment arises from the possibility that azote may
really contribute to the fusion of the mixed mass in the furnace,
though its mode of operating is at present unknown. An
examination of the nature of the gases issuing from the chimneys
of iron-foundries, might perhaps assist in clearing up this
point; and, in fact, if such enquiries were also instituted upon
the various products of all furnaces, we might expect the
elucidation of many points in the economy of the metallurgic art.

294. It is very possible also, that the action of oxygen in a
liquid state might be exceedingly corrosive, and that the
containing vessels must be lined with platinum or some other
substance of very difficult oxydation; and most probably new and
unexpected compounds would be formed at such pressures. In some
experiments made by Count Rumford in 1797, on the force of fired
gunpowder, he noticed a solid compound, which always appeared in
the gunbarrel when the ignited powder had no means of escaping;
and, in those cases, the gas which escaped on removing the
restraining pressure was usually inconsiderable.

295. If the liquefied gases are used, the form of the iron
furnace must probably be changed, and perhaps it may be necessary
to direct the flame from the ignited fuel upon the ore to be
fused, instead of mixing that ore with the fuel itself: by a
proper regulation of the blast, an oxygenating or a deoxygenating
flame might be procured; and from the intensity of the flame,
combined with its chemical agency, we might expect the most
refractory ore to be smelted, and that ultimately the metals at
present almost infusible, such as platinum, titanium, and others,
might be brought into common use, and thus effect a revolution in
the arts.

296. Supposing, on the occurrence of a glut, that new and
cheaper modes of producing are not discovered, and that the
production continues to exceed the demand, then it is apparent
that too much capital is employed in the trade; and after a time,
the diminished rate of profit will drive some of the
manufacturers to other occupations. What particular individuals
will leave it must depend on a variety of circumstances. Superior
industry and attention will enable some factories to make a
profit rather beyond the rest; superior capital in others will
enable them, without these advantages, to support competition
longer, even at a loss, with the hope of driving the smaller
capitalists out of the market, and then reimbursing themselves by
an advanced price. It is, however, better for all parties, that
this contest should not last long; and it is important, that no
artificial restraint should interfere to prevent it. An instance
of such restriction, and of its injurious effect, occurs at the
port of Newcastle, where a particular Act of Parliament requires
that every ship shall be loaded in its turn. The Committee of the
House of Commons, in their Report on the Coal Trade, state that,

 'Under the regulations contained in this Act, if more ships
enter into the trade than can be profitablv employed in it, the
loss produced by detention in port, and waiting for a cargo.
which must consequently take place, instead of falling, as it
naturally would, upon particular ships, and forcing them from the
trade, is now divided evenly amongst them; and the loss thus
created is shared by the whole number.' Report, p. 6.

 297. It is not pretended, in this short view, to trace out all
the effects or remedies of over-manufacturing; the subject is
difficult, and, unlike some of the questions already treated,
requires a combined view of the relative influence of many
concurring causes.

NOTES:

1. The average price per ton of pig iron, bar iron, and coal,
together with the price paid for labour at the works, for a long
series of years, would be very valuable, and I shall feel much
indebted to anyone who will favour me with it for any, even
short, period.

2. The accurate proportions are, by measure, oxygen 21, azote 79.

3. A similar reasoning may be applied to lamps. An Argand burner,
whether used for consuming oil or gas, admits almost an unlimited
quantity of air. It would deserve enquiry, whether a smaller
quantity might not produce greater light; and, possibly, a
different supply furnish more heat with the same expenditure of
fuel.

4. Deutoxide of hydrogen, the oxygenated water of Thenard.



Chapter 25

Enquiries Previous to Commencing any Manufactory

298. There are many enquiries which ought always to be made
previous to the commencement of the manufacture of any new
article. These chiefly relate to the expense of tools, machinery,
raw materials, and all the outgoings necessary for its
production; to the extent of demand which is likely to arise; to
the time in which the circulating capital will be replaced; and
to the quickness or slowness with which the new article will
supersede those already in use.

299. The expense of tools and of new machines will be more
difficult to ascertain, in proportion as they differ from those
already employed; but the variety in constant use in our various
manufactories, is such, that few inventions now occur in which
considerable resemblance may not be traced to others already
constructed. The cost of the raw material is usually less
difficult to determine; but cases occasionally arise in which it
becomes important to examine whether the supply, at the given
price, can be depended upon: for, in the case of a small
consumption, the additional demand arising from a factory may
produce a considerable temporary rise, though it may ultimately
reduce the price.

300. The quantity of any new article likely to be consumed is
a most important subject for the consideration of the projector
of a new manufacture. As these pages are not intended for the
instruction of the manufacturer, but rather for the purpose of
giving a general view of the subject, an illustration of the way
in which such questions are regarded by practical men, will,
perhaps, be most instructive. The following extract from the
evidence given before a Committee of the House of Commons, in the
Report on Artizans and Machinery, shews the extent to which
articles apparently the most insignificant, are consumed, and the
view which the manufacturer takes of them.

The person examined on this occasion was Mr Ostler, a
manufacturer of glass beads and other toys of the same substance,
from Birmingham. Several of the articles made by him were placed
upon the table, for the inspection of the Committee of the House
of Commons, which held its meetings in one of the
committee-rooms.

Question. Is there any thing else you have to state upon this
subject?
Answer. Gentlemen may consider the articles on the table as
extremely insignificant: but perhaps I may surprise them a
little, by mentioning the following fact. Eighteen years ago, on
my first journey to London, a respectable-looking man, in the
city, asked me if I could supply him with dolls' eyes; and I was
foolish enough to feel half offended; I thought it derogatory to
my new dignity as a manufacturer, to make dolls' eyes. He took me
into a room quite as wide, and perhaps twice the length of this,
and we had just room to walk between stacks, from the loor to the
ceiling, of parts of dolls. He said, 'These are only the legs and
arms; the trunks are below., But I saw enough to convince me,
that he wanted a great many eyes; and, as the article appeared
quite in my own line of business, I said I would take an order by
way of experiment; and he shewed me several specimens. I copied
the order. He ordered various quantities, and of various sizes
and qualities. On returning to the Tavistock Hotel, I found that
the order amounted to upwards of 500l. I went into the country,
and endeavoured to make them. I had some of the most ingenious
glass toymakers in the kingdom in my service; but when I shewed
it to them, they shook their heads, and said they had often seen
the article before, but could not make it. I engaged them by
presents to use their best exertions; but after trying and
wasting a great deal of time for three or four weeks, I was
obliged to relinquish the attempt. Soon afterwards I engaged in
another branch of business (chandelier furniture), and took no
more notice of it. About eighteen months ago I resumed the
trinket trade, and then determined to think of the dolls' eyes;
and about eight months since, I accidentally met with a poor
fellow who had impoverished himself by drinking, and who was
dying in a consumption, in a state of great want. I showed him
ten sovereigns: and he said he would instruct me in the process.
He was in such a state that he could not bear the effluvia of his
own lamp, but though I was very conversant with the manual part
of the business, and it related to things I was daily in the
habit of seeing, I felt I could do nothing from his description.
(I mention this to show how difficult it is to convey, by
description, the mode of working.) He took me into his garret,
where the poor fellow had economized to such a degree, that he
actually used the entrails and fat of poultry from Leadenhall
market to save oil (the price of the article having been lately
so much reduced by competition at home). In an instant, before I
had seen him make three, I felt competent to make a gross; and
the difference between his mode and that of my own workmen was so
trifling, that I felt the utmost astonishment.

Question. You can now make dolls' eyes?
Answer. I can. As it was eighteen years ago that I received the
order I have mentioned, and feeling doubtful of my own
recollection, though very strong, and suspecting that it could
[not] have been to the amount stated, I last night took the
present very reduced price of that article (less than half now of
what it was then), and calculating that every child in this
country not using a doll till two years old, and throwing it
aside at seven, and having a new one annually, I satisfied myself
that the eyes alone would produce a circulation of a great many
thousand pounds. I mention this merely to shew the importance of
trifles; and to assign one reason, amongst many, for my
conviction that nothing but personal communication can enable
our manufactures to be transplanted.

301. In many instances it is exceedingly difficult to
estimate beforehand the sale of an article, or the effects of a
machine; a case, however, occurred during a recent enquiry, which
although not quite appropriate as an illustration of probable
demand, is highly instructive as to the mode of conducting
investigations of this nature. A committee of the House of
Commons was appointed to enquire into the tolls proper to be
placed on steam-carriages; a question, apparently, of difficult
solution, and upon which widely different opinions had been
formed, if we may judge by the very different rate of tolls
imposed upon such carriages by different 'turnpike trusts'. The
principles on which the committee conducted the enquiry were,
that 'The only ground on which a fair claim to toll can be made
on any public road, is to raise a fund, which, with the strictest
economy, shall be just sufficient--first, to repay the expense
of its original formation; secondly, to maintain it in good and
sufficient repair.' They first endeavoured to ascertain, from
competent persons, the effect of the atmosphere alone in
deteriorating a well-constructed road. The next step was, to
determine the proportion in which the road was injured, by the
effect of the horses' feet compared with that of the wheels. Mr
Macneill, the superintendent, under Mr Telford, of the Holyhead
roads, was examined, and proposed to estimate the relative
injury, from the comparative quantities of iron worn off from the
shoes of the horses, and from the tire of the wheels. From the
data he possessed, respecting the consumption of iron for the
tire of the wheels, and for the shoes of the horses, of one of
the Birmingham day-coaches, he estimated the wear and tear of
roads, arising from the feet of the horses, to be three times as
great as that arising from the wheels. Supposing repairs
amounting to a hundred pounds to be required on a road travelled
over by a fast coach at the rate of ten miles an hour, and the
same amount of injury to occur on another road, used only by
waggons, moving at the rate of three miles an hour, Mr Macneill
divides the injuries in the following proportions:

 Injuries arising from;  Fast coach; Heavy waggon
 Atmospheric changes         20         20
 Wheels                      20         35.5
 Horses' feet drawing        60         44.5
 Total injury               100        100


Supposing it, therefore, to be ascertained that the wheels of
steam carriages do no more injury to roads than other carriages
of equal weight travelling with the same velocity, the committee
now possessed the means of approximating to a just rate of toll
for steam carriages.(1*)

302. As connected with this subject, and as affording most
valuable information upon points in which, previous to
experiment, widely different opinions have been entertained; the
following extract is inserted from Mr Telford's Report on the
State of the Holyhead and Liverpool Roads. The instrument
employed for the comparison was invented by Mr Macneill; and the
road between London and Shrewsbury was selected for the place of
experiment.

The general results, when a waggon weighing 21 cwt was used
on different sorts of roads, are as follows:

                                        lbs
1. On well-made pavement, the draught is 33

2. On a broken stone surface, or old flint road 65

3. On a gravel road 147

4. On a broken stone road, upon a rough pavement foundation 46

5. On a broken stone surface, upon a bottoming of concrete,
formed of Parker's cement and gravel 46

The following statement relates to the force required to draw a
coach weighing 18 cwt. exclusive of seven passengers, up roads of
various inclinations:

Inclination; Force required at six miles per hour; Force at
eight miles per hour; Force at ten miles per hour

            lbs     lbs     lbs
 1 in  20   268     296     318
 1 in  26   213     219     225
 1 in  30   165     196     200
 1 in  40   160     166     172
 1 in 600   111     120     128


303. In establishing a new manufactory, the time in which the
goods produced can be brought to market and the returns be
realized, should be thoroughly considered, as well as the time
the new article will take to supersede those already in use. If
it is destroyed in using, the new produce will be much more
easily introduced. Steel pens readily took the place of quills;
and a new form of pen would, if it possessed any advantage, as
easily supersede the present one. A new lock, however secure, and
however cheap, would not so readily make its way. If less
expensive than the old, it would be employed in new work: but old
locks would rarely be removed to make way for it; and even if
perfectly secure, its advance would be slow.

304. Another element in this question which should not be
altogether omitted, is the opposition which the new manufacture
may create by its real or apparent injury to other interests, and
the probable effect of that opposition. This is not always
foreseen; and when anticipated is often inaccurately estimated.
On the first establishment of steamboats from London to Margate,
the proprietors of the coaches running on that line of road
petitioned the House of Commons against them, as likely to lead
to the ruin of the coach proprietors. It was, however, found that
the fear was imaginary; and in a very few years, the number of
coaches on that road was considerably increased, apparently
through the very means which were thought to be adverse to it.
The fear, which is now entertained, that steampower and railroads
may drive out of employment a large proportion of the horses at
present in use, is probably not less unfounded. On some
particular lines such an effect might be produced; but in all
probability the number of horses employed in conveying goods and
passengers to the great lines of railroad, would exceed that
which is at present used.

NOTES:

1. One of the results of these enquiries is, that every coach
which travels from London to Birmingham distributes about eleven
pounds of wrought iron, along with the line of road between the
two places.



Chapter 26

On a New System of Manufacturing

305. A most erroneous and unfortunate opinion prevails
amongst workmen in many manufacturing countries, that their own
interest and that of their employers are at variance. The
consequences are that valuable machinery is sometimes neglected,
and even privately injured--that new improvements, introduced by
the masters, do not receive a fair trial--and that the talents
and observations of the workmen are not directed to the
improvement of the processes in which they are employed. This
error is, perhaps, most prevalent where the establishment of
manufactories has been of recent origin, and where the number of
persons employed in them is not very large: thus, in some of the
Prussian provinces on the Rhine it prevails to a much greater
extent than in Lancashire. Perhaps its diminished prevalence in
our own manufacturing districts, arises partly from the superior
information spread amongst the workmen; and partly from the
frequent example of persons, who by good conduct and an attention
to the interests of their employers for a series of years, have
become foremen, or who have ultimately been admitted into
advantageous partnerships. Convinced as I am, from my own
observation, that the prosperity and success of the master
manufacturer is essential to the welfare of the workman, I am yet
compelled to admit that this connection is, in many cases, too
remote to be always understood by the latter, and whilst it is
perfectly true that workmen, as a class, derive advantage from
the prosperity of their employers, I do not think that each
individual partakes of that advantage exactly in proportion to
the extent to which he contributes towards it; nor do I perceive
that the resulting advantage is as immediate as it might become
under a different system.

306. It would be of great importance, if, in every large
establishment the mode of payment could be so arranged, that
every person employed should derive advantage from the success of
the whole; and that the profits of each individual should
advance, as the factory itself produced profit, without the
necessity of making any change in the wages. This is by no means
easy to effect, particularly amongst that class whose daily
labour procures for them their daily food. The system which has
long been pursued in working the Cornish mines, although not
exactly fulfilling these conditions, yet possesses advantages
which make it worthy of attention, as having nearly approached
towards them, and as tending to render fully effective the
faculties of all who are engaged in it. I am the more strongly
induced to place before the reader a short sketch of this system,
because its similarity to that which I shall afterwards recommend
for trial, will perhaps remove some objections to the latter, and
may also furnish some valuable hints for conducting any
experiment which might be undertaken.

307. In the mines of Cornwall, almost the whole of the
operations, both above and below ground, are contracted for. The
manner of making the contract is nearly as follows. At the end of
every two months, the work which it is proposed to carry on
during the next period is marked out. It is of three kinds. 1.
Tutwork, which consists in sinking shafts, driving levels, and
making excavations: this is paid for by the fathom in depth, or
in length, or by the cubic fathom. 2. Tribute, which is payment
for raising and dressing the ore, by means of a certain part of
its v alue when rendered merchantable. It is this mode of payment
which produces such admirable effects. The miners, who are to be
paid in proportion to the richness of the vein, and the quantity
of metal extracted from it, naturally become quicksighted in the
discovery of ore, and in estimating its value; and it is their
interest to avail themselves of every improvement that can bring
it more cheaply to market. 3. Dressing. The 'Tributors', who dig
and dress the ore, can seldom afford to dress the coarser parts
of what they raise, at their contract price; this portion,
therefore, is again let out to other persons, who agree to dress
it at an advanced price.

The lots of ore to be dressed, and the works to be carried
on, having been marked out some days before, and having been
examined by the men, a kind of auction is held by the captains of
the mine, in which each lot is put up, and bid for by different
gangs of men. The work is then offered, at a price usually below
that bid at the auction, to the lowest bidder, who rarely
declines it at the rate proposed. The tribute is a certain sum
out of every twenty shillings' worth of ore raised, and may vary
from threepence to fourteen or fifteen shillings. The rate of
earnings in tribute is very uncertain: if a vein, which was poor
when taken, becomes rich, the men earn money rapidly; and
instances have occurred in which each miner of a gang has gained
a hundred pounds in the two months. These extraordinary cases,
are, perhaps, of more advantage to the owners of the mine than
even to the men; for whilst the skill and industry of the workmen
are greatly stimulated, the owner himself always derives still
greater advantage from the improvement of the vein.(1*) This
system has been introduced, by Mr Taylor, into the lead mines of
Flintshire, into those at Skipton in Yorkshire, and into some of
the copper mines of Cumberland; and it is desirable that it
should become general, because no other mode of payment affords
to the workmen a measure of success so directly proportioned to
the industry, the integrity, and the talent, which they exert.

308. I shall now present the outline of a system which
appears to me to be pregnant with the most important results,
both to the class of workmen and to the country at large; and
which, if acted upon, would, in my opinion, permanently raise the
working classes, and greatly extend the manufacturing system.

The general principles on which the proposed system is
founded, are

1. That a considerable part of the wages received by each
person employed should depend on the profits made by the
establishment; and,

2. That every person connected with it should derive more
advantage from applying any improvement he might discover, to the
factory in which he is employed, than he could by any other
course.

309. It would be difficult to prevail on the large capitalist
to enter upon any system, which would change the division of the
profits arising from the employment of his capital in setting
skill and labour in action; any alteration, therefore, must be
expected rather from the small capitalist, or from the higher
class of workmen, who combine the two characters; and to these
latter classes, whose welfare will be first affected, the change
is most important. I shall therefore first point out the course
to be pursued in making the experiment; and then, taking a
particular branch of trade as an illustration, I shall examine
the merits and defects of the proposed system as applied to it.

310. Let us suppose, in some large manufacturing town, ten or
twelve of the most intelligent and skilful workmen to unite,
whose characters for sobriety and steadiness are good, and are
well known among their own class. Such persons will each possess
some small portion of capital; and let them join with one or two
others who have raised themselves into the class of small master
manufacturers, and, therefore possess rather a larger portion of
capital. Let these persons, after well considering the subject,
agree to establish a manufactory of fire-irons and fenders; and
let us suppose that each of the ten workmen can command forty
pounds, and each of the small capitalists possesses two hundred
pounds: thus they have a capital of L800 with which to commence
business; and, for the sake of simplifying, let us further
suppose the labour of each of these twelve persons to be worth
two pounds a week. One portion of their capital will be expended
in procuring the tools necessary for their trade, which we shall
take at L400, and this must be considered as their fixed capital.
The remaining L400 must be employed as circulating capital, in
purchasing the iron with which their articles are made, in paying
the rent of their workshops, and in supporting themselves and
their families until some portion of it is replaced by the sale
of the goods produced.

311. Now the first question to be settled is, what proportion
of the profit should be allowed for the use of capital, and what
for skill and labour? It does not seem possible to decide this
question by any abstract reasoning: if the capital supplied by
each partner is equal, all difficulty will be removed; if
otherwise, the proportion must be left to find its level, and
will be discovered by experience; and it is probable that it will
not fluctuate much. Let us suppose it to be agreed that the
capital of L800 shall receive the wages of one workman. At the
end of each week every workman is to receive one pound as wages,
and one pound is to be divided amongst the owners of the capital.
After a few weeks the returns will begin to come in; and they
will soon become nearly uniform. Accurate accounts should be kept
of every expense and of all the sales; and at the end of each
week the profit should be divided. A certain portion should be
laid aside as a reserved fund, another portion for repair of the
tools, and the remainder being divided into thirteen parts, one
of these parts would be divided amongst the capitalists and one
belong to each workman. Thus each man would, in ordinary
circumstances, make up his usual wages of two pounds weekly. If
the factory went on prosperously, the wages of the men would
increase; if the sales fell off they would be diminished. It is
important that every person employed in the establishment,
whatever might be the amount paid for his services, whether he
act as labourer or porter, as the clerk who keeps the accounts,
or as bookkeeper employed for a few hours once a week to
superintend them, should receive one half of what his service is
worth in fixed salary, the other part varying with the success of
the undertaking.

312. In such a factory, of course, division of labour would
be introduced: some of the workmen would be constantly employed
in forging the fire-irons, others in polishing them, others in
piercing and forming the fenders. It would be essential that the
time occupied in each process, and also its expense, should be
well ascertained; information which would soon be obtained very
precisely. Now, if a workman should find a mode of shortening any
of the processes, he would confer a benefit on the whole party,
even if they received but a small part of the resulting profit.
For the promotion of such discoveries, it would be desirable that
those who make them should either receive some reward, to be
determined after a sufficient trial by a committee assembling
periodically; or if they be of high importance, that the
discoverer should receive one-half, or twothirds, of the profit
resulting from them during the next year, or some other
determinate period, as might be found expedient. As the
advantages of such improvements would be clear gain to the
factory, it is obvious that such a share might be allowed to the
inventor, that it would be for his interest rather to give the
benefit of them to his partners, than to dispose of them in any
other way.

313. The result of such arrangements in a factory would be,

1. That every person engaged in it would have a direct
interest in its prosperity; since the effect of any success, or
falling off, would almost immediately produce a corresponding
change in his own weekly receipts.

2. Every person concerned in the factory would have an
immediate interest in preventing any waste or mismanagement in
all the departments.

3. The talents of all connected with it would be strongly
directed to its improvement in every department.

4. None but workmen of high character and qualifications
could obtain admission into such establishments; because when any
additional hands were required, it would be the common interest
of all to admit only the most respectable and skilful; and it
would be far less easy to impose upon a dozen workmen than upon
the single proprietor of a factory.

5. When any circumstance produced a glut in the market, more
skill would be directed to diminishing the cost of production;
and a portion of the time of the men might then be occupied in
repairing and improving their tools, for which a reserved fund
would pay, thus checking present, and at the same time
facilitating future production.

6. Another advantage, of no small importance, would be the
total removal of all real or imaginary causes for combinations.
The workmen and the capitalist would so shade into each other--
would so evidently have a common interest, and their difficulties
and distresses would be mutually so well understood that, instead
of combining to oppress one another, the only combination which
could exist would be a most powerful union between both parties
to overcome their common difficulties.

314. One of the difficulties attending such a system is, that
capitalists would at first fear to embark in it, imagining that
the workmen would receive too large a share of the profits: and
it is quite true that the workmen would have a larger share than
at present: but, at the same time, it is presumed the effect of
the whole system would be, that the total profits of the
establishment being much increased, the smaller proportion
allowed to capital under this system would yet be greater in
actual amount, than that which results to it from the larger
share in the system now existing.

315. It is possible that the present laws relating to
partnerships might interfere with factories so conducted. If this
interference could not be obviated by confining their purchases
under the proposed system to ready money, it would be desirable
to consider what changes in the law would be necessary to its
existence: and this furnishes another reason for entering into
the question of limited partnerships.

316. A difficulty would occur also in discharging workmen who
behaved ill, or who were not competent to their work; this would
arise from their having a certain interest in the reserved fund,
and, perhaps, from their possessing a certain portion of the
capital employed; but without entering into detail, it may be
observed, that such cases might be determined on by meetings of
the whole establishment; and that if the policy of the laws
favoured such establishments, it would scarcely be more difficult
to enforce just regulations, than it now is to enforce some which
are unjust, by means of combinations either amongst the masters
or the men.

317. Some approach to this system is already practised in
several trades: the mode of conducting the Cornish mines has
already been alluded to; the payment to the crew of whaling ships
is governed by this principle; the profits arising from fishing
with nets on the south coast of England are thus divided:
one-half the produce belongs to the owner of the boat and net;
the other half is divided in equal portions between the persons
using it, who are also bound to assist in repairing the net when
injured.

NOTES:

1. For a detailed account of the method of working the Cornish
mines, see a paper of Mr John Taylor's Transactions of the
Geological Society, vol. ii, p. 309.



Chapter 27

On Contriving Machinery

318. The power of inventing mechanical contrivances, and of
combining machinery, does not appear, if we may judge from the
frequency of its occurrence, to be a difficult or a rare gift. Of
the vast multitude of inventions which have been produced almost
daily for a series of years, a large part has failed from the
imperfect nature of the first trials; whilst a still larger
portion, which had escaped the mechanical difficulties, failed
only because the economy of their operations was not sufficiently
attended to.

The commissioners appointed to examine into the methods
proposed for preventing the forgery of bank-notes, state in their
report, that out of one hundred and seventy-eight projects
communicated to the bank and to the commissioners, there were
only twelve of superior skill, and nine which it was necessary
more particularly to examine.

319. It is however a curious circumstance, that although the
power of combining machinery is so common, yet the more beautiful
combinations are exceedingly rare. Those which command our
admiration equally by the perfection of their effects and the
simplicity of their means, are found only amongst the happiest
productions of genius.

To produce movements even of a complicated kind is not
difficult. There exist a great multitude of known contrivances
for all the more usual purposes, and if the exertion of moderate
power is the end of the mechanism to be contrived, it is possible
to construct the whole machine upon paper, and to judge of the
proper strength to be given to each part as well as to the
framework which supports it, and also of its ultimate effect,
long before a single part of it has been executed. In fact, all
the contrivance, and all the improvements, ought first to be
represented in the drawings.

320. On the other hand, there are effects dependent upon
physical or chemical properties for the determination of which no
drawings will be of any use. These are the legitimate objects of
direct trial. For example; if the ultimate result of an engine is
to be that it shall impress letters on a copperplate by means of
steel punches forced into it, all the mechanism by which the
punches and the copper are to be moved at stated intervals, and
brought into contact, is within the province of drawing, and the
machinery may be arranged entirely upon paper. But a doubt may
reasonably spring up, whether the bur that will be raised round
the letter, which has been already punched upon the copper, may
not interfere with the proper action of the punch for the letter
which is to be punched next adjacent to it. It may also be feared
that the effect of punching the second letter, if it be
sufficiently near to the first, may distort the form of that
first figure. If neither of these evils should arise, still the
bur produced by the punching might be expected to interfere with
the goodness of the impression produced by the copperplate; and
the plate itself, after having all but its edge covered with
figures, might change its form, from the unequal condensation
which it must suffer in this process, so as to render it very
difficult to take impressions from it at all. It is impossible by
any drawings to solve difficulties such as these, experiment
alone can determine their effect. Such experiments having been
made, it is found that if the sides of the steel punch are nearly
at right angles to the face of the letter, the bur produced is
very inconsiderable; that at the depth which is sufficient for
copperplate printing, no distortion of the adjacent letters takes
place, although those letters are placed very close to each
other; that the small bur which arises may easily be scraped off;
and that the copperplate is not distorted by the condensation of
the metal in punching, but is perfectly fit to print from, after
it has undergone that process.

321. The next stage in the progress of an invention, after
the drawings are finished and the preliminary experiments have
been made, if any such should be requisite, is the execution of
the machine itself. It can never be too strongly impressed upon
the minds of those who are devising new machines, that to make
the most perfect drawings of every part tends essentially both to
the success of the trial, and to economy in arriving at the
result. The actual execution from working drawings is
comparatively an easy task; provided always that good tools are
employed, and that methods of working are adopted, in which the
perfection of the part constructed depends less on the personal
skill of the workman, than upon the certainty of the method
employed.

322. The causes of failure in this stage most frequently
derive their origin from errors in the preceding one; and it is
sufficient merely to indicate a few of their sources. They
frequently arise from having neglected to take into consideration
that metals are not perfectly rigid but elastic. A steel cylinder
of small diameter must not be regarded as an inflexible rod; but
in order to ensure its perfect action as an axis, it must be
supported at proper intervals.

Again, the strength and stiffness of the framing which
supports the mechanism must be carefully attended to. It should
always be recollected, that the addition of superfluous matter to
the immovable parts of a machine produces no additional momentum,
and therefore is not accompanied with the same evil that arises
when the moving parts are increased in weight. The stiffness of
the framing in a machine produces an important advantage. If the
bearings of the axis (those places at which they are supported)
are once placed in a straight line, they will remain so, if the
framing be immovable; whereas if the framework changes its form,
though ever so slightly, considerable friction is immediately
produced. This effect is so well understood in the districts
where spinning factories are numerous, that, in estimating the
expense of working a new factory, it is allowed that five per
cent on the power of the steam-engine will be saved if the
building is fireproof: for the greater strength and rigidity of a
fireproof building prevents the movement of the long shafts or
axes which drive the machinery, from being impeded by the
friction that would arise from the slightest deviation in any of
the bearings.

323. In conducting experiments upon machinery, it is quite a
mistake to suppose that any imperfect mechanical work is good
enough for such a purpose. If the experiment is worth making, it
ought to be tried with all the advantages of which the state of
mechanical art admits; for an imperfect trial may cause an idea
to be given up, which better workmanship might have proved to be
practicable. On the other hand, when once the efficiency of a
contrivance has been established, with good workmanship it will
be easy afterwards to ascertain the degree of perfection which
will suffice for its due action.

324. It is partly owing to the imperfection of the original
trials, and partly to the gradual improvements in the art of
making machinery, that many inventions which have been tried, and
given up in one state of art, have at another period been
eminently successful. The idea of printing by means of moveable
types had probably suggested itself to the imagination of many
persons conversant with impressions taken either from blocks or
seals. We find amongst the instruments discovered in the remains
of Pompeii and Herculaneum, stamps for words formed out of one
piece of metal, and including several letters. The idea of
separating these letters, and of recombining them into other
words, for the purpose of stamping a book, could scarcely have
failed to occur to many: but it would almost certainly have been
rejected by those best acquainted with the mechanical arts of
that time; for the workmen of those days must have instantly
perceived the impossibility of producing many thousand pieces of
wood or metal, fitting so perfectly and ranging so uniformly, as
the types or blocks of wood now used in the art of printing.

The principle of the press which bears the name of Bramah,
was known about a century and a half before the machine, to which
it gave rise, existed; but the imperfect state of mechanical art
in the time of the discoverer, would have effectually deterred
him, if the application of it had occurred to his mind, from
attempting to employ it in practice as an instrument for exerting
force.

These considerations prove the propriety of repeating, at the
termination of intervals during which the art of making machinery
has received any great improvement, the trails of methods which,
although founded upon just principles, had previously failed.

325. When the drawings of a machine have been properly made,
and the parts have been well executed, and even when the work it
produces possesses all the qualities which were anticipated,
still the invention may fail; that is, it may fail of being
brought into general practice. This will most frequently arise
from the circumstance of its producing its work at a greater
expense than that at which it can be made by other methods.

326. Whenever the new, or improved machine, is intended to
become the basis of a manufacture, it is essentially requisite
that the whole expense attending its operations should be fully
considered before its construction is undertaken. It is almost
always very difficult to make this estimate of the expense: the
more complicated the mechanism, the less easy is the task; and in
cases of great complexity and extent of machinery it is almost
impossible. It has been estimated roughly, that the first
individual of any newly invented machine, will cost about five
times as much as the construction of the second, an estimate
which is, perhaps, sufficiently near the truth. If the second
machine is to be precisely like the first, the same drawings, and
the same patterns will answer for it; but if, as usually happens,
some improvements have been suggested by the experience of the
first, these must be more or less altered. When, however, two or
three machines have been completed, and many more are wanted,
they can usually be produced at much less than one-fifth of the
expense of the original invention.

327. The arts of contriving, of drawing, and of executing, do
not usually reside in their greatest perfection in one
individual; and in this, as in other arts, the division of labour
must be applied. The best advice which can be offered to a
projector of any mechanical invention, is to employ a respectable
draughtsman; who, if he has had a large experience in his
profession, will assist in finding out whether the contrivance is
new, and can then make working drawings of it. The first step,
however, the ascertaining whether the contrivance has the merit
of novelty, is most important; for it is a maxim equally just in
all the arts, and in every science, that the man who aspires to
fortune or to fame by new discoveries, must be content to examine
with care the knowledge of his contemporaries, or to exhaust his
efforts in inventing again, what he will most probably find has
been better executed before.

328. This, nevertheless, is a subject upon which even
ingenious men are often singularly negligent. There is, perhaps,
no trade or profession existing in which there is so much
quackery, so much ignorance of the scientific principles, and of
the history of their own art, with respect to its resources and
extent, as are to be met with amongst mechanical projectors. The
self-constituted engineer, dazzled with the beauty of some,
perhaps, really original contrivance, assumes his new profession
with as little suspicion that previous instruction, that thought
and painful labour, are necessary to its successful exercise, as
does the statesman or the senator. Much of this false confidence
arises from the improper estimate which is entertained of the
difficulty of invention in mechanics. It is, therefore, of great
importance to the individuals and to the families of those who
are too often led away from more suitable pursuits, the dupes of
their own ingenuity and of the popular voice, to convince both
them and the public that the power of making new mechanical
combinations is a possession common to a multitude of minds, and
that the talents which it requires are by no means of the highest
order. It is still more important that they should be impressed
with the conviction that the great merit, and the great success
of those who have attained to eminence in such matters, was
almost entirely due to the unremitted perseverance with which
they concentrated upon their successful inventions the skill and
knowledge which years of study had matured.



Chapter 28

Proper Circumstances for the Application of Machinery

329. The first object of machinery, the chief cause of its
extensive utility, is the perfection and the cheap production of
the articles which it is intended to make. Whenever it is
required to produce a great multitude of things, all of exactly
the same kind, the proper time has arrived for the construction
of tools or machines by which they may be manufactured. If only a
few pairs of cotton stockings should be required, it would be an
absurd waste of time, and of capital, to construct a
stocking-frame to weave them, when, for a few pence, four steel
wires can be procured by which they may be knit. If, on the other
hand, many thousand pairs were wanted, the time employed, and the
expense incurred in constructing a stocking-frame, would be more
than repaid by the saving of time in making that large number of
stockings. The same principle is applicable to the copying of
letters: if three or four copies only are required, the pen and
the human hand furnish the cheapest means of obtaining them; if
hundreds are called for, lithography may be brought to our
assistance; but if hundreds of thousands are wanted, the
machinery of a printing establishment supplies the most
economical method of accomplishing the object.

330. There are, however, many cases in which machines or
tools must be made, in which economical production is not the
most important object. Whenever it is required to produce a few
articles parts of machinery, for instance, which must be executed
with the most rigid accuracy or be perfectly alike--it is nearly
impossible to fulfil this condition, even with the aid of the
most skilful hands: and it becomes necessary to make tools
expressly for the purpose, although those tools should, as
frequently happens, cost more in constructing than the things
they are destined to make.

331. Another instance of the just application of machinery,
even at an increased expense, arises where the shortness of time
in which the article is produced, has an important influence on
its value. In the publication of our daily newspapers, it
frequently happens that the debates in the Houses of Parliament
are carried on to three and four o'clock in the morning, that is.
to within a very few hours of the time for the publication of the
paper. The speeches must be taken down by reporters, conveyed by
them to the establishment of the newspaper, perhaps at the
distance of one or two miles, transcribed by them in the office,
set up by the compositor, the press corrected, and the paper be
printed off and distributed, before the public can read them.
Some of these journals have a circulation of from five to ten
thousand daily. Supposing four thousand to be wanted, and that
they could be printed only at the rate of five hundred per hour
upon one side of the paper, (which was the greatest number two
journeymen and a boy could take off by the old hand presses),
sixteen hours would be required for printing the complete
edition; and the news conveyed to the purchasers of the latest
portion of the impression, would be out of date before they could
receive it. To obviate this difficulty, it was often necessary to
set up the paper in duplicate, and sometimes, when late, in
triplicate: but the improvements in the printing machines have
been so great, that four thousand copies are now printed on one
side in an hour.

332. The establishment of 'The Times' newspaper is an
example, on a large scale, of a manufactory in which the division
of labour, both mental and bodily, is admirably illustrated, and
in which also the effect of domestic economy is well exemplified.
It is scarcely imagined by the thousands who read that paper in
various quarters of the globe, what a scene of organized activity
the factory presents during the whole night, or what a quantity
of talent and mechanical skill is put in action for their
amusement and information. (1*) Nearly a hundred persons are
employed in this establishment; and, during the session of
Parliament, at least twelve reporters are constantly attending
the Houses of Commons and Lords; each in his turn retiring, after
about an hour's work, to translate into ordinary writing, the
speech he has just heard and noted in shorthand. In the meantime
fifty compositors are constantly at work, some of whom have
already set up the beginning, whilst others are committing to
type the yet undried manuscript of the continuation of a speech,
whose middle portion is travelling to the office in the pocket of
the hasty reporter, and whose eloquent conclusion is, perhaps, at
that very moment, making the walls of St Stephen's vibrate with
the applause of its hearers. These congregated types, as fast as
they are composed, are passed in portions to other hands; till at
last the scattered fragments of the debate, forming, when united
with the ordinary matter, eight-and-forty columns, reappear in
regular order on the platform of the printing-press. The hand of
man is now too slow for the demands of his curiosity, but the
power of steam comes to his assistance. Ink is rapidly supplied
to the moving types, by the most perfect mechanism; four
attendants incessantly introduce the edges of large sheets of
white paper to the junction of two great rollers, which seem to
devour them with unsated appetite; other rollers convey them to
the type already inked, and having brought them into rapid and
successive contact, redeliver them to four other assistants,
completely printed by the almost momentary touch. Thus, in one
hour, four thousand sheets of paper are printed on one side; and
an impression of twelve thousand copies, from above three hundred
thousand moveable pieces of metal, is produced for the public in
six hours.

333. The effect of machinery in printing other periodical
publications, and of due economy in distributing them, is so
important for the interests of knowledge, that it is worth
examining by what means it is possible to produce them at the
small price at which they are sold. 'Chambers' Journal', which is
published at Edinburgh, and sold at three halfpence a number,
will furnish an example. Soon after its commencement in 1832, the
sale in Scotland reached 30,000, and in order to supply the
demand in London it was reprinted; but on account of the expense
of 'composition' it was found that this plan would not produce
any profit, and the London edition was about to be given up, when
it occurred to the proprietor to stereotype it at Edinburgh, and
cast two copies of the plates. This is now done about three weeks
before the day of publication--one set of plates being sent up
to London by the mail, an impression is printed off by steam: the
London agent has then time to send packages by the cheapest
conveyances to several of the large towns, and other copies go
through the booksellers' parcels to all the smaller towns. Thus a
great saving is effected in the outlay of capital, and 20,000
copies are conveyed from London, as a centre, to all parts of
England, whilst there is no difficulty in completing imperfect
sets, nor any waste from printing more than the public demand.

334. The conveyance of letters is another case, in which the
importance of saving time would allow of great expense in any new
machinery for its accomplishment. There is a natural limit to the
speed of horses, which even the greatest improvements in the
breed, aided by an increased perfection in our roads, can never
surpass; and from which, perhaps, we are at present not very
remote. When we reflect upon the great expense of time and money
which the last refinements of a theory or an art usually require,
it is not unreasonable to suppose that the period has arrived in
which the substitution of machinery for such purposes ought to be
tried.

335. The post bag despatched every evening by the mail to one
of our largest cities, Bristol, usually weighs less than a
hundred pounds. Now, the first reflection which naturally
presents itself is, that, in order to transport these letters a
hundred and twenty miles, a coach and apparatus, weighing above
thirty hundredweight, are put in motion, and also conveyed over
the same space. (2*)

It is obvious that, amongst the conditions of machinery for
accomplishing such an object, it would be desirable to reduce the
weight of matter to be conveyed along with the letters: it would
also be desirable to reduce the velocity of the animal power
employed; because the faster a horse is driven, the less weight
he can draw. Amongst the variety of contrivances which might be
imagined for this purpose, we will mention one, which, although
by no means free from objections, fulfils some of the prescribed
conditions; and it is not a purely theoretical speculation, since
some few experiments have been made upon it, though on an
extremely limited scale.

336. Let us imagine a series of high pillars erected at
frequent intervals, perhaps every hundred feet, and as nearly as
possible in a straight line between two post towns. An iron or
steel wire must be stretched over proper supports, fixed on each
of these pillars, and terminating at the end of every three or
five miles, as may be found expedient, in a very strong support,
by which it may be stretched. At each of these latter points a
man ought to reside in a small stationhouse. A narrow cylindrical
tin case, to contain the letters, might be suspended by two
wheels rolling upon this wire; the cases being so constructed as
to enable the wheels to pass unimpeded by the fixed supports of
the wire. An endless wire of much smaller size must pass over two
drums, one at each end of the station. This wire should be
supported on rollers, fixed to the supports of the great wire,
and at a short distance below it. There would thus be two
branches of the smaller wire always accompanying the larger one;
and the attendant at either station, by turning the drum, might
cause them to move with great velocity in opposite directions. In
order to convey the cylinder which contains the letters, it would
only be necessary to attach it by a string, or by a catch, to
either of the branches of the endless wire. Thus it would be
conveyed speedily to the next station, where it would be removed
by the attendant to the commencement of the next wire, and so
forwarded. It is unnecessary to enter into the details which
this, or any similar plan, would require. The difficulties are
obvious; but if: these could be overcome, it would present many
advantages besides velocity; for if an attendant resided at each
station, the additional expense of having two or three deliveries
of letters every day, and even of sending expresses at any
moment, would be comparatively trifling; nor is it impossible
that the stretched wire might itself be available for a species
of telegraphic communication yet more rapid.

Perhaps if the steeples of churches, properly selected, were
made use of, connecting them by a few intermediate stations with
some great central building, as, for instance, with the top of St
Paul's; and if a similar apparatus were placed on the top of each
steeple, with a man to work it during the day, it might be
possible to diminish the expense of the two-penny post, and make
deliveries every half hour over the greater part of the
metropolis.

337. The power of steam, however, bids fair almost to rival
the velocity of these contrivances; and the fitness of its
application to the purposes of conveyance, particularly where
great rapidity is required, begins now to be generally admitted.
The following extract from the Report of the Committee of the
House of Commons on steamcarriages, explains clearly its various
advantages:

Perhaps one of the principal advantages resulting from the use of
steam, will be, that it may be employed as cheaply at a quick as
at a slow rate; 'this is one of the advantages over horse labour.
which becomes more and more expensive as the speed is increased.
There is every reason to expect, that in the end the rate of
travelling by steam will be much quicker than the utmost speed of
travelling by horses; in short, the safety to travellers will
become the limit to speed.' In horse-draught the opposite result
takes place; 'in all cases horses lose power of draught in a much
greater proportion than they gain speed, and hence the work they
do becomes more expensive as they go quicker.'

Without increase of cost, then, we shall obtain a power which
will insure a rapidity of internal communication far beyond the
utmost speed of horses in draught; and although the performance
of these carriages may not have hitherto attained this point,
when once it has been established, that at equal speed we can use
steam more cheaply in draught than horses, we may fairly
anticipate that every day's increased experience in the
management of the engines, will induce greater skill, greater
confidence, and greater speed.

The cheapness of the conveyance will probably be, for some
time, a secondary consideration. If, at present, it can be used
as cheaply as horse power, the competition with the former modes
of conveyance will first take place as to speed. When once the
superiority of steam-carriages shall have been fully established,
competition will induce economy in the cost of working them. The
evidence, however, of Mr Macneill, shewing the greater
efficiency, with diminished expenditure of fuel, by locomotive
engines on railwavs, convinces the committee, that experience
will soon teach a better construction of the engines, and a less
costly mode of generating the requisite supply of steam.

Nor are the advantages of steam-power confined to the greater
velocitv attained, or to its greater cheapness than
horse-draught. In the latter, danger is increased, in as large a
proportion as expense, by greater speed. In steam-power, on the
contrary, 'there is no danger of being run away with, and that of
being overturned is greatly diminished. It is difficult to
control four such horses as can draw a heavy carriage ten miles
per hour, in case they are frightened, or choose to run away; and
for quick travelling they must be kept in that state of courage,
that they are always inclined for running away, particularly down
hills, and at sharp turns of the road. In steam, however, there
is little corresponding danger, being perfectly controllable, and
capable of exerting its power in reverse in going down hills.,
Every witness examined has given the fullest and most
satisfactory evidence of the perfect control which the conductor
has over the movement of the carriage. With the slightest
exertion it can be stopped or turned, under circumstances where
horses would be totally unmanageable.

338. Another instance may be mentioned in which the object to
be obtained is so important, that although it might be rarely
wanted, yet machinery for that purpose would justify considerable
expense. A vessel to contain men, and to be navigated at some
distance below the surface of the sea, would, in many
circumstances, be almost invaluable. Such a vessel, evidently,
could not be propelled by any engine requiring the aid of fire.
If, however, by condensing air into a liquid, and carrying it in
that state, a propelling power could be procured sufficient for
moving the vessel through a considerable space, the expense would
scarcely render its occasional employment impossible.(3*)

339. Slide of Alpnach. Amongst the forests which flank many
of the lofty mountains of Switzerland, some of the finest timber
is found in positions almost inaccessible. The expense of roads,
even if it were possible to make them in such situations, would
prevent the inhabitants from deriving any advantages from these
almost inexhaustible supplies. Placed by nature at a considerable
elevation above the spot at which they can be made use of, they
are precisely in fit circumstances for the application of
machinery to their removal; and the inhabitants avail themselves
of the force of gravity to relieve them from some portion of this
labour. The inclined planes which they have established in
various forests, by which the timber has been sent down to the
water courses, have excited the admiration of every traveller;
and in addition to the merit of simplicity, the construction
these slides requires scarcely anything beyond the material which
grows upon the spot.

Of all these specimens of carpentry, the Slide of Alpnach was
the most considerable, from its great length, and from the almost
inaccessible position from which it descended. The following
account of it is taken from Gilbert's Annalen, 1819, which is
translated in the second volume of Brewster's Journal:

For many centuries, the rugged flanks and the deep gorges of
Mount Pilatus were covered with impenetrable forests; which were
permitted to grow and to perish, without being of the least
utility to man, till a foreigner, who had been conducted into
their wild recesses in the pursuit of the chamois, directed the
attention of several Swiss gentlemen to the extent and
superiority of the timber. The most skilful individuals, however,
considered it quite impracticable to avail themselves of such
inaccessible stores. It was not till the end of 1816, that M.
Rupp, and three Swiss gentlemen, entertaining more sanguine
hopes, purchased a certain extent of the forests, and began the
construction of the slide, which was completed in the spring of
1818.

The Slide of Alpnach is formed entirely of about 25,000 large
pine trees, deprived of their bark, and united together in a very
ingenious manner, without the aid of iron. It occupied about 160
workmen during eighteen months, and cost nearly 100,000 francs,
or L4,250. It is about three leagues, or 44,000 English feet
long, and terminates in the Lake of Lucerne. It has the form of a
trough, about six feet broad, and from three to six feet deep.
Its bottom is formed of three trees, the middle one of which has
a groove cut out in the direction of its length, for receiving
small rills of water, which are conducted into it from various
places, for the purpose of diminishing the friction. The whole of
the slide is sustained by about 2,000 supports; and in many
places it is attached, in a very ingenious manner, to the rugged
precipices of granite.

The direction of the slide is sometimes straight, and
sometimes zig-zag, with an inclination of from 10 degrees to 18
degrees. It is often carried along the sides of hills and the
flanks of precipitous rocks, and sometimes passes over their
summits. Occasionally it goes under ground, and at other times it
is conducted over the deep gorges by scaffoldings 120 feet in
height.

The boldness which characterizes this work, the sagacity and
skill displayed in all its arrangements, have excited the wonder
of every person who has seen it. Before any step could be taken
in its erection, it was necessary to cut several thousand trees
to obtain a passage through the impenetrable thickets. All these
difficulties, however, were surmounted, and the engineer had at
last the satisfaction of seeing the trees descend from the
mountain with the rapidity of lightning. The larger pines, which
were about a hundred feet long, and ten inches thick at their
smaller extremity, ran through the space of three leagues, or
nearly nine miles, in two minutes and a half, and during their
descent, they appeared to be only a few feet in length.

The arrangements for this part of the operation were
extremely simple. From the lower end of the slide to the upper
end, where the trees were introduced, workmen were posted at
regular distances, and as soon as everything was ready, the
workman at the lower end of the slide cried out to the one above
him, 'Lachez' (let go). The cry was repeated from one to another.
and reached the top of the slide in three minutes. The workmen at
the top of the slide then cried out to the one below him, 'Il
vient' (it comes), and the tree was instantly launched down the
slide, preceded by the cry which was repeated from post to post.
As soon as the tree had reached thebottom, and plunged into the
lake, the cry of lachez was repeated as before, and a new tree
was launched in a similar manner. By these means a tree descended
every five or six minutes, provided no accident happened to the
slide, which sometimes took place, but which was instantly
repaired when it did.

In order to shew the enormous force which the trees acquired
from the great velocity of their descent, M. Rupp made
arrangements for causing some of the trees to spring from the
slide. They penetrated by their thickest extremities no less than
from eighteen to twenty-four feet into the earth; and one of the
trees having by accident struck against another, it instantly
cleft it through its whole length, as if it had been struck by
lightning.

After the trees had descended the slide, they were collected
into rafts upon the lake, and conducted to Lucerne. From thence
they descended the Reuss, then the Aar to near Brugg, afterwards
to Waldshut by the Rhine, then to Basle, and even to the sea when
it was necessary.

It is to be regretted that this magnificent structure no
longer exists, and that scarcely a trace of it is to be seen upon
the flanks of Mount Pilatus. Political circumstances having taken
away the principal source of demand for the timber, and no other
market having been found, the operation of cutting and
transporting the trees necessarily ceased.(4*)

Professor Playfair, who visited this singular work, states,
that six minutes was the usual time occupied in the descent of a
tree; but that in wet weather, it reached the lake in three
minutes.

NOTES:

1. The author of these pages, with one of his friends, was
recently induced to visit this most interesting establishment,
after midnight, during the progress of a very important debate.
The place was illuminated with gas, and was light as the day:
there was neither noise nor bustle; and the visitors were
received with such calm and polite attention, that they did not,
until afterwards, become sensible of the inconvenience which such
intruders, at a moment of the greatest pressure, must occasion,
nor reflect tha the tranquility which they admired, was the
result of intense and regulated occupation. But the effect of
such checks in the current of business will appear on
recollecting that, as four thousand newspapers are printed off on
one side within the hour, every minute is attended with a loss of
sixty-six impressions. The quarter of an hour, therefore, which
the stranger may think it not unreasonable to claim for the
gratification of his curiosity (and to him this time is but a
moment), may cause a failure in the delivery of a thousand
copies, and disappoint a proportionate number of expectant
readers, in some of our distant towns, to which the morning
papers are dispatched by the earliest and most rapid conveyances
of each day.

This note is inserted with the further and more general
purpose of calling the attention of those, especially foreigners,
who are desirous of inspecting our larger manufactories, to the
chief cause of the difficulty which frequently attends their
introduction. When the establishment is very extensive, and its
departments skilfully arranged, the exclusion of visitors arises,
not from any illiberal jealousy, nor, generally, from any desire
of concealment, which would, in most cases, be absurd, but from
the substantial inconvenience and loss of time, throughout an
entire series of well-combined operations, which must be
occasioned even by short and causual interruptions.

2. It is true that the transport of letters is not the only
object which this apparatus answers; but the transport of
passengers, which is a secondary object, does in fact put a limit
to the velocity of that of the letters, which is the primary one.

3. A proposal for such a vessel, and description of its
construction, by the author of this volume, may be found in the
Encyclopaedia Metropolitana, Art. Diving Bell.

4. The mines of Bolanos in Mexico are supplied with timber from
the adjacent mountains by a slide similar to that of Alpnach. It
was constructed by M. Floresi, a gentleman well acquainted with
Switzerland.



Chapter 29

On the Duration of Machinery

340. The time during which a machine will continue to perform
its work effectually, will depend chiefly upon the perfection
with which it was originally constructed upon the care taken to
keep it in proper repair, particularly to correct every shake or
looseness in the axes--and upon the smallness of the mass and of
the velocity of its moving parts. Everything approaching to a
blow, all sudden change of direction, is injurious. Engines for
producing power, such as windmills, water-mills, and
steam-engines, usually last a long time.(1*)

341. Many of the improvements which have taken place in
steamengines, have arisen from an improved construction of the
boiler or the fireplace. The following table of the work done by
steam-engines in Cornwall, whilst it proves the importance of
constantly measuring the effects of machinery, shows also the
gradual advance which has been made in the art of constructing
and managing those engines.

 A table of the duty performed by steam-engines in Cornwall,
shewing the average of the whole for each year, and also the
average duty of the best engine in each monthly report

Years; Approximate number of engines reported; Average duty of
the whole; Average duty of the best engines

 1813; 24; 19,456,000; 26,400,000
 1814; 29; 20.534,232; 32,000,000
 1815; 35; 20.526,160; 28,700,000
 1816; 32; 22,907,110; 32,400,000
 1817; 31; 26,502,259; 41,600,000
 1818; 32; 25,433,783; 39,300,000
 1819; 37; 26,252,620; 40,000,000
 1820; 37; 28,736,398; 41,300,000
 1821; 39; 28,223,382; 42,800,000
 1822; 45; 28,887,216; 42,500.000
 1823; 45; 28,156,162; 42,122,000
 1824; 45; 28,326,140; 43,500,000
 1825; 50; 32,000,741; 45,400,000
 1826; 48; 30,486,630; 45,200,000
 1827; 47; 32,100,000; 59,700,000
 1828; 54; 37,100,000; 76,763,000
 1829; 52; 41,220,000; 76,234,307
 1830; 55; 43,350,000; 75,885,519
 1831; 55(2*); 44,700,000; 74,911,365
 1832; 60; 44,400,000; 79,294,114
 1833; 58; 46,000,000; 83,306,092


342. The advantage arising from registering the duty done by
steamengines in Cornwall has been so great that the proprietors
of one of the largest mines, on which there are several engines,
find it good economy to employ a man to measure the duty they
perform every day. This daily report is fixed up at a particular
hour, and the enginemen are always in waiting, anxious to know
the state of their engines. As the general reports are made
monthly, if accident should cause a partial stoppage in the flue
of any of the boilers, it might without this daily check continue
two or three weeks before it could be discovered by a falling off
of the duty of the engine. In several of the mines a certain
amount of duty is assigned to each engine; and if it does more,
the proprietors give a premium to the engineers according to its
amount. This is called million money, and is a great stimulus to
economy in working the engine.

343. Machinery for producing any commodity in great demand,
seldom actually wears out; new improvements, by which the same
operations can be executed either more quickly or better,
generally superseding it long before that period arrives: indeed,
to make such an improved machine profitable, it is usually
reckoned that in five years it ought to have paid itself, and in
ten to be superseded by a better.

'A cotton manufacturer,' says one of the witnesses before a
Committee of the House of Commons, 'who left Manchester seven
years ago, would be driven out of the market by the men who are
now living in it, provided his knowledge had not kept pace with
those who have been, during that time, constantly profiting by
the progressive improvements that have taken place in that
period.'

344. The effect of improvements in machinery, seems
incidentally to increase production, through a cause which may be
thus explained. A manufacturer making the usual profit upon his
capital, invested in looms or other machines in perfect
condition, the market price of making each of which is a hundred
pounds, invents some improvement. But this is of such a nature,
that it cannot be adapted to his present engines. He finds upon
calculation, that at the rate at which he can dispose of his
manufactured produce, each new engine would repay the cost of its
making, together with the ordinary profit of capital, in three
years: he also concludes from his experience of the trade, that
the improvement he is about to make, will not be generally
adopted by other manufacturers before that time. On these
considerations, it is clearly his interest to sell his present
engines, even at half-price, and construct new ones on the
improved principle. But the purchaser who gives only fifty pounds
for the old engines, has not so large a fixed capital invested in
his factory, as the person from whom he purchased them; and as he
produces the same quantity of the manufactured article, his
profits will be larger. Hence, the price of the commodity will
fall, not only in consequence of the cheaper production by the
new machines, but also by the more profitable working of the old,
thus purchased at a reduced price. This change, however, can be
only transient; for a time will arrive when the old machinery,
although in good repair, must become worthless. The improvement
which took place not long ago in frames for making patent-net was
so great, that a machine, in good repair, which had cost L1200,
sold a few years after for L60. During the great speculations in
that trade, the improvements succeeded each other so rapidly,
that machines which had never been finished were abandoned in the
hands of their makers, because new improvements had superseded
their utility.

345. The durability of watches, when well made, is very
remarkable. One was produced, in going order, before a committee
of the House of Commons to enquire into the watch trade, which
was made in the year 1660; and there are many of ancient date, in
the possession of the Clockmaker's Company, which are still
actually kept going. The number of watches manufactured for home
consumption was, in the year 1798, about 50,000 annually. If this
supply was for Great Britain only, it was consumed by about ten
and a half millions of persons.

346. Machines are, in some trades, let out to hire, and a
certain sum is paid for their use; in the manner of rent. This is
the case amongst the framework knitters: and Mr Henson, in
speaking of the rate of payment for the use of their frames,
states, that the proprietor receives such a rent that, besides
paying the full interest for his capital, he clears the value of
his frame in nine years. When the rapidity with which
improvements succeed each other is considered, this rent does not
appear exorbitant. Some of these frames have been worked for
thirteen years with little or no repair. But circumstances
occasionally arise which throw them out of employment, either
temporarily or permanently. Some years since, an article was
introduced called cut-up work, by which the price of
stocking-frames was greatly deteriorated. From the evidence of Mr
J. Rawson, it appears that, in consequence of this change in the
nature of the work, each frame could do the work of two, and many
stocking frames were thrown out of employment, and their value
reduced full threefourths.(3*)

This information is of great importance, if the numbers here
given are nearly correct, and if no other causes intervened to
diminish the price of frames; for it shews the numerical
connection between the increased production of those machines and
their diminished value.

347. The great importance of simplifying all transactions
between masters and workmen, and of dispassionately discussing
with the latter the influence of any proposed regulations
connected with their trade, is well examplified by a mistake into
which both parties unintentionally fell, and which was productive
of very great misery in the lace trade. Its history is so well
told by William Allen, a framework knitter, who was a party to
it, that an extract from his evidence, as given before the
Framework Knitters' Committee of 1812, will best explain it.

"I beg to say a few words respecting the frame rent; the rent
paid for lace frames, until the year 1805, was 1s. 6d. a frame
per week; there then was not any very great inducement for
persons to buy frames and let them out by the hire, who did not
belong to the trade; at that time an attempt was made, by one or
two houses, to reduce the prices paid to the workmen, in
consequence of a dispute between these two houses and another
great house: some little difference being paid in the price
amongst the respective houses, I was one chosen by the workmen to
try if we could not remedy the impending evil: we consulted the
respective parties, and found them inflexible; these two houses
that were about to reduce the prices, said that they would either
immediately reduce the price of making net, or they would
increase the frame rent: the difference to the workmen was
considerable, between the one and the other; they would suffer
less, in the immediate operation of the thing, by having the rent
advanced, than the price of making net reduced. They chose at
that time, as they thought, the lesser evil, but it has turned
out to be otherwise; for, immediately as the rent was raised upon
the percentage laid out in frames, it induced almost every
person, who had got a little money, to lay it out in the purchase
of frames; these frames were placed in the hands of men who could
get work for them at the warehouses; they were generally
constrained to pay an enormous rent, and then they were
compelled, most likely, to buy of the persons that let them the
frames, their butcher's meat, their grocery, or their clothing:
the encumbrance of these frames became entailed upon them: if any
deadness took place in the work they must take it at a very
reduced price, for fear of the consequences that would fall upon
them from the person who bought the frame: thus the evil has been
daily increasing, till, in conjunction with the other evils crept
into the trade, they have almost crushed it to atoms."

348. The evil of not assigning fairly to each tool, or each
article produced, its proportionate value, or even of not having
a perfectly distinct, simple, and definite agreement between a
master and his workmen, is very considerable. Workmen find it
difficult in such cases to know the probable produce of their
labour; and both parties are often led to adopt arrangements,
which, had they been well examined, would have been rejected as
equally at variance in the results with the true interests of
both.

349. At Birmingham, stamps and dies, and presses for a great
variety of articles, are let out: they are generally made by men
possessing small capital, and are rented by workmen. Power also
is rented at the same place. Steam-engines are erected in large
buildings containing a variety of rooms, in which each person may
hire one, two, or any other amount of horsepower, as his
occupation may require. If any mode could be discovered of
transmitting power, without much loss from friction, to
considerable distances, and at the same time of registering the
quantity made use of at any particular point, a considerable
change would probably take place in many departments of the
present system of manufacturing. A few central engines to produce
power, might then be erected in our great towns, and each
workman, hiring a quantity of power sufficient for his purpose,
might have it conveyed into his own house; and thus a transition
might in some instances be effected, if it should be found more
profitable, back again from the system of great factories to that
of domestic manufacture.

350. The transmission of water through a series of pipes,
might be employed for the distribution of power, but the friction
would consume a considerable portion. Another method has been
employed in some instances, and is practised at the Mint. It
consists in exhausting the air from a large vessel by means of a
steam-engine. This vessel is connected by pipes, with a small
piston which drives each coining press; and, on opening a valve,
the pressure of the external air forces in the piston. This air
is then admitted to the general reservoir, and pumped out by the
engine. The condensation of air might be employed for the same
purpose; but there are some unexplained facts relating to elastic
fluids, which require further observations and experiment before
they can be used for the conveyance of power to any considerable
distance. It has been found, for instance, in attempting to blow
a furnace by means of a powerful water-wheel driving air through
a cast-iron pipe of above a mile in length, that scarcely any
sensible effect was produced at the opposite extremity. In one
instance, some accidental obstruction being suspected, a cat put
in at one end found its way out without injury at the other, thus
proving that the phenomenon did not depend on interruption within
the pipe.

351. The most portable form in which power can be condensed
is, perhaps, by the liquefaction of the gases. It is known that,
under considerable pressure, several of these become liquid at
ordinary temperatures; carbonic acid, for example, is reduced to
a liquid state by a pressure of sixty atmospheres. One of the
advantages attending the use of these fluids, would be that the
pressure exerted by them would remain constant until the last
drop of liquid had assumed the form of gas. If either of the
elements of common air should be found to be capable of reduction
to a liquid state before it unites into a corrosive fluid with
the other ingredient, then we shall possess a ready means of
conveying power in any quantity and to any distance. Hydrogen
probably will require the strongest compressing force to render
it liquid, and may, therefore, possibly be applied where still
greater condensation of power is wanted. In all these cases the
condensed gases may be looked upon as springs of enormous force,
which have been wound up by the exertion of power, and which will
deliver the whole of it back again when required. These springs
of nature differ in some respects from the steel springs formed
by our art; for in the compression of the natural springs a vast
quantity of latent heat is forced out, and in their return to the
state of gas an equal quantity is absorbed. May not this very
property be employed with advantage in their application?

Part of the mechanical difficulty to be overcome in
constructing apparatus connected with liquefied gases, will
consist in the structure of the valves and packing necessary to
retain the fluids under the great pressure to which they must be
submitted. The effect of heat on these gases has not yet been
sufficiently tried, to lead us to any very precise notions of the
additional power which its application to them will supply.

The elasticity of air is sometimes employed as a spring,
instead of steel: in one of the large printing-machines in London
the momentum of a considerable mass of matter is destroyed by
making it condense the air included in a cylinder, by means of a
piston against which it impinges.

352. The effect of competition in cheapening articles of
manufacture sometimes operates in rendering them less durable.
When such articles are conveyed to a distance for consumption, if
they are broken, it often happens, from the price of labour being
higher where they are used than where they were made, that it is
more expensive to mend the old article, than to purchase a new.
Such is usually the case, in great cities, with some of the
commoner locks, with hinges, and with a variety of articles of
hardware.

NOTES:

1. The amount of obstructions arising from the casual fixing of
trees in the bottom of the river, may be estimated from the
proportion of steamboats destroyed by running upon them, The
subjoined statement is taken from the American Almanack for 1832:


'Between the years 1811 and 1831, three hundred and
forty-eight steamboats were built on the Mississippi and its
tributary streams During that period a hundred and fifty were
lost or worn out,
'Of this hundred and fifty:
            worn out            63
            lost by snags       36
            burnt               14
            lost by collision    3
            by accidents
                not ascertained 34
Thirty-six, or nearly one fourth, being destroyed by accidental
obstructions.

Snag is the name given in America to trees which stand nearly
upright in the stream, with their roots fixed at the bottom.

It is usual to divide off at the bow of the steamboats a
watertight chamber, in order that when a hole is made in it by
running against the snags, the water may not enter the rest of
the vessel and sink it instantly.

2. This passage is not printed in italics in the original, but it
has been thus marked in the above extract, from its importance,
and from the conviction that the most extended discussion will
afford additional evidence of its truth.

3. Report from the Committee of the House of Commons on the
Framework Knitter's Petition, April, 1819.



Chapter 30

On Combinations Amongst Masters or Workmen against Each Other

353. There exist amongst the workmen of almost all classes,
certain rules or laws which govern their actions towards each
other, and towards their employers. But, besides these general
principles, there are frequently others peculiar to each factory,
which have derived their origin, in many instances, from the
mutual convenience of the parties engaged in them. Such rules are
little known except to those actually pursuing the several
trades; and, as it is of importance that their advantages and
disadvantages should be canvassed, we shall offer a few remarks
upon some of them.

354. The principles by which such laws should be tried are,

First. That they conduce to the general benefit of all the
persons employed.

Secondly. That they prevent fraud.

Thirdly. That they interfere as little as possible with the
free agency of each individual.

355. It is usual in many workshops, that, on the first
entrance of a new journeyman, he shall pay a small fine to the
rest of the men. It is clearly unjust to insist upon this
payment; and when it is spent in drinking, which is,
unfortunately, too often the case, it is injurious. The reason
assigned for the demand is, that the newcomer will require some
instruction in the habits of the shop, and in the places of the
different tools, and will thus waste the time of some of his
companions until he is instructed. If this fine were added to a
fund, managed by the workmen themselves, and either divided at
given periods, or reserved for their relief in sickness, it would
be less objectionable, since its tendency would be to check the
too frequent change of men from one shop to another. But it
ought, at all events, not to be compulsory, and the advantages to
be derived from the fund to which the workman is invited to
subscribe, ought to be his sole inducement to contribute.

356. In many workshops, the workmen, although employed on
totally different parts of the objects manufactured, are yet
dependent, in some measure, upon each other. Thus a single smith
may be able to forge, in one day, work enough to keep four or
five turners employed during the next. If, from idleness or
intemperance, the smith neglects his work, and does not furnish
the usual supply, the turners (supposing them to be paid by the
piece), will have their time partly unoccupied, and their gains
consequently diminished. It is reasonable, in such circumstances,
that a fine should be levied on the delinquent; but it is
desirable that the master should have concurred with his workmen
in establishing such a rule, and that it should be shown to each
individual previously to his engagement; and it is very desirable
that such fine should not be spent in drinking.

357. In some establishments, it is customary for the master
to give a small gratuity whenever any workman has exercised a
remarkable degree of skill, or has economized the material
employed. Thus, in splitting horn into layers for lanterns, one
horn usually furnishes from five to eight layers; but if a
workman split the horn into ten layers or more, he receives a
pint of ale from the master. These premiums should not be too
high, lest the material should be wasted in unsuccessful
attempts: but such regulations, when judiciously made, are
beneficial, as they tend to produce skill amongst the workmen,
profit to the masters, and diminished cost to the consumers.

358. In some few factories, in which the men are paid by the
piece, it is usual, when any portion of work, delivered in by a
workman, is rejected by the master on account of its being badly
executed, to fine the delinquent. Such a practice tends to remedy
one of the evils attendant upon that mode of payment, and greatly
assists the master, since his own judgement is thus supported by
competent and unprejudiced judges.

359. Societies exist amongst some of the larger bodies of
workmen, and others have been formed by the masters engaged in
the same branches of trade. These associations have different
objects in view; but it is very desirable that their effects
should be well understood by the individuals who compose them;
and that the advantages arising from them, which are certainly
great, should be separated as much as possible from the evils
which they have, unfortunately, too frequently introduced.
Associations of workmen and of masters may, with advantage, agree
upon rules to be observed by both parties, in estimating the
proportionate value of different kinds of work executed in their
trade, in order that time may be saved, and disputes be
prevented. They may also be most usefully employed in acquiring
accurate information as to the number of persons working in the
various departments of any manufacture, their rate of wages, the
number of machines in use, and other statistical details.
Information of this nature is highly valuable, both for the
guidance of the parties who are themselves most interested, and
to enable them, upon any application to government for
assistance, or with a view to legislative enactments, to supply
those details, without which the propriety of any proposed
measure cannot be duly estimated. Such details may be collected
by men actually engaged in any branch of trade, at a much smaller
expense of time, than by persons less acquainted with, and less
interested in it.

360. One of the most legitimate and most important objects of
such associations as we have just mentioned, is to agree upon
ready and certain modes of measuring the quantity of work done by
the workmen. For a long time a difficulty upon this point existed
in the lace trade, which was justly complained of by the men as a
serious grievance; but the introduction of the rack, which counts
the number of holes in the length of the piece, has entirely put
an end to the most fertile cause of disputes. This invention was
adverted to by the Committee of 1812, and a hope was expressed,
in their report, that the same contrivance would be applied to
stocking-frames. It would, indeed, be of great mutual advantage
to the industrious workman, and to the master manufacturer in
every trade, if the machines employed in it could register the
quantity of work which they perform, in the same manner as a
steam-engine does the number of strokes it makes. The
introduction of such contrivances gives a greater stimulus to
honest industry than can readily be imagined, and removes one of
the sources of disagreement between parties, whose real interests
must always suffer by any estrangement between them.

361. The effects arising from combinations amongst the
workmen, are almost always injurious to the parties themselves.
There are numerous instances, in which the public suffer by
increased price at the moment, but are ultimately gainers from
the permanent reduction which results; whilst, on the other hand,
the improvements which are often made in machinery in consequence
of 'a strike' amongst the workmen, most frequently do injury, of
greater or less duration, to that particular class which gave
rise to them. As the injury to the men and to their families is
almost always more serious than that which affects their
employers, it is of the utmost importance to the comfort and
happiness of the former class, that they should themselves
entertain sound views upon this question. For this purpose a few
illustrations of the principle which is here maintained, will
probably have greater weight than any reasoning of a more general
nature, though drawn from admitted principles of political
economy. Such instances will, moreover, present the advantage of
appealing to facts known to many individuals of those classes for
whose benefit these reflections are intended.

362. There is a process in the manufacture of gun barrels for
making what, in the language of the trade, are called skelps. The
skelp is a piece or bar of iron, about three feet long, and four
inches wide, but thicker and broader at one end than at the
other; and the barrel of a musket is formed by forging out such
pieces to the proper dimensions, and then folding or bending them
into a cylindrical form, until the edges overlap, so that they
can be welded together.

About twenty years ago, the workmen, employed at a very
extensive factory in forging these skelps out of bar-iron,
'struck' for an advance of wages; and as their demands were very
exorbitant, they were not immediately complied with. In the
meantime, the superintendent of the establishment directed his
attention to the subject; and it occurred to him, that if the
circumference of the rollers, between which the bar-iron was
rolled, were to be made equal to the length of a skelp, or of a
musket barrel, and if also the groove in which the iron was
compressed, instead of being of the same width and depth
throughout, were cut gradually deeper and wider from a point on
the rollers, until it returned to the same point, then the
bar-iron passing between such rollers, instead of being uniform
in width and thickness, would have the form of a skelp. On making
the trial, it was found to succeed perfectly; a great reduction
of human labour was effected by the process, and the workmen who
had acquired peculiar skill in performing it ceased to derive any
advantage from their dexterity.

363. It is somewhat singular that another and a still more
remarkable instance of the effect of combination amongst workmen,
should have occurred but a few years since in the very same
trade. The process of welding the skelps, so as to convert them
into gun barrels, required much skill, and after the termination
of the war, the demand for muskets having greatly diminished, the
number of persons employed in making them was very much reduced.
This circumstance rendered combination more easy; and upon one
occasion, when a contract had been entered into for a
considerable supply to be delivered on a fixed day, the men all
struck for such an advance of wages as would have caused the
completion of the contract to be attended with a very heavy loss.

In this difficulty, the contractors resorted to a mode of
welding the gun barrel, for which a patent had been taken out by
one of themselves some years before this event. The plan had not
then succeeded so well as to come into general use, in
consequence of the cheapness of the usual mode of welding by hand
labour, combined with some other difficulties with which the
patentee had to contend. But the stimulus produced by the
combination of the workmen, induced him to make new trials, and
he was enabled to introduce such a facility in welding gun
barrels by rollers, and such perfection in the work itself, that,
in all probability, very few will in future be welded by hand
labour.

This new process consisted in folding a bar of iron, about a
foot long, into the form of a cylinder, with the edges a little
overlapping. It was then placed in a furnace, and being taken out
when raised to a welding heat, a triblet, or cylinder of iron,
was placed in it, and the whole was passed quickly through a pair
of rollers. The effect of this was, that the welding was
performed at a single heating, and the remainder of the
elongation necessary for extending the skelps to the length of
the musket barrel, was performed in a similar manner, but at a
lower temperature. The workmen who had combined were, of course,
no longer wanted, and instead of benefiting themselves by their
combination, they were reduced permanently, by this improvement
in the art, to a considerably lower rate of wages: for as the
process of welding gun barrels by hand required peculiar skill
and considerable experience, they had hitherto been in the habit
of earning much higher wages than other workmen of their class.
On the other hand, the new method of welding was far less
injurious to the texture of the iron, which was now exposed only
once, instead of three or four times, to the welding heat, so
that the public derived advantage from the superiority, as well
as from the economy of the process. Another process has
subsequently been invented, applicable to the manufacture of a
lighter kind of iron tubes, which can thus be made at a price
which renders their employment very general. They are now to be
found in the shops of all our larger ironmongers, of various
lengths and diameters, with screws cut at each end; and are in
constant use for the conveyance of gas for lighting, or of water
for warming, our houses. 364. Similar examples must have
presented themselves to all those who are familiar with the
details of our manufactories, but these are sufficient to
illustrate one of the results of combinations. It would not,
however, be fair to push the conclusion deduced from these
instances to its extreme limit. Although it is very apparent,
that in the two cases which have been stated, the effects of
combination were permanently injurious to the workman, by almost
immediately placing him in a lower class (with respect to his
wages) than he occupied before; yet they do not prove that all
such combinations have this effect. It is quite evident that they
have all this tendency, it is also certain that considerable
stimulus must be applied to induce a man to contrive a new and
expensive process; and that in both these cases, unless the fear
of pecuniary loss had acted powerfully, the improvement would not
have been made. If, therefore, the workmen had in either case
combined for only a small advance of wages, they would, in all
probability, have been successful, and the public would have been
deprived, for many years, of the inventions to which these
combinations gave rise. It must, however, be observed, that the
same skill which enabled the men to obtain, after long practice,
higher wages than the rest of their class, would prevent many of
them from being permanently thrown back into the class of
ordinary workmen. Their diminished wages will continue only until
they have acquired, by practice, a facility of execution in some
other of the more difficult operations: but a diminution of
wages, even for a year or two, is still a very serious
inconvenience to any person who lives by his daily exertion. The
consequence of combination has then, in these instances, been, to
the workmen who combined--reduction of wages; to the public -
reduction of price; and to the manufacturer increased sale of his
commodity, resulting from that reduction.

365. It is, however, important to consider the effects of
combination in another and less obvious point of view. The fear
of combination amongst the men whom he employs, will have a
tendency to induce the manufacturer to conceal from his workmen
the extent of the orders he may at any time have received; and,
consequently, they will always be less acquainted with the extent
of the demand for their labour than they otherwise might be. This
is injurious to their interests; for instead of foreseeing, by
the gradual falling-off in the orders, the approach of a time
when they must be unemployed, and preparing accordingly, they are
liable to much more sudden changes than those to which they would
otherwise be exposed.

In the evidence given by Mr Galloway, the engineer, he
remarks, that,

"When employers are competent to show their men that their
business is steady and certain, and when men find that they are
likely to have permanent employment, they have always better
habits, and more settled notions, which will make them better
men, and better workmen, and will produce great benefits to all
who are interested in their employment."

366. As the manufacturer, when he makes a contract, has no
security that a combination may not arise amongst the workmen,
which may render that contract a loss instead of a benefit;
besides taking precautions to prevent them from becoming
acquainted with it, he must also add to the price at which he
could otherwise sell the article, some small increase to cover
the risk of such an occurrence. If an establishment consist of
several branches which can only be carried on jointly, as, for
instance, of iron mines, blast furnaces, and a colliery, in which
there are distinct classes of workmen, it becomes necessary to
keep on hand a larger stock of materials than would be required,
if it were certain that no combinations would arise.

Suppose, for instance, the colliers were to 'strike' for an
advance of wages--unless there was a stock of coal above ground,
the furnaces must be stopped, and the miners also would be thrown
out of employ. Now the cost of keeping a stock of iron ore, or of
coals above ground, is just the same as that of keeping in a
drawer, unemployed, its value in money, (except, indeed, that the
coal suffers a small deterioration by exposure to the elements).
The interest of this sum must, therefore, be considered as the
price of an insurance against the risk of combination amongst the
workmen; and it must, so far as it goes, increase the price of
the manufactured article, and, consequently, limit the demand
which would otherwise exist for it. But every circumstance which
tends to limit the demand, is injurious to the workmen; because
the wider the demand, the less it is exposed to fluctuation.

The effect to which we have alluded, is by no means a
theoretical conclusion; the proprietors of one establishment in
the iron trade, within the author's knowledge, think it expedient
always to keep above ground a supply of coal for six months,
which is, in that instance, equal in value to about L10,000. When
we reflect that the quantity of capital throughout the country
thus kept unemployed merely from the fear of combinations amongst
the workmen, might, under other circumstances, be used for
keeping a larger number at work, the importance of introducing a
system in which there should exist no inducement to combine
becomes additionally evident.

367. That combinations are, while they last, productive of
serious inconveniences to the workmen themselves, is admitted by
all parties; and it is equally true, that, in most cases, a
successful result does not leave them in so good a condition as
they were in before 'the strike'. The little capital they
possessed, which ought to have been hoarded with care for days of
illness or distress, is exhausted; and frequently, in order to
gratify a pride, at the existence of which we cannot but rejoice,
even whilst we regret its misdirected energy, they will undergo
the severest privations rather than return to work at their
former wages. With many of the workmen, unfortunately, during
such periods, bad habits are formed which it is very difficult to
eradicate; and, in all those engaged in such transactions, the
kinder feelings of the heart are chilled, and passions are called
into action which are permanently injurious to the happiness of
the individual, and destructive of those sentiments of confidence
which it is equally the interest of the master manufacturer and
of his workman to maintain. If any of the trade refuse to join in
the strike, the majority too frequently forget, in the excitement
of their feelings, the dictates of justice, and endeavour to
exert a species of tyranny, which can never be permitted to exist
in a free country. In conceding therefore to the working classes,
that they have a right, if they consider it expedient, to combine
for the purpose of procuring higher wages (provided always, that
they have completed all their existing contracts), it ought ever
to be kept before their attention, that the same freedom which
they claim for themselves they are bound to allow to others, who
may have different views of the advantages of combination. Every
effort which reason and kindness can dictate, should be made, not
merely to remove their grievances, but to satisfy their own
reason and feelings, and to show them the consequences which will
probably result from their conduct: but the strong arm of the
law, backed, as in such cases it will always be, by public
opinion, should be instantly and unhesitatingly applied, to
prevent them from violating the liberty of a portion of their
own, or of any other class of society.

368. Amongst the evils which ultimately fall heavy on the
working classes themselves, when, through mistaken views, they
attempt to interfere with their employers in the mode of carrying
on their business, may be mentioned the removal of factories to
other situations, where the proprietors may be free from the
improper control of their men. The removal of a considerable
number of lace frames to the western counties, which took place,
in consequence of the combinations in Nottinghamshire, has
already been mentioned. Other instances have occurred, where
still greater injury has been produced by the removal of a
portion of the skill and capital of the country to a foreign
land. Such was the case at Glasgow, as stated in the fifth
Parliamentary Report respecting Artizans and Machinery. One of
the partners in an extensive cotton factory, disgusted by the
unprincipled conduct of the workmen, removed to the state of New
Y ork, where he re-established his machinery, and thus afforded,
to rivals already formidable to our trade, at once a pattern of
our best machinery, and an example of the most economical methods
of employing it.

369. When the nature of the work is such that it is not
possible to remove it, as happens with regard to mines, the
proprietors are more exposed to injury from combinations amongst
the workmen: but as the owners are generally possessed of a
larger capital, they generally succeed, if the reduction of wages
which they propose is really founded on the necessity of the
case.

An extensive combination lately existed amongst the colliers
in the north of England, which unfortunately led, in several
instances, to acts of violence. The proprietors of the coalmines
were consequently obliged to procure the aid of miners from other
parts of England who were willing to work at the wages they could
afford to give; and the aid of the civil, and in some cases of
the military, power, was requisite for their protection. This
course was persisted in during several months, and the question
being, which party could support itself longest on the diminished
gains, as it might have readily been foreseen, the proprietors
ultimately succeeded.

370. One of the remedies employed by the masters against the
occurrence of combinations, is to make engagements with their men
for long periods and to arrange them in such a manner, that these
contracts shall not all terminate together. This has been done in
some cases at Sheffield, and in other places. It is attended with
the inconvenience to the masters that, during periods when the
demand for their produce is reduced, they are still obliged to
employ the same number of workmen. This circumstance, however,
frequently obliges the proprietors to direct their attention to
improvements in their works: and in one such instance, within the
author's knowledge, a large reservoir was deepened, thus
affording a more constant supply to the water-wheel, whilst, at
the same time, the mud from the bottom gave permanent fertility
to a piece of land previously almost barren. In this case, not
merely was the supply of produce checked, when a glut existed.
but the labour was, in fact, applied more profitably than it
would have been in the usual course.

371. A mode of paying the wages of workmen in articles which
they consume, has been introduced into some of our manufacturing
districts, which has been called the truck system. As in many
instances this has nearly the effect of a combination of the
masters against the men, it is a fit subject for discussion in
the present chapter: but it should be carefully distinguished
from another system of a very different tendency, which will be
first described.

372. The principal necessaries for the support of a workman
and his family are few in number, and are usually purchased by
him in small quantities weekly. Upon such quantities, sold by the
retail dealer, a large profit is generally made; and if the
article is one whose quality, like that of tea, is not readily
estimated, then a great additional gain is made by the retail
dealer selling an inferior article.

Where the number of workmen living on the same spot is large,
it may be thought desirable that they should unite together and
have an agent, to purchase by wholesale those articles which are
most in demand, as tea, suger, bacon, etc., and to retail them at
prices, which will just repay the wholesale cost, together with
the expense of the agent who conducts their sale. If this be
managed wholly by a committee of workmen, aided perhaps by advice
from the master, and if the agent is paid in such a manner as to
have himself an interest in procuring good and reasonable
articles, it may be a benefit to the workmen: and if the plan
succeed in reducing the cost of articles of necessity to the men,
it is clearly the interest of the master to encourage it. The
master may indeed be enabled to afford them facilities in making
their wholesale purchases; but he ought never to have the least
interest in, or any connection with, the profit made by the
articles sold. The men, on the other hand, who subscribe to set
up the shop, ought not, in the slightest degree, to be compelled
to make their purchases there: the goodness and cheapness of the
article ought to be their sole inducements.

It may perhaps be objected, that this plan is only employing
a portion of the capital belonging to the workmen in a retail
trade; and that, without it, competition amongst small
shopkeepers will reduce the articles to nearly the same price.
This objection would be valid if the objects of consumption
required no verification; but combining what has been already
stated on that subject(1*) with the present argument, the plan
seems liable to no serious objections.

373. The truck system is entirely different in its effects.
The master manufacturer keeps a retail shop for articles required
by his men, and either pays their wages in goods, or compels them
by express agreement, or less directly, by unfair means, to
expend the whole or a certain part of their wages at his shop. If
the manufacturer kept this shop merely for the purpose of
securing good articles, at fair prices, to his workmen, and if he
offered no inducement to them to purchase at his shop, except the
superior cheapness of his articles, it would certainly be
advantageous to the men. But, unfortunately, this is not always
the case; and the temptation to the master, in times of
depression, to reduce in effect the wages which he pays (by
increasing the price of articles at his shop), without altering
the nominal rate of payment, is frequently too great to be
withstood. If the object be solely to procure for his workmen
better articles, it will be more effectually accomplished by the
master confining himself to supplying a small capital, at a
moderate rate of interest; leaving the details to be conducted by
a committee of workmen, in conjunction with his own agent, and
the books of the shop to be audited periodically by the men
themselves.

374. Wherever the workmen are paid in goods, or are compelled
to purchase at the master's shop, much injustice is done to them,
and great misery results from it. Whatever may have been the
intentions of the master in such cases, the real effect is, to
deceive the workman as to the amount he receives in exchange for
his labour. Now, the principles on which the happiness of that
class of society depends, are difficult enough to be understood,
even by those who are blessed with far better opportunities of
investigating them: and the importance of their being well
acquainted with those principles which relate to themselves, is
of more vital consequence to workmen, than to many other classes.
It is therefore highly desirable to assist them in comprehending
the position in which they are placed, by rendering all the
relations in which they stand to each other, and to their
employers, as simple as possible. Workmen should be paid entirely
in money; their work should be measured by some unbiassed, some
unerring piece of mechanism; the time during which they are
employed should be defined, and punctually adhered to. The
payments they make to their benefit societies should be fixed on
such just principles, as not to require extraordinary
contributions. In short, the object of all who wish to promote
their happiness should be, to give them, in the simplest form,
the means of knowing beforehand, the sum they are likely to
acquire by their labour, and the money they will be obliged to
expend for their support: thus putting before them, in the
clearest light, the certain result of persevering industry.

375. The cruelty which is inflicted on the workman by the
payment of his wages in goods, is often very severe. The little
purchases necessary for the comfort of his wife and children,
perhaps the medicines he occasionally requires for them in
illness, must all be made through the medium of barter; and he is
obliged to waste his time in arranging an exchange, in which the
goods which he has been compelled to accept for his labour are
invariably taken at a lower price than that at which his master
charged them to him. The father of a family perhaps, writhing
under the agonies of the toothache, is obliged to make his hasty
bargain with the village surgeon, before he will remove the cause
of his pain; or the disconsolate mother is compelled to sacrifice
her depreciated goods in exchange for the last receptacle of her
departed offspring. The subjoined evidence from the Report of the
Committee of the House of Commons on Framework Knitters'
Petitions, shows that these are not exaggerated statements.

It has been so common in our town to pay goods instead of
money, that a number of my neighbours have been obliged to pay
articles for articles, to pay sugar for drugs out of the
druggist's shop; and others have been obliged to pay sugar for
drapery goods, and such things, and exchange in that way numbers
of times. I was credibly informed, that one person paid half a
pound of tenpenny sugar and a penny to have a tooth drawn; and
there is a credible neighbour of mine told me, that he had heard
that the sexton had been paid for digging a grave with sugar and
tea: and before I came off, knowing I had to give evidence upon
these things, I asked this friend to enquire ofthe sexton,
whether this was a fact: the sexton hesitated for a little time,
on account of bringing into discredit the person who paid these
goods: however, he said at last, 'I have received these articles
repeatedly--I know these things have been paid to a great extent
in this way.'

NOTES:

1. See Chapter XV, p. 87



Chapter 31

On Combinations of Masters against the public

376. A species of combination occasionally takes place
amongst manufacturers against persons having patents: and these
combinations are always injurious to the public, as well as
unjust to the inventors. Some years since, a gentleman invented a
machine, by which modellings and carvings were cut in mahogany,
and other fine woods. The machine resembled, in some measure, the
drilling apparatus employed in ornamental lathes; it produced
beautiful work at a very moderate expense: but the cabinetmakers
met together, and combined against it, and the patent has
consequently never been worked. A similar fate awaited a machine
for cutting veneers by means of a species of knife. In this
instance, the wood could be cut thinner than by the circular saw,
and no waste was incurred; but 'the trade' set themselves against
it, and after a heavy expense, it was given up.

The excuse alleged for this kind of combination, was the fear
entertained by the cabinetmakers that when the public became
acquainted with the article, the patentee would raise the price.

Similar examples of combination seem not to be unfrequent, as
appears by the Report of the Committee of the House of Commons on
Patents for Inventions, June, 1829. See the evidence of Mr
Holdsworth.

377. There occurs another kind of combination against the
public, with which it is difficult to deal. It usually ends in a
monopoly, and the public are then left to the discretion of the
monopolists not to charge them above the growling point--that
is, not to make them pay so much as to induce them actually to
combine against the imposition. This occurs when two companies
supply water or gas to consumers by means of pipes laid down
under the pavement in the street of cities: it may possibly occur
also in docks, canals, railroads, etc., and in other cases where
the capital required is very large, and the competition very
limited. If water or gas companies combine, the public
immediately loses all the advantage of competition, and it has
generally happened, that at the end of a period during which they
have undersold each other, the several companies have agreed to
divide the whole district supplied, into two or more parts, each
company then removing its pipes from all the streets except those
in its own portion. This removal causes great injury to the
pavement, and when the pressure of increased rates induces a new
company to start, the same inconvenience is again produced.
Perhaps one remedy against evils of this kind might be, when a
charter is granted to such companies, to restrict, to a certain
amount, the rate of profit on the shares, and to direct that any
profits beyond, shall accumulate for the repayment of the
original capital. This has been done in several late Acts of
Parliament establishing companies. The maximum rate of profit
allowed ought to be liberal, to compensate for the risk; the
public ought to have auditors on their part, and the accounts
should be annually published, for the purpose of preventing the
limitations from being exceeded. It must however be admitted,
that this would be an interference with capital, which, if
allowed, should, in the present state of our knowledge, be.
examined with great circumspection in each individual case, until
some general principle is established on well-admitted grounds.

378. An instrument called a gas-meter, which ascertains the
quantity of gas used by each consumer, has been introduced, and
furnishes a satisfactory mode of determining the payments to be
made by individuals to the gas companies. A contrivance somewhat
similar in its nature, might be used for the sale of water; but
in that case some public inconvenience might be apprehended, from
the diminished quantity which would then run to waste: the
streams of water running through the sewers in London, are
largely supplied from this source; and if this supply were
diminished, the drainage of the metropolis might be injuriously
affected.

379. In the north of England a powerful combination has long
existed among the coal-owners, by which the public has suffered
in the payment of increased price. The late examination of
evidence before a Committee of the House of Commons, has
explained its mode of operation, and the Committee have
recommended, that for the present the sale of coal should be left
to the competition of other districts.

380. A combination, of another kind, exists at this moment to
a great extent, and operates upon the price of the very pages
which are now communicating information respecting it. A subject
so interesting to every reader, and still more so to every
manufacturer ofthe article which the reader consumes, deserves an
attentive examination.

We have shown in Chapter XXI, p. 144, the component parts of
the expense of each copy of the present work; and we have seen
that the total amount of the cost of its production, exclusive of
any payment to the author for his labour, is 2s. 3d.(1*)

Another fact, with which the reader is more practically
familiar, is that he has paid, or is to pay, to his bookseller,
six shillings for the volume. Let us now examine into the
distribution of these six shillings, and then, having the facts
ofthe case before us, we shall be better able to judgeofthe
meritsofthe combinationjust mentioned, andtoexplainits effects.

 Distribution of the profits on a six shilling book

 Buys at; Sells at; Profit on capital expended
 s. d.; s. d.

No. I--The publisher who accounts to the author for every copy
received; 3 10; 4 2; 10 per cent
No. II--The bookseller who retails to the public; 4 2; 6 0; 44
 Or, 4 6; 6 0; 33 1/3


No. I, the publisher, is a bookseller; he is, in fact, the
author's agent. His duties are, to receive and take charge of the
stock, for which he supplies warehouse room; to advise the author
about the times and methods of advertising; and to insert the
advertisements. As he publishes other books, he will advertise
lists of those sold by himself; and thus, by combining many in
one advertisement, diminish the expense to each of his
principals. He pays the author only for the books actually sold;
consequently, he makes no outlav of capital, except that which he
pays for advertisements: but he is answerable for any bad debts
he may contract in disposing of them. His charge is usually ten
per cent on the returns.

No. II is the bookseller who retails the work to the public.
On the publication of a new book, the publisher sends round to
the trade, to receive 'subscriptions' from them for any number of
copies not less than two These copies are usually charged to the
'subscribers', on an average, at about four or five per cent less
than the wholesale price of the book: in the present case the
subscription price is 4s. 2d. for each copy. After the day of
publication, the price charged by the publisher to the
booksellers is 4s. 6d. With some works it is the custom to
deliver twentyfive copies to those who order twenty-four, thus
allowing a reduction of about four per cent. Such was the case
with the present volume. Different publishers offer different
terms to the subscribers; and it is usual, after intervals of
about six months, for the publisher again to open a subscription
list, so that if the work be one for which there is a steady
sale, the trade avail themselves of these opportunities
ofpurchasing, at the reduced rate, enough to supply their
probable demand.(2*)

381. The volume thus purchased of the publisher at 4s. 2d. or
4s. 6d. is retailed by the bookseller to the public at 6s. In the
first case he makes a profit of forty-four, in the second of
thirty-three per cent. Even the smaller of these two rates of
profit on the capital employed, appears to be much too large. It
may sometimes happen, that when a book is enquired for, the
retail dealer sends across the street to the wholesale agent, and
receives, for this trifling service, one fourth part of the money
paid by the purchaser; and perhaps the retail dealer takes also
six months' credit for the price which the volume actually cost
him.

382. In section 256, the price of each process in
manufacturing the present volume was stated: we shall now give an
analysis of the whole expense of conveying it into the hands of
the public.

 The retail price 6s. on 3052 produces 915 12 0

1. Total expense of printing and paper 207 5 8 7/11
2. Taxes on paper and advertisements 40 0 11
3. Commission to publisher as agent between author and printer 18
14 4 4/11 4 Commission to publisher as agent for sale of the book
63 11 8
5. Profit--the difference between subscription price and trade
price, 4d. per vol. 50 17 4
6. Profit the difference between trade price and retail price,
1s. 6d. per vol. 228 18 0
            362 1 4
7. Remains for authorship 306 4 0

 Total 915 12 0


This account appears to disagree with that in page 146. but
it will be observed that the three first articles amount to L266
1s., the sum there stated. The apparent difference arises from a
circumstance which was not noticed in the first edition of this
work. The bill amounting to L205 18s., as there given, and as
reprinted in the present volume, included an additional charge of
ten per cent upon the real charges of the printer and
paper-maker.

383. It is usual for the publisher, when he is employed as
agent between the author and printer, to charge a commission of
ten per cent on all payments he makes. If the author is informed
of this custom previously to his commencing the work, as was the
case in the present instance, he can have no just cause of
complaint; for it is optional whether he himself employs the
printer, or communicates with him through the intervention of his
publisher.

The services rendered for this payment are, the making
arrangements with the printer, the wood-cutter, and the engraver,
if required. There is a convenience in having some intermediate
person between the author and printer, in case the former should
consider any of the charges made by the latter as too high. When
the author himself is quite unacquainted with the details of the
art of printing, he may object to charges which, on a better
acquaintance with the subject, he might be convinced were very
moderate; and in such cases he ought to depend on the judgement
of his publisher, who is generally conversant with the art. This
is particularly the case in the charge for alterations and
corrections, some of which, although apparently trivial, occupy
the compositors much time in making. It should also be observed
that the publisher, in this case, becomes responsible for the
payments to those persons.

384. It is not necessary that the author should avail himself
of this intervention, although it is the interest of the
publisher that he should; and booksellers usually maintain that
the author cannot procure his paper or printing at a cheaper rate
if he go at once to the producers. This appears from the evidence
given before the Committee of the House of Commons in the
Copyright Acts, 8 May, 1818.

Mr O. Rees, bookseller, of the house of Longman and Co.,
Paternoster Row, examined:

Q. Suppose a gentleman to publish a work on his own account,
and to incur all the various expenses; could he get the paper at
30s. a ream?

A. I presume not; I presume a stationer would not sell the
paper at the same price to an indifferent gentleman as to the
trade.

Q. The Committee asked you if a private gentleman was to
publish a work on his own account, if he would not pay more for
the paper than persons in the trade; the Committee wish to be
informed whether a printer does not charge a gentleman a higher
rate than to a publisher.

A. I conceive they generally charge a profit on the paper.

Q. Do not the printers charge a higher price also for
printing, than they do to the trade?

A. I always understood that they do.

385. There appears to be little reason for this distinction
in charging for printing a larger price to the author than to the
publisher, provided the former is able to give equal security for
the payment. With respect to the additional charge on paper, if
the author employs either publisher or printer to purchase it,
they ought to receive a moderate remuneration for the risk, since
they become responsible for the payment; but there is no reason
why, if the author deals at once with the paper-maker, he should
not purchase on the same terms as the printer; and if he choose,
by paying ready money, not to avail himself of the long credit
allowed in those trades, he ought to procure his paper
considerably cheaper.

386. It is time, however, that such conventional combinations
between different trades should be done away with. In a country
so eminently depending for its wealth on its manufacturing
industry, it is of importance that there should exist no abrupt
distinction of classes, and that the highest of the aristocracy
should feel proud of being connected, either personally or
through their relatives, with those pursuits on which their
country's greatness depends. The wealthier manufacturers and
merchants already mix with those classes, and the larger and even
the middling tradesmen are frequently found associating with the
gentry of the land. It is good that this ambition should be
cultivated, not by any rivalry in expense, but by a rivalry in
knowledge and in liberal feelings; and few things would more
contribute to so desirable an effect, than the abolition of all
such contracted views as those to which we have alluded. The
advantage to the other classes, would be an increased
acquaintance with the productive arts of the country an increased
attention to the importance of acquiring habits of punctuality
and of business and, above all, a general feeling that it is
honourable, in any rank of life, to increase our own and our
country's riches, by employing our talents in the production or
in the distribution of wealth.

387. Another circumstance omitted to be noticed in the first
edition relates to what is technically called the overplus, which
may be now explained. When 500 copies of a work are to be
printed, each sheet of it requires one ream of paper. Now a ream,
as used by printers, consists of 21 1/2 quires, or 516 sheets.
This excess of sixteen sheets is necessary in order to allow for
'revises'--for preparing and adjusting the press for the due
performance of its work, and to supply the place of any sheets
which may be accidentally dirtied or destroyed in the processes
of printing, or injured by the binder in putting into boards. It
is found, however, that three per cent is more than the
proportion destroyed, and that damage is less frequent in
proportion to the skill and care of the workmen.

From the evidence of several highly respectable booksellers
and printers, before the Committee of the House of Commons on the
Copyright Act, May, 1818, it appears that the average number of
surplus copies, above 500, is between two and three; that on
smaller impressions it is less, whilst on larger editions it is
greater; that, in some instances, the complete number of 500 is
not made up, in which case the printer is obliged to pay for
completing it; and that in no instance have the whole sixteen
extra copies been completed. On the volume in the reader's hands,
the edition of which consisted of 3000, the surplus amounted to
fifty-two--a circumstance arising from the improvements in
printing and the increased care of the pressmen. Now this
overplus ought to be accounted for to the author--and I believe
it usually is so by all respectable publishers.

388. In order to prevent the printer from privately taking
off a larger number of impressions than he delivers to the author
or publisher, various expedients have been adopted. In some works
a particular watermark has been used in paper made purposely for
the book: thus the words 'Mecanique Celeste' appear in the
watermark of the two first volumes of the great work of Laplace.
In other cases, where the work is illustrated by engravings, such
a fraud would be useless without the concurrence of the
copperplate printer. In France it is usual to print a notice on
the back of the title page, that no copies are genuine without
the subjoined signature of the author: and attached to this
notice is the author's name, either written, or printed by hand
from a wooden block. But notwithstanding this precaution, I have
recently purchased a volume, printed at Paris, in which the
notice exists, but no signature is attached. In London there is
not much danger of such frauds, because the printers are men of
capital, to whom the profit on such a transaction would be
trifling, and the risk of the detection of a fact, which must of
necessity be known to many of their workmen, would be so great as
to render the attempt at it folly.

389. Perhaps the best advice to an author, if he publishes on
his own account, and is a reasonable person, possessed of common
sense, would be to go at once to a respectable printer and make
his arrangements with him.

390. If the author do not wish to print his work at his own
risk, then he should make an agreement with a publisher for an
edition of a limited number; but he should by no means sell the
copyright. If the work contains woodcuts or engravings, it would
be judicious to make it part of the contract that they shall
become the author's property, with the view to their use in a
subsequent edition of the works, if they should be required. An
agreement is frequently made by which the publisher advances the
money and incurs all the risk on condition of his sharing the
profits with the author. The profits alluded to are, for the
present work, the last item of section 382, or L306 4s.

391. Having now explained all the arrangements in printing
the present volume, let us return to section 382, and examine the
distribution of the L915 paid by the public. Of this sum L207 was
the cost of the book, L40 was taxes, L3S2 was the charges of the
bookseller in conveying it to the consumer, and L306 remained for
authorship.

The largest portion, or L362 goes into the pockets of the
booksellers; and as they do not advance capital, and incur very
little risk, this certainly appears to be an unreasonable
allowance. The most extravagant part of the charge is the
thirty-three per cent which is allowed as profit on retailing the
book.

It is stated, however, that all retail booksellers allow to
their customers a discount of ten per cent upon orders above
20s., and that consequently the nominal profit of forty-four or
thirty-three per cent is very much reduced. If this is the case,
it may fairly be enquired, why the price of L2 for example, is
printed upon the back of a book, when every bookseller is ready
to sell it at L1 16s., and why those who are unacquainted with
that circumstance should be made to pay more than others who are
better informed?

392. Several reasons have been alleged as justifying this
high rate of profit.

First, it has been alleged that the purchasers of books take
long credit. This, probably, is often the case, and admitting it,
no reasonable person can object to a proportionate increase of
price. But it is no less clear, that persons who do pay ready
money, should not be charged the same price as those who defer
their payments to a remote period.

Secondly, it has been urged that large profits are necessary
to pay for the great expenses of bookselling establishments; that
rents are high and taxes heavy; and that it would be impossible
for the great booksellers to compete with the smaller ones,
unless the retail profits were great. In reply to this it may be
observed that the booksellers are subject to no peculiar pressure
which does not attach to all other retail trades. It may also be
remarked that large establishments always have advantages over
smaller ones, in the economy arising from the division of labour;
and it is scarcely to be presumed that booksellers are the only
class who, in large concerns, neglect to avail themselves of
them.

Thirdly, it has been pretended that this high rate of profit
is necessary to cover the risk of the bookseller's having some
copies left on his shelves; but he is not obliged to buy of the
publisher a single copy more than he has orders for: and if he do
purchase more, at the subscription price, he proves, by the very
fact, that he himself does not estimate that risk at more than
from four to eight per cent.

393. It has been truly observed, on the other hand, that many
copies of books are spoiled by persons who enter the shops of
booksellers without intending to make any purchase. But, not to
mention that such persons finding on the tables various new
publications, are frequently induced, by that opportunity of
inspecting them, to become purchasers: this damage does not apply
to all booksellers nor to all books; of course it is not
necessary to keep in the shop books of small probable demand or
great price. In the present case, the retail profit on three
copies only, namely, 4s. 6d., would pay the whole cost of the one
copy soiled in the shop; and even that copy might afterwards
produce, at an auction, half or a third of its cost price. The
argument, therefore, from disappointments in the sale of books,
and that arising from heavy stock, are totally groundless in the
question between publisher and author. It shold be remarked also,
that the publisher is generally a retail, as well as a wholesale,
bookseller; and that, besides his profit upon every copy which he
sells in his capacity of agent, he is allowed to charge the
author as if every copy had been subscribed for at 4s. 2d., and
of course he receives the same profit as the rest of the
wholesale traders for the books retailed in his own shop.

394. In the country, there is more reason for a considerable
allowance between the retail dealer and the public; because the
profit of the country bookseller is diminished by the expense of
the carriage of the books from London. He must also pay a
commission, usually five per cent, to his London agent, on all
those books which his correspondent does not himself publish. If
to this be added a discount of five per cent, allowed for ready
money to every customer, and of ten per cent to book clubs, the
profit of the bookseller in a small country town is by no means
too large.

Some of the writers, who have published criticisms on the
observations made in the first edition of this work, have
admitted that the apparent rate of profit to the booksellers is
too large. But they have, on the other hand, urged that too
favourable a case is taken in supposing the whole 3000 copies
sold. If the reader will turn back to section 382, he will find
that the expense of the three first items remains the same,
whatever be the number of copies sold; and on looking over the
remaining items he will perceive that the bookseller, who incurs
very little risk and no outlay, derives exactly the same profit
per cent on the copies sold, whatever their numbers may be. This,
however, is not the case with the unfortunate author, on whom
nearly the whole of the loss falls undivided. The same writers
have also maintained, that the profit is fixed at the rate
mentioned, in order to enable the bookseller to sustain losses,
unavoidably incurred in the purchase and retail of other books.
This is the weakest of all arguments. It would be equally just
that a merchant should charge an extravagant commission for an
undertaking unaccompanied with any risk, in order to repay
himself for the losses which his own want of skill might lead to
in his other mercantile transactions.

395. That the profit in retailing books is really too large,
is proved by several circumstances: First, that the same nominal
rate of profit has existed in the bookselling trade for a long
series of years, notwithstanding the great fluctuations in the
rate of profit on capital invested in every other business.
Secondly, that, until very lately, a multitude of booksellers, in
all parts of London, were content with a much smaller profit, and
were willing to sell for ready money, or at short credit, to
persons of undoubted character, at a profit of only ten per cent,
and in some instances even at a still smaller percentage, instead
of that of twenty-five per cent on the published prices. Thirdly,
that they are unable to maintain this rate of profit except by a
combination, the object of which is to put down all competition.

396. Some time ago a small number of the large London
booksellers entered into such a combination. One of their objects
was to prevent any bookseller from selling books for less than
ten per cent under the published prices; and in order to enforce
this principle, they refuse to sell books, except at the
publishing price, to any bookseller who declines signing an
agreement to that effect. By degrees, many were prevailed upon to
join this combination; and the effect of the exclusion it
inflicted, left the small capitalist no option between signing or
having his business destroyed. Ultimately, nearly the whole
trade, comprising about two thousand four hundred persons, have
been compelled to sign the agreement.

As might be naturally expected from a compact so injurious to
many of the parties to it, disputes have arisen; several
booksellers have been placed under the ban of the combination,
who allege that they have not violated its rules, and who accuse
the opposite party of using spies, etc., to entrap them.(3*)

397. The origin of this combination has been explained by Mr
Pickering, of Chancery Lane, himself a publisher, in a printed
statement, entitled, 'Booksellers' Monopoly' and the following
list of booksellers, who form the committee for conducting this
combination, is copied from that printed at the head of each of
the cases published by Mr Pickering:

 Allen, J., 7, Leadenhall Street.
 Arch, J., 61, Cornhill.
 Baldwin, R., 47, Paternoster Row.
 Booth, J.
 Duncan, J., 37, Paternoster Row.
 Hatchard, J., Piccadilly.
 Marshall, R., Stationers' Court.
 Murray, J., Albemarle Street.
 Rees, O., 39, Paternoster Row.
 Richardson, J. M., 23, Cornhill.
 Rivington, J., St. Paul's Churchyard.
 Wilson, E., Royal Exchange.


398. In whatever manner the profits are divided between the
publisher and the retail bookseller, the fact remains, that the
reader pays for the volume in his hands 6s., and that the author
will receive only 3s. 10d.; out of which latter sum, the expense
of printing the volume must be paid: so that in passing through
two hands this book has produced a profit of forty-four per cent.
This excessive rate of profit has drawn into the book trade a
larger share of capital than was really advantageous; and the
competition between the different portions of that capital has
naturally led to the system of underselling, to which the
committee above mentioned are endeavouring to put a stop.(4*)

399. There are two parties who chiefly suffer from this
combination, the public and authors. The first party can seldom be
induced to take an active part against any grievance; and in fact
little is required from it, except a cordial support of the
authors, in any attempt to destroy a combination so injurious to
the interests of both.

Many an industrious bookseller would be glad to sell for 5s.
the volume which the reader holds in his hand, and for which he
has paid 6s.; and, in doing so for ready money, the tradesman who
paid 4s. 6d. for the book, would realize, without the least risk,
a profit of eleven per cent on the money he had advanced. It is
one of the objects of the combination we are discussing, to
prevent the small capitalist from employing his capital at that
rate of profit which he thinks most advantageous to himself; and
such a proceeding is decidedly injurious to the public.

400. Having derived little pecuniary advantage from my own
literary productions; and being aware, that from the very nature
of their subjects, they can scarcely be expected to reimburse the
expense of preparing them, I may be permitted to offer an opinion
upon the subject, which I believe to be as little influenced by
any expectation of advantage from the future, as it is by any
disappointment at the past.

Before, however, we proceed to sketch the plan of a campaign
against Paternoster Row, it will be fit to inform the reader of
the nature of the enemies' forces, and of his means of attack and
defence. Several of the great publishers find it convenient to be
the proprietors of reviews, magazines, journals, and even of
newspapers. The editors are paid, in some instances very
handsomely, for their superintendence; and it is scarcely to be
expected that they should always mete out the severest justice on
works by the sale of which their employers are enriched. The
great and popular works of the day are, of course, reviewed with
some care, and with deference to public opinion. Without this,
the journals would not sell; and it is convenient to be able to
quote such articles as instances of impartiality. Under shelter
of this, a host of ephemeral productions are written into a
transitory popularity; and by the aid of this process, the
shelves of the booksellers, as well as the pockets of the public,
are disencumbered. To such an extent are these means employed,
that some of the periodical publications of the day ought to be
regarded merely as advertising machines. That the reader may be
in some measure on his guard against such modes of influencing
his judgement, he should examine whether the work reviewed is
published by the bookseller who is the proprietor of the review;
a fact which can sometimes be ascertained from the title of the
book as given at the head of the article. But this is by no means
a certain criterion, because partnerships in various publications
exist between houses in the book trade, which are not generally
known to the public; so that, in fact, until reviews are
established in which booksellers have no interest, they can never
be safely trusted.

401. In order to put down the combination of booksellers, no
plan appears so likely to succeed as a counter-association of
authors. If any considerable portion of the literary world were
to unite and form such an association; and if its affairs were
directed by an active committee, much might be accomplished. The
objects of such an union should be, to employ some person well
skilled in the printing, and in the bookselling trade; and to
establish him in some central situation as their agent. Each
member of the association to be at liberty to place any, or all
of his works in the hands of this agent for sale; to allow any
advertisements, or list of books published by members of the
association, to be stitched up at the end of each of his own
productions; the expense of preparing them being defrayed by the
proprietors of the books advertised.

The duties of the agent would be to retail to the public, for
ready money, copies of books published by members of the
association. To sell to the trade, at prices agreed upon, any
copies they may require. To cause to be inserted in the journals,
or at the end of works published by members, any advertisements
which the committee or authors may direct. To prepare a general
catalogue of the works of members. To be the agent for any member
of the association respecting the printing of any work.

Such a union would naturally present other advantages; and as
each author would retain the liberty of putting any price he
might think fit on his productions, the public would have the
advantage of reduction in price produced by competition between
authors on the same subject, as well as of that arising from a
cheaper mode of publishing the volumes sold to them.

402. Possibly, one of the consequences resulting from such an
association, would be the establishment of a good and an
impartial review, a work the want of which has been felt for
several years. The two long-established and celebrated reviews,
the unbending champions of the most opposite political opinions.
are, from widely differing causes, exhibiting unequivocal signs
of decrepitude and decay. The quarterly advocate of despotic
principles is fast receding from the advancing intelligence of
the age; the new strength and new position which that
intelligence has acquired, demands for its expression, new
organs, equally the representatives of its intellectual power,
and of its moral energies: whilst, on the other hand, the sceptre
of the northern critics has passed, from the vigorous grasp of
those who established its dominion, into feebler hands.

403. It may be stated as a difficulty in realizing this
suggestion, that those most competent to supply periodical
criticism, are already engaged. But it is to be observed, that
there are many who now supply literary criticisms to journals,
the political principles of which they disapprove; and that if
once a respectable and well-supported review(5*) were
established, capable of competing, in payment to its
contributors, with the wealthiest of its rivals, it would very
soon be supplied with the best materials the country can produce.
(6*) It may also be apprehended that such a combination of
authors would be favourable to each other. There are two
temptations to which an editor of a review is commonly exposed:
the first is, a tendency to consult too much, in the works he
criticizes, the interest of the proprietor of his review; the
second, a similar inclination to consult the interests of his
friends. The plan which has been proposed removes one of these
temptations, but it would be very difficult, if not impossible,
to destroy the other.

NOTES:

1. The whole of the subsequent details relate to the first
edition of this work.

2. These details vary with different books and different
publishers; those given in the text are believed to substantially
correct, and are applicable to works like the present.

3. It is now understood that the use of spies has been given up;
and it is also known that the system of underselling is again
privately resorted to by many, so that the injury arising from
this arbitrary system, pursued by the great booksellers, affects
only, or most severely, those whose adherence to an extorted
promise most deserves respect. Note to the second edition.

4 The monopoly cases. Nos. 1. 2. and 3. of those published by Mr
Pickering, should be consulted upon this point; and, as the
public will be better able to form a judgement by hearing the
other side of the question, it is to be hoped the Chairman of the
Committee (Mr Richardson) will publish those regulations
respecting the trade, a copy of which. Mr Pickering states, is
refused by the Committee even to those who sign them.

5. At the moment when this opinion as to the necessity for a new
review was passing through the press. I was informed that the
elements of such an undertaking were already organized.

6. I have been suggested to me, that the doctrines maintained in
this chapter may subject the present volume to the opposition of
that combination which it has opposed. I do not entertain that
opinion; and for this reason, that the booksellers are too shrewd
a class to supply such an admirable passport to publicity as
their opposition would prove to be if generally suspected. But
should my readers take a different view of the question, they can
easily assist in remedying the evil, by each mentioning the
existence of this little volume to two of his friends.

{I was wrong in this conjecture; all booksellers are not so
shrewd as I had imagined, for some did refuse to sell this
volume; consequently others sold a larger number of copies.

In the preface to the second edition, at the commencement of
this volume, the reader will find some further observation on the
effect of the booksellers' combination.}



Chapter 23

On the Effect of Machinery in Reducing the Demand for Labour

404. One of the objections most frequently urged against
machinery is, that it has a tendency to supersede much of the
hand labour which was previously employed; and in fact unless a
machine diminished the labour necessary to make an article, it
could never come into use. But if it have that effect, its owner,
in order to extend the sale of his produce, will be obliged to
undersell his competitors; this will induce them also to
introduce the new machine, and the effect of this competition
will soon cause the article to fall, until the profits on
capital, under the new system, shall be reduced to the same rate
as under the old. Although, therefore, the use of machinery has
at first a tendency to throw labour out of employment, yet the
increased demand consequent upon the reduced price, almost
immediately absorbs a considerable portion of that labour, and
perhaps, in some cases, the whole of what would otherwise have
been displaced.

That the effect of a new machine is to diminish the labour
required for the production of the same quantity of manufactured
commodities may beclearlyperceived, byimaginingasociety,
inwhichoccupation are not divided, each man himself manufacturing
all the articles he consumes. Supposing each individual to labour
during ten hours daily, one of which is devoted to making shoes,
it is evident that if any tool or machine be introduced, by the
use ofwhich his shoes can be made in halfthe usual time, then
each member ofthe community will enjoy the same comforts as
before by only nine and one-half hours' labour.

405. If, therefore, we wish to prove that the total quantity
oflabourisnot diminished by the introduction of machines, we must
have recourse to some other principle of our nature. But the same
motive which urges a man to activity will become additionally
powerful, when he finds his comforts procured with diminished
labour; and in such circumstances, it is probable, that many
would employ the time thus redeemed in contriving new tools for
other branches of their occupations. He who has habitually worked
ten hours a day, will employ the half hour saved by the new
machine in gratifying some other want; and as each new machine
adds to these gratifications, new luxuries will open to his view,
which continued enjoyment will as surely render necessary to his
happiness.

406. In countries where occupations are divided, and where
the division of labour is practised, the ultimate consequence of
improvements in machinery is almost invariably to cause a greater
demand for labour. Frequently the new labour requires, at its
commencement, a higher degree of skill than the old; and,
unfortunately, the class of persons driven out of the old
employment are not always qualified for the new one; so that a
certain interval must elapse before the whole of their labour is
wanted. This, for a time, produces considerable suffering amongst
the working classes; and it is of great importance for their
happiness that they should be aware of these effects, and be
enabled to foresee them at an early period, in order to diminish,
as much as possible, the injury resulting from them.

407. One very important enquiry which this subject presents
is the question whether it is more for the interest of the
working classes, that improved machinery should be so perfect as
to defy the competition of hand labour; and that they should thus
be at once driven out of the trade by it; or be gradually forced
to quit it by the slow and successive advances of the machine?
The suffering which arises from a quick transition is undoubtedly
more intense; but it is also much less permanent than that which
results from the slower process: and if the competition is
perceived to be perfectly hopeless, the workman will at once set
himself to learn a new department of his art. On the other hand,
although new machinery causes an increased demand for skill in
those who make and repair it, and in those who first superintend
its use; yet there are other cases in which it enables children
and inferior workmen to execute work that previously required
greater skill. In such circumstances, even though the increased
demand for the article, produced by its diminished price, should
speedily give occupation to all who were before employed, yet the
very diminution of the skill required, would open a wider field
of competition amongst the working classes themselves.

That machines do not, even at their first introduction,
invariably throw human labour out of employment, must be
admitted; and it has been maintained, by persons very competent
to form an opinion on the subject, that they never produce that
effect. The solution of this question depends on facts, which,
unfortunately, have not yet been collected: and the circumstance
of our not possessing the data necessary for the full examination
of so important a subject, supplies an additional reason for
impressing, upon the minds of all who are interested in such
enquiries, the importance of procuring accurate registries, at
various times, of the number of persons employed in particular
branches of manufacture, of the number of machines used by them.
and of the wages they receive.

408. In relation to the enquiry just mentioned, I shall offer
some remarks upon the facts within my knowledge; and only regret
that those which I can support by numerical statement are so few.
When the crushing mill, used in Cornwall and other mining
countries, superseded the labour of a great number of young
women, who worked very hard in breaking ores with flat hammers,
no distress followed. The reason of this appears to have been,
that the proprietors of the mines, having one portion of their
capital released by the superior cheapness of the process
executed by the mills, found it their interest to apply more
labour to other operations. The women, disengaged from mere
drudgery, were thus profitably employed in dressing the ores, a
work which required skill and judgement in the selection.

409. The increased production arising from alterations in the
machinery, or from improved modes of using it, appears from the
following table. A machine called in the cotton manufacture a
'stretcher', worked by one man, produced as follows:

 Year; Pounds of cotton spun; Roving wages per score; Rate of
earning per week
                s. d. s. d.

 1810 400 1 31/2 25 10(1*)
 1811 600 0 10 25 0
 1813 850 0 9 31 101/2
 1823 1000 0 71/2 31 3

 The same man working at another stretcher, the roving a little
finer, produced,

 1823 900 0 71/2 28 11/2
 1825 1000 0 7 27 6
 1827 1200 0 6 30 0
 1832 1200 0 6 30 0

In this instance, production has gradually increased until, at
the end of twenty-two years, three times as much work is done as
at the commencement, although the manual labour employed remains
the same. The weekly earnings of the workmen have not fluctuated
very much, and appear, on the whole, to have advanced: but it
would be imprudent to push too far reasonings founded upon a
single instance.

410. The produce of 480 spindles of 'mule yarn spinning', at
different periods, was as follows:

Year; Hanks about 40 to the pound; Wages per thousand (s. d.)

1806; 6668; 9 2
1823; 8000; 6 3
1832; 10,000; 3 8


411. The subjoined view of the state of weaving by hand- and
by power-looms, at Stockport, in the years 1822 and 1832, is
taken from an enumeration of the machines contained in 65
factories, and was collected for the purpose of being given in
evidence before a Committee of the House of Commons.

                            In 1822   In 1832
 Hand-loom weavers          2800          800    2000 decrease
 Persons using power-looms   657         3059    2402 increase
 Persons to dress the warp    98          388     290 increase
 Total persons employed     3555         4247     692 increase
 Power-looms                1970         9177    8207 increase

During this period, the number of hand-looms in employment has
diminished to less than one-third, whilst that of power-looms has
increased to more than five times its former amount. The total
number of workmen has increased about one-third; but the amount
of manufactured goods (supposing each power-loom to do only the
work of three hand-looms) is three and a half times as large as
it was before.

412. In considering this increase of employment, it must be
admitted, that the two thousand persons thrown out of work are
not exactly of the same class as those called into employment by
the power-looms. A hand-weaver must possess bodily strength,
which is not essential for a person attending a power-loom;
consequently, women and young persons of both sexes, from fifteen
to seventeen years of age, find employment in power-loom
factories. This, however, would be a very limited view of the
employment arising from the introduction of power-looms: the
skill called into action in building the new factories, in
constructing the new machinery, in making the steam-engines to
drive it, and in devising improvements in the structure of the
looms, as well as in regulating the economy of the establishment,
is of a much higher order than that which it had assisted in
superseding; and if we possessed any means of measuring this, it
would probably be found larger in amount. Nor, in this view of
the subject, must we omit the fact, that although hand-looms
would have increased in number if those moved by steam had not
been invented, yet it is the cheapness of the article
manufactured by power-looms which has caused this great extension
of their employment, and that by diminishing the price of one
article of commerce, we always call into additional activity the
energy of those who produce others. It appears that the number of
hand-looms in use in England and Scotland in 1830, was about
240,000; nearly the same number existed in the year 1820: whereas
the number of power-looms which, in 1830, was 55,000, had, in
1820, been 14,000. When it is considered that each of these
powerlooms did as much work as three worked by hand, the
increased producing power was equal to that of 123,000
hand-looms. During the whole of this period the wages and
employment of hand-loom weavers have been very precarious.

413. Increased intelligence amongst the working classes, may
enable them to foresee some of those improvements which are
likely for a time to affect the value of their labour; and the
assistance of savings banks and friendly societies, (the
advantages of which can never be too frequently, or too strongly,
pressed upon their attention), may be of some avail in remedying
the evil: but it may be useful also to suggest to them, that a
diversity of employments amongst the members of one family will
tend, in some measure, to mitigate the privations which arise
from fluctuation in the value of labour.

NOTES:

1. In 1810, the workman's wages were guaranteed not to be less
than 26s.



Chapter 33

On the Effect of Taxes and of Legal Restrictions upon
Manufactures

414. As soon as a tax is put upon any article, the ingenuity
of those who make, and of those who use it, is directed to the
means of evading as large a part of the tax as they can; and this
may often be accomplished in ways which are perfectly fair and
legal. An excise duty exists at present of 3d.(1*) per pound upon
all writing paper. The effect of this impost is, that much of the
paper which is employed, is made extremely thin, in order that
the weight of a given number of sheets may be as small as
possible. Soon after the first imposition of the tax upon
windows, which depended upon their number, and not upon their
size, new-built houses began to have fewer windows and those of
larger dimensions than before. Staircases were lighted by
extremely long windows, illuminating three or four flights of
stairs. When the tax was increased, and the size of windows
charged as single was limited, then still greater care was taken
to have as few windows as possible, and internal lights became
frequent. These internal lights in their turn became the subject
of taxation; but it was easy to evade the discovery of them, and
in the last Act of Parliament reducing the assessed taxes, they
ceased to be chargeable. From the changes thus successively
introduced in the number the forms, and the positions of the
windows, a tolerable conjecture might, in some instances, be
formed of the age of a house.

415. A tax on windows is exposed to objection on the double
ground of its excluding air and light, and it is on both accounts
injurious to health. The importance of light to the enjoyment of
health is not perhaps sufficiently appreciated: in the cold and
more variable climates, it is of still greater importance than in
warmer countries.

416. The effects of regulations of excise upon our home
manufactures are often productive of great inconvenience; and
check, materially, the natural progress of improvement. It is
frequently necessary, for the purposes of revenue, to oblige
manufacturers to take out a license, and to compel them to work
according to certain rules, and to make certain stated quantities
at each operation. When these quantities are large, as in general
they are, they deter manufacturers from making experiments, and
thus impede improvements both in the mode of conducting the
processes and in the introduction of new materials. Difficulties
of this nature have occurred in experimenting upon glass for
optical purposes; but in this case, permission has been obtained
by fit persons to make experiments, without the interference of
the excise. It ought, however, to be remembered, that such
permission, if frequently or indiscriminately granted, might be
abused: the greatest protection against such an abuse will be
found, in bringing the force of public opinion to bear upon
scientific men and thus enabling the proper authorities, although
themselves but moderately conversant with science, to judge of
the propriety of the permission, from the public character of the
applicant.

417. From the evidence given, in 1808, before the Committee
of the House of Commons, On Distillation from Sugar and Molasses,
it appeared that, by a different mode of working from that
prescribed by the Excise, the spirits from a given weight of
corn, which then produced eighteen gallons, might easily have
been increased to twenty gallons. Nothing more is required for
this purpose, than to make what is called the wash weaker, the
consequence of which is, that fermentation goes on to a greater
extent. It was stated, however, that such a deviation would
render the collection of the duty liable to great difficulties;
and that it would not benefit the distiller much, since his price
was enhanced to the customer by any increase of expense in the
fabrication. Here then is a case in which a quantity, amounting
to one-ninth of the total produce, is actually lost to the
country. A similar effect arises in the coal trade, from the
effect of a duty, for, according to the evidence before the
House of Commons, it appears that a considerable quantity of the
very best coal is actually wasted. The extent of this waste is
very various in different mines; but in some cases it amounts to
one-third.

418. The effects of duties upon the import of foreign
manufactures are equally curious. A singular instance occurred in
the United States, where bar-iron was, on its introduction.
liable to a duty of 140 per cent ad valorem, whilst hardware was
charged at 25 per cent only. In consequence of this tax, large
quantities of malleable iron rails for railroads were imported
into America under the denomination of hardware; the difference
of 115 per cent in duty more than counter balancing the expense
of fashioning the iron into rails prior to its importation.

419. Duties, drawbacks, and bounties, when considerable in
amount, are all liable to objections of a very serious nature,
from the frauds to which they give rise. It has been stated
before Committees of the House of Commons, that calicoes made up
in the form, and with the appearance of linen, have frequently
been exported for the purpose of obtaining the bounty, for
calico made up in this way sells only at 1s. 4d. per yard,
whereas linen of equal fineness is worth from 2s. 8d. to 2s. 10d.
per yard. It appeared from the evidence, that one house in six
months sold five hundred such pieces of calico.

In almost all cases heavy duties, or prohibitions, are
ineffective as well as injurious; for unless the articles
excluded are of very large dimensions, there constantly arises a
price at which they will be clandestinely imported by the
smuggler. The extent, therefore, to which smuggling can be
carried, should always be considered in the imposition of new
duties, or in the alteration of old ones. Unfortunately it has
been pushed so far, and is so systematically conducted between
this country and France, that the price per cent at which most
contraband articles can be procured is perfectly well known. From
the evidence of Mr Galloway, it appears that, from 30 to 40 per
cent was the rate of insurance on exporting prohibited machinery
from England, and that the larger the quantity the less was the
percentage demanded. From evidence given in the Report of the
Watch and Clock-makers' Committee, in 1817, it appears that
persons were constantly in the habit of receiving in France
watches, lace, silks, and other articles of value easily
portable, and delivering them in England at ten per cent on their
estimated worth, in which sum the cost of transport and the risk
of smuggling were included.

420. The process employed in manufacturing often depends upon
the mode in which a tax is levied on the materials, or on the
article produced. W atch glasses are made in England by workmen
who purchase from the glass house globes of five or six inches in
diameter, out of which, by means of a piece of red-hot tobacco
pipe, guided round a pattern watch glass placed on the globe,
they crack five others: these are afterwards ground and smoothed
on the edges. In the Tyrol the rough watch glasses are supplied
at once from the glass house; the workman, applying a thick ring
of cold glass to each globe as soon as it is blown, causes a
piece, of the size of a watch glass, to be cracked out. The
remaining portion of the globe is immediately broken, and returns
to the melting pot. This process could not be adopted in England
with the same economy, because the whole of the glass taken out
of the pot is subject to the excise duty.

421. The objections thus stated as incidental to particular
modes of taxation are not raised with a view to the removal of
those particular taxes; their fitness or unfitness must be
decided by a much wider enquiry, into which it is not the object
of this volume to enter. Taxes are essential for the security
both of liberty and property, and the evils which have been
mentioned may be the least amongst those which might have been
chosen. It is, however, important that the various effects of
every tax should be studied, and that those should be adopted
which, upon the whole, are found to give the least check to the
productive industry of the country.

422. In enquiring into the effect produced, or to be
apprehended from any particular mode of taxation, it is necessary
to examine a little into the interests of the parties who approve
of the plan in question, as well as of those who object to it.
Instances have occurred where the persons paying a tax into the
hands of government have themselves been adverse to any
reduction. This happened in the case of one class of
calico-printers, whose interest really was injured by a removal
of the tax on the printing: they received from the manufacturers,
payment for the duty, about two months before they were
themselves called on to pay it to government; and the consequence
was, that a considerable capital always remained in their hands.
The evidence which states this circumstance is well calculated to
promote a reasonable circumspection in such enquiries.

Question. Do you happen to know anything of an opposition
from calicoprinters to the repeal of the tax on printed calicoes?

Answer. I have certainly heard of such an opposition, and am
not surprised at it. There are very few individuals who are, in
fact, interested in the nonrepeal of the tax; there are two
classes of calico-printers; one, who print their own cloth, send
their goods into the market, and sell them on their own account;
they frequently advance the duty to government, and pay it in
cash before their goods are sold, but generally before the goods
are paid for, being most commonly sold on a credit of six months:
they are of course interested on that account, as well as on
others that have been stated, in the repeal of the tax. The other
class of calico-printers print the cloth of other people; they
print for hire, and on re-delivery of the cloth when printed,
they receive the amount of the duty, which they are not called
upon to pay to government sooner, on an average, than nine weeks
from the stamping of the goods. Where the business is carried on
upon a large scale, the arrears of duty due to government often
amount to eight, or even ten thousand pounds, and furnish a
capital with which these gentlemen carry on their business; it is
not, therefore, to be wondered at that they should be opposed to
the prayer of our petition.

423. The policy of giving bounties upon home productions, and
of enforcing restrictions against those which can be produced
more cheaply in other countries, is of a very questionable
nature: and, except for the purpose of introducing a new
manufacture, in a country where there is not much commercial or
manufacturing spirit, is scarcely to be defended. All incidental
modes of taxing one class of the community, the consumers, to an
unknown extent, for the sake of supporting another class, the
manufacturers, who would otherwise abandon that mode of employing
their capital, are highly objectionable. One part of the price of
any article produced under such circumstances, consists of the
expenditure, together with the ordinary profits of capital: the
other part of its price may be looked upon as charity, given to
induce the manufacturer to continue an unprofitable use of his
capital, in order to give employment to his workmen. If the sum
of what the consumers are thus forced to pay, merely on account
of these artificial restrictions, where generally known, its
amount would astonish even those who advocate them; and it would
be evident to both parties, that the employment of capital in
those branches of trade ought to be abandoned.

424. The restriction of articles produced in a manufactory to
certain sizes, is attended with some good effect in an economical
view, arising chiefly from the smaller number of different tools
required in making them, as well as from less frequent change in
the adjustment of those tools. A similar source of economy is
employed in the Navy: by having ships divided into a certain
number of classes, each of which comprises vessels of the same
dimensions, the rigging made for one vessel will fit any other of
its class; a circumstance which renders the supply of distant
stations more easy.

425. The effects of the removal of a monopoly are often very
important, and they were perhaps never more remarkable than in
the bobbin net trade, in the years 1824 and 1825. These effects
were, however, considerably enhanced by the general rage for
speculation which was so prevalent during that singular period.
One of the patents of Mr Heathcote for a bobbin net machine had
just then expired, whilst another, for an improvement in a
particular part of such machines, called a turn again, had yet a
few years to run. Many licenses had been granted to use the
former patent, which were charged at the rate of about five
pounds per annum for each quarter of a yard in width, so that
what is termed a six-quarter frame (which makes bobbin net a yard
and a half wide) paid thirty pounds a year. The second patent was
ultimately abandoned in August, 1823, infringements of it having
taken place.

It was not surprising that, on the removal of the monopoly
arising from this patent, a multitude of persons became desirous
of embarking in a trade which had hitherto yielded a very large
profit. The bobbin net machine occupies little space; and is,
from that circumstance, well adapted for a domestic manufacture.
The machines which already existed, were principally in the hands
of the manufacturers; but, a kind of mania for obtaining them
seized on persons of all descriptions, who could raise a small
capital; and, under its influence, butchers, bakers, small
farmers, publicans, gentlemen's servants, and, in some cases,
even clergymen, became anxious to possess bobbin net machines.

Some few machines were rented; but, in most of these cases,
the workman purchased the machine he employed, by instalments of
from L3 to L6 weekly, for a six quarter machine; and many
individuals, unacquainted with the mode of using the machines so
purchased, paid others of more experience for instructing them in
their use; L50 or L60 being sometimes given for this instruction.
The success of the first speculators induced others to follow the
example; and the machine-makers were almost overwhelmed with
orders for lace frames. Such was the desire to procure them, that
many persons deposited a large part, or the whole, of the price,
in the hands of the frame-makers, in order to insure their having
the earliest supply. This, as might naturally be expected, raised
the price of wages amongst the workmen employed in
machine-making; and the effect was felt at a considerable
distance from Nottingham, which was the centre of this mania.
Smiths not used to flat filing, coming from distant parts, earned
from 30s. to 42s. per week. Finishing smiths, accustomed to the
work, gained from L3 to L4 per week..The forging smith, if
accustomed to his work, gained from L5 to L6 per week, and some
few earned L10 per week. In making what are technically called
insides, those who were best paid, were generally clock- and
watchmakers, from all the districts round, who received from L3
to L4 per week. The setters-up--persons who put the parts of the
machine together--charged L20 for their assistance; and, a six
quarter machine, could be put together in a fortnight or three
weeks.

426. Good workmen, being thus induced to desert less
profitable branches of their business, in order to supply this
extraordinary demand, the masters, in other trades, soon found
their men leaving them, without being aware of the immediate
reason: some of the more intelligent, however, ascertained the
cause. They went from Birmingham to Nottingham, in order to
examine into the circumstances which had seduced almost all the
journeymen clockmakers from their own workshops; and it was soon
apparent, that the men who had been working as clockmakers in
Birmingham, at the rate of 25s. a week, could earn L2 by working
at lace frame-making in Nottingham.

On examining the nature of this profitable work, the master
clockmakers perceived that one part of the bobbin net machines,
that which held the bobbins, could easily be made in their own
workshops. They therefore contracted with the machine-makers, who
had already more work ordered than they could execute, to supply
the bobbin carriers, at a price which enabled them, on their
return home, to give such increased wages as were sufficient to
retain their own workmen, as well as yield themselves a good
profit. Thus an additional facility was afforded for the
construction of these bobbin net machines: and the conclusion was
not difficult to be foreseen. The immense supply of bobbin net
thus poured into the market, speedily reduced its price; this
reduction in price, rendered the machines by which the net was
made, less valuable; some few of the earliest producers, for a
short time, carried on a profitable trade; but multitudes were
disappointed, and many ruined. The low price at which the fabric
sold, together with its lightness and beauty, combined to extend
the sale; and ultimately, new improvements in the machines,
rendered the older ones still less valuable.

427. The bobbin net trade is, at present, both extensive and
increasing; and, as it may, probably, claim a larger portion of
public attention at some future time, it will be interesting to
describe briefly its actual state.

A lace frame on the most improved principle, at the present
day, manufacturing a piece of net two yards wide, when worked
night and day, will produce six hundred and twenty racks per
week. A rack is two hundred and forty holes; and as in the
machine to which we refer, three racks are equal in length to one
yard, it will produce 21,493 square yards of bobbin net annually.
Three men keep this machine constantly working; and, they were
paid (by piece-work) about 25s. each per week, in 1830. Two boys,
working only in the day-time, can prepare the bobbins for this
machine, and are paid from 2s. to 4s. per week, according to
their skill. Forty-six square yards of this net weigh two pounds
three ounces; so that each square yard weighs a little more than
three-quarters of an ounce.

428. For a condensed and general view of the present state of
this trade, we shall avail ourselves of a statement by Mr William
Felkin, of Nottingham, dated September, 1831, and entitled Facts
and Calculations illustrative of the Present State of the Bobbin
Net Trade. It appears to have been collected with care, and
contains, in a single sheet of paper, a body of facts of the
greatest importance. *

429. The total capital employed in the factories, for
preparing the cotton, in those for weaving the bobbin net, and in
various processes to which it is subject, is estimated at above
L2,000,000, and the number of persons who receive wages, at above
two hundred thousand.

 Comparison of the value of the raw material imported, with the
value of the goods manufactured therefrom

Amount of Sea Island cotton annually used 1,600,000 lbs., value
L120,000; this is manufactured into yarn, weighing 1,000,000
lbs., value L500,000.

There is also used 25,000 lbs. of raw silk, which costs
L30,000, and is doubled into 10,000 lbs. thrown, worth L40,000.

Raw Material; Manufacture; Square yards produced; Value per sq.
yd.(s. d.); Total value (L)

Cotton 1,600,000; lbs; Power Net;  6,750,000; 1 3; 421,875
                       Hand ditto; 15,750,000; 1 9; 1,378,125
                       Fancy ditto; 150,000; 3 6; 26,250
Silk, 25,000 lbs;     Silk Goods; 750,000; 1 9; 65,625

                                 23,400,000; 1,891,875


* I cannot omit the opportunity of expressing my hope that this
example will be followed in other trades. We should thus obtain a
body ofinformation equally important to the workman, the
capitalist, the philosopher, and the statesman.


The brown nets which are sold in the Nottingham market are
in part disposed of by the agents of twelve or fifteen of the
larger makers, i.e. to the amount of about L250,000 a year. The
principal part of the remainder, i.e. about L1,050,000 a year, is
sold by about two hundred agents, who take the goods from one
warehouse to another for sale.

Of this production, about half is exported in the
unembroidered state. The exports of bobbin net are in great part
to Hamburgh, for sale at home and at Leipzic and Frankfort fairs.
Antwerp, and the rest of Belgium; to France, by contraband; to
Italy, and North and South America. Though a very suitable
article, yet the quantity sent eastward of the Cape of Good Hope,
has hitherto been too trifling for notice. Three-eighths of the
whole production are sold unembroidered at home. The remaining
one-eighth is embroidered in this country, and increases the
ultimate value as under, viz.

 Embroidery     Increases value     Ultimate worth
                    L                      L
 On power net     131,840               553,715
 On hand net    1,205,860             2,583.985
 On fancy net      78,750               105,000
 On silk net      109,375               175,000

 Total embroidery, wages and profits 1,525,825
 Ultimate total value 3,417,700


From this it appears, that in the operations of this trade,
which had no existence twenty years ago, L120,000 original cost
of cotton becomes, when manufactured, of the ultimate value of
L3,242,700 sterling.

As to weekly wages paid, I hazard the following as the
judgement of those conversant with the respective branches, viz.

In fine spinning and doubling, adults 25s.; children 7s.:
work twelve hours per day.

In bobbin net making; men working machines, 18s.;
apprentices, youths of fifteen or more, 10s.; by power, fifteen
hours; by hand, eight to twelve hours, according to width.

In mending; children 4s.; women 8s.; work nine to fourteen
hours ad libitum.

In winding, threading, etc., children and young women, 5s.:
irregular work, according to the progress of machines.

In embroidery; children seven years old and upwards, 1s. to
3s.; work ten to twelve hours; women, if regularly at work, 5s.
to 7s. 6d.; twelve to fourteen hours.

As an example of the effect of the wages of lace embroidery,
etc., it may be observed, it is often the case that a stocking
weaver in a country village will earn only 7s. a week, and his
wife and children 7s. to 14s. more at the embroidery frame.

430. The principal part of the hand-machines employed in the
bobbin net manufacture are worked in shops, forming part of, or
attached to, private houses. The subjoined list will show the
kinds of machinery employed, and classes of persons to whom it
belongs.

 Bobbin net machinery now at work in the Kingdom

 Hand levers 6 quarter 500      Hand circulars 6 quarter 100
             7 quarter 200                     7 quarter 300
             8 quarter 300                     8 quarter 400
            10 quarter 300                     9 quarter 100
            12 quarter  30                    10 quarter 300
            16 quarter  20                    12 quarter 100
            20 quarter   1   Hand transverse, pusher,
 Hand rotary 10 quarter 50  straight bolt, etc. averaging 5
quarters 750
             12 quarter 50
                      2050                               1451

 Total hand machines 3501

 Power     6 quarter 100
           7 quarter  40
           8 quarter 350
          10 quarter 270
          12 quarter 220
          16 quarter  20
Total power machines 1000

Total number of machines 4501

 700 persons own 1 machine, 700 machines.
 226             2          452
 181             3          543
  96             4          384
  40             5          200
  21             6          126
  17             7          119
  19             8          152
  17             9          153
  12            10          120
   8            11           88
   6            12           72
   5            13           65
   5            14           70
   4            16           64
  25 own respectively 18,
            19,  20,  21,
            23,  24,  25,
            26,  27,  28,
            29,  30,  32,
            33,  35,  36,
            37,  50,  60,
            68,  70,  75,
            95, 105, 206
                            1192

Number of owners of machines--1382 Holding together 4500
machines.

The hand workmen consist of the above-named owners 1000
And of journeymen and apprentices        4000
                                         5000

 These machines are distributed as follows
 Nottingham 1240
 New Radford 140
 Old Radford and Bloomsgrove 240
 Ison Green 160
 Beeston and Chilwell 130
 New and Old Snenton 180
 Derby and its vicinity 185
 Loughborough and its vicinity 385
 Leicester 95
 Mansfield 85
 Tiverton 220
 Barnstable l80
 Chard 190
 Isle of Wight 80
 In sundry other places 990

                     4500


Of the above owners, one thousand work in their own machines,
and enter into the class of journeymen as well as that of masters
in operating on the rate of wages. If they reduce the price of
their goods in the market, they reduce their own wages first;
and, of course, eventually the rate of wages throughout the
trade. It is a very lamentable fact, that one-half, or more, of
the one thousand one hundred persons specified in the list as
owning one, two, and three machines, have been compelled to
mortgage their machines for more than their worth in the market,
and are in many cases totally insolvent. Their machines are
principally narrow and making short pieces, while the absurd
system of bleaching at so much a piece goods of all lengths and
widths, and dressing at so much all widths, has caused the new
machines to be all wide, and capable of producing long pieces; of
course to the serious disadvantage, if not utter ruin, of the
small owner of narrow machines.

It has been observed above, that wages have been reduced, say
25 per cent in the last two years, or from 24s. to 18s. a week.
Machines have increased in the same time one-eighth in number, or
from four thousand to four thousand five hundred, and one-sixth
in capacity of production. It is deserving the serious notice of
all proprietors of existing machines, that machines are now
introducing into the trade of such power of production as must
still more than ever depreciate (in the absence of an immensely
increased demand) the value of their property.

431. From this abstract, we may form some judgement of the
importance of the bobbin net trade. But the extent to which it
bids fair to be carried in future, when the eastern markets shall
be more open to our industry, may be conjectured from the fact
which Mr Felkin subsequently states that 'We can export a durable
and elegant article in cotton bobbin net, at 4d. per square yard,
proper for certain useful and ornamental purposes, as curtains,
etc.; and another article used for many purposes in female dress
at 6d. the square yard.'

432. Of patents. In order to encourage the invention, the
improvement, or the importation of machines, and of discoveries
relating to manufactures, it has been the practice in many
countries, to grant to the inventors or first introducers, an
exclusive privilege for a term of years. Such monopolies are
termed patents; and they are granted, on the payment of certain
fees, for different periods, from five to twenty years.

The following table, compiled from the Report of the
Committee of the House of Commons on Patents, 1829, shows the
expense and duration of patents in various countries:

Countries; Expense (L s. d.); Term of years; Number granted in
six years, ending in 1826.(Rep. p. 243.)

England; 120 0 0; 14; 914
Ireland; 125 0 0; 14;
Scotland; 100 0 0; 14;
America; 6 15 0; 14;
France; 12 0 0; 5;
        32 0 0; 10;
        60 0 0; 15; 1091
Netherlands; L6 to L30; 5, 10. 15
Austria; 42 10 0; 15; 1099
Spain(3*) Inventor; 20 9 4; 15;
          Improver; 12 5 7; 10;
          Importer; 10 4 8;  6;


433. It is clearly of importance to preserve to each inventor
the sole use of his invention, until he shall have been amply
repaid for the risk and expense to which he has been exposed, as
well as for the talent he has exerted in completing it. But, the
degrees of merit are so various, and the difficulties of
legislating upon the subject so great, that it has been found
almost impossible to frame a law which shall not, practically, be
open to the most serious objections.

The difficulty of defending an English patent in any judicial
trial, is very great; and the number of instances on record in
which the defence has succeeded, are comparatively few. This
circumstance has induced some manufacturers, no longer to regard
a patent as a privilege by which a monopoly price may be secured:
but they sell the patent article at such a price, as will merely
produce the ordinary profits of capital; and thus secure to
themselves the fabrication of it, because no competitors can
derive a profit from invading a patent so exercised.

434. The law of copyright, is, in some measure, allied to
that of patents; and it is curious to observe, that those species
of property which require the highest talent, and the greatest
cultivation--which are, more than any other, the pure creations
of mind--should have been the latest to be recognized by the
State. Fortunately, the means of deciding on an infringement of
property in regard to a literary production, are not verv
difficult; but the present laws are, in some cases, productive of
considerable hardship, as well as of impediment to the
advancement of knowledge.

435. Whilst discussing the general expediency of limitations
and restrictions, it may be desirable to point out one which
seems to promise advantage, though by no means free from grave
objections. The question of permitting by law, the existence of
partnerships in which the responsibility of one or more of the
partners is limited in amount, is peculiarly important in a
manufacturing, as well as a commercial point of view. In the
former light, it appears calculated to aid that division of
labour, which we have already proved to be as advantageous in
mental as it is in bodily operations; and it might possibly give
rise to a more advantageous distribution of talent, and its
combinations, than at present exists. There are in this country,
many persons possessed of moderate capital, who do not
themselves enjoy the power of invention in the mechanical and
chemical arts, but who are tolerable judges of such inventions,
and excellent judges of human character. Such persons might, with
great success, employ themselves in finding out inventive
workmen, whose want of capital prevents them from realizing their
projects. If they could enter into a limited partnership with
persons so circumstanced, they might restrain within proper
bounds the imagination of the inventor, and by supplying capital
to judicious schemes, render a service to the country, and secure
a profit for themselves.

436. Amongst the restrictions intended for the general
benefit of our manufacturers, there existed a few years ago one
by which workmen were forbidden to go out of the country. A law
so completely at variance with everv principle of liberty, ought
never to have been enacted. It was not, however, until experience
had convinced the legislature of its inefficiency, that it was
repealed. * When, after the last war, the renewed intercourse
between England and the Continent became extensive, it was soon
found that it was impossible to discover the various disguises
which the workmen could assume; and the effect of the law was
rather, by the fear of punishment, to deter those who had left
the country from returning, than to check their disposition to
migrate.

436. (4*) The principle, that government Ought to interfere
as little as possible between workmen and their employers, is so
well established, that it is important to guard against its
misapplication. It is not inconsistent with this principle to
insist on the workmen being paid in money--for this is merely to
protect them from being deceived; and still less is it a
deviation from it to limit the number of hours during which
children shall work in factories, or the age at which they shall
commence that species of labour--for they are not free agents,
nor are they capable of judging, if they were; and both policy
and humanity concur in demanding for them some legislative
protection. In both cases it is as right and politic to protect
the weaker party from fraud or force, as it would be impolitic
and unjust to interfere with the amount of the wages of either.

NOTES:

1. Twenty eight shillings per cwt for the finer, twenty one
shillings per cwt for the coarser papers.

2. I cannot omit the opportunity of expressing my hope that this
example will be followed in other trades. We should thus obtain a
body of information equally important to the workman, the
capitalist, the philosopher, and the stateman.

3. The expense of a patent in Spain is stated in the report to be
respecitivly 2000, 1200 and 1000 reals. If these are reals of
vellon, in which accounts are usually kept at Madrid, the above
sums are correct; but if they are reals of plate, the above sums
ought to be nearly doubled.

4. In the year 1824 the law against workmen going abroad, as well
as the laws preventing them from combining, were repealed, after
the fullest enquiry by a Committee of the House of Commons. In
1825 an attempt to re-enact some of the most objectionable was
made, but it failed.



Chapter 34

On the Exportation of Machinery

437. A few years only have elapsed, since our workmen were
not merely prohibited by Act of Parliament from transporting
themselves to countries in which their industry would produce for
them higher wages, but were forbidden to export the greater part
of the machinery which they were employed to manufacture at home.
The reason assigned for this prohibition was, the apprehension
that foreigners might av ail themselves of our improved
machinery, and thus compete with our manufacturers. It was, in
fact, a sacrifice of the interests of one class of persons, the
makers of machinery, for the imagined benefit of another class,
those who use it. Now, independently of the impolicy of
interfering, without necessity, between these two classes, it may
be observed, that the first class, or the makers of machinery,
are, as a body, far more intelligent than those who only use it;
and though, at present, they are not nearly so numerous, yet,
when the removal of the prohibition which cramps their ingenuity
shall have had time to operate, there appears good reason to
believe, that their number will be greatly increased, and may, in
time, even surpass that of those who use machinery.

438. The advocates of these prohibitions in England seem to
rely greatly upon the possibility of preventing the knowledge of
new contrivances from being conveyed to other countries; and they
take much too limited a view of the possible, and even probable,
improvements in mechanics.

439. For the purpose of examining this question, let us
consider the case of two manufacturers of the same article, one
situated in a country in which labour is very cheap, the
machinery bad, and the modes of transport slow and expensive; the
other engaged in manufacturing in a country in which the price of
labour is very high, the machinery excellent, and the means of
transport expeditious and economical. Let them both send their
produce to the same market, and let each receive such a price as
shall give to him the profit ordinarily produced by capital in
his own country. It is almost certain that in such circumstances
the first improvement in machinery will occur in the country
which is most advanced in civilization; because, even admitting
that the ingenuity to contrive were the same in the two
countries, the means of execution are very different. The effect
of improved machinery in the rich country will be perceived in
the common market, by a small fall in the price of the
manufactured article. This will be the first intimation to the
manufacturer of the poor country, who will endeavour to meet the
diminution in the selling price of his article by increased
industry and economy in his factory, but he will soon find that
this remedy is temporary, and that the market-price continues to
fall. He will thus be induced to examine the rival fabric, in
order to detect, from its structure, any improved mode of making
it. If, as would most usually happen, he should be unsuccessful
in this attempt, he must endeavour to contrive improvements in
his own machinery, or to acquire information respecting those
which have been made in the factories of the richer country.
Perhaps after an ineffectual attempt to obtain by letters the
information he requires, he sets out to visit in person the
factories of his competitors. To a foreigner and rival
manufacturer such establishments are not easily accessible, and
the more recent the improvements, the less likely he will be to
gain access to them. His next step, therefore, will be to obtain
the knowledge he is in search of from the workmen employed in
using or making the machines. Without drawings, or an examination
of the machines themselves, this process will be slow and
tedious; and he will be liable, after all, to be deceived by
artful and designing workmen, and be exposed to many chances of
failure. But suppose he returns to his own country with perfect
drawings and instructions, he must then begin to construct his
improved machines: and these he cannot execute either so cheaply
or so well as his rivals in the richer countries. But after the
lapse of some time, we shall suppose the machines thus
laboriously improved, to be at last completed, and in working
order.

440. Let us now consider what will have occurred to the
manufacturer in the rich country. He will, in the first instance,
have realized a profit by supplying the home market, at the usual
price, with an article which it costs him less to produce; he
will then reduce the price both in the home and foreign market,
in order to produce a more extended sale. It is in this stage
that the manufacturer in the poor country first feels the effect
of the competition; and if we suppose only two or three years to
elapse between the first application of the new improvement in
the rich country, and the commencement of its employment in the
poor country, yet will the manufacturer who contrived the
improvement (even supposing that during the whole of this time he
has made only one step) have realized so large a portion of the
outlay which it required, that he can afford to make a much
greater reduction in the price of his produce, and thus to render
the gains of his rivals quite inferior to his own.

441. It is contended that by admitting the exportation of
machinery, foreign manufacturers will be supplied with machines
equal to our own. The first answer which presents itself to this
argument is supplied by almost the whole of the present volume;
That in order to succeed in a manufacture, it is necessary not
merely to possess good machinery, but that the domestic economy
of the factory should be most carefully regulated.

The truth, as well as the importance of this principle, is so
well established in the Report of a Committee of the House of
Commons 'On the Export of Tools and Machinery', that I shall
avail myself of the opinions and evidence there stated, before I
offer any observations of my own:

Supposing, indeed, that the same machinery which is used in
England could be obtained on the Continent, it is the opinion of
some of the most intelligent of the witnesses that a want of
arrangement in foreign manufactories, of division of labour in
their work, of skill and perseverance in their workmen, and of
enterprise in the masters, together with the comparatively low
estimation in which the master manufacturers are held on the
Continent, and with the comparative want of capital, and of many
other advantageous circumstances detailed in the evidence, would
prevent foreigners from interfering in any great degree by
competition with our principal manufacturers; on which subject
the Committee submit the following evidence as worthy the
attention of the House:

I would ask whether, upon the whole, you consider any danger
likely to arise to our manufactures from competition, even if the
French were supplied with machinery equally good and cheap as our
own? They will always be behind us until their general habits
approximate to ours; and they must be behind us for many reasons
that I have before given.

Why must they be behind us? One other reason is, that a
cotton manufacturer who left Manchester seven years ago, would be
driven out of the market by the men who are now living in it,
provided his knowledge had not kept pace with those who have been
during that time constantly profiting by the progressive
improvements that have taken place in that period: this
progressive knowledge and experience is our great power and
advantage.

It should also be observed, that the constant, nay, almost
daily, improvements which take place in our machinery itself, as
well as in the mode of its application, require that all those
means and advantages alluded to above should be in constant
operation: and that, in the opinion of several of the witnesses,
although Europe were possessed of every tool now used in the
United Kingdom, along with the assistance of English artisans,
which she may have in any number, yet, from the natural and
acquired advantages possessed by this country, the manufacturers
of the United Kingdom would for ages continue to retain the
superiority they now enjoy. It is indeed the opinion of many,
that if the exportation of machinery were permitted, the
exportation would often consist of those tools and machines,
which, although already superseded by new inventions, still
continue to be employed, from want of opportunity to get rid of
them: to the detriment, in many instances, of the trade and
manufactures of the country: and it is matter worthy of
consideration, and fully borne out by the evidence, that by such
increased foreign demand for machinery, the ingenuity and skill
of our workmen would have greater scope; and that, important as
the improvements in machinery have lately been, they might, under
such circumstances, be fairly expected to increase to a degree
beyond all precedent.

The many important facilities for the construction of
machines and the manufacturing of commodities which we possess,
are enjoyed by no other country; nor is it likely that any
country can enjoy them to an equal extent for an indefinite
period. It is admitted by everyone, that our skill is unrivalled;
the industry and power of our people unequalled; their
ingenuity, as displayed in the continuol improvement in
machinery, and production of commodities, without parallel; and
apparently, without limit. The freedom which, under our
government, every man has, to use his capital, his labour, and
his talents, in the manner most conducive to his interests, is an
inestimable advantage; canals are cut, and railroads constructed,
by the voluntary association of persons whose local knowledge
enables them to place them in the most desirable situations; and
these great advantages cannot exist under less free governments.
These circumstances, when taken together, give such a decided
superiority to our people, that no injurious rivalry, either in
the construction of machinery or the manufacture of commodities,
can reasonably be anticipated.

442. But, even if it were desirable to prevent the
exportation of a certain class of machinery, it is abdundantly
evident, that, whilst the exportation of other classes is
allowed, it is impossible to prevent the forbidden one from being
smuggled out; and that, in point of fact, the additional risk has
been well calculated by the smuggler.

443. It would appear, also, from various circumstances, that
the immediate exportation of improved machinery is not quite so
certain as has been assumed; and that the powerful principle of
self-interest will urge the makers of it, rather to push the sale
in a different direction. When a great maker of machinery has
contrived a new machine for any particular process, or has made
some great improvement upon those in common use, to whom will he
naturally apply for the purpose of selling his new machines?
Undoubtedly, in by far the majority of cases, to his nearest and
best customers, those to whom he has immediate and personal
access, and whose capability to fulfil any contract is best known
to him. With these, he will communicate and offer to take their
orders for the new machine; nor will he think of writing to
foreign customers, so long as he finds the home demand sufficient
to employ the whole force of his establishment. Thus, therefore,
the machine-maker is himself interested in giving the first
advantage of any new improvement to his own countrymen.

444. In point of fact, the machine-makers in London greatly
prefer home orders, and do usually charge an additional price to
their foreign customers. Even the measure of this preference may
be found in the evidence before the Committee on the Export of
Machinery. It is differently estimated by various engineers; but
appears to vary from five up to twenty-five per cent on the
amount of the order. The reasons are: 1. If the machinery be
complicated, one of the best workmen, well accustomed to the mode
of work in the factory, must be sent out to put it up; and there
is always a considerable chance of his having offers that will
induce him to remain abroad. 2. If the work be of a more simple
kind, and can be put up without the help of an English workman,
yet for the credit of the house which supplies it, and to prevent
the accidents likely to occur from the want of sufficient
instruction in those who use it, the parts are frequently made
stronger, and examined more attentively, than they would be for
an English purchaser. Any defect or accident also would be
attended with more expense to repair, if it occurred abroad, than
in England.

445. The class of workmen who make machinery, possess much
more skill, and are paid much more highly than that class who
merely use it; and, if a free exportation were allowed, the more
valuable class would, undoubtedly, be greatly increased; for,
notwithstanding the high rate of wages, there is no country in
whichit can at this moment be made, either so well or so cheaply
as in England. We might, therefore, supply the whole world with
machinery, at an evident advantage, both to ourselves and our
customers. In Manchester, and the surrounding district, many
thousand men are wholly occupied in making the machinery, which
gives employment to many hundred thousands who use it; but the
period is not very remote, when the whole number of those who
used machines, was not greater than the number of those who at
present manufacture them. Hence, then, if England should ever
become a great exporter of machinery, she would necessarily
contain a large class of workmen, to whom skill would be
indispensable, and, consequently, to whom high wages would be
paid; and although her manufacturers might probably be
comparatively fewer in number, yet they would undoubtedly have
the advantage of being the first to derive profit from
improvement. Under such circumstances, any diminution in the
demand for machinery, would, in the first instance, be felt by a
class much better able to meet it, than that which now suffers
upon every check in the consumption of manufactured goods; and
the resulting misery would therefore assume a mitigated
character.

446. It has been feared, that when other countries have
purchased our machines, they will cease to demand new ones: but
the statement which has been given of the usual progress in the
improvement of the machinery employed in any manufacture, and of
the average time which elapses before it is superseded by such
improvements, is a complete reply to this objection. If our
customers abroad did not adopt the new machinery contrived by us
as soon as they could procure it, then our manufacturers would
extend their establishments, and undersell their rivals in their
own markets.

447. It may also be urged, that in each kind of machinery a
maximum of perfection may be imagined, beyond which it is
impossible to advance; and certainly the last advances are
usually the smallest when compared with those which precede them:
but it should be observed, that these advances are generally made
when the number of machines in employment is already large; and
when, consequently, their effects on the power of producing are
very considerable. But though it should be admitted that any one
species of machinery may, after a long period, arrive at a degree
of perfection which would render further improvement nearly
hopeless, yet it is impossible to suppose that this can be the
case with respect to all kinds of mechanism. In fact the limit of
improvement is rarely approached, except in extensive branches of
national manufactures; and the number of such branches is, even
at present, very small.

448. Another argument in favour of the exportation of
machinery, is, that it would facilitate the transfer of capital
to any more advantageous mode of employment which might present
itself. If the exportation of machinery were permitted, there
would doubtless arise a new and increased demand; and, supposing
any particular branch of our manufactures to cease to produce the
average rate of profit, the loss to the capitalist would be much
less, if a market were open for the sale of his machinery to
customers more favourably circumstanced for its employment. If,
on the other hand, new improvements in machinery should be
imagined, the manufacturer would be more readily enabled to carry
them into effect, by having the foreign market opened where he
could sell his old machines. The fact, that England can,
notwithstanding her taxation and her high rate of wages, actually
undersell other nations, seems to be well established: and it
appears to depend on the superior goodness and cheapness of those
raw materials of machinery the metals--on the excellence of the
tools--and on the admirable arrangements of the domestic economy
of our factories.

449. The different degrees of facility with which capital can
be transferred from one mode of employment to another, has an
important effect on the rate of profits in different trades and
in different countries. Supposing all the other causes which
influence the rate of profit at any period, to act equally on
capital employed in different occupations, yet the real rates of
profit would soon alter, on account of the different degrees of
loss incurred by removing the capital from one mode of investment
to another, or of any variation in the action of those causes.

450. This principle will appear more clearly by taking an
example. Let two capitalists have embarked L10,000 each, in two
trades: A in supplying a district with water, by means of a
steam-engine and iron pipes; B in manufacturing bobbin net. The
capital of A will be expended in building a house and erecting a
steam-engine, which costs, we shall suppose, L3000; and in laying
down iron pipes to supply his customers, costing L7000. The
greatest part of this latter expense is payment for labour, and
if the pipes were to be taken up, the damage arising from that
operation would render them of little value, except as old metal;
whilst the expense of their removal would be considerable. Let
us, therefore, suppose, that if A were obliged to give up his
trade, he could realize only L4000 by the sale of his stock. Let
us suppose again that B, by the sale of his bobbin net factory
and machinery, could realize L8000 and let the usual profit on
the capital employed by each party be the same, say 20 per cent:
then we have

Capital invested; Money which would arise from sale of machinery;
Annual rate of profit per cent; Income

                          L         L    L        L
 Water works            10,000    4000   20     2000
 Bobbin net Factory     10,000    8000   20     2000


Now, if, from competition, or any other cause, the rate of
profit arising from water-works should fall to 20 per cent, that
circumstance would not cause a transfer of capital from the
water-works to bobbin net making; because the reduced income from
the water-works, L1000 per annum, would still be greater than
that produced by investing L4000, (the whole sum arising from the
sale of the materials of the water-works), in a bobbin net
factory, which sum, at 20 per cent, would yield only L800 per
annum. In fact, the rate of profit, arising from the water-works,
must fall to less than 8 per cent before the proprietor could
increase his income by removing his capital into the bobbin net
trade.

451. In any enquiry into the probability of the injury
arising to our manufacturers from the competition of foreign
countries, particular regard should be had to the facilities of
transport, and to the existence in our own country of a mass of
capital in roads, canals, machinery, etc., the greater portion of
which may fairly be considered as having repaid the expense of
its outlay, and also to the cheap rate at which the abundance of
our fuel enables us to produce iron, the basis of almost all
machinery. It has been justly remarked by M. de Villefosse, in
the memoir before alluded to, that Ce que l'on nomme en France,
la question du prix des fers, est, a proprement parler, la
question du prix des bois, et la question, des moyens de
communications interieures par les routes, fleuves, rivieres et
canaux.

The price of iron in various countries in Europe has been
stated in section 215 of the present volume; and it appears, that
in England it is produced at the least expense, and in France at
the greatest. The length of the roads which cover England and
Wales may be estimated roughly at twenty thousand miles of
turnpike, and one hundred thousand miles of road not turnpike.
The internal water communication of England and France, as far as
I have been able to collect information on the subject, may be
stated as follows:

                    In France

                                          Miles in length

 Navigable rivers                                 4668
 Navigable canals                                  915.5
 Navigable canals in progress of execution (1824) 1388

                                                  6971.5 (1*)

But, if we reduce these numbers in the proportion of 3.7 to 1,
which is the relative area of France as compared with England and
Wales, then we shall have the following comparison:

 Portion of France equal in size to England and Wales

                             England(2*)
                               Miles              Miles

 Navigable rivers              1275.5            1261.6
 Tidal navigation(3*)           545.9
 Canals, direct    2023.5
 Canals, branch     150.6

                   2174.1      2174.1             247.4
 Canals commenced               ---               375.1

                Total          3995.5            1884.1

 Population in 1831        13,894,500          8,608,500


This comparison, between the internal communications of the
two countries, is not offered as complete; nor is it a fair view,
to contrast the wealthiest portion of one country with the whole
of the other: but it is inserted with the hope of inducing those
who possess more extensive information on the subject, to supply
the facts on which a better comparison may be instituted. The
information to be added, would consist of the number of miles in
each country, of seacoast, of public roads, of railroads, of
railroads on which locomotive engines are used.

452. One point of view, in which rapid modes of conveyance
increase the power of a country, deserves attention. On the
Manchester Railroad, for example, above half a million of persons
travel annually; and supposing each person to save only one hour
in the time of transit, between Manchester and Liverpool, a
saving of five hundred thousand hours, or of fifty thousand
working days, of ten hours each, is effected. Now this is
equivalent to an addition to the actual power of the country of
one hundred and sixty-seven men, without increasing the quantity
of food consumed; and it should also be remarked, that the time
of the class of men thus supplied, is far more valuable than that
of mere labourers.

NOTES:

1. This table is extracted and reduced from one of Ravinet,
Dictionnaire Hydrographique. 2 vols. 8vo. Paris. 1824.

2. I am indebted to F. Page. Esq. of Speen, for that portion of
this table which relates to the internal navigation of England.
Those only who have themselves collected statistical details can
be aware of the expense of time and labour, of which the few
lines it contains are the result.

3. The tidal navigation includes: the Thames, from the mouth of
the Medway; the Severn, from the Holmes: the Trent, from Trent
Falls in the Humber; the Mersey from Runcorn Gap.



Chapter 35

On the Future Prospects of Manufactures, as Connected with
Science

453. In reviewing the various processes offered as
illustrations of those general principles which it has been the
main object of the present volume to support and establish, it is
impossible not to perceive that the arts and manufactures of the
country are intimately connected with the progress of the severer
sciences; and that, as we advance in the career of improvement,
every step requires, for its success, that this connection should
be rendered more intimate.

The applied sciences derive their facts from experiment; but
the reasonings, on which their chief utility depends, are the
province of what is called abstract science. It has been shown,
that the division of labour is no less applicable to mental
productions than to those in which material bodies are concerned;
and it follows, that the efforts for the improvement of its
manufactures which any country can make with the greatest
probability of success, must arise from the combined exertions of
all those most skilled in the theory, as well as in the practice
of the arts; each labouring in that department for which his
natural capacity and acquired habits have rendered him most fit.

454. The profit arising from the successful application to
practice of theoretical principles, will, in most cases, amply
reward, in a pecuniary sense, those by whom they are first
employed; yet even here, what has been stated with respect to
patents, will prove that there is room for considerable amendment
in our legislative enactments: but the discovery of the great
principles of nature demands a mind almost exclusively devoted to
such investigations; and these, in the present state of science,
frequently require costly apparatus, and exact an expense of time
quite incompatible with professional avocations. It becomes,
therefore, a fit subject for consideration, whether it would not
be politic in the State to compensate for some of those
privations, to which the cultivators of the higher departments of
science are exposed; and the best mode of effecting this
compensation, is a question which interests both the philosopher
and the statesman. Such considerations appear to have had their
just influence in other countries, where the pursuit of science
is regarded as a profession, and where those who are successful
in its cultivation are not shut out from almost every object of
honourable ambition to which their fellow countrymen may aspire.
Having, however, already expressed some opinion upon these
subjects in another publication,(1*) I shall here content myself
with referring to that work.

455. There was, indeed, in our own country, one single
position to which science, when concurring with independent
fortune, might aspire, as conferring rank and station, an office
deriving, in the estimation of the public, more than half its
value from the commanding knowledge of its possessor; and it is
extraordinary, that even that solitary dignity--that barony by
tenure in the world of British science--the chair of the Royal
Society, should have been coveted for adventitious rank. It is
more extraordinary, that a Prince, distinguished by the liberal
views he has invariably taken of public affairs--and eminent for
his patronage of every institution calculated to alleviate those
miseries from which, by his rank, he is himself exempted--who is
stated by his friends to be the warm admirer of knowledge, and
most anxious for its advancement, should have been so imperfectly
informed by those friends, as to have wrested from the head of
science, the only civic wreath which could adorn its brow.(2*)

In the meanwhile the President may learn, through the only
medium by which his elevated station admits approach, that those
evils which were anticipated from his election, have not proved
to be imaginary, and that the advantages by some expected to
result from it, have not yet become apparent. It may be right
also to state, that whilst many of the inconveniences, which have
been experienced by the President of the Royal Society, have
resulted from the conduct of his own supporters, those who were
compelled to differ from him, have subsequently offered no
vexatious opposition: they wait in patience, convinced that the
force of truth must ultimately work its certain, though silent
course; not doubting that when His Royal Highness is correctly
informed, he will himself be amongst the first to be influenced
by its power.

456. But younger institutions have arisen to supply the
deficiencies of the old; and very recently a new combination,
differing entirely from the older societies, promises to give
additional steadiness to the future march of science. The British
Association for the Advancement of Science, which held its first
meeting at York(3*) in the year 1831, would have acted as a
powerful ally, even if the Royal Society were all that it might
be: but in the present state of that body such an association is
almost necessary for the purposes of science. The periodical
assemblage of persons, pursuing the same or different branches of
knowledge, always produces an excitement which is favourable to
the development of new ideas; whilst the long period of repose
which succeeds, is advantageous for the prosecution of the
reasonings or the experiments then suggested; and the recurrence
of the meeting in the succeeding year, will stimulate the
activity of the enquirer, by the hope of being then enabled to
produce the successful result of his labours. Another advantage
is, that such meetings bring together a much larger number of
persons actively engaged in science, or placed in positions in
which they can contribute to it, than can ever be found at the
ordinary meetings of other institutions, even in the most
populous capitals; and combined effort towards any particular
object can thus be more easily arranged.

457. But perhaps the greatest benefit which will accrue from
these assemblies, is the intercourse which they cannot fail to
promote between the different classes of society. The man of
science will derive practical information from the great
manufacturers the chemist will be indebted to the same source for
substances which exist in such minute quantity, as only to become
visible in most extensive operations--and persons of wealth and
property, resident in each neighbourhood visited by these
migratory assemblies, will derive greater advantages than either
of those classes, from the real instruction they may procure
respecting the produce and manufactures of their country, and the
enlightened gratification which is ever attendant on the
acquisition of knowledge.(4*)

458. Thus it may be hoped that public opinion shall be
brought to bear upon the world of science; and that by this
intercourse light will be thrown upon the characters of men, and
the pretender and the charlatan be driven into merited obscurity.
Without the action of public opinion, any administration, however
anxious to countenance the pursuits of science, and however ready
toreward, by wealth or honours, those whom they might think most
eminent, would run the risk of acting like the blind man recently
couched, who, having no mode of estimating degrees of distance,
mistook the nearest and most insignificant for the largest
objects in nature: it becomes, therefore, doubly important, that
the man of science should mix with the world.

459. It is highly probable that in the next generation, the
race of scientific men in England will spring from a class of
persons altogether different from that which has hitherto
scantily supplied them. Requiring, for the success of their
pursuits, previous education, leisure, and fortune, few are so
likely to unite these essentials as the sons of our wealthy
manufacturers, who, having been enriched by their own exertions,
in a field connected with science, will be ambitious of having
their children distinguished in its ranks. It must, however, be
admitted, that this desire in the parents would acquire great
additional intensity, if worldly honours occasionally followed
successful efforts; and that the country would thus gain for
science, talents which are frequently rendered useless by the
unsuitable situations in which they are placed.

460. The discoverers of iodine and bromine, two substances
hitherto undecompounded, were both amongst the class of
manufacturers, one being a maker of saltpetre at Paris, the other
a manufacturing chemist at Marseilles; and the inventor of
balloons filled with rarefied air, was a paper manufacturer near
Lyons. The descendants of Mongolfier, the first aerial traveller,
still carry onthe establishment of their progenitor, and combine
great scientific knowledge with skill in various departments of
the arts, to which the different branches of the family have
applied themselves.

461. Chemical science may, in many instances, be of great
importance to the manufacturer, as well as to the merchant. The
quantity of Peruvian bark which is imported into Europe is very
considerable; but chemistry has recently proved that a large
portion of the bark itself is useless. The alkali Quinia which
has been extracted from it, possesses all the properties for
which the bark is valuable, and only forty ounces of this
substance, when in combination with sulphuric acid, can be
extracted from a hundred pounds of the bark. In this instance
then, with every ton of useful matter, thirty-nine tons of
rubbish are transported across the Atlantic.

The greatest part of the sulphate of quinia now used in this
country is imported from France, where the low price of the
alcohol, by which it is extracted from the bark, renders the
process cheap; but it cannot be doubted, that when more settled
forms of government shall have given security to capital, and
when advancing civilization shall have spread itself over the
states of Southern America, the alkaline medicine will be
extracted from the woody matter by which its efficacy is
impaired, and that it will be exported in its most condensed
form.

462. The aid of chemistry, in extracting and in concentrating
substances used for human food, is of great use in distant
voyages, where the space occupied by the stores must be
economized with the greatest care. Thus the essential oils supply
the voyager with flavour; the concentrated and crystallized
vegetable acids preserve his health; and alcohol, when
sufficiently diluted, supplies the spirit necessary for his daily
consumption.

463. When we reflect on the very small number of species of
plants, compared with the multitude that are known to exist,
which have hitherto been cultivated, and rendered useful to man;
and when we apply the same observation to the animal world, and
even to the mineral kingdom, the field that natural science opens
to our view seems to be indeed unlimited. These productions of
nature, varied and innumerable as they are, may each, in some
future day, become the basis of extensive manufactures, and give
life, employment, and wealth, to millions of human beings. But
the crude treasures perpetually exposed before our eyes, contain
within them other and more valuable principles. All these,
likewise, in their numberless combinations, which ages of labour
and research can never exhaust, may be destined to furnish, in
perpetual succession, new sources of our wealth and of our
happiness. Science and knowledge are subject, in their extension
and increase, to laws quite opposite to those which regulate the
material world. Unlike the forces of molecular attraction, which
cease at sensible distances; or that of gravity, which decreases
rapidly with the increasing distance from the point of its
origin; the further we advance from the origin of our knowledge,
the larger it becomes, and the greater power it bestows upon its
cultivators, to add new fields to its dominions. Yet, does this
continually and rapidly increasing power, instead of giving us
any reason to anticipate the exhaustion of so fertile a field,
place us at each advance, on some higher eminence, from which the
mind contemplates the past, and feels irresistibly convinced,
that the whole, already gained, bears a constantly diminishing
ratio to that which is contained within the still more rapidly
expanding horizon of our knowledge.

464. But, if the knowledge of the chemical and physical
properties of the bodies which surround us, as well as our
imperfect acquaintance with the less tangible elements, light,
electricity, and heat, which mysteriously modify or change their
combinations, concur to convince us of the same fact; we must
remember that another and a higher science, itself still more
boundless, is also advancing with a giant's stride, and having
grasped the mightier masses of the universe, and reduced their
wanderings to laws, has given to us in its own condensed
language, expressions, which are to the past as history, to the
future as prophecy. It is the same science which is now preparing
its fetters for the minutest atoms that nature has created:
already it has nearly chained the ethereal fluid, and bound in
one harmonious system all the intricate and splendid phenomena of
light. It is the science of calculation--which becomes
continually more necessary at each step of our progress, and
which must ultimately govern the whole of the applications of
science to the arts of life.

465. But perhaps a doubt may arise in the mind, whilst
contemplating the continually increasing field of human
knowledge, that the weak arm of man may want the physical force
required to render that knowledge available. The experience of
the past, has stamped with the indelible character of truth, the
maxim, that knowledge is power. It not merely gives to its
votaries control over the mental faculties of their species, but
is itself the generator of physical force. The discovery of the
expansive power of steam, its condensation, and the doctrine of
latent heat, has already added to the population of this small
island, millions of hands. But the source of this power is not
without limit, and the coal-mines of the world may ultimately be
exhausted. Without adverting to the theory, that new deposits of
that mineral are not accumulating under the sea, at the estuaries
of some of our larger rivers; without anticipating the
application of other fluids requiring a less supply of caloric
than water--we may remark that the sea itself offers a perennial
source of power hitherto almost unapplied. The tides, twice in
each day, raise a vast mass of water, which might be made
available for driving machinery. But supposing heat still to
remain necessary, when the exhausted state of our coal fields
renders it expensive: long before that period arrives, other
methods will probably have been invented for producing it. In
some districts, there are springs of hot water, which have flowed
for centuries unchanged in temperature. In many parts of the
island of Ischia, by deepening the sources of the hot springs
only a few feet, the water boils; and there can be little doubt
that, by boring a short distance, steam of high pressure would
issue from the orifice.(5*)

In Iceland, the sources of heat are still more plentiful; and
their proximity to large masses of ice, seems almost to point out
the future destiny of that island. The ice of its glaciers may
enable its inhabitants to liquefy the gases with the least
expenditure of mechanical force; and the heat of its volcanoes
may supply the power necessary for their condensation. Thus, in a
future age, power may become the staple commodity of the
Icelanders, and of the inhabitants of other volcanic
districts;(6*) and possibly the very process by which they will
procure this article of exchange for the luxuries of happier
climates may, in some measure, tame the tremendous element which
occasionally devastates their provinces.

466. Perhaps to the sober eye of inductive philosophy, these
anticipations of the future may appear too faintly connected with
the history of the past. When time shall have revealed the future
progress of our race, those laws which are now obscurely
indicated, will then become distinctly apparent; and it may
possibly be found that the dominion of mind over the material
world advances with an everaccelerating force.

Even now, the imprisoned winds which the earliest poet made
the Grecian warrior bear for the protection of his fragile bark;
or those which, in more modern times, the Lapland wizards sold to
the deluded sailors--these, the unreal creations of fancy or of
fraud, called at the command of science, from their shadowy
existence, obey a holier spell: and the unruly masters of the
poet and the seer become the obedient slaves of civilized man.

Nor have the wild imaginings of the satirist been quite
unrivalled by the realities of after years: as if in mockery of
the College of Laputa, light almost solar has been extracted from
the refuse of fish; fire has been sifted by the lamp of Davy, and
machinery has been taught arithmetic instead of poetry.

467. In whatever light we examine the triumphs and
achievements of our species over the creation submitted to its
power, we explore new sources of wonder. But if science has
called into real existence the visions of the poet--if the
accumulating knowledge of ages has blunted the sharpest and
distanced the loftiest of the shafts of the satirist, the
philosopher has conferred on the moralist an obligation of
surpassing weight. In unveiling to him the living miracles which
teem in rich exuberance around the minutest atom, as well as
throughout the largest masses of ever-active matter, he has
placed before him resistless evidence of immeasurable design.
Surrounded by every form of animate and inanimate existence, the
sun of science has yet penetrated but through the outer fold of
nature's majestic robe; but if the philosopher were required to
separate, from amongst those countless evidences of creative
power, one being, the masterpiece of its skill; and from that
being to select one gift, the choicest of all the attributes of
life; turning within his own breast, and conscious of those
powers which have subjugated to his race the external world, and
of those higher powers by which he has subjugated to himself that
creative faculty which aids his faltering conceptions of a deity,
the humble worshipper at the altar of truth would pronounce that
being, man; that endowment, human reason.

But however large the interval that separates the lowest from
the highest of those sentient beings which inhabit our planet,
all the results of observation, enlightened by all the reasonings
of the philosopher, combine to render it probable that, in the
vast extent of creation, the proudest attribute of our race is
but, perchance, the lowest step in the gradation of intellectual
existence. For, since every portion of our own material globe,
and every animated being it supports, afford, on more
scrutinizing enquiry, more perfect evidence of design, it would
indeed be most unphilosophical to believe that those sister
spheres, obedient to the same law, and glowing with light and
heat radiant from the same central source--and that the members
of those kindred systems, almost lost in the remoteness of space,
and perceptible only from the countless multitude of their
congregated globes should each be no more than a floating chaos
of unformed matter; or, being all the work of the same Almighty
Architect, that no living eye should be gladdened by their forms
of beauty, that no intellectual being should expand its faculties
in decyphering their laws.

NOTES:

1. Reflections on the Decline of Science in England, and on some
of its Causes. 8vo. 1830. Fellowes.

2. The Duke of Sussex was proposed as President of the Royal
Society in opposition to the wish of the Council in opposition to
the public declaration of a body of Fellows, comprising the
largest portion of those by whose labours the character of
English science had been maintained The aristocracy of rank and
of power, aided by such allies as it can always command, set
itself in array against the prouder aristocracy of science. Out
of about seven hundred members, only two hundred and thirty
balloted; and the Duke of Sussex had a majority of eight. Under
such circumstances, it was indeed extraordinary, that His Royal
Highness should have condescended to accept the fruits of that
doubtful and inauspicious victory.

The circumstances preceding and attending this singular
contest have been most ably detailed in a pamphlet entitled A
Statement of the Circumstances connected with the late Election
for the, Presidency of the Royal Society, 1831, printed by R.
Taylor, Red Lion Court, Fleet Street. The whole tone of the tract
is strikingly contrasted with that of the productions of some of
those persons by whom it was His Royal Highness's misfortune to
be supported.

3. The second meeting took place at Oxford in June, 1932, and
surpassed even the sanguine anticipations of its friends. The
third annual meeting will take place at Cambridge in June 1833.

4 The advantages likely to arise from such an association, have
been so clearly stated in the address delivered by the Rev. Mr
Vernon Harcourt, at its first meeting, that I would strongly
recommend its perusal by all those who feel interested in the
success of English science. Vide First Report of the British
Association for the Advancement of Science, York. 1832.

5 In 1828, the author of these pages visited Ischia, with a
committee of the Royal Academy of Naples, deputed to examine the
temperature and chrmical constitution of the springs in that
island. During the few first days, several springs which had been
represented in the instructions as under the boiling temperature,
were found, on deepening the excavations, to rise to the boiling
point.

6 See section 351.


THE END.




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AMERICAN WOMAN'S HOME: OR, PRINCIPLES OF DOMESTIC SCIENCE;


BEING A GUIDE TO THE FORMATION AND MAINTENANCE OF ECONOMICAL,
HEALTHFUL, BEAUTIFUL, AND CHRISTIAN HOMES.

BY CATHERINE E. BEECHER AND HARRIET BEECHER STOWE

TO THE WOMEN OF AMERICA, IN WHOSE HANDS REST THE REAL DESTINIES OF
THE REPUBLIC, AS MOULDED BY THE EARLY TRAINING AND PRESERVED AMID
THE MATURER INFLUENCES OF HOME, THIS VOLUME IS AFFECTIONATELY
INSCRIBED.




TABLE OF CONTENTS.

_INTRODUCTION._

The chief cause of woman's disabilities and sufferings, that women are
not trained, as men are, for their peculiar duties--Aim of this volume
to elevate the honor and remuneration of domestic employment--Woman's
duties, and her utter lack of training for them--Qualifications of the
writers of this volume to teach the matters proposed--Experience and
study of woman's work--Conviction of the dignity and importance of
it--The great social and moral power in her keeping--The principles
and teachings of Jesus Christ the true basis of woman's rights and
duties.

I.

_THE CHRISTIAN FAMILY._

Object of the Family State--Duty of the elder and stronger to raise
the younger, weaker, and more ignorant to an equality of
advantages--Discipline of the family--The example of Christ one of
self-sacrifice as man's elder brother--His assumption of a low
estate--His manual labor--His trade--Woman the chief minister of the
family estate--Man the out-door laborer and provider--Labor and
self-denial in the mutual relations of home-life, honorable, healthful,
economical, enjoyable, and Christian.

II.

_A CHRISTIAN HOUSE._

True wisdom in building a home--Necessity of economizing time, labor,
and expense, by the close packing of conveniences--Plan of a model
cottage--Proportions--Piazzas--Entry--Stairs and landings--Large
room--Movable Screen--Convenient bedsteads--A good mattress--A cheap
and convenient ottoman--Kitchen and stove-room--The stove-room and
its arrangements--Second or attic story--Closets, corner
dressing-tables, windows, balconies, water and earth-closets, shoe-bag,
piece-bag--Basement, closets, refrigerator, washtubs,
etc.--Laundry--General wood-work--Conservatories-Average estimate of
cost.

III.

_A HEALTHFUL HOME._

Household murder--Poisoning and starvation the inevitable result of
bad air in public halls and private homes--Good air as needful as good
food--Structure and operations of the lungs and their capillaries and
air-cells--How people in a confined room will deprive the air of oxygen
and overload it with refuse carbonic acid-Starvation of the living
body deprived of oxygen--The skin and its twenty-eight miles of
perspiratory tubes--Reciprocal action of plants and animals--Historical
examples of foul-air poisoning--Outward effects of habitual breathing
of bad air--Quotations from scientific authorities.

IV.

_SCIENTIFIC DOMESTIC VENTILATION._

An open fireplace secures due ventilation--Evils of substituting
air-tight stoves and furnace heating--Tendency of warm air to rise and
of cool air to sink--Ventilation of mines--Ignorance of architects--Poor
ventilation in most houses--Mode of ventilating laboratories--Creation
of a current of warm air in a flue open at top and bottom of the
room--Flue to be built into chimney: method of utilizing it.

V. STOVES, FURNACES, AND CHIMNEYS.

The general properties of heat, conduction, convection, radiation,
reflection--Cooking done by radiation the simplest but most wasteful
mode: by convection (as in stoves and furnaces) the cheapest--The
range--The model cooking-stove--Interior arrangements and
principles--Contrivances for economizing heat, labor, time, fuel,
trouble, and expense--Its durability, simplicity, etc.--Chimneys: why
they smoke and how to cure them--Furnaces: the dryness of their
heat--Necessity of moisture in warm air--How to obtain and regulate it.

VI.

_HOME DECORATION._

Significance of beauty in making home attractive and useful in
education--Exemplification of economical and tasteful furniture--The
carpet, lounge, lambrequins, curtains, ottomans, easy-chair,
centre-table--Money left for pictures--Chromes--Pretty frames--
Engravings--Statuettes--Educatory influence of works of art--Natural
adornments--Materials in the woods and fields--Parlor-gardens--Hanging
baskets--Fern-shields--Ivy, its beauty and tractableness--Window, with
flowers, vines, and pretty plants--Rustic stand for flowers--Ward's
case--How to make it economically--Bowls and vases of rustic work for
growing plants--Ferns, how and when to gather them--General remarks.

VII.

_THE CARE OF HEALTH._

Importance of some knowledge of the body and its needs--Fearful
responsibility of entering upon domestic duties in ignorance--The
fundamental vital principle--Cell-life--Wonders of the microscope
--Cell-multiplication--Constant interplay of decay and growth necessary
to life--The red and white cells of the blood--Secreting and converting
power--The nervous system--The brain and the nerves--Structural
arrangement and functions--The ganglionic system--The nervous
fluid--Necessity of properly apportioned exercise to nerves of sensation
and of motion--Evils of excessive or insufficient exercise--Equal
development of the whole.

VIII.

_DOMESTIC EXERCISE._

Connection of muscles and nerves--Microscopic cellular muscular
fibre--Its mode of action--Dependence on the nerves of voluntary and
involuntary motion--How exercise of muscles quickens circulation of
the blood which maintains all the processes of life--Dependence of
equilibrium upon proper muscular activity--Importance of securing
exercise that will interest the mind.

IX.

_HEALTHFUL FOOD._

Apportionment of elements in food: carbon, nitrogen, phosphorus,
calcium, iron, silicon, etc.--Large proportion of water in the human
body--Dr. Holmes on the interchange of death and life--Constituent
parts of a kernel of wheat--Comparison of different kinds of
food--General directions for diet--Hunger the proper guide and guard
of appetite--Evils of over-eating--Structure and operations of the
stomach--Times and quantity for eating--Stimulating and nourishing
food--Americans eat too much meat--Wholesome effects of Lenten
fasting--Matter and manner of eating--Causes of debilitation from
misuse of food.

X.

_HEALTHFUL DRINKS._

Stimulating drinks not necessary--Their immediate evil effects upon
the human body and tendency to grow into habitual desires--The
arguments for and against stimulus--Microscopic revelations of the
effects of alcohol on the cellular tissue of the brain--Opinions of
high scientific authorities against its use--No need of resorting to
stimulants either for refreshment, nourishment, or pleasure--Tea and
coffee an extensive cause of much nervous debility and suffering--Tend
to wasteful use in the kitchen--Are seldom agreeable at first to
children--Are dangerous to sensitive, nervous organizations, and should
be at least regulated--Hot drinks unwholesome, debilitating, and
destructive to teeth, throat, and stomach--Warm drinks agreeable and
not unhealthful--Cold drinks not to be too freely used during
meals--Drinking while eating always injurious to digestion.

XI.

_CLEANLINESS._

Health and comfort depend on cleanliness--Scientific treatment of the
skin, the most complicated organ of the body--Structure and arrangement
of the skin, its layers, cells, nerves, capillaries, absorbents,
oil-tubes, perspiration-tubes, etc.--The mucous membrane--Phlegm--The
secreting organs--The liver, kidney, pancreas, salivary and lachrymal
glands--Sympathetic connection of all the bodily organs--Intimate
connection of the skin with all the other organs--Proper mode of
treating the skin--Experiment showing happy effects of good treatment.

XII.

_CLOTHING._

Fashion attacks the very foundation of the body, the bones--Bones
composed of animal and mineral elements--General construction and
arrangement--Health of bones dependent on nourishment and exercise
of body--Spine--Distortions produced by tight dressing--Pressure of
interior organs upon each other and upon the bones--Displacement of
stomach, diaphragm, heart, intestines, and pelvic or lower organs--Women
liable to peculiar distresses--A well-fitted jacket to replace stiff
corsets, supporting the bust above and the under skirts below--Dressing
of young children--Safe for a healthy child to wear as little clothing
as will make it thoroughly comfortable--Nature the guide--The very
young and the very old need the most clothing.

XIII.

_GOOD COOKING._

Bad cooking prevalent in America-Abundance of excellent material--
General management of food here very wasteful and extravagant--Five
great departments of Cookery--_Bread_-What it should be, how to
spoil and how to make it--Different modes of aeration--Baking--Evils
of hot bread.--_Butter_-Contrast between the butter of America
and of European countries-How to make good butter.--_Meat_-Generally
used too newly killed--Lack of nicety in butcher's work--Economy of
French butchery, curving, and trimming--Modes of cooking meats--The
frying-pan--True way of using it--The French art of making delicious
soups and stews--_Vegetables_--Their number and variety in America--The
potato--How to cook it, a simple yet difficult operation--Roasted,
boiled, fried.--_Tea_--Warm table drinks generally--Coffee--Tea--
Chocolate.--_Confectionery_--Ornamental cookery--Pastry, ices, jellies.

XIV.

_EARLY RISING._ A virtue peculiarly American and democratic--In
aristocratic countries, labor considered degrading--The hours of
sunlight generally devoted to labor by the working classes and to sleep
by the indolent and wealthy--Sunlight necessary to health and growth
whether of vegetables or animals--Particularly needful for the
sick--Substitution of artificial light and heat, by night, a great
waste of money--Eight hours' sleep enough--Excessive sleep
debilitating--Early rising necessary to a well-regulated family, to
the amount of work to be done, to the community, to schools, and to
all classes in American society.

XV.

_DOMESTIC MANNERS._

Good manners the expression of benevolence in personal
intercourse--Serious defects in manners of the Americans-Causes of
abrupt manners to be found in American life--Want of clear
discrimination between men--Necessity for distinctions of superiority:
and subordination--Importance that young mothers should seriously
endeavor to remedy this defect, while educating their
children--Democratic principal of equal rights to be applied, not to
our own interests but to those of others--The same courtesy to be
extended to all classes--Necessary distinctions arising from mutual
relations to be observed--The strong to defer to the weak--Precedence
yielded by men to women in America--Good manners must be cultivated
in early life--Mutual relations of husband and wife--Parents and
children--The rearing of children to courtesy--De Tocqueville on
American manners.

XVI.

_GOOD TEMPER IN THE HOUSEKEEPER._

Easier for a household under the guidance of an equable temper in the
mistress---Dissatisfied looks and sharp tones destroy the comfort of
system, neatness, and economy--Considerations to aid the
housekeeper--Importance and dignity of her duties--Difficulties to
be overcome--Good policy to calculate beforehand upon the derangement
of well-arranged plans--Object of housekeeping, the comfort and
well-being of the family--The end should not be sacrificed to secure
the means--Possible to refrain from angry tones--Mild speech most
effective--Exemplification--Allowances to be made for servants and
children--Power of religion to impart dignity and importance to the
ordinary and petty details of domestic life.

XVII.

_HABITS OF SYSTEM AND ORDER._

Relative importance and difficulty of the duties a woman is called to
perform--Her duties not trivial--A habit of system and order
necessary--Right apportionment of time--General principles--
Christianity to be the foundation--Intellectual and social interests
to be preferred to gratification of taste or appetite--Neglect of
health a sin in the sight of God--Regular season of rest appointed by
the Creator--Divisions of time--Systematic arrangement of house articles
and other conveniences--Regular employment for each member of a
family--Children--Family work--Forming habits of system--Early rising
a very great aid--Due apportionment of time to the several duties.

XVIII.

_GIVING IN CHARITY._

No point of duty more difficult to fix by rule than charity--First
consideration--Object for which we are placed in this world--Self-
denying Benevolence.--Second consideration--Natural principles not to
be exterminated, but regulated and controlled.--Third
consideration--Superfluities sometimes proper, and sometimes
not--Fourth consideration--No rule of duty right for one and not for
all--The opposite of this principle tested--Some use of superfluities
necessary--Plan for keeping an account of necessities and
superfluities--Untoward results of our actions do not always prove
that we deserve blame--General principles to guide in deciding upon
objects of charity--Who are our neighbors--The most in need to be
first relieved--Not much need of charity for physical wants in this
country--Associated charities--Indiscriminate charity--Impropriety
of judging the charities of others.

XIX.

_ECONOMY OF TIME AND EXPENSES_

Economy, value, and right apportionment of time--Laws appointed by God
for the Jews--Christianity removes the restrictions laid on the Jews,
but demands all our time to be devoted to our own best interests and
the good of our fellow-men--Enjoyment connected with every duty--Various
modes of economizing time--System and order--Uniting several objects
in one employment--Odd intervals of time--Aiding others in economizing
time--Economy in expenses--Contradictory notions--General principles
in which all agree--Knowledge of income and expenses--Evils of want
of system and forethought--Young ladies should early learn to be
systematic and economical.

XX.

_HEALTH OF MIND._

Intimate connection between the body and mind--Brain excited by improper
stimulants taken into the stomach--Mental faculties then
affected--Causes of mental disease--Want of oxygenized blood--Fresh
air absolutely necessary--Excessive exercise of the intellect or
feelings--Such attention to religion as prevents the performance of
other duties, wrong--Unusual precocity in children usually the result
of a diseased brain--Idiocy often the result, or the precocious child
sinks below the average of mankind--This evil yet prevalent in colleges
and other seminaries--A medical man necessary in every seminary--Some
pupils always needing restraint in regard to study--A third cause of
mental disease, the want of appropriate exercise of the various
faculties of the mind--Extract from Dr. Combe--Beneficial results of
active intellectual employments--Indications of a diseased mind.

XXI.

_THE CARE OF INFANTS._

Herbert Spencer on the treatment of offspring--Absurdity of undertaking
to rear children without any knowledge of how to do it--Foolish
management of parents generally the cause of evils ascribed to
Providence--Errors of management during the first two years--Food of
child and of mother--Warning as to use of too much medicine--Fresh air--
Care of the skin--Dress--Sleep--Bathing--Change of air--Habits--Dangers
of the teething period--Constipation--Diarrhea--Teething--How to relieve
its dangers--Feverishness--Use of water.

XXII.

_THE MANAGEMENT OF YOUNG CHILDREN._

Physical education of children--Animal diet to be avoided for the very
young--Result of treatment at Albany Orphan Asylum--Good ventilation of
nurseries and schools--Moral training to consist in forming _habits_ of
submission, self-denial, and benevolence-General suggestions--Extremes
of sternness and laxity to be avoided--Appreciation of childish desires
and feelings--Sympathy--Partaking in games and employments--Inculcation
of principles preferable to multiplication of commands--Rewards rather
than penalties--Severe tones of voice--Children to be kept
happy--Sensitive children--Self-denial--Deceit and honesty--Immodesty
and delicacy--Dreadful penalties consequent upon youthful
impurities--Religious training.

XXIII.

_DOMESTIC AMUSEMENTS AND SOCIAL DUTIES._

Children need more amusement than older persons--Its object, to afford
rest and recreation to the mind and body--Example of Christ--No
amusements to be introduced that will tempt the weak or over-excite
the young--Puritan customs--Work followed by play--Dramatic exercises,
dancing, and festivity wholesomely enjoyed--The nine o'clock bell--The
drama and the dance--Card-playing--Novel-reading--Taste for solid
reading--Cultivation of fruits and flowers--Music--Collecting of shells,
plants, and minerals--Games--Exercise of mechanical skill for
boys--Sewing, cutting, and fitting--General suggestions--Social and
domestic duties--Family attachments--Hospitality.

XXIV.

_CARE OF THE AGED._

Preservation of the aged, designed to give opportunity for self-denial
and loving care--Patience, sympathy, and labor for them to be regarded
as privileges in a family--The young should respect and minister unto
the aged--Treating them as valued members of the family--Engaging them
in domestic Games and sports--Reading aloud-Courteous attention to
their opinions--Assistance in retarding decay of faculties by helping
them to exercise--Keeping up interest of the infirm in domestic
affairs--Great care to preserve animal heat--Ingratitude to the aged,
its baseness--Chinese regard for old age.

XXV.

_THE CARE OF SERVANTS._

Origin of the Yankee term "help"--Days of good health and intelligent
house-keeping--Growth of wealth tends to multiply hired service--
American young women should be trained in housekeeping for the guidance
of ignorant and shiftless servants--Difficulty of teaching
servants--Reaction of society in favor of women's intellectuality, in
danger of causing a new reaction--American girls should do more
work--Social estimate of domestic service--Dearth of intelligent
domestic help--Proper mode of treating servants--General rules and
special suggestions--Hints from experience--Woman's first "right,"
liberty to do what she can--Domestic duties not to be neglected for
operations in other spheres--Servants to be treated with respect--Errors
of heartless and of too indulgent employers--Mistresses of American
families necessarily missionaries and instructors.

XXVI.

_CARE Of THE SICK._

Prominence given to care and cure of the sick by our Saviour--Every
woman should know what to do in the case of illness--Simple remedies
best--Fasting and perspiration--Evils of constipation--Modes of
relieving it--Remedies for colds--Unwise to tempt the appetite of the
sick--Suggestion for the sick-room--Ventilation--Needful articles--The
room, bed, and person of the patient to be kept neat--Care to preserve
animal warmth--The sick, the delicate, the aged--Food always to be
carefully prepared and neatly served--Little modes of refreshment--
Implicit obedience to the physician--Care in purchasing medicines--
Exhibition of cheerfulness, gentleness, and sympathy--Knowledge and
experience of mind--Lack of competent nurses--Failings of nurses--
Sensitiveness of the sick--"Sisters of Charity," the reason why they are
such excellent nurses--Illness in the family a providential opportunity
of training children to love and usefulness.

XXVII.

_ACCIDENTS AND ANTIDOTES._

Mode of treating cuts, wounds, severed arteries--Bad bruises to be
bathed In hot water--Sprains treated with hot fomentation and
rest--Burns cured by creosote, wood-soot, or flour--Drowning; most
approved mode of treatment--Poisons and their antidotes--Soda,
saleratus, potash, sulphuric or oxalic acid, lime or baryta, iodine
or iodide of potassium, prussic acid, antimony, arsenic, lead, nitrate
of silver, phosphorus, alcohol, tobacco, opium, strychnia--Bleeding
at the lungs, stomach, throat, nose--Accidents from lightning--
Stupefaction, from coal-gas or foul air--Fire--Fainting--Coolness and
presence of mind.

XXVIII.

_SEWING, CUTTING, AND MENDING._

Different kinds of Stitch--Overstitch--Hems--Tucks--Fells--Gores--
Buttonholes--Whipping--Gathering--Darning--Basting--Sewing--Work-
baskets--To make a frock--Patterns--Fitting--Lining--Thin Silks--
Fitted and plain silks--Plaids--Stripes--Linen and Cotton--How to
buy--Shirts--Chemises--Night-gowns--Under-skirts--Mending--Silk
dresses--Broadcloth--Hose--Shoes, etc.--Bedding--Mattresses--
Sheeting--Bed-linen.

XXIX.

_FIRES AND LIGHTS._

Wood fires--Shallow fireplaces--Utensils--The best wood for fires
--How to measure a load--Splitting and piling--Ashes--Cleaning up--
Stoves and grates--Ventilation--Moisture--Stove-pipe thimbles--
Anthracite coal--Bituminous coal--Care to be used in erecting stoves
and pipes--Lights--Poor economy to use bad light--Gas--Oil--Kerosene--
Points to be considered: Steadiness, Color, Heat--Argand burners--
Dangers of kerosene--Tests of its safety and light-giving qualities--
Care of lamps--Utensils needed--Shades--Night-lamps--How to make
candles--Moulded--Dipped--Rush-lights.

XXX.

_THE CARE OF ROOMS._

Parlors--Cleansing--Furniture--Pictures--Hearths and jambs--Stains in
marble--Carpets--Chambers and bedrooms--Ventilation--How to make a bed
properly--Servants should have single beds and comfortable
rooms--Kitchens--Light--Air--Cleanliness--How to make a cheap
oil-cloth--The sink--Washing dishes--Kitchen furniture--Crockery--
Ironware--Tinware--Basketware--Other articles--Closets--Cellars--Dryness
and cleanliness imperative necessities--Store-rooms--Modes of destroying
insects and vermin.

XXXI.

_THE CARE OF YARDS AND GARDENS._

Preparation of soil for pot-plants--For hot-beds--For planting flower
seeds--For garden seeds--Transplanting--To re-pot house plants--The
laying out of yards and gardens--Transplanting trees--The care of
house plants.

XXXII.

_THE PROPAGATION OF PLANTS._

Propagation of bulbous roots--Propagation of plants by shoots--By
layers-Budding and grafting--The outer and inner bark--Detailed
description of operations--Seed-fruit--Stone-fruit--Rose hushes--
Ingrafting--Stock grafting--Pruning--Perpendicular shoots to be taken
out, horizontal or curved shoots retained--All fruit-buds coming out
after midsummer to be rubbed off--Suckers--Pruning to be done after
sap is in circulation.--Thinning--Leaves to be removed when they shade
fruit near maturity--Fruit to be removed when too abundant for good
quality--How to judge.

XXXIII.

_THE CULTIVATION OF FRUIT._

A pleasant, easy, and profitable occupation--Soil for a nursery--
Planting of seeds--Transplanting--Pruning--Filberts--Figs--Currants--
Gooseberries--Raspberries--Strawberries--Grapes--Modes of preserving
fruit trees--The yellows--Moths--Caterpillars--Brulure-Curculio--Canker-
worm.

XXXIV.

_THE CARE OF DOMESTIC ANIMALS._

Interesting association of animals with man, from childhood to
age--Domestic animals apt to catch the spirit of their masters--
Important necessities--Good feeding--Shelter--Cleanliness--Destruction
of parasitic vermin--Salt and water--Light--Exercise--Rule for
breeding--Care of Horses: feeding, grooming, special treatment--Cows:
stabling, feed, calving, milking, tethering--Swine: naturally cleanly,
breeding, fresh water, charcoal, feeding--Sheep: winter treatment--Diet
--Sorting--Use of sheep in clearing land-Pasture--Hedges and
fences--Poultry--Turkeys--Geese--Ducks--Fowls--Dairy work
generally--Bees--Care of domestic animals, occupation for women.

XXXV.

_EARTH-CLOSETS._

Deodorization and preservation of excrementitious matter--The
earth-closet--Waring's pamphlet--The agricultural argument--Necessity
of returning to the soil the elements taken from it--Earth-closet
based on power of clay and inorganic matter to absorb and retain odors
and fertilizing matter--Its construction--Mode of use--The ordinary
privy--The commode or portable house-privy--Especial directions:
things to be observed--Repeated use of earth--Other
advantages--Sick-rooms--House-labor--Cleanliness--Economy.

XXXVI.

_WARMING AND VENTILATION._

Open fireplace nearest to natural mode by which earth is warmed and
ventilated--Origin of diseases--Necessity of pure air to life
--Statistics--General principles of ventilation--Mode of Lewis
Leeds--Ventilation of buildings planned in this work--The pure-air
conductor--The foul-air exhausting-flue--Stoves--Detailed
arrangements--Warming--Economy of time, labor, and expense in the
cottage plan--After all schemes, the open fireplace the best.

XXXVII.

_CARE OF THE HOMELESS, THE HELPLESS, AND THE VICIOUS._

Recommendations of the Massachusetts Board of State Charities--Pauper
and criminal classes should be scattered in Christian homes instead
of gathered into large institutions--Facts recently published concerning
the poor of New-York--Sufferings of the poor, deterioration of the
rich--Christian principles of benevolence--Plan for a Christian city
house--Suggestions to wealthy and unoccupied women--Roman Catholic
works--Protestant duties--The highest mission of woman.
XXXVIII.

_THE CHRISTIAN NEIGHBORHOOD._

Spirit of Christian Missions--Present organizations under church
direction too mechanical--Christian family influence the true instrument
of Gospel propagation--Practical suggestions for gathering a Christian
family in neglected neighborhoods--Plan of church, school-house, and
family-dwelling in one building--Mode of use for various
purposes--Nucleus and gathering of a family--Christian work for
Christian women--Children--Orphans--Servants--Neglected ones--Household
training--Roman Catholic Nuns--The South--The West--The neglected
interior of older States--Power of such examples--Rapid spread of their
influence--Anticipation of the glorious consummation to be hoped
for--Prophecy in the Scriptures--Cowper's noble vision of the millennial
glory.

APPEAL TO AMERICAN WOMEN.

GLOSSARY OF WORDS AND REFERENCES




INTRODUCTION.


The authors of this volume, while they sympathize with every honest
effort to relieve the disabilities and sufferings of their sex, are
confident that the chief cause of these evils is the fact that the
honor and duties of the family state are not duly appreciated, that
women are not trained for these duties as men are trained for their
trades and professions, and that, as the consequence, family labor is
poorly done, poorly paid, and regarded as menial and disgraceful.

To be the nurse of young children, a cook, or a housemaid, is regarded
as the lowest and last resort of poverty, and one which no woman of
culture and position can assume without loss of caste and
respectability.

It is the aim of this volume to elevate both the honor and the
remuneration of all the employments that sustain the many difficult
and sacred duties of the family state, and thus to render each
department of woman's true profession as much desired and respected
as are the most honored professions of men.

When the other sex are to be instructed in law, medicine, or divinity,
they are favored with numerous institutions richly endowed, with
teachers of the highest talents and acquirements, with extensive
libraries, and abundant and costly apparatus. With such advantages
they devote nearly ten of the best years of life to preparing themselves
for their profession; and to secure the public from unqualified members
of these professions, none can enter them until examined by a competent
body, who certify to their due preparation for their duties.

Woman's profession embraces the care and nursing of the body in the
critical periods of infancy and sickness, the training of the human
mind in the most impressible period of childhood, the instruction and
control of servants, and most of the government and economies of the
family state. These duties of woman are as sacred and important as any
ordained to man; and yet no such advantages for preparation have been
accorded to her, nor is there any qualified body to certify the public
that a woman is duly prepared to give proper instruction in her
profession.

This unfortunate want, and also the questions frequently asked
concerning the domestic qualifications of both the authors of this
work, who have formerly written upon such topics, make it needful to
give some account of the advantages they have enjoyed in preparation
for the important office assumed as teachers of woman's domestic duties.

The sister whose name is subscribed is the eldest of nine children by
her own mother, and of four by her step-mother; and having a natural
love for children, she found it a pleasure as well as a duty to aid
in the care of infancy and childhood. At sixteen, she was deprived of
a mother, who was remarkable not only for intelligence and culture,
but for a natural taste and skill in domestic handicraft. Her place
was awhile filled by an aunt remarkable for her habits of neatness and
order, and especially for her economy. She was, in the course of time,
replaced by a stepmother, who had been accustomed to a superior style
of housekeeping, and was an expert in all departments of domestic
administration.

Under these successive housekeepers, the writer learned not only to
perform in the most approved manner all the manual employments of
domestic life, but to honor and enjoy these duties.

At twenty-three, she commenced the institution which ever since has
flourished as "The Hartford Female Seminary," where, at the age of
twelve, the sister now united with her in the authorship of this work
became her pupil, and, after a few years, her associate. The removal
of the family to the West, and failure of health, ended a connection
with the Hartford Seminary, and originated a similar one in Cincinnati,
of which the younger authoress of this work was associate principal
till her marriage.

At this time, the work on _Domestic Economy_, of which this volume
may be called an enlarged edition, although a great portion of it is
entirely new, embodying the latest results of science, was prepared
by the writer as a part of the _Massachusetts School Library_,
and has since been extensively introduced as a text-book into public
schools and higher female seminaries. It was followed by its sequel,
_The Domestic Receipt-Book_, widely circulated by the Harpers in
every State of the Union.

These two works have been entirely remodeled, former topics rewritten,
and many new ones introduced, so as to include all that is properly
embraced in a complete Encyclopedia of Domestic Economy.

In addition to the opportunities mentioned, the elder sister, for many
years, has been studying the causes and the remedies for the decay of
constitution and loss of health so increasingly prevalent among American
women, aiming to promote the establishment of _endowed_ institutions, in
which women shall be properly trained for their profession, as both
housekeepers and health-keepers. What advantages have thus been received
and the results thus obtained will appear in succeeding pages.

During the upward progress of the age, and the advance of a more
enlightened Christianity, the writers of this volume have gained more
elevated views of the true mission of woman--of the dignity and
importance of her distinctive duties, and of the true happiness which
will be the reward of a right appreciation of this mission, and a
proper performance of these duties.

There is at the present time an increasing agitation of the public
mind, evolving many theories and some crude speculations as to woman's
rights and duties. That there is a great social and moral power in her
keeping, which is now seeking expression by organization, is manifest,
and that resulting plans and efforts will involve some mistakes, some
collisions, and some failures, all must expect.

But to intelligent, reflecting, and benevolent women--whose faith rests
on the character and teachings of Jesus Christ--there are great
principles revealed by Him, which in the end will secure the grand
result which He taught and suffered to achieve. It is hoped that in
the following pages these principles will be so exhibited and
illustrated as to aid in securing those rights and advantages which
Christ's religion aims to provide for all, and especially for the most
weak and defenseless of His children.

CATHARINE E. BEECHER.

[Illustration]





CHAPTER I.

THE CHRISTIAN FAMILY.


It is the aim of this volume to elevate both the honor and the
remuneration of all employments that sustain the many difficult and
varied duties of the family state, and thus to render each department
of woman's profession as much desired and respected as are the most
honored professions of men.

What, then, is the end designed by the family state which Jesus Christ
came into this world to secure?

It is to provide for the training of our race to the highest possible
intelligence, virtue, and happiness, by means of the self-sacrificing
labors of the wise and good, and this with chief reference to a future
immortal existence. The distinctive feature of the family is
self-sacrificing labor of the stronger and wiser members to raise the
weaker and more ignorant to equal advantages. The father undergoes
toil and self-denial to provide a home, and then the mother becomes
a self-sacrificing laborer to train its inmates. The useless,
troublesome infant is served in the humblest offices; while both parents
unite in training it to an equality with themselves in every advantage.
Soon the older children become helpers to raise the younger to a level
with their own. When any are sick, those who are well become
self-sacrificing ministers. When the parents are old and useless, the
children become their self-sacrificing servants.

Thus the discipline of the family state is one of daily self-devotion
of the stronger and wiser to elevate and support the weaker members.
Nothing could be more contrary to its first principles than for the
older and more capable children to combine to secure to themselves the
highest advantages, enforcing the drudgeries on the younger, at the
sacrifice of their equal culture.

Jesus Christ came to teach the fatherhood of God and consequent
brotherhood of man. He came as the "first-born Son" of God and the
Elder Brother of man, to teach by example the self-sacrifice by which
the great family of man is to be raised to equality of advantages as
children of God. For this end, he "humbled himself" from the highest
to the lowest place. He chose for his birthplace the most despised
village; for his parents the lowest in rank; for his trade, to labor
with his hands as a carpenter, being "subject to his parents" thirty
years. And, what is very significant, his trade was that which prepares
the family home, as if he would teach that the great duty of man is
labor--to provide for and train weak and ignorant creatures. Jesus
Christ worked with his hands nearly thirty years, and preached less
than three. And he taught that his kingdom is exactly opposite to that
of the world, where all are striving for the highest positions. "Whoso
will be great shall be your minister, and whoso will be chiefest shall
be servant of all."

The family state then, is the aptest earthly illustration of the
heavenly kingdom, and in it woman is its chief minister. Her great
mission is self-denial, in training its members to self-sacrificing
labors for the ignorant and weak: if not her own children, then the
neglected children of her Father in heaven. She is to rear all under
her care to lay up treasures, not on earth, but in heaven. All the
pleasures of this life end here; but those who train immortal minds
are to reap the fruit of their labor through eternal ages.

To man is appointed the out-door labor--to till the earth, dig the
mines, toil in the foundries, traverse the ocean, transport merchandise,
labor in manufactories, construct houses, conduct civil, municipal,
and state affairs, and all the heavy work, which, most of the day,
excludes him from the comforts of a home. But the great stimulus to
all these toils, implanted in the heart of every true man, is the
desire for a home of his own, and the hopes of paternity. Every man
who truly lives for immortality responds to the beatitude, "Children
are a heritage from the Lord: blessed is the man that hath his quiver
full of them!" The more a father and mother live under the influence
of that "immortality which Christ hath brought to light," the more is
the blessedness of rearing a family understood and appreciated. Every
child trained aright is to dwell forever in exalted bliss with those
that gave it life and trained it for heaven.

The blessed privileges of the family state are not confined to those
who rear children of their own. Any woman who can earn a livelihood,
as every woman should be trained to do, can take a properly qualified
female associate, and institute a family of her own, receiving to its
heavenly influences the orphan, the sick, the homeless, and the sinful,
and by motherly devotion train them to follow the self-denying example
of Christ, in educating his earthly children for true happiness in
this life and for his eternal home.

And such is the blessedness of aiding to sustain a truly Christian
home, that no one comes so near the pattern of the All-perfect One as
those who might hold what men call a higher place, and yet humble
themselves to the lowest in order to aid in training the young, "not
as men-pleasers, but as servants to Christ, with good-will doing service
as to the Lord, and not to men." Such are preparing for high places
in the kingdom of heaven. "Whosoever will be chiefest among you, let
him be your servant."

It is often the case that the true humility of Christ is not understood.
It was not in having a low opinion of his own character and claims,
but it was in taking a low place in order to raise others to a higher.
The worldling seeks to raise himself and family to an equality with
others, or, if possible, a superiority to them. The true follower of
Christ comes down in order to elevate others.

The maxims and institutions of this world have ever been antagonistic
to the teachings and example of Jesus Christ. Men toil for wealth,
honor, and power, not as means for raising others to an equality with
themselves, but mainly for earthly, selfish advantages. Although the
experience of this life shows that children brought up to labor have
the fairest chance for a virtuous and prosperous life, and for hope
of future eternal blessedness, yet it is the aim of most parents who
can do so, to lay up wealth that their children need not labor with
the hands as Christ did. And although exhorted by our Lord not to lay
up treasure on earth, but rather the imperishable riches which are
gained in toiling to train the ignorant and reform the sinful, as yet
a large portion of the professed followers of Christ, like his first
disciples, are "slow of heart to believe."

Not less have the sacred ministries of the family state been undervalued
and warred upon in other directions; for example, the Romish Church
has made celibacy a prime virtue, and given its highest honors to those
who forsake the family state as ordained by God. Thus came great
communities of monks and nuns, shut out from the love and labors of
a Christian home; thus, also, came the monkish systems of education,
collecting the young in great establishments away from the watch and
care of parents, and the healthful and self-sacrificing labors of a
home. Thus both religion and education have conspired to degrade the
family state.

Still more have civil laws and social customs been opposed to the
principles of Jesus Christ. It has ever been assumed that the learned,
the rich, and the powerful are not to labor with the hands, as Christ
did, and as Paul did when he would "not eat any man's bread for naught,
but wrought with labor, not because we have not power "[to live
without hand-work,]" but to make ourselves an example."(2 Thess. 3.)

Instead of this, manual labor has been made dishonorable and unrefined
by being forced on the ignorant and poor. Especially has the most
important of all hand-labor, that which sustains the family, been thus
disgraced; so that to nurse young children, and provide the food of
a family by labor, is deemed the lowest of all positions in honor and
profit, and the last resort of poverty. And so our Lord, who himself
took the form of a servant, teaches, "How hardly shall they that have
riches enter the kingdom of heaven!"--that kingdom in which all are
toiling to raise the weak, ignorant, and sinful to such equality with
themselves as the children of a loving family enjoy. One mode in
which riches have led to antagonism with the true end of the family state
is in the style of living, by which the hand-labor, most important to
health, comfort, and beauty, is confined to the most ignorant and
neglected members of society, without any effort being made to raise
them to equal advantages with the wise and cultivated.

And, the higher civilization has advanced, the more have children been
trained to feel that to labor, as did Christ and Paul, is disgraceful,
and to be made the portion of a degraded class. Children, of the rich
grow up with the feeling that servants are to work for them, and they
themselves are not to work. To the minds of most children and servants,
"to be a lady," is almost synonymous with "to be waited on, and do no
work," It is the earnest desire of the authors of this volume to make
plain the falsity of this growing popular feeling, and to show how
much happier and more efficient family life will become when it is
strengthened, sustained, and adorned by family work.




II.

A CHRISTIAN HOUSE.


In the Divine Word it is written, "The wise woman buildeth her house."
To be "wise," is "to choose the best means for accomplishing the best
end." It has been shown that the best end for a woman to seek is the
training of God's children for their eternal home, by guiding them to
intelligence, virtue, and true happiness. When, therefore, the wise
woman seeks a home in which to exercise this ministry, she will aim
to secure a house so planned that it will provide in the best manner
for health, industry, and economy, those cardinal requisites of domestic
enjoyment and success. To aid in this, is the object of the following
drawings and descriptions, which will illustrate a style of living
more conformed to the great design for which the family is instituted
than that which ordinarily prevails among those classes which take the
lead in forming the customs of society. The aim will be to exhibit
modes of economizing labor, time, and expenses, so as to secure health,
thrift, and domestic happiness to persons of limited means, in a measure
rarely attained even by those who possess wealth.

At the head of this chapter is a sketch of what may be properly called
a Christian house; that is, a house contrived for the express purpose
of enabling every member of a family to labor with the hands for the
common good, and by modes at once healthful, economical, and tasteful.
Of course, much of the instruction conveyed in the following pages is
chiefly applicable to the wants and habits of those living either in
the country or in such suburban vicinities as give space of ground for
healthful outdoor occupation in the family service, although the general
principles of house-building and house-keeping are of necessity
universal in their application--as true in the busy confines of the
city as in the freer and purer quietude of the country. So far as
circumstances can be made to yield the opportunity, it will be assumed
that the family state demands some outdoor labor for all. The
cultivation of flowers to ornament the table and house, of fruits and
vegetables for food, of silk and cotton for clothing, and the care of
horse, cow, and dairy, can be so divided that each and all of the
family, some part of the day, can take exercise in the pure air, under
the magnetic and healthful rays of the sun. Every head of a family
should seek a soil and climate which will afford such opportunities.
Railroads, enabling men toiling in cities to rear families in the
country, are on this account a special blessing. So, also, is the
opening of the South to free labor, where, in the pure and mild climate
of the uplands, open-air labor can proceed most of the year, and women
and children labor out of doors as well as within.

In the following drawings are presented modes of economizing time,
labor, and expense by the close packing of conveniences. By such
methods, small and economical houses can be made to secure most of the
comforts and many of the refinements of large and expensive ones. The
cottage at the head of this chapter is projected on a plan which can
be adapted to a warm or cold climate with little change. By adding
another story, it would serve a large family.

[Illustration: Fig. 1.]

Fig. 1 shows the ground-plan of the first floor. On the inside it is
forty-three feet long and twenty-five wide, excluding conservatories
and front and back projections. Its inside height from floor to ceiling
is ten feet. The piazzas each side of the front projection have
sliding-windows to the floor, and can, by glazed sashes, be made
green-houses in winter. In a warm climate, piazzas can be made at the
back side also.

In the description and arrangement, the leading aim is to show how
time, labor, and expense are saved, not only in the building but in
furniture and its arrangement. With this aim, the ground-floor and its
furniture will first be shown, then the second story and its furniture,
and then the basement and its conveniences. The conservatories are
appendages not necessary to housekeeping, but useful in many ways
pointed out more at large in other chapters.

[Illustration: Fig. 2]

The entry has arched recesses behind the front doors, (Fig. 2,)
furnished with hooks for over-clothes in both--a box for over-shoes
in one, and a stand for umbrellas in the other. The roof of the recess
is for statuettes, busts, or flowers. The stairs turn twice with broad
steps, making a recess at the lower landing, whore a table is set with
a vase of flowers, (Fig. 3.) On one side of the recess is a closet,
arched to correspond with the arch over the stairs. A bracket over the
first broad stair, with flowers or statuettes, is visible from the
entrance, and pictures can be hung as in the illustration.

The large room on the left can be made to serve the purpose of several
rooms by means of a _movable screen_. By shifting this rolling screen
from one part of the room to another, two apartments are always
available, of any desired size within the limits of the large room.
One side of the screen fronts what may be used as the parlor or
sitting-room; the other side is arranged for bedroom conveniences. Of
this, Fig. 4 shows the front side;--covered first with strong canvas,
stretched and nailed on. Over this is pasted panel-paper, and the
upper part is made to resemble an ornamental cornice by fresco-paper.
Pictures can be hung in the panels, or be pasted on and varnished with
white varnish. To prevent the absorption of the varnish, a wash of gum
isinglass (fish-glue) must be applied twice.

[Illustration: Fig. 4. CLOSET, RECESS, STAIR LANDING.]

[Illustration: Fig 5.]

Fig. 5 shows the back or inside of the movable screen toward the part
of the room used as the bedroom. On one side, and at the top and bottom,
it has shelves with _shelf-boxes_, which are cheaper and better than
drawers, and much preferred by those using them. Handles are cut in the
front and back side, as seen in Fig. 6. Half an inch space must be
between the box and the shelf over it, and as much each side, so that it
can be taken out and put in easily. The central part of the screen's
interior is a wardrobe.

[Image: Panel screens]

This screen must be so high as nearly to reach the ceiling, in order
to prevent it from overturning. It is to fill the width of the room,
except two feet on each side. A projecting cleat or strip, reaching
nearly to the top of the screen, three inches wide, is to be screwed
to the front sides, on which light frame doors are to be hung, covered
with canvas and panel-paper like the front of the screen. The inside
of these doors is furnished with hooks for clothing, for which the
projection makes room. The whole screen is to be eighteen inches deep
at the top and two feet deep at the base, giving a solid foundation.
It is moved on four wooden rollers, one foot long and four inches in
diameter. The pivots of the rollers and the parts where there is
friction must be rubbed with hard soap, and then a child can move the
whole easily.

A curtain is to be hung across the whole interior of the screen by
rings, on a strong wire. The curtain should be in three parts, with
lead or large nails in the hems to keep it in place. The wood-work
must be put together with screws, as the screen is too large to pass
through a, door.

[Illustration: Fig. 6.]
[Illustration: Fig. 7.]
[Illustration: Fig. 8.]

At the end of the room, behind the screen, are two couches, to be run
one under the other, as in Fig. 7. The upper one is made with four
posts, each three feet high and three inches square, set on casters
two inches high. The frame is to be fourteen inches from the floor,
seven feet long, two feet four inches wide, and three inches in
thickness. At the head, and at the foot, is to be screwed a notched
two-inch board, three inches wide, as in Fig. 8. The mortises are to
be one inch wide and deep, and one inch apart, to revive slats made
of ash, oak, or spruce, one inch square, placed lengthwise of the
couch. The slats being small, and so near together, and running
lengthwise, make a better spring frame than wire coils. If they warp,
they can be turned. They must not be fastened at the ends, except by
insertion in the notches. Across the posts, and of equal height with
them, are to be screwed head and foot-boards.

The under couch is like the upper, except these dimensions: posts,
nine inches high, including castors; frame, six feet two inches long,
two feet four inches wide. The frame should be as near the floor as
possible, resting on the casters.

[Illustration: Fig. 9.]

The most healthful and comfortable mattress is made by a case, open
in the centre and fastened together with buttons, as in Fig. 9; to be
filled with oat straw, which is softer than wheat or rye. This can be
adjusted to the figure, and often renewed.

Fig. 10 represents the upper couch when covered, with the under couch
put beneath it. The coverlid should match the curtain of the screen;
and the pillows, by day, should have a case of the same.

[Illustration: Fig. 10.]
[Illustration: Fig. 11.]

Fig. 11 is an ottoman, made as a box, with a lid on hinges. A cushion
is fastened to this lid by strings at each corner, passing through
holes in the box lid and tied inside. The cushion to be cut square,
with side pieces; stuffed with hair, and stitched through like a
mattress. Side handles are made by cords fastened inside with knots.
The box must be two inches larger at the bottom than at the top, and
the lid and cushion the same size as the bottom, to give it a tasteful
shape. This ottoman is set on casters, and is a great convenience for
holding articles, while serving also as a seat.

The expense of the screen, where lumber averages $4 a hundred, and
carpenter labor $3 a day, would be about $30, and the two couches about
$6. The material for covering might be cheap and yet pretty. A woman
with these directions, and a son or husband who would use plane and
saw, could thus secure much additional room, and also what amounts to
two bureaus, two large trunks, one large wardrobe, and a wash-stand,
for less than $20--the mere cost of materials. The screen and couches
can be so arranged as to have one room serve first as a large and airy
sleeping-room; then, in the morning, it may be used as sitting-room
one side of the screen, and breakfast-room the other; and lastly,
through the day it can be made a large parlor on the front side, and
a sewing or retiring-room the other side. The needless spaces usually
devoted to kitchen, entries, halls, back-stairs, pantries, store-rooms,
and closets, by this method would be used in adding to the size of the
large room, so variously used by day and by night.

[Illustration: Fig. 12.]

Fig. 12 is an enlarged plan of the kitchen and stove-room. The chimney
and stove-room are contrived to ventilate the whole house, by a mode
exhibited in another chapter.

Between the two rooms glazed sliding-doors, passing each other, serve
to shut out heat and smells from the kitchen. The sides of the
stove-room must be lined with shelves; those on the side by the cellar
stairs, to be one foot wide, and eighteen inches apart; on the other
side, shelves may be narrower, eight inches wide and nine inches apart.
Boxes with lids, to receive stove utensils, must be placed near the
stove.

On these shelves, and in the closet and boxes, can be placed every
material used for cooking, all the table and cooking utensils, and all
the articles used in house work, and yet much spare room will be left.
The cook's galley in a steamship has every article and utensil used
in cooking for two hundred persons, in a space not larger than this
stove-room, and so arranged that with one or two steps the cook can
reach all he uses.

In contrast to this, in most large houses, the table furniture, the
cooking materials and utensils, the sink, and the eating-room, are at
such distances apart, that half the time and strength is employed in
walking back and forth to collect and return the articles used.

[Illustration: Fig. 13.]

Fig. 13 is an enlarged plan of the sink and cooking-form. Two windows
make a better circulation of air in warm weather, by having one open
at top and the other at the bottom, while the light is better adjusted
for working, in case of weak eyes.

The flour-barrel just fills the closet, which has a door for admission,
and a lid to raise when used. Beside it, is the form for cooking, with
a moulding-board laid on it; one side used for preparing vegetables
and meat, and the other for moulding bread. The sink has two pumps,
for well and for rain-water--one having a forcing power to throw water
into the reservoir in the garret, which supplies the water-closet
and bath-room. On the other side of the sink is the dish-drainer, with a
ledge on the edge next the sink, to hold the dishes, and grooves cut
to let the water drain into the sink. It has hinges, so that it can
either rest on the cook-form or be turned over and cover the sink.
Under the sink are shelf-boxes placed on two shelves run into grooves,
with other grooves above and below, so that one may move the shelves
and increase or diminish the spaces between. The shelf-boxes can be
used for scouring-materials, dish-towels, and dish-cloths; also to
hold bowls for bits of butter, fats, etc. Under these two shelves is
room for two pails, and a jar for soap-grease.

Under the cook-form are shelves and shelf-boxes for unbolted wheat,
corn-meal, rye, etc. Beneath these, for white and brown sugar, are
wooden can-pails, which are the best articles in which to keep these
constant necessities. Beside them is the tin molasses-can with a tight,
movable cover, and a cork in the spout. This is much better than a jug
for molasses, and also for vinegar and oil, being easier to clean and
to handle. Other articles and implements for cooking can be arranged
on or under the shelves at the side and front. A small cooking-tray,
holding pepper, salt, dredging-box, knife and spoon, should stand close
at hand by the stove, (Fig. 14.)

[Illustration: Fig. 14.]
[Illustration: Fig. 15.]

The articles used for setting tables are to be placed on the shelves
at the front and side of the sink. Two tumbler-trays, made of
pasteboard, covered with varnished fancy papers and divided by wires,
(as shown in Fig. 15,) save many steps in setting and clearing table.
Similar trays, (Fig. 16,) for knives and forks and spoons, serve the
same purpose.

[Illustration: Fig. 16.]

The sink should be three feet long and three inches deep, its width
matching the cook-form.

[Illustration: Fig. 18.]

Fig. 17 is the second or attic story. The main objection to attic rooms
is their warmth in summer, owing to the heated roof. This is prevented
by so enlarging the closets each side that their walls meet the ceiling
under the garret floor, thus excluding all the roof. In the
bed-chambers, corner dressing-tables, as Fig. 18, instead of projecting
bureaus, save much space for use, and give a handsome form and finish
to the room. In the bath-room must be the opening to the garret, and
a step-ladder to reach it. A reservoir in the garret, supplied by a
forcing-pump in the cellar or at the sink, must be well supported by
timbers, and the plumbing must be well done, or much annoyance will
ensue.

The large chambers are to be lighted by large windows or glazed
sliding-doors, opening upon the balcony. A roof can be put over the
balcony and its sides inclosed by windows, and the chamber extend into
it, and be thus much enlarged.

The water-closets must have the latest improvements for safe discharge,
and there will be no trouble. They cost no more than an out-door
building, and save from the most disagreeable house-labor.
A great improvement, called _earth-closets_, will probably take the
place of water-closets to some extent; though at present the water
is the more convenient. A description of the earth-closet will be given
in another chapter relating to tenement-houses for the poor in large
cities.

The method of ventilating all the chambers, and also the cellar, will
be described in another chapter.

[Illustration: Fig. 19.]

Fig. 19 represents a shoe-bag, that can be fastened to the side of a
closet or closet-door.

[Illustration: Fig. 20.]

Fig. 20 represents a piece-bag, and is a very great labor and
space-saving invention. It is made of calico, and fastened to the side
of a closet or a door, to hold all the bundles that are usually stowed
in trunks and drawers. India-rubber or elastic tape drawn into hems
to hold the contents of the bag is better than tape-strings. Each bag
should be labeled with the name of its contents, written with indelible
ink on white tape sewed on to the bag. Such systematic arrangement
saves much time and annoyance. Drawers or trunks to hold these articles
can not be kept so easily in good order, and moreover, occupy spaces
saved by this contrivance.

[Illustration: Fig. 21. Floor plan]

Fig. 21 is the basement. It has the floor and sides plastered, and is
lighted with glazed doors. A form is raised close by the cellar stairs,
for baskets, pails, and tubs. Here, also, the refrigerator can be
placed, or, what is better, an ice-closet can be made, as designated
in the illustration. The floor of the basement must be an inclined
plane toward a drain, and be plastered with water-lime. The wash-tubs
have plugs in the bottom to let off water, and cocks and pipes over
them bringing cold water from the reservoir in the garret and hot water
from the laundry stove. This saves much heavy labor of emptying tubs
and carrying water.

The laundry closet has a stove for heating irons, and also a kettle
on top for heating water. Slides or clothes-frames are made to draw
out to receive wet clothes, and then run into the closet to dry. This
saves health as well as time and money, and the clothes are as white
as when dried outdoors.

The wood-work of the house, for doors, windows, etc., should be oiled
chestnut, butternut, white-wood, and pine. This is cheaper, handsomer,
and more easy to keep clean than painted wood.

In Fig. 21 are planned two conservatories, and few understand their
value in the training of the young. They provide soil, in which
children, through the winter months, can be starting seeds and plants
for their gardens find raising valuable, tender plants. Every child
should cultivate flowers and fruits to sell and to give away, and thus
be taught to learn the value of money and to practice both economy and
benevolence.

According to the calculation of a house-carpenter, in a place where
the average price of lumber is $4 a hundred, and carpenter work $3 a
day, such a house can be built for $1600. For those practicing the
closest economy, two small families could occupy it, by dividing the
kitchen, and yet have room enough. Or one large room and the chamber
over it can be left till increase of family and means require
enlargement.

A strong horse and carryall, with a cow, garden, vineyard, and orchard,
on a few acres, would secure all the substantial comforts found in
great establishments, without the trouble of ill-qualified servants.

And if the parents and children were united in the daily labors of the
house, garden, and fruit culture; such thrift, health, and happiness
would be secured as is but rarely found among the rich.

Let us suppose a colony of cultivated and Christian people, having
abundant wealth, who now are living as the wealthy usually do,
emigrating to some of the beautiful Southern uplands, where are rocks,
hills, valleys, and mountains as picturesque as those of New England,
where the thermometer but rarely reaches 90 degrees in summer, and in
winter as rarely sinks below freezing-point, so that outdoor labor goes
on all the year, where the fertile soil is easily worked, where rich
tropical fruits and flowers abound, where cotton and silk can be raised
by children around their home, where the produce of vineyards and
orchards finds steady markets by railroads ready made; suppose such
a colony, with a central church and school-room, library, hall for
sports, and a common laundry, (taking the most trying part of domestic
labor from each house,)--suppose each family to train the children to
labor with the hands as a healthful and honorable duty; suppose all
this, which is perfectly practicable, would not the enjoyment of this
life be increased, and also abundant treasures be laid up in heaven,
by using the wealth thus economized in diffusing similar enjoyments
and culture among the poor, ignorant, and neglected ones in desolated
sections where many now are perishing for want of such Christian example
and influences?




III.

A HEALTHFUL HOME.


When "the wise woman buildeth her house," the first consideration will
be the health of the inmates. The first and most indispensable requisite
for health is pure air, both by day and night.

If the parents of a family should daily withhold from their children
a large portion of food needful to growth and health, and every night
should administer to each a small dose of poison, it would be called
murder of the most hideous character. But it is probable that more
than one half of this nation are doing that very thing. The murderous
operation is perpetrated daily and nightly, in our parlors, our
bed-rooms, our kitchens, our schoolrooms; and even our churches are
no asylum from the barbarity. Nor can we escape by our railroads, for
even there the same dreadful work is going on.

The only palliating circumstance is the ignorance of those who commit
these wholesale murders. As saith the Scripture, "The people do perish
for lack of knowledge." And it is this lack of knowledge which it is
woman's special business to supply, in first training her household
to intelligence as the indispensable road to virtue and happiness.

The above statements will be illustrated by some account of the manner
in which the body is supplied with healthful nutriment. There are two
modes of nourishing the body, one is by food and the other by air. In
the stomach the food is dissolved, and the nutritious portion is
absorbed by the blood, and then is earned by blood-vessels to the
lungs, where it receives oxygen from the air we breathe. This oxygen
is as necessary to the nourishment of the body as the food for the
stomach. In a full-grown man weighing one hundred and fifty-four pounds,
one hundred and eleven pounds consists of oxygen, obtained chiefly
from the air we breathe. Thus the lungs feed the body with oxygen, as
really as the stomach supplies the other food required.

The lungs occupy the upper portion of the body from the collar-bone
to the lower ribs, and between their two lobes is placed the heart.

[Illustration: Fig. 22.]
[Illustration: Fig. 23.]
[Illustration: Fig. 24.]
[Illustration: Fig. 25.]
[Illustration: Fig. 26.]

Fig. 22 shows the position of the lungs, though not the exact shape.
On the right hand is the exterior of one of the lobes, and on the left
hand are seen the branching tubes of the interior, through which the
air we breathe passes to the exceedingly minute air-cells of which the
lungs chiefly consist. Fig. 23 shows the outside of a cluster of these
air-cells, and Fig. 24 is the inside view. The lining membrane of each
air-cell is covered by a network of minute blood-vessels called
_capillaries_ which, magnified several hundred times, appear in the
microscope as at Fig. 25. Every air-cell has a blood-vessel that brings
blood from the heart, which meanders through its capillaries till it
reaches another blood-vessel that carries it back to the heart, as
seen in Fig. 26. In this passage of the blood through these capillaries,
the air in the air-cell imparts its oxygen to the blood, and receives
in exchange carbonic acid and watery vapor. These latter are expired
at every breath into the atmosphere.

By calculating the number of air cells in a small portion of the lungs,
under a microscope, it is ascertained that there are no less than
eighteen million of these wonderful little purifiers and feeders of
the body. By their ceaseless ministries, every grown person receives,
each day, thirty-three hogsheads of air into the lungs to nourish and
vitalize every part of the body, and also to carry off its impurities.

But the heart has a most important agency in this operation. Fig. 27
is a diagram of the heart, which is placed between the two lobes of
the lungs. The right side of the heart receives the dark and impure
blood, which is loaded with carbonic acid. It is brought from every
point of the body by branching veins that unite in the upper and the
lower _vena cava_, which discharge into the right side of the heart.
This impure blood passes to the capillaries of the air-cells in the
lungs, where it gives off carbonic acid, and, taking oxygen from the
air, then returns to the left side of the heart, from whence it is sent
out through the _aorta_ and its myriad branching arteries to every part
of the body. When the upper portion of the heart contracts, it forces
both the pure blood from the lungs, and the impure blood from the body,
through the valves marked V, V, into the lower part. When the lower
portion contracts, it closes the valves and forces the impure blood into
the lungs on one side, and also on the other side forces the purified
blood through the aorta and arteries to all parts of the body.

As before stated, the lungs consist chiefly of air-cells, the walls
of which are lined with minute blood-vessels; and we know that in every
man these air-cells number _eighteen millions_.

Now every beat of the heart sends two ounces of blood into the minute,
hair-like blood-vessels, called capillaries, that line these air-cells,
where the air in the air-cells gives its oxygen to the blood, and in
its place receives carbonic acid. This gas is then expired by the lungs
into the surrounding atmosphere.

Thus, by this powerful little organ, the heart, no less than
twenty-eight pounds of blood, in a common-sized man, is sent three
times every hour through the lungs, giving out carbonic acid and watery
vapor, and receiving the life-inspiring oxygen.

Whether all this blood shall convey the nourishing and invigorating
oxygen to every part of the body, or return unrelieved of carbonic
acid, depends entirely on the pureness of the atmosphere that is
breathed.

Every time we think or feel, this mental action dissolves some particles
of the brain and nerves, which pass into the blood to be thrown out
of the body through the lungs and skin. In like manner, whenever we
move any muscle, some of its particles decay and pass away. It is in
the capillaries, which are all over the body, that this change takes
place. The blood-vessels that convey the pure blood from the heart,
divide into myriads of little branches that terminate in capillary
vessels like those lining the air-cells of the lungs. The blood meanders
through these minute capillaries, depositing the oxygen taken from the
lungs and the food of the stomach, and receiving in return the decayed
matter, which is chiefly carbonic acid.

This carbonic acid is formed by the union of oxygen with _carbon_ or
_charcoal_, which forms a large portion of the body. Watery vapor is
also formed in the capillaries by the union of oxygen with the hydrogen
contained in the food and drink that nourish the body.

During this process in the capillaries, the bright red blood of the
arteries changes to the purple blood of the veins, which is carried
back to the heart, to be sent to the lungs as before described. A
portion of the oxygen received in the lungs unites with the dissolved
food sent from the stomach into the blood, and no food can nourish the
body till it has received a proper supply of oxygen in the lungs. At
every breath a half-pint of blood receives its needed oxygen in the
lungs, and at the same time gives out an equal amount of carbonic acid
and water.

Now, this carbonic acid, if received into the lungs, undiluted by
sufficient air, is a fatal poison, causing certain death. When it is
mixed with only a small portion of air, it is a slow poison, which
imperceptibly undermines the constitution.

We now can understand how it is that all who live in houses where the
breathing of inmates has deprived the air of oxygen, and loaded it
with carbonic acid, may truly be said to be poisoned and starved;
poisoned with carbonic acid, and starved for want of oxygen.

Whenever oxygen unites with carbon to form carbonic acid, or with
hydrogen to form water, heat is generated Thus it is that a land of
combustion is constantly going on in the capillaries all over the body.
It is this burning of the decaying portions of the body that causes
animal heat. It is a process similar to that which takes place when
lamps and candles are burning. The oil and tallows which are chiefly
carbon and hydrogen, unite with the oxygen of the air and form carbonic
acid and watery vapor, producing heat during the process. So in the
capillaries all over the body, the carbon and hydrogen supplied to the
blood by the stomach, unite with the oxygen gained in the lungs, and
cause the heat which is diffused all over the body.

The skin also performs an office, similar to that of the lungs. In the
skin of every adult there are no less than seven million minute
perspirating tubes, each one fourth of an inch long. If all these were
united in one length, they would extend twenty-eight miles. These
minute tubes are lined with capillary blood-vessels, which are
constantly sending out not only carbonic acid, but other gases and
particles of decayed matter. The skin and lungs together, in one day
and night, throw out three quarters of a pound of charcoal as carbonic
acid, beside other gases and water.

While the bodies of men and animals are filling the air with the
poisonous carbonic acid, and using up the life-giving oxygen, the trees
and plants are performing an exactly contrary process; for they are
absorbing carbonic acid and giving out oxygen. Thus, by a wonderful
arrangement of the beneficent Creator, a constant equilibrium is
preserved. What animals use is provided by vegetables, and what
vegetables require is furnished by animals; and all goes on, day and
night, without care or thought of man.

The human race in its infancy was placed in a mild and genial clime,
where each separate family dwelt in tents, and breathed, both day and
night, the pure air of heaven. And when they became scattered abroad
to colder climes, the open fire-place secured a full supply of pure
air. But civilization has increased economies and conveniences far
ahead of the knowledge needed by the common people for their healthful
use. Tight sleeping-rooms, and close, air-tight stoves, are now starving
and poisoning more than one half of this nation. It seems impossible
to make people know their danger. And the remedy for this is the light
of knowledge and intelligence which it is woman's special mission to
bestow, as she controls and regulates the ministries of a home.

The poisoning process is thus exhibited in Mrs. Stowe's "House and
Home Papers," and can not be recalled too often:

"No other gift of God, so precious, so inspiring, is treated with such
utter irreverence and contempt in the calculations of us mortals as
this same air of heaven. A sermon on oxygen, if we had a preacher who
understood the subject, might do more to repress sin than the most
orthodox discourse to show when and how and why sin came. A minister
gets up in a crowded lecture-room, where the mephitic air almost makes
the candles burn blue, and bewails the deadness of the church--the
church the while, drugged by the poisoned air, growing sleepier and
sleepier, though they feel dreadfully wicked for being so.

"Little Jim, who, fresh from his afternoon's ramble in the fields,
last evening said his prayers dutifully, and lay down to sleep in a
most Christian frame, this morning sits up in bed with his hair
bristling with crossness, strikes at his nurse, and declares he won't
say his prayers--that he don't want to be good. The simple difference
is, that the child, having slept in a close box of a room, his brain
all night fed by poison, is in a mild state of moral insanity. Delicate
women remark that it takes them till eleven or twelve o'clock to get
up their strength in the morning. Query, Do they sleep with closed
windows and doors, and with heavy bed-curtains?

"The houses built by our ancestors were better ventilated in certain
respects than modern ones, with all their improvements. The great
central chimney, with its open fire-places in the different rooms,
created a constant current which carried off foul and vitiated air.
In these days, how common is it to provide rooms with only a flue for
a stove! This flue is kept shut in summer, and in winter opened only
to admit a close stove, which burns away the vital portion of the air
quite as fast as the occupants breathe it away. The sealing up of
fire-places and introduction of air-tight stoves may, doubtless, be
a saving of fuel; it saves, too, more than that; in thousands and
thousands of cases it has saved people from all further human wants,
and put an end forever to any needs short of the six feet of narrow
earth which are man's only inalienable property. In other words, since
the invention of air-tight stoves, thousands have died of slow poison.

"It is a terrible thing to reflect upon, that our northern winters
last from November to May, six long months, in which many families
confine themselves to one room, of which every window-crack has been
carefully calked to make it air-tight, where an air-tight stove keeps
the atmosphere at a temperature between eighty and ninety; and the
inmates, sitting there with all their winter clothes on, become
enervated both by the heat and by the poisoned air, for which there
is no escape but the occasional opening of a door.

"It is no wonder that the first result of all this is such a delicacy
of skin and lungs that about half the inmates are obliged to give up
going into the open air during the six cold months, because they
invariably catch cold if they do so. It is no wonder that the cold
caught about the first of December has by the first of March become
a fixed consumption, and that the opening of the spring, which ought
to bring life and health, in so many cases brings death.

"We hear of the lean condition in which the poor bears emerge from
their six months' wintering, during which they subsist on the fat which
they have acquired the previous summer. Even so, in our long winters,
multitudes of delicate people subsist on the daily waning strength
which they acquired in the season when windows and doors were open,
and fresh air was a constant luxury. No wonder we hear of spring fever
and spring biliousness, and have thousands of nostrums for clearing
the blood in the spring. All these things are the pantings and
palpitations of a system run down under slow poison, unable to get a
step further.

"Better, far better, the old houses of the olden time, with their great
roaring fires, and their bed-rooms where the snow came in and the
wintry winds whistled. Then, to be sure, you froze your back while you
burned your face, your water froze nightly in your pitcher, your breath
congealed in ice-wreaths on the blankets, and you could write your
name on the pretty snow-wreath that had sifted in through the
window-cracks. But you woke full of life and vigor, you looked out
into the whirling snow-storms without a shiver, and thought nothing
of plunging through drifts as high as your head on your daily way to
school. You jingled in sleighs, you snow-balled, you lived in snow
like a snow-bird, and your blood coursed and tingled, in full tide of
good, merry, real life, through your veins--none of the slow-creeping,
black blood which clogs the brain and lies like a weight on the vital
wheels!"

To illustrate the effects of this poison, the horrors of "the Black
Hole of Calcutta" are often referred to, where one hundred and forty-six
men were crowded into a room only eighteen feet square with but two
small windows, and in a hot climate. After a night of such horrible
torments as chill the blood to read, the morning showed a pile of one
hundred and twenty-three dead men and twenty-three half dead that were
finally recovered only to a life of weakness and suffering.

In another case, a captain of the steamer Londonderry, in 1848, from
sheer ignorance of the consequences, in a storm, shut up his passengers
in a tight room without windows. The agonies, groans, curses, and
shrieks that followed were horrible. The struggling mass finally burst
the door, and the captain found seventy-two of the two hundred already
dead; while others, with blood starting from their eyes and ears, and
their bodies in convulsions, were restored, many only to a life of
sickness and debility.

It is ascertained by experiments that breathing bad air tends so to
reduce all the processes of the body, that less oxygen is demanded and
less carbonic acid sent out. This, of course, lessens the vitality and
weakens the constitution; and it accounts for the fact that a person
of full health, accustomed to pure air, suffers from bad air far more
than those who are accustomed to it. The body of strong and healthy
persons demands more oxygen, and throws off more carbonic acid, and
is distressed when the supply fails. But the one reduced by bad air
feels little inconvenience, because all the functions of life are so
slow that less oxygen is needed, and less carbonic acid thrown out.
And the sensibilities being deadened, the evil is not felt. This
provision of nature prolongs many lives, though it turns vigorous
constitutions into feeble ones. Were it not for this change in the
constitution, thousands in badly ventilated rooms and houses would
come to a speedy death.

One of the results of unventilated rooms is _scrofula_, A distinguished
French physician, M. Baudeloque, states that:

"The repeated respiration of the same atmosphere is _the_ cause of
scrofula. If there be entirely pure air, there may be bad food, bad
clothing, and want of personal cleanliness, but scrofulous disease can
not exist. This disease _never_ attacks persons who pass their lives in
the open air, and always manifests itself when they abide in air which
is unrenewed. _Invariably_ it will be found that a truly scrofulous
disease is caused by vitiated air; and it is not necessary that there
should be a prolonged stay in such an atmosphere. Often, several hours
each day is sufficient. Thus persons may live in the most healthy
country, pass most of the day in the open air, and yet become scrofulous
by sleeping in a close room where the air is not renewed. This is the
case with many shepherds who pass their nights in small huts with no
opening but a door closed tight at night."

The same writer illustrates this, by the history of a French village
where the inhabitants all slept in close, unventilated houses. Nearly
all were seized with scrofula, and many families became wholly extinct,
their last members dying "rotten with scrofula." A fire destroyed a
large part of this village. Houses were then built to secure pure air,
and scrofula disappeared from the part thus rebuilt.

We are informed by medical writers that defective ventilation is one
great cause of diseased joints, as well as of diseases of the eyes,
ears, and skin.

Foul air is the leading cause of tubercular and scrofulous consumption,
so very common in our country. Dr, Guy, in his examination before
public health commissioners in Great Britain, says: "Deficient
ventilation I believe to be more fatal than _all other causes_ put
together." He states that consumption is twice as common among
tradesmen as among the gentry, owing to the bad ventilation of their
stores and dwellings.

Dr. Griscom, in his work on Uses and Abuses of Air, says:

"Food carried from the stomach to the blood can not become _nutritive_
till it is properly oxygenated in the lungs; so that a small quantity of
food, even if less wholesome, may be made nutritive by pure air as it
passes through the lungs. But the best of food can not be changed into
nutritive blood till it is vitalized by pure air in the lungs."

And again:

"To those who have the care and instruction of the rising
generation--the future fathers and mothers of men--this subject of
ventilation commends itself with an interest surpassing every other.
Nothing can more convincingly establish the belief in the existence
of something vitally wrong in the habits and circumstances of civilized
life than the appalling fact that _one fourth_ of all who are born die
before reaching the fifth year, and _one half_ the deaths of mankind
occur under the twentieth year. Let those who have these things in
charge answer to their own consciences how they discharge their duty in
supplying to the young a _pure atmosphere_, which is the _first_
requisite for _healthy bodies_ and _sound minds_."

On the subject of infant mortality the experience of savages should
teach the more civilized. Professor Brewer, who traveled extensively
among the Indians of our western territories, states: "I have rarely
seen a sick boy among the Indians." Catlin, the painter, who resided
and traveled so much among these people, states that infant mortality
is very small among them, the reason, of course, being abundant exercise
and pure air.

Dr. Dio Lewis, whose labors in the cause of health are well known, in
his very useful work, _Weak Lungs and How to Make them Strong_, says:

"As a medical man I have visited thousands of sickrooms, and have not
found in _one in a hundred_ of them a pure atmosphere. I have often
returned from church doubting whether I had not committed a sin in
exposing myself so long to its poisonous air. There are in our great
cities churches costing $50,000, in the construction of which, not
fifty cents were expended in providing means for ventilation. Ten
thousand dollars for ornament, but not ten cents for pure air!

"Unventilated parlors, with gas-burners, (each consuming as much oxygen
as several men,) made as tight as possible, and a party of ladies and
gentlemen spending half the night in them! In 1861, I visited a
legislative hall, the legislature being in session. I remained half
an hour in the most impure air I ever breathed. Our school-houses are,
some of them, so vile in this respect, that I would prefer to have my
son remain in utter ignorance of books rather than to breathe, six
hours every day, such a poisonous atmosphere. Theatres and concert-rooms
are so foul that only reckless people continue to visit them. Twelve
hours in a railway-car exhausts one, not by the journeying, but because
of the devitalized air. While crossing the ocean in a Cunard steamer,
I was amazed that men who knew enough to construct such ships did not
know enough to furnish air to the passengers. The distress of
sea-sickness is greatly intensified by the sickening air of the ship.
Were carbonic acid _only black_, what a contrast there would be
between our hotels in their elaborate ornament!"

"Some time since I visited an establishment where one hundred and fifty
girls, in a single room, were engaged in needle-work. Pale-faced, and
with low vitality and feeble circulation, they were unconscious that
they were breathing air that at once produced in me dizziness and a
sense of suffocation. If I had remained a week with, them, I should,
by reduced vitality, have become unconscious of the vileness of the
air!"

There is a prevailing prejudice against _night air_ as unhealthful
to be admitted into sleeping-rooms, which is owing wholly to sheer
ignorance. In the night every body necessarily breathes night air and
no other. When admitted from without into a sleeping-room it is colder,
and therefore heavier, than the air within, so it sinks to the bottom
of the room and forces out an equal quantity of the impure air, warmed
and vitiated by passing through the lungs of inmates. Thus the question
is, Shall we shut up a chamber and breathe night air vitiated with
carbonic acid or night air that is pure? The only real difficulty about
night air is, that usually it is damper, and therefore colder and more
likely to chill. This is easily prevented by sufficient bed-clothing.

One other very prevalent mistake is found even in books written by
learned men. It is often thought that carbonic acid, being heavier
than common air, sinks to the floor of sleeping-rooms, so that the low
trundle-beds for children should not be used. This is all a mistake;
for, as a fact, in close sleeping-rooms the purest air is below and
the most impure above. It is true that carbonic acid is heavier than
common air, when pure; but this it rarely is except in chemical
experiments. It is the property of all gases, as well as of the two
(oxygen and nitrogen) composing the atmosphere, that when brought
together they always are entirely mixed, each being equally diffused
exactly as it would be if alone. Thus the carbonic acid from the skin
and lungs, being warmed in the body, rises as does the common air,
with which it mixes, toward the top of a room; so that usually there
is more carbonic acid at the top than at the bottom of a room.
[Footnote: Prof. Brewer, of the Tale Scientific School, says: "As a
fact, often demonstrated by analysis, there is generally more carbonic
acid near the ceiling than near the floor."] Both common air and
carbonic acid expand and become lighter in the same proportions; that
is, for every degree of added heat they expand at the rate of 1/480
of their bulk.

Here, let it be remembered, that in ill-ventilated rooms the carbonic
acid is not the only cause of disease. Experiments seem to prove that
other matter thrown out of the body, through the lungs and skin, is
as truly excrement and in a state of decay as that ejected from the
bowels, and as poisonous to the animal system. Carbonic acid has no
odor; but we are warned by the disagreeable effluvia of close
sleeping-rooms of the other poison thus thrown into the air from the
skin and lungs. There is one provision of nature that is little
understood, which saves the lives of thousands living in unventilated
houses; and that is, the passage of pure air inward and impure air
outward through the pores of bricks, wood, stone, and mortar. Were
such dwellings changed to tin, which is not thus porous, in less than
a week thousands and tens of thousands would be in danger of perishing
by suffocation.

These statements give some idea of the evils to be remedied. But the
most difficult point is _how_ to secure the remedy. For often the
attempt to secure pure air by one class of persons brings chills,
colds, and disease on another class, from mere ignorance or
mismanagement.

To illustrate this, it must be borne in mind that those who live in
warm, close, and unventilated rooms are much more liable to take cold
from exposure to draughts and cold air than those of vigorous vitality
accustomed to breathe pure air.

Thus the strong and healthy husband, feeling the want of pure air in
the night, and knowing its importance, keeps windows open and makes
such draughts that the wife, who lives all day in a close room and
thus is low in vitality, can not bear the change, has colds, and
sometimes perishes a victim to wrong modes of ventilation.

So, even in health-establishments, the patients will pass most of their
days and nights in badly-ventilated rooms. But at times the physician,
or some earnest patient, insists on a mode of ventilation that brings
more evil than good to the delicate inmates.

The grand art of ventilating houses is by some method that will empty
rooms of the vitiated air and bring in a supply of pure air _by small
and imperceptible currents_.

But this important duty of a Christian woman is one that demands more
science, care, and attention than almost any other; and yet, to prepare
her for this duty has never been any part of female education. Young
women are taught to draw mathematical diagrams and to solve astronomical
problems; but few, if any, of them are taught to solve the problem of
a house constructed to secure pure and moist air by day and night for
all its inmates.

The heating and management of the air we breathe is one of the most
complicated problems of domestic economy, as will be farther illustrated
in the succeeding chapter; and yet it is one of which, most American
women are profoundly ignorant.




IV.

SCIENTIFIC DOMESTIC VENTILATION.

We have seen in the preceding pages the process through which the air
is rendered unhealthful by close rooms and want of ventilation. Every
person inspires air about twenty times each minute, using half a pint
each time. At this rate, every pair of lungs vitiates one hogshead of
air every hour. The membrane that lines the multitudinous air-cells
of the lungs in which the capillaries are, should it be united in one
sheet, would cover the floor of a room twelve feet square. Every breath
brings a surface of air in contact with this extent of capillaries,
by which the air inspired gives up most of its oxygen and receives
carbonic acid in its stead. These facts furnish a guide for the proper
ventilation of rooms. Just in proportion to the number of persons in
a room or a house, should be the amount of air brought in and carried
out by arrangements for ventilation. But how rarely is this rule
regarded in building houses or in the care of families by housekeepers!

The evils resulting from the substitution of stoves instead of the
open fireplace, have led scientific and benevolent men to contrive
various modes of supplying pure air to both public and private houses.
But as yet little has been accomplished, except for a few of the more
intelligent and wealthy. The great majority of the American people,
owing to sheer ignorance, are, for want of pure air, being poisoned
and starved; the result being weakened constitutions, frequent disease,
and shortened life.

Whenever a family-room is heated by an open fire, it is duly ventilated,
as the impure air is constantly passing off through the chimney, while,
to supply the vacated space, the pure air presses in through the cracks
of doors, windows, and floors. No such supply is gained for rooms
warmed by stoves. And yet, from mistaken motives of economy, as well
as from ignorance of the resulting evils, multitudes of householders
are thus destroying health and shortening life, especially in regard
to women and children who spend most of their time within-doors.

The most successful modes of making "a healthful home" by a full supply
of pure air to every inmate, will now be described and illustrated.

It is the common property of both air and water to expand, become
lighter and rise, just in proportion as they are heated; and therefore
it is the invariable law that cool air sinks, thus replacing the warmer
air below. Thus, whenever cool air enters a warm room, it sinks downward
and takes the place of an equal amount of the warmer air, which is
constantly tending upward and outward. This principle of all fluids
is illustrated by the following experiment:

Take a glass jar about a foot high and three inches in diameter, and
with a wire to aid in placing it aright, sink a small bit of lighted
candle so as to stand in the centre at the bottom. (Fig. 28.) The
candle will heat the air of the jar, which will rise a little on one
side, while the colder air without will begin falling on the other
side. These two currents will so conflict as finally to cease, and
then the candle, having no supply of oxygen from fresh air, will begin
to go out. Insert a bit of stiff paper so as to divide the mouth of
the jar, and instantly the cold and warm air are not in conflict as
before, because a current is formed each side of the paper; the cold
air descending on one aide and the warm air ascending the other side,
as indicated by the arrows. As long as the paper remains, the candle
will burn, and as soon as it is removed, it will begin to go out, and
can be restored by again inserting the paper.

[Illustration: Fig. 28]
[Illustration: Fig. 29]

This illustrates the mode by which coal-mines are ventilated when
filled with carbonic acid. A shaft divided into two passages, (Fig.
29,) is let down into the mine, where the air is warmer than the outside
air. Immediately the colder air outside presses down into the mine,
through the passage which is highest, being admitted by the escape of
an equal quantity of the warmer air, which rises through the lower
passage of the shaft, this being the first available opening for it
to rise through. A current is thus created, which continues as long
as the inside air is warmer than that without the mine, and no longer.
Sometimes a fire is kindled in the mine, in order to continue or
increase the warmth, and consequent upward current of its air.

This illustrates one of the cases where a "wise woman that buildeth
her house" is greatly needed. For, owing to the ignorance of architects,
house-builders, and men in general, they have been building
school-houses, dwelling-houses, churches, and colleges, with the most
absurd and senseless contrivances for ventilation, and all from not
applying this simple principle of science. On this point, Prof. Brewer,
of the Scientific School of Yale College, writes thus:

"I have been in public buildings, (I have one in mind now, filled with
dormitories,) which cost half a million, where they attempted to
ventilate every room by a flue, long and narrow, built into partition
walls, and extending up into the capacious garret of the fifth story.
Every room in the building had one such flue, with an opening into it
at the floor and at the ceiling. It is needless to say that the whole
concern was entirely useless. Had these flues been of proper
proportions, and properly divided, the desired ventilation would have
been secured."

And this piece of ignorant folly was perpetrated in the midst of learned
professors, teaching the laws of fluids and the laws of health.

A learned physician also thus wrote to the author of this chapter:
"The subject of the ventilation of our dwelling-houses is one of the
most important questions of our times. How many thousands are victims
to a slow suicide and murder, the chief instrument of which is want
of ventilation! How few are aware of the fact that every person, every
day, vitiates thirty-three hogsheads of the air, and that each
inspiration takes one fifth of the oxygen, and returns as much carbonic
acid, from every pair of lungs in a room! How few understand that after
air has received ten per cent of this fatal gas, if drawn into the
lungs, it can no longer take carbonic acid from the capillaries! No
wonder there is so much impaired nervous and muscular energy, so much
scrofula, tubercles, catarrhs, dyspepsia, and typhoid diseases. I hope
you can do much to remedy the poisonous air of thousands and thousands
of stove-heated rooms."

In a cold climate and wintry weather, the grand impediment to
ventilating rooms by opening doors or windows is the dangerous currents
thus produced, which are so injurious to the delicate ones that for
their sake it can not be done. Then, also, as a matter of economy, the
poor can not afford to practice a method which carries off the heat
generated by their stinted store of fuel. Even in a warm season and
climate, there are frequent periods when the air without is damp and
chilly, and yet at nearly the same temperature as that in the house.
At such times, the opening of windows often has little effect in
emptying a room of vitiated air. The ventilating-flues, such as are
used in mines, have, in such cases, but little influence; for it is
only when outside air is colder that a current can be produced within
by this method.

The most successful mode of ventilating a house is by creating a current
of warm air in a flue, into which an opening is made at both the top
and the bottom of a room, while a similar opening for outside air is
made at the opposite side of the room. This is the mode employed in
chemical laboratories for removing smells and injurious gases.

The laboratory-closet is closed with glazed doors, and has an opening
to receive pure air through a conductor from without. The stove or
furnace within has a pipe which joins a larger cast-iron chimney-pipe,
which is warmed by the smoke it receives from this and other fires.
This cast-iron pipe is surrounded by a brick flue, through which air
passes from below to be warmed by the pipe, and thus an upward current
of warm air is created. Openings are then made at the top and bottom
of the laboratory-closet into the warm-air flue, and the gases and
smells are pressed by the colder air into this flue, and are carried
off in the current of warm air.

The same method is employed in the dwelling-house shown in a preceding
chapter. A cast-iron pipe is made in sections, which are to be united,
and the whole fastened at top and bottom in the centre of the warm-air
flue by ears extending to the bricks, and fastened when the flue is
in process of building. Projecting openings to receive the pipes of
the furnace, the laundry stove, and two stoves in each story, should
be provided, which must be closed when not in use. A large opening is
to be made into the warm-air fine, and through this the kitchen
stove-pipe is to pass, and be joined to the cast-iron chimney-pipe.
Thus the smoke of the kitchen stove will warm the iron chimney-pipe,
and this will warm the air of the flue, causing a current upward, and
this current will draw the heat and smells of cooking out of the kitchen
into the opening of the warm-air flue. Every room surrounding the
chimney has an opening at the top and bottom into the warm-air Hue for
ventilation, as also have the bathroom and water-closets.

[Illustration: Fig. 30.]

The writer has examined the methods most employed at the present time,
which are all modifications of the two modes here described. One is
that of Robinson, patented by a Boston company, which is a modification
of the mining mode. It consists of the two ventilating tubes, such as
are employed in mines, united in one shaft with a roof to keep out
rain, and a valve to regulate the entrance and exit of air, as
illustrated in Fig. 30. This method works well in certain circumstances,
but fails so often as to prove very unreliable. Another mode is that
of Ruttan, which is effected by heating air. This also has certain
advantages and disadvantages. But the mode adopted for the preceding
cottage plan is free from the difficulties of both the above methods,
while it will surely ventilate every room in the house, both by day
and night, and at all seasons, without any risk to health, and requiring
no attention or care from the family.

By means of a very small amount of fuel in the kitchen stove, to be
described hereafter, the whole house can be ventilated, and all the
cooking done both in warm and cold weather. This stove will also warm
the whole house, in the Northern States, eight or nine months in the
year. Two Franklin stoves, in addition, will warm the whole house
during the three or four remaining coldest months.

In a warm climate or season, by means of the non-conducting castings,
the stove will ventilate the house and do all the cooking, without
imparting heat or smells to any part of the house except the
stove-closet.

At the close of this volume, drawings, prepared by Mr. Lewis Leeds,
are given, more fully to illustrate this mode of warming and
ventilation, and in so plain and simple a form that any intelligent
woman who has read this work can see that the plan is properly executed,
even with workmen so entirely ignorant on this important subject as
are most house-builders, especially in the newer territories. In the
same article, directions are given as to the best modes of ventilating
houses that are already built without any arrangements for ventilation.




V.
THE CONSTRUCTION AND CARE OF STOVES, FURNACES, AND CHIMNEYS.


If all American housekeepers could be taught how to select and manage
the most economical and convenient apparatus for cooking and for warming
a house, many millions now wasted by ignorance and neglect would be
saved. Every woman should be taught the scientific principles in regard
to heat, and then their application to practical purposes, for her own
benefit, and also to enable her to train her children and servants in
this important duty of home life on which health and comfort so much
depend.

The laws that regulate the generation, diffusion, and preservation of
heat as yet are a sealed mystery to thousands of young women who imagine
they are completing a suitable education in courses of instruction
from which most that is practical in future domestic life is wholly
excluded. We therefore give a brief outline of some of the leading
scientific principles which every housekeeper should understand and
employ, in order to perform successfully one of her most important
duties.

Concerning the essential nature of heat, and its intimate relations
with the other great natural forces, light, electricity, etc., we shall
not attempt to treat, but shall, for practical purposes, assume it to
be a separate and independent force. Heat or caloric, then, has certain
powers or principles. Let us consider them:

First, we find _Conduction_, by which heat passes from one particle
to another next to it; as when one end of a poker is warmed by placing
the other end in the fire. The bodies which allow this power free
course are called conductors, and those which do not are named
non-conductors, Metals are good conductors; feathers, wool, and furs
are poor conductors; and water, air, and gases are non-conductors.

Another principle of heat is _Convection_, by which water, air, and
gases are warmed. This is, literally, the process of _conveying_ heat
from one portion of a fluid body to another by currents resulting from
changes of temperature. It is secured by bringing one portion of a
liquid or gas into contact with a heated surface, whereby it becomes
lighter and expanded in volume. In consequence, the cooler and heavier
particles above pressing downward, the lighter ones rise upward, when
the former, being heated, rise in their turn, and give place to others
again descending from above. Thus a constant motion of currents and
interchange of particles is produced until, as in a vessel of water, the
whole body comes to an equal temperature. Air is heated in the same way.
In case of a hot stove, the air that touches it is heated, becomes
lighter, and rises, giving place to cooler and heavier particles, which,
when heated, also ascend. It is owing to this process that the air of a
room is warmest at the top and coolest at the bottom. It is owing to
this principle, also, that water and air can not be heated by fire from
above. For the particles of these bodies, being non-conductors, do not
impart heat to each other; and when the warmest are at the top, they can
not take the place of cooler and heavier ones below.

Another principle of heat (which it shares with light) is _Radiation_,
by which all things send out heat to surrounding cooler bodies. Some
bodies will absorb radiated heat, others will reflect it, and others
allow it to pass through them without either absorbing or reflecting
Thus, black and rough substances absorb heat, (or light,) colored and
smooth articles reflect it, while air allows it to pass through without
either absorbing or reflecting. It is owing to this, that rough and
black vessels boil water sooner than smooth and light-colored ones.

Another principle is _Reflection_, by which heat radiated to a
surface is turned back from it when not absorbed or allowed to pass
through; just as a ball rebounds from a wall; just as sound is thrown
back from a hill, making echo; just as rays of light are reflected
from a mirror. And, as with light, the rays of heat are always reflected
from a surface in an angle exactly corresponding to the direction in
which it strikes that surface. Thus, if heated are comes to an object
perpendicularly--that is, at right angles, it will be reflected back
in the same line. If it strikes obliquely, it is reflected obliquely,
at an angle with the surface precisely the same as the angle with which
it first struck. And, of course, if it moves toward the surface and
comes upon it in a line having so small an angle with it as to be
almost parallel with it, the heated air is spread wide and diffused
through a larger space than when the angles are greater and the width
of reflection less.

[Illustration: Fig. 31.]
[Illustration: Fig. 32.]
[Illustration: Fig. 33.]

The simplest mode of warming a house and cooking food is by radiated
heat from fires; but this is the most wasteful method, as respects
time, labor, and expense. The most convenient, economical, and
labor-saving mode of employing heat is by convection, as applied in
stoves and furnaces. But for want of proper care and scientific
knowledge this method has proved very destructive to health. When
warming and cooking were done by open fires, houses were well supplied
with pure air, as is rarely the case in rooms heated by stoves. For
such is the prevailing ignorance on this subject that, as long as
stoves save labor and warm the air, the great majority of people,
especially among the poor, will use them in ways that involve
debilitated constitutions and frequent disease.

The most common modes of cooking, where open fires are relinquished,
are by the range and the cooking-stove. The range is inferior to the
stove in these respects: it is less economical, demanding much more
fuel; it endangers the dress of the cook while standing near for various
operations; it requires more stooping than the stove while cooking;
it will not keep a fire all night, as do the best stoves; it will not
burn wood and coal equally well; and lastly, if it warms the kitchen
sufficiently in winter, it is too warm for summer. Some prefer it
because the fumes of cooking can be carried off; but stoves properly
arranged accomplish this equally well.

After extensive inquiry and many personal experiments, the author has
found a cooking-stove constructed on true scientific principles, which
unites convenience, comfort, and economy in a remarkable manner. Of
this stove, drawings and descriptions will now be given, as the best
mode of illustrating the practical applications of these principles
to the art of cooking, and to show how much American women have suffered
and how much they have been imposed upon for want of proper knowledge
in this branch of their profession. And every woman can understand
what follows with much less effort than young girls at high-schools
give to the first problems of Geometry--for which they will never have
any practical use, while attention to this problem of home affairs
will cultivate the intellect quite as much as the abstract reasonings
of Algebra and Geometry.,

[Illustration: Fig. 34.]

Fig. 34 represents a portion of the interior of this cooking-stove.
First, notice the fire-box, which has corrugated (literally, wrinkled)
sides, by which space is economized, so that as much heating surface
is secured as if they were one third larger; as the heat radiates from
every part of the undulating surface, which is one third greater in
superficial extent than if it were plane. The shape of the fire-box
also secures more heat by having oblique sides--which radiate more
effectively into the oven beneath than if they were perpendicular, as
illustrated below--while also it is sunk into the oven, so as to radiate
from three instead of from two sides, as in most other stoves, the
front of whose fire-boxes with their grates are built so as to be the
front of the stove itself.

[Illustration: Fig 35. Model Stove]
[Illustration: Fig 36. Ordinary Stove]

The oven is the space under and around the back and front sides of the
fire-box. The oven-bottom is not introduced in the diagram, but it is
a horizontal plate between the fire-box and what is represented as the
"flue-plate," which separates the oven from the bottom of the stove.
The top of the oven is the horizontal corrugated plate passing from
the rear edge of the fire-box to the back flues. These are three in
number--the back centre-flue, which is closed to the heat and smoke
coming over the oven from the fire-box by a damper--and the two back
corner-flues. Down these two corner-flues passes the current of hot
air and smoke, having first drawn across the corrugated oven-top. The
arrows show its descent through these flues, from which it obliquely
strikes and passes over the flue-plate, then under it, and then out
through the centre back-flue, which is open at the bottom, up into the
smoke-pipe.

The flue-plate is placed obliquely, to accumulate heat by forcing and
compression; for the back space where the smoke enters from the
corner-flues is largest, and decreases toward the front, so that the
hot current is compressed in a narrow space, between the oven-bottom
and the flue-plate at the place where the bent arrows are seen. Here
again it enters a wider space, under the flue-plate, and proceeds to
another narrow one, between the flue-plate and the bottom of the stove,
and thus is compressed and retained longer than if not impeded by these
various contrivances. The heat and smoke also strike the plate
obliquely, and thus, by reflection from its surface, impart more heat
than if the passage was a horizontal one.

The external radiation is regulated by the use of nonconducting plaster
applied to the flue-plate and to the sides of the corner-flues, so
that the heat is prevented from radiating in any direction except
toward the oven. The doors, sides, and bottom of the stove are lined
with tin casings, which hold a stratum of air, also a non-conductor.
These are so arranged as to be removed whenever the weather becomes
cold, so that the heat may then radiate into the kitchen. The outer
edges of the oven are also similarly protected from loss of heat by
tin casings and air-spaces, and the oven-doors opening at the front
of the store are provided with the same economical savers of heat.
High tin covers placed on the top prevent the heat from radiating above
the stove. These are exceedingly useful, as the space under them is
well heated and arranged for baking, for heating irons, and many other
incidental necessities. Cake and pies can be baked on the top, while
the oven is used for bread or for meats. When all the casings and
covers are on, almost all the heat is confined within the stove, and
whenever heat for the room is wanted, opening the front oven-doors
turns it out into the kitchen.

Another contrivance is that of ventilating-holes in the front doors,
through which fresh air is brought into the oven. This secures several
purposes: it carries off the fumes of cooking meats, and prevents the
mixing of flavors when different articles are cooked in the oven; it
drives the heat that accumulates between the fire-box and front doors
down around the oven, and equalizes its heat, so that articles need
not be moved while baking; and lastly, as the air passes through the
holes of the fire-box, it causes the burning of gases in the smoke,
and thus increases heat. When wood or bituminous coal is used,
perforated metal linings are put in the fire-box, and the result is
the burning of smoke and gases that otherwise would pass into the
chimney. This is a great discovery in the economy of fuel, which can
be applied in many ways.

Heretofore, most cooking-stoves have had dumping-grates, which are
inconvenient from the dust produced, are uneconomical in the use of
fuel, and disadvantageous from too many or too loose joints. But
recently this stove has been provided with a dumping-grate which
also will sift ashes, and can be cleaned without dust and the other
objectionable features of dumping-grates. A further account of this
stove, and the mode of purchasing and using it, will be given at the
close of the book.

Those who are taught to manage the stove properly keep the fire going
all night, and equally well with wood or coal, thus saving the expense
of kindling and the trouble of starting a new fire. When the fuel is
of good quality, all that is needed in the morning is to draw the
back-damper, snake the grate, and add more fuel.

Another remarkable feature of this store is the extension-top, on which
is placed a water reservoir, constantly heated by the smoke as it
passes from the stove, through one or two uniting passages, to the
smoke-pipe. Under this is placed a closet for warming and keeping hot
the dishes, vegetables, meats, etc., while preparing for dinner. It
is also very useful in drying fruit; and when large baking is required,
a small appended pot for charcoal turns it into a fine large oven,
that bakes as nicely as a brick oven.

Another useful appendage is a common tin oven, in which roasting can
be done in front of the stove, the oven-doors being removed for the
purpose. The roast will be done as perfectly as by an open fire.

This stove is furnished with pipes for heating water, like the
water-back of ranges, and these can be taken or left out at pleasure.
So also the top covers, the baking-stool and pot, and the summer-back,
bottom, and side-casings can be used or omitted as preferred.

[Illustration Fig 37]

Fig. 37 exhibits the stove completed, with all its appendages, as they
might be employed in cooking for a large number.

Its capacity, convenience, and economy as a stove may be estimated by
the following fact: With proper management of dampers, one
ordinary-sized coal-hod of anthracite coal will, for twenty-four hours,
keep the stove running, keep seventeen gallons of water hot at all
hours, bake pies and puddings in the warm closet, heat flat-irons under
the back cover, boil tea-kettle and one pot under the front cover,
bake bread in the oven, and cook a turkey in the tin roaster in front.
The author has numerous friends, who, after trying the best ranges,
have dismissed them for this stove, and in two or three years cleared
the whole expense by the saving of fuel.

The remarkable durability of this stove is another economic feature.
For in addition to its fine castings and nice-fitting workmanship, all
the parts liable to burn out are so protected by linings, and other
contrivances easily renewed, that the stove itself may pass from one
generation to another, as do ordinary chimneys. The writer has visited
in families where this stove had been in constant use for eighteen and
twenty years, and was still as good as new. In most other families the
stoves are broken, burnt-out, or thrown aside for improved patterns
every four, five, or six years, and sometimes, to the knowledge of the
writer, still oftener.

Another excellent point is that, although it is so complicated in its
various contrivances as to demand intelligent management in order to
secure all its advantages, it also can be used satisfactorily even
when the mistress and maid are equally careless and ignorant of its
distinctive merits. To such it offers all the advantages of ordinary
good stoves, and is extensively used by those who take no pains to
understand and apply its peculiar advantages.

But the writer has managed the stove herself in all the details of
cooking, and is confident that any housekeeper of common sense, who
is instructed properly, and who also aims to have her kitchen affairs
managed with strict economy, can easily train any servant who is willing
to learn, so as to gain the full advantages offered. And even without
any instructions at all, except the printed directions sent with the
stove, an intelligent woman can, by due attention, though not without,
both manage it, and teach her children and servants to do likewise.
And whenever this stove has failed to give the highest satisfaction,
it has been, either because the housekeeper was not apprized of its
peculiarities, or because she did not give sufficient attention to the
matter, or was not able or willing to superintend and direct its
management.

The consequence has been that, in families where this stove has been
understood and managed aright, it has saved nearly one half of the
fuel that would be used in ordinary stoves, constructed with the usual
disregard of scientific and economic laws. And it is because we know
this particular stove to be convenient, reliable, and economically
efficient beyond ordinary experience, in the important housekeeping
element of kitchen labor, that we devote to it so much space and pains
to describe its advantageous points.

CHIMNEYS.

One of the most serious evils in domestic life is often found in
chimneys that will not properly draw the smoke of a fire or stove.
Although chimneys have been building for a thousand years, the artisans
of the present day seem strangely ignorant of the true method of
constructing them so as always to carry smoke upward instead of
downward. It is rarely the case that a large house is built in which
there is not some flue or chimney which "will not draw." One of the
reasons why the stove described as excelling all others is sometimes
cast aside for a poorer one is, that it requires a properly constructed
chimney, and multitudes of women do not know how to secure it. The
writer in early life shed many a bitter tear, drawn forth by smoke
from an ill-constructed kitchen-chimney, and thousands all over the
land can report the same experience.

The following are some of the causes and the remedies for this evil.

The most common cause of poor chimney draughts is too large an opening
for the fireplace, either too wide or too high in front, or having too
large a throat for the smoke. In a lower story, the fireplace should
not be larger than thirty inches wide, twenty-five inches high, and
fifteen deep. In the story above, it should be eighteen inches square
and fifteen inches deep.

Another cause is too short a flue, and the remedy is to lengthen it.
As a general rule, the longer the flue the stronger the draught. But
in calculating the length of a flue, reference must be had to
side-flues, if any open into it. Where this is the case, the length
of the main flue is to be considered as extending only from the bottom
to the point where the upper flue joins it, and where the lower will
receive air from the upper flue. If a smoky flue can not be increased
in length, either by closing an upper flue or lengthening the chimney,
the fireplace must be contracted so that all the air near the fire
will be heated and thus pressed upward.

If a flue has more than one opening, in some cases it is impossible
to secure a good draught. Sometimes it will work well and sometimes
it will not. The only safe rule is to have a separate flue to each
fire.

Another cause of poor draughts is too tight a room, so that the cold
air from without can not enter to press the warm air up the chimney.
The remedy is to admit a small current of air from without.

Another cause is two chimneys in one room, or in rooms opening together,
in which the draught in one is much stronger than in the other. In
this case, the stronger draught will draw away from the weaker. The
remedy is, for each room to have a proper supply of outside air; or,
in a single room, to stop one of the chimneys.

Another cause is the too close vicinity of a hill or buildings higher
than the top of the chimney, and the remedy for this is to raise the
chimney.

Another cause is the descent, into unused fireplaces, of smoke from
other chimneys near. The remedy is to close the throat of the unused
chimney.

Another cause is a door opening toward the fireplace, on the same side
of the room, so that its draught passes along the wall and makes a
current that draws out the smoke. The remedy is to change the hanging
of the door so as to open another way.

Another cause is strong winds. The remedy is a turn-cap on top of the
chimney.

Another cause is the roughness of the inside of a chimney, or
projections which impede the passage of the smoke. Every chimney should
be built of equal dimensions from bottom to top, with no projections
into it, with as few bends as possible, and with the surface of the
inside as smooth as possible.

Another cause of poor draughts is openings into the chimney of chambers
for stove-pipes. The remedy is to close them, or insert stove-pipes
that are in use.

Another cause is the falling out of brick in some part of the chimney
so that outer air is admitted. The remedy is to close the opening.

The draught of a stove may be affected by most of these causes. It
also demands that the fireplace have a tight fire-board, or that the
throat he carefully filled. For neglecting this, many a good stove has
been thrown aside and a poor one taken in its place.

If all young women had committed to memory these causes of evil and
their remedies, many a badly-built chimney might have been cured, and
many smoke-drawn tears, sighs, ill-tempers, and irritating words
avoided.

But there are dangers in this direction which demand special attention.
Where one flue has two stoves or fireplaces, in rooms one above the
other, in certain states of the atmosphere, the lower room, being the
warmer, the colder air and carbonic acid in the room above will pass
down into the lower room through the opening for the stove or the
fireplace.

This occurred not long since in a boarding-school, when the gas in a
room above flowed into a lower one, and suffocated several to death.
This room had no mode of ventilation, and several persons slept in it,
and were thus stifled. Professor Brewer states a similar case in the
family of a relative. An anthracite stove was used in the upper room;
and on one still, close night, the gas from this stove descended through
the flue and the opening into a room below, and stifled two persons
to insensibility, though, by proper efforts, their lives were saved.
Many such cases have occurred where rooms have been thus filled with
poisonous gases, and servants and children destroyed, or their
constitutions injured, simply because housekeepers are not properly
instructed in this important branch of their profession.


FURNACES.

There is no improved mechanism in the economy of domestic life requiring
more intelligent management than furnaces. Let us then consider some
of the principles involved.

The earth is heated by radiation from the sun. The air is not warmed
by the passage of the sun's heat through it, but by convection from
the earth, in the same way that it is warmed by the surfaces of stoves.
The lower stratum of air is warmed by the earth and by objects which
have been warmed by radiated heat from the sun. The particles of air
thus heated expand, become lighter, and rise, being replaced by the
descent of the cooler and heavier particles from above, which, on being
warmed also rise, and give place to others. Owing to this process, the
air is warmest nearest the earth, and grows cooler as height increases.

The air has a strong attraction for water, and always holds a certain
quantity as invisible vapor. The warmer the air, the more moisture it
demands, and it will draw it from all objects within reach. The air
holds water according to its temperature. Thus, at fifty-two degrees,
Fahrenheit's thermometer, it holds half the moisture it can sustain;
but at thirty-six degrees, it will hold only one eighty-sixth part.
The earth and all plants and trees are constantly sending out moisture;
and when the air has received all it can hold, without depositing it
as dew, it is said to be _saturated_, and the point of temperature
at which dew begins to form, by condensation, upon the surface of the
earth and its vegetation, is called the _dew-point_. When air,
at a given temperature, has only forty per cent of the moisture it
requires for saturation, it is said to be dry. In a hot summer day,
the air will hold far more moisture than in cool days. In summer,
out-door air rarely holds less than half its volume of water. In 1838,
at Cambridge, Massachusetts, and New-Haven, Connecticut, at seventy
degrees, Fahrenheit, the air held eighty per cent of moisture.

In New Orleans, the air often retains ninety per cent of the moisture
it is capable of holding; and in cool days at the North, in foggy
weather, the air is sometimes wholly saturated.

When air holds all the moisture it can, without depositing dew, its
moisture is called 100. When it holds three fourths of this, it is
said to be at seventy-five per cent. When it holds only one half, it
is at fifty per cent. When it holds only one fourth, it is at
twenty-five per cent, etc.

Sanitary observers teach that the proper amount of moisture in the air
ranges from forty to seventy per cent of saturation.

Now, furnaces, which are of course used only in winter, receive outside
air at a low temperature, holding little moisture; This it sucks up,
like a sponge, from the walls and furniture of a house. If it is taken
into the human lungs, it draws much of its required moisture from the
body, often causing dryness of lips and throat, and painfully affecting
the lungs. Prof. Brewer, of the Scientific School of New-Haven, who
has experimented extensively on this subject, states that, while forty
per cent of moisture is needed in air to make it healthful, most stoves
and furnaces do not, by any contrivances, supply one half of this, or
not twenty per cent. He says most furnace-heated air is dryer than is
ever breathed in the hottest deserts of Sahara.

Thus, for want of proper instruction, most American housekeepers not
only poison their families with carbonic acid and starve them for want
of oxygen, but also diminish health and comfort for want of a due
supply of moisture in the air. And often when a remedy is sought, by
evaporating water in the furnace, it is without knowing that the amount
evaporated depends, not on the quantity of water in the vessel, but
on the extent of evaporating surface exposed to the air. A quart of
water in a wide shallow pan will give more moisture than two gallons
with a small surface exposed to heat.

There is also no little wise economy in expense attained by keeping
a proper supply of moisture in the air. For it is found that the body
radiates its heat less in moist than in dry air, so that a person feels
as warm at a lower temperature when the air has a proper supply of
moisture, as in a much higher temperature of dry air. Of course, less
fuel is needed to warm a house when water is evaporated in stove and
furnace-heated rooms. It is said by those who have experimented, that
the saving in fuel is twenty per cent when the air is duly supplied
with moisture.

There is a very ingenious instrument, called the hygrodeik, which
indicates the exact amount of moisture in the air. It consists of two
thermometers side by side, one of which has its bulb surrounded by
floss-silk wrapping, which is kept constantly wet by communication
with a cup of water near it. The water around the bulb evaporates just
in proportion to the heat of the air around it. The changing of water
to vapor draws heat from the nearest object, and this being the bulb
of the thermometer, the mercury is cooled and sinks. Then the difference
between the two thermometers shows the amount of moisture in the air
by a pointer on a dial-plate constructed by simple mechanism for this
purpose.

There is one very important matter in regard to the use of furnaces,
which is thus stated by Professor Brewer:

"I think it is a well-established fact that carbonic oxide will
pass through iron. It is always formed in great abundance in any
_anthracite_ fire, but especially in anthracite stoves and furnaces.
Moreover, furnaces _always_ leak, more or less; how much they leak
depending on the care and skill with which they are managed. Carbonic
oxide is much more poisonous than carbonic acid. Doubtless some carbonic
oxide finds its way into all furnace-heated houses, especially where
anthracite is used; the amount varying with the kind of furnace and its
management. As to how much escapes into a room, and its specific effect
upon the health of its occupants, we have no accurate data, no analysis
to show the quantity, and no observations to show the relation between
the quantity inhaled and the health of those exposed; all is mere
conjecture upon this point; but the inference is very strong that it has
a very injurious effect, producing headaches, weariness, and other
similar symptoms.

"Recent pamphlets lay the blame of all the bad effects of anthracite
furnaces and stoves to the carbonic oxide mingled in the air. I think
these pamphlets have a bad influence. _Excessive dryness_ also has bad
effects. So also the excessive heat in the evenings and coolness in the
mornings has a share in these evils. But how much in addition is owing
to carbonic oxide, we can not know, until we know something of the
actual amount of this gas in rooms, and as yet we know absolutely
nothing definite. In fact, it will be a difficult thing to _prove_."

There are other difficulties connected with furnaces which should be
considered. It is necessary to perfect health that an equal circulation
of the blood be preserved. The greatest impediment to this is keeping
the head warmer than the feet. This is especially to be avoided in a
nation where the brain is by constant activity drawing the blood from
the extremities. And nowhere is this more important than in schools,
churches, colleges, lecture and recitation-rooms, where the brain is
called into active exercise. And yet, furnace-heated rooms always keep
the feet in the coldest air, on cool floors, while the head is in the
warmest air.

Another difficulty is the fact that all bodies tend to radiate their
heat to each other, till an equal temperature exists. Thus, the human
body is constantly radiating its heat to the walls, floors, and cooler
bodies around. At the same time, a thermometer is affected in the same
way, radiating its heat to cooler bodies around, so that it always
marks a lower degree of heat than actually exists in the warm air
around it. Owing to these facts, the injected air of a furnace is
always warmer than is good for the lungs, and much warmer than is ever
needed in rooms warmed by radiation from fires or heated surfaces. The
cooler the air we inspire, the more oxygen is received, the faster the
blood circulates, and the greater is the vigor imparted to brain,
nerves, and muscles.

Scientific men have been contriving various modes of meeting these
difficulties, and at the close of this volume some results will be
given to aid a woman in selecting and managing the most healthful and
economical furnace, or in providing some better method of warming a
house. Some account will also be given of the danger involved in
gas-stoves, and some other recent inventions for cooking and heating.




VI.

HOME DECORATION.


Having duly arranged for the physical necessities of a healthful and
comfortable home, we next approach the important subject of _beauty_ in
reference to the decoration of houses. For while the aesthetic element
must be subordinate to the requirements of physical existence, and, as a
matter of expense, should be held of inferior consequence to means of
higher moral growth; it yet holds a place of great significance among
the influences which make home happy and attractive, which give it a
constant and wholesome power over the young, and contributes much to the
education of the entire household in refinement, intellectual
development, and moral sensibility.

Here we are met by those who tell us that of course they want their
houses handsome, and that, when they get money enough, they intend to
have them so, but at present they are too poor, and because they are
poor they dismiss the subject altogether, and live without any regard
to it.

We have often seen people who said that they could not afford to make
their houses beautiful, who had spent upon them, outside or in, an
amount of money which did not produce either beauty or comfort, and
which, if judiciously applied, might have made the house quite charming.

For example, a man, in building his house, takes a plan of an architect.
This plan includes, on the outside, a number of what Andrew Fairservice
called "curlywurlies" and "whigmaliries," which make the house neither
prettier nor more comfortable, and which take up a good deal of money.
We would venture to say that we could buy the chromo of Bierstadt's
"Sunset in the Yosemite Valley," and four others like it, for half the
sum that we have sometimes seen laid out on a very ugly, narrow, awkward
porch on the outside of a house. The only use of this porch was to
cost money, and to cause every body who looked at it to exclaim as
they went by, "What ever induced that man to put a thing like that on
the outside of his house?"

Then, again, in the inside of houses, we have seen a dwelling looking
very bald and bare, when a sufficient sum of money had been expended
on one article to have made the whole very pretty: and it has come
about in this way.

We will suppose the couple who own the house to be in the condition
in which people generally are after they have built a house--having
spent more than they could afford on the building itself, and yet
feeling themselves under the necessity of getting some furniture.
"Now," says the housewife, "I must at least have a parlor-carpet. We
must get that to begin with, and other things as we go on." She goes
to a store to look at carpets. The clerks are smiling and obliging,
and sweetly complacent. The storekeeper, perhaps, is a neighbor or a
friend, and after exhibiting various patterns, he tells her of a
Brussels carpet he is selling wonderfully cheap--actually a dollar
and a quarter less a yard than the usual price of Brussels, and the
reason is that it is an unfashionable pattern, and he has a good deal
of it, and wishes to close it off.

She looks at it and thinks it is not at all the kind of carpet she
meant to buy, but then it is Brussels, and so cheap! And as she
hesitates, her friend tells her that she will find it "cheapest in the
end--that one Brussels carpet will outlast three or four ingrains,"
etc., etc.

The result of all this is, that she buys the Brussels carpet, which,
with all its reduction in price, is one third dearer than the ingrain
would have been, and not half so pretty. When she comes home, she will
find that she has spent, we will say eighty dollars, for a very homely
carpet whose greatest merit it is an affliction to remember--namely,
that it will outlast three ordinary carpets. And because she has bought
this carpet she can not afford to paper the walls or put up any
window-curtains, and can not even begin to think of buying any pictures.

Now let us see what eighty dollars could have done for that room. We
will suppose, in the first place, she invests in thirteen rolls of
wall-paper of a lovely shade of buff, which will make the room look
sunshiny in the day-time, and light up brilliantly in the evening.
Thirteen rolls of good satin paper, at thirty-seven cents a roll,
expends four dollars and eighty-one cents. A maroon bordering, made
in imitation of the choicest French style, which can not at a distance
be told from it, can be bought for six cents a yard. This will bring
the paper to about five dollars and a half; and our friends will give
a day of their time to putting it on. The room already begins to look
furnished.

Then, let us cover the floor with, say, thirty yards of good matting,
at fifty cents a yard. This gives us a carpet for fifteen dollars. We
are here stopped by the prejudice that matting is not good economy,
because it wears out so soon. We humbly submit that it is precisely
the thing for a parlor, which is reserved for the reception-room of
friends, and for our own dressed leisure hours. Matting is not good
economy in a dining-room or a hard-worn sitting-room; but such a parlor
as we are describing is precisely the place where it answers to the
very best advantage.

We have in mind one very attractive parlor which has been, both for
summer and winter, the daily sitting-room for the leisure hours of a
husband and wife, and family of children, where a plain straw matting
has done service for seven years. That parlor is in a city, and these
friends are in the habit of receiving visits from people who live upon
velvet and Brussels; but they prefer to spend the money which such
carpets would cost on other modes of embellishment; and this parlor
has often been cited to us as a very attractive room.

And now our friends, having got thus far, are requested to select some
one tint or color which shall be the prevailing one in the furniture
of the room. Shall it be green? Shall it be blue? Shall it be crimson?
To carry on our illustration, we will choose green, and we proceed
with it to create furniture for our room. Let us imagine that on one
side of the fireplace there be, as there is often, a recess about six
feet long and three feet deep. Fill this recess with a rough frame
with four stout legs, one foot high, and upon the top of the frame
have an elastic rack of slats. Make a mattress for this, or, if you
wish to avoid that trouble, you can get a nice mattress for the sum
of two dollars, made of cane-shavings or husks. Cover this with a
green English furniture print. The glazed English comes at about
twenty-five cents a yard, the glazed French at seventy-five cents a
yard, and a nice article of yard-wide French twill (very strong) is
from seventy-five to eighty cents a yard.

With any of these cover your lounge. Make two large, square pillows
of the same substance as the mattress, and set up at the back. If you
happen to have one or two feather pillows that you can spare for the
purpose, shake them down into a square shape and cover them with the
same print, and you will then have for pillows for your lounge--one
at each end, and two at the back, and you will find it answers for all
the purposes of a sofa.

[Illustration: Fig. 38.]

It will be a very pretty thing, now, to cut out of the same material
as your lounge, sets of lambrequins (or, as they are called,
_lamberkins_,) a land of pendent curtain-top, as shown in the
illustration, to put over the windows, which are to be embellished
with white muslin curtains. The cornices to your windows can be simply
strips of wood covered with paper to match the bordering of your room,
and the lambrequins, made of chintz like the lounge, can be trimmed
with fringe or gimp of the same color. The patterns of these can be
varied according to fancy, but simple designs are usually the prettiest.
A tassel at the lowest point improves the appearance.

The curtains can be made of plain white muslin, or some of the many
styles that come for this purpose. If plain muslin is used, you can
ornament them with hems an inch in width, in which insert a strip of
gingham or chambray of the same color as your chintz. This will wash
with the curtains without losing its color, or should it fade, it can
easily be drawn out and replaced.

The influence of white-muslin curtains in giving an air of grace and
elegance to a room is astonishing. White curtains really create a room
out of nothing. No matter how coarse the muslin, so it be white and
hang in graceful folds, there is a charm in it that supplies the want
of multitudes of other things.

Very pretty curtain-muslin can be bought at thirty-seven cents a yard.
It requires six yards for a window.

Let your men-folk knock up for you, out of rough, unplaned boards,
some ottoman frames, as described in Chapter II; stuff the tops with
just the same material as the lounge, and cover them with the self-same
chintz.

[Illustration: Fig. 39.]

Now you have, suppose your selected color to be green, a green lounge
in the corner and two green ottomans; you have white muslin curtains,
with green lambrequins and borders, and your room already looks
furnished. If you have in the house any broken-down arm-chair, reposing
in the oblivion of the garret, draw it out--drive a nail here and
there to hold it firm--stuff and pad, and stitch the padding through
with a long upholsterer's needle, and cover it with the chintz like
your other furniture. Presto--you create an easy-chair.

Thus can broken and disgraced furniture reappear, and, being put into
uniform with the general suit of your room, take a new lease of life.

If you want a centre-table, consider this--that any kind of table,
well concealed beneath the folds of _handsome drapery of a color
corresponding to the general hue of the room,_ will look well.
Instead of going to the cabinet-maker and paying from thirty to forty
dollars upon a little, narrow, cold, marble-topped stand, that gives
just room enough to hold a lamp and a book or two, reflect within
yourself what a centre-table is made for. If you have in your house
a good, broad, generous-topped table, take it, cover it with an ample
cloth of green broadcloth. Such a cover, two and a half yards square,
of fine green broadcloth, figured with black and with a pattern-border
of grape-leaves, has been bought for ten dollars. In a room we wot of,
it covers a cheap pine table, such as you may buy for four or five
dollars any day; but you will be astonished to see how handsome an
object this table makes under its green drapery. Probably you could
make the cover more cheaply by getting the cloth and trimming its edge
with a handsome border, selected for the purpose; but either way, it
will be an economical and useful ornament. We set down our centre-table,
therefore, as consisting mainly of a nice broadcloth cover, matching
our curtains and lounge.

We are sure that any one with "a heart that is humble" may command
such a centre-table and cloth for fifteen dollars or less, and a family
of five or six may all sit and work, or read, or write around it, and
it is capable of entertaining a generous allowance of books and
knick-knacks.

You have now for your parlor the following figures:

  Wall-paper and border,.................................... $5.50
  Thirty yards matting,..................................... 15.00
  Centre-table and cloth,................................... 15.00
  Muslin for three windows,.................................. 6.75
  Thirty yards green English chintz, at 25 cents,............ 7.50
  Six chairs, at $2 each,................................... 12.00

  Total,....................................................$61.75
Subtracted from eighty dollars, which we set down as the price of the
cheap, ugly Brussels carpet, we have our whole room papered, carpeted,
curtained, and furnished, and we have nearly twenty dollars remaining
for pictures.

As a little suggestion in regard to the selection, you can got Miss
Oakley's charming little cabinet picture of

  "The Little Scrap-Book Maker" for........................ $7 50
  Eastman Johnson's "Barefoot Boy,"................. (Prang) 5 00
  Newman's "Blue-fringed Gentians,"..................(Prang) 6 00
  Bierstadt's "Sunset in the Yo Semite Valley,"......(Prang)12 00

Here are thirty dollars' worth of really admirable pictures of some
of our best American artists, from which you can choose at your leisure.
By sending to any leading picture-dealer, lists of pictures and prices
will be forwarded to you. These chromos, being all varnished, can wait
for frames until you can afford them. Or, what is better, because it
is at once cheaper and a means of educating the ingenuity and the
taste, you can make for yourselves pretty rustic frames in various
modes. Take a very thin board, of the right size and shape, for the
foundation or "mat;" saw out the inner oval or rectangular form to
suit the picture. Nail on the edge a rustic frame made of branches of
hard, seasoned wood, and garnish the corners with some pretty device;
such, for instance, as a cluster of acorns; or, in place of the branches
of trees, fasten on with glue small pine cones, with larger ones for
corner ornaments. Or use the mosses of the wood or ocean shells for
this purpose. It may be more convenient to get the mat or inner moulding
from a framer, or have it made by your carpenter, with a groove behind
to hold a glass. Here are also picture-frames of pretty effect, and
very simply made. The one in Fig. 42 is made of either light or dark
wood, neat, thin, and not very wide, with the ends simply broken, off,
or cut so as to resoluble a rough break. The other is white pine, sawn
into simple form, well smoothed, and marked with a delicate black
tracery, as suggested in Fig. 43. This should also be varnished, then
it will take a rich, yellow tinge, which harmonizes admirably with
chromos, and lightens up engravings to singular advantage. Besides the
American and the higher range of German and English chromos, there are
very many pretty little French chromos, which can be had at prices
from $1 to $5, including black walnut frames.

[Illustration: Fig. 40]
[Illustration: Fig. 41]
[Illustration: Fig. 42]
[Illustration: Fig. 43]

We have been through this calculation merely to show our readers how
much beautiful effect may be produced by a wise disposition of color
and skill in arrangement. If any of our friends should ever carry it
out, they will find that the buff paper, with its dark, narrow border;
the green chintz repeated in the lounge, the ottomans, and lambrequins;
the flowing, white curtains; the broad, generous centre-table, draped
with its ample green cloth, will, when arranged together, produce an
effect of grace and beauty far beyond what any one piece or even half
a dozen pieces of expensive cabinet furniture could. The great, simple
principle of beauty illustrated in this room is _harmony of color_.

You can, in the same way, make a red room by using Turkey red for your
draperies; or a blue room by using blue chintz. Let your chintz be of
a small pattern, and one that is decided in color.

We have given the plan of a room with matting on the floor because
that is absolutely the cheapest cover. The price of thirty yards plain,
good ingrain carpet, at $1.50 per yard, would be forty-five dollars;
the difference between forty-five and fifteen dollars would _furnish_ a
room with pictures such as we have instanced. However, the same
programme can be even better carried out with a green ingrain carpet as
the foundation of the color of the room.

Our friends, who lived seven years upon matting, contrived to give
their parlor in winter an effect of warmth and color by laying down,
in front of the fire, a large square of carpeting, say three breadths,
four yards long. This covered the gathering-place around the fire where
the winter circle generally sits, and gave an appearance of warmth to
the room.

If we add this piece of carpeting to the estimates for our room, we
still leave a margin for a picture, and make the programme equally
adapted to summer and winter.

Besides the chromos, which, when well selected and of the best class,
give the charm of color which belongs to expensive paintings, there
are engravings which finely reproduce much of the real spirit and
beauty of the celebrated pictures of the world. And even this does not
exhaust the resources of economical art; for there are few of the
renowned statues, whether of antiquity or of modern times, that have
not been accurately copied in plaster casts; and a few statuettes,
costing perhaps five or six dollars each, will give a really elegant
finish to your rooms-providing always that they are selected with
discrimination and taste.

The educating influence of these works of art can hardly be over-
estimated. Surrounded by such suggestions of the beautiful, and such
reminders of history and art, children are constantly trained to
correctness of tote and refinement of thought, and stimulated--sometimes
to efforts at artistic imitation, always to the eager and intelligent
inquiry about the scenes, the places, the incidents represented. Just
here, perhaps, we are met by some who grant all that we say on the
subject of decoration by works of art, and who yet impatiently exclaim,
"But I have _no_ money to spare for any thing of this sort. I am
condemned to an absolute bareness, and beauty in my case is not to be
thought of."

Are you sure, my friend? If you live in the country, or can get into
the country, and have your eyes opened and your wits about you, your
house need not be condemned to an absolute bareness. Not so long as
the woods are full of beautiful ferns and mosses, while every swamp
shakes and nods with tremulous grasses, need you feel yourself an
utterly disinherited child of nature, and deprived of its artistic use.

For example: Take an old tin pan condemned to the retired list by
reason of holes in the bottom, get twenty-five cents' worth of green
paint for this and other purposes, and paint it. The holes in the
bottom are a recommendation for its new service. If there are no holes,
you must drill two or three, as drainage is essential. Now put a layer
one inch deep of broken charcoal and potsherds over the bottom, and
then soil, in the following proportions:

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

One fourth clean sand.

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

In this soil plant all sorts of ferns, together with some few
swamp-grasses; and around the edge put a border of money-plant or
periwinkle to hang over. This will need to be watered once or twice
a week, and it will grow and thrive all summer long in a corner of
your room. Should you prefer, you can suspend it by wires and make a
hanging-basket.--Ferns and wood-grasses need not have sunshine--they
grow well in shadowy places.

On this same principle you can convert a salt-box or an old drum of
figs into a hanging-basket. Tack bark and pine-cones and moss upon the
outside of it, drill holes and pass wires through it, and you have a
woodland hanging-basket, which will hang and grow in any corner of
your house.

We have been into rooms which, by the simple disposition of articles
of this kind, have been made to have an air so poetical and attractive
that they seemed more like a nymph's cave than any thing in the real
world.

[Illustration: Fig. 44.]

Another mode of disposing of ferns is this: Take a flat piece of board
sawed out something like a shield, with a hole at the top for hanging
it up. Upon the board nail a wire pocket made of an ox-muzzle flattened
on one side; or make something of the kind with stiff wire. Line this
with a sheet of close moss, which appears green behind the wire
net-work. Then you fill it with loose, spongy moss, such as you find
in swamps, and plant therein great plumes of fern and various
swamp-grasses; they will continue to grow there, and hang gracefully
over. When watering, set a pail under for it to drip into. It needs
only to keep this moss always damp, and to sprinkle these ferns
occasionally with a whisk-broom, to have a most lovely ornament for
your room or hall.

The use of ivy in decorating a room is beginning to be generally
acknowledged. It needs to be planted in the kind of soil we have
described, in a well-drained pot or box, and to have its leaves
thoroughly washed once or twice a year in strong suds made with
soft-soap, to free it from dust and scale-bug; and an ivy will live
and thrive and wind about in a room, year in and year out, will grow
around pictures, and do almost any thing to oblige you that you can
suggest to it. For instance, in a March number of _Hearth and Home_,
[Footnote: A beautifully illustrated agricultural and family weekly
paper, edited by Donald G. Mitchell(Ik Marvel) and Mrs. H. B. Stowe,]
there is a picture of the most delightful library-window imaginable,
whose chief charm consists in the running vines that start from a
longitudinal box at the bottom of the window, and thence clamber
up and about the casing and across the rustic frame-work erected for
its convenience. On the opposite page we present another plain kind
of window, ornamented with a variety of these rural economical
adornings.

[Illustration: Fig. 45.]
In the centre is a Ward's case. On one side is a pot of _Fuchsia_.
On the other side is a Calla Lily. In the hanging-baskets and on the
brackets are the ferns and flowers that flourish in the deep woods,
and around the window is the ivy, running from two boxes; and, in case
the window has some sun, a _Nasturtium_ may spread its bright blossoms
among the leaves. Then, in the winter, when there is less sun, the
_Striped Spider-wort_, the _Smilax_ and the _Saxifraga_. _Samantosa_ (or
_Wandering Jew_) may be substituted. Pretty brackets can be made of
common pine, ornamented with odd-growing twigs or mosses or roots,
scraped and varnished, or in their native state.

A beautiful ornament for a room with pictures is German ivy. Slips of
this will start without roots in bottles of water. Slide the bottle
behind the picture, and the ivy will seem to come from fairyland, and
hang its verdure in all manner of pretty curves around the picture.
It may then be trained to travel toward other ivy, and thus aid in
forming green cornice along the ceiling. We have seen some rooms that
had an ivy cornice around the whole, giving the air of a leafy bower.

There are some other odd devices to ornament a room. For example, a
sponge, kept wet by daily immersion, can be filled with flax-seed and
suspended by a cord, when it will ere long be covered with verdure and
afterward with flowers.

A sweet potato, laid in a bowl of water on a bracket, or still better,
suspended by a knitting-needle, run through or laid across the bowl
half in the water, will, in due time, make a beautiful verdant ornament.
A large carrot, with the smallest half cut off, scooped out to hold
water and then suspended with cords, will send out graceful shoots in
rich profusion.

Half a cocoa-nut shell, suspended, will hold earth or water for plants
and make a pretty hanging-garden.

It may be a very proper thing to direct the ingenuity and activity of
children into the making of hanging-baskets and vases of rustic work.
The best foundations are the cheap wooden bowls, which are quite easy
to get, and the walks of children in the woods can be made interesting
by their bringing home material for this rustic work. Different colored
twigs and sprays of trees, such as the bright scarlet of the dog-wood,
the yellow of the willow, the black of the birch, and the silvery gray
of the poplar, may be combined in fanciful net-work. For this sort of
work, no other investment is needed than a hammer and an assortment
of different-sized tacks, and beautiful results will be produced.
Fig. 46 is a stand for flowers, made of roots, scraped and varnished.
But the greatest and cheapest and most delightful fountain of beauty
is a "Ward case."

[Illustration: Fig 46.]

Now, immediately all our economical friends give up in despair. Ward's
cases sell all the way along from eighteen to fifty dollars, and are,
like every thing else in this lower world, regarded as the sole
perquisites of the rich.

Let us not be too sure. Plate-glass, and hot-house plants, and rare
patterns, _are_ the especial inheritance of the rich; but any family may
command all the requisites of a Ward case for a very small sum. Such a
case is a small glass closet over a well-drained box of soil. You make a
Ward case on a small scale when you turn a tumbler over a plant. The
glass keeps the temperature moist and equable, and preserves the plants
from dust, and the soil being well drained, they live and thrive
accordingly. The requisites of these are the glass top and the bed of
well-drained soil.

Suppose you have a common cheap table, four feet long and two wide.
Take off the top boards of your table, and with them board the bottom
across tight and firm; then line it with zinc, and you will have a
sort of box or sink on legs. Now make a top of common window-glass
such as you would get for a cucumber-frame; let it be two and a half
feet high, with a ridge-pole like a house, and a slanting roof of glass
resting on this ridge-pole; on one end let there be a door two feet
square.

[Illustration: Fig. 47.]

We have seen a Ward case made in this way, in which the capabilities
for producing ornamental effect were greatly beyond many of the most
elaborate ones of the shops. It was large, and roomy, and cheap. Common
window-sash and glass are not dear, and any man with moderate ingenuity
could fashion such a glass closet for his wife; or a woman, not having
such a husband, can do it herself.

The sink or box part must have in the middle of it a hole of good size
for drainage. In preparing for the reception of plants, first turn a
plant-saucer over this hole, which may otherwise become stopped. Then,
as directed for the other basket, proceed with a layer of broken
charcoal and pot-sherds for drainage, two inches deep, and prepare the
soil as directed above, and add to it some pounded charcoal, or the
scrapings of the charcoal-bin. In short, more or less charcoal and
charcoal-dust is always in order in the treatment of these moist
subjects, as it keeps them from fermenting and growing sour.

Now for filling the case.

Our own native forest-ferns have a period in the winter months when
they cease to grow. They are very particular in asserting their right
to this yearly nap, and will not, on any consideration, grow for you
out of their appointed season.

Nevertheless, we shall tell you what we have tried ourselves, because
greenhouse ferns are expensive, and often great cheats when you have
bought them, and die on your hands in the most reckless and shameless
manner. If you make a Ward case in the spring, your ferns will grow
beautifully in it all summer; and in the autumn, though they stop
growing, and cease to throw out leaves, yet the old leaves will remain
fresh and green till the time for starting the new ones in the spring.

But, supposing you wish to start your case in the fall, out of such
things as you can find in the forest; by searching carefully the rocks
and clefts and recesses of the forest, you can find a quantity of
beautiful ferns whose leaves the frost has not yet assailed. Gather
them carefully, remembering that the time of the plant's sleep has
come, and that you must make the most of the leaves it now has, as you
will not have a leaf more from it till its waking-up time in February
or March. But we have succeeded, and you will succeed, in making a
very charming and picturesque collection. You can make in your Ward
case lovely little grottoes with any bits of shells, and minerals, and
rocks you may have; you can lay down, here and there, fragments of
broken looking-glass for the floor of your grottoes, and the effect
of them will be magical. A square of looking-glass introduced into the
back side of your case will produce charming effects.

The trailing arbutus or May-flower, if cut up carefully in sods, and
put into this Ward case, will come into bloom there a month sooner
than it otherwise would, and gladden your eyes and heart.

In the fall, if you can find the tufts of eye-bright or houstonia
cerulia, and mingle them in with your mosses, you will find them
blooming before winter is well over.

But among the most beautiful things for such a case is the
partridge-berry, with its red plums. The berries swell and increase
in the moist atmosphere, and become intense in color, forming an
admirable ornament.

Then the ground pine, the princess pine, and various nameless pretty
things of the woods, all flourish in these little conservatories. In
getting your sod of trailing arbutus, remember that this plant forms
its buds in the fall. You must, therefore, examine your sod carefully,
and see if the buds are there; otherwise you will find no blossoms in
the spring.

There are one or two species of violets, also, that form their buds
in the fall, and these too, will blossom early for you.

We have never tried the wild anemones, the crowfoot, etc.; but as they
all do well in moist, shady places, we recommend hopefully the
experiment of putting some of them in.

A Ward case has this recommendation over common house-plants, that it
takes so little time and care. If well made in the outset, and
thoroughly drenched with water when the plants are first put in, it
will after that need only to be watered about once a month, and to be
ventilated by occasionally leaving open the door for a half-hour or
hour when the moisture obscures the glass and seems in excess.

To women embarrassed with the care of little children, yet longing for
the refreshment of something growing and beautiful, this indoor garden
will be an untold treasure. The glass defends the plant from the
inexpedient intermeddling of little fingers; while the little eyes,
just on a level with the panes of glass, can look through and learn
to enjoy the beautiful, silent miracles of nature.

For an invalid's chamber, such a case would be an indescribable comfort.
It is, in fact, a fragment of the green woods brought in and silently
growing; it will refresh many a weary hour to watch it.



VII.

THE CARE OF HEALTH.

There is no point where a woman is more liable to suffer from a want
of knowledge and experience than in reference to the health of a family
committed to her care. Many a young lady who never had any charge of
the sick; who never took any care of an infant; who never obtained
information on these subjects from books, or from the experience of
others; in short, with little or no preparation, has found herself the
principal attendant in dangerous sickness, the chief nurse of a feeble
infant, and the responsible guardian of the health of a whole family.

The care, the fear, the perplexity of a woman suddenly called to these
unwonted duties, none can realize till they themselves feel it, or
till they see some young and anxious novice first attempting to meet
such responsibilities. To a woman of age and experience these duties
often involve a measure of trial and difficulty at times deemed almost
insupportable; how hard, then, must they press on the heart of the
young and inexperienced!

There is no really efficacious mode of preparing a woman to take a
rational care of the health of a family, except by communicating that
knowledge in regard to the construction of the body and the laws of
health which is the basis of the medical profession. Not that a woman
should undertake the minute and extensive investigation requisite for
a physician; but she should gain a general knowledge of first
principles, as a guide to her judgment in emergencies when she can
rely on no other aid.

With this end in view, in the preceding chapters some portions of the
organs and functions of the human body have been presented, and others
will now follow in connection with the practical duties which result
from them.

On the general subject of health, one recent discovery of science may
here be introduced as having an important relation to every organ and
function of the body, and as being one to which frequent reference
will be made; and that is, the nature and operation of _cell-life_.

By the aid of the microscope, we can examine the minute construction
of plants and animals, in which we discover contrivances and operations,
if not so sublime, yet more wonderful and interesting, than the vast
systems of worlds revealed by the telescope.

By this instrument it is now seen that the first formation, as well
as future changes and actions, of all plants and animals are
accomplished by means of small cells or bags containing various kinds
of liquids. These cells are so minute that, of the smallest, some
hundreds would not cover the dot of a printed _i_ on this page.
They are of diverse shapes and contents, and perform various different
operations.

[Illustration: Fig 48.]

The first formation of every animal is accomplished by the agency of
cells, and may be illustrated by the egg of any bird or fowl. The
exterior consists of a hard shell for protection, and this is lined
with a tough skin, to which is fastened the yelk, (which means the
_yellow_,) by fibrous strings, as seen at _a_, _a_, in the diagram. In
the yelk floats the germ-cell, _b_, which is the point where the
formation of the future animal commences. The yelk, being lighter than
the white, rises upward, and the germ being still lighter, rises in the
yelk. This is to bring both nearer to the vitalizing warmth of the
brooding mother.

New cells are gradually formed from the nourishing yelk around the
germ, each being at first roundish in shape, and having a spot near
the centre, called the nucleus. The reason why cells increase must
remain a mystery, until we can penetrate the secrets of vital
force--probably forever. But the mode in which they multiply is as
follows: The first change noticed in a cell, when warmed into vital
activity, is the appearance of a second nucleus within it, while the
cell gradually becomes oval in form, and then is drawn inward at the
middle, like an hour-glass, till the two sides meet. The two portions
then divide, and two cells appear, each containing its own germinal
nucleus. These both divide again in the same manner, proceeding in the
ratio of 2, 4, 8, 16, and so on, until most of the yelk becomes a mass
of cells.

The central point of this mass, where the animal itself commences to
appear, shows, first, a round-shaped figure, which soon assumes form
like a pear, and then like a violin. Gradually the busy little cells
arrange themselves to build up heart, lungs, brain, stomach, and limbs,
for which the yelk and white furnish nutriment. There is a small bag
of air fastened to one end inside of the shell; and when the animal
is complete, this air is taken into its lungs, life begins, and out
walks little chick, all its powers prepared, and ready to run, eat,
and enjoy existence. Then, as soon as the animal uses its brain to
think and feel, and its muscles to move, the cells which have been
made up into these parts begin to decay, while new cells are formed
from the blood to take their place. Time with life commences the
constant process of decay and renewal all over the body.

[Illustration: Fig. 49.]

The liquid portion of the blood consists of material formed from food,
air, and water. From this material the cells of the blood are formed:
first, the white cells, which are incomplete in formation; and then
the red cells, which are completed by the addition of the oxygen
received from air in the lungs. Fig. 49 represents part of a magnified
blood-vessel, _a_, _a_, in which the round cells are the white, and the
oblong the red cells, floating in the blood. Surrounding the blood-
vessels are the cells forming the adjacent membrane, _bb_, each having a
nucleus in its centre.

Cells have different powers of selecting and secreting diverse materials
from the blood. Thus, some secrete bile to carry to the liver, others
secrete saliva for the mouth, others take up the tears, and still
others take material for the brain, muscles, and all other organs.
Cells also have a converting power, of taking one kind of matter from
the blood, and changing it to another kind. They are minute chemical
laboratories all over the body, changing materials of one kind to
another form in which they can be made useful.

Both animal and vegetable substances are formed of cells. But the
vegetable cells take up and use unorganized or simple, natural matter;
whereas the animal cell only takes substances already organized into
vegetable or animal life, and then changes one compound into another
of different proportions and nature.

These curious facts in regard to cell-life have important relations
to the general subject of the care of health, and also to the cure of
disease, as will be noticed in following chapters.


THE NERVOUS SYSTEM.

There is another portion of the body, which is so intimately connected
with every other that it is placed in this chapter as also having
reference to every department in the general subject of the care of
health.

The body has no power to move itself, but is a collection of instruments
to be used by the mind in securing various kinds of knowledge and
enjoyment. The organs through which the mind thus operates are the
_brain_ and _nerves_. The drawing (Fig. 50) represents them.

[Illustration: Fig. 50.]

The brain lies in the skull, and is divided into the large or upper
brain, marked 1, and the small or lower brain, marked 2. From the brain
runs the spinal marrow through the spine or backbone. From each side
of the spine the large nerves run out into innumerable smaller branches
to every portion of the body. The drawing shows only some of the larger
branches. Those marked 3 run to the neck and organs of the chest; those
marked 4 go to the arms; those below the arms, marked 3, go to the
trunk; and those marked 5 go to the legs.

The brain and nerves consist of two kinds of nervous matter--the _gray_,
which is supposed to be the portion that originates and controls a
nervous fluid which imparts power of action; and the _white_, which
seems to conduct this fluid to every part of the body.

The brain and nervous system are divided into distinct portions, each
having different offices to perform, and each acting independently of
the others; as, for example, one portion is employed by the mind in
thinking, and in feeling pleasurable or painful mental emotions; another
in moving the muscles; while the nerves that run to the nose, ears,
eyes, tongue, hands, and surface generally, are employed in seeing,
hearing, smelling, tasting, and feeling all physical sensations.

The _back_ portion of the spinal marrow and the nerves that run from it
are employed in _sensation_, or the _sense of feeling_. These nerves
extend over the whole body, but are largely developed in the network of
nerves in the skin. The _front_ portion of the spinal marrow and its
branches are employed in moving those muscles in all parts of the body
which are controlled by the _will_ or _choice_ of the mind. These are
called the _nerves of motion_.

The nerves of sensation and nerves of motion, although they start from
different portions of the spine, are united in the same _sheath_ or
_cover_, till they terminate in the muscles. Thus, every muscle is moved
by nerves of motion; while alongside of this nerve, in the same sheath,
is a nerve of sensation. All the nerves of motion and sensation are
connected with those portions of the brain used when we think, feel, and
choose. By this arrangement the mind _knows_ what is wanted in all parts
of the body by means of the nerves of sensation, and then it _acts_ by
means of the nerves of motion.

For example, when we feel the cold air on the skin, the nerves of
sensation report to the brain, and thus to the mind, that the body is
growing cold. The mind thus knows that more clothing is needed, and
_wills_ to have the eyes look for it, and the hands and feet move
to get it. This is done by the nerves of sight and of motion.

Next are the nerves of _involuntary motion_, which move all those
parts of the head, face, and body that are used in breathing, and in
other operations connected with it. By these we continue to breathe
when asleep, and whether we will to do so or not. There are also some
of the nerves of voluntary motion that are mixed with these, which
enable the mind to stop respiration, or to regulate it to a certain
extent. But the mind has no power to stop it for any great length of
time.

There is another large and important system of nerves called the
_sympathetic_ or _ganglionic_ system. It consists of small masses of
gray and white nervous matter, that seem to be small brains with nerves
running from them. These are called _ganglia_, and are arranged on each
side of the spine, while small nerves from the spinal marrow run into
them, thus uniting the sympathetic system with the nerves of the spine.
These ganglia are also distributed around in various parts of the
interior of the body, especially in the intestines, and all the
different ganglia are connected with each other by nerves, thus making
one system. It is the ganglionic system that carries on the circulation
of the blood, the action of the capillaries, lymphatics, arteries, and
veins, together with the work of secretion, absorption, and most of the
internal working of the body, which goes forward without any knowledge
or control of the mind.

Every portion of the body has nerves of sensation coming from the
spine, and also branches of the sympathetic or ganglionic system. The
object of this is to form a sympathetic communication between the
several parts of the body, and also to enable the mind to receive,
through the brain, some general knowledge of the state of the whole
system. It is owing to this that, when one portion of the body is
affected, other portions sympathize. For example, if one part of the
body is diseased, the stomach may so sympathize as to lose all appetite
until the disease is removed.

All the operations of the nervous system are performed by the influence
of the nervous fluid, which is generated in the gray portions of the
brain and ganglia. Whenever a nerve is cut off from its connection
with these nervous centres, its power is gone, and the part to which
it ministered becomes lifeless and incapable of motion.

The brain and nerves can be overworked, and can also suffer for want
of exercise, just as the muscles do. It is necessary for the perfect
health of the brain and nerves that the several portions he exercised
sufficiently, and that no part be exhausted by over-action. For
example, the nerves of sensation may be very much exercised, and the
nerves of motion have but little exercise. In this ease, one will be
weakened by excess of work, and the other by the want of it.

It is found by experience that the proper exercise of the nerves of
motion tends to reduce any extreme susceptibility of the nerves of
sensation. On the contrary, the neglect of such exercise tends to
produce an excessive sensibility in the nerves of sensation.

Whenever that part of the brain which is employed in thinking, feeling,
and willing, is greatly exercised by hard study, or by excessive care
or emotion, the blood tends to the brain to supply it with increased
nourishment, just as it flows to the muscles when they are exercised.
Over-exercise of this portion of the brain causes engorgement of the
blood-vessels. This is sometimes indicated by pain, or by a sense of
fullness in the head; but oftener the result is a debilitating drain
on the nervous system, which depends for its supply on the healthful
state of the brain.

The brain has, as it were, a fountain of supply for the nervous fluid,
which flows to all the nerves, and stimulates them to action. Some
brains have a larger, and some a smaller fountain; so that a degree
of mental activity that would entirely exhaust one, would make only
a small and healthful drain upon another.

The excessive use of certain portions of the brain tends to withdraw
the nervous energy from other portions; so that when one part is
debilitated by excess, another fails by neglect. For example, a person
may so exhaust the brain power in the excessive use of the nerves of
motion by hard work, as to leave little for any other faculty. On the
other hand, the nerves of feeling and thinking may be so used as to
withdraw the nervous fluid from the nerves of motion, and thus
debilitate the muscles.

Some animal propensities may be indulged to such excess as to produce
a constant tendency of the blood to a certain portion of the brain,
and to the organs connected with it, and thus cause a constant and
excessive excitement, which finally becomes a disease. Sometimes a
paralysis of this portion of the brain results from such an entire
exhaustion of the nervous fountain and of the overworked nerves.

Thus, also, the thinking portion of the brain may be so overworked as
to drain the nervous fluid from other portions, which become debilitated
by the loss. And in this way, also, the overworked portion may be
diseased or paralyzed by the excess.

The necessity for the _equal development_ of all portions of the brain
by an appropriate exercise of _all_ the faculties of mind and body, and
the influence of this upon happiness, is the most important portion of
this subject, and will be more directly exhibited in another chapter.




VIII.

DOMESTIC EXERCISE.


In a work which aims to influence women to train the young to honor
domestic labor and to seek healthful exercise in home pursuits, there
is special reason for explaining the construction of the muscles and
their connection with the nerves, these being the chief organs of
motion.

The muscles, as seen by the naked eye, consist of very fine fibres or
strings, bound up in smooth, silky casings of thin membrane. But each
of these visible fibres or strings the microscope shows to be made up
of still finer strings, numbering from five to eight hundred in each
fibre. And each of these microscopic fibres is a series or chain of
elastic cells, which are so minute that one hundred thousand would
scarcely cover a capital O on this page.

[Illustration: Fig. 51.]
[Illustration: Fig. 52.]

The peculiar property of the cells which compose the muscles is their
elasticity, no other cells of the body having this property. At Fig.
51 is a diagram representing a microscopic muscular fibre, in which
the cells are relaxed, as in the natural state of rest. But when the
muscle contracts, each of its numberless cells in all its small fibres
becomes widened, making each fibre of the muscle shorter and thicker,
as at Fig. 52. This explains the cause of the swelling out of muscles
when they act.

Every motion in every part of the body has a special muscle to produce
it, and many have other muscles to restore the part moved to its natural
state. The muscles that move or bend any part are called _flexors_,
and those that restore the natural position are called _extensors_.

[Illustration: Fig. 53]

Fig. 53 represents the muscles of the arm after the skin and flesh are
removed. They are all in smooth silky cases, laid over each other, and
separated both by the smooth membranes that encase them and by layers
of fat, so as to move easily without interfering with each other. They
are fastened to the bones by strong tendons and cartilages; and around
the wrist, in the drawing, is shown a band of cartilage to confine
them in place. The muscle marked 8 is the extensor that straightens
the fingers after they have been closed by a flexor the other side of
the arm. In like manner, each motion of the arm and fingers has one
muscle to produce it and another to restore to the natural position.

The muscles are dependent on the brain and nerves for power to move.
It has been shown that the gray matter of the brain and spinal marrow
furnishes the stimulating power that moves the muscles, and causes
sensations of touch on the skin, and the other sensations of the several
senses. The white part of the brain and spinal marrow consists solely
of conducting tubes to transmit this influence. Each of the minute
fibrils of the muscles has a small conducting nerve connecting it with
the brain or spinal marrow, and in this respect each muscular fibril
is separate from every other.

When, therefore, the mind wills to move a flexor muscle of the arm,
the gray matter sends out the stimulus through the nerves to the cells
of each individual fibre of that muscle, and they contract. When this
is done, the nerve of sensation reports it to the brain and mind. If
the mind desires to return the arm to its former position, then follows
the willing, and consequent stimulus sent through the nerves to the
corresponding muscle; its cells contract, and the limb is restored.

When the motion is a compound one, involving the action of several
muscles at the same time, a multitude of impressions are sent back and
forth to and from the brain through the nerves. But the person acting
thus is unconscious of all this delicate and wonderful mechanism. He
wills the movement, and instantly the requisite nervous power is sent
to the required cells and fibres, and they perform the motions required.
Many of the muscles are moved by the sympathetic system, over which
the mind has but little control.

Among the muscles and nerves so intimately connected, run the minute
capillaries of the blood, which furnish nourishment to all.

[Illustration: Fig. 54]

Fig. 54 represents an artery a _a_, which brings pure blood to a muscle
from the heart. After meandering through the capillaries at _c_, to
distribute oxygen and food from the stomach, the blood enters the vein,
_b_, loaded with carbonic acid and water taken up in the capillaries, to
be carried to the lungs or skin, and thrown out into the air.

The manner in which the exercise of the muscles quickens the circulation
of the blood will now be explained. The veins abound in every part of
every muscle, and the large veins have _valves_ which prevent the
blood from flowing backward. If the wrist is grasped tightly, the veins
of the hand are immediately swollen. This is owing to the fact that
the blood is prevented from flowing toward the heart by this pressure,
and by the vein-valves from returning into the arteries; while the
arteries themselves, being placed deeper down, are not so compressed,
and continue to send the blood into the hand, and thus it accumulates.
As soon as this pressure is removed, the blood springs onward from the
restraint with accelerated motion. This same process takes place when
any of the muscles are exercised. The contraction of any muscle presses
some of the veins, so that the blood can not flow the natural way,
while the valves in the veins prevent its flowing backward. Meantime
the arteries continue to press the blood along until the veins become
swollen. Then, as soon as the muscle ceases its contraction, the blood
flows faster from the previous accumulation.

If, then, we use a number of muscles, and use them strongly and quickly,
there are so many veins affected in this way as to quicken the whole
circulation. The heart receives blood faster, and sends it to the lungs
faster. Then the lungs work quicker, to furnish the oxygen required
by the greater amount of blood. The blood returns with greater speed
to the heart, and the heart sends it out with quicker action through
the arteries to the capillaries. In the capillaries, too, the decayed
matter is carried off faster, and then the stomach calls for more food
to furnish new and pure blood. Thus it is that exercise gives new life
and nourishment to every part of the body.

It is the universal law of the human frame that _exercise_ is
indispensable to the health of the several parts. Thus, if a
blood-vessel be tied up, so as not to be used, it shrinks, and becomes
a useless string; if a muscle be condemned to inaction, it shrinks in
size and diminishes in power; and thus it is also with the bones.
Inactivity produces softness, debility, and unfitness for the functions
they are designed to perform.

Now, the nerves, like all other parts of the body, gain and lose
strength according as they are exercised. If they have too much or too
little exercise, they lose strength; if they are exercised to a proper
degree, they gain strength. When the mind is continuously excited, by
business, study, or the imagination, the nerves of emotion and sensation
are kept in constant action, while the nerves of motion are unemployed.
If this is continued for a long time, the nerves of sensation lose
their strength from over-action, and the nerves of motion lose their
power from inactivity. In consequence, there is a morbid excitability
of the nervous, and a debility of the muscular system, which make all
exertion irksome and wearisome.

The only mode of preserving the health of these systems is to keep up
in them an equilibrium of action. For this purpose, occupations must
be sought which exercise the muscles and interest the mind; and thus
the equal action of both kinds of nerves is secured. This shows why
exercise is so much more healthful and invigorating when the mind is
interested, than when it is not. As an illustration, let a person go
shopping with a friend, and have nothing to do but look on. How soon
do the continuous walking and standing weary! But, suppose one, thus
wearied, hears of the arrival of a very dear friend: she can instantly
walk off a mile or two to meet her, without the least feeling of
fatigue. By this is shown the importance of furnishing, for young
persons, exercise in which they will take an interest. Long and formal
walks, merely for exercise, though they do some good, in securing fresh
air, and some exercise of the muscles, would be of triple benefit if
changed to amusing sports, or to the cultivation of fruits and flowers,
in which it is impossible to engage without acquiring a great interest.

It shows, also, why it is far better to trust to useful domestic
exercise at home than to send a young person out to walk for the mere
purpose of exercise. Young girls can seldom be made to realize the
value of health, and the need of exercise to secure it, so as to feel
much interest in walking abroad, when they have no other object. But,
if they are brought up to minister to the comfort and enjoyment of
themselves and others, by performing domestic duties, they will
constantly be interested and cheered in their exercise by the feeling
of usefulness and the consciousness of having performed their duty.

There are few young persons, it is hoped, who are brought up with such
miserable habits of selfishness and indolence that they can not be
made to feel happier by the consciousness of being usefully employed.
And those who have never been accustomed to think or care for any one
but themselves, and who seem to feel little pleasure in making
themselves useful, by wise and proper influences can often be gradually
awakened to the new pleasure of benevolent exertion to promote the
comfort and enjoyment of others. And the more this sacred and elevating
kind of enjoyment is tasted, the greater is the relish induced. Other
enjoyments often cloy; but the heavenly pleasure secured by virtuous
industry and benevolence, while it satisfies at the time, awakens fresh
desires for the continuance of so ennobling a good.




IX.

HEALTHFUL FOOD.


The person who decides what shall be the food and drink of a family,
and the modes of its preparation, is the one who decides, to a greater
or less extent, what shall be the health of that family. It is the
opinion of most medical men, that intemperance in eating is one of the
most fruitful of all causes of disease and death. If this be so, the
woman who wisely adapts the food and cooking of her family to the laws
of health removes one of the greatest risks which threatens the lives
of those under her care. But, unfortunately, there is no other duty
that has been involved in more doubt and perplexity. Were one to believe
all that is said and written on this subject, the conclusion probably
would be, that there is not one solitary article of food on God's earth
which it is healthful to eat. Happily, however, there are general
principles on this subject which, if understood and applied, will prove
a safe guide to any woman of common sense; and it is the object of the
following chapter to set forth these principles.

All material things on earth, whether solid, liquid, or gaseous, can
be resolved into sixty-two simple substances, only fourteen of which
are in the human body; and these, in certain proportions, in all
mankind.

Thus, in a man weighing 154 lbs. are found, 111 lbs. oxygen gas, and
14 lbs. hydrogen gas, which, united, form water; 21 lbs. carbon; 3
lbs. 8 oz. nitrogen gas; 1 lb. 12 oz. 190 grs. phosphorus; 2 lbs.
calcium, the chief ingredient of bones; 2 oz. fluorine; 2 oz. 219 grs.
sulphur; 2 oz 47 grs. chlorine; 2 oz. 116 grs. sodium; 100 grs. iron;
290 grs. potassium; 12 grs. magnesium; and 2 grs. silicon.

These simple substances are constantly passing out of the body through
the lungs, skin, and other excreting organs.

It is found that certain of these simple elements are used for one
part of the body, and others for other parts, and this in certain
regular proportions. Thus, carbon is the chief element of fat, and
also supplies the fuel that combines with oxygen in the capillaries
to produce animal heat. The nitrogen which we gain from our food and
the air is the chief element of muscle; phosphorus is the chief element
of brain and nerves; and calcium or lime is the hard portion of the
bones. Iron is an important element of blood, and silicon supplies the
hardest parts of the teeth, nails, and hair.

Water, which is composed of the two gases, oxygen and hydrogen, is the
largest portion of the body, forming its fluids; there is four times
as much of carbon as there is of nitrogen in the body; while there is
only two per cent as much phosphorus as carbon. A man weighing one
hundred and fifty-four pounds, who leads an active life, takes into
his stomach daily from two to three pounds of solid food, and from
five to six pounds of liquid. At the same time he takes into his lungs,
daily, four or five thousand gallons of air. This amounts to three
thousand pounds of nutriment received through stomach and lungs, and
then expelled from the body, in one year; or about twenty times the
man's own weight.

The change goes on in every minute point of the body, though in some
parts much faster than in others; as set forth in the piquant and
sprightly language of Dr. O. W. Holmes [Footnote: Atlantic Almanac,
1869, p. 40.], who, giving a vivid picture of the constant decay and
renewal of the body, says:

"_Every organized being always lives immersed in a strong solution
of its own elements._"

"Sometimes, as in the case of the air-plant, the solution contains all
its elements; but in higher plants, and in animals generally, some of
the principal ones only. Take our own bodies, and we find the atmosphere
contains the oxygen and the nitrogen, of which we are so largely made
up, as its chief constituents; the hydrogen, also, in its watery vapor;
the carbon, in its carbonic acid. What our air-bath does not furnish
us, we must take in the form of nourishment, supplied through the
digestive organs. But the first food we take, after we have set up for
ourselves, is air, and the last food we take is air also. We are all
chameleons in our diet, as we are all salamanders in our _habitats_,
inasmuch as we live always in the fire of our own smouldering
combustion; a gentle but constant flame, fanned every day by the same
forty hogsheads of air which furnish us not with our daily bread, which
we can live more than a day without touching, but with our momentary,
and oftener than momentary, aliment, without which we can not live five
minutes."

"We are perishing and being born again at every instant. We do literally
enter over and over again into the womb of that great mother, from
whom we get our bones, and flesh, and blood, and marrow. 'I die daily'
is true of all that live. If we cease to die, particle by particle,
and to be born anew in the same proportion, the whole movement of life
comes to an end, and swift, universal, irreparable decay resolves
our frames into the parent elements."

"The products of the internal fire which consumes us over and over
again every year, pass off mainly in smoke and steam from the lungs
and the skin. The smoke is only invisible, because the combustion is
so perfect. The steam is plain enough in our breaths on a frosty
morning; and an over-driven horse will show us, on a larger scale, the
cloud that is always arising from own bodies."

"Man walks, then, not only in a vain show, but wrapped in an uncelestial
aureole of his own material exhalations. A great mist of gases and of
vapor rises day and night from the whole realm of living nature. The
water and the carbonic acid which animals exhale become the food of
plants, whose leaves are at once lungs and mouths. The vegetable world
reverses the breathing process of the animal creation, restoring the
elements which that has combined and rendered effete for its own
purposes, to their original condition. The salt-water ocean is a great
aquarium. The air ocean in which we live is a 'Wardian case,' of larger
dimensions."

It is found that the simple elements will not nourish the body in their
natural state, but only when organized, either as vegetable or animal
food; and, to the dismay of the Grahamite or vegetarian school, it is
now established by chemists that animal and vegetable food contain the
same elements, and in nearly the same proportions.

Thus, in animal food, carbon predominates in fats, while in vegetable
food it shows itself in sugar, starch, and vegetable oils. Nitrogen
is found in animal food in the albumen, fibrin, and caseine; while in
vegetables it is in gluten, albumen, and caseine.

[Illustration: Fig. 55]

It is also a curious fact that, in all articles of food, the elements
that nourish diverse parts of the body are divided into separable
portions, and also that the proportions correspond in a great degree
to the wants of the body. For example, a kernel of wheat contains all
the articles demanded for every part of the body. Fig. 55 represents,
upon an enlarged scale, the position and proportions of the chief
elements required. The white central part is the largest in quantity,
and is chiefly carbon in the form of starch, which supplies fat and
fuel for the capillaries. The shaded outer portion is chiefly nitrogen,
which nourishes the muscles, and the dark spot at the bottom is
principally phosphorus, which nourishes the brain and nerves. And these
elements are in due proportion to the demands of the body. A portion
of the outer covering of a wheat-kernel holds lime, silica, and iron,
which are needed by the body, and which are found in no other part of
the grain. The woody fibre is not digested, but serves by its bulk and
stimulating action to facilitate digestion. It is therefore evident
that bread made of unbolted flour is more healthful than that made of
superfine flour. The process of bolting removes all the woody fibre;
the lime needed for the bones; the silica for hair, nails, and teeth;
the iron for the blood; and most of the nitrogen and phosphorus needed
for muscles, brain, and nerves.

Experiments on animals prove that fine flour alone, which is chiefly
carbon, will not sustain life more than a month, while unbolted flour
furnishes all that is needed for every part of the body. There are
cases where persons can not use such coarse bread, on account of its
irritating action on inflamed coats of the stomach. For such, a kind
of wheaten grit is provided, containing all the kernel of the wheat,
except the outside woody fibre.

When the body requires a given kind of diet, specially demanded by
brain, lungs, or muscles, the appetite will crave food for it until
the necessary amount of this article is secured. If, then, the food
in which the needed aliment abounds is not supplied, other food will
be taken in larger quantities than needed until that amount is gained.
For all kinds of food have supplies for every want of the body, though
in different proportions. Thus, for example, if the muscles are worked
a great deal, food in which nitrogen abounds is required, and the
appetite will continue until the requisite amount of nitrogen is
secured. If, then, food is taken which has not the requisite quantity,
the consequence is, that more is taken than the system can use, while
the vital powers are needlessly taxed to throw off the excess.

These facts were ascertained by Liebig, a celebrated German chemist
and physicist, who, assisted by his government, conducted experiments
on a large scale in prisons, in armies, and in hospitals. Among other
results, he states that those who use potatoes for their principal
food eat them in very much larger quantities than their bodies would
demand if they used also other food. The reason is, that the potato
has a very large proportion of starch that supplies only fuel for the
capillaries and very little nitrogen to feed the muscles. For this
reason lean meat is needed with potatoes.

In comparing wheat and potatoes we find that in one hundred parts wheat
there are fourteen parts nitrogen for muscle, and two parts phosphorus
for brain and nerves. But in the potato there is only one part in one
hundred for muscle, and nine tenths of one part of phosphorus for brain
and nerves.

The articles containing most of the three articles needed generally
in the body are as follows: for fat and heat-making--butter, lard,
sugar, and molasses; for muscle-making--lean meat, cheese, peas, beans,
and lean fishes; for brain and nerves--shell-fish, lean meats, peas,
beans, and very active birds and fishes who live chiefly on food in
which phosphorus abounds. In a meat diet, the fat supplies carbon for
the capillaries and the lean furnishes nutriment for muscle, brain,
and nerves. Green vegetables, fruits, and berries furnish the acid and
water needed.

In grains used for food, the proportions of useful elements are varied;
there is in some more of carbon and in others more of nitrogen and
phosphorus. For example, in oats there is more of nitrogen for the
muscles, and less carbon for the lungs, than can be found in wheat.
In the corn of the North, where cold weather demands fuel for lungs
and capillaries, there is much more carbon to supply it than is found
in the Southern corn.

From these statements it may be seen that one of the chief mistakes
in providing food for families has been in changing the proportions
of the elements nature has fitted for our food. Thus, fine wheat is
deprived by bolting of some of the most important of its nourishing
elements, leaving carbon chiefly, which, after supplying fuel fur the
capillaries, must, if in excess, be sent out of the body; thus
needlessly taxing all the excreting organs. So milk, which contains
all the elements needed by the body, has the cream taken out and used
for butter, which again is chiefly carbon. Then, sugar and molasses,
cakes and candies, are chiefly carbon, and supply but very little of
other nourishing elements, while to make them safe much exercise in
cold and pure air is necessary. And yet it is the children of the rich,
housed in chambers and school-rooms most of their time, who are fed
with these dangerous dainties, thus weakening their constitutions, and
inducing fevers, colds, and many other diseases. The proper digestion
of food depends on the wants of the body, and on its power of
appropriating the aliment supplied. The best of food can not be properly
digested when it is not needed. All that the system requires will be
used, and the rest will be thrown out by the several excreting organs,
which thus are frequently over-taxed, and vital forces are wasted.
Even food of poor quality may digest well if the demands of the system
are urgent. The way to increase digestive power is to increase the
demand for food by pure air and exercise of the muscles, quickening
the blood, and arousing the whole system to a more rapid and vigorous
rate of life.

Rules for persons in full health, who enjoy pure air and exercise, are
not suitable for those whose digestive powers are feeble, or who are
diseased. On the other hand, many rules for invalids are not needed
by the healthful, while rules for one class of invalids will not avail
for other classes. Every weak stomach has its peculiar wants, and can
not furnish guidance for others.

We are now ready to consider intelligently the following general
principles in regard to the proper selection of food:

Vegetable and animal food are equally healthful if apportioned to the
given circumstances.

In cold weather, carbonaceous food, such as butter, fats, sugar,
molasses, etc., can be used more safely than in warm weather. And they
can be used more safely by those who exercise in the open air than by
those of confined and sedentary habits.

Students who need food with little carbon, and women who live in the
house, should always seek coarse bread, fruits, and lean meats, and
avoid butter, oils, sugar, and molasses, and articles containing them.

Many students and women using little exercise in the open air, grow
thin and weak, because the vital powers are exhausted in throwing off
excess of food, especially of the carbonaceous. The liver is especially
taxed in such cases, being unable to remove all the excess of
carbonaceous matter from, the blood, and thus "biliousness" ensues,
particularly on the approach of warm weather, when the air brings less
oxygen than in cold.

It is found, by experiment, that the supply of gastric juice, furnished
from the blood by the arteries of the stomach, is proportioned, not
to the amount of food put into the stomach, but to the wants of the
body; so that it is possible to put much more into the stomach than
can be digested. To guide and regulate in this matter, the sensation
called _hunger_ is provided. In a healthy state of the body, as
soon as the blood has lost its nutritive supplies, the craving of
hunger is felt, and then, if the food is suitable, and is taken in the
proper manner, this sensation ceases as soon as the stomach has received
enough to supply the wants of the system. But our benevolent Creator,
in this, as in our other duties, has connected enjoyment with the
operation needful to sustain our bodies. In addition to the allaying
of hunger, the gratification of the palate is secured by the immense
variety of food, some articles of which are far more agreeable than
others.

This arrangement of Providence, designed for our happiness, has become,
either through ignorance, or want of self-control, the chief cause of
the many diseases and suffering which afflict those classes who have
the means of seeking a variety to gratify the palate. If mankind had
only one article of food, and only water to drink, though they would
have less enjoyment in eating, they would never be tempted to put any
more into the stomach than the calls of hunger require. But the customs
of society, which present an incessant change, and a great variety of
food, with those various condiments which stimulate appetite, lead
almost every person very frequently to eat merely to gratify the palate,
after the stomach has been abundantly supplied, so that hunger has
ceased.

When too great a supply of food is put into the stomach, the gastric
juice dissolves only that portion which the wants of the system demand.
Most of the remainder is ejected, in an unprepared state; the absorbents
take portions of it into the system; and all the various functions of
the body, which depend on the ministries of the blood, are thus
gradually and imperceptibly injured. Very often, intemperance in eating
produces immediate results, such as colic, headaches, pains of
indigestion, and vertigo.

But the more general result is a gradual undermining of all parts of
the human frame; this imperceptibly shortening life, by so weakening
the constitution, that it is ready to yield, at every point, to any
uncommon risk or exposure. Thousands and thousands are parsing out of
the world, from diseases occasioned by exposures which a healthy
constitution could meet without any danger. It is owing to these
considerations, that it becomes the duty of every woman, who has the
responsibility of providing food for a family, to avoid a variety of
tempting dishes. It is a much safer rule, to have only one kind of
healthy food, for each meal, than the too abundant variety which is
often met at the tables of almost all classes in this country. When
there is to be any variety of dishes, they ought not to be successive,
but so arranged as to give the opportunity of selection. How often is
it the case, that persons, by the appearance of a favorite article,
are tempted to eat merely to gratify the palate, when the stomach is
already adequately supplied. All such intemperance wears on the
constitution, and shortens life. It not infrequently happens that
excess in eating produces a morbid appetite, which must constantly be
denied.

But the organization of the digestive organs demands, not only that
food should be taken in proper quantities, but that it be taken at
proper times.

[Illustration: Fig. 56.]

Fig. 56 shows one important feature of the digestive organs relating
to this point. The part marked LM shows the muscles of the inner coat
of the stomach, which run in one direction, and CM shows the muscles
of the outer coat, running in another direction.

As soon as the food enters the stomach, the muscles are excited by the
nerves, and the _peristaltic motion_ commences. This is a powerful
and constant exercise of the muscles of the stomach, which continues
until the process of digestion is complete. During this time the blood
is withdrawn from other parts of the system, to supply the demands of
the stomach, which is laboring hard with all its muscles. When this
motion ceases, and the digested food has gradually passed out, nature
requires that the stomach should have a period of repose. And if another
meal be eaten immediately after one is digested, the stomach is set
to work again before it has had time to rest, and before a sufficient
supply of gastric juice is provided.

The general rule, then, is, that three hours be given to the stomach
for labor, and two for rest; and in obedience to this, five hours, at
least, ought to elapse between every two regular meals. In cases where
exercise produces a flow of perspiration, more food is needed to supply
the loss; and strong laboring men may safely eat as often as they feel
the want of food. So, young and healthy children, who gambol and
exercise ranch and whose bodies grow fast, may have a more frequent
supply of food. But, as a general rule, meals should be five hours
apart, and eating between meals avoided. There is nothing more unsafe,
and wearing to the constitution, than a habit of eating at any time
merely to gratify the palate. When a tempting article is presented,
every person should exercise sufficient self-denial to wait till the
proper time for eating arrives. Children, as well as grown persons,
are often injured by eating between their regular meals, thus weakening
the stomach by not affording it any time for rest.

In deciding as to _quantity_ of food, there is one great difficulty
to be met by a large portion of the community. The exercise of every
part of the body is necessary to its health and perfection. The bones,
the muscles, the nerves, the organs of digestion and respiration, and
the skin, all demand exercise, in order properly to perform their
functions. When the muscles of the body are called into action, all
the blood-vessels entwined among them are frequently compressed. As
the veins have valves so contrived that the blood can not run back,
this compression hastens it forward toward the heart; which is
immediately put in quicker motion, to send it into the lungs; and they,
also, are thus stimulated to more rapid action, which is the cause of
that panting which active exercise always occasions. The blood thus
courses with greater celerity through the body, and sooner loses its
nourishing properties. Then the stomach issues its mandate of hunger,
and a new supply of food must be furnished.

Thus it appears, as a general rule, that the quantity of food actually
needed by the body depends on the amount of muscular exercise taken.
A laboring man, in the open fields, probably throws off from his skin
and lungs a much larger amount than a person of sedentary pursuits.
In consequence of this, he demands a greater amount of food and drink.

Those persons who keep their bodies in a state of health by sufficient
exercise can always be guided by the calls of hunger. They can eat
when they feel hungry, and stop when hunger ceases; and thus they will
calculate exactly right. But the difficulty is, that a large part of
the community, especially women, are so inactive in their habits that
they seldom feel the calls of hunger. They habitually eat, merely to
gratify the palate. This produces such a state of the system that they
lose the guide which Nature has provided. They are not called to eat
by hunger, nor admonished, by its cessation, when to stop. In
consequence of this, such persons eat what pleases the palate, till
they feel no more inclination for the article. It is probable that
three fourths of the women in the wealthier circles sit down to each
meal without any feeling of hunger, and eat merely on account of the
gratification thus afforded them. Such persons find their appetite to
depend almost solely upon the kind of food on the table. This is not
the case with those who take the exercise which Nature demands. They
approach their meals in such a state that almost any kind of food is
acceptable.

The question then arises, How are persons, who have lost the guide
which Nature has provided, to determine as to the proper amount of
food they shall take?

The best method is for several days to take their ordinary exercise
and eat only one or two articles of simple food, such as bread and
milk, or bread and butter with cooked fruit, or lean meat with bread
and vegetables, and at the same time eat less than the appetite demands.
Then on the following two days, take just enough to satisfy the
appetite, and on the third day notice the quantity which satisfies.
After this, decide before eating that only this amount of simple food
shall be taken.

Persons who have a strong constitution, and take much exercise, may
eat almost any thing with apparent impunity; but young children who
are forming their constitutions, and persons who are delicate, and who
take but little exercise, are very dependent for health on a proper
selection of food.

It is found that there are some kinds of food which afford nutriment
to the blood, and do not produce any other effect on the system. There
are other kinds, which are not only nourishing, but _stimulating_,
so that they quicken the functions of the organs on which they operate.
The condiments used in cookery, such as pepper, mustard, and spices,
are of this nature. There are certain states of the system when these
stimulants may be beneficial; such cases can only be pointed out by
medical men.

Persons in perfect health, and especially young children, never receive
any benefit from such kind of food; and just in proportion as condiments
operate to quicken the labors of the internal organs, they tend to
wear down their powers. A person who thus keeps the body working under
an unnatural excitement, _live faster_ than Nature designed, and
the constitution is worn out just so much the sooner. A woman,
therefore, should provide dishes for her family which are free from
these stimulating condiments.

It is also found, by experience, that the lean part of animal food is
more stimulating than vegetable. This is the reason why, in cases of
fevers or inflammations, medical men forbid the use of meat. A person
who lives chiefly on animal food is under a higher degree of stimulus
than if his food was chiefly composed of vegetable substances. His
blood will flow faster, and all the functions of his body will be
quickened. This makes it important to secure a proper proportion of
animal and vegetable diet. Some medical men suppose that an exclusively
vegetable diet is proved, by the experience of many individuals, to
be fully sufficient to nourish the body; and bring, as evidence, the
fact that some of the strongest and most robust men in the world are
those who are trained, from infancy, exclusively on vegetable food.
From this they infer that life will be shortened just in proportion
as the diet is changed to more stimulating articles; and that, all
other things being equal, children will have a better chance of health
and long life if they are brought up solely on vegetable food.

But, though this is not the common opinion of medical men, they all
agree that, in America, far too large a portion of the diet consists
of animal food. As a nation, the Americans are proverbial for the gross
and luxurious diet with which they load their tables; and there can
be no doubt that the general health of the nation would be increased
by a change in our customs in this respect. To take meat but once a
day, and this in small quantities, compared with the common practice,
is a rule, the observance of which would probably greatly reduce the
amount of fevers, eruptions, headaches, bilious attacks, and the many
other ailments which are produced or aggravated by too gross a diet.

The celebrated Roman physician, Baglivi, (who, from practicing
extensively among Roman Catholics, had ample opportunities to observe,)
mentions that, in Italy, an unusual number of people recover their
health in the forty days of Lent, in consequence of the lower diet
which is required as a religious duty. An American physician remarks,
"For every reeling drunkard that disgraces our country, it contains
one hundred gluttons--persons, I mean, who eat to excess, and suffer
in consequence." Another distinguished physician says, "I believe that
every stomach, not actually impaired by organic disease, will perform
its functions, if it receives reasonable attention; and when we perceive
the manner in which diet is generally conducted, both in regard to
_quantity_ and _variety_ of articles of food and drink, which are mixed
up in one heterogeneous mass--instead of being astonished at the
prevalence of indigestion, our wonder must rather be that, in such
circumstances, any stomach is capable of digesting at all."

In regard to articles which are the most easily digested, only general
rules can be given. Tender meats are digested more readily than those
which are tough, or than many kinds of vegetable food. The farinaceous
articles, such as rice, flour, corn, potatoes, and the like, are the
most nutritious, and most easily digested. The popular notion, that
meat is more nourishing than bread, is a great mistake. Good bread
contains more nourishment than butcher's meat. The meat is more
_stimulating_, and for this reason is more readily digested.

A perfectly healthy stomach can digest almost any healthful food; but
when the digestive powers are weak, every stomach has its peculiarities,
and what is good for one is hurtful to another. In such cases,
experiment alone can decide which are the most digestible articles of
food. A person whose food troubles him must deduct one article after
another, till he learns, by experience, which is the best for digestion.
Much evil has been done, by assuming that the powers of one stomach
are to be made the rule in regulating every other.

The most unhealthful kinds of food are those which, are made so by bad
cooking; such as sour and heavy bread, cakes, pie-crust, and other
dishes consisting of fat mixed and cooked with flour. Rancid butter
and high-seasoned food are equally unwholesome. The fewer mixtures
there are in cooking, the more healthful is the food likely to be.

There is one caution as to the _mode_ of eating which seems peculiarly
needful to Americans. It is indispensable to good digestion, that food
be well chewed and taken slowly. It needs to be thoroughly chewed and
mixed with saliva, in order to prepare it for the action of the gastric
juice, which, by the peristaltic motion, will be thus brought into
contact with every one of the minute portions.

It has been found that a solid lump of food requires much more time
and labor of the stomach for digestion than divided substances. It has
also been found, that as each bolus, or mouthful, enters the stomach,
the latter closes, until the portion received has had some time to
move around and combine with the gastric juice, and that the orifice
of the stomach resists the entrance of any more till this is
accomplished. But, if the eater persists in swallowing fast, the stomach
yields; the food is then poured in more rapidly than the organ can
perform its duty of preparative digestion; and evil results are sooner
or later developed. This exhibits the folly of those hasty meals, so
common to travelers and to men of business, and shows why children
should be taught to eat slowly.

After taking a full meal, it is very important to health that no great
bodily or mental exertion be made till the labor of the stomach is
over. Intense mental effort draws the blood to the head, and muscular
exertions draw it to the muscles; and in consequence of this, the
stomach loses the supply which it requires when performing its office.
When the blood with its stimulating effects is thus withdrawn from the
stomach, the adequate supply of gastric juice is not afforded, and
indigestion is the result. The heaviness which follows a full meal is
the indication which Nature gives of the need of quiet. When the meal
is moderate, a sufficient quantity of gastric juice is exuded in an
hour, or an hour and a half; after which, labor of body and mind may
safely be resumed.

When undigested food remains in the stomach, and is at last thrown out
into the bowels, it proves an irritating substance, producing an
inflamed state in the lining of the stomach and other organs.

It is found that the stomach has the power of gradually accommodating
indigestive powers to the food it habitually receives. Thus, animals
which live on vegetables can gradually become accustomed to animal
food; and the reverse is equally true. Thus, too, the human stomach
can eventually accomplish the digestion of some kinds of food, which,
at first, were indigestible.

But any changes of this sort should be gradual; as those which are
sudden are trying to the powers of the stomach, by furnishing matter
for which its gastric juice is not prepared.

Extremes of heat or cold are injurious to the process of digestion.
Taking hot food or drink, habitually, tends to debilitate all the
organs thus needlessly excited. In using cold substances, it is found
that a certain degree of warmth in the stomach is indispensable to
their digestion; so that, when the gastric juice is cooled below this
temperature, it ceases to act. Indulging in large quantities of cold
drinks, or eating ice-creams, after a meal, tends to reduce the
temperature of the stomach, and thus to stop digestion. This shows the
folly of those refreshments, in convivial meetings, where the guests
are tempted to load the stomach with a variety such as would require
the stomach of a stout farmer to digest; and then to wind up with ice-
creams, thus lessening whatever ability might otherwise have existed
to digest the heavy load. The fittest temperature for drinks, if taken
when the food is in the digesting process, is blood heat. Cool drinks,
and even ice, can be safely taken at other times, if not in excessive
quantity. When the thirst is excessive, or the body weakened by fatigue,
or when in a state of perspiration, large quantities of cold drinks
are injurious.

Fluids taken into the stomach are not subject to the slow process of
digestion, but are immediately absorbed and carried into the blood.
This is the reason why liquid nourishment, more speedily than solid
food, restores from exhaustion. The minute vessels of the stomach
absorb its fluids, which are carried into the blood, just as the minute
extremities of the arteries open upon the inner surface of the stomach,
and there exude the gastric juice from the blood.

When food is chiefly liquid, (soup, for example,) the fluid part is
rapidly absorbed. The solid parts remain, to be acted on by the gastric
juice. In the case of St. Martin, [Footnote: The individual here
referred to--Alexis St. Martin--was a young Canadian, eighteen years
of age, of a good constitution and robust health, who, in 1822, was
accidentally wounded by the discharge of a musket which: carried away
a part of the ribs, lacerated one of two lobes of the lungs, and
perforated the stomach, making a large aperture, which never closed;
and which enabled Dr. Beaumont (a surgeon of the American army,
stationed at Michilimackanac, under whose care the patient was placed)
to witness all the processes of digestion and other functions of the
body for several years.] in fifty minutes after taking soup, the fluids
were absorbed, and the remainder was even thicker than is usual after
eating solid food. This is the reason why soups are deemed bad for
weak stomachs; as this residuum is more difficult of digestion than
ordinary food.

Highly-concentrated food, having much nourishment in a small bulk, is
not favorable to digestion, because it can not be properly acted on
by the muscular contractions of the stomach, and is not so minutely
divided as to enable the gastric juice to act properly. This is the
reason why a certain _bulk_ of food is needful to good digestion;
and why those people who live on whale-oil and other highly nourishing
food, in cold climates, mix vegetables and even sawdust with it to
make it more acceptable and digestible. So in civilized lands, fruits
and vegetables are mixed with more highly concentrated nourishment.
For this reason also, soups, jellies, and arrow-root should have bread
or crackers mixed with them. This affords another reason why coarse
bread, of unbolted wheat, so often proves beneficial. Where, from
inactive habits or other causes, the bowels become constipated and
sluggish, this kind of food proves the appropriate remedy.

One fact on this subject is worthy of notice. In England, under the
administration of William Pitt, for two years or more there was such
a scarcity of wheat that, to make it hold out longer, Parliament passed
a law that the army should have all their bread made of unbolted flour.
The result was, that the health of the soldiers improved so much as
to be a subject of surprise to themselves, the officers, and the
physicians. These last came out publicly and declared that the soldiers
never before were so robust and healthy; and that disease had nearly
disappeared from the army. The civic physicians joined and pronounced
it the healthiest bread; and for a time schools, families, and public
institutions used it almost exclusively. Even the nobility, convinced
by these facts, adopted it for their common diet, and the fashion
continued a long time after the scarcity ceased, until more luxurious
habits resumed their sway.

We thus see why children should not have cakes and candies allowed
them between meals. Besides being largely carbonaceous, these are
highly concentrated nourishments, and should be eaten with more bulky
and less nourishing substances. The most indigestible of all kinds of
food are fatty and oily substances, if heated. It is on this account
that pie-crust and articles boiled and fried in fat or butter are
deemed not so healthful as other food.

The following, then, may be put down as the causes of a debilitated
constitution from the misuse of food. Eating _too much,_ eating _too
often,_ eating _too fast,_ eating food and condiments that are _too
stimulating,_ eating food that is _too warm_ or _too cold,_ eating food
that is _highly concentrated,_ without a proper admixture of less
nourishing matter, and eating hot food that is _difficult of digestion._




X.

HEALTHFUL DRINKS.


There is no direction in which a woman more needs both scientific
knowledge and moral force than in using her influence to control her
family in regard to stimulating beverages.

It is a point fully established by experience that the full development
of the human body and the vigorous exercise of all its functions can
be secured without the use of stimulating drinks. It is, therefore,
perfectly safe to bring up children never to use them, no hazard being
incurred by such a course.

It is also found by experience that there are two evils incurred by
the use of stimulating drinks. The first is, their positive effect on
the human system. Their peculiarity consists in so exciting the nervous
system that all the functions of the body are accelerated, and the
fluids are caused to move quicker than at their natural speed. This
increased motion of the animal fluids always produces an agreeable
effect on the mind. The intellect is invigorated, the imagination is
excited, the spirits are enlivened; and these effects are so agreeable
that all mankind, after having once experienced them, feel a great
desire for their repetition.

But this temporary invigoration of the system is always followed by
a diminution of the powers of the stimulated organs; so that, though
in all cases this reaction may not be perceptible, it is invariably
the result. It may be set down as the unchangeable rule of physiology,
that stimulating drinks deduct from the powers of the constitution in
exactly the proportion in which they operate to produce temporary
invigoration.

The second evil is the temptation which always attends the use of
stimulants. Their effect on the system is so agreeable, and the evils
resulting are so imperceptible and distant, that there is a constant
tendency to increase such excitement both in frequency and power. And
the more the system is thus reduced in strength, the more craving is
the desire for that which imparts a temporary invigoration. This process
of increasing debility and increasing craving for the stimulus that
removes it, often goes to such an extreme that the passion is perfectly
uncontrollable, and mind and body perish under this baleful habit.

In this country there are three forms in which the use of such
stimulants is common; namely, _alcoholic drinks, opium mixtures_, and
_tobacco_. These are all alike in the main peculiarity of imparting that
extra stimulus to the system which tends to exhaust its powers.

Multitudes in this nation are in the habitual use of some one of these
stimulants; and each person defends the indulgence by certain arguments:

First, that the desire for stimulants is a natural propensity implanted
in man's nature, as is manifest from the universal tendency to such
indulgences in every nation. From this, it is inferred that it is an
innocent desire, which ought to be gratified to some extent, and that
the aim should be to keep it within the limits of temperance, instead
of attempting to exterminate a natural propensity.

This is an argument which, if true, makes it equally proper for not
only men, but women and children, to use opium, brandy, or tobacco as
stimulating principles, provided they are used temperately. But if it
be granted that perfect health and strength can be gained and secured
without these stimulants, and that their peculiar effect is to diminish
the power of the system in exactly the same proportion as they stimulate
it, then there is no such thing as a temperate use, unless they are
so diluted as to destroy any stimulating power; and in this form they
are seldom desired.

The other argument for their use is, that they are among the good
things provided by the Creator for our gratification; that, like all
other blessings, they are exposed to abuse and excess; and that we
should rather seek to regulate their use than to banish them entirely.

This argument is based on the assumption that they are, like healthful
foods and drinks, necessary to life and health, and injurious only by
excess. But this is not true; for whenever they are used in any such
strength as to be a gratification, they operate to a greater or less
extent as stimulants; and to just such extent they wear out the powers
of the constitution; and it is abundantly proved that they are not,
like food and drink, necessary to health. Such articles are designed
for medicine and not for common use. There can be no argument framed
to defend the use of one of them which will not justify women and
children in most dangerous indulgences.

There are some facts recently revealed by the microscope in regard to
alcoholic drinks, which every woman should understand and regard. It
has been shown in a previous chapter that every act of mind, either
by thought, feeling, or choice, causes the destruction of certain cells
in the brain and nerves. It now is proved by microscopic science
[Footnote: For those statements the writer is indebted to Maudsley,
a recent writer on Microscopic Physiology.] that the kind of nutrition
furnished to the brain by the blood to a certain extent decides future
feelings, thoughts, and volitions. The cells of the brain not only
abstract from the blood the healthful nutrition, but also are affected
in shape, size, color, and action by unsuitable elements in the blood.
This is especially the case when alcohol is taken into the stomach,
from whence it is always carried to the brain. The consequence is,
that it affects the nature and action of the brain-cells, until a habit
is formed which is _automatic_; that is, the mind loses the power of
controlling the brain, in its development of thoughts, feelings, and
choices as it would in the natural state, and is itself controlled
by the brain. In this condition a real disease of the brain is created,
called _oino-mania_, (see _Glossary_,) and the only remedy is total
abstinence, and that for a long period, from the alcoholic poison. And
what makes the danger more fearful is, that the brain-cells never are so
renewed but that this pernicious stimulus will bring back the disease in
full force, so that a man once subject to it is never safe except by
maintaining perpetual and total abstinence from every kind of alcoholic
drink. Dr. Day, who for many years has had charge of an inebriate
asylum, states that he witnessed the dissection of the brain of a man
once an inebriate, but for many years in practice of total abstinence,
and found its cells still in the weak and unnatural state produced by
earlier indulgences.

There has unfortunately been a difference of opinion among medical men
as to the use of alcohol. Liebig, the celebrated writer on animal
chemistry, having found that both sugar and alcohol were heat-producing
articles of food, framed a theory that alcohol is burnt in the lungs,
giving off carbonic acid and water, and thus serving to warm the body.
But modern science has proved that it is in the capillaries that animal
heat is generated, and it is believed that alcohol lessens instead of
increasing the power of the body to bear the cold. Sir John Koss, in
his Arctic voyage, proved by his own experience and that of his men
that cold-water drinkers could bear cold longer and were stronger than
any who used alcohol.

Carpenter, a standard writer on physiology, says the objection to a
habitual use of even small quantities of alcoholic drinks is, that
"they are universally admitted to possess a poisonous character," and
"tend to produce a morbid condition of body;" while "the capacity for
enduring extremes of heat and cold, or of mental or bodily labor, is
diminished rather than increased by their habitual employment."

Prof. J. Bigelow, of Harvard University, says, "Alcohol is highly
stimulating, heating, and intoxicating, and its effects are so
fascinating that when once experienced there is danger that the desire
for them may be perpetuated."

Dr. Bell and Dr. Churchill, both high medical authorities, especially
in lung disease, for which whisky is often recommended, come to the
conclusion that "the opinion that alcoholic liquors have influence in
preventing the deposition of tubercle is destitute of any foundation;
on the contrary, their use predisposes to tubercular deposition." And
"where tubercle exists, alcohol has no effect in modifying the usual
course, neither does it modify the morbid effects on the system."

Prof. Youmans, of New-York, says: "It has been demonstrated that
alcoholic drinks prevent the natural changes in the blood, and obstruct
the nutritive and reparative functions." He adds, "Chemical experiments
have demonstrated that the action of alcohol on the digestive fluid
is to destroy its active principle, the _pepsin, thus confirming the
observations of physiologists, that its use gives rise to serious
disorders of the stomach and malignant aberration of the whole economy."

We are now prepared to consider the great principles of science, common
sense, and religion, which should guide every woman who has any kind
of influence or responsibility on this subject. It is allowed by all
medical men that pure water is perfectly healthful and supplies all
the liquid needed by the body; and also that by proper means, which
ordinarily are in the reach of all, water can be made sufficiently
pure.

It is allowed by all that milk, and the juices of fruits, when taken
into the stomach, furnish water that is always pure, and that our bread
and vegetable food also supply it in large quantities. There are besides
a great variety of agreeable and healthful beverages, made from the
juices of fruit, containing no alcohol, and agreeable drinks, such as
milk, cocoa, and chocolate, that contain no stimulating principles,
and which are nourishing and healthful.

As one course, then, is perfectly safe and another involves great
danger, it is wrong and sinful to choose the path of danger. There is
no peril in drinking pure water, milk, the juices of fruits, and
infusions that are nourishing and harmless. But there is great danger
to the young, and to the commonwealth, in patronizing the sale and use
of alcoholic drinks. The religion of Christ, in its distinctive feature,
involves generous self-denial for the good of others, especially for
the weaker members of society. It is on this principle that St. Paul
sets forth his own example, "If meat make my brother to offend, I will
eat no flesh while the world standeth, lest I make my brother to
offend." And again he teaches, "We, then, that are strong ought to
bear the infirmities of the weak, and not to please ourselves."

This Christian principle also applies to the common drinks of the
family, tea and coffee.

It has been shown that the great end for which Jesus Christ came, and
for which he instituted the family state, is the training of our whole
race to virtue and happiness, with chief reference to an immortal
existence. In this mission, of which woman is chief minister, as before
stated, the distinctive feature is self-sacrifice of the wiser and
stronger members to save and to elevate the weaker ones. The children
and the servants are these weaker members, who by ignorance and want
of habits of self-control are in most danger. It is in this aspect
that we are to consider the expediency of using tea and coffee in a
family.

These drinks are a most extensive cause of much of the nervous debility
and suffering endured by American women; and relinquishing them, would
save an immense amount of such suffering. Moreover, all housekeepers
will allow that they can not regulate these drinks in their kitchens,
where the ignorant use them to excess. There is little probability
that the present generation will make so decided a change in their
habits as to give up these beverages; but the subject is presented
rather in reference to forming the habits of children.

It is a fact that tea and coffee are at first seldom or never agreeable
to children. It is the mixture of milk, sugar, and water, that
reconciles them to a taste, which in this manner gradually becomes
agreeable. Now suppose that those who provide for a family conclude
that it is not _their_ duty to give up entirely the use of stimulating
drinks, may not the case appear different in regard to teaching their
children to love such drinks? Let the matter be regarded thus: The
experiments of physiologists all prove that stimulants are not needful
to health, and that, as the general rule, they tend to debilitate the
constitution. Is it right, then, for a parent to tempt a child to drink
what is not needful, when there is a probability that it will prove, to
some extent, an undermining drain on the constitution? Some
constitutions can bear much less excitement than others; and in every
family of children, there is usually one or more of delicate
organization, and consequently peculiarly exposed to dangers from this
source. It is this child who ordinarily becomes the victim to
stimulating drinks. The tea and coffee which the parents and the
healthier children can use without immediate injury, gradually sap the
energies of the feebler child, who proves either an early victim or
a living martyr to all the sufferings that debilitated nerves inflict.
Can it be right to lead children where all allow that there is some
danger, and where in many cases disease and death are met, when, another
path is known to be perfectly safe?

The impression common in this country, that _warm drinks_, especially in
winter, are more healthful than cold, is not warranted by any
experience, nor by the laws of the physical system. At dinner, cold
drinks are universal, and no one deems them injurious. It is only
at the other two meals that they are supposed to be hurtful.

There is no doubt that _warm_ drinks are healthful, and more agreeable
than cold, at certain times and seasons; but it is equally true that
drinks above blood-heat are not healthful. If a person should bathe in
warm water every day, debility would inevitably follow; for the frequent
application of the stimulus of heat, like all other stimulants,
eventually causes relaxation and weakness. If, therefore, a person is in
the habit of drinking hot drinks twice a day, the teeth, throat, and
stomach are gradually debilitated. This, most probably, is one of the
causes of an early decay of the teeth, which is observed to be much more
common among American ladies, than among those in European countries.

It has been stated to the writer, by an intelligent traveler who had
visited Mexico, that it was rare to meet an individual with even a
tolerable set of teeth, and that almost every grown person he met in
the street had merely remnants of teeth. On inquiry into the customs
of the country, it was found that it was the universal practice to
take their usual beverage at almost the boiling-point; and this
doubtless was the chief cause of the almost entire want of teeth in
that country. In the United States, it can not be doubted that much
evil is done in this way by hot drinks. Most tea-drinkers consider tea
as ruined if it stands until it reaches the healthful temperature for
drink.

The following extract, from Dr. Andrew Combe, presents the opinion of
most intelligent medical men on this subject. [Footnote: The writer
would here remark, in reference to extracts made from various authors,
that, for the sake of abridging, she has often left out parts of a
paragraph, but never so as to modify the meaning of the author. Some
ideas, not connected with the subject in hand, are omitted, but none
are altered.]

"_Water_ is a safe drink for all constitutions, provided it be resorted
to in obedience to the dictates of natural thirst only, and not of
habit. Unless the desire for it is felt, there is no occasion for its
use during a meal."

"The primary effect of all distilled and fermented liquors is to
_stimulate the nervous system and quicken the circulation_. In
infancy and childhood, the circulation is rapid and easily excited; and
the nervous system is strongly acted upon even by the slightest
external impressions. Hence, slight causes of irritation readily excite
febrile and convulsive disorders. In youth, the natural tendency of
the constitution is still to excitement, and consequently, as a general
rule, the stimulus of fermented liquors is injurious."

These remarks show that parents, who find that stimulating drinks are
not injurious to themselves, may mistake in inferring from this that
they will not be injurious to their children.

Dr. Combe continues thus: "In mature age, when digestion is good, and
the system in full vigor, if the mode of life be not too exhausting,
the nervous functions and general circulation are in their best
condition, and require no stimulus for their support. The bodily energy
is then easily sustained by nutritious food and a regular regimen, and
consequently artificial excitement only increases the wasting of the
natural strength."

It may be asked, in this connection, why the stimulus of animal food
is not to be regarded in the same light as that of stimulating drinks.
In reply, a very essential difference may he pointed out. Animal food
furnishes nutriment to the organs which it stimulates, but stimulating
drinks excite the organs to quickened action without affording any
nourishment.

It has been supposed by some that tea and coffee have, at least, a
degree of nourishing power. But it is proved that it is the milk and
sugar, and not the main portion of the drink, which imparts the
nourishment. Tea has not one particle of nourishing properties; and
what little exists in the coffee-berry is lost by roasting it in the
usual mode. All that these articles do, is simply _to stimulate without
nourishing_.

Although there is little hope of banishing these drinks, there is still
a chance that something may be gained in attempts to regulate their
use by the rules of temperance. If, then, a housekeeper can not banish
tea and coffee entirely, she may use her influence to prevent excess,
both by her instructions, and by the power of control committed more
or less to her hands.

It is important for every housekeeper to know that the health of a
family very much depends on the _purity_ of water used for cooking
and drinking. There are three causes of impure and unhealthful water.
One is, the existence in it of vegetable or animal matter, which can
be remedied by filtering through sand and charcoal. Another cause is,
the existence of mineral matter, especially in limestone countries,
producing diseases of the bladder. This is remedied in a measure by
boiling, which secures a deposit of the lime on the vessel used. The
third cause is, the corroding of zinc and lead used in pipes and
reservoirs, producing oxides that are slow poisons. The only remedy
is prevention, by having supply-pipes made of iron, like gas-pipe,
instead of zinc and lead; or the lately invented lead pipe lined with
tin, which metal is not corrosive. The obstacle to this is, that the
trade of the plumbers would be greatly diminished by the use of reliable
pipes. When water must be used from supply-pipes of lead or zinc, it
is well to let the water run some time before drinking it and to use
as little as possible, taking milk instead; and being further satisfied
for inner necessities by the water supplied by fruits and vegetables.
The water in these is always pure. But in using milk as a drink, it
must be remembered that it is also rich food, and that less of other
food must be taken when milk is thus used, or bilious troubles will
result from excess of food.

The use of opium, especially by women, is usually caused at first by
medical prescriptions containing it. All that has been stated as to
the effect of alcohol in the brain is true of opium; while, to break
a habit thus induced is almost hopeless, Every woman who takes or who
administers this drug, is dealing as with poisoned arrows, whose wounds
are without cure.

The use of tobacco in this country, and especially among young boys,
is increasing at a fearful rate. On this subject, we have the unanimous
opinion of all medical men; the following being specimens.

A distinguished medical writer thus states the case: "Every physician
knows that the agreeable sensations that tempt to the use of tobacco
are caused by _nicotine_, which is a rank poison, as much so as
prussic acid or arsenic. When smoked, the poison is absorbed by the
blood of the mouth, and carried to the brain. When chewed, the nicotine
passes to the blood through the mouth and stomach. In both cases, the
whole nervous system is thrown, into abnormal excitement to expel the
poison, and it is this excitement that causes agreeable sensations.
The excitement thus caused is invariably followed by a diminution of
nervous power, in exact proportion to the preceding excitement to expel
the evil from the system."

Few will dispute the general truth and effect of the above statement,
so that the question is one to be settled on the same principle as
applies to the use of alcoholic drinks. Is it, then, according to the
generous principles of Christ's religion, for those who are strong and
able to bear this poison, to tempt the young, the ignorant, and the
weak to a practice not needful to any healthful enjoyment, and which
leads multitudes to disease, and often to vice? For the use of tobacco
tends always to lessen nerve-power, and probably every one out of five
that indulges in its use awakens a morbid craving for increased
stimulus, lessens the power of self-control, diminishes the strength
of the constitution, and sets an example that influences the weak to
the path of danger and of frequent ruin.

The great danger of this age is an increasing, intense worldliness,
and disbelief in the foundation principle of the religion of Christ,
that we are to reap through everlasting ages the consequences of habits
formed in this life. In the light of his word, they only who are truly
wise "shall shine as the firmament, and they that turn many to
righteousness, as the stars, forever and ever."

It is increased _faith_ or _belief_ in the teachings of Christ's
religion, as to the influence of this life upon the _life to come_,
which alone can save our country and the world from that inrushing tide
of sensualism and worldliness, now seeming to threaten the best hopes
and prospects of our race.

And woman, as the chief educator of our race, and the prime minister
of the family state, is bound in the use of meats and drinks to employ
the powerful and distinctive motives of the religion of Christ in
forming habits of temperance and benevolent self-sacrifice for the
good of others.




XI.

CLEANLINESS.


Both the health and comfort of a family depend, to a great extent, on
cleanliness of the person and the family surroundings. True cleanliness
of person involves the scientific treatment of the skin. This is the
most complicated organ of the body, and one through which the health
is affected more than through any other; and no persons can or will
he be so likely to take proper care of it as those by whom its
construction and functions are understood.

[Illustration: Fig. 57.]

Fig. 57 is a very highly magnified portion of the skin. The layer
marked 1 is the outside, very thin skin, called the _cuticle_ or _scarf
skin_. This consists of transparent layers of minute cells, which are
constantly decaying and being renewed, and the white scurf that passes
from the skin to the clothing is a decayed portion of these cells. This
part of the skin has neither nerves nor blood-vessels.

The dark layer, marked 2, 7, 8, is that portion of the true skin which
gives the external color marking diverse races. In the portion of the
dark layer marked 3, 4, is seen a network of nerves which run from two
branches of the nervous trunks coming from the spinal marrow. These
arc nerves of sensation, by which the sense of touch or feeling is
performed. Fig. 58 represents the blood-vessels, (intermingled with
the nerves of the skin,) which divide into minute capillaries that
act like the capillaries of the lungs, taking oxygen from the air, and
giving out carbonic acid. At _a_, and _b_ are seen the roots of two
hairs, which abound in certain parts of the skin, and are nourished by
the blood of the capillaries.

[Illustration: Fig. 58.]
[Illustration: Fig. 59.]

At Fig. 59 is a magnified view of another set of vessels, called the
lymphatics or absorbents. These are extremely minute vessels that
interlace with the nerves and blood-vessels of the skin. Their office
is to aid in collecting the useless, injurious, or decayed matter, and
carry it to certain reservoirs, from which it passes into some of the
large veins, to be thrown out through the lungs, bowels, kidneys, or
skin. These _absorbent_ or _lymphatic_; vessels have mouths opening on
the surface of the true skin, and, though covered by the cuticle, they
can absorb both liquids and solids that are placed in close contact with
the skin. In proof of this, one of the main trunks of the lymphatics in
the hand can be cut off from all communication with other portions, and
tied up: and if the hand is immersed in milk a given time, it will be
found that the milk has been, absorbed through the cuticle and fills the
lymphatics. In this way, long-continued blisters on the skin will
introduce the blistering matter into the blood through the absorbents,
and then the kidneys will take it up from the blood passing through them
to carry it out of the body, and thus become irritated and inflamed by
it.

[Illustration: Fig. 60]

There are also oil-tubes, imbedded in the skin, that draw off oil from
the blood. This issues on the surface and spreads over the cuticle to
keep it soft and moist. But the most curious part of the skin is the
system of innumerable minute perspiration-tubes. Fig. 60 is a drawing
of one very greatly magnified. These tubes open on the cuticle, and
the openings are called pores of the skin. They descend into the true
skin, and there form a coil, as is seen in the drawing. These tubes
are hollow, like a pipe-stem, and their inner surface consists of
wonderfully minute capillaries filled with the impure venous blood.
And in these small tubes the same process is going on as takes places
when the carbonic acid and water of the blood are exhaled from the
lungs. The capillaries of these tubes through the whole skin of the
body are thus constantly exhaling the noxious and decayed particles
of the body, just as the lungs pour them out through the mouth and
nose.

It has been shown that the perspiration-tubes are coiled up into a
ball at their base. The number and extent of these tubes are
astonishing. In a square inch on the palm of the hand have been counted,
through a microscope, thirty-five hundred of these tubes. Each one of
them is about a quarter of an inch in length, including its coils.
This makes the united lengths of these little tubes to be seventy-three
feet to a square inch. Their united length, over the whole body is
thus calculated to be equal to _twenty-eight miles_. What a wonderful
apparatus this! And what mischiefs must ensue when the drainage from the
body of such an extent as this becomes obstructed!

But the inside of the body also has a skin, as have all its organs.
The interior of the head, the throat, the gullet, the lungs, the
stomach, and all the intestines, are lined with a skin. This is called
the _mucous membrane_, because it is constantly secreting from the blood
a slimy substance called _mucus_. When it accumulates in the lungs, it
is called _phlegm_. This inner skin also has nerves, blood-vessels, and
lymphatics. The outer skin joins to the inner at the month, the nose,
and other openings of the body, and there is a constant sympathy between
the two skins, and thus between the inner organs and the surface of the
body.


SECRETING ORGANS.

Those vessels of the body which draw off certain portions of the blood
and change it into a new form, to be employed for service or to be
thrown out of the body, are called _secreting organs_. The skin in this
sense is a secreting organ, as its perspiration-tubes secrete or
separate the bad portions of the blood, and send them off.

Of the internal secreting organs, the _liver_ is the largest. Its chief
office is to secrete from the blood all matter not properly supplied
with oxygen. For this purpose, a set of veins carries the blood of all
the lower intestines to the liver, where the imperfectly oxidized matter
is drawn off in the form of _bile_, and accumulated in a reservoir
called the _gall-bladder_. Thence it passes to the place where the
smaller intestines receive the food from the stomach, and there it mixes
with this food. Then it passes through the long intestines, and is
thrown out of the body through the rectum. This shows how it is, that
want of pure and cool air and exercise causes excess of bile, from lack
of oxygen. The liver also has arterial blood sent to nourish it, and
corresponding veins to return this blood to the heart. So there are two
sets of blood-vessels for the liver--one to secrete the bile, and the
other to nourish the organ itself.

The kidneys secrete from the arteries that pass, through them all
excess of water in the blood, and certain injurious substances. These
are carried through small tubes to the bladder, and thence thrown out
of the body.

The _pancreas_, a whitish gland, situated in the abdomen below
the stomach, secretes from the arteries that pass through it the
pancreatic juice, which unites with the bile from the liver, in
preparing the food for nourishing the body.

There are certain little glands near the eyes that secrete the tears,
and others near the mouth that secrete the saliva, or spittle.

These organs all have arteries sent to them to nourish them, and also
veins to carry away the impure blood. At the same time, they secrete
from the arterial blood the peculiar fluid which it is their office
to supply.

All the food that passes through the lower intestines which is not
drawn off by the lacteals or by some of these secreting organs, passes
from the body through a passage called the rectum.

Learned men have made very curious experiments; to ascertain how much
the several organs throw out of the body, It is found that the skin
throws off five out of eight pounds of the food and drink, or probably
about three or four pounds a day. The lungs throw off one quarter as
much as the skin, or about a pound a day. The remainder is carried off
by the kidneys and lower intestines.

There is such a sympathy and connection between all the organs of the
body, that when one of them is unable to work, the others perform the
office of the feeble one. Thus, if the skin has its perspiration-tubes
closed up by a chill, then all the poisonous matter that would have
been thrown out through them must be emptied out either by the lungs,
kidneys, or bowels.

When all these organs are strong and healthy, they can bear this
increased labor without injury. But if the lungs are weak, the blood
sent from the skin by the chill engorges the weak blood-vessels, and
produces an inflammation of the lungs. Or it increases the discharge
of a slimy mucous substance, that exudes from the skin of the lungs.
This fills up the air-vessels, and would very soon end life, were it
not for the spasms of the lungs, called _coughing_, which throw off this
substance.

If, on the other hand, the bowels are weak, a chill of the skin sends
the blood into all the blood-vessels of the intestines, and produces
inflammation there, or else an excessive secretion of the mucous
substance, which is called a _diarrhea._ Or if the kidneys are
weak, there is an increased secretion and discharge from them, to an
unhealthy and injurious extent.

This connection between the skin and internal organs is shown, not
only by the internal effects of a chill on the skin; but by the
sympathetic effect on the skin when these internal organs suffer. For
example, there are some kinds of food that will irritate and influence
the stomach or the bowels; and this, by sympathy, will produce an
immediate eruption on the skin. Some persons, on eating strawberries,
will immediately be affected with a nettle-rash. Others can not eat
certain shell-fish without being affected in this way. Many humors on
the face are caused by a diseased state of the internal organs with
which the skin sympathizes.

This short account of the construction of the skin, and of its intimate
connection with the internal organs, shows the philosophy of those
modes of medical treatment that are addressed to this portion of the
body.

It is on this powerful agency that the steam-doctors rely, when, by
moisture and heat, they stimulate all the innumerable perspiration-tubes
and lymphatics to force out from the body a flood of unnaturally excited
secretions; while it is "kill or cure," just as the chance may meet
or oppose the demands of the case. It is the skin also that is the
chief basis of medical treatment in the Water Cure, whose slow processes
are as much safer as they are slower.

At the same time it is the ill-treatment or neglect of the skin which,
probably, is the cause of disease and decay to an incredible extent.
The various particulars in which this may be seen will now be pointed
out. In the management and care of this wonderful and complex part of
the body, many mistakes have been made.

The most common one is the misuse of the bath, especially since cold
water cures have come into use. This mode of medical treatment
originated with an ignorant peasant, amid a population where outdoor
labor had strengthened nerves and muscles and imparted rugged powers
to every part of the body. It was then introduced into England and
America without due consideration or knowledge of the diseases habits,
or real condition of patients, especially of women. The consequence
was a mode of treatment too severe and exhausting; and many practices
were spread abroad not warranted by true medical science.

But in spite of these mistakes and abuses, the treatment of the skin
for disease by the use of cold water has become an accepted doctrine
of the most learned medical practitioners. It is now held by all such
that fevers can be detected in their distinctive features by the
thermometer, and that all fevers can be reduced by cold baths and
packing in the wet sheet, in the mode employed in all water-cures.
Directions for using this method will be given in another place.

It has been supposed that large bath-tubs for immersing the whole
person are indispensable to the proper cleaning of the skin. This is
not so. A wet towel, applied every morning to the skin, followed by
friction in pure air, is all that is absolutely needed; although a
full bath is a great luxury. Access of air to every part of the skin
when its perspiratory tubes are cleared and its blood-vessels are
filled by friction is the best ordinary bath.

In early life, children should be washed all over, every night or
morning, to remove impurities from the skin. But in this process,
careful regard should be paid to the peculiar constitution of a child.
Very nervous children sometimes revolt from cold water, and like a
tepid bath. Others prefer a cold bath; and nature should be the guide.
It must be remembered that the skin is the great organ of sensation,
and in close connection with brain, spine, and nerve-centres: so that
what a strong nervous system can bear with advantage is too powerful
and exhausting for another. As age advances, or as disease debilitates
the body, great care should be taken not to overtax the nervous system
by sudden shocks, or to diminish its powers by withdrawing animal heat
to excess. Persons lacking robustness should bathe or use friction in
a warm room; and if very delicate, should expose only a portion of the
body at once to cold air.

Johnson, a celebrated writer on agricultural chemistry, tells of an
experiment by friction on the skin of pigs, whose skins are like that
of the human race. He treated six of these animals with a curry-comb
seven weeks, and left three other pigs untouched. The result was a
gain of thirty-three pounds more of weight, with the use of five bushels
less of food for those curried, than for the neglected ones. This
result was owing to the fact that all the functions of the body were
more perfectly performed when, by friction, the skin was kept free
from filth and the blood in it exposed to the air. The same will be
true of the human skin. A calculation has been made on this fact, by
which it is estimated that a man, by proper care of his skin, would
save over thirty-one dollars in food yearly, which is the interest on
over five hundred dollars. If men will give as much care to their own
skin, as they give to currying a horse, they will gain both health and
wealth.




XII.

CLOTHING.

There is no duty of those persons having control of a family where
principle and practice are more at variance than in regulating the
dress of young girls, especially at the most important and critical
period of life. It is a difficult duty for parents and teachers to
contend with the power of fashion, which at this time of a young girl's
life is frequently the ruling thought, and when to be out of the
fashion, to be odd and not dress as all her companions do, is a
mortification and grief that no argument or instructions can relieve.
The mother is often so overborne that, in spite of her better wishes,
the daughter adopts modes of dress alike ruinous to health and to
beauty.

The greatest protection against such an emergency is to train a child
to understand the construction of her own body and to impress upon
her, in early days, her obligations to the invisible Friend and Guardian
of her life, the "Former of her body and the Father of her spirit,"
who has committed to her care so precious and beautiful a casket. And
the more she can be made to realize the skill and beauty of construction
shown in her earthly frame, the more will she feel the obligation to
protect it from injury and abuse.

It is a singular fact that the war of fashion has attacked most fatally
what seems to be the strongest foundation, and defense of the body,
the bones. For this reason, the construction and functions of this
part of the body will now receive attention.

The bones are composed of two substances, one animal, and the other
mineral. The animal part is a very fine network, called _cellular
membrane._ In this are deposited the harder mineral substances,
which are composed principally of carbonate and phosphate of lime. In
very early life, the bones consist chiefly of the animal part, and are
then soft and pliant. As the child advances in age, the bones grow
harder, by the gradual deposition of the phosphate of lime, which is
supplied by the food, and carried to the bones by the blood. In old
age, the hardest material preponderates; malting the bones more brittle
than in earlier life.

The bones are covered with a thin skin or membrane, filled with small
blood-vessels which convey nourishment to them,

Where the hones unite with others to form joints, they are covered
with _cartilage,_ which is a smooth, white, elastic substance. This
enables the joints to move smoothly, while its elasticity prevents
injuries from sudden jars.

The joints are bound together by strong, elastic bands called
_ligaments,_ which hold them firmly and prevent dislocation.

Between the ends of the bones that unite to form joints are small sacks
or bags, that contain a soft lubricating fluid. This answers the same
purpose fur the joints as oil in making machinery work smoothly, while
the supply is constant and always in exact proportion to the demand.

If you will examine the leg of some fowl, you can see the cartilage
that covers the ends of the bones at the joints, and the strong white
ligaments that bind the joints together.

The health, of the bones depends on the proper nourishment and exercise
of the body as much as that of any other part. When a child is feeble
and unhealthy, or when it grows up without exercise, the bones do not
become firm and hard as they are when the body is healthfully developed
by exercise. The size as well as the strength of the bones, to a certain
extent, also depend upon exercise and good health.

[Illustration: Fig. 61]

The chief supporter of the body is the spine, which consists of
twenty-four small bones, interlocked or hooked into each other, while
between them are elastic cushions of cartilage which aid in preserving
the upright, natural position. Fig. 61 shows three of the spinal bones,
hooked into each other, the dark spaces showing the disks or flat
circular plates of cartilage between them.

The spine is held in its proper position, partly by the ribs, partly
by muscles, partly by aid of the elastic disks, and partly by the close
packing of the intestines in front of it.

The upper part of the spine is often thrown out of its proper position
by constant stooping of the head over books or work. This affects the
elastic disks so that they grow thick at the back side and thinner at
the front side by such constant pressure. The result is the awkward
projection of the head forward which is often seen in schools and
colleges.

Another distortion of the spine is produced by tight dress around the
waist. The liver occupies the right side of the body and is a solid
mass, while on the other side is the larger part of the stomach, which
is often empty. The consequence of tight dress around the waist is a
constant pressure of the spine toward the unsupported part where the
stomach lies. Thus the elastic dials again are compressed; till they
become thinner on one side than the other, and harden into that
condition. This produces what is called the _lateral curvature of the
spine,_ making one shoulder higher than the other.

The compression of the lower part of the waist is especially dangerous
at the time young girls first enter society and are tempted to dress
according to the fashion. Many a school-girl, whose waist was originally
of a proper and healthful size, has gradually pressed the soft bones
of youth until the lower ribs that should rise and fall with every
breath, become entirely unused. Then the abdominal breathing, performed
by the lower part of the lungs, ceases; the whole system becomes reduced
in strength; the abdominal muscles that hold up the interior organs
become weak, and the upper ones gradually sink upon the lower. This
pressure of the upper interior organs upon the lower ones, by tight
dress, is increased by the weight of clothing resting on the hips and
abdomen. Corsets, as usually worn, have no support from the shoulders,
and consequently all the weight of dress resting upon or above them
presses upon the hips and abdomen, and this in such a way as to throw
out of use and thus weaken the most important supporting muscles of
the abdomen, and impede abdominal breathing.

The diaphragm is a kind of muscular floor, extending across the centre
of the body, on which the heart and lungs rest. Beneath it are the
liver, stomach, and the abdominal viscera, or intestines, which are
supported by the abdominal muscles, running upward, downward, and
crosswise. When these muscles are thrown out of use, they lose their
power, the whole system of organs mainly resting on them for support
can not continue in their naturally snug, compact, and rounded form,
but become separated, elongated, and unsupported. The stomach begins
to draw from above instead of resting on the viscera beneath. This in
some cases causes dull and wandering pains, a sense of pulling at the
centre of the chest, and a drawing downward at the pit of the stomach.
Then as the support beneath is really _gone,_ there is what is often
called "a feeling of _goneness."_ This is sometimes relieved by food,
which, so long as it remains in a solid form, helps to hold up the
falling superstructure. This displacement of the stomach, liver, and
spleen interrupts their healthful functions, and dyspepsia and biliary
difficulties not unfrequently are the result.

As the stomach and its appendages fall downward, the _diaphragm_,
which holds up the heart and lungs, must descend also. In this state
of things, the inflation of the lungs is less and less aided by the
abdominal muscles, and is confined chiefly to their upper portion.
Breathing sometimes thus becomes quicker and shorter on account of the
elongated or debilitated condition of the assisting organs. Consumption
not unfrequently results from this cause.

The _heart_ also feels the evil. "Palpitations," "flutterings,"
"sinking feelings," all show that, in the language of Scripture, "the
heart trembleth, and is moved out of its place."

But the _lower intestines_ are the greatest sufferers from this
dreadful abuse of nature. Having the weight of all the unsupported
organs above pressing them into unnatural and distorted positions, the
passage of the food is interrupted, and inflammations, indurations,
and constipation, are the frequent result. Dreadful ulcers and cancers
may be traced in some instances to this cause.

Although these internal displacements are most common among women,
some foolish members of the other sex are adopting customs of dress,
in girding the central portion of the body, that tend to similar
results.

But this distortion brings upon woman peculiar distresses. The pressure
of the whole superincumbent mass on the pelvic or lower organs induces
sufferings proportioned in acuteness to the extreme delicacy and
sensitiveness of the parts thus crushed. And the intimate connection
of these organs with the brain and whole nervous system renders injuries
thus inflicted the causes of the most extreme anguish, both of body
and mind. This evil is becoming so common, not only among married
women, but among young girls, as to be a just cause for universal
alarm.

How very common these sufferings are, few but the medical profession
can realize, because they are troubles that must be concealed. Many
a woman is moving about in uncomplaining agony who, with any other
trouble involving equal suffering, would be on her bed surrounded by
sympathizing friends.

The terrible sufferings that are sometimes thus induced can never be
conceived of, or at all appreciated from, any use of language. Nothing
that the public can be made to believe on this subject will ever equal
the reality. Not only mature persons and mothers, but fair young girls
sometimes, are shut up for months and years as helpless and suffering
invalids from this cause. This may be found all over the land. And
there frequently is a horrible extremity of suffering in certain forms
of this evil, which no woman of feeble constitution can ever be certain
may not be her doom. Not that in all cases this extremity is involved,
but none can say who will escape it.

In regard to this, if one must choose for a friend or a child, on the
one hand, the horrible torments inflicted by savage Indians or cruel
inquisitors on their victims, or, on the other, the protracted agonies
that result from such deformities and displacements, sometimes the
former would be a merciful exchange.

And yet this is the fate that is coming to meet the young as well as
the mature in every direction. And tender parents are unconsciously
leading their lovely and hapless daughters to this awful doom.

There is no excitement of the imagination in what is here indicated.
If the facts and details could be presented, they would send a groan
of terror all over the land. For it is not one class, or one section,
that is endangered. In every part of our country the evil is
progressing.

And, as if these dreadful ills were not enough, there have been added
methods of medical treatment at once useless, torturing to the mind,
and involving great liability to immoralities.

[Illustration: Fig. 62.]

In hope of abating these evils, drawings are given (Fig. 62 and Fig.
63) of the front and back of a jacket that will preserve the advantages
of the corset without its evils. This jacket may at first be fitted
to the figure with corsets underneath it, just like the waist of a
dress. Then, delicate whalebones can be used to stiffen the jacket,
so that it will take the proper shape, when the corset may be dispensed
with. The buttons below are to hold all articles of dress below the
waist by button-holes. By this method, the bust is supported as well
as by corsets, while the shoulders support from above, as they should
do, the weight of the dress below. No stiff bone should be allowed to
press in front, and the jacket should be so loose that a full breath
can be inspired with ease, while in a sitting position.

[Illustration: Fig. 63.]

The proper way to dress a young girl is to have a cotton or flannel
close-fitting jacket next the body, to which the drawers should be
buttoned. Over this, place the chemise; and over that, such a jacket
as the one here drawn, to which should be buttoned the hoops and other
skirts. Thus every article of dress will be supported by the shoulders.
The sleeves of the jacket can be omitted, and in that ease a strong
lining, and also a tape binding, must surround the arm-hole, which
should be loose.

It is hoped that increase of intelligence and moral power among mothers,
and a combination among them to regulate fashions, may banish the
pernicious practices that have prevailed. If a school-girl dress
without corsets and without tight belts could be established as a
fashion, it would be one step gained in the right direction. Then if
mothers could secure daily domestic exercise in chambers, eating-rooms
and parlors in loose dresses, a still farther advance would be secured.

A friend of the writer informs her that her daughter had her wedding
outfit made up by a fashionable milliner in Paris, and every dress was
beautifully fitted to the form, and yet was not compressing to any
part. This was done too without the use of corsets, the stiffening
being delicate and yielding whalebones.

Not only parents but all having the care of young girls, especially
those at boarding-schools, have a fearful responsibility resting upon
them in regard to this important duty.

In regard to the dressing of young children, much discretion is needed
to adapt dress to circumstances and peculiar constitutions. The leading
fact must be borne in mind that the skin is made strong and healthful
by exposure to light and pure air, while cold air, if not excessive,
has a tonic influence. If the skin of infants is rubbed with the hand
till red with blood, and then exposed naked to sun and air in a
well-ventilated room, it will be favorable to health.

There is a constitutional difference in the skin of different children
in regard to retaining the animal heat manufactured within, so that
some need more clothing than others for comfort. Nature is a safe guide
to a careful nurse and mother, and will indicate by the looks and
actions of a child when more clothing is needful. As a general rule,
it is safe for a healthful child to wear as little clothing as suffices
to keep it from complaining of cold. Fifty years ago, it was not common
for children to wear as much under-clothing as they now do. The writer
well remembers how even girls, though not of strong constitutions,
used to play for hours in the snow-drifts without the protection of
drawers, kept warm by exercise and occasional runs to an open fire.
And multitudes of children grew to vigorous maturity through similar
exposures to cold air-baths, and without the frequent, colds and
sicknesses so common among children of the present day, who are more
carefully housed and warmly dressed. But care was taken that the feet
should be kept dry and warmly clad, because, circulation being feebler
in the extremities, this precaution was important.

It must also be considered that age brings with it decrease in vigor
of circulation, and the consequent generation of heat, so that more
warmth of air and clothing is needed at an advanced period of life
than is suitable for the young.

These are the general principles which must be applied with modification
to each individual case. A child of delicate constitution must have
more careful protection from cold air than is desirable for one more
vigorous, while the leading general principle is retained that cold
air is a healthful tonic for the skin whenever it does not produce an
uncomfortable chilliness.




XIII.

GOOD COOKING.


There are but a few things on which health, and happiness depend more
than on the manner in which food is cooked. You may make houses
enchantingly beautiful, hang them with pictures, have them clean and
airy and convenient; but if the stomach is fed with sour bread and
burnt meats, it will raise such rebellions that the eyes will see no
beauty anywhere. The abundance of splendid material we have in America
is in great contrast with the style of cooking most prevalent in our
country. How often, in journeys, do we sit down to tables loaded with
material, originally of the very best kind, winch has been so spoiled
in the treatment that there is really nothing to eat! Green biscuits
with acrid spots of alkali; sour yeast-bread; meat slowly simmered in
fat till it seemed like grease itself, and slowly congealing in cold
grease; and above all, that unpardonable enormity, strong butter! How
one longs to show people what might have been done with the raw material
out of which all these monstrosities were concocted!

There is no country where an ample, well-furnished table is more easily
spread, and for that reason, perhaps, none where the bounties of
Providence are more generally neglected. Considering that our resources
are greater than those of any other civilized people, our results are
comparatively poorer.

It is said that a list of the summer vegetables which are exhibited
on New-York hotel-tables being shown to a French _artiste_, he
declared that to serve such a dinner properly would take till midnight.
A traveler can not but be struck with our national plenteousness, on
returning from a Continental tour, and going directly from the ship
to a New-York hotel, in the bounteous season of autumn. For months
habituated to neat little bits of chop or poultry, garnished with the
inevitable cauliflower or potato, which seemed to be the sole
possibility after the reign of green peas was over; to sit down all
at once to such a carnival! to such ripe, juicy tomatoes, raw or cooked;
cucumbers in brittle slices; rich, yellow sweet-potatoes; broad
lima-beans, and beans of other and various names; tempting ears of
Indian-corn steaming in enormous piles; great smoking tureens of the
savory succotash, an Indian gift to the table for which civilization
need not blush; sliced egg-plant in delicate fritters; and marrow-
squashes, of creamy pulp and sweetness; a rich variety, embarrassing
to the appetite, and perplexing to the choice.

Verily, the thought must often occur that the vegetarian doctrine
preached in America leaves a man quite as much as he has capacity to
eat or enjoy, and that in the midst of such tantalizing abundance he
has really lost the apology, which elsewhere bears him out in preying
upon his less gifted and accomplished animal neighbors.

But with all this, the American table, taken as a whole, is inferior
to that of England or France. It presents a fine abundance of material,
carelessly and poorly treated. The management of food is nowhere in
the world, perhaps, more slovenly and wasteful. Every thing betokens
that want of care that waits on abundance; there are great capabilities
and poor execution. A tourist through England can seldom fail, at the
quietest country-inn, of finding himself served with the essentials
of English table-comfort--his mutton-chop done to a turn, his steaming
little private apparatus for concocting his own tea, his choice pot
of marmalade or slice of cold ham, and his delicate rolls and creamy
butter, all served with care and neatness. In France, one never asks
in vain for delicious _cafe-au-lait_, good bread and butter, a
nice omelet, or some savory little portion of meat with a French name.
But to a tourist taking like chance in American country-fare, what is
the prospect? What is the coffee? what the tea? and the meat? and above
all, the butter?

In writing on cooking, the main topics should be first, bread; second,
butter; third, meat; fourth, vegetables; and fifth, tea--by which
last is meant, generally, all sorts of warm, comfortable drinks served
out in tea-cups, whether they be called tea, coffee, chocolate, broma,
or what not.

If these five departments are all perfect, the great ends of domestic
cookery are answered, so far as the comfort and well-being of life
are concerned. There exists another department, which is often regarded
by culinary amateurs and young aspirants as the higher branch and very
collegiate course of practical cookery; to wit, confectionery, by which
is designated all pleasing and complicated compounds of sweets and
spices, devised not for health and nourishment, and strongly suspected
of interfering with both--mere tolerated gratifications of the palate,
which we eat, not with the expectation of being benefited, but only
with the hope of not being injured by them. In this large department
rank all sorts of cakes, pies, preserves, etc., whose excellence is
often attained by treading under foot and disregarding the five grand
essentials.

There is many a table garnished with three or four kinds of well-made
cake, compounded with citron and spices and all imaginable good things,
where the meat was tough and greasy, the bread some hot preparation
of flour, lard, saleratus, and acid, and the butter unutterably
detestable, where, if the mistress of the feast had given the care,
time, and labor to preparing the simple items of bread, butter, and
meat, that she evidently had given to the preparation of these extras,
the lot of her guests and family might be much more comfortable. But
she does not think of these common articles as constituting a good
table. So long as she has puff pastry, rich black cake, clear jelly
and preserves, she considers that such unimportant matters as bread,
butter, and meat may take care of themselves. It is the same inattention
to common things as that which leads people to build houses with stone
fronts, and window-caps and expensive front-door trimmings, without
bathing-rooms or fireplaces, or ventilators.

Those who go into the country looking for summer board in farm-houses
know perfectly well that a table where the butter is always fresh, the
tea and coffee of the best kinds and well made, and the meats properly
kept, dressed, and served, is the one table of a hundred, the fabulous
enchanted island. It seems impossible to get the idea into the minds
of many people that what is called common food, carefully prepared,
becomes, in virtue of that very care and attention, a delicacy,
superseding the necessity of artificially compounded dainties. To
begin, then, with the very foundation of a good table:

--_Bread:_ What ought it to be?

It should be light, sweet, and tender. This matter of lightness is the
distinctive line between savage and civilized bread. The savage mixes
simple flour and water into balls of paste, which he throws into boiling
water, and which come out solid, glutinous masses, of which his common
saying is, "Man eat dis, he no die," which a facetious traveler who
was obliged to subsist on it interpreted to mean, "Dis no kill you,
nothing will." In short, it requires the stomach of a wild animal or
of a savage to digest this primitive form of bread, and of course more
or less attention in all civilized modes of bread-making is given to
producing lightness. By lightness is meant simply that in order to
facilitate digestion the particles are to be separated from each other
by little holes or air-cells; and all the different methods of making
light bread are neither more nor less than the formation of bread with
these air-cells.

So far as we know, there are four practicable methods of aerating
bread; namely, by fermentation; by effervescence of an acid and an
alkali; by aerated egg, or egg which has been filled with air by the
process of beating; and lastly, by pressure of some gaseous substance
into the paste, by a process much resembling the impregnation of water
in a soda-fountain. All those have one and the same object--to give
us the cooked particles of our flour separated by such permanent
air-cells as will enable the stomach more readily to digest them.

A very common mode of aerating bread in America is by the effervescence
of an acid and an alkali in the flour. The carbonic acid gas time
formed products minute air-cells in the bread, or, as the cook says,
makes it light. When this process is performed with exact attention
to chemical laws, so that the acid and alkali completely neutralize
each other, leaving no overplus of either, the result is often very
palatable. The difficulty is, that this is a happy conjunction of
circumstances which seldom occurs. The acid most commonly employed is
that of sour milk, and, as milk has many degrees of sourness, the rule
of a certain quantity of alkali to the pint must necessarily produce
very different results at different times. As an actual fact where
this mode of making bread prevails, as we lament to say it does to a
great extent in this country, one finds five cases of failure to one
of success.

It is a woeful thing that the daughters of our land have abandoned the
old respectable mode of yeast-brewing and bread-raising for this
specious substitute, so easily made, and so seldom well made. The
green, clammy, acrid substance, called biscuit, which many of our
worthy republicans are obliged to eat in these days, is wholly unworthy
of the men and women of the republic. Good patriots ought not to
be put off in that way--they deserve better fare.

As an occasional variety, as a household convenience for obtaining
bread or biscuit at a moment's notice, the process of effervescence
may be retained; but, we earnestly entreat American housekeepers, in
scriptural language, to stand in the way and ask for the old paths,
and return to the good yeast-bread of their sainted grandmothers.

If acid and alkali must be used, by all means let them be mixed in due
proportions. No cook should be left to guess and judge for herself
about this matter. There are articles made by chemical rule which
produce very perfect results, and the use of them obviates the worst
dangers in making bread by effervescence.

Of all processes of aeration in bread-making, the oldest and most
time-honored mode is by fermentation. That this was known in the days
of our Saviour is evident from the forcible simile in which he compares
the silent permeating force of truth in human, society to the very
familiar household process of raising bread by a little yeast.

There is, however, one species of yeast, much used in some parts of
the country, against which protest should be made. It is called
salt-risings, or milk-risings, and is made by mixing flour, milk, and
a little salt together, and leaving them to ferment. The bread thus
produced is often, very attractive, when new and made with great care.
It is white and delicate, with fine, even air-cells. It has, however,
when kept, some characteristics which remind us of the terms in which
our old English Bible describes the effect of keeping the manna of the
ancient Israelites, which we are informed, in words more explicit than
agreeable, "stank, and bred worms." If salt-rising bread does not
fulfill the whole of this unpleasant description, it certainly does
emphatically a part of it. The smell which it has in baking, and when
more than a day old, suggests the inquiry, whether it is the saccharine
or the putrid fermentation with which it is raised. Whoever breaks a
piece of it after a day or two, will often see minute filaments or
clammy strings drawing out from the fragments, which, with the
unmistakable smell, will cause him to pause before consummating a
nearer acquaintance.

The fermentation of flour by means of brewer's or distiller's yeast
produces, if rightly managed, results far more palatable and wholesome.
The only requisites for success in it are, first, good materials, and,
second, great care in small things. There are certain low-priced or
damaged kinds of flour which can never by any kind of domestic chemistry
be made into good broad; and to those persons whose stomachs forbid
them to eat gummy, glutinous paste, under the name of bread, there is
no economy in buying these poor brands, even at half the price of good
flour.

But good flour and good yeast being supposed, with a temperature
favorable to the development of fermentation, the whole success of the
process depends on the thorough diffusion of the proper proportion of
yeast through the whole mass, and on stopping the subsequent
fermentation at the precise and fortunate point. The true housewife
makes her bread the sovereign of her kitchen--its behests must be
attended to in all critical points and moments, no matter what else
be postponed.

She who attends to her bread only when she has done this, and arranged
that, and performed the other, very often finds that the forces of
nature will not wait for her. The snowy mass, perfectly mixed, kneaded
with care and strength, rises in its beautiful perfection till the
moment comes for filling the air-cells by baking. A few minutes now,
and the acetous fermentation will begin, and the whole result be
spoiled. Many bread-makers pass in utter carelessness over this sacred
and mysterious boundary. Their oven has cake in it, or they are skimming
jelly, or attending to some other of the so-called higher branches of
cookery, while the bread is quickly passing into the acetous stage.
At last, when they are ready to attend to it, they find that it has
been going its own way,--it is so sour that the pungent smell is plainly
perceptible. Now the saleratus-bottle is handed down, and a quantity
of the dissolved alkali mixed with the paste--an expedient sometimes
making itself too manifest by greenish streaks or small acrid spots
in the bread. As the result, we have a beautiful article spoiled--bread
without sweetness, if not absolutely sour.

In the view of many, lightness is the only property required in this
article. The delicate refined sweetness which exists in carefully
kneaded bread, baked just before it passes to the extreme point of
fermentation, is something, of which they have no conception; and thus
they will even regard this process of spoiling the paste by the acetous
fermentation, and then rectifying that acid by effervescence with an
alkali, as something positively meritorious. How else can they value
and relish bakers' loaves, such as some are, drugged with ammonia and
other disagreeable things; light indeed, so light that they seem to
have neither weight nor substance, but with no more sweetness or taste
than so much cotton wool?

Some persons prepare bread for the oven by simply mixing it in the
mass, without kneading, pouring it into pans, and suffering it to rise
there. The air-cells in bread thus prepared are coarse and uneven; the
bread is as inferior in delicacy and nicety to that which is well
kneaded as a raw servant to a perfectly educated and refined lady. The
process of kneading seems to impart an evenness to the minute air-cells,
a fineness of texture, and a tenderness and pliability to the whole
substance, that can be gained in no other way.

The divine principle of beauty has its reign over bread as well as
over all other things; it has its laws of aesthetics; and that bread
which is so prepared that it can be formed into separate and
well-proportioned loaves, each one carefully worked and moulded, will
develop the most beautiful results. After being moulded, the loaves
should stand usually not over ten minutes, just long enough to allow
the fermentation going on in them to expand each little air-cell to
the point at which it stood before it was worked down, and then they
should be immediately put into the oven.

Many a good thing, however, is spoiled in the oven. We can not but
regret, for the sake of bread, that our old steady brick ovens have
been almost universally superseded by those of ranges and
cooking-stoves, which are infinite in their caprices, and forbid all
general rules. One thing, however, may be borne in mind as
a principle--that the excellence of bread in all its varieties, plain
or sweetened, depends on the perfection of its air-cells, whether
produced by yeast, egg, or effervescence; that one of the objects of
baking is to fix these air-cells, and that the quicker this can be
done through the whole mass, the better will the result be. When cake
or bread is made heavy by baking too quickly, it is because the
immediate formation of the top crust hinders the exhaling of the
moisture in the centre, and prevents the air-cells from cooking. The
weight also of the crust pressing down on the doughy air-cells below
destroys them, producing that horror of good cooks, a heavy streak.
The problem in baking, then, is the quick application of heat rather
below than above the loaf, and its steady continuance till all the
air-cells are thoroughly dried into permanent consistency. Every
housewife must watch her own oven to know how this can be best
accomplished.

Bread-making can be cultivated to any extent as a fine art--and the
various kinds of biscuit, tea-rusks, twists, rolls, into which bread
may be made, are much better worth a housekeeper's ambition than the
getting-up of rich and expensive cake or confections. There are also
varieties of material which are rich in good effects. Unbolted flour,
altogether more wholesome than the fine wheat, and when properly
prepared more palatable--rye-flour and corn-meal, each affording a
thousand attractive possibilities--all of these come under the general
laws of bread-stuffs, and are worth a careful attention.

A peculiarity of our American table, particularly in the Southern and
Western States, is the constant exhibition of various preparations of
hot bread. In many families of the South and West, bread in loaves to
be eaten cold is an article quite unknown. The effect of this kind of
diet upon the health has formed a frequent subject of remark among
travelers; but only those know the full mischiefs of it who have been
compelled to sojourn for a length of time in families where it is
maintained. The unknown horrors of dyspepsia from bad bread are a topic
over which we willingly draw a veil.

Next to Bread comes _Butter_--on which we have to say, that, when
we remember what butter is in civilized Europe, and compare it with
what it is in America, we wonder at the forbearance and lenity of
travelers in their strictures on our national commissariat.

Butter, in England, France, and Italy, is simply solidified cream,
with all the sweetness of the cream in its taste, freshly churned each
day, and unadulterated by salt. At the present moment, when salt is
five cents a pound and butter fifty, we Americans are paying, at high
prices, for about one pound of salt to every ten of butter, and those
of us who have eaten the butter of France and England do this with
rueful recollections.

There is, it is true, an article of butter made in the American style
with salt, which, in its own kind and way, has a merit not inferior
to that of England and France. Many prefer it, and it certainly takes
a rank equally respectable with the other. It is yellow, hard, and
worked so perfectly free from every particle of buttermilk that it
might make the voyage of the world without spoiling. It is salted, but
salted with care and delicacy, so that it may be a question whether
even a fastidious Englishman might not prefer its golden solidity to
the white, creamy freshness of his own. But it is to be regretted that
this article is the exception, and not the rule, on our tables.

America must have the credit of manufacturing and putting into market
more bad butter than all that is made in all the rest of the world
together. The varieties of bad tastes and smells which prevail in it
are quite a study. This has a cheesy taste, that a mouldy, this is
flavored with cabbage, and that again with turnip, and another has the
strong, sharp savor of rancid animal fat. These varieties probably
come from the practice of churning only at long intervals, and keeping
the cream meanwhile in unventilated cellars or dairies, the air of
which is loaded with the effluvia of vegetable substances. No domestic
articles are so sympathetic as those of the milk tribe: they readily
take on the smell and taste of any neighboring substance, and hence
the infinite variety of flavors on which one mournfully muses who has
late in autumn to taste twenty firkins of butter in hopes of finding
one which will simply not be intolerable on his winter table.

A matter for despair as regards bad butter is, that at the tables where
it is used it stands sentinel at the door to bar your way to every
other kind of food. You turn from your dreadful half-slice of bread,
which fills your mouth with bitterness, to-your beef-steak, which
proves virulent with the same poison; you think to take refuge in
vegetable diet, and find the butter in the string-beans, and polluting
the innocence of early peas; it is in the corn, hi the succotash, in
the squash; the beets swim in it, the onions have it poured over them.
Hungry and miserable, you think to solace yourself at the dessert; but
the pastry is cursed, the cake is acrid with the same plague. You are
ready to howl with despair, and your misery is great upon
you--especially if this is a table where you have taken board for three
months with your delicate wife and four small children. Your case is
dreadful, and it is hopeless, because long usage and habit have rendered
your host perfectly incapable of discovering what is the matter. "Don't
like the butter, sir? I assure you I paid an extra price for it, and
it's the very best in the market. I looked over as many as a hundred
tubs, and picked out this one." You are dumb, but not less despairing.

Yet the process of making good butter is a very simple one. To keep
the cream in a perfectly pure, cool atmosphere, to churn while it is
yet sweet, to work out the buttermilk thoroughly, and to add salt with
such discretion as not to ruin the fine, delicate flavor of the fresh
cream--all this is quite simple, so simple that one wonders at thousands
and millions of pounds of butter yearly manufactured which are merely
a hobgoblin bewitchment of cream into foul and loathsome poisons.

The third head of my discourse is that of _Meat_, of which America
furnishes, in the gross material, enough to spread our tables royally,
were it well cared for and served.

The faults in the meat generally furnished to us are, first, that it
is too new. A beef steak, which three or four days of keeping might
render palatable, is served up to us palpitating with freshness, with
all the toughness of animal muscle yet warm.

In the next place, there is a woeful lack of nicety in the butcher's
work of cutting and preparing meat. Who that remembers the neatly
trimmed mutton-chop of an English inn, or the artistic little circle
of lamb-chop fried in bread-crumbs coiled around a tempting centre of
spinach which may always be found in France, can recognize any family
resemblance to those dapper, civilized preparations, in these coarse,
roughly-hacked strips of bone, gristle, and meat which are commonly
called mutton-chop in America? There seems to be a large dish of
something resembling meat, in which each fragment has about two or
three edible morsels, the rest being composed of dry and burnt skin,
fat, and ragged bone.

Is it not time that civilization should learn to demand somewhat more
care and nicety in the modes of preparing what is to be cooked and
eaten? Might not some of the refinement and trimness which characterize
the preparations of the European market be with advantage introduced
into our own? The housekeeper who wishes to garnish her table with
some of those nice things is stopped in the outset by the butcher.
Except in our large cities, where some foreign travel may have created
the demand, it seems impossible to get much in this line that is
properly prepared.

If this is urged on the score of aesthetics, the ready reply will be,
"Oh! we can't give time here in America to go into niceties and French
whim-whams!" But the French mode of doing almost all practical things
is based on that true philosophy and utilitarian good sense which
characterize that seemingly thoughtless people. Nowhere is economy a
more careful study, and their market is artistically arranged to this
end. The rule is so to cut their meats that no portion designed to be
cooked in a certain manner shall have wasteful appendages which that
mode of cooking will spoil. The French soup-kettle stands ever ready
to receive the bones, the thin fibrous flaps, the sinewy and gristly
portions, which are so often included in our roasts or broilings, which
fill our plates with unsightly _debris_, and finally make an amount of
blank waste for which we pay our butcher the same price that we pay for
what we have eaten.

The dead waste of our clumsy, coarse way of cutting meats is immense.
For example, at the beginning of the season, the part of a lamb
denominated leg and loin, or hind-quarter, may sell for thirty cents
a pound. Now this includes, besides the thick, fleshy portions, a
quantity of bone, sinew, and thin fibrous substance, constituting full
one third of the whole weight. If we put it into the oven entire, in
the usual manner, we have the thin parts over-done, and the skinny
and fibrous parts utterly dried up, by the application of the amount
of heat necessary to cook the thick portion. Supposing the joint to
weigh six pounds, at thirty cents, and that one third of the weight
is so treated as to become perfectly useless, we throw away sixty
cents. Of a piece of beef at twenty-five cents a pound, fifty cents'
worth is often lost in bone, fat, and burnt skin.

The fact is, this way of selling and cooking meat in large,
gross portions is of English origin, and belongs to a country where all
the customs of society spring from a class who have no particular
occasion for economy. The practice of minute and delicate division
comes from a nation which acknowledges the need of economy, and has
made it a study. A quarter of lamb in this mode of division would be
sold in three nicely prepared portions. The thick part would be sold
by itself, for a neat, compact little roast; the rib-bones would be
artistically separated, and all the edible matter would form those
delicate dishes of lamb-chop, which, fried in bread-crumbs to a golden
brown, are so ornamental and palatable a side-dish; the trimmings which
remain after this division would be destined to the soup-kettle or
stew-pan.

In a French market is a little portion for every purse, and the
far-famed and delicately flavored soups and stews which have arisen
out of French economy are a study worth a housekeeper's attention. Not
one atom of food is wasted in the French modes of preparation; even
tough animal cartilages and sinews, instead of appearing burned and
blackened in company with the roast meat to which they happen to be
related, are treated according to their own laws, and come out either
in savory soups, or those fine, clear meat-jellies which form a garnish
no less agreeable to the eye than palatable to the taste.

Whether this careful, economical, practical style of meat-cooking can
ever to any great extent be introduced into our kitchens now is a
question. Our butchers are against it; our servants are wedded to the
old wholesale wasteful ways, which seem to them easier because they
are accustomed to them. A cook who will keep and properly tend a
soup-kettle which shall receive and utilize all that the coarse
preparations of the butcher would require her to trim away, who
understands the art of making the most of all these remains, is a
treasure scarcely to be hoped for. If such things are to be done, it
must be primarily through the educated brain of cultivated women who
do not scorn to turn their culture and refinement upon domestic
problems.

When meats have been properly divided, so that each portion can receive
its own appropriate style of treatment, next comes the consideration
of the modes of cooking. These may be divided into two great general
classes: those where it is desired to keep the juices within the meat,
as in baking, broiling, and frying--and those whose object is to extract
the juice and dissolve the fibre, as in the making of soups and stews.
In the first class of operations, the process must be as rapid as may
consist with the thorough cooking of all the particles. In this branch
of cookery, doing quickly is doing well. The fire must be brisk, the
attention alert. The introduction of cooking-stoves offers to careless
domestics facilities for gradually drying-up meats, and despoiling
them of all flavor and nutriment--facilities which appear to be very
generally accepted. They have almost banished the genuine, old-fashioned
roast-meat from our tables, and left in its stead dried meats with
their most precious and nutritive juices evaporated. How few cooks,
unassisted, are competent to the simple process of broiling a beefsteak
or mutton-chop! how very generally one has to choose between these
meats gradually dried away, or burned on the outside and raw within!
Yet in England these articles _never_ come on the table done amiss;
their perfect cooking is as absolute a certainty as the rising of the
sun.

No one of these rapid processes of cooking, however, is so generally
abused as frying. The frying-pan has awful sins to answer for. What
untold horrors of dyspepsia have arisen from its smoky depths, like
the ghost from witches' caldrons! The fizzle of frying meat is a warning
knell on many an ear, saying, "Touch not, taste not, if you would not
burn and writhe!"

Yet those who have traveled abroad remember that some of the lightest,
most palatable, and most digestible preparations of meat have come
from this dangerous source. But we fancy quite other rites and
ceremonies inaugurated the process, and quite other hands performed
its offices, than those known to our kitchens. Probably the delicate
_cotelettes_ of France are not flopped down into half-melted
grease, there gradually to warm and soak and fizzle, while Biddy goes
in and out on her other ministrations, till finally, when they are
thoroughly saturated, and dinner-hour impends, she bethinks herself,
and crowds the fire below to a roaring heat, and finishes the process
by a smart burn, involving the kitchen and surrounding precincts in
volumes of Stygian gloom. From such preparations has arisen the very
current medical opinion that fried meats are indigestible. They are
indigestible, if they are greasy; but French cooks have taught us that
a thing has no more need to be greasy because emerging from grease
than Venus had to be salt because she rose from the sea.

There are two ways of frying employed by the French cook. One is, to
immerse the article to be cooked in _boiling_ fat, with an emphasis
on the present participle--and the philosophical principle is, so
immediately to crisp every pore, at the first moment or two of
immersion, as effectually to seal the interior against the intrusion
of greasy particles; it can then remain as long as may be necessary
thoroughly to cook it, without imbibing any more of the boiling fluid
than if it were inclosed in an egg-shell. The other method is to rub
a perfectly smooth iron surface with just enough of some oily substance
to prevent the meat from adhering, and cook it with a quick heat, as
cakes are baked, on a griddle. In both these cases there must be the
most rapid application of heat that can be made without burning, and
by the adroitness shown in working out this problem the skill of the
cook is tested. Any one whose cook attains this important secret will
find fried things quite as digestible, and often more palatable, than
any other.

In the second department of meat-cookery, to wit, the slow and gradual
application of heat for the softening and dissolution of its fibre and
the extraction of its juices, common cooks are equally untrained. Where
is the so-called cook who understands how to prepare soups and stews?
These are precisely the articles in which a French kitchen excels. The
soup-kettle, made with a double bottom, to prevent burning, is a
permanent, ever-present institution, and the coarsest and most
impracticable meats distilled through that alembic come out again in
soups, jellies, or savory stews. The toughest cartilage, even the
bones, being first cracked, are here made to give forth their hidden
virtues, and to rise in delicate and appetizing forms.

One great law governs all these preparations: the application of heat
must be gradual, steady, long protracted, never reaching the point of
active boiling. Hours of quiet simmering dissolve all dissoluble parts,
soften the sternest fibre, and unlock every minute cell in which Nature
has stored away her treasures of nourishment. This careful and
protracted application of heat and the skillful use of flavors
constitute the two main points in all those nice preparations of meat
for which the French have so many names--processes by which a delicacy
can be imparted to the coarsest and cheapest food superior to that of
the finest articles under less philosophic treatment.

French soups and stews are a study, and they would not be an
unprofitable one to any person who wishes to live with comfort and
even elegance on small means.

There is no animal fibre that will not yield itself up to long-
continued, steady heat. But the difficulty with almost any of the
common servants who call themselves cooks is, that they have not the
smallest notion of the philosophy of the application of heat. Such a
one will complacently tell you concerning certain meats, that the
harder you boil them the harder they grow--an obvious fact which, under
her mode of treatment by an indiscriminate galloping boil, has
frequently come under her personal observation. If you tell her that
such meat must stand for six hours in a heat just below the boiling
point, she will probably answer, "Yes, ma'am," and go on her own way.
Or she will let it stand till it burns to the bottom of the kettle--a
most common termination of the experiment.

The only way to make sure of the matter is, either to obtain a French
kettle, or to fit into an ordinary kettle a false bottom, such as any
tinman may make, that shall leave a space of an inch or two between
the meat and the fire. This kettle may be maintained in a constant
position on the range, and into it the cook maybe instructed to throw
all the fibrous trimmings of meat, all the gristle, tendons, and bones,
having previously broken up these last with a mallet. Such a kettle,
the regular occupant of a French cooking-stove, which they call the
_pot au feu_, will furnish the basis for clear, rich soups, or other
palatable dishes. This is ordinarily called "stock."

Clear soup consists of the dissolved juices of the meat and gelatine
of the bones, cleared from the fat and fibrous portions by straining.
The grease, which rises to the top of the fluid, may be easily removed
when cold.

English and American soups are often heavy and hot with spices. There
are appreciable tastes in them. They burn your mouth with cayenne, or
clove, or allspice. You can tell at once what is in them, oftentimes
to your sorrow. But a French soup has a flavor which one recognizes
at once as delicious, yet not to be characterized as due to any single
condiment; it is the just blending of many things. The same remark
applies to all their stews; ragouts, and other delicate preparations.
No cook will ever study these flavors; but perhaps many cooks'
mistresses may, and thus, be able to impart delicacy and comfort to
economy.

As to those things called hashes, commonly manufactured by unwatched,
untaught cooks out of the remains of yesterday's meal, let us not dwell
too closely on their memory--compounds of meat, gristle, skin, fat,
and burnt fibre, with a handful of pepper and salt flung at them,
dredged with lumpy flour, watered from the spout of the tea-kettle,
and left to simmer at the cook's convenience while she is otherwise
occupied. Such are the best performances a housekeeper can hope for
from an untrained cook.

But the cunningly devised minces, the artful preparations choicely
flavored, which may be made of yesterday's repast--by these is the
true domestic artist known. No cook untaught by an educated brain ever
makes these, and yet economy is a great gainer by them.

As regards the department of _Vegetables_, their number and variety
in America are so great that a table might almost be furnished by these
alone. Generally speaking, their cooking is a more simple art, and
therefore more likely to be found satisfactorily performed, than that
of meats. If only they are not drenched with rancid butter, their own
native excellence makes itself known in most of the ordinary modes of
preparation.

There is, however, one exception. Our staunch old friend, the potato,
is to other vegetables what bread is on the table. Like bread, it is
held as a sort of _sine-qua-non_; like that, it may be made invariably
palatable by a little care in a few plain particulars, through neglect
of which it often becomes intolerable. The soggy, waxy, indigestible
viand that often appears in the potato-dish is a downright sacrifice of
the better nature of this vegetable.

The potato, nutritive and harmless as it appears, belongs to a family
suspected of very dangerous traits. It is a family connection of the
deadly-nightshade and other ill-reputed gentry, and sometimes shows
strange proclivities to evil--now breaking out uproariously, as in the
noted potato-rot, and now more covertly, in various evil affections.
For this reason scientific directors bid us beware of the water in
which potatoes are boiled-into which, it appears, the evil principle
is drawn off; and they caution us not to shred them into stews without
previously suffering the slices to lie for an hour or so in salt and
water. These cautions are worth attention.

The most usual modes of preparing the potato for the table are by
roasting or boiling. These processes are so simple that it is commonly
supposed every cook understands them without special directions; and
yet there is scarcely an uninstructed cook who can boil or roast a
potato.

A good roasted potato is a delicacy worth a dozen compositions of the
cook-book; yet when we ask for it, what burnt, shriveled abortions are
presented to us! Biddy rushes to her potato-basket and pours out two
dozen of different sizes, some having in them three times the amount
of matter of others. These being washed, she tumbles them into her
oven at a leisure interval, and there lets them lie till it is time
to serve breakfast, whenever that may be. As a result, if the largest
are cooked, the smallest are presented in cinders, and the intermediate
sizes are withered and watery. Nothing is so utterly ruined by a few
moments of overdoing. That which at the right moment was plump with
mealy richness, a quarter of an hour later shrivels and becomes watery--
and it is in this state that roast potatoes are most frequently served.

In the same manner we have seen boiled potatoes from an untaught cook
coming upon the table like lumps of yellow wax--and the same article,
under the directions of a skillful mistress, appearing in snowy balls
of powdery whiteness. In the one case, they were thrown in their skins
into water, and suffered to soak or boil, as the case might be, at the
cook's leisure, and after they were boiled to stand in the water till
she was ready to peel them. In the other case, the potatoes being first
peeled were boiled as quickly as possible in salted water, which the
moment they were done was drained off, and then they were gently shaken
for a moment or two over the fire to dry them still more thoroughly.
We have never yet seen the potato so depraved and given over to evil
that it could not be reclaimed by this mode of treatment.

As to fried potatoes, who that remembers the crisp, golden slices of
the French restaurant, thin as wafers and light as snow-flakes, does
not speak respectfully of them? What cousinship with these have those
coarse, greasy masses of sliced potato, wholly soggy and partly burnt,
to which we are treated under the name of fried potatoes in America?
In our cities the restaurants are introducing the French article to
great acceptance, and to the vindication of the fair fame of this queen
of vegetables.

Finally, we arrive at the last great head of our subject, to wit--
_Tea_--meaning thereby, as before observed, what our Hibernian
friend did in the inquiry, "Will y'r honor take 'tay tay' or coffee
tay?"

We are not about to enter into the merits of the great tea-and-coffee
controversy, further than in our general caution concerning them in
the chapter on Healthful Drinks; but we now proceed to treat of them
as actual existences, and speak only of the modes of making the best
of them. The French coffee is reputed the best in the world; and a
thousand voices have asked, What is it about the French coffee?

In the first place, then, the French coffee is coffee, and not chickory,
or rye, or beans, or peas. In the second place, it is freshly roasted,
whenever made--roasted with great care and evenness in a little
revolving cylinder which makes part of the furniture of every kitchen,
and which keeps in the aroma of the berry. It is never overdone, so
as to destroy the coffee-flavor, which is in nine cases out of tent
the fault of the coffee we meet with. Then it is ground, and placed
in a coffee-pot with a filter through which, when it has yielded up
its life to the boiling water poured upon it, the delicious extract
percolates in clear drops, the coffee-pot standing on a heated stove
to maintain the temperature. The nose of the coffee-pot is stopped up
to prevent the escape of the aroma during this process. The extract
thus obtained is a perfectly clear, dark fluid, known as _caf
noir_, or black coffee. It is black only because of its strength,
being in fact almost the very essential oil of coffee. A table-spoonful
of this in boiled milk would make what is ordinarily called a strong
cup of coffee. The boiled milk is prepared with no less care. It must
be fresh and new, not merely warmed or even brought to the
boiling-point, but slowly simmered till it attains a thick, creamy
richness. The coffee mixed with this, and sweetened with that sparkling
beet-root sugar which ornaments a French table, is the celebrated
_cafe-au-lait_, the name of which has gone round the world.

As we look to France for the best coffee, so we must look to England
for the perfection of tea. The tea-kettle is as much an English
institution as aristocracy or the Prayer-Book; and when one wants to
know exactly how tea should he made, one has only to ask how a fine
old English house-keeper makes it.

The first article of her faith is, that the water must not merely be
hot, not merely _have boiled_ a few moments since, but be actually
_boiling_ at the moment it touches the tea. Hence, though servants
in England are vastly better trained than with us, this delicate mystery
is seldom left to their hands. Tea-making belongs to the drawing-room,
and high-born ladies preside at "the bubbling and loud hissing urn,"
and see that all due rites and solemnities are properly performed--that
the cups are hot, and that the infused tea waits the exact time before
the libations commence.

Of late, the introduction of English breakfast-tea has raised a new
sect among the tea-drinkers, reversing some of the old canons.
Breakfast-tea must be boiled! Unlike the delicate article of olden
time, which required only a momentary infusion to develop its richness,
this requires a longer and severer treatment to bring out its
strength--thus confusing all the established usages, and throwing the
work into the hands of the cook in the kitchen. The faults of tea, as
too commonly found at our hotels and boarding-houses, are, that it
is made in every way the reverse of what it should be. The water is
hot, perhaps, but not boiling; the tea has a general flat, stale, smoky
taste, devoid of life or spirit; and it is served usually with thin
milk, instead of cream. Cream is an essential to the richness of tea
as of coffee. Lacking cream, boiled milk is better than cold.

Chocolate is a French and Spanish article, and one seldom served on
American tables. We in America, however, make an article every way
equal to any which can be imported from Paris, and he who buys the
best vanilla-chocolate may rest assured that no foreign land can furnish
any thing better. A very rich and delicious beverage may be made by
dissolving this in milk, slowly boiled down after the French fashion.

A word now under the head of _Confectionery_, meaning by this the
whole range of ornamental cookery--or pastry, ices, jellies, preserves,
etc. The art of making all these very perfectly is far better understood
in America than the art of common cooking. There are more women who
know how to make good cake than good bread--more who can furnish you
with a good ice-cream than a well-cooked mutton-chop; a fair
charlotte-russe is easier to gain than a perfect cup of coffee; and
you shall find a sparkling jelly to your dessert where you sighed in
vain for so simple a luxury as a well-cooked potato.

Our fair countrywomen might rest upon their laurels in these higher
fields, and turn their great energy and ingenuity to the study of
essentials. To do common things perfectly is far better worth our
endeavor than to do uncommon things respectably. We Americans in many
things as yet have been a little inclined to begin making our shirt
at the ruffle; but, nevertheless, when we set about it, we can make
the shirt as nicely as any body; it needs only that we turn our
attention to it, resolved that, ruffle or no ruffle, the shirt we will
have.

A few words as to the prevalent ideas in respect to French cookery.
Having heard much of it, with no very distinct idea of what it is, our
people have somehow fallen into the notion that its _forte_ lies in high
spicing--and so when our cooks put a great abundance of clove, mace,
nutmeg, and cinnamon into their preparations, they fancy that they are
growing up to be French cooks. But the fact is, that the Americans and
English are far more given to spicing than the French. Spices in our
made dishes are abundant, and their taste is strongly pronounced. Living
a year in France one forgets the taste of nutmeg, clove, and allspice,
which abounds in so many dishes in America. The English and Americans
deal in _spices_, the French in _flavors_--flavors many and flue,
imitating often in their delicacy those subtle blendings which nature
produces in high-flavored fruits. The recipes of our cookery-books are
most of them of English origin, coming down from the times of our
phlegmatic ancestors, when the solid, burly, beefy growth of the foggy
island required the heat of fiery condiments, and could digest heavy
sweets. Witness the national recipe for plum-pudding: which may be
rendered: Take a pound of every indigestible substance you can think of,
boil into a cannon-ball, and serve in flaming brandy. So of the
Christmas mince-pie, and many other national dishes. But in America,
owing to our brighter skies and more fervid climate, we have developed
an acute, nervous delicacy of temperament far more akin to that of
France than of England.

Half of the recipes in our cook-books are mere murder to such
constitutions and stomachs as we grow here. We require to ponder these
things, and think how we, in our climate and under our circumstances,
ought to live; and in doing so, we may, without accusation of foreign
foppery, take some leaves from many foreign books.




XIV.

EARLY RISING


There is no practice which has been more extensively eulogized in all
ages than early rising; and this universal impression is an indication
that it is founded on true philosophy. For it is rarely the case that
the common sense of mankind fastens on a practice as really beneficial,
especially one that demands self-denial, without some substantial
reason.

This practice, which may justly be called a domestic virtue, is one
which has a peculiar claim to be styled American and democratic. The
distinctive mark of aristocratic nations is a disregard of the great
mass, and a disproportionate regard for the interests of certain
privileged orders. All the customs and habits of such a nation are,
to a greater or less extent, regulated by this principle. Now the mass
of any nation must always consist of persons who labor at occupations
which demand the light of day. But in aristocratic countries, especially
in England, labor is regarded as the mark of the lower classes, and
indolence is considered as one mark of a gentleman. This impression
has gradually and imperceptibly, to a great extent, regulated their
customs, so that, even in their hours of meals and repose, the higher
orders aim at being different and distinct from those who, by laborious
pursuits, are placed below them. From this circumstance, while the
lower orders labor by day and sleep at night, the rich, the noble, and
the honored sleep by day, and follow their pursuits and pleasures by
night.

It will be found that the aristocracy of London breakfast near midday,
dine after dark, visit and go to Parliament between ten and twelve at
night, and retire to sleep toward morning. In consequence of this, the
subordinate classes who aim at gentility gradually fall into the same
practice. The influence of this custom extends across the ocean, and
here, in this democratic land, we find many who measure their grade
of gentility by the late hour at which they arrive at a party. And
this aristocratic folly is growing upon us, so that, throughout the
nation, the hours for visiting and retiring are constantly becoming
later, while the hours for rising correspond in lateness.

The question, then, is one which appeals to American women, as a matter
of patriotism and as having a bearing on those great principles of
democracy which we conceive to be equally the principles of
Christianity. Shall we form our customs on the assumption that labor
is degrading and indolence genteel? Shall we assume, by our practice,
that the interests of the great mass are to be sacrificed for the
pleasures and honors of a privileged few? Shall we ape the customs of
aristocratic lands, in those very practices which result from principles
and institutions that we condemn? Shall we not rather take the place
to which we are entitled, as the leaders, rather than the followers,
in the customs of society, turn back the tide of aristocratic inroads,
and carry through the whole, not only of civil and political but of
social and domestic life, the true principles of democratic freedom
and equality? The following considerations may serve to strengthen an
affirmative decision.

The first relates to the health of a family. It is a universal law of
physiology, that all living things flourish best in the light.
Vegetables, in a dark cellar, grow pale and spindling. Children brought
up in mines are always wan and stunted, while men become pale and
cadaverous who live under ground. This indicates the folly of losing
the genial influence which the light of day produces on all animated
creation.

Sir James Wylie, of the Russian imperial service, states that in the
soldiers' barracks, three times as many were taken sick on the shaded
side as on the sunny side; though both sides communicated, and
discipline, diet, and treatment were the same. The eminent French
surgeon, Dupuytren, cured a lady whose complicated diseases baffled
for years his own and all other medical skill, by taking her from a
dark room to an abundance of daylight.

Florence Nightingale writes: "Second only to fresh air in importance
for the sick is light. Not only daylight but direct sunlight is
necessary to speedy recovery, except in a small number of cases.
Instances, almost endless, could be given where, in dark wards, or
wards with only northern exposure, or wards with borrowed light, even
when properly ventilated, the sick could not be, by any means, made
speedily to recover."

In the prevalence of cholera, it was invariably the case that deaths
were more numerous in shaded streets or in houses having only northern
exposures than in those having sunlight. Several physicians have stated
to the writer that, in sunny exposures, women after childbirth gained
strength much faster than those excluded from sunlight. In the writer's
experience, great nervous debility has been always immediately lessened
by sitting in the sun, and still more by lying on the earth and in
open air, a blanket beneath, and head and eyes protected, under the
direct rays of the sun.

Some facts in physiology and natural philosophy have a bearing on this
subject. It seems to be settled that the red color of blood is owing
to iron contained in the red blood-cells, while it is established as
a fact that the sun's rays are metallic, having "vapor of iron" as one
element. It is also true that want of light causes a diminution of the
red and an increase of the imperfect white blood-cells, and that this
sometimes results in a disease called _leucoemia_, while all who
live in the dark have pale and waxy skins, and flabby, weak muscles.
Thus it would seem that it is the sun that imparts the iron and color
to the blood. These things being so, the customs of society that bring
sleeping hours into daylight, and working and study hours into the
night, are direct violations of the laws of health. The laws of health
are the laws of God, and "sin is the transgression of law."

To this we must add the great neglect of economy as well as health in
substituting unhealthful gaslight, poisonous, anthracite warmth, for
the life-giving light and warmth of the sun. Millions and millions
would be saved to this nation in fuel and light, as well as in health,
by returning to the good old ways of our forefathers, to rise with the
sun, and retire to rest "when the bell rings for nine o'clock."

The observations of medical men, whose inquiries have been directed
to this point, have decided that from six to eight hours is the amount
of sleep demanded by persons in health. Some constitutions require as
much as eight, and others no more than six hours of repose. But eight
hours is the maximum for all persons in ordinary health, with ordinary
occupations. In cases of extra physical exertions, or the debility of
disease, or a decayed constitution, more than this is required. Let
eight hours, then, be regarded as the ordinary period required for
sleep by an industrious people like the Americans.

It thus appears that the laws of our political condition, the laws ofthe
natural world, and the constitution of our bodies, alike demand
that we rise with the light of day to prosecute our employments, and
that we retire in time for the requisite amount of sleep.

In regard to the effects of protracting the time spent in repose, many
extensive and satisfactory investigations have been made. It has been
shown that, during sleep, the body perspires most freely, while yet
neither food nor exercise are ministering to its wants. Of course, if
we continue our slumbers beyond the time required to restore the body
to its usual vigor, there is an unperceived undermining of the
constitution, by this protracted and debilitating exhalation. This
process, in a course of years, readers the body delicate and less able
to withstand disease, and in the result shortens life. Sir John
Sinclair, who has written a large work on the Causes of Longevity,
states, as one result of his extensive investigations, that he has
never yet heard or read of a single case of great longevity where the
individual was not an early riser. He says that he has found cases in
which the individual has violated some one of all the other laws of
health, and yet lived to great age; but never a single instance in
which any constitution has withstood that undermining consequent on
protracting the hours of repose beyond the demands of the system.

Another reason for early rising is, that it is indispensable to a
systematic and well-regulated family. At whatever hour the parents
retire, children and domestics, wearied by play or labor, must retire
early. Children usually awake with the dawn of light, and commence
their play, while domestics usually prefer the freshness of morning
for their labors. If, then, the parents rise at a late hour, they
either induce a habit of protracting sleep in their children and
domestics, or else the family are up, and at their pursuits, while
their supervisors are in bed.

Any woman who asserts that her children and domestics, in the first
hours of day, when their spirits are freshest, will be as well regulated
without her presence as with it, confesses that which surely is little
for her credit. It is believed that any candid woman, whatever may be
her excuse for late rising, will concede that if she could rise early
it would be for the advantage of her family. A late breakfast puts
back the work, through the whole day, for every member of a family;
and if the parents thus occasion the loss of an hour or two to each
individual who, but for their delay in the morning, would be usefully
employed, they alone are responsible for all this waste of time.

But the practice of early rising has a relation to the general interests
of the social community, as well as to that of each distinct family.
All that great portion of the community who are employed in business
and labor find it needful to rise early; and all their hours of meals,
and their appointments for business or pleasure, must be accommodated
to these arrangements. Now, if a small portion of the community
establish very different hours, it makes a kind of jostling in all the
concerns and interests of society. The various appointments for the
public, such as meetings, schools, and business hours, must be
accommodated to the mass, and not to individuals. The few, then, who
establish domestic habits at variance with the majority, are either
constantly interrupted in their own arrangements, or else are
interfering with the rights and interests of others. This is exemplified
in the case of schools. In families where late rising is practiced,
either hurry, irregularity, and neglect are engendered in the family,
or else the interests of the school, and thus of the community, are
sacrificed. In this, and many other matters, it can be shown that the
well-being of the bulk of the people is, to a greater or less extent,
impaired by this self-indulgent practice. Let any teacher select the
unpunctual scholars--a class who most seriously interfere with the
interests of the school--and let men of business select those who cause
them most waste of time and vexation, by unpunctuality; and it will
be found that they are generally among the late risers, and rarely
among those who rise early. Thus, late rising not only injures the
person and family which indulge in it, but interferes with the rights
and convenience of the community; while early rising imparts
corresponding benefits of health, promptitude, vigor of action, economy
of time, and general effectiveness both to the individuals who practice
it and to the families and community of which they are a part.




CHAPTER XV.

DOMESTIC MANNERS.

Good manners are the expressions of benevolence in personal intercourse,
by which we endeavor to promote the comfort and enjoyment of others,
and to avoid all that gives needless uneasiness. It is the exterior
exhibition of the divine precept, which requires us to do to others
as we would that they should do to us. It is saying, by our deportment,
to all around, that we consider their feelings, tastes, and
conveniences, as equal in value to our own.

Good manners lead us to avoid all practices which offend the taste of
others; all unnecessary violations of the conventional rules of
propriety; all rude and disrespectful language and deportment; and all
remarks which would tend to wound the feelings of others.

There is a serious defect in the manners of the American people,
especially among the descendants of the Puritan settlers of New England,
which can never be efficiently remedied, except in the domestic circle,
and during early life. It is a deficiency in the free expression of
kindly feelings and sympathetic emotions, and a want of courtesy in
deportment. The causes which have led to this result may easily be
traced.

The forefathers of this nation, to a wide extent, were men who were
driven from their native land by laws and customs which they believed
to be opposed both to civil and religious freedom. The sufferings they
were called to endure, the subduing of those gentler feelings which
bind us to country, kindred, and home; and the constant subordination
of the passions to stern principle, induced characters of great firmness
and self-control. They gave up the comforts and refinements of a
civilized country, and came as pilgrims to a hard soil, a cold clime,
and a heathen shore. They were continually forced to encounter danger,
privations, sickness, loneliness, and death; and all these their
religion taught them to meet with calmness, fortitude, and submission.
And thus it became the custom and habit of the whole mass, to repress
rather than to encourage the expression of feeling.

Persons who are called to constant and protracted suffering and
privation are forced to subdue and conceal emotion; for the free
expression of it would double their own suffering, and increase the
sufferings of others. Those, only, who are free from care and anxiety,
and whose minds are mainly occupied by cheerful emotions, are at full
liberty to unveil their feelings.

It was under such stern and rigorous discipline that the first children
in New England were reared; and the manners and habits of parents are
usually, to a great extent, transmitted to children. Thus it comes to
pass, that the descendants of the Puritans, now scattered over every
part of the nation, are predisposed to conceal the gentler emotions,
while their manners are calm, decided, and cold, rather than free and
impulsive. Of course, there are very many exceptions to these
predominating characteristics.

Other causes to which we may attribute a general want of courtesy in
manners are certain incidental results of our domestic institutions.
Our ancestors and their descendants have constantly been combating the
aristocratic principle which would exalt one class of men at the expense
of another. They have had to contend with this principle, not only in
civil but in social life. Almost every American, in his own person as
well as in behalf of his class, has had to assume and defend the main
principle of democracy--that every man's feelings and interests are
equal in value to those of every other man. But, in doing this, there
has been some want of clear discrimination. Because claims based on
distinctions of mere birth, fortune, or position, were found to be
injurious, many have gone to the extreme of inferring that all
distinctions, involving subordinations, are useless. Such would
wrongfully regard children as equals to parents, pupils to teachers,
domestics to their employers, and subjects to magistrates--and that,
too, in all respects.

The fact that certain grades of superiority and subordination are
needful, both for individual and public benefit, has not been clearly
discerned; and there has been a gradual tendency to an extreme of the
opposite view which has sensibly affected our manners. All the
proprieties and courtesies which depend on the recognition of the
relative duties of superior and subordinate have been warred upon; and
thus we see, to an increasing extent, disrespectful treatment of
parents, by children; of teachers, by pupils; of employers, by
domestics; and of the aged, by the young. In all classes and circles,
there is a gradual decay in courtesy of address.

In cases, too, where kindness is rendered, it is often accompanied
with a cold, unsympathizing manner, which greatly lessens its value;
while kindness or politeness is received in a similar style of coolness,
as if it were but the payment of a just due.

It is owing to these causes that the American people, especially the
descendants of the Puritans, do not do themselves justice. For, while
those who are near enough to learn their real character and feelings
can discern the most generous impulses, and the most kindly sympathies,
they are often so veiled behind a composed and indifferent demeanor,
as to be almost entirely concealed from strangers.

These defects in our national manners it especially falls to the care
of mothers, and all who have charge of the young, to rectify; and if
they seriously undertake the matter, and wisely adapt means to ends,
these defects will be remedied. With reference to this object, the
following ideas are suggested.

The law of Christianity and of democracy, which teaches that all men
are born equal in rights, and that their interests and feelings should
be regarded as of equal value, seems to be adopted in aristocratic
circles, with exclusive reference to the class in which the individual
moves. The courtly gentleman addresses all of his own class with
politeness and respect; and in all his actions, seems to allow that
the feelings and convenience of these others are to be regarded the
same as his own. But his demeanor to those of inferior station is not
based on the same rule.

Among those who make up aristocratic circles, such as are above them
are deemed of superior, and such as are below of inferior, value. Thus,
if a young, ignorant, and vicious coxcomb happens to have been born
a lord, the aged, the virtuous, the learned, and the well-bred of
another class must give his convenience the precedence, and must address
him in terms of respect. So sometimes, when a man of "noble birth" is
thrown among the lower classes, he demeans himself in a style which,
to persons of his own class, would be deemed the height of assumption
and rudeness.

Now, the principles of democracy require that the same courtesy which
we accord to our own circle shall be extended to every class and
condition; and that distinctions of superiority and subordination shall
depend, not on accidents of birth, fortune, or occupation, but solely
on those mutual relations which the good of all classes equally require.
The distinctions demanded in a democratic state are simply those which
result from relations that are common to every class, and are for the
benefit of all.

It is for the benefit of every class that children be subordinate to
parents, pupils to teachers, the employed to their employers, and
subjects to magistrates. In addition to this, it is for the general
well-being that the comfort or convenience of the delicate and feeble
should be preferred to that of the strong and healthy, who would suffer
less by any deprivation; that precedence should be given to their
elders by the young; and that reverence should be given to the hoary
head.

The rules of good-breeding, in a democratic state, must be founded on
these principles. It is indeed assumed that the value of the happiness
of each individual is the same as that of every other; but as there
must be occasions where there are advantages which all can not enjoy,
there must be general rules for regulating a selection. Otherwise,
there would be constant scrambling among those of equal claims, and
brute force must be the final resort; in which case, the strongest
would have the best of every thing. The democratic rule, then, is,
that superiors in age, station, or office have precedence of
subordinates; age and feebleness, of youth and strength; and the feebler
sex, of more vigorous man. [Footnote: The universal practice of this
nation, in thus giving precedence to woman has been severely commented
on by foreigners, and by some who would transfer all the business of
the other sex to women, and then have them treated like men. But we
hope this evidence of our superior civilization and Christianity may
increase rather than diminish.]

There is, also, a style of deportment and address which is appropriate
to these different relations. It is suitable for a superior to secure
compliance with his wishes from those subordinate to him by commands;
but a subordinate must secure compliance with his wishes from a superior
by requests. (Although the kind and considerate manner to subordinates
will always be found the most effective as well as the pleasantest,
by those in superior station.) It is suitable for a parent, teacher,
or employer to admonish for neglect of duty; but not for an inferior
to adopt such a course toward a superior. It is suitable for a superior
to take precedence of a subordinate, without any remark; but not for
an inferior, without previously asking leave, or offering an apology.
It is proper for a superior to use language and manners of freedom and
familiarity, which would be improper from a subordinate to a superior.

The want of due regard to these proprieties occasions a great defect
in American manners. It is very common to hear children talk to their
parents in a style proper only between companions and equals; so, also,
the young address their elders; those employed, their employers; and
domestics, the members of the family and their visitors, in a style
which is inappropriate to their relative positions. But courteous
address is required not merely toward superiors; every person desires
to be thus treated, and therefore the law of benevolence demands such
demeanor toward all whom we meet in the social intercourse of life.
"Be ye courteous," is the direction of the apostle in reference to our
treatment of _all_.

Good manners can be successfully cultivated only in early life and in
the domestic circle. There is nothing which depends so much upon
_habit_ as the constantly recurring proprieties of good breeding;
and if a child grows up without forming such habits, it is very rarely
the case that they can be formed at a later period. The feeling that
it is of little consequence how we behave at home if we conduct
ourselves properly abroad, is a very fallacious one. Persons who are
careless and ill-bred at home may imagine that they can assume good
manners abroad; but they mistake. Fixed habits of tone, manner,
language, and movements can not be suddenly altered; and those who are
ill-bred at home, even when they try to hide their bad habits, are
sure to violate many of the obvious rules of propriety, and yet be
unconscious of it.

And there is nothing which would so effectually remove prejudice against
our democratic institutions as the general cultivation of good-breeding
in the domestic circle. Good manners are the exterior of benevolence,
the minute and constant exhibitions of "peace and good-will;" and the
nation, as well as the individual, which most excels in the external
demonstration, as well as the internal principle, will be most respected
and beloved.

It is only the training of the family state according to its true end
and aim that is to secure to woman her true position and rights. When
the family is instituted by marriage, it is man who is the head and
chief magistrate by the force of his physical power and requirement
of the chief responsibility; not less is he so according to the
Christian law, by which, when differences arise, the husband has the
deciding control, and the wife is to obey. "Where love is, there is
no law;" but where love is not, the only dignified and peaceful course
is for the wife, however much his superior, to "submit, as to God and
not to man."

But this power of nature and of religion, given to man as the
controlling head, involves the distinctive duty of the family state,
_self-sacrificing love_. The husband is to "honor" the wife, to
love her as himself, and thus account her wishes and happiness as of
equal value with his own. But more than this, he is to love her "as
Christ loved the Church;" that is, he is to "suffer" for her, if need
be, in order to support and elevate and ennoble her. The father then
is to set the example of self-sacrificing love and devotion; and the
mother, of Christian obedience when it is required. Every boy is to
be trained for his future domestic position by labor and sacrifices
for his mother and sisters. It is the brother who is to do the hardest
and most disagreeable work, to face the storms and perform the most
laborious drudgeries. In the family circle, too, he is to give his
mother and sister precedence in all the conveniences and comforts of
home life.

It is only those nations where the teachings and example of Christ
have had most influence that man has ever assumed his obligations of
self-sacrificing benevolence in the family. And even in Christian
communities, the duty of wives to obey their husbands has been more
strenuously urged than the obligations of the husband to love his wife
"as Christ loved the Church."

Here it is needful to notice that the distinctive duty of obedience
to man does not rest on women who do not enter the relations of married
life. A woman who inherits property, or who earns her own livelihood,
can institute the family state, adopt orphan children and employ
suitable helpers in training them; and then to her will appertain the
authority and rights that belong to man as the head of a family. And
when every woman is trained to some self-supporting business, she will
not be tempted to enter the family state as a subordinate, except by
that love for which there is no need of law.

These general principles being stated, some details in regard to
domestic manners will be enumerated. In the first place, there should
be required in the family a strict attention to the rules of precedence,
and those modes of address appropriate to the various relations to be
sustained. Children should always be required to offer their superiors,
in age or station, the precedence in all comforts and conveniences,
and always address them in a respectful tone and manner. The custom
of adding, "Sir," or "Ma'am," to "Yes," or "No," is valuable, as a
perpetual indication of a respectful recognition of superiority. It
is now going out of fashion, even among the most well bred people;
probably from a want of consideration of its importance. Every remnant
of courtesy of address, in our customs, should be carefully cherished,
by all who feel a value for the proprieties of good breeding.

If parents allow their children to talk to them, and to the grown
persons in the family, in the same style in which they address each
other, it will be in vain to hope for the courtesy of manner and tone
which good breeding demands in the general intercourse of society. In
a large family, where the elder children are grown up, and the younger
are small, it is important to require the latter to treat the elder
in some sense as superiors. There are none so ready as young children
to assume airs of equality; and if they are allowed to treat one class
of superiors in age and character disrespectfully, they will soon use
the privilege universally. This is the reason, why the youngest children
of a family are most apt to be pert, forward, and unmannerly.

Another point to be aimed at is, to require children always to
acknowledge every act of kindness and attention, either by words or
manner. If they are so trained as always to make grateful
acknowledgments, when receiving favors, one of the objectionable
features in American manners will be avoided.

Again, children should be required to ask leave, whenever they wish
to gratify curiosity, or use an article which belongs to another. And
if cases occur, when they can not comply with the rules of
good-breeding, as, for instance, when they must step between a person
and the fire, or take the chair of an older person, they should be
taught either to ask leave, or to offer an apology.

There is another point of good-breeding, which can not, in all cases,
be understood and applied by children in its widest extent. It is that
which requires us to avoid all remarks which tend to embarrass, vex,
mortify, or in any way wound the feelings of another. To notice personal
defects; to allude to others' faults, or the faults of their friends;
to speak disparagingly of the sect or party to which a person belongs;
to be inattentive when addressed in conversation; to contradict flatly;
to speak in contemptuous tones of opinions expressed by another; all
these are violations of the rules of good-breeding, which children
should be taught to regard. Under this head comes the practice of
whispering and staring about, when a teacher, or lecturer, or clergyman
is addressing a class or audience. Such inattention is practically
saying that what the person is uttering is not worth attending to; and
persons of real good-breeding always avoid it. Loud talking and laughing
in a large assembly, even when no exercises are going on; yawning and
gaping in company; and not looking in the face a person who is
addressing you, are deemed marks of ill-breeding.

Another branch of good manners relates to the duties of hospitality.
Politeness requires us to welcome visitors with cordiality; to offer
them the best accommodations; to address conversation to them; and to
express, by tone and manner, kindness and respect. Offering the hand
to all visitors at one's own house is a courteous and hospitable custom;
and a cordial shake of the hand, when friends meet, would abate much
of the coldness of manner ascribed to Americans.

Another point of good breeding refers to the conventional rules of
propriety and good taste. Of these, the first class relates to the
avoidance of all disgusting or offensive personal habits: such as
fingering the hair; obtrusively using a toothpick, or carrying one in
the mouth after the needful use of it; cleaning the nails in presence
of others; picking the nose; spitting on carpets; snuffing instead of
using a handkerchief, or using the article in an offensive manner;
lifting up the boots or shoes, as some men do, to tend them on the
knee, or to finger them: all these tricks, either at home or in society,
children should be taught to avoid.

Another topic, under this head, may be called _table manners_.
To persons of good-breeding, nothing is more annoying than violations
of the conventional proprieties of the table. Reaching over another
person's plate; standing up, to reach distant articles, instead of
asking to have them passed; using one's own knife and spoon for butter,
salt, or sugar, when it is the custom of the family to provide separate
utensils for the purpose; setting cups with the tea dripping from them,
on the table-cloth, instead of the mats or small plates furnished;
using the table-cloth instead of the napkins; eating fast, and in a
noisy manner; putting large pieces in the mouth; looking and eating
as if very hungry, or as if anxious to get at certain dishes; sitting
at too great a distance from the table, and dropping food; laying the
knife and fork on the table-cloth, instead of on the edge of the plate;
picking the teeth at table: all these particulars children should be
taught to avoid.

It is always desirable, too, to train children, when at table with
grown persons, to be silent, except when addressed by others; or else
their chattering will interrupt the conversation and comfort of their
elders. They should always be required, too, to wait in silence, till
all the older persons are helped.

When children are alone with their parents, it is desirable to lead
them to converse and to take this as an opportunity to form proper
conversational habits. But it should be a fixed rule that, when
strangers are present, the children are to listen in silence and only
reply when addressed. Unless this is secured, visitors will often be
condemned to listen to puerile chattering, with small chance of the
proper attention due to guests and superiors in age and station.

Children should be trained, in preparing themselves for the table or
for appearance among the family, not only to put their hair, face, and
hands in neat order, but also their nails, and to habitually attend
to this latter whenever they wash their hands.

There are some very disagreeable tricks which many children practice
even in families counted well-bred. Such, for example, are drumming
with the fingers on some piece of furniture, or humming a tune while
others are talking, or interrupting conversation by pertinacious
questions, or whistling in the house instead of out-doors, or speaking
several at once and in loud voices to gain attention. All these are
violations of good-breeding, which children should be trained to
avoid, lest they should not only annoy as children, but practice the
same kind of ill manners when mature. In all assemblies for public
debate, a chairman or moderator is appointed whose business it is to
see that only one person speaks at a time, that no one interrupts a
person when speaking, that no needless noises are made, and that all
indecorums are avoided. Such an officer is sometimes greatly needed
in family circles.

Children should be encouraged freely to use lungs and limbs out-doors,
or in hours for sport in the house. But at other times, in the domestic
circle, gentle tones and manners should be cultivated. The words
_gentleman_ and _gentlewoman_ came originally from the fact that the
uncultivated and ignorant classes used coarse and loud tones, and rough
words and movements; while only the refined circles habitually used
gentle tones and gentle manners. For the same reason, those born in the
higher circles were called "of gentle blood." Thus it came that a coarse
and loud voice, and rough, ungentle manners, are regarded as vulgar and
plebeian.

All these things should be taught to children, gradually, and with
great patience and gentleness. Some parents, with whom good manners
are a great object, are in danger of making their children perpetually
uncomfortable, by suddenly surrounding them with so many rules that
they must inevitably violate some one or other a great part of the
time. It is much better to begin with a few rules, and be steady and
persevering with these, till a habit is formed, and then take a few
more, thus making the process easy and gradual. Otherwise, the temper
of children will be injured; or, hopeless of fulfilling so many
requisitions, they will become reckless and indifferent to all.

If a few brief, well-considered, and sensible rules of good manners
could be suspended in every school-room, and the children all required
to commit them to memory, it probably would do more to remedy the
defects of American manners and to advance universal good-breeding
than any other mode that could be so easily adopted.

But, in reference to those who have enjoyed advantages for the
cultivation of good manners, and who duly estimate its importance, one
caution is necessary. Those who never have had such habits formed in
youth are under disadvantages which no benevolence of temper can
altogether remedy. They may often violate the tastes and feelings of
others, not from a want of proper regard for them, but from ignorance
of custom, or want of habit, or abstraction of mind, or from other
causes which demand forbearance and sympathy, rather than displeasure.
An ability to bear patiently with defects in manners, and to make
candid and considerate allowance for a want of advantages, or for
peculiarities in mental habits, is one mark of the benevolence of real
good-breeding.

The advocates of monarchical and aristocratic institutions have always
had great plausibility given to their views, by the seeming tendencies
of our institutions to insubordination and bad manners. And it has
been too indiscriminately conceded, by the defenders of the latter,
that such are these tendencies, and that the offensive points in
American manners are the necessary result of democratic principles.

But it is believed that both facts and reasoning are in opposition to
this opinion. The following extract from the work of De Tocqueville,
the great political philosopher of France, exhibits the opinion of an
impartial observer, when comparing American manners with those of the
English, who are confessedly the most aristocratic of all people.

He previously remarks on the tendency of aristocracy to make men more
sympathizing with persons of their own peculiar class, and less so
toward those of lower degree; and he then contrasts American manners
with the English, claiming that the Americans are much the more affable,
mild, and social. "In America, where the privileges of birth never
existed and where riches confer no peculiar rights on their possessors,
men acquainted with each other are very ready to frequent the same
places, and find neither peril nor disadvantage in the free interchange
of their thoughts. If they meet by accident, they neither seek nor
avoid intercourse; their manner is therefore natural, frank, and open."
"If their demeanor is often cold and serious, it is never haughty or
constrained." But an "aristocratic pride is still extremely great among
the English; and as the limits of aristocracy are still ill-defined,
every body lives in constant dread, lest advantage should be taken of
his familiarity. Unable to judge, at once, of the social position of
those he meets, an Englishman prudently avoids all contact with him.
Men are afraid, lest some slight service rendered should draw them
into an unsuitable acquaintance; they dread civilities, and they avoid
the obtrusive gratitude of a stranger, as much as his hatred."

Thus, _facts_ seem to show that when the most aristocratic nation
in the world is compared, as to manners, with the most democratic, the
judgment of strangers is in favor of the latter. And if good manners
are the outward exhibition of the democratic principle of impartial
benevolence and equal rights, surely the nation which adopts this rule,
both in social and civil life, is the most likely to secure the
desirable exterior. The aristocrat, by his principles, extends the
exterior of impartial benevolence to his own class only; the democratic
principle requires it to be extended _to all_.

There is reason, therefore, to hope and expect more refined and polished
manners in America than in any other land; while all the developments
of taste and refinement, such as poetry, music, painting, sculpture,
and architecture, it may be expected, will come to as high a state of
perfection here as in any other nation.

If this country increases in virtue and intelligence, as it may, there
is no end to the wealth which will pour in as the result of our
resources of climate, soil, and navigation, and the skill, industry,
energy, and enterprise of our countrymen. This wealth, if used as
intelligence and virtue dictate, will furnish the means for a superior
education to all classes, and every facility for the refinement of
taste, intellect, and feeling.

Moreover, in this country, labor is ceasing to be the badge of a lower
class; so that already it is disreputable for a man to be "a lazy
gentleman." And this feeling must increase, till there is such an
equalization of labor as will afford all the time needful for every
class to improve the many advantages offered to them. Already through
the munificence of some of our citizens, there are literary and
scientific advantages offered to all classes, rarely enjoyed elsewhere.
In most of our large cities and towns, the advantages of education,
now offered to the poorest classes, often without charge, surpass what,
some years ago, most wealthy men could purchase for any price. And it
is believed that a time will come when the poorest boy in America can
secure advantages, which will equal what the heir of the proudest
peerage can now command.

The records of the courts of France and Germany, (as detailed by the
Duchess of Orleans,) in and succeeding the brilliant reign of Louis
the Fourteenth--a period which was deemed the acme of elegance and
refinement--exhibit a grossness, a vulgarity, and a coarseness, not
to be found among the very lowest of our respectable poor. And the
biography of the English Beau Nash, who attempted to reform the manners
of the gentry, in the times of Queen Anne, exhibits violations of the
rules of decency among the aristocracy, which the commonest yeoman of
this land would feel disgraced in perpetrating.

This shows that our lowest classes, at this period, are more refined
than were the highest in aristocratic lands, a hundred years ago; and
another century may show the lowest classes, in wealth, in this country,
attaining as high a polish as adorns those who now are leaders of good
manners in the courts of kings.




CHAPTER XVI.

THE PRESERVATION OF GOOD TEMPER IN THE HOUSEKEEPER.

There is nothing which has a more abiding influence on the happiness
of a family than the preservation of equable and cheerful temper and
tones in the housekeeper. A woman who is habitually gentle,
sympathizing, forbearing, and cheerful, carries an atmosphere about
her which imparts a soothing and sustaining influence, and renders it
easier for all to do right, under her administration, than in any other
situation.

The writer has known families where the mother's presence seemed the
sunshine of the circle around her; imparting a cheering and vivifying
power, scarcely realized till it was withdrawn. Every one, without
thinking of it, or knowing why it was so, experienced a peaceful and
invigorating influence as soon as he entered the sphere illumined by
her smile, and sustained by her cheering kindness and sympathy. On the
contrary, many a good housekeeper, (good in every respect but this,)
by wearing a countenance of anxiety and dissatisfaction, and by
indulging in the frequent use of sharp and reprehensive tones, more
than destroys all the comfort which otherwise would result from her
system, neatness, and economy.

There is a secret, social sympathy which every mind, to a greater or
less degree, experiences with the feelings of those around, as they
are manifested by the countenance and voice. A sorrowful, a
discontented, or an angry countenance produces a silent, sympathetic
influence, imparting a sombre shade to the mind, while tones of anger
or complaint still more effectually jar the spirits.

No person can maintain a quiet and cheerful frame of mind while tones
of discontent and displeasure are sounding on the ear. We may gradually
accustom ourselves to the evil till it is partially diminished; but
it always is an evil which greatly interferes with the enjoyment of
the family state. There are sometimes cases where the entrance of the
mistress of a family seems to awaken a slight apprehension in every
mind around, as if each felt in danger of a reproof, for something
either perpetrated or neglected. A woman who should go around her house
with a small stinging snapper, which she habitually applied to those
whom she met, would be encountered with feelings very much like those
which are experienced by the inmates of a family where the mistress
often uses her countenance and voice to inflict similar penalties for
duties neglected.

Yet there are many allowances to be made for housekeepers, who sometimes
imperceptibly and unconsciously fall into such habits. A woman who
attempts to carry out any plans of system, order, and economy, and who
has her feelings and habits conformed to certain rules, is constantly
liable to have her plans crossed, and her taste violated, by the
inexperience or inattention of those about her. And no housekeeper,
whatever may be her habits, can escape the frequent recurrence of
negligence or mistake, which interferes with her plans.

It is probable that there is no class of persons in the world who have
such incessant trials of temper, and temptations to be fretful, as
American housekeepers. For a housekeeper's business is not, like that
of the other sex, limited to a particular department, for which previous
preparation is made. It consists of ten thousand little disconnected
items, which can never be so systematically arranged that there is no
daily jostling somewhere. And in the best-regulated families, it is
not unfrequently the case that some act of forgetfulness or
carelessness, from some member, will disarrange the business of the
whole day, so that every hour will bring renewed occasion for annoyance.
And the more strongly a woman realizes the value of time, and the
importance of system and order, the more will she be tempted to
irritability and complaint.

The following considerations may aid in preparing a woman to meet such
daily crosses with even a cheerful temper and tones.

In the first place, a woman who has charge of a large household should
regard her duties as dignified, important, and difficult. The mind is
so made as to be elevated and cheered by a sense of far-reaching
influence and usefulness. A woman who feels that she is a cipher, and
that it makes little difference how she performs her duties, has far
less to sustain and invigorate her, than one who truly estimates the
importance of her station. A man who feels that the destinies of a
nation are turning on the judgment and skill with which he plans and
executes, has a pressure of motive and an elevation of feeling which
are great safeguards against all that is low, trivial, and degrading.

So, an American mother and housekeeper who rightly estimates the long
train of influence which will pass down to thousands, whose destinies,
from generation to generation, will be modified by those decisions of
her will which regulate the temper, principles, and habits of her
family, must be elevated above petty temptations which would otherwise
assail her.

Again, a housekeeper should feel that she really has great difficulties
to meet and overcome. A person who wrongly thinks there is little
danger, can never maintain so faithful a guard as one who rightly
estimates the temptations which beset her. Nor can one who thinks that
they are trifling difficulties which she has to encounter, and trivial
temptations to which she must yield, so much enjoy the just reward of
conscious virtue and self-control as one who takes an opposite view
of the subject.

A third method is, for a woman deliberately to calculate on having her
best-arranged plans interfered with very often; and to be in such a
state of preparation that the evil will not come unawares. So
complicated are the pursuits and so diverse the habits of the various
members of a family, that it is almost impossible for every one to
avoid interfering with the plans and taste of a housekeeper, in some
one point or another. It is, therefore, most wise for a woman to keep
the loins of her mind ever girt, to meet such collisions with a cheerful
and quiet spirit.

Another important rule is, to form all plans and arrangements in
consistency with the means at command, and the character of those
around. A woman who has a heedless husband, and young children, and
incompetent domestics, ought not to make such plans as one may properly
form who will not, in so many directions, meet embarrassment. She must
aim at just as much as she can probably attain, and no more; and thus
she will usually escape much temptation, and much of the irritation
of disappointment.

The fifth, and a very important consideration, is, that system, economy,
and neatness are valuable, only so far as they tend to promote the
comfort and well-being of those affected. Some women seem to act
under the impression that these advantages _must_ be secured, at all
events, even if the comfort of the family be the sacrifice. True, it
is very important that children grow up in habits of system, neatness,
and order; and it is very desirable that the mother give them every
incentive, both by precept and example; but it is still more important
that they grow up with amiable tempers, that they learn to meet the
crosses of life with patience and cheerfulness; and nothing has a
greater influence to secure this than a mother's example. Whenever,
therefore, a woman can not accomplish her plans of neatness and order
without injury to her own temper or to the temper of others, she ought
to modify and reduce them until she can.

The sixth method relates to the government of the tones of voice. In
many cases, when a woman's domestic arrangements are suddenly and
seriously crossed, it is impossible not to feel some irritation. But
it _is_ always possible to refrain from angry tones. A woman can
resolve that, whatever happens, she will not speak till she can do it
in a calm and gentle manner. _Perfect silence_ is a safe resort,
when such control can not be attained as enables a person to speak
calmly; and this determination, persevered in, will eventually be
crowned with success.

Many persons seem to imagine that tones of anger are needful, in order
to secure prompt obedience. But observation has convinced the writer
that they are _never_ necessary; that _in all cases_, reproof,
administered in calm tones, would be better. A case will be given in
illustration.

A young girl had been repeatedly charged to avoid a certain arrangement
in cooking. On one day, when company was invited to dine, the direction
was forgotten, and the consequence was an accident, which disarranged
every thing, seriously injured the principal dish, and delayed dinner
for an hour. The mistress of the family entered the kitchen just as
it occurred, and at a glance, saw the extent of the mischief. For a
moment, her eyes flashed, and her cheeks glowed; but she held her
peace. After a minute or so, she gave directions in a calm voice, as
to the best mode of retrieving the evil, and then left, without a word
said to the offender.

After the company left, she sent for the girl, alone, and in a calm
and kind manner pointed out the aggravations of the case, and described
the trouble which had been caused to her husband, her visitors, and
herself. She then portrayed the future evils which would result from
such habits of neglect and inattention, and the modes of attempting
to overcome them; and then offered a reward for the future, if, in a
given time, she succeeded in improving in this respect. Not a tone of
anger was uttered; and yet the severest scolding of a practiced Xantippe
could not have secured such contrition, and determination to reform,
as were gained by this method.

But similar negligence is often visited by a continuous stream of
complaint and reproof, which, in most cases, is met either by sullen
silence or impertinent retort, while anger prevents any contrition or
any resolution of future amendment.

It is very certain, that some ladies do carry forward a most efficient
government, both of children and domestics, without employing tones
of anger; and therefore they are not indispensable, nor on any account
desirable.

Though some ladies of intelligence and refinement do fall unconsciously
into such a practice, it is certainly very unlady-like, and in very
bad taste, to _scold_; and the further a woman departs from all
approach to it, the more perfectly she sustains her character as a
lady.

Another method of securing equanimity, amid the trials of domestic
life is, to cultivate a habit of making allowances for the difficulties,
ignorance, or temptations of those who violate rule or neglect duty.
It is vain, and most unreasonable, to expect the consideration and
care of a mature mind in childhood and youth; or that persons of such
limited advantages as most domestics have enjoyed should practice
proper self-control and possess proper habits and principles.

Every parent and every employer needs daily to cultivate the spirit
expressed in the divine prayer, "Forgive us our trespasses, as we
forgive those who trespass against us." The same allowances and
forbearance which we supplicate from our Heavenly Father, and desire
from our fellow-men in reference to our own deficiencies, we should
constantly aim to extend to all who cross our feelings and interfere
with our plans.

The last and most important mode of securing a placid and cheerful
temper and tones is, by a constant belief in the influence of a
superintending Providence. All persons are too much in the habit of
regarding the more important events of life exclusively as under the
control of Perfect Wisdom. But the fall of a sparrow, or the loss of
a hair, they do not feel to be equally the result of his directing
agency. In consequence of this, Christian persons who aim at perfect
and cheerful submission to heavy afflictions, and who succeed to the
edification of all about them, are sometimes sadly deficient under
petty crosses. If a beloved child be laid in the grave, even if its
death resulted from the carelessness of a domestic or of a physician,
the eye is turned from the subordinate agent to the Supreme Guardian
of all; and to him they bow, without murmur or complaint. But if a
pudding be burnt, or a room badly swept, or an errand forgotten, then
vexation and complaint are allowed, just as if these events were not
appointed by Perfect Wisdom as much as the sorer chastisement.

A woman, therefore, needs to cultivate the _habitual_ feeling
that all the events of her nursery and kitchen are brought about by
the permission of our Heavenly Father, and that fretfulness or complaint
in regard to these is, in fact, complaining at the appointments of
God, and is really as sinful as unsubmissive murmurs amid the sorer
chastisements of his hand. And a woman who cultivates this habit of
referring all the minor trials of life to the wise and benevolent
agency of a heavenly Parent, and daily seeks his sympathy and aid to
enable her to meet them with a quiet and cheerful spirit, will soon
find it the perennial spring of abiding peace and content.

The power of religion to impart dignity and importance to the ordinary
and seemingly petty details of domestic life, greatly depends upon the
degree of faith in the reality of a life to come, and of its eternal
results. A woman who is training a family simply with reference to
this life may find exalted motives as she looks forward to unborn
generations whose temporal prosperity and happiness are depending upon
her fidelity and skill. But one who truly and firmly believes that
this life is but the beginning of an eternal career to every immortal
inmate of her home, and that the formation of tastes, habits, and
character, under her care, will bring forth fruits of good or ill, not
only through earthly generations, but through everlasting ages; such
a woman secures a calm and exalted principle of action, which no earthly
motives can impart.




CHAPTER XVII.

HABITS OF SYSTEM AND ORDER.

Any discussion of the equality of the sexes, as to intellectual
capacity, seems frivolous and useless, both because it can never be
decided, and because there would be no possible advantage in the
decision. But one topic, which is often drawn into this discussion,
is of far more consequence; and that is, the relative importance and
difficulty of the duties a woman is called to perform.

It is generally assumed, and almost as generally conceded, that a
housekeeper's business and cares are contracted and trivial; and that
the proper discharge of her duties demands far less expansion of mind
and vigor of intellect than the pursuits of the other sex. This idea
has prevailed because women, as a mass, have never been educated with
reference to their most important duties; while that portion of their
employments which is of least value has been regarded as the chief,
if not the sole, concern of a woman. The covering of the body, the
convenience of residences, and the gratification of the appetite, have
been too much regarded as the chief objects on which her intellectual
powers are to be exercised.

But as society gradually shakes off the remnants of barbarism and the
intellectual and moral interests of man rise, in estimation, above the
merely sensual, a truer estimate is formed of woman's duties, and of
the measure of intellect requisite for the proper discharge of them.
Let any man of sense and discernment become the member of a large
household, in which a well-educated and pious woman is endeavoring
systematically to discharge her multiform duties; let him fully
comprehend all her cares, difficulties, and perplexities; and it is
probable he would coincide in the opinion that no statesman, at the
head of a nation's affairs, had more frequent calls for wisdom,
firmness, tact, discrimination, prudence, and versatility of talent,
than such a woman.

She has a husband, to whose peculiar tastes and habits she must
accommodate herself; she has children whose health she must guard,
whose physical constitutions she must study and develop, whose temper
and habits she must regulate, whose principles she must form, whose
pursuits she must guide. She has constantly changing domestics, with
all varieties of temper and habits, whom she must govern, instruct,
and direct; she is required to regulate the finances of the domestic
state, and constantly to adapt expenditures to the means and to the
relative claims of each department. She has the direction of the
kitchen, where ignorance, forgetfulness, and awkwardness are to be so
regulated that the various operations shall each start at the right
time, and all be in completeness at the same given hour. She has the
claims of society to meet, visits to receive and return, and the duties
of hospitality to sustain. She has the poor to relieve; benevolent
societies to aid; the schools of her children to inquire and decide
about; the care of the sick and the aged; the nursing of infancy; and
the endless miscellany of odd items, constantly recurring in a large
family.

Surely, it is a pernicious and mistaken idea, that the duties which
tax a woman's mind are petty, trivial, or unworthy of the highest grade
of intellect and moral worth. Instead of allowing this feeling, every
woman should imbibe, from early youth, the impression that she is in
training for the discharge of the most important, the most difficult,
and the most sacred and interesting duties that can possibly employ
the highest intellect. She ought to feel that her station and
responsibilities in the great drama of life are second to none, either
as viewed by her Maker, or in the estimation of all minds whose judgment
is most worthy of respect.

She who is the mother and housekeeper in a large family is the sovereign
of an empire, demanding more varied cares, and involving more difficult
duties, than are really exacted of her who wears a crown and professedly
regulates the interests of the greatest nation on earth.

There is no one thing more necessary to a housekeeper in performing
her varied duties, than _a habit of system and order_; and yet,
the peculiarly desultory nature of women's pursuits, and the
embarrassments resulting from the state of domestic service in this
country, render it very difficult to form such a habit. But it is
sometimes the case that women who could and would carry forward a
systematic plan of domestic economy do not attempt it, simply from a
want of knowledge of the various modes of introducing it. It is with
reference to such, that various modes of securing system and order,
which the writer has seen adopted, will be pointed out.

A wise economy is nowhere more conspicuous, than in a systematic
_apportionment of time_ to different pursuits. There are duties
of a religious, intellectual, social, and domestic nature, each having
different relative claims on attention. Unless a person has some general
plan of apportioning these claims, some will intrench on others, and
some, it is probable, will be entirely excluded. Thus, some find
religious, social, and domestic duties so numerous, that no time is
given to intellectual improvement. Others find either social, or
benevolent, or religious interests excluded by the extent and variety
of other engagements.

It is wise, therefore, for all persons to devise a systematic plan,
which they will at least keep in view, and aim to accomplish; and by
which a proper proportion of time shall be secured for all the duties
of life.

In forming such a plan, every woman must accommodate herself to the
peculiarities of her situation. If she has a large family and a small
income, she must devote far more time to the simple duty of providing
food and raiment than would be right were she in affluence, and with
a small family. It is impossible, therefore, to draw out any general
plan, which all can adopt. But there are some _general principles,_
which ought to be the guiding rules, when a woman arranges her domestic
employments. These principles are to be based on Christianity, which
teaches us to "seek first the kingdom of God," and to deem food,
raiment, and the conveniences of life, as of secondary account. Every
woman, then, ought to start with the assumption, that the moral and
religious interests of her family are of more consequence than any
worldly concern, and that, whatever else may be sacrificed, these shall
be the leading object, in all her arrangements, in respect to time,
money, and attention.

It is also one of the plainest requisitions of Christianity, that we
devote some of our time and efforts to the comfort and improvement of
others. There is no duty so constantly enforced, both in the Old and
New Testament, as that of charity, in dispensing to those who are
destitute of the blessings we enjoy. In selecting objects of charity,
the same rule applies to others as to ourselves; their moral and
religions interests are of the highest moment, and for them, as well
as for ourselves, we are to "seek first the kingdom of God."

Another general principle is, that our intellectual and social interests
are to be preferred to the mere gratification of taste or appetite.
A portion of time, therefore, must be devoted to the cultivation of
the intellect and the social affections.

Another is, that the mere gratification of appetite is to be placed
last in our estimate; so that, when a question arises as to which shall
be sacrificed, some intellectual, moral, or social advantage, or some
gratification of sense, we should invariably sacrifice the last.

As health is indispensable to the discharge of every duty, nothing
which sacrifices that blessing is to be allowed in order to gain any
other advantage or enjoyment. There are emergencies, when it is right
to risk health and life, to save ourselves and others from greater
evils; but these are exceptions, which do not militate against the
general rule. Many persons imagine that, if they violate the laws of
health, in order to attend to religious or domestic duties, they are
guiltless before God. But such greatly mistake. We directly violate
the law, "Thou shalt not kill," when we do what tends to risk or shorten
our own life. The life and happiness of all his creatures are dear to
our Creator; and he is as much displeased when we injure our own
interests, as when we injure those of others. The idea, therefore,
that we are excusable if we harm no one but ourselves, is false and
pernicious. These, then, are some general principles, to guide a woman
in systematizing her duties and pursuits.

The Creator of all things is a Being of perfect system and order; and,
to aid us in our duty in this respect, he has divided our time, by a
regularly returning day of rest from worldly business. In following
this example, the intervening six days maybe subdivided to secure
similar benefits. In doing this, a certain portion of time must be
given to procure the means of livelihood, and for preparing food,
raiment, and dwellings. To these objects, some must devote more, and
others less, attention. The remainder of time not necessarily thus
employed, might be divided somewhat in this manner: The leisure of two
afternoons and evenings could be devoted to religious and benevolent
objects, such as religious meetings, charitable associations, school
visiting, and attention to the sick and poor. The leisure of two other
days might be devoted to intellectual improvement, and the pursuits
of taste. The leisure of another day might be devoted to social
enjoyments, in making or receiving visits; and that of another, to
miscellaneous domestic pursuits, not included in the other particulars.

It is probable that few persons could carry out such an arrangement
very strictly; but every one can make a systematic apportionment of
time, and at least _aim_ at accomplishing it; and they can also
compare with such a general outline, the time which they actually
devote to these different objects, for the purpose of modifying any
mistaken proportions.

Without attempting any such systematic employment of time, and carrying
it out, so far as they can control circumstances, most women are rather
driven along by the daily occurrences of life; so that, instead of
being the intelligent regulators of their own time, they are the mere
sport of circumstances. There is nothing which so distinctly marks the
difference between weak and strong minds as the question, whether they
control circumstances or circumstances control them.

It is very much to be feared, that the apportionment of time actually
made by most women exactly inverts the order required by reason and
Christianity. Thus, the furnishing a needless variety of food, the
conveniences of dwellings, and the adornments of dress, often take a
larger portion of time than is given to any other object. Next after
this, comes intellectual improvement; and, last of all, benevolence
and religion.

It may be urged, that it is indispensable for most persons to give
more time to earn a livelihood, and to prepare food, raiment, and
dwellings, than, to any other object. But it may be asked, how much
of the time, devoted to these objects, is employed in preparing
varieties of food not necessary, but rather injurious, and how much
is spent for those parts of dress and furniture not indispensable, and
merely ornamental? Let a woman subtract from her domestic employments
all the time given to pursuits which are of no use, except as they
gratify a taste for ornament, or minister increased varieties to tempt
the appetite, and she will find that much which she calls "domestic
duty," and which prevents her attention to intellectual, benevolent,
and religious objects, should be called by a very different name.

No woman has a right to give up attention to the higher interests of
herself and others, for the ornaments of person or the gratification
of the palate. To a certain extent, these lower objects are lawful and
desirable; but when they intrude on nobler interests, they become
selfish and degrading. Every woman, then, when employing her hands in
ornamenting her person, her children, or her house, ought to calculate
whether she has devoted as _much_ time to the really more important
wants of herself and others. If she has not, she may know that she is
doing wrong, and that her system for apportioning her time and pursuits
should be altered.

Some persons endeavor to systematize their pursuits by apportioning
them to particular hours of each day. For example, a certain period
before breakfast, is given to devotional duties; after breakfast,
certain hours are devoted to exercise and domestic employments; other
hours, to sewing, or reading, or visiting; and others, to benevolent
duties. But in most cases, it is more difficult to systematize the
hours of each day, than it is to secure some regular division of the
week.

In regard to the minutia of family work, the writer has known the
following methods to be adopted. Monday, with some of the best
housekeepers, is devoted to preparing for the labors of the week. Any
extra cooking, the purchasing of articles to be used during the week,
the assorting of clothes for the wash, and mending such as would
otherwise be injured--these, and similar items, belong to this day.
Tuesday is devoted to washing, and Wednesday to ironing. On Thursday,
the ironing is finished off, the clothes are folded and put away, and
all articles which need mending are put in the mending-basket, and
attended to. Friday is devoted to sweeping and house-cleaning. On
Saturday, and especially the last Saturday of every month, every
department is put in order; the casters and table furniture are
regulated, the pantry and cellar inspected, the trunks, drawers, and
closets arranged, and every thing about the house put in order for
Sunday. By this regular recurrence of a particular time for inspecting
every thing, nothing is forgotten till ruined by neglect.
Another mode of systematizing relates to providing proper supplies of
conveniences, and proper places in which to keep them. Thus, some
ladies keep a large closet, in which are placed the tubs, pails,
dippers, soap-dishes, starch, blueing, clothes-lines, clothes-pins,
and every other article used in washing; and in the same, or another
place, is kept every convenience for ironing. In the sewing department,
a trunk, with suitable partitions, is provided, in which are placed,
each in its proper place, white thread of all sizes, colored thread,
yarns for mending, colored and black sewing-silks and twist, tapes and
bobbins of all sizes, white and colored welting-cords, silk braids and
cords, needles of all sizes, papers of pins, remnants of linen and
colored cambric, a supply of all kinds of buttons used in the family,
black and white hooks and eyes, a yard measure, and all the patterns
used in cutting and fitting. These are done up in separate parcels,
and labeled. In another trunk, or in a piece-bag, such as has been
previously described, are kept all pieces used in mending, arranged
in order. A trunk, like the first mentioned, will save many steps, and
often much time and perplexity; while by purchasing articles thus by
the quantity, they come much cheaper than if bought in little portions
as they are wanted. Such a trunk should be kept locked, and a smaller
supply for current use retained in a work-basket.

A full supply of all conveniences in the kitchen and cellar, and a
place appointed for each article, very much facilitate domestic labor.
For want of this, much vexation and loss of time is occasioned while
seeking vessels in use, or in cleansing those employed by different
persons for various purposes. It would be far better for a lady to
give up some expensive article in the parlor, and apply the money thus
saved for kitchen conveniences, than to have a stinted supply where
the most labor is to be performed, If our countrywomen would devote
more to comfort and convenience, and less to show, it would be a great
improvement. Expensive mirrors and pier-tables in the parlor, and an
unpainted, gloomy, ill-furnished kitchen, not unfrequently are found
under the same roof.

Another important item in systematic economy is, the apportioning of
_regular_ employment to the various members of a family. If a
housekeeper can secure the cooperation of _all_ her family, she will
find that "many hands make light work." There is no greater mistake
than in bringing up children to feel that they must be taken care of,
and waited on by others, without any corresponding obligations on their
part. The extent to which young children can be made useful in a family
would seem surprising to those who have never seen a _systematic_ and
_regular_ plan for utilizing their services. The writer has been in a
family where a little girl, of eight or nine years of age, washed and
dressed herself and young brother, and made their small beds, before
breakfast; set and cleared all the tables for meals, with a little help
from a grown person in moving tables and spreading cloths; while all the
dusting of parlors and chambers was also neatly performed by her. A
brother of ten years old brought in and piled all the wood used in the
kitchen and parlor, brushed the boots and shoes, went on errands, and
took all the care of the poultry. They were children whose parents could
afford to hire servants to do this, but who chose to have their children
grow up healthy and industrious, while proper instruction, system, and
encouragement made these services rather a pleasure than otherwise, to
the children.

Some parents pay their children for such services; but this is
hazardous, as tending to make them feel that they are not bound to be
helpful without pay, and also as tending to produce a hoarding,
money-making spirit. But where children have no hoarding propensities,
and need to acquire a sense of the value of property, it may be well
to let them earn money for some extra services rather as a favor. When
this is done, they should be taught to spend it for others, as well
as for themselves; and in this way, a generous and liberal spirit will
be cultivated.

There are some mothers who take pains to teach their boys most of
the domestic arts which their sisters learn. The writer has seen boys
mending their own garments and aiding their mother or sisters in the
kitchen, with great skill and adroitness; and, at an early age, they
usually very much relish joining in such occupations. The sons of such
mothers, in their college life, or in roaming about the world, or in
nursing a sick wife or infant, find occasion to bless the forethought
and kindness which prepared them for such emergencies. Few things are
in worse taste than for a man needlessly to busy himself in women's
work; and yet a man never appears in a more interesting attitude than
when, by skill in such matters, he can save a mother or wife from care
and suffering. The more a boy is taught to use his hands, in every
variety of domestic employment, the more his faculties, both of mind
and body, are developed; for mechanical pursuits exercise the intellect
as well as the hands. The early training of New-England boys, in which
they turn their hand to almost every thing, is one great reason of the
quick perceptions, versatility of mind, and mechanical skill, for which
that portion of our countrymen is distinguished.

It is equally important that young girls should be taught to do some
species of handicraft that generally is done by men, and especially
with reference to the frequent emigration to new territories where
well-trained mechanics are scarce. To hang wall-paper, repair locks,
glaze windows, and mend various household articles, requires a skill
in the use of tools which every young girl should acquire. If she never
has any occasion to apply this knowledge and skill by her own hands,
she will often find it needful in directing and superintending
incompetent workmen.

The writer has known one mode of systematizing the aid of the older
children in a family, which, in some cases of very large families, it
may be well to imitate. In the case referred to, when the oldest
daughter was eight or nine years old, an infant sister was given to
her, as her special charge. She tended it, made and mended its clothes,
taught it to read, and was its nurse and guardian, through all its
childhood. Another infant was given to the next daughter, and thus the
children were all paired in this interesting relation. In addition to
the relief thus afforded to the mother, the elder children, were in
this way qualified for their future domestic relations, and both older
and younger bound to each other by peculiar ties of tenderness and
gratitude.

In offering these examples of various modes of systematizing, one
suggestion may be worthy of attention. It is not unfrequently the case,
that ladies, who find themselves cumbered with oppressive cares, after
reading remarks on the benefits of system, immediately commence the
task of arranging their pursuits, with great vigor and hope. They
divide the day into regular periods, and give each hour its duty; they
systematize their work, and endeavor to bring every thing into a regular
routine. But, in a short time, they find themselves baffled,
discouraged, and disheartened, and finally relapse into their former
desultory ways, in a sort of resigned despair.

The difficulty, in such cases, is, that they attempt too much at a
time. There is nothing which so much depends upon _habit,_ as a
systematic mode of performing duty; and where no such habit has been
formed, it is impossible for a novice to start, at once, into a
universal mode of systematizing, which none but an adept could carry
through. The only way for such persons is to begin with a little at
a time. Let them select some three or four things, and resolutely
attempt to conquer at these points. In time, a habit will be formed,
of doing a few things at regular periods, and in a systematic way.
Then it will be easy to add a few more; and thus, by a gradual process,
the object can be secured, which it would be vain to attempt by a more
summary course.

Early rising is almost an indispensable condition to success, in such
an effort; but where a woman lacks either the health or the energy to
secure a period for devotional duties before breakfast, let her select
that hour of the day in which she will be least liable to interruption,
and let her then seek strength and wisdom from the only true Source.
At this time, let her take a pen, and make a list of all the things
which she considers as duties. Then, let a calculation be made, whether
there be time enough, in the day or the week, for all these duties.
If there be not, let the least important be stricken from the list,
as not being duties, and therefore to be omitted. In doing this, let
a woman remember that, though "what we shall eat, and what we shall
think, and wherewithal we shall be clothed," are matters requiring due
attention, they are very apt to obtain a wrong relative importance,
while intellectual, social, and moral interests receive too little
regard.

In this country, eating, dressing, and household furniture and
ornaments, take far too large a place in the estimate of relative
importance; and it is probable that most women could modify their views
and practice, so as to come nearer to the Saviour's requirements. No
woman has a right to put a stitch of ornament on any article of dress
or furniture, or to provide one superfluity in food, until she is sure
she can secure time for all her social, intellectual benevolent, and
religions duties. If a woman will take the trouble to make such a
calculation as this, she will usually find that she has time enough
to perform all her duties easily and well.

It is impossible for a conscientious woman to secure that peaceful
mind and cheerful enjoyment of life which all should seek, who is
constantly finding her duties jarring with each other, and much
remaining undone, which she feels that she ought to do. In consequence
of this, there will be a secret uneasiness, which will throw a shade
over the whole current of life, never to be removed, till she so
efficiently defines and regulates her duties that she can fulfill them
all.

And here the writer would urge upon young ladies the importance of
forming habits of system, while unembarrassed with those multiplied
cares which will make the task so much, more difficult and hopeless.
Every young lady can systematize her pursuits, to a certain extent.
She can have a particular day for mending her wardrobe, and for
arranging her trunks, closets, and drawers. She can keep her
work-basket, her desk at school, and all her other conveniences, in
their proper places, and in regular order. She can have regular periods
for reading, walking, visiting, study, and domestic pursuits. And by
following this method in youth, she will form a taste for regularity
and a habit of system, which will prove a blessing to her through life.



XVIII.

GIVING IN CHARITY.


It is probable that there is no point of duty whereon conscientious
persons differ more in opinion, or where they find it more difficult
to form discriminating and decided views, than on the matter of charity.
That we are bound to give some of our time, money, and efforts, to
relieve the destitute, all allow. But, as to how much we are to give,
and on whom our charities shall be bestowed, many a reflecting mind
has been at a loss. Yet it seems very desirable that, in reference to
a duty so constantly and so strenuously urged by the Supreme Ruler,
we should be able so to fix metes and bounds, as to keep a conscience
void of offense, and to free the mind from disquieting fears of
deficiency.

The writer has found no other topic of investigation so beset with
difficulty, and so absolutely without the range of definite rules which
can apply to all, in all circumstances. But on this, as on previous
topics, there seem to be _general principles_, by the aid of which
any candid mind, sincerely desirous of obeying the commands of Christ,
however much self-denial may be involved, can arrive at definite
conclusions as to its own individual obligations; so that when these
are fulfilled, the mind may be at peace.

But for a mind that is worldly, living mainly to seek its own pleasures
instead of living to please God, no principles can be so fixed as not
to leave a ready escape from all obligation. Such minds, either by
indolence (and consequent ignorance) or by sophistry, will convince
themselves that a life of engrossing self-indulgence, with perhaps the
gift of a few dollars and a few hours of time, may suffice to fulfill
the requisitions of the Eternal Judge.

For such minds, no reasonings will avail, till the heart is so changed
that to learn the will and follow the example of Jesus Christ become
the leading objects of interest and effort. It is to aid those who
profess to possess this temper of mind that the following suggestions
are offered.

The first consideration which gives definiteness to this subject is
a correct view of the object for which we are placed in this world.
A great many, even of professed Christians, seem to be acting on the
supposition that the object of life is to secure as ranch as possible
of all the various enjoyments placed within reach. Not so teaches
reason or revelation. From these we learn that, though the happiness
of his creatures is the end for which God created and sustains them,
yet this happiness depends not on the various modes of gratification
put within our reach, but mainly on _character_. A man may possess
all the resources for enjoyment which this world can afford, and yet
feel that "all is vanity and vexation of spirit," and that he is
supremely wretched. Another may be in want of all things, and yet
possess that living spring of benevolence, faith, and hope, which will
make an Eden of the darkest prison.

In order to be perfectly happy, man must attain that character which
Christ exhibited; and the nearer he approaches it, the more will
happiness reign in his breast.

But what was the grand peculiarity of the character of Christ? It was
_self-denying benevolence_. He came not to "seek his own;" He
"went about doing good," and this was his "meat and drink;" that is,
it was this which sustained the health and life of his mind, as food
and drink sustain the health and life of the body. Now, the mind of
man is so made that it can gradually be transformed into the same
likeness. A selfish being, who, for a whole life, has been nourishing
habits of indolent self-indulgence, can, by taking Christ as his
example, by communion with him, and by daily striving to imitate his
character and conduct, form such a temper of mind that "doing good"
will become the chief and highest source of enjoyment. And this heavenly
principle will grow stronger and stronger, until self-denial loses the
more painful part of its character; and then, _living to make
happiness_ will be so delightful and absorbing a pursuit, that all
exertions, regarded as the means to this end, will be like the joyous
efforts of men when they strive for a prize or a crown, with the full
hope of success.

In this view of the subject, efforts and self-denial for the good of
others are to be regarded not merely as duties enjoined for the benefit
of others, but as the moral training indispensable to the formation
of that character on which depends our own happiness. This view exhibits
the full meaning of the Saviour's declaration, "How hardly shall they
that have riches enter into the kingdom of God!" He had before taught
that the kingdom of heaven consisted not in such enjoyments as the
worldly seek, but in the temper of self-denying benevolence, like his
own; and as the rich have far greater temptations to indolent
self-indulgence, they are far less likely to acquire this temper than
those who, by limited means, are inured to some degree of self-denial.

But on this point, one important distinction needs to be made; and
that is, between the self-denial which has no other aim than mere
self-mortification, and that which is exercised to secure greater good
to ourselves and others. The first is the foundation of monasticism,
penances, and all other forms of asceticism; the latter, only, is that
which Christianity requires.

A second consideration, which may give definiteness to this subject,
is, that the formation of a perfect character involves, not the
extermination of any principles of our nature, but rather the regulating
of them, according to the rules of reason and religion; so that the
lower propensities shall always be kept subordinate to nobler
principles. Thus we are not to aim at destroying our appetites, or at
needlessly denying them, but rather so to regulate them that they shall
best secure the objects for which they were implanted. We are not to
annihilate the love of praise and admiration; but so to control it
that the favor of God shall be regarded more than the estimation of
men. We are not to extirpate the principle of curiosity, which leads
us to acquire knowledge; but so to direct it, that all our acquisitions
shall be useful and not frivolous or injurious. And thus with all the
principles of the mind: God has implanted no desires in our constitution
which are evil and pernicious. On the contrary, all our constitutional
propensities, either of mind or body, he designed we should gratify,
whenever no evils would thence result, either to ourselves or others.
Such passions as envy, selfish ambition, contemptuous pride, revenge,
and hatred, are to be exterminated; for they are either excesses or
excrescences, not created by God, but rather the result of our own
neglect to form habits of benevolence and self-control.

In deciding the rules of our conduct, therefore, we are ever to bear
in mind that the development of the nobler principles, and the
subjugation of inferior propensities to them, is to be the main object
of effort both for ourselves and for others. And in conformity with
this, in all our plans we are to place religious and moral interests
as first in estimation, our social and intellectual interests next,
and our physical gratifications as subordinate to all.

A third consideration is that, though the means for sustaining life
and health are to be regarded as necessaries, without which no other
duties can be performed, yet a very large portion of the time spent
by most persons in easy circumstances for food, raiment, and dwellings,
is for mere _superfluities;_ which are right when they do not
involve the sacrifice of higher interests, and wrong when they do.
Life and health can be sustained in the humblest dwellings, with the
plainest dress, and the simplest food; and, after taking from our means
what is necessary for life and health, the remainder is to be so
divided, that the larger portion shall be given to supply the moral
and intellectual wants of ourselves and others, together with the
physical requirements of the destitute, and the smaller share to procure
those additional gratifications of taste and appetite which are
desirable but not indispensable. Mankind, thus far, have never made
this apportionment of their means; although, just as fast as they have
risen from a savage state, mere physical wants have been made, to an
increasing extent, subordinate to higher objects.

Another very important consideration is that, in urging the duty of
charity and the prior claims of moral and religious objects, no rule
of duty should be maintained which it would not be right and wise for
_all_ to follow. And we are to test the wisdom of any general rule by
inquiring what would be the result if all mankind should practice
according to it. In view of this, we are enabled to judge of the
correctness of those who maintain that, to be consistent, men believing
in the perils of all those of our race who are not brought under the
influence of the Christian system should give up not merely the
elegancies but all the superfluities of life, and devote the whole of
their means not indispensable to life and health to the propagation
of Christianity.

But if this is the duty of any, it is the duty of all; and we are to
inquire what would be the result, if all conscientious persons gave
up the use of all superfluities. Suppose that two millions of the
people of the United States were conscientious persons, and relinquished
the use of every thing not absolutely necessary to life and health.
Besides reducing the education of the people in all the higher walks
of intellectual, social, and even moral development, to very narrow
limits, it would instantly throw out of employment one half of the
whole community. The writers, book-makers, manufacturers, mechanics,
merchants agriculturists, and all the agencies they employ, would be
beggared, and one half of those not reduced to poverty would be obliged
to spend all their extra means in-simply supplying necessaries to the
other half. The use of superfluities, therefore, to a certain extent,
is as indispensable to promote industry, virtue, and religion, as any
direct giving of money or time; and it is owing entirely to a want of
reflection and of comprehensive views, that any men ever make so great
a mistake as is here exhibited.

Instead, then, of urging a rule of duty which is at once irrational
and impracticable, there is another course, which commends itself to
the understandings of all. For whatever may be the practice of
intelligent men, they universally concede the principle, that our
physical gratifications should always be made subordinate to social,
intellectual, and moral advantages. And all that is required for the
advancement of our whole race to the most perfect state of society is,
simply, that men should act in agreement with this principle. And if
only a very small portion of the most intelligent of our race should
act according to this rule, under the control of Christian benevolence,
the immense supplies furnished for the general good would be far beyond
what any would imagine who had never made any calculations on the
subject. In this nation alone, suppose the one million and more of
professed followers of Christ should give a larger portion of their
means for the social, intellectual, and moral wants of mankind, than
for the superfluities that minister to their own taste, convenience,
and appetite; it would be enough to furnish all the schools, colleges,
Bibles, ministers, and missionaries, that the whole world could demand;
or, at least, it would be far more than properly qualified agents to
administer it could employ.

But it may be objected that, though this view in the abstract looks
plausible and rational, not one in a thousand can practically adopt
it. How few keep any account, at all, of their current expenses! How
impossible it is to determine, exactly, what are necessaries and what
are superfluities! And in regard to women, how few have the control
of an income, so as not to be bound by the wishes of a parent or a
husband!

In reference to these difficulties, the first remark is, that we are
never under obligations to do what is entirely out of our power; so
that those persons who can not regulate their expenses or their
charities are under no sort of obligation to attempt it. The second
remark is that, when a rule of duty is discovered, if we can not fully
attain to it, we are bound to _aim_ at it, and to fulfill it just
so far as we can. We have no right to throw it aside because we shall
find some difficult cases when we come to apply it. The third remark
is, that no person can tell how much can be done, till a faithful trial
has been made. If a woman has never kept any accounts, nor attempted
to regulate her expenditures by the right rule, nor used her influence
with those that control her plans, to secure this object, she has no
right to say how much she can or can not do, till after a fair trial
has been made.

In attempting such a trial, the following method can be taken. Let a
woman, keep an account of all she spends, for herself and her family,
for a year, arranging the items under three general heads. Under the
first, put all articles of food, raiment, rent, wages, and all
conveniences. Under the second, place all sums paid in securing an
education, and books, and other intellectual advantages. Under the
third head, place all that is spent for benevolence and religion. At
the end of the year, the first and largest account will show the mixed
items of necessaries and superfluities, which can be arranged so as
to gain some sort of idea how much has been spent for superfluities
and how much for necessaries. Then, by comparing what is spent for
superfluities, with what is spent for intellectual and moral advantages,
data will be gained for judging of the past and regulating the future.

Does a woman say she can not do this? let her think whether the offer
of a thousand dollars, as a reward-for attempting it one year, would
not make her undertake to do it; and if so, let her decide, in her own
mind, which is most valuable, a clear conscience, and the approbation
of God, in this effort to do his will, or one thousand dollars. And
let her do it, with this warning of the Saviour before her eyes--"No
man can serve two masters." "Ye can not serve God and Mammon."

Is it objected, How can we decide between superfluities and necessities,
in this list? It is replied, that we are not required to judge exactly,
in all cases. Our duty is, to use the means in our power to assist us
in forming a correct judgment; to seek the divine aid in freeing our
minds from indolence and selfishness; and then to judge, as well as
we can, in our endeavors rightly to apportion and regulate our expenses.
Many persons seem to feel that they are bound to do better than they
know how. But God is not so hard a master; and after we have used all
proper means to learn the right way, if we then follow it according
to our ability, we do wrong to feel misgivings, or to blame ourselves,
if results come out differently from what seems desirable.

The results of our actions, alone, can never prove as deserving of
blame. For men are often so placed that, owing to lack of intellect
or means, it is impossible for them to decide correctly. To use all
the means of knowledge within our reach, and then to judge, with a
candid and conscientious spirit, is all that God requires; and when
we have done this, and the event seems to come out wrong, we should
never wish that we had decided otherwise. For this would be the same
as wishing that we had not followed the dictates of judgment and
conscience. As this is a world designed for discipline and trial,
untoward events are never to be construed as indications of the
obliquity of our past decisions.

But it is probable that a great portion of the women of this nation
can not secure any such systematic mode of regulating their expenses.
To such, the writer would propose one inquiry: Can not you calculate
how much _time_ and _money_ you spend for what is merely ornamental, and
not necessary, for yourself, your children, and your house? Can not you
compare this with the time and money you spend for intellectual and
benevolent purposes? and will not this show the need of some change? In
making this examination, is not this brief rule, deducible from the
principles before laid down, the one which should regulate you? Every
person does right in spending some portion of time and means in securing
the conveniences and adornments of taste; but the amount should never
exceed what is spent in securing our own moral and intellectual
improvement, nor what is spent in benevolent efforts to supply the
physical and moral wants of our fellow-men.

In making an examination on this subject, it is sometimes the case
that a woman will count among the _necessaries_ of life all the
various modes of adorning the person or house, practiced in the circle
in which she moves; and, after enumerating the many _duties_ which
demand attention, counting these as a part, she will come to the
conclusion that she has no time, and but little money, to devote to
personal improvement or to benevolent enterprises. This surely is not
in agreement with the requirements of the Saviour, who calls on us to
seek for others, as well as ourselves, _first of all_, "the kingdom
of God, and his righteousness."

In order to act in accordance with the rule here presented, it is true
that many would be obliged to give up the idea of conforming to the
notions and customs of those with whom they associate, and compelled
to adopt the maxim, "Be not conformed to this world." In many cases
it would involve an entire change in the style of living. And the
writer has the happiness of knowing more cases than one, where persons
who have come to similar views on this subject, have given up large
and expensive establishments, disposed of their carriages, dismissed
a portion of their domestics, and modified all their expenditures,
that they might keep a pure conscience, and regulate their charities
more according to the requirements of Christianity. And there are
persons, well known in the religious world, who save themselves all
labor of minute calculation, by devoting so large a portion of their
time and means to benevolent objects, that they find no difficulty in
knowing that they give more for religious, benevolent, and intellectual
purposes than for superfluities.

In deciding what particular objects shall receive our benefactions,
there are also general principles to guide us. The first is that
presented by our Saviour, when, after urging the great law of
benevolence, he was asked, "And who is my neighbor?" His reply, in the
parable of "the Good Samaritan," teaches us that any human being whose
wants are brought to our knowledge is our neighbor. The wounded man
in that parable was not only a stranger, but he belonged to a foreign
nation, peculiarly hated; and he had no claim, except that his wants
were brought to the knowledge of the wayfaring man. From this we learn
that the destitute of all nations become our neighbors, as soon as
their wants are brought to our knowledge.

Another general principle is this, that those who are most in need
must be relieved in preference to those who are less destitute. On
this principle it is, that we think the followers of Christ should
give more to supply those who are suffering for want of the bread of
eternal life, than for those who are deprived of physical enjoyments.
And another reason for this preference is the fact that many who give
in charity have made such imperfect advances in civilization and
Christianity that the intellectual and moral wants of our race make
but a feeble impression on the mind. Relate a pitiful tale of a family
reduced to live for weeks on potatoes only, and many a mind would awake
to deep sympathy and stretch forth the hand of charity. But describe
cases where the immortal mind is pining in stupidity and ignorance,
or racked with the fever of baleful passions, and how small the number
so elevated in sentiment and so enlarged in their views as to appreciate
and sympathize in these far greater misfortunes! The intellectual and
moral wants of our fellow-men, therefore, should claim the first place
in general Christian attention, both because they are most important,
and because they are most neglected; while it should not be forgotten,
in giving personal attention to the wants of the poor, that the relief
of immediate physical distress, is often the easiest way of touching
the moral sensibilities of the destitute.

Another consideration to be borne in mind is that, in this country,
there is much less real need of charity in supplying physical
necessities than is generally supposed by those who have not learned
the more excellent way. This land is so abundant in supplies, and labor
is in such demand, that every healthy person can earn a comfortable
support. And if all the poor were instantly made virtuous, it is
probable that there would be few physical wants which could not readily
be supplied by the immediate friends of each sufferer. The sick, the
aged, and the orphan would be the only objects of charity. In this
view of the case, the primary effort in relieving the poor should be
to furnish them the means of earning their own support, and to supply
them with those moral influences which are most effectual in securing
virtue and industry.

Another point to be attended to is the importance of maintaining a
system of _associated_ charities. There is no point in which the economy
of charity has more improved than in the present mode of combining many
small contributions, for sustaining enlarged and systematic plans of
charity. If all the half-dollars which are now contributed to aid in
organized systems of charity were returned to the donors, to be applied
by the agency and discretion of each, thousands and thousands of the
treasures, now employed to promote the moral and intellectual wants of
mankind, would become entirely useless in a democracy like ours, where
few are very rich and the majority are in comfortable circumstances,
this collecting and dispensing of drops and rills is the mode by which,
in imitation of nature, the dews and showers are to distill on parched
and desert lands. And every person, while earning a pittance to unite
with many more, may be cheered with the consciousness of sustaining a
grand system of operations which must have the most decided influence in
raising all mankind to that perfect state of society which Christianity
is designed to bring about.

Another consideration relates to the indiscriminate bestowal of charity.
Persons who have taken pains to inform themselves, and who devote their
whole time to dispensing charities, unite in declaring that this is
one of the most fruitful sources of indolence, vice, and poverty. From
several of these the writer has learned that, by their own personal
investigations, they have ascertained that there are large
establishments of idle and wicked persons in most of our cities, who
associate together to support themselves by every species of imposition.
They hire large houses, and live in constant rioting on the means thus
obtained. Among them are women who have or who hire the use of infant
children; others, who are blind, or maimed, or deformed, or who can
adroitly feign such infirmities; and, by these means of exciting pity,
and by artful tales of woe, they collect alms, both in city and country,
to spend in all manner of gross and guilty indulgences. Meantime many
persons, finding themselves often duped by impostors, refuse to give
at all; and thus many benefactions are withdrawn, which a wise economy
in charity would have secured. For this and other reasons, it is wise
and merciful to adopt the general rule, never to give alms till we
have had some opportunity of knowing how they will be spent. There are
exceptions to this, as to every general rule, which a person of
discretion can determine. But the practice so common among benevolent
persons, of giving at least a trifle to all who ask, lest perchance
they may turn away some who are really sufferers, is one which causes
more sin and misery than it cures.

The writer has never known any system for dispensing charity so
successful as the one by which a town or city is divided into districts;
and each district is committed to the care of two ladies, whose duty
it is, to call on each family and leave a book for a child, or do some
other deed of neighborly kindness, and make that the occasion for
entering into conversation, and learning the situation of all residents
in the district. By this method, the ignorant, the vicious, and the
poor are discovered, and their physical, intellectual, and moral wants
are investigated. In some places where the writer has known this mode
pursued, each person retained the same district, year after year, so
that every poor family in the place was under the watch and care of
some intelligent and benevolent lady, who used all her influence to
secure a proper education for the children, to furnish them with
suitable reading, to encourage habits of industry and economy, and to
secure regular attendance on public religious instruction. Thus, the
rich and the poor were brought in contact, in a way advantageous to
both parties; and if such a system could be universally adopted, more
would be done for the prevention of poverty and vice than all the
wealth of the nation could avail for their relief. But this plan can
not be successfully carried out, in this manner, unless there is a
large proportion of intelligent, benevolent, and self-denying persons,
who unite in a systematic plan.

But there is one species of "charity" which needs especial
consideration. It is that spirit of kindly love which induces us to
refrain from judging of the means and the relative charities of other
persons. There have been such indistinct notions, and so many different
standards of duty, on this subject, that it is rare for two persons
to think exactly alike, in regard to the rule of duty. Each person is
bound to inquire and judge for himself, as to his own duty or
deficiencies; but as both the resources and the amount of the actual
charities of others are beyond our ken, it is as indecorous as it is
uncharitable to sit in judgment on their decisions.




XIX.

ECONOMY OF TIME AND EXPENSES.

The value of time, and our obligation to spend every hour for some
useful end, are what few minds properly realize. And those who have
the highest sense of their obligations in this respect, sometimes
greatly misjudge in their estimate of what are useful and proper modes
of employing time. This arises from limited views of the importance
of some pursuits, which they would deem frivolous and useless, but
which are in reality necessary to preserve the health of body and mind
and those social affections which it is very important to cherish.
Christianity teaches that, for all the time afforded us, we must give
account to God; and that we have no right to waste a single hour. But
time which is spent in rest or amusement is often as usefully employed
as if it were devoted to labor or devotion. In employing our time, we
are to make suitable allowance for sleep, for preparing and taking
food, for securing the means of a livelihood, for intellectual
improvement, for exercise and amusement, for social enjoyments, and
for benevolent and religious duties. And it is the _right apportionment_
of time, to these various duties, which constitutes its true economy.

In deciding respecting the rectitude of our pursuits, we are bound to
aim at some practical good, as the ultimate object. With every duty
of this life, our benevolent Creator has connected some species of
enjoyment, to draw us to perform it. Thus, the palate is gratified,
by performing the duty of nourishing our bodies; the principle of
curiosity is gratified in pursuing useful knowledge; the desire of
approbation is gratified, when we perform general social duties; and
every other duty has an alluring enjoyment connected with it. But the
great mistake of mankind has consisted in seeking the pleasures
connected with these duties, as the sole aim, without reference to the
main end that should be held in view, and to which the enjoyment should
be made subservient. Thus, men gratify the palate, without reference
to the question whether the body is properly nourished: and follow
after knowledge, without inquiring whether it ministers to good or
evil; and seek amusement without reference to results.

In gratifying the implanted desires of our nature, we are bound so to
restrain ourselves, by reason and conscience, as always to seek the
main objects of existence--the highest good of ourselves and others;
and never to sacrifice this for the mere gratification of our desires.
We are to gratify appetite, just so far as is consistent with health
and usefulness; and the desire for knowledge, just so far as will
enable us to do most good by our influence and efforts; and no farther.
We are to seek social intercourse, to that extent which will best
promote domestic enjoyment and kindly feelings among neighbors and
friends; and we are to pursue exercise and amusement, only so far as
will best sustain the vigor of body and mind.

The laws of the Supreme Ruler, when he became the civil as well as the
religious Head of the Jewish theocracy, furnish an example which it
would be well for all attentively to consider, when forming plans for
the apportionment of time and property. To properly estimate this
example, it must be borne in mind, that the main object of God was,
to set an example of the temporal rewards that follow obedience to the
laws of the Creator, and at the same time to prepare religious teachers
to extend the true religion to the whole race of man.

Before Christ came, the Jews were not required to go forth to other
nations as teachers of religion, nor were the Jewish nation led to
obedience by motives of a life to come. To them God was revealed, both
as a father and a civil ruler, and obedience to laws relating solely
to this life was all that was required. So low were they in the scale
of civilization and mental development, that a system which confined
them to one spot, as an agricultural people, and prevented their growing
very rich, or having extensive commerce with other nations, was
indispensable to prevent their relapsing into the low idolatries and
vices of the nations around them, while temporal rewards and penalties
were more effective than those of a life to come.

The proportion of time and property, which every Jew was required to
devote to intellectual, benevolent, and religious purposes, was as
follows:

In regard to property, they were required to give one tenth of all
their yearly income to support the Levites, the priests, and the
religious service. Next, they were required to give the first-fruits
of all their corn, wine, oil, and fruits, and the first-born of all
their cattle, for the Lord's treasury, to be employed for the priests,
the widow, the fatherless, and the stranger. The first-born, also, of
their children, were the Lord's, and were to be redeemed by a specified
sum, paid into the sacred treasury. Besides this, they were required
to bring a free-will offering to God, every time they went up to the
three great yearly festivals. In addition to this, regular yearly
sacrifices of cattle and fowls were required of each family, and
occasional sacrifices for certain sins or ceremonial Impurities. In
reaping their fields, they were required to leave unreaped, for the
poor, the corners; not to glean their fields, oliveyards, or vineyards;
and, if a sheaf was left by mistake, they were not to return for it
but leave it for the poor.

One twelfth of the people were set apart, having no landed property,
to be priests and teachers; and the other tribes were required to
support them liberally.

In regard to the time taken from secular pursuits, for the support of
education and religion, an equally liberal amount was demanded. In the
first place, one seventh part of their time was taken for the weekly
sabbath, when no kind of work was to be done. Then the whole nation
were required to meet at the appointed place three times a year, which,
including their journeys and stay there, occupied eight weeks, or
another seventh part of their time. Then the sabbatical year, when no
agricultural labor was to be done, took another seventh of their time
from their regular pursuits, as they were an agricultural people. This
was the amount of time and property demanded by God, simply to sustain
education, religion, and morality within the bounds of one nation. It
was promised to this nation and fulfilled by constant miraculous
interpositions, that in this life, obedience to God's laws should
secure health, peace, prosperity, and long life; while for disobedience
was threatened war, pestilence, famine, and all temporal evils. These
promises were constantly verified, and in the day of Solomon, when,
this nation was most obedient, the whole world was moved with wonder
at its wealth and prosperity. But up to this time, no attempt was made
by God to govern the Israelites by the rewards and penalties of the
world to come.

But "when the fullness of time had come," and the race of man was
prepared to receive higher responsibilities, Jesus Christ came and
"brought life and immortality to light" with a clearness never before
revealed. At the same time was revealed the fatherhood of God, not to
the Jews alone, but to the whole human race, and the consequent
brotherhood of man; and these revelations in many respects changed the
whole standard of duty and obligation.

Christ came as "God manifest in the flesh," to set an example of
self-sacrificing love, in rescuing the whole family of man from the
dangers of the unseen world, and also to teach and train his disciples
through all time to follow his example. And those who conform the most
consistently to his teachings and example will aim at a standard of
labor and self-denial far beyond that demanded of the Jews.

It is not always that men understand the economy of Providence, in
that unequal distribution of property which, even under the most perfect
form of government, will always exist. Many, looking at the present
state of things, imagine that the rich, if they acted in strict
conformity to the law of benevolence, would share all their property
with their suffering fellow-men. But such do not take into account the
inspired declaration that "a man's life consisteth not in the abundance
of the things which he possesseth," or, in other words, life is made
valuable, not by great possessions, but by such a character as prepares
a man to enjoy what he holds. God perceives that human character can
be most improved by that kind of discipline which exists when there
is something valuable to be gained by industrious efforts. This stimulus
to industry could never exist in a community where all are just alike,
as it does in a state of society where every man sees possessed by
others enjoyments which he desires and may secure by effort and
industry. So, in a community where all are alike as to property, there
would be no chance to gain that noblest of all attainments, a habit
of self-denying benevolence which toils for the good of others, and
takes from one's own store to increase the enjoyments of another.

Instead, then, of the stagnation, both of industry and of benevolence,
which would follow the universal and equable distribution, of property,
some men, by superior advantages of birth, or intellect, or patronage,
come into possession of a great amount of capital. With these means
they are enabled, by study, reading, and travel, to secure expansion
of mind and just views of the relative advantages of moral,
intellectual, and physical enjoyments. At the same time, Christianity
imposes obligations corresponding with the increase of advantages and
means. The rich are not at liberty to spend their treasures chiefly
for themselves. Their wealth is given, by God, to be employed for the
best good of mankind; and their intellectual advantages are designed,
primarily, to enable them to judge correctly in employing their means
most wisely for the general good.

Now, suppose a man of wealth inherits ten thousand acres of real estate;
it is not his duty to divide it among his poor neighbors and tenants.
If he took this course, it is probable that most of them would spend
all in thriftless waste and indolence, or in mere physical enjoyments.
Instead, then, of thus putting his capital out of his hands, he is
bound to retain and so to employ it as to raise his family and his
neighbors to such a state of virtue and intelligence that they can
secure far more, by their own efforts and industry, than he, by dividing
his capital, could bestow upon them.

In this view of the subject, it is manifest that the unequal
distribution of property is no evil. The great difficulty is, that so
large a portion of those who hold much capital, instead of using their
various advantages for the greatest good of those around them, employ
them for mere selfish indulgences; thus inflicting as much mischief
on themselves as results to others from their culpable neglect. A great
portion of the rich seem to be acting on the principle that the more
God bestows on them the less are they under obligation to practice any
self-denial in fulfilling his benevolent plan of raising our race to
intelligence and virtue.

But there are cheering examples of the contrary spirit and prejudice,
some of which will be here recorded to influence and encourage others.

A lady of great wealth, high position, and elegant culture, in one of
our large cities, hired and furnished a house adjacent to her own,
and, securing the aid of another benevolent and cultivated woman, took
twelve orphan girls, of different ages, and educated them under their
joint care. Not only time and money were given, but love and labor,
just as if these were their own children; and as fast as one was
provided for, another was taken.

In another city, a young lady with property of her own hired a house
and made it a home for homeless and unprotected women, who paid board
when they could earn it, and found a refuge when out of employment.

In another city, the wife of one of its richest merchants, living in
princely style, took two young girls from the certain road to ruin
among the vicious poor. She boarded them with a respectable farmer,
and sent them to school, and every week went out, not only to supervise
them, but to aid in training them to habits of neatness, industry, and
obedience, just as if they were her own children. Next, she hired a
large house near the most degraded part of the city, furnished it
neatly and with all suitable conveniences to work, and then rented to
those among the most degraded whom she could bring to conform to a few
simple rules of decency, industry, and benevolence--one of these rules
being that they should pay her the rent every Saturday night. To this
motley gathering she became chief counselor and friend, quieted their
brawls, taught them to aid each other in trouble or sickness, and
strove to introduce among them that law of patient love and kindness,
illustrated by her own example. The young girls in this tenement she
assembled every Saturday at her own house--taught them to sing, heard
them recite their Sunday-school lessons, to be sure these were properly
learned; taught them to make and mend their own clothing, trimmed their
bonnets, and took charge of their Sunday dress, that it might always
be in order. Of course, such benevolence drew a stream of ignorance
and misery to her door; and so successful was her labor that she hired
a second house, and managed it on the same plan. One hot day in August,
a friend found her combing the head of a poor, ungainly, foreign girl.
She had persuaded a friend to take her from compassion, and she was
returned because her head was in such in a state. Finding no one else
to do it, the lady herself bravely met the difficulty, and persevered
in this daily ministry till the evil was remedied, and the poor girl
thus secured a comfortable home and wages.

A young lady of wealth and position, with great musical culture and
taste, found among the poor two young girls with fine voices and great
musical talent. Gaining her parents' consent, the young lady took one
of them home, trained her in music, and saw that her school education
was secured, so that when expensive masters and instruments were needed
the girl herself earned the money required, as a governess in a family
of wealthy friends. Then she aided the sister; and, as the result, one
of them is married happily to a man of great wealth, and the other is
receiving a large income as a popular musical artist.

Another young girl, educated as a fine musician by her wealthy parents,
at the age of sixteen was afflicted with weak eyes and a heart
complaint. She strove to solace herself by benevolent ministries. By
teaching music to children of wealthy friends she earned the means to
relieve and instruct the suffering, ignorant, and poor.

These examples may suffice to show that, even among the most wealthy,
abundant modes of self-denying benevolence may be found where there
is a heart to seek them.

There is no direction in which a true Christian economy of time and
money is more conspicuous than in the style of living adopted in the
family state.

Those who build stately mansions, and lay out extensive grounds, and
multiply the elegancies of life, to be enjoyed by themselves and a
select few, "have their reward" in the enjoyments that end in this
life. But those who with, equal means adopt a style that enables them
largely to devote time and wealth to the elevation and improvement of
their fellow-men, are laying up never-failing treasures in heaven.



XX.

HEALTH OF MIND.

There is such an intimate connection between the body and mind that
the health of one can not be preserved without a proper care of the
other. And it is from a neglect of this principle, that some of the
most exemplary and conscientious persons in the world suffer a thousand
mental agonies from a diseased state of body, while others ruin the
health of the body by neglecting the proper care of the mind.

When the mind is excited by earnest intellectual effort, or by strong
passions, the blood rushes to the head and the brain is excited. Sir
Astley Cooper records that, in examining the brain of a young man who
had lost a portion of his skull, whenever "he was agitated by some
opposition to his wishes," "the blood was sent with increased force
to his brain," and the pulsations "became frequent and violent." The
same effect was produced by any intellectual effort; and the flushed
countenance which attends earnest study or strong emotions of interest
of any kind, is an external indication of the suffused state of the
brain from such causes.

In exhibiting the causes which injure the health of the mind, we shall
find them to be partly physical, partly intellectual, and partly moral.

The first cause of mental disease and suffering is not unfrequently
in the want of a proper supply of duly oxygenized blood. It has been
shown that the blood, in passing through the lungs, is purified by the
oxygen of the air combining with the superabundant hydrogen and carbon
of the venous blood, thus forming carbonic acid and water, which are
expired into the atmosphere. Every pair of lungs is constantly
withdrawing from the surrounding atmosphere its healthful principle,
and returning one which is injurious to human life.

When, by confinement and this process, the air is deprived of its
appropriate supply of oxygen, the purification of the blood is
interrupted, and it passes without being properly prepared into the
brain, producing languor, restlessness, and inability to exercise the
intellect and feelings. Whenever, therefore, persons sleep in a close
apartment, or remain for a length of time in a crowded or ill-ventilated
room, a most pernicious influence is exerted on the brain, and, through
this, on the mind. A person who is often exposed to such influences
can never enjoy that elasticity and vigor of mind which is one of the
chief indications of its health. This is the reason why all rooms for
religious meetings, and all school-rooms and sleeping apartments should
be so contrived as to secure a constant supply of fresh air from
without. The minister who preaches in a crowded and ill-ventilated
apartment loses much of his power to feel and to speak, while the
audience are equally reduced in their capability of attending. The
teacher who confines children in a close apartment diminishes their
ability to study, or to attend to instructions. And the person who
habitually sleeps in a close room impairs mental energy in a similar
degree. It is not unfrequently the case that depression of spirits and
stupor of intellect are occasioned solely by inattention to this
subject.

Another cause of mental disease is the excessive exercise of the
intellect or feelings. If the eye is taxed beyond its strength by
protracted use, its blood-vessels become gorged, and the bloodshot
appearance warns of the excess and the need of rest. The brain is
affected in a similar manner by excessive use, though the suffering
and inflamed organ can not make its appeal to the eye. But there are
some indications which ought never to be misunderstood or disregarded.
In cases of pupils at school or at college, a diseased state, from
over-action, is often manifested by increased clearness of mind, and
temporary ease and vigor of mental action. In one instance, known to
the writer, a most exemplary and industrious pupil, anxious to improve
every hour and ignorant or unmindful of the laws of health, first
manifested the diseased state of her brain and mind by demands for
more studies, and a sudden and earnest activity in planning modes of
improvement for herself and others. When warned of her danger, she
protested that she never was better in her life; that she took regular
exercise in the open air, went to bed in season, slept soundly, and
felt perfectly well; that her mind was never before so bright and
clear, and study never so easy and delightful. And at this time, she
was on the verge of derangement, from which she was saved only by an
entire cessation of all intellectual efforts.

A similar case occurred, under the eye of the writer, from over-excited
feelings. It was during a time of unusual religious interest in the
community, and the mental disease was first manifested by the pupil
bringing her hymn-book or Bible to the class-room, and making it her
constant resort, in every interval of school duty. It finally became
impossible to convince her that it was her duty to attend to any thing
else; her conscience became morbidly sensitive, her perceptions
indistinct, her deductions unreasonable; and nothing but entire change
of scene and exercise, and occupation of her mind by amusement, saved
her. When the health of the brain was restored, she found that she
could attend to the "one thing needful," not only without interruption
of duty or injury to health, but rather so as to promote both. Clergymen
and teachers need most carefully to notice and guard against the dangers
here alluded to.

Any such attention to religion as prevents the performance of daily
duties and needful relaxation is dangerous, and tends to produce such
a state of the brain as makes it impossible to feel or judge correctly.
And when any morbid and unreasonable pertinacity appears, much exercise
and engagement in other interesting pursuits should be urged, as the
only mode of securing the religious benefits aimed at. And whenever
any mind is oppressed with care, anxiety, or sorrow, the amount of
active exercise in the fresh air should be greatly increased, that the
action of the muscles may withdraw the blood which, in such seasons,
is constantly tending too much to the brain.

There has been a most appalling amount of suffering, derangement,
disease, and death, occasioned by a want of attention to this subject,
in teachers and parents. Uncommon precocity in children is usually the
result of an unhealthy state of the brain; and in such cases medical
men would now direct that the wonderful child should be deprived of
all books and study, and turned to play out in the fresh air. Instead
of this, parents frequently add fuel to the fever of the brain, by
supplying constant mental stimulus, until the victim finds refuge in
idiocy or an early grave. Where such fatal results do not occur, the
brain in many cases is so weakened that the prodigy of infancy sinks
below the medium of intellectual powers in afterlife.

In our colleges, too, many of the most promising minds sink to an early
grave, or drag out a miserable existence, from this same cause. And
it is an evil as yet little alleviated by the increase of physiological
knowledge. Every college and professional school, and every seminary
for young ladies, needs a medical man or woman, not only to lecture
on physiology and the laws of health, but empowered by official capacity
to investigate the case of every pupil, and, by authority, to enforce
such a course of study, exercise and repose, as the physical system
requires. The writer has found by experience that in a large institution
there is one class of pupils who need to be restrained by penalties
from late hours and excessive study, as much as another class need
stimulus to industry.

Under the head of excessive mental action, must be placed the indulgence
of the imagination in novel-reading and "castle-building." This kind
of stimulus, unless counterbalanced by physical exercise, not only
wastes time and energies, but undermines the vigor of the nervous
system. The imagination was designed by our wise Creator as a charm
and stimulus to animate to benevolent activity; and its perverted
exercise seldom fails to bring a penalty.

Another cause of mental disease is the want of the appropriate exercise
of the various faculties of the mind. On this point, Dr. Combe remarks:
"We have seen that, by disuse, muscles become emaciated, bone softens,
blood-vessels are obliterated, and nerves lose their characteristic
structure. The brain is no exception to this general rule. The tone
of it is also impaired by permanent inactivity, and it becomes less
fit to manifest the mental powers with readiness and energy." It is
"the withdrawal of the stimulus necessary for its healthy exercise
which renders solitary confinement so severe a punishment, even to the
most daring minds. It is a lower degree of the same cause which renders
continuous seclusion from society so injurious to both mental and
bodily health."

"Inactivity of intellect and of feeling is a very frequent predisposing
cause of every form of nervous disease. For demonstrative evidence of
this position, we have only to look at the numerous victims to be found
among persons 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." "If we look abroad upon society, we shall
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 the faculties, and, from want of education
or society, has no external resources; the mental powers, for want of
exercise, become blunted, and the perceptions slow and dull." "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."

"The most frequent victims of this kind of predisposition are females
of the middle and higher ranks, especially those of a nervous
constitution and good natural abilities; but who, from an ill-directed
education, possess nothing more solid than mere accomplishments, and
have no materials for thought," and no "occupation to excite interest
or demand attention." "The liability of such persons to melancholy,
hysteria, hypochondriasis, and other varieties of mental distress,
really depends on a state of irritability of the brain, induced by
imperfect exercise."

These remarks of a medical man illustrate the principles before
indicated; namely, that the demand of Christianity, that we live to
promote the general happiness, and not merely for selfish indulgence,
has for its aim not only the general good, but the highest happiness
of the individual of whom it is required in offering abundant exercise
for all the noblest faculties.

A person possessed of wealth, who has nothing more noble to engage
attention than seeking personal enjoyment, subjects the mental powers
and moral feelings to a degree of inactivity utterly at war with health
and mind. And the greater the capacities, the greater are the sufferings
which result from this cause. Any one who has read the misanthropic
wailings of Lord Byron has seen the necessary result of great and noble
powers bereft of their appropriate exercise, and, in consequence,
becoming sources of the keenest suffering.

It is this view of the subject which has often awakened feelings of
sorrow and anxiety in the mind of the writer, while aiding in the
development and education of superior feminine minds, in the wealthier
circles. Not because there are not noble objects for interest and
effort, abundant, and within reach of such minds; but because
long-established custom has made it seem so quixotic to the majority,
even of the professed followers of Christ, for a woman of wealth to
practice any great self-denial, that few have independence of mind and
Christian principle sufficient to overcome such an influence. The more
a mind has its powers developed, the more does it aspire and pine after
some object worthy of its energies and affections; and they are
commonplace and phlegmatic characters who are most free from such
deep-seated wants. Many a young woman, of fine genius and elevated
sentiment, finds a charm in Lord Byron's writings, because they present
a glowing picture of what, to a certain extent, must be felt by every
well-developed mind which has no nobler object in life than the pursuit
of self-gratification.

If young ladies of wealth could pursue their education under the full
conviction that the increase of their powers and advantages increased
their obligations to use all for the good of society, and with some
plan of benevolent enterprise in view, what new motives of interest
would be added to their daily pursuits! And what blessed results would
follow to our beloved country, if all well-educated women, carried out
the principles of Christianity, in the exercise of their developed
powers!

The benevolent activities called forth in our late dreadful war
illustrate the blessed influence on character and happiness in having
a noble object for which to labor and suffer. In illustration of this,
may be mentioned the experience of one of the noble women who, in a
sickly climate and fervid season, devoted herself to the ministries
of a military hospital. Separated from an adored husband, deprived of
wonted comforts and luxuries, and toiling in humble and unwonted labors,
she yet recalls this as one of the happiest periods of her life. And
it was not the mere exercise of benevolence and piety in ministering,
comfort and relieving suffering. It was, still more, the elevated
enjoyment which only an enlarged and cultivated mind can attain, in
the inspirations of grand and far-reaching results purchased by such
sacrifice and suffering. It was in aiding to save her well-loved
country from impending ruin, and to preserve to coming generations the
blessings of true liberty and self-government, that toils and suffering
became triumphant joys.

Every Christian woman who "walks by faith and not by sight," who looks
forward to the results of self-sacrificing labor for the ignorant and
sinful as they will enlarge and expand through everlasting ages, may
rise to the same elevated sphere of experience and happiness. On the
contrary, the more highly cultivated the mind devoted to mere selfish
enjoyment, the more are the sources of true happiness closed and the
soul left to helpless emptiness and unrest.

The indications of a diseased mind, owing to the want of the proper
exercise of its powers, are apathy, discontent, a restless longing for
excitement, a craving for unattainable good, a diseased and morbid
action of the imagination, dissatisfaction with the world, and
factitious interest in trifles which the mind feels to be unworthy of
its powers. Such minds sometimes seek alleviation in exciting
amusements; others resort to the grosser enjoyments of sense. Oppressed
with the extremes of languor, or over-excitement, or apathy, the body
fails under the wearing process, and adds new causes of suffering to
the mind. Such, the compassionate Saviour calls to his service, in the
appropriate terms, "Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy
laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of
me," "and ye shall find rest unto your souls."




XXI.

THE CARE OF INFANTS.


The topic of this chapter may well be prefaced by an extract from
Herbert Spencer on the treatment of offspring. He first supposes that
some future philosophic speculator, examining the course of education
of the present period, should find nothing relating to the training
of children, and that his natural inference would be that our schools
were all for monastic orders, who have no charge of infancy and
childhood. He then remarks, "Is it not an astonishing fact that, though
on the treatment of offspring depend their lives or deaths and their
moral welfare or ruin, yet not one word of instruction on the treatment
of offspring is ever given, to those who will hereafter be parents?
Is it not monstrous that the fate of a new generation should be left
to the chances of unreasoning custom, or impulse, or fancy, joined
with the suggestions of ignorant nurses and the prejudiced counsel of
grandmothers?

"If a merchant should commence business without any knowledge of
arithmetic or book-keeping, we should exclaim at his folly and look
for disastrous consequences. Or if, without studying anatomy, a man
set up as a surgeon, we should wonder at his audacity and pity his
patients. But that parents should commence the difficult work of rearing
children without giving any attention to the principles, physical,
moral, or intellectual, which ought to guide them, excites neither
surprise at the actors nor pity for the victims."

"To tens of thousands that are killed add hundreds of thousands that
survive with feeble constitutions, and millions not so strong as they
should be; and you will have some idea of the curse inflicted on their
offspring, by parents ignorant of the laws of life. Do but consider
for a moment that the regimen to which children are subject is hourly
telling upon them to their life-long injury or benefit, and that there
are twenty ways of going wrong to one way of going right, and you will
get some idea of the enormous mischief that is almost everywhere
inflicted by the thoughtless, hap-hazard system in common use."

"When sons and daughters grow up sickly and feeble, parents commonly
regard the event as a visitation of Providence. They assume that these
evils come without cause, or that the cause is supernatural. Nothing
of the kind. In some cases causes are inherited, but in most cases
foolish management is the cause. Very generally parents themselves are
responsible for this pain, this debility, this depression, this misery.
They have undertaken to control the lives of their offspring, and with
cruel carelessness have neglected to learn those vital processes which
they are daily affecting by their commands and prohibitions. In utter
ignorance of the simplest physiological laws, they have been, year by
year, undermining the constitutions of their children, and so have
inflicted disease and premature death, not only on them but also on
their descendants.

"Equally great are the ignorance and consequent injury, when we turn
from the physical to the moral training. Consider the young, untaught
mother and her nursery legislation. A short time ago she was at school,
where her memory was crammed with words and names and dates, and her
reflective faculties scarcely in the slightest degree exercised--where
not one idea was given her respecting the methods of dealing with the
opening mind of childhood, and where her discipline did not in the
least fit her for thinking out methods of her own. The intervening
years have been spent in practicing music, fancy work, novel-reading
and party-going, no thought having been given, to the grave
responsibilities of maternity, and scarcely any of that solid
intellectual culture obtained which would fit her for such
responsibilities; and now see her with an unfolding human character
committed to her charge, see her profoundly ignorant of the phenomena
with which she has to deal, undertaking to do that which can be done
but imperfectly even with the aid of the profoundest knowledge!"

In view of such considerations, every young lady ought to learn how
to take proper care of an infant; for, even if she is never to become
the responsible guardian of a nursery, she will often be in situations
where she can render benevolent aid to others, in this most fatiguing
and anxious duty.

The writer has known instances in which young ladies, who had been
trained by their mothers properly to perform this duty, were in some
cases the means of saving the lives of infants, and in others, of
relieving sick mothers from intolerable care and anguish by their
benevolent aid.

On this point, Dr. Combe remarks, "All women are not destined, in the
course of nature, to become mothers; but how very small is the number
of those who are unconnected, by family ties, friendship, or sympathy,
with the children of others! How very few are there, who, at some time
or other of their lives, would not find their usefulness and happiness
increased, by the possession of a kind of knowledge intimately allied
to their best feelings and affections! And how important is it, to the
mother herself, that her efforts should be seconded by intelligent,
instead of ignorant assistants!"

In order to be prepared for such benevolent ministries, every young
lady should improve the opportunity, whenever it is afforded her, for
learning how to wash, dress, and tend a young infant; and whenever she
meets with such a work as Dr. Combe's, on the management of infants,
she ought to read it, and _remember_ its contents.

It was the design of the author to fill this chapter chiefly with
extracts from various medical writers, giving some of the most important
directions on this subject; but finding these extracts too prolix for
a work of this kind, she has condensed them into a shorter compass.
Some are quoted verbatim, and some are abridged, from the most approved
writers on this subject.

"Nearly one half of the deaths, Occurring during the first two years
of existence, are ascribable to mismanagement, and to errors in diet.
At birth, the stomach is feeble, and as yet unaccustomed to food; its
cravings are consequently easily satisfied, and frequently renewed."
"At that early age, there ought to be no fixed time for giving
nourishment. The stomach can not be thus satisfied." "The active call
of the infant is a sign, which needs never be mistaken."

"But care must be taken to determine between, the crying of pain or
uneasiness, and the call for food; and the practice of giving an infant
food, to stop its cries, is often the means of increasing its
sufferings. After a child has satisfied its hunger, from two to four
hours should intervene before another supply is given."

"At birth, the stomach and bowels, never having been used, contain a
quantity of mucous secretion, which requires to be removed. To effect
this, Nature has rendered the first portions of the mother's milk
purposely watery and laxative. Nurses, however, distrusting Nature,
often hasten to administer some active purgative; and the consequence
often is, irritation in the stomach and bowels, not easily subdued."
It is only where the child is deprived of its mother's milk, as the
first food, that some gentle laxative should be given.

"It is a common mistake, to suppose that because a woman is nursing,
she ought to live very fully, and to add an allowance of wine, porter,
or other fermented liquor, to her usual diet. The only result of this
plan is, to cause an unnatural fullness in the system, which places
the nurse on the brink of disease, and retards rather than increases
the food of the infant. More will be gained by the observance of the
ordinary laws of health, than by any foolish deviation, founded on
ignorance."

There is no point on which medical men so emphatically lift the voice
of warning as in reference to administering medicines to infants. It
is so difficult to discover what is the matter with an infant, its
frame is so delicate and so susceptible, and slight causes have such
a powerful influence, that it requires the utmost skill and judgment
to ascertain what would be proper medicines, and the proper quantity
to be given.

Says Dr. Combe, "That there are cases in which active means must be
promptly used to save the child, is perfectly true. But it is not less
certain that these are cases of which no mother or nurse ought to
attempt the treatment. As a general rule, where the child is well
managed, medicine, of any kind, is very rarely required; and if disease
were more generally regarded in its true light, not as something thrust
into the system, which requires to be expelled by force, but as an
aberration from a natural mode of action, produced by some external
cause, we should be in less haste to attack it by medicine, and more
watchful in its prevention. Accordingly, where a constant demand for
medicine exists in a nursery, the mother may rest assured that there
is something essentially wrong in the treatment of her children."

"Much havoc is made among infants, by the abuse of calomel and other
medicines, which procure momentary relief but end by producing incurable
disease; and it has often excited my astonishment, to see how recklessly
remedies of this kind are had recourse to, on the most trifling
occasions, by mothers and nurses, who would be horrified if they knew
the nature of the power they are wielding, and the extent of injury
they are inflicting."

Instead, then, of depending on medicine for the preservation of the
health and life of an infant, the following precautions and preventives
should be adopted.

"Take particular care of the _food_ of an infant. If it is nourished by
the mother, her own diet should be simple, nourishing, and temperate. If
the child be brought up 'by hand,' the milk of a new-milch cow, mixed
with one third water, and sweetened a little with _white_ sugar, should
be the only food given, until the teeth come. This is more suitable than
any preparations of flour or arrowroot, the nourishment of which is too
highly concentrated. Never give a child _bread, cake,_ or _meat_, before
the teeth appear. If the food appear to distress the child after eating,
first ascertain if the milk be really from a new-milch cow, as it may
otherwise be too old. Learn, also, whether the cow lives on proper food.
Cows that are fed on _still-slops_, as is often the case in cities,
furnish milk which is very unhealthful."

Be sure and keep a good supply of pure and fresh air in the nursery.
On this point, Dr. Bell remarks, respecting rooms constructed without
fireplaces and without doors or windows to let in pure air from without,
"The sufferings of children of feeble constitutions are increased
beyond measure, by such lodgings as these. An action, brought by the
commonwealth, ought to lie against those persons who build houses for
sale or rent, in which rooms are so constructed as not to allow of
free ventilation; and a writ of lunacy taken out against those who,
with the commonsense experience which all have on this head, should
spend any portion of their time, still more, should sleep, in rooms
thus nearly air-tight."

After it is a month or two old, take an infant out to walk, or ride,
in a little wagon, every fair and warm day; but be very careful that
its feet, and every part of its body, are kept warm; and be sure that
its eyes are well protected from the light. Weak eyes, and sometimes
blindness, are caused by neglecting this precaution. Keep the head of
an infant cool, never allowing too warm bonnets, nor permitting it to
sink into soft pillows when asleep. Keeping an infant's head too warm
very much increases nervous irritability; and this is the reason why
medical men forbid the use of caps for infants. But the head of an
infant should, especially while sleeping, be protected from draughts
of air, and from getting cold.

Be very careful of the skin of an infant, as nothing tends so
effectually to prevent disease. For this end, it should be washed all
over every morning, and then gentle friction should be applied with
the hand, to the back, stomach, bowels, and limbs. The head should be
thoroughly washed every day, and then brushed with a soft hair-brush,
or combed with a fine comb. If, by neglect, dirt accumulates under the
hair, apply with the finger the yolk of an egg, and then the fine comb
will remove it all, without any trouble.

Dress the infant so that it will be always warm, but not so as to cause
perspiration. Be sure and keep its feet _always_ warm; and for this
often warm them at a fire, and use long dresses. Keep the neck and arms
covered. For this purpose, wrappers, open in front, made high in the
neck, with long sleeves, to put on over the frock, are now very
fashionable.

It is better for both mother and child, that it should not sleep on
the mother's arm at night, unless the weather be extremely cold. This
practice keeps the child too warm, and leads it to seek food too
frequently. A child should ordinarily take nourishment but twice in
the night. A crib beside the mother, with plenty of warm and light
covering, is best for the child; but the mother must be sure that it
is always kept warm.

Never cover a child's head, so that it will inhale the air of its own
lungs. In very warm weather, especially in cities, great pains should
be taken to find fresh and cool air by rides and sailing. Walks in a
public square in the cool of the morning, and frequent excursions in
ferry or steamboats, would often save a long bill for medical
attendance.

In hot nights, the windows should be kept open, and the infant laid
on a mattress, or on folded blankets. A bit of straw matting, laid
over a feather bed and covered with the under sheet, makes a very cool
bed for an infant.

Cool bathing, in hot weather, is very useful; but the water should be
very little cooler than the skin of the child. When the constitution
is delicate, the water should be slightly warmed. Simply sponging the
body freely in a tub, answers the same purpose as a regular bath. In
very warm weather, this should be done two or three times a day, always
waiting two or three hours after food has been given.

"When the stomach is peculiarity irritable, (from teething,) it is of
paramount necessity to withhold all the nostrums which have been so
falsely lauded as 'sovereign cures for _cholera infantum_.' The
true restoratives for a child threatened with disease are cool air,
cool bathing, and cool drinks of simple water, in addition to
_proper_ food, at stated intervals."

In many cases, change of air from sea to mountain, or the reverse, has
an immediate healthful influence and is superior to every other
treatment. Do not take the advice of mothers who tell of this, that,
and the other thing which have proved excellent remedies in their
experience. Children have different constitutions, and there are
multitudes of different causes for their sickness; and what might cure
one child, might kill another, which appeared to have the same
complaint. A mother should go on the general rule of giving an infant
very little medicine, and then only by the direction of a discreet and
experienced physician. And there are cases, when, according to the
views of the most distinguished and competent practitioners, physicians
themselves are much too free in using medicines, instead of adopting
preventive measures.

Do not allow a child to form such habits that it will not be quiet
unless tended and amused. A healthy child should be accustomed to lie
or sit in its cradle much of the time; but it should occasionally be
taken up and tossed, or carried about for exercise and amusement. An
infant should be encouraged to _creep_, as an exercise very
strengthening and useful. If the mother fears the soiling of its nice
dresses, she can keep a long slip or apron which will entirely cover
the dress, and can be removed when the child is taken in the arms. A
child should not be allowed, when quite young, to bear its weight on
its feet very long at a time, as this tends to weaken and distort the
limbs.

Many mothers, with a little painstaking, succeed in putting their
infants into their cradle while awake, at regular hours for sleep; and
induce regularity in other habits, which saves much trouble. During
this training process a child may cry, at first, a great deal; but for
a healthy child, this use of the lungs does no harm and tends rather
to strengthen than to injure them, unless it becomes exceedingly
violent. A child who is trained to lie or sit and amuse itself, is
happier than one who is carried and tended a great deal, and thus
rendered restless and uneasy when not so indulged.

The most critical period in the life of an infant is that of dentition
or teething, especially at the early stages. An adult has thirty-two
teeth, but young children have only twenty, which gradually loosen and
are followed by the permanent teeth. When the child has ten teeth on
each jaw, all that are added are the permanent set, which should be
carefully preserved; this caution is needful, as sometimes decay in
the first double teeth of the second set are supposed to be of the
transient set, and are so neglected, or are removed instead of being
preserved by plugging. When the first teeth rise so as to press against
the gums, there is always more or less inflammation, causing nervous
fretfulness, and the impulse to put everything into the mouth. Usually
there is disturbed sleep, a slight fever, and greater flow of saliva;
this is often relieved by letting the child have ice to bite, tied in
a rag.

Sometimes the disorder of the mouth extends to the whole system. In
difficult teething, one symptom is the jerking back of the head when
taking the breath, as if in pain, owing to the extreme soreness of the
gums. This is, in extreme cases, attended with increased saliva and
a gummy secretion in the corners of the eyes, itching of the nose,
redness of cheeks, rash, convulsive twitching of lips and the muscles
generally, fever, constipation, and sometimes by a diarrhea, which
last is favorable if slight; difficulty of breathing, dilation of the
pupils of the eyes, restless motion and moaning; and finally, if not
relieved, convulsions and death. The most effective relief is gained
by lancing the gums. Every woman, and especially every mother, should
know the time and order in which the infant teeth come, and, when any
of the above symptoms appear, should examine the mouth, and if a gum
is swollen and inflamed, should either have a physician lance it, or
if this can not be done, should perform the operation herself. A sharp
pen-knife and steady hand making incision to touch the rising tooth
will cause no more pain than a simple scratch of the gum, and usually
will give speedy relief.

The temporary teeth should not be removed until the new ones appear,
as it injures the jaw and coming teeth; but as soon as a new tooth is
seen pressing upward, the temporary tooth should be removed, or the
new tooth will come out of its proper place. If there is not room where
the new tooth appears, the next temporary tooth must be taken out.
Great mischief has been done by removing the first teeth before the
second appear, thus making a contraction of the jaw.

Most trouble with, the teeth of young children comes from neglect to
use the brush to remove the tartar that accumulates near the gum,
causing disease and decay. This disease is sometimes called _scurvy_,
and is shown by an accumulation around the teeth and by inflamed gums
that bleed easily. Removal of the tartar by a dentist and cleaning the
teeth after every meal with a brush will usually cure this evil, which
causes loosening of the teeth and a bad breath.

Much injury is often done to teeth by using improper tooth-powder.
Powdered chalk sifted through muslin is approved by all dentists, and
should be used once every day. The tooth-brush should be used after
every meal, and floss silk pressed between the teeth to remove food
lodged there. This method will usually save the teeth from decay till
old age.

When an infant seems ill during the period of dentition, the following
directions from an experienced physician may be of service. It is now
an accepted principle of all the medical world that fevers are to be
reduced by cold applications; but an infant demands careful and
judicious treatment in this direction; some have extremely sensitive
nerves, and cold is painful. For such, tepid sponging should be used
near a fire, and the coldness increased gradually. The sensations of
the child should be the guide. Usually, but not always, children that
are healthy will learn by degrees to prefer cold water, and then it
may safely be used.

When an infant becomes feverish, wrapping its body in a towel wrung
out in warm, or tepid water, and then keeping it warm in a woolen
blanket, is a very safe and soothing remedy.

In case of constipation, this preparation of food is useful:

One table-spoonful of unbolted flour wet with cold water. Add one pint
of hot water, and boil twenty minutes. Add when taken up, one pint of
milk. If the stomach seems delicate and irritable, strain out the bran,
but in most cases, retain it.

In case of diarrhea, walk with the child in arms a great deal in the
open air, and give it rice-water to drink.

The warmth and vital influences of the nurse are very important, and
make this mode of exercise both more soothing and more efficacious,
especially in the open air, the infant being warmly clad.

In case of feverishness from teething or from any other cause, wrap
the infant in a towel wrung out in tepid water and then wrap it in a
woolen blanket. The water may be cooler according as the child is older
and stronger. The evaporation of the water draws off the heat, while
the moisture soothes the nerves, and usually the child will fall into
a quiet sleep. As soon as it becomes restless, change the wet towel
and proceed as before.

The leading physicians of Europe and of this country, in all cases of
fevers, use water to reduce them, by this and other modes of
application. This method is more soothing than any other, and is as
effective for adults as for infants.

Some of the most distinguished physicians of New-York who have examined
this chapter give their full approval of the advice given. If there
is still distrust as to this mode of using water to reduce fevers, it
will be advantageous to read an address on the use of cold applications
in fevers, delivered by Dr. William Neftel, before the New-York Academy
of Medicine, published in the _New York Medical Record_ for November,
1868: this can be obtained by inclosing twenty cents to the editor, with
the post-office address of the applicant.




XXII.

THE MANAGEMENT OF YOUNG CHILDREN.


In regard to the physical education of children, Dr. Clarke, Physician
in Ordinary to the Queen of England, expresses views on one point, in
which most physicians would coincide. He says, "There is no greater
error in the management of children, than that of giving them animal
diet very early. By persevering in the use of an over-stimulating diet
the digestive organs become irritated, and the various secretions
immediately connected with digestion, and necessary to it, are
diminished, especially the _biliary secretion_. Children so fed
become very liable to attacks of fever, and inflammation, affecting
particularly the mucous membranes; and measles and other diseases
incident to childhood, are generally severe in their attacks."

The result of the treatment of the inmates of the Orphan Asylum, at
Albany, is one which all who have the care of young children should
deeply ponder. During the first six years of the existence of this
institution, its average number of children was eighty. For the first
three years, their diet was meat once a day, fine bread, rice, Indian
puddings, vegetables, fruit, and milk. Considerable attention was
given to clothing, fresh air, and exercise; and they were bathed once
in three weeks. During these three years, from four to six children,
and sometimes more, were continually on the sick-list; one or two
assistant nurses were necessary; a physician was called two or three
times a week; and, in this time, there were between thirty and forty
deaths. At the end of this period, the management was changed, in these
respects; daily ablutions of the whole body were practiced; bread of
unbolted flour was substituted for that of fine wheat; and all animal
food was banished. More attention also was paid to clothing, bedding,
fresh air, and exercise.

The result was, that the nursery was vacated; the nurse and physician
were no longer needed; and, for two years, not a single case of sickness
or death occurred. The third year also, there were no deaths, except
those of two idiots and one other child, all of whom were new inmates,
who had not been subjected to this treatment. The teachers of the
children also testified there was a manifest increase of intellectual
vigor and activity, while there was much less irritability of temper.

Let parents, nurses, and teachers reflect on the above statement, and
bear in mind that stupidity of intellect, and irritability of temper,
as well as ill-health, are often caused by the mismanagement of the
nursery in regard to the physical training of children.

There is probably no practice more deleterious, than that of allowing
children to eat at short intervals, through, the day. As the stomach
is thus kept constantly at work, with no time for repose, its functions
are deranged, and a weak or disordered stomach is the frequent result.
Children should be required to keep cakes, nuts, and other good things,
which should be sparingly given, till just before a meal, and then
they will form a part of their regular supply. This is better than to
wait till after their hunger is satisfied by food, when they will eat
the niceties merely to gratify the palate, and thus overload the stomach
and interrupt digestion.

In regard to the intellectual training of young children, some
modification in the common practice is necessary, with reference to
their physical well-being. More care is needful, in providing
_well-ventilated_ school-rooms, and in securing more time for
sports in the open air, during school hours. It is very important to
most mothers that their young children should be removed from their
care during certain school hours; and it is very useful for quite young
children, to be subjected to the discipline of a school, and to
intercourse with other children of their own age. And, with a suitable
teacher, it is no matter how early children are sent to school, provided
their health is not endangered by impure air, too much confinement,
and too great mental stimulus, which is the chief danger of the present
age.

In regard to the formation of the moral character, it has been too
much the case that the discipline of the nursery has consisted of
disconnected efforts to make children either do, or refrain from doing,
certain particular acts. Do this, and be rewarded; do that, and be
punished; is the ordinary routine of family government.

But children can be very early taught that their happyness, both now
and hereafter, depends on the formation of _habits_ of submission,
self-denial, and benevolence. And all the discipline of the nursery
can be conducted by parents, not only with this general aim in their
own minds, but also with the same object daily set before the minds
of the children. Whenever their wishes are crossed, or their wills
subdued, they can be taught that all this is done, not merely to please
the parent, or to secure some good to themselves or to others; but as
a part of that merciful training which is designed to form such a
character, and such habits, that they can hereafter find their chief
happiness in giving up their will to God, and in living to do good to
others, instead of living merely to please themselves.

It can be pointed out to them, that they must always submit their will
to the will of God, or else be continually miserable. It can be shown
how, in the nursery, and in the school, and through all future days,
a child must practice the giving up of his will and wishes, when they
interfere with the rights and comfort of others; and how important it
is, early to learn to do this, so that it will, by habit, become easy
and agreeable. It can be shown how children who are indulged in all
their wishes, and who are never accustomed to any self-denial, always
find it hard to refrain from what injures themselves and others. It
can be shown, also, how important it is for every person to form such
habits of benevolence toward others that self-denial in doing good
will become easy.

Parents have learned, by experience, that children can be constrained
by authority and penalties to exercise self-denial, for _their own_
good, till a habit is formed which makes the duty comparatively easy.
For example, well trained children can be accustomed to deny themselves
tempting articles of food, which are injurious, until the practice
ceases to be painful and difficult. Whereas, an indulged child would
be thrown into fits of anger or discontent, when its wishes were crossed
by restraints of this kind.

But it has not been so readily discerned, that the same method is
needful in order to form a habit of self-denial in doing good to others.
It has been supposed that while children must be forced, by _authority_,
to be self-denying and prudent in regard to their own happiness, it may
properly be left to their own discretion, whether they will practice any
self-denial in doing good to others. But the more difficult a duty is,
the greater is the need of parental authority in forming a habit which
will make that duty easy.

In order to secure this, some parents turn their earliest efforts to
this object. They require the young child always to offer to others
a part of every thing which it receives; always to comply with all
reasonable requests of others for service; and often to practice little
acts of self-denial, in order to secure some enjoyment for others. If
one child receives a present of some nicety, he is required to share
it with all his brothers and sisters. If one asks his brother to help
him in some study or sport, and is met with a denial, the parent
requires the unwilling child to act benevolently, and give up some of
his time to increase his brother's enjoyment. Of course, in such an
effort as this, discretion must be used as to the frequency and extent
of the exercise of authority, to induce a habit of benevolence. But
where parents deliberately aim at such an object, and wisely conduct
their instructions and discipline to secure it, very much will be
accomplished.

In regard to forming habits of obedience, there have been two extremes,
both of which need to be shunned. One is, a stern and unsympathizing
maintenance of parental authority, demanding perfect and constant
obedience, without any attempt to convince a child of the propriety
and benevolence of the requisitions, and without any manifestation of
sympathy and tenderness for the pain and difficulties which are to be
met. Under such discipline, children grow up to fear their parents,
rather than to love and trust them; while some of the most valuable
principles of character are chilled, or forever blasted.

In shunning this danger, other parents pass to the opposite extreme.
They put themselves too much on the footing of equals with their
children, as if little were due to superiority of relation, age, and
experience. Nothing is exacted, without the implied concession that
the child is to be a judge of the propriety of the requisition; and
reason and persuasion are employed, where simple command and obedience
would be far better. This system produces a most pernicious influence.
Children soon perceive the position thus allowed them, and take every
advantage of it. They soon learn to dispute parental requirements,
acquire habits of forwardness and conceit, assume disrespectful manners
and address, maintain their views with pertinacity, and yield to
authority with ill-humor and resentment, as if their rights were
infringed upon.

The medium course is for the parent to take the attitude of a superior
in age, knowledge, and relation, who has a perfect _right_ to control
every action of the child, and that, too, without giving any reason for
the requisitions. "Obey _because your parent commands_," is always a
proper and sufficient reason: though not always the best to give.

But care should be taken to convince the child that the parent is
conducting a course of discipline, designed to make him happy; and in
forming habits of implicit obedience, self-denial, and benevolence,
the child should have the reasons for most requisitions kindly stated;
never, however, on the demand of it from the child, as a right, but
as an act of kindness from the parent.

It is impossible to govern children properly, especially those of
strong and sensitive feelings, without a constant effort to appreciate
the value which they attach to their enjoyments and pursuits. A lady
of great strength of mind and sensibility once told the writer that
one of the most acute periods of suffering in her whole life was
occasioned by the burning up of some milkweed-silk, by her mother.
The child had found, for the first time, some of this shining and
beautiful substance; was filled with delight at her discovery; was
arranging it in parcels; planning its future use, and her pleasure in
showing it to her companions--when her mother, finding it strewed over
the carpet, hastily swept it into the fire, and that, too, with so
indifferent an air, that the child fled away, almost distracted with
grief and disappointment. The mother little realized the pain she had
inflicted, but the child felt the unkindness so severely that for
several days her mother was an object, almost of aversion. While,
therefore, the parent needs to carry on a steady course, which will
oblige the child always to give up its will, whenever its own good or
the greater claims of others require it, this should be constantly
connected with the expression of a tender sympathy for the trials and
disappointments thus inflicted.

Those, again, who will join with children and help them in their sports,
will learn by this mode to understand the feelings and interests of
childhood; while at the same time, they secure a degree of confidence
and affection which can not be gained so easily in any other way. And
it is to be regretted that parents so often relinquish this most
powerful mode of influence to domestics and playmates, who often use
it in the most pernicious manner. In joining in such sports, older
persons should never yield entirely the attitude of superiors, or allow
disrespectful manners or address. And respectful deportment is never
more cheerfully accorded, than in seasons when young hearts are pleased
and made grateful by having their tastes and enjoyments so efficiently
promoted.

Next to the want of all government, the two most fruitful sources of
evil to children are, _unsteadiness_ in government and _over-
government_. Most of the cases in which the children of sensible and
conscientious parents turn out badly, result from one or the other of
these causes. In cases of unsteady government, either one parent is very
strict, severe and unbending, and the other excessively indulgent, or
else the parents are sometimes very strict and decided, and at other
times allow disobedience to go unpunished. In such cases, children,
never knowing exactly when they can escape with impunity, are constantly
tempted to make the trial.

The bad effects of this can be better appreciated by reference to one
important principle of the mind. It is found to be universally true,
that, when any object of desire is put entirely beyond the reach of
hope or expectation, the mind very soon ceases to long for it, and
turns to other objects of pursuit. But so long as the mind is hoping
for some good, and making efforts to obtain it, any opposition excites
irritable feelings. Let the object be put entirely beyond all hope,
and this irritation soon ceases.

In consequence of this principle, those children who are under the
care of persons of steady and decided government know that whenever
a thing is forbidden or denied, it is out of the reach of hope; the
desire, therefore, soon ceases, and they turn to other objects. But
the children of undecided, or of over-indulgent parents, never enjoy
this preserving aid. When a thing is denied, they never know hut either
coaxing may win it, or disobedience secure it without any penalty, and
so they are kept in that state of hope and anxiety which produces
irritation and tempts to insubordination. The children of very indulgent
parents, and of those who are undecided and unsteady in government,
are very apt to become fretful, irritable, and fractious.

Another class of persons, in shunning this evil, go to the other
extreme, and are very strict and pertinacious in regard to every
requisition. With them, fault-finding and penalties abound, until the
children are either hardened into indifference of feeling, and
obtuseness of conscience, or else become excessively irritable or
misanthropic.

It demands great wisdom, patience, and self-control, to escape these
two extremes. In aiming at this, there are parents who have found the
following maxims of very great value:

First: Avoid, as much as possible, the multiplication of rules and
absolute commands. Instead of this, take the attitude of advisers. "My
child, this is improper, I wish you would remember not to do it." This
mode of address answers for all the little acts of heedlessness,
awkwardness, or ill-manners so frequently occurring with children.
There are cases, when direct and distinct commands are needful; and
in such cases, a penalty for disobedience should be as steady and sure
as the laws of nature. Where such steadiness and certainty of penalty
attend disobedience, children no more think of disobeying than they
do of putting their fingers into a burning candle.

The next maxim is, Govern by rewards more than by penalties. Such
faults as willful disobedience, lying, dishonesty, and indecent or
profane language, should be punished with severe penalties, after a
child has been fully instructed in the evil of such practices. But all
the constantly recurring faults of the nursery, such as ill-humor,
quarreling, carelessness, and ill-manners, may, in a great many cases,
be regulated by gentle and kind remonstrances, and by the offer of
some reward for persevering efforts to form a good habit. It is very
injurious and degrading to any mind to be kept under the constant fear
of penalties. _Love_ and _hope_ are the principles that should be mainly
relied on, in forming the habits of childhood.

Another maxim, and perhaps the most difficult, is, Do not govern by
the aid of severe and angry tones. A single example will be given to
illustrate this maxim. A child is disposed to talk and amuse itself
at table. The mother requests it to be silent, except when needing to
ask for food, or when spoken to by its older friends. It constantly
forgets. The mother, instead of rebuking in an impatient tone, says,
"My child, you must remember not to talk. I will remind you of it four
times more, and after that, whenever you forget, you must leave the
table and wait till we are done." If the mother is steady in her
government, it is not probable that she will have to apply this slight
penalty more than once or twice. This method is far more effectual
than the use of sharp and severe tones, to secure attention and
recollection, and often answers the purpose as well as offering some
reward.

The writer has been in some families where the most efficient and steady
government has been sustained without the use of a cross or angry tone;
and in others, where a far less efficient discipline was kept up, by
frequent severe rebukes and angry remonstrances. In the first case,
the children followed the example set them, and seldom used severe
tones to each other; in the latter, the method employed by the parents
was imitated by the children, and cross words and angry tones resounded
from morning till night, in every portion of the household.

Another important maxim is, Try to keep children in a happy state of
mind. Every one knows, by experience, that it is easier to do right
and submit to rule when cheerful and happy, than when irritated. This
is peculiarly true of children; and a wise mother, when she finds her
child fretful and impatient, and thus constantly doing wrong, will
often remedy the whole difficulty, by telling some amusing story, or
by getting the child engaged in some amusing sport. This strongly shows
the importance of learning to govern children without the employment
of angry tones, which always produce irritation.

Children of active, heedless temperament, or those who are odd, awkward,
or unsuitable in their remarks and deportment, are often essentially
injured by a want of patience and self-control in those who govern
them. Such children often possess a morbid sensibility which they
strive to conceal, or a desire of love and approbation, which preys
like a famine on the soul. And yet, they become objects of ridicule
and rebuke to almost every member of the family, until their
sensibilities are tortured into obtuseness or misanthropy. Such
children, above all others, need tenderness and sympathy. A thousand
instances of mistake or forgetfulness should be passed over in silence,
while opportunities for commendation and encouragement should be
diligently sought.

In regard to the formation of habits of self-denial in childhood, it
is astonishing to see how parents who are very sensible often seem to
regard this matter. Instead of inuring their children to this duty in
early life, so that by habit it may be made easy in after-days, they
seem to be studiously seeking to cut them off from every chance to
secure such a preparation. Every wish of the child is studiously
gratified; and, where a necessity exists of crossing its wishes, some
compensating pleasure is offered, in return. Such parents often maintain
that nothing shall be put on their table, which their children may not
join them in eating. But where, so easily and surely as at the daily
meal, can that habit of self-denial be formed, which is so needful in
governing the appetites, and which children must acquire, or be ruined?
The food which is proper for grown persons, is often unsuitable for
children; and this is a sufficient reason for accustoming them to see
others partake of delicacies, which they must not share. Requiring
children, to wait till others are helped, and to refrain from,
conversation at table, except when addressed by their elders, is another
mode of forming habits of self-denial and self-control. Requiring them
to help others first, and to offer the best to others, has a similar
influence.

In forming the moral habits of children, it is wise to take into account
the peculiar temptations to which they are to be exposed. The people
of this nation are eminently a trafficking people; and the present
standard of honesty, as to trade and debts, is very low, and every
year seems sinking still lower. It is, therefore, preeminently
important, that children should be trained to strict _honesty_,
both in word and deed. It is not merely teaching children to avoid
absolute lying, which is needed: _all kinds of deceit_ should be
guarded against; and all kinds of little dishonest practices be
strenuously opposed. A child should be brought up with the determined
principle, never to _run in debt_, but to be content to live in
a humbler way, in order to secure that true independence, which should
be the noblest distinction of an American citizen.

There is no more important duty devolving upon a mother, than the
cultivation of habits of modesty and propriety in young children. All
indecorous words or deportment should be carefully restrained; and
delicacy and reserve studiously cherished. It is a common notion, that
it is important to secure these virtues to one sex, more than to the
other; and, by a strange inconsistency, the sex most exposed to danger
is the one selected as least needing care. Yet a wise mother will be
especially careful that her sons are trained to modesty and purity of
mind.

Yet few mothers are sufficiently aware of the dreadful penalties which
often result from indulged impurity of thought. If children, in _future_
life, can be preserved from licentious associates, it is supposed that
their safety is secured. But the records of our insane retreats, and the
pages of medical writers, teach that even in solitude, and without being
aware of the sin or the danger, children may inflict evils on
themselves, which not unfrequently terminate in disease, delirium, and
death.

There is no necessity for explanations on this point any farther than
this; that certain parts of the body are not to be touched except for
purposes of cleanliness, and that the most dreadful suffering comes
from disobeying these commands. So in regard to practices and sins of
which a young child will sometimes inquire, the wise parent will say,
that this is what children can not understand, and about which they
must not talk or ask questions. And they should be told that it is
always a bad sign, when children talk on matters which parents call
vulgar and indecent, and that the company of such children should be
avoided. Disclosing details of wrong-doing to young and curious
children, often leads to the very evils feared. But parents and
teachers, in this age of danger, should be well informed and watchful;
for it is not unfrequently the case, that servants and school-mates
will teach young children practices, which exhaust the nervous system
and bring on paralysis, mania, and death.

And finally, in regard to the early religious training of children,
the examples of the Creator in the early training of our race may
safely be imitated. That "He is, and is a rewarder"--that he is
everywhere present--that he is a tender Father in heaven, who is grieved
when any of his children do wrong, yet ever ready to forgive those who
are striving to please him by well-doing, these are the most effective
motives to save the young from the paths of danger and sin. The rewards
and penalties of the life to come are better adapted to maturer age,
than to the imperfect and often false and fearful conceptions of the
childish mind.




XXIII.

DOMESTIC AMUSEMENTS AND SOCIAL DUTIES.

Whenever the laws of body and mind are properly understood, it will
be allowed that every person needs some kind of recreation; and that,
by seeking it, the body is strengthened, the mind is invigorated, and
all our duties are more cheerfully and successfully performed.

Children, whose bodies are rapidly growing and whose nervous system
is tender and excitable, need much more amusement than persons of
mature age. Persons, also, who are oppressed with great responsibilities
and duties, or who are taxed by great intellectual or moral excitement,
need recreations which physically exercise and draw off the mind from
absorbing interests. Unfortunately, such persons are those who least
resort to amusements, while the idle, gay, and thoughtless seek those
which are not needed, and for which useful occupation would be a most
beneficial substitute.

As the only legitimate object of amusement is to prepare mind and body
for the proper discharge of duty, the protracting of such as interfere
with regular employments, or induce excessive fatigue, or weary the
mind, or invade the proper hours for repose, must be sinful.

In deciding what should be selected, and what avoided, the following
are guiding principles. In the first place, no amusements which inflict
needless pain should ever be allowed. All tricks which cause fright
or vexation, and all sports which involve suffering to animals, should
be utterly forbidden. Hunting and fishing, for mere sport, can never
be justified. If a man can convince his children that he follows these
pursuits to gain food or health, and not for amusement, his example
may not be very injurious. But when children see grown persons kill
and frighten animals, for sport, habits of cruelty, rather than feelings
of tenderness and benevolence, are cultivated.

In the next place, we should seek no recreations which endanger life,
or interfere with important duties. As the legitimate object of
amusements is to promote health and prepare for some serious duties,
selecting those which have a directly opposite tendency, can not be
justified. Of course, if a person feels that the previous day's
diversion has shortened the hours of needful repose, or induced a
lassitude of mind or body, instead of invigorating them, it is certain
that an evil has been done which should never be repeated.

Another rule which has been extensively adopted in the religious world
is, to avoid those amusements which experience has shown to be so
exciting, and connected with so many temptations, as to be pernicious
in tendency, both to the individual and to the community. It is on
this ground, that horse-racing and circus-riding have been excluded.
Not because there is any thing positively wrong in having men and
horses run and perform feats of agility, or in persons looking on for
the diversion: but because experience has shown so many evils connected
with these recreations, that they should be relinquished. So with
theatres. The enacting of characters and the amusement thus afforded
in themselves may be harmless; and possibly, in certain cases, might
be useful: but experience has shown so many evils to result from this
source, that it has been deemed wrong to patronize it. So, also, with
those exciting games of chance which are employed in gambling.

Under the same head comes dancing, in the estimation of the great
majority of the religious world. Still, there are many intelligent,
excellent, and conscientious persons who hold a contrary opinion. Such
maintain that it is an innocent and healthful amusement, tending to
promote ease of manners, cheerfulness, social affection, and health
of mind and body; that evils are involved only in its excess; that
like food, study, or religions excitement, it is only wrong when not
properly regulated; and that, if serious and intelligent people would
strive to regulate, rather than banish, this amusement, much more good
would be secured.

On the other side, it is objected, not that dancing is a sin, in itself
considered, for it was once a part of sacred worship; not that it would
be objectionable, if it were properly regulated; not that it does not
tend, when used in a proper manner, to health of body and mind, to
grace of manners; and to social enjoyment: all these things are
conceded. But it is objected to, on the same ground as horse-racing
and theatrical entertainments; that we are to look at amusements as
they are, and not as they might be. Horse-races might be so managed
as not to involve cruelty, gambling, drunkenness, and other vices. And
so might theatres. And if serious and intelligent persons undertook
to patronize these, in order to regulate them, perhaps they would be
somewhat raised from the depths to which they have sunk. But such
persons believe that, with the weak sense of moral obligation existing
in the mass of society, and the imperfect ideas mankind have of the
proper use of amusements, and the little self-control which men or
women or children practice, these will not, in fact, be thus regulated.

And they believe dancing to be liable to the same objections. As this
recreation is actually conducted, it does not tend to produce health
of body or mind, but directly the contrary. If young and old went out
to dance together in open air, as the French peasants do, it would be
a very different sort of amusement from that which often is witnessed
in a room furnished with many lights and filled with guests, both
expending the healthful part of the atmosphere, where the young collect,
in their tightest dresses, to protract for several hours a kind of
physical exertion which is not habitual to them. During this process,
the blood is made to circulate more swiftly than usual, in circumstances
where it is less perfectly oxygenized than health requires; the pores
of the skin are excited by heat and exercise; the stomach is loaded
with indigestible articles, and the quiet, needful to digestion,
withheld; the diversion is protracted beyond the usual hour for repose;
and then, when the skin is made the most highly susceptible to damps
and miasms, the company pass from a warm room to the cold night-air.
It is probable that no single amusement can be pointed out combining
so many injurious particulars as this, which is so often defended as
a healthful one. Even if parents, who train their children to dance,
can keep them from public balls, (which is seldom the case,) dancing,
as ordinarily conducted in private parlors, in most cases is subject
to nearly all the same mischievous influences.

The spirit of Christ is that of self-denying benevolence; and his great
aim, by his teachings and example, was to train his followers to avoid
all that should lead to sin, especially in regard to the weaker ones
of his family. Yet he made wine at a wedding, attended a social feast
on the Sabbath, [Footnote: Luke xiv. In reading this passage, please
notice what kind of guests are to be invited to the feast that Jesus
Christ recommends.] reproved excess of strictness in Sabbath-keeping
generally, and forbade no safe and innocent enjoyment. In following
his example, the rulers of the family, then, will introduce the most
highly exciting amusements only in circumstances where there are such
strong principles and habits of self-control that the enjoyment will
not involve sin in the actor or needless temptation to the weak.

The course pursued by our Puritan ancestors, in the period succeeding
their first perils amid sickness and savages, is an example that may
safely be practiced at the present day. The young of both sexes were
educated in the higher branches, in country academies, and very often
the closing exercises were theatricals, in which the pupils were
performers and their pastors, elders, and parents, the audience. So,
at social gatherings, the dance was introduced before minister and
wife, with smiling approval. The roaring fires and broad chimneys
provided pure air, and the nine o'clock bell ended the festivities
that gave new vigor and zest to life, while the dawn of the next day's
light saw all at their posts of duty, with heartier strength and blither
spirits.

No indecent or unhealthful costumes offended the eye, no half-naked
dancers of dubious morality were sustained in a life of dangerous
excitement, by the money of Christian people, for the mere amusement
of their night hours. No shivering drivers were deprived of comfort
and sleep, to carry home the midnight followers of fashion; nor was
the quiet and comfort of servants in hundreds of dwellings invaded for
the mere amusement of their superiors in education and advantages. The
command "we that are strong, ought to bear the infirmities of the weak,
and not to please ourselves," was in those days not reversed. Had the
drama and the dance continued to be regulated by the rules of
temperance, health, and Christian benevolence, as in the days of our
forefathers, they would not have been so generally banished from the
religious world. And the question is now being discussed, whether they
can be so regulated at the present time as not to violate the laws,
either of health or benevolence. [Footnote: Fanny Kemble Butler remarked
to the present writer that she regarded theatres wrong, chiefly because
of the injury involved to the actors. Can a Christian mother contribute
money to support young women in a profession from which she would
protect her own daughter, as from degradation, and that, too, simply
for the amusement of herself and family? Would this be following the
self-sacrificing benevolence of Christ and his apostles?]

In regard to home amusements, card-playing is now indulged in, in many
conscientious families from which it formerly was excluded, and for
these reasons: it is claimed that this is a quiet home amusement, which
unites pleasantly the aged with the young; that it is not now employed
in respectable society for gambling, as it formerly was; that to some
young minds it is a peculiarly fascinating game, and should be first
practiced under the parental care, till the excitement of novelty is
past, thus rendering the danger to children less, when going into the
world; and, finally, that habits of self-control in exciting
circumstances may and should be thus cultivated in the safety of home.
Many parents who have taken this course with their sons in early life,
believe that it has proved rather a course of safety than of danger.
Still, as there is great diversity of opinion, among persons of equal
worth and intelligence, a mutual spirit of candor and courtesy should
be practiced. The sneer at bigotry and narrowness of views, on one
side, and the uncharitable implication of want of piety, or sense, on
the other, are equally ill-bred and unchristian. Truth on this subject
is best promoted, not by ill-natured crimination and rebuke, but by
calm reason, generous candor, forbearance, and kindness.

There is another species of amusement, which a large portion of the
religious world formerly put under the same condemnation as the
preceding. This is novel-reading. The confusion and difference of
opinion on this subject have arisen from a want of clear and definite
distinctions. Now, as it is impossible to define what are novels and
what are not, so as to include one class of fictitious writings and
exclude every other, it is impossible to lay down any rule respecting
them. The discussion, in fact, turns on the use of those works of
imagination which belong to the class of fictitious narratives. That
this species of reading is not only lawful but necessary and useful,
is settled by divine examples, in the parables and allegories of
Scripture. Of course, the question must be, what kind of fabulous
writings must be avoided, and what allowed.

In deciding this, no specific rules can be given; but it must be a
matter to be regulated by the nature and circumstances of each case.
No works of fiction which tend to throw the allurements of taste and
genius around vice and crime should ever be tolerated; and all that
tend to give false views of life and duty should also be banished. Of
those which are written for mere amusement, presenting scenes and
events that are interesting and exciting and having no bad moral
influence, much must depend on the character and circumstances of the
reader. Some minds are torpid and phlegmatic, and need to have the
imagination stimulated: such would be benefited by this kind of reading.
Others have quick and active imaginations, and would be as much injured
by excess. Some persons are often so engaged in absorbing interests,
that any thing innocent, which will for a short time draw off the mind,
is of the nature of a medicine; and, in such cases, this kind of reading
is useful.

There is need, also, that some men should keep a supervision of the
current literature of the day, as guardians, to warn others of danger.
For this purpose, it is more suitable for editors, clergymen, and
teachers to read indiscriminately, than for any other class of persons;
for they are the guardians of the public weal in matters of literature,
and should be prepared to advise parents and young persons of the evils
in one direction and the good in another. In doing this, however, they
are bound to go on the same principles which regulate physicians, when
they visit infected districts--using every precaution to prevent injury
to themselves; having as little to do with pernicious exposures, as
a benevolent regard to others will allow; and faithfully employing all
the knowledge and opportunities thus gained for warning and preserving
others. There is much danger, in taking this course, that men will
seek the excitement of the imagination for the mere pleasure it affords,
under the plea of preparing to serve the public, when this is neither
the aim nor the result.

In regard to the use of such works by the young, as a general rule,
they ought not to be allowed, to any except those of a dull and
phlegmatic temperament, until the solid parts of education are secured
and a taste for more elevated reading is acquired. If these stimulating
condiments in literature be freely used in youth, all relish for more
solid reading will in a majority of cases be destroyed. If parents
succeed in securing habits of cheerful and implicit obedience, it will
be very easy to regulate this matter, by prohibiting the reading of
any story-book, until the consent of the parent is obtained.

The most successful mode of forming a taste for suitable reading, is
for parents to select interesting works of history and travels, with
maps and pictures suited to the age and attainments of the young, and
spend an hour or two each day or evening, in aiming to make truth as
interesting as fiction. Whoever has once tried this method will find
that the uninjured mind of childhood is better satisfied with what
they know is true, when wisely presented, than with the most exciting
novels, which they know are false.

Perhaps there has been some just ground of objection to the course
often pursued by parents in neglecting to provide suitable and agreeable
substitutes for the amusements denied. But there is a great abundance
of safe, healthful, and delightful recreations, which all parents may
secure for their children. Some of these will here be pointed out.

One of the most useful and important, is the cultivation of flowers
and fruits. This, especially for the daughters of a family, is greatly
promotive of health and amusement. It is with the hope that many young
ladies, whose habits are now so formed that they can never be induced
to a course of active domestic exercise so long as their parents are
able to hire domestic service, may yet be led to an employment which
will tend to secure health and vigor of constitution, that much space
will be given in the second volume of this work, to directions for the
cultivation of fruits and flowers.

It would be a most desirable improvement, if all schools for young
women could be furnished with suitable grounds and instruments for the
cultivation of fruits and flowers, and every inducement offered to
engage the pupils in this pursuit. No father, who wishes to have his
daughters grow up to be healthful women, can take a surer method to
secure this end. Let him set apart a portion of his ground for fruits
and flowers, and see that the soil is well prepared and dug over, and
all the rest may be committed to the care of the children. These would
need to be provided with a light hoe and rake, a dibble or garden
trowel, a watering-pot, and means and opportunities for securing seeds,
roots, bulbs, buds, and grafts, all which might be done at a trifling
expense. Then, with proper encouragement and by the aid of a few
intelligible and practical directions, every man who has even half an
acre could secure a small Eden around his premises.

In pursuing this amusement children can also be led to acquire many
useful habits. Early rising would, in many cases, be thus secured; and
if they were required to keep their walks and borders free from weeds
and rubbish, habits of order and neatness would be induced. Benevolent
and social feelings could also be cultivated, by influencing children
to share their fruits and flowers with friends and neighbors, as well
as to distribute roots and seeds to those who have not the means of
procuring them. A woman or a child, by giving seeds or slips or roots
to a washerwoman, or a farmer's boy, thus inciting them to love and
cultivate fruits and flowers, awakens a new and refining source of
enjoyment in minds which have few resources more elevated than mere
physical enjoyments. Our Saviour directs us in making feasts, to call,
not the rich who can recompense again, but the poor who can make no
returns. So children should be taught to dispense their little treasures
not alone to companions and friends, who will probably return similar
favors; but to those who have no means of making any return. If the
rich, who acquire a love for the enjoyments of taste and have the means
to gratify it, would aim to extend among the poor the cheap and simple
enjoyment of fruits and flowers, our country would soon literally
"blossom as the rose."

If the ladies of a neighborhood would unite small contributions, and
send a list of flower-seeds and roots to some respectable and honest
florist, who would not be likely to turn them off with trash, they
could divide these among themselves and their poor neighbors, so as
to secure an abundant variety at a very small expense. A bag of
flower-seeds, which can be obtained at wholesale for four cents, would
abundantly supply a whole neighborhood; and by the gathering of seeds
in the autumn, could be perpetuated.

Another very elevating and delightful recreation for the young is found
in _music_. Here the writer would protest against the practice common in
many families, of having the daughters learn to play on the piano
whether they have a taste and an ear for music, or not. A young lady who
does not sing well, and has no great fondness for music, does nothing
but waste time, money, and patience in learning to play on the piano.
But all children can be taught to sing in early childhood, if the
scientific mode of teaching music in schools could be more widely
introduced, as it is in Prussia, Germany, and Switzerland. Then young
children could read and sing music as easily as they can read language;
and might take any tune, dividing themselves into bands, and sing off
at sight the endless variety of music which is prepared. And if parents
of wealth would take pains to have teachers qualified for the purpose,
who should teach all the young children in the community, much would
be done for the happiness and elevation of the rising generation. This
is an element of education which we are glad to know is, year by year,
more extensively and carefully cultivated; and it is not only a means
of culture, but also an amusement, which children relish in the highest
degree; and which they can enjoy at home, in the fields, and in visits
abroad.

Another domestic amusement is the collecting of shells, plants, and
specimens in geology and mineralogy, for the formation of cabinets.
If intelligent parents would procure the simpler works which have been
prepared for the young, and study them with their children, a taste
for such recreations would soon be developed. The writer has seen young
boys, of eight and ten years of age, gathering and cleaning shells
from rivers, and collecting plants and mineralogical specimens, with
a delight bordering on ecstasy; and there are few, if any, who by
proper influences would not find this a source of ceaseless delight
and improvement.

Another resource for family diversion is to be found in the various
games played by children, and in which the joining of older members
of the family is always a great advantage to both parties, especially
those in the open air.

All medical men unite in declaring that nothing is more beneficial to
health than hearty laughter; and surely our benevolent Creator would
not have provided risibles, and made it a source of health and enjoyment
to use them, if it were a sin so to do. There has been a tendency to
asceticism, on this subject, which needs to be removed. Such commands
as forbid _foolish_ laughing and jesting, "_which are not convenient_"
and which forbid all idle words and vain conversation, can not apply to
any thing except what is foolish, vain, and useless. But jokes,
laughter, and sports, when used in such a degree as tends only to
promote health and happiness, are neither vain, foolish, nor "not
convenient." It is the excess of these things, and not the moderate
use of them, which Scripture forbids. The prevailing temper of the
mind should be serious, yet cheerful; and there are times when
relaxation and laughter are not only proper but necessary and right
for all. There is nothing better for this end than that parents and
older persons should join in the sports of childhood. Mature minds can
always make such diversions more entertaining to children, and can
exert a healthful moral influence over their minds; and at the same
time can gain exercise and amusement for themselves. How lamentable
that so many fathers, who could be thus useful and happy with their
children, throw away such opportunities, and wear out soul and body
in the pursuit of gain or fame!

Another resource for children is the exercise of mechanical skill.
Fathers, by providing tools for their boys, and showing them how to
make wheelbarrows, carts, sleds, and various other articles, contribute
both to the physical, moral, and social improvement of their children.
And in regard to little daughters, much more can be done in this way
than many would imagine. The writer, blessed with the example of a
most ingenious and industrious mother, had not only learned before the
age of twelve to make dolls, of various sorts and sizes, but to cut
and fit and sew every article that belongs to a doll's wardrobe. This,
which was done by the child for mere amusement, secured such a facility
in mechanical pursuits, that, ever afterward, the cutting and fitting
of any article of dress, for either sex, was accomplished with entire
ease.

When a little girl begins to sew, her mother can promise her a small
bed and pillow, as soon as she has sewed a patch quilt for them; and
then a bedstead, as soon as she has sewed the sheets and cases for
pillows; and then a large doll to dress, as soon as she has made the
undergarments; and thus go on till the whole contents of the baby-house
are earned by the needle and skill of its little owner. Thus the task
of learning to sew will become a pleasure; and every new toy will be
earned by useful exertion. A little girl can be taught, by the aid of
patterns prepared for the purpose, to cut and fit all articles necessary
for her doll. She can also be provided with a little wash-tub and irons
and thus keep in proper order a complete miniature domestic
establishment.

Besides these recreations, there are the enjoyments secured in walking,
riding, visiting, and many other employments which need not be
recounted. Children, if trained to be healthful and industrious, will
never fail to discover resources of amusement; while their guardians
should lend their aid to guide and restrain them from excess.

There is need of a very great change of opinion and practice in this
nation in regard to the subject of social and domestic duties. Many
sensible and conscientious men spend all their time abroad in business;
except perhaps an hour or so at night, when they are so fatigued as
to be unfitted for any social or intellectual enjoyment. And some of
the most conscientious men in the country will add to their professional
business public or benevolent enterprises, which demand time, effort,
and money; and then excuse themselves for neglecting all care of their
children, and efforts for their own intellectual improvement, or for
the improvement of their families, by the plea that they have no time
for it.

All this arises from the want of correct notions of the binding
obligation of our social and domestic duties. The main object of life
is not to secure the various gratifications of appetite or taste, but
to form such a character, for ourselves and others, as will secure the
greatest amount of present and future happiness. It is of far more
consequence, then, that parents should be intelligent, social,
affectionate, and agreeable at home and to their friends, than that
they should earn money enough to live in a large house and have handsome
furniture. It is far more needful for children that a father should
attend to the formation of their character and habits, and aid in
developing their social, intellectual, and moral nature, than it is
that he should earn money to furnish them with handsome clothes and
a variety of tempting food.

It will be wise for those parents who find little time to attend to
their children, or to seek amusement and enjoyment in the domestic and
social circle, because their time is so much occupied with public cares
or benevolent objects, to inquire whether their first duty is not to
train up their own families to be useful members of society. A man who
neglects the mind and morals of his children, to take care of the
public, is in great danger of coming under a similar condemnation to
that of him who, neglecting to provide for his own household, has
"denied the faith, and is worse than an infidel."

There are husbands and fathers who conscientiously subtract time from
their business to spend at home, in reading with their wives and
children, and in domestic amusements which at once refresh and improve.
The children of such parents will grow up with a love of home and
kindred which will be the greatest safeguard against future temptations,
as well as the purest source of earthly enjoyment.

There are families, also, who make it a definite object to keep up
family attachments, after the children are scattered abroad; and, in
some cases, secure the means for doing this by saving money which would
otherwise have been spent for superfluities of food or dress. Some
families have adopted, for this end, a practice which, if widely
imitated, would be productive of much enjoyment. The method is this:
On the first day of each month, some member of the family, at each
extreme point of dispersion, takes a folio sheet, and fills a part of
a page. This is sealed and mailed to the next family, who read it, add
another contribution, and then mail it to the next. Thus the family
circular, once a month, goes from each extreme to all the members of
a widely-dispersed family, and each member becomes a sharer in the
joys, sorrows, plans, and pursuits of all the rest. At the same time,
frequent family meetings are sought; and the expense thus incurred is
cheerfully met by retrenchments in other directions. The sacrifice of
some unnecessary physical indulgence will often purchase many social
and domestic enjoyments, a thousand times more elevating and delightful
than the retrenched luxury.

There is no social duty which the Supreme Law-giver more strenuously
urges than hospitality and kindness to strangers, who are classed with
the widow and the fatherless as the special objects of Divine
tenderness. There are some reasons why this duty peculiarly demands
attention from the American people.

Reverses of fortune, in this land, are so frequent and unexpected, and
the habits of the people are so migratory, that there are very many
in every part of the country who, having seen all their temporal plans
and hopes crushed, are now pining among strangers, bereft of wonted
comforts, without friends, and without the sympathy and society so
needful to wounded spirits. Such, too frequently, sojourn long and
lonely, with no comforter but Him who "knoweth the heart of a stranger."

Whenever, therefore, new-comers enter a community, inquiry should
immediately be made as to whether they have friends or associates, to
render sympathy and kind attentions; and, when there is any need for
it, the ministries of kind neighborliness should immediately be offered.
And it should be remembered that the first days of a stranger's sojourn
are the most dreary, and that civility and kindness are doubled in
value by being offered at an early period.

In social gatherings the claims of the stranger are too apt to be
forgotten; especially in cases where there are no peculiar attractions
of personal appearance, or talents, or high standing. Such a one should
be treated with attention, _because_ he is a stranger; and when
communities learn to act more from principle, and less from selfish
impulse, on this subject, the sacred claims of the stranger will be
less frequently forgotten.

The most agreeable hospitality to visitors who become inmates of a
family, is that which puts them entirely at ease. This can never be
the case where the guest perceives that the order of family arrangement
is essentially altered, and that time, comfort, and convenience are
sacrificed for his accommodation.

Offering the best to visitors, showing a polite regard to every wish
expressed, and giving precedence to them, in all matters of comfort
and convenience, can be easily combined with the easy freedom which
makes the stranger feel at home; and this is the perfection of
hospitable entertainment.




XXIV.

CARE OF THE AGED.

One of the most interesting and instructive illustrations of the design
of our Creator, in the institution of the family state, is the
preservation of the aged after their faculties decay and usefulness
in ordinary modes seems to be ended. By most persons this period of
infirmities and uselessness is anticipated with apprehension, especially
in the case of those who have lived an active, useful life, giving
largely of service to others, and dependent for most resources of
enjoyment on their own energies.

To lose the resources of sight or hearing, to become feeble in body,
so as to depend on the ministries of others, and finally to gradually
decay in mental force and intelligence, to many seems far worse than
death. Multitudes have prayed to be taken, from this life when their
usefulness is thus ended.

But a true view of the design of the family state, and of the ministry
of the aged and helpless in carrying out this design, would greatly
lessen such apprehensions, and might be made a source of pure and
elevated enjoyment.

The Christian virtues of patience with the unreasonable, of self-
denying labor for the weak, and of sympathy with the afflicted, are
dependent, to a great degree, on cultivation and habit, and these can
be gained only in circumstances demanding the daily exercise of these
graces. In this aspect, continued life in the aged and infirm should
be regarded as a blessing and privilege to a family, especially to the
young, and the cultivation of the graces that are demanded by that
relation should be made a definite and interesting part of their
education. A few of the methods to be attempted for this end will be
suggested.

In the first place, the object for which the aged are preserved in
life, when in many cases they would rejoice to depart, should be
definitely kept in recollection, and a sense of gratitude and obligation
be cultivated. They should be looked up to and treated as ministers
sustained by our Heavenly Father in a painful experience, expressly
for the good of those around them. This appreciation of their ministry
and usefulness will greatly lessen their trials and impart consolation.
If in hours of weariness and infirmity they wonder why they are kept
in a useless and helpless state to burden others around, they should
be assured that they are not useless; and this is not only by word,
but, better still, by the manifestation of those virtues which such
opportunities alone can secure.

Another mode of cheering the aged is to engage them in the domestic
games and sports which unite the old and the young in amusement. Many
a weary hour may thus be enlivened for the benefit of all concerned.
And here will often occur opportunities of self-denying benevolence
in relinquishing personal pursuits and gratification thus to promote
the enjoyment of the infirm and dependent. Reading aloud is often a
great source of enjoyment to those who by age are deprived of reading
for themselves. So the effort to gather news of the neighborhood and
impart it, is another mode of relieving those deprived of social
gatherings.

There is no period in life when those courtesies of good breeding which
recognize the relations of superior and inferior should be more
carefully cherished than when there is need of showing them toward
those of advancing age. To those who have controlled a household, and
still more to those who in public life have been honored and admired,
the decay of mental powers is peculiarly trying, and every effort
should be made to lessen the trial by courteous attention to their
opinions, and by avoiding all attempts to controvert them, or to make
evident any weakness or fallacy in their conversation.

In regard to the decay of bodily or mental faculties, much more can
be done to prevent or retard them than is generally supposed, and some
methods for this end which have been gained by observation or experience
will be presented.

As the exercise of all our faculties tends to increase their power,
unless it be carried to excess, it is very important that the aged
should be provided with useful employment, suited to their strength
and capacity. Nothing hastens decay so fast as to remove the
_stimulus_ of useful activity. It should become a study with those
who have the care of the aged to interest them in some useful pursuit,
and to convince them that they are in some measure actively contributing
to the general welfare. In the country and in families where the larger
part of the domestic labor is done without servants, it is very easy
to keep up an interest in domestic industrial employments. The tending
of a small garden in summer--the preparation of fuel and food, the
mending of household utensils--these and many other occupations of the
hands will keep alive activity and interest, in a man; while for women
there are still more varied resources. There is nothing that so soon
hastens decay and lends acerbity to age as giving up all business and
responsibility, and every mode possible should be devised to prevent
this result.

As age advances, all the bodily functions move more slowly, and
consequently the generation of animal heat, by the union of oxygen and
carbon in the capillaries, is in smaller proportion than in the midday
of life. For this reason some practices, safe for the vigorous, must
be relinquished by the aged; and one of these is the use of the cold
bath. It has often been the case that rheumatism has been caused by
neglect of this caution. More than ordinary care should be taken to
preserve animal heat in the aged, especially in the hands and the feet.

In many families will be found an aged brother, or sister, or other
relative who has no home, and no claim to a refuge in the family circle
but that of kindred. Sometimes they are poor and homeless, for want
of a faculty for self-supporting business; and sometimes they have
peculiarities of person or disposition which render their society
undesirable. These are cases where the pitying tenderness of the Saviour
should be remembered, and for his sake patient kindness and tender
care be given, and he will graciously accept it as an offering of love
and duty to himself. "Inasmuch as ye have done it to the least of these
my brethren, ye have done it to me."

It is sometimes the case that even parents in old age have had occasion
to say with the forsaken King Lear, "How sharper than a serpent's tooth
it is to have a thankless child!" It is right training in early life
alone that will save from this.

In the opening of China and the probable influx of its people, there
is one cause for congratulation to a nation that is failing in the
virtue of reverence. The Chinese are distinguished above all other
nations for their respect for the aged, and especially for their
reverence for aged parents and conformity to their authority, even to
the last. This virtue is cultivated to a degree that is remarkable,
and has produced singular and favorable results on the national
character, which it is hoped may be imparted to the land to which they
are flocking in such multitudes. For with all their peculiarities of
pagan philosophy and their oriental eccentricities of custom and
practical life, they are everywhere renowned for their uniform and
elegant courtesy--a most commendable virtue, and one arising from
habitual deference to the aged more than from any other source.




XXV.

THE CASE OF SERVANTS.

Although in earlier ages the highest born, wealthiest, and proudest
ladies were skilled in the simple labors of the household, the advance
of society toward luxury has changed all that in lands of aristocracy
and classes, and at the present time America is the only country where
there is a class of women who may be described as _ladies_ who do their
own work. By a lady we mean a woman of education, cultivation, and
refinement, of liberal tastes and ideas, who, without any very material
additions or changes, would be recognized as a lady in any
circle of the Old World or the New.

The existence of such a class is a fact peculiar to American society,
a plain result of the new principles involved in the doctrine of
universal equality.

When the colonists first came to this country, of however mixed
ingredients their ranks might have been composed, and however imbued
with the spirit of feudal and aristocratic ideas, the discipline of
the wilderness soon brought them to a democratic level; the gentleman
felled the wood for his log-cabin side by side with the plowman, and
thews and sinews rose in the market. "A man was deemed honorable in
proportion as he lifted his hand upon the high trees of the forest."
So in the interior domestic circle. Mistress and maid, living in a
log-cabin together, became companions, and sometimes the maid, as the
one well-trained in domestic labor, took precedence of the mistress.
It also became natural and unavoidable that children should begin to
work as early as they were capable of it.

The result was a generation of intelligent people brought up to labor
from necessity, but devoting to the problem of labor the acuteness of
a disciplined brain. The mistress, outdone in sinews and muscles by
her maid, kept her superiority by skill and contrivance. If she could
not lift a pail of water, she could invent methods which made lifting
the pail unnecessary,--if she could not take a hundred steps without
weariness, she could make twenty answer the purpose of a hundred.

Slavery, it is true, was to some extent introduced into New England,
but it never suited the genius of the people, never struck deep root
or spread so as to choke the good seed of self-helpfulness. Many were
opposed to it from conscientious principle--many from far-sighted
thrift, and from a love of thoroughness and well-doing which despised
the rude, unskilled work of barbarians. People, having once felt the
thorough neatness and beauty of execution which came of free, educated,
and thoughtful labor, could not tolerate the clumsiness of slavery.

Thus it came to pass that for many years the rural population of
New-England, as a general rule, did their own work, both out-doors and
in. If there were a black man or black woman or bound girl, they were
emphatically only the _helps_, following humbly the steps of master and
mistress, and used by them as instruments of lightening certain portions
of their toil. The master and mistress, with their children, were the
head workers.

Great merriment has been excited in the old country because, years
ago, the first English travelers found that the class of persons by
them denominated servants, were in America denominated _help_,
or helpers. But the term was the very best exponent of the state of
society. There were few servants, in the European sense of the word;
there was a society of educated workers, where all were practically
equal, and where, if there was a deficiency in one family and an excess
in another, a _helper_, not a servant in the European sense, was
hired. Mrs. Brown, who has several sons and no daughters, enters into
agreement with Mrs. Jones, who has several daughters and no sons. She
borrows a daughter, and pays her good wages to help in her domestic
toil, and sends a son to help the labors of Mr. Jones. These two young
people go into the families in which they are to be employed in all
respects as equals and companions, and so the work of the community
is equalized. Hence arose, and for many years continued, a state of
society more nearly solving than any other ever did the problem of
combining the highest culture of the mind with the highest culture ofthe
muscles and the physical faculties.

Then were to be seen families of daughters, handsome, strong women,
rising each day to their in-door work with cheerful alertness--one to
sweep the room, another to make the fire, while a third prepared the
breakfast for the father and brothers who were going out to manly
labor: and they chatted meanwhile of books, studies, embroidery;
discussed the last new poem, or some historical topic started by graver
reading, or perhaps a rural ball that was to come off next week. They
spun with the book tied to the distaff; they wove; they did all manner
of fine needle-work; they made lace, painted flowers, and, in short,
in the boundless consciousness of activity, invention, and perfect
health, set themselves to any work they had ever read or thought of.
A bride in those days was married with sheets and tablecloths of her
own weaving, with counterpanes and toilet-covers wrought in divers
embroidery by her own and her sisters' hands. The amount of fancy-work
done in our days by girls who have nothing else to do, will not equal
what was done by these who performed, besides, among them, the whole
work of the family.

In those former days most women were in good health, debility and
disease being the exception. Then, too, was seen the economy of daylight
and its pleasures. They were used to early rising, and would not lie
in bed, if they could. Long years of practice made them familiar with
the shortest, neatest, most expeditious method of doing every household
office, so that really for the greater part of the time in the house
there seemed, to a looker-on, to be nothing to do. They rose in the
morning and dispatched husband, father, and brothers to the farm or
woodlot; went sociably about, chatting with each other, skimmed the
milk, made the butter, and turned the cheeses. The forenoon was long;
ten to one, all the so-called morning work over, they had leisure for
an hour's sewing or reading before it was time to start the dinner
preparations. By two o'clock the house-work was done, and they had the
long afternoon for books, needle-work, or drawing--for perhaps there
was one with a gift at her pencil. Perhaps one read aloud while others
sewed, and managed in that way to keep up a great deal of reading.

It is said that women who have been accustomed to doing their own work
become hard mistresses. They are certainly more sure of the ground
they stand on--they are less open to imposition--they can speak and
act in their own houses more as those "having authority," and therefore
are less afraid to exact what is justly their due, and less willing
to endure impertinence and unfaithfulness. Their general error lies
in expecting that any servant ever will do as well for them as they
will do for themselves, and that an untrained, undisciplined human
being ever _can_ do house-work, or any other work, with the neatness and
perfection, that a person of trained intelligence can.

It has been remarked in our armies that the men of cultivation, though
bred in delicate and refined spheres, can bear up under the hardships
of camp-life better and longer than rough laborers. The reason is,
that an educated mind knows how to use and save its body, to work it
and spare it, as an uneducated mind can not; and so the college-bred
youth brings himself safely through fatigues which kill the unreflective
laborer.

Cultivated, intelligent women, who are brought up to do the work of
their own families, are labor-saving institutions. They make the head
save the wear of the muscles. By forethought, contrivance, system, and
arrangement they lessen the amount to be done, and do it with less
expense of time and strength than others. The old New-England motto,
_Get your work done up in the forenoon_, applied to an amount of
work which would keep a common Irish servant toiling from daylight to
sunset.

A lady living in one of our obscure New-England towns, where there
were no servants to be hired, at last, by sending to a distant city,
succeeded in procuring a raw Irish maid-of-all-work, a creature of
immense bone and muscle, but of heavy, unawakened brain. In one
fortnight she established such a reign of Chaos and old Night in the
kitchen and through the house that her mistress, a delicate woman,
encumbered with the care of young children, began seriously to think
that she made more work each day than she performed, and dismissed
her. What was now to be done? Fortunately, the daughter of a neighboring
farmer was going to be married in six months, and wanted a little ready
money for her _trousseau_. The lady was informed that Miss So-and-so
would come to her, not as a servant, but as hired "help." She was fain
to accept any help with gladness.

Forthwith came into the family-circle a tall, well-dressed young person,
grave, unobtrusive, self-respecting, yet not in the least presuming,
who sat at the family table and observed all its decorums with the
modest self-possession of a lady. The new-comer took a survey of the
labors of a family of ten members, including four or five young
children, and, looking, seemed at once to throw them into system;
matured her plans, arranged her hours of washing, ironing, baking, and
cleaning; rose early, moved deftly; and in a single day the slatternly
and littered kitchen assumed that neat, orderly appearance that so
often strikes one in New England farm-houses. The work seemed to be
all gone. Every thing was nicely washed, brightened, put in place, and
staid in place; the floors, when cleaned; remained clean; the work was
always done, and not doing; and every afternoon the young lady sat
neatly dressed in her own apartment, either quietly writing letters
to her betrothed, or sewing on her bridal outfit. Such is the result
of employing those who have been brought up to do their own work. That
tall, fine-looking girl, for aught we know, may yet be mistress of a
fine house on Fifth Avenue; and if she is, she will, we fear, prove
rather an exacting mistress to Irish Bridget; but she will never be
threatened by her cook and chambermaid, after the first one or two
have tried the experiment.

Those remarkable women of old were made by circumstances. There were,
comparatively speaking, no servants to be had, and so children were
trained to habits of industry and mechanical adroitness from the cradle,
and every household process was reduced to the very minimum of labor.
Every step required in a process was counted, every movement calculated;
and she who took ten steps, when one would do, lost her reputation for
"faculty." Certainly such an early drill was of use in developing the
health and the bodily powers, as well as in giving precision to the
practical mental faculties. All household economies were arranged with
equal niceness in those thoughtful minds. A trained housekeeper knew
just how many sticks of hickory of a certain size were required to
heat her oven, and how many of each different kind of wood. She knew
by a sort of intuition just what kinds of food would yield the most
palatable nutriment with the least outlay of accessories in cooking.
She knew to a minute the time when each article must go into and be
withdrawn from her oven; and if she could only lie in her chamber and
direct, she could guide an intelligent child through the processes
with mathematical certainty.

It is impossible, however, that any thing but early training and long
experience can produce these results, and it is earnestly to be wished
that the grandmothers of New-England had written down their experiences
for our children; they would have been a mine of maxims and traditions
better than any other "traditions of the elders" which we know of.

In this country, our democratic institutions have removed the
superincumbent pressure which in the Old World confines the servants
to a regular orbit. They come here feeling that this is somehow a land
of liberty, and with very dim and confused notions of what liberty is.
They are very extensively the raw, untrained Irish peasantry, and the
wonder is, that, with all the unreasoning heats and prejudices of the
Celtic blood, all the necessary ignorance and rawness, there should
be the measure of comfort and success there is in our domestic
arrangements.

But, as long as things are so, there will be constant changes and
interruptions in every domestic establishment, and constantly recurring
interregnums when the mistress must put her own hand to the work,
whether the hand be a trained or an untrained one. As matters now are,
the young housekeeper takes life at the hardest. She has very little
strength,--no experience to teach her how to save her strength. She
knows nothing experimentally of the simplest processes necessary to
keep her family comfortably fed and clothed; and she has a way of
looking at all these things which makes them particularly hard and
distasteful to her. She does not escape being obliged to do house-work
at intervals, but she does it in a weak, blundering, confused way,
that makes it twice as hard and disagreeable as it need be.

Now, if every young woman learned to do house-work, and cultivated her
practical faculties in early life, she would, in the first place, be
much more likely to keep her servants, and, in the second place, if
she lost them temporarily, would avoid all that wear and tear of the
nervous system which comes from constant ill-success in those
departments on which family health and temper mainly depend. This is
one of the peculiarities of our American life, which require a peculiar
training. Why not face it sensibly?

Our land is now full of motorpathic institutions to which women are
sent at a great expense to have hired operators stretch and exercise
their inactive muscles. They lie for hours to have their feet twigged,
their arms flexed, and all the different muscles of the body worked
for them, because they are so flaccid and torpid that the powers of
life do not go on. Would it not be quite as cheerful, and a less
expensive process, if young girls from early life developed the muscles
in sweeping, dusting, starching, ironing, and all the multiplied
domestic processes which our grandmothers knew of? A woman who did all
these, and diversified the intervals with spinning on the great and
little wheel, did not need the gymnastics of Dio Lewis or of the Swedish
Movement Cure, which really are a necessity now. Does it not seem poor
economy to pay servants for letting our muscles grow feeble, and then
to pay operators to exercise them for us? I will venture to say that
our grandmothers in a week went over every movement that any gymnast
has invented, and went over them to some productive purpose too.

The first business of a housekeeper in America is that of a teacher.
She can have a good table only by having practical knowledge, and tact
in imparting it. If she understands her business practically and
experimentally, her eye detects at once the weak spot; it requires
only a little tact, some patience, some clearness in giving directions,
and all comes right.

If we carry a watch to a watchmaker, and undertake to show him how to
regulate the machinery, he laughs and goes on his own way; but if a
brother-machinist makes suggestions, he listens respectfully. So, when
a woman who knows nothing of woman's work undertakes to instruct one
who knows more than she does, she makes no impression; but a woman who
has been trained experimentally, and shows she understands the matter
thoroughly, is listened to with respect.

Let a woman make her own bread for one month, and, simple as the process
seems, it will take as long as that to get a thorough knowledge of all
the possibilities in the case; but after that, she will be able to
command good bread by the aid of all sorts of servants; in other words,
will be a thoroughly prepared teacher.

Although bread-making seems a simple process, it yet requires delicate
care and watchfulness. There are fifty ways to spoil good bread; There
are a hundred little things to be considered and allowed for, that
require accurate observation and experience. The same process that
will raise good bread in cold weather will make sour bread in the heat
of summer; different qualities of flour require variations in treatment
as also different sorts and conditions of yeast; and when all is done,
the baking presents another series of possibilities which require exact
attention.

A well-trained mind, accustomed to reflect, analyze, and generalize,
has an advantage over uncultured minds even of double experience. Poor
as your cook is, she now knows more of her business than you do. After
a very brief period of attention and experiment, you will not only
know more than she does, but you will convince her that you do, which
is quite as much to the purpose.

In the same manner, lessons must be given on the washing of silver and
the making of beds. Good servants do not often come to us; they must
be _made_ by patience and training; and if a girl has a good disposition
and a reasonable degree of handiness, and the housekeeper understands
her profession, a good servant may be made out of an indifferent one.
Some of the best girls have been those who came directly from the ship,
with no preparation but docility and some natural quickness. The hardest
cases to be managed are not of those who have been taught nothing, but
of those who have been taught wrongly--who come self-opinionated, with
ways which are distasteful, and contrary to the genius of one's
housekeeping. Such require that their mistress shall understand at least
so much of the actual conduct of affairs as to prove to the servant that
there are better ways than those in which she has been trained.

So much has been said of the higher sphere of woman, and so much has
been done to find some better work for her that, insensibly, almost
every body begins to feel that it is rather degrading for a woman in
good society to be much tied down to family affairs; especially since
in these Woman's Rights Conventions there is so much dissatisfaction
expressed at those who would confine her ideas to the kitchen and
nursery.

Yet these Woman's Rights Conventions are a protest against many former
absurd, unreasonable ideas--the mere physical and culinary idea of
womanhood as connected only with puddings and shirt-buttons, the
unjust and unequal burdens which the laws of harsher ages had cast
upon the sex. Many of the women connected with these movements are as
superior in every thing properly womanly as they are in exceptional
talent and culture. There is no manner of doubt that the sphere of
woman is properly to be enlarged. Every woman has rights as a human
being which belong to no sex, and ought to be as freely conceded to
her as if she were a man,--and first and foremost, the great right of
doing any thing which God and nature evidently have fitted her to excel
in. If she be made a natural orator, like Miss Dickinson, or an
astronomer, like Mrs. Somerville, or a singer, like Grisi, let not the
technical rules of womanhood be thrown in the way of her free use of
her powers.

Still, _per contra_, there has been a great deal of crude, disagreeable
talk in these conventions, and too great tendency of the age to make the
education of woman anti-domestic. It seems as if the world never could
advance, except like ships under a head-wind, tacking and going too far,
now in this direction, and now in the opposite. Our common-school system
now rejects sewing from the education of girls, which very properly used
to occupy many hours daily in school a generation ago. The daughters of
laborers and artisans are put through algebra, geometry, trigonometry,
and the higher mathematics, to the entire neglect of that learning which
belongs distinctively to woman. A girl of ten can not keep pace with her
class, if she gives any time to domestic matters; and accordingly she is
excused from them all during the whole term of her education. The boy of
a family, at an early age, is put to a trade, or the labors of a farm;
the father becomes impatient of his support, and requires of him to take
care for himself. Hence an interrupted education--learning coming by
snatches in the winter months or in the intervals of work.

As the result, the young women in some of our country towns are, in
mental culture, much in advance of the males of the same household;
but with this comes a physical delicacy, the result of an exclusive
use of the brain and a neglect of the muscular system, with great
inefficiency in practical domestic duties. The race of strong, hardy,
cheerful girls, that used to grow up in country places, and made the
bright, neat, New-England kitchens of old times--the girls that could
wash, iron, brew, bake, harness a horse and drive him, no less than
braid straw, embroider, draw, paint, and read innumerable books--this
race of women, pride of olden time, is daily lessening; and in their
stead come the fragile, easily-fatigued, languid girls of a modern
age, drilled in book-learning, ignorant of common things. The great
danger of all this, and of the evils that come from it, is, that
society, by and by, will turn as blindly against female intellectual
culture as it now advocates it, and having worked disproportionately
one way, will work disproportionately in the opposite direction.

Domestic service is the great problem of life herein America; the
happiness of families, their thrift, well-being, and comfort, are more
affected by this than by any one thing else. The modern girls, as they
have been brought up, can not perform the labor of their own families
as in those simpler, old-fashioned days; and what is worse, they have
no practical skill with which to instruct servants, who come to us,
as a class, raw and untrained. In the present state of prices, the
board of a domestic costs double her wages, and the waste she makes
is a more serious matter still.

Many of the domestic evils in America originate, in the fact that,
while society here is professedly based on new principles which ought
to make social life in every respect different from the life of the
Old World, yet these principles have never been so thought out and
applied as to give consistency and harmony to our daily relations.
America starts with a political organization based oh a declaration
of the primitive freedom and equality of all men. Every human being,
according to this principle, stands on the same natural level with
every other, and has the same chance to rise according to the degree
of power or capacity given by the Creator. All our civil institutions
are designed to preserve this equality, as far as possible, from
generation to generation: there is no entailed property, there are no
hereditary titles, no monopolies, no privileged classes--all are to
be as free to rise and fall as the waves of the sea.

The condition of domestic service, however, still retains about it
something of the influences from feudal times, and from the near
presence of slavery in neighboring States. All English literature of
the world describes domestic service in the old feudal spirit and with
the old feudal language, which regarded the master as belonging to a
privileged class and the servant to an inferior one. There is not a
play, not a poem, not a novel, not a history, that does not present
this view. The master's rights, like the rights of kings, were supposed
to rest in his being born in a superior rank. The good servant was one
who, from childhood, had learned "to order himself lowly and reverently
to all his betters." When New-England brought to these shores the
theory of democracy, she brought, in the persons of the first pilgrims,
the habits of thought and of action formed in aristocratic communities.
Winthrop's Journal, and all the old records of the earlier colonists,
show households where masters and mistresses stood on the "right divine"
of the privileged classes, howsoever they might have risen up against
authorities themselves.

The first consequence of this state of things was a universal rejection
of domestic service in all classes of American-born society. For a
generation or two there was, indeed, a sort of interchange of family
strength,--sons and daughters engaging in the service of neighboring
families, in default of a sufficient working-force of their own, but
always on conditions of strict equality. The assistant was to share
the table, the family sitting-room, and every honor and attention that
might be claimed by son or daughter. When families increased in
refinement and education so as to make these conditions of close
intimacy with more uncultured neighbors disagreeable, they had to
choose between such intimacies and the performance of their own domestic
toil. No wages could induce a son or daughter of New-England to take
the condition of a servant on terms which they thought applicable to
that of a slave. The slightest hint of a separate table was resented
as an insult; not to enter the front door, and not to sit in the front
parlor on state occasions, was bitterly commented on as a personal
indignity.

The well-taught, self-respecting daughters of farmers, the class most
valuable in domestic service, gradually retired from it. They preferred
any other employment, however laborious. Beyond all doubt, the labors
of a well-regulated family are more healthy, more cheerful, more,
interesting, because less monotonous, than the mechanical toils of a
factory; yet the girls of New-England, with one consent, preferred the
factory, and left the whole business of domestic service to a foreign
population; and they did it mainly because they would not take positions
in families as an inferior laboring-class by the side of others of
their own age who assumed as their prerogative to live without labor.

"I can't let you have one of my daughters," said an energetic matron
to her neighbor from the city, who was seeking for a servant in her
summer vacation; "if you hadn't daughters of your own, may be I would;
but my girls are not going to work so that your girls may live in
idleness."

It was vain to offer money. "We don't need your money, ma'am; we can
support ourselves in other ways; my girls can braid straw, and bind
shoes, but they are not going to be slaves to any body."

In the Irish and German servants who took the place of Americans in
families, there was, to begin with, the tradition of education in favor
of a higher class; but even the foreign population became more or less
infected with the spirit of democracy. They came to this country with
vague notions of freedom and equality, and in ignorant and uncultivated
people such ideas are often more unreasonable for being vague. They
did not, indeed, claim a seat at the table and in the parlor, but they
repudiated many of those habits of respect and courtesy which belonged
to their former condition, and asserted their own will and way in the
round, unvarnished phrase which they supposed to be their right as
republican citizens. Life became a sort of domestic wrangle and struggle
between the employers, who secretly confessed their weakness, but
endeavored openly to assume the air and bearing of authority, and the
employed, who knew their power and insisted on their privileges.

From this cause domestic service in America has had less of mutual
kindliness titan in old countries. Its terms have been so ill-
understood and defined that both parties have assumed the defensive;
and a common topic of conversation in American female society has often
been the general servile war which in one form or another was going
on in their different families--a war as interminable as would be a
struggle between aristocracy and common people, undefined by any bill
of rights or constitution, and therefore opening fields for endless
disputes.

In England, the class who go to service _are_ a class, and service
is a profession; the distance between them and their employers is so
marked and defined, and all the customs and requirements of the position
are so perfectly understood, that the master or mistress has no fear
of being compromised by condescension, and no need of the external
voice or air of authority. The higher up in the social scale one goes,
the more courteous seems to become the intercourse of master and
servant; the more perfect and real the power, the more is it veiled
in outward expression--commands are phrased as requests, and gentleness
of voice and manner covers an authority which no one would think of
offending without trembling.

But in America all is undefined. In the first place, there is no class
who mean to make domestic service a profession to live and die in. It
is universally an expedient, a stepping-stone to something higher;
your best servants always have some thing else in view as soon as they
have laid by a little money; some form of independence which shall
give them a home of their own is constantly in mind. Families look
forward to the buying of landed homesteads, and the scattered brothers
and sisters work awhile in domestic service to gain, the common fund
for the purpose; your seamstress intends to become a dressmaker, and
take in work at her own house; your cook is pondering a marriage with
the baker, which shall transfer her toils from your cooking-stove to
her own.

Young women are eagerly rushing into every other employment, till
feminine trades and callings are all over-stocked. We are continually
harrowed with tales of the sufferings of distressed needle-women, of
the exactions, and extortions practiced on the frail sex in the many
branches of labor and trade at which they try their hands; and yet
women will encounter all these chances of ruin and starvation rather
than make up their minds to permanent domestic service.

Now, what is the matter with domestic service? One would think, on the
face of it, that a calling which gives a settled home, a comfortable
room, rent-free, with fire and lights, good board and lodging, and
steady, well-paid wages, would certainly offer more attractions than
the making of shirts for tenpence, with all the risks of providing
one's own sustenance and shelter.

Is it not mainly from the want of a definite idea of the true position
of a servant under our democratic institutions that domestic service
is so shunned and avoided in America, and that it is the very last
thing which an intelligent young woman will look to for a living? It
is more the want of personal respect toward, those in that position
than the labor incident to it which repels our people from it. Many
would be willing to perform these labors, but they are not willing to
place themselves in a situation where their self-respect is hourly
wounded by the implication of a degree of inferiority, _which does
not follow any kind of labor or service in this country but that of
the family_.

There exists in the minds of employers an unsuspected spirit of
superiority, which is stimulated into an active form by the resistance
which democracy inspires in the working-class. Many families think of
servants only as a necessary evil, their wages as exactions, and all
that is allowed them as so much taken from the family; and they seek
in every way to get from them as much and to give them as little as
possible. Their rooms are the neglected, ill-furnished, incommodious
ones--and the kitchen is the most cheerless and comfortless place in
the house.

Other families, more good-natured and liberal, provide their domestics
with more suitable accommodations, and are more indulgent; but there
is still a latent spirit of something like contempt for the position.
That they treat their servants with so much consideration seems to
them a merit entitling them to the most prostrate gratitude; and they
are constantly disappointed and shocked at that want of sense of
inferiority on the part of these people which leads them to appropriate
pleasant rooms, good furniture, and good living as mere matters of
common justice.

It seems to be a constant surprise to some employers that servants
should insist on having the same human wants as themselves. Ladles who
yawn in their elegantly furnished parlors, among books and pictures,
if they have not company, parties, or opera to diversify the evening,
seem astonished and half indignant that cook and chambermaid are more
disposed to go out for an evening gossip than to sit on hard chairs
in the kitchen where they have been toiling all day. The pretty
chambermaid's anxieties about her dress, the minutes she spends at her
small and not very clear mirror, are sneeringly noticed by those whose
toilet-cares take up serious hours; and the question has never
apparently occurred to them why a serving-maid should not want to look
pretty as well as her mistress. She is a woman as well as they, with,
all a woman's wants and weaknesses; and her dress is as much to her
as theirs to them.

A vast deal of trouble among servants arises; from impertinent
interferences and petty tyrannical enactions on the part of employers.
Now, the authority of the master and mistress of a house in regard to
their domestics extends simply to the things they have contracted to
do and the hours during which they have contracted to serve; otherwise
than this, they have no more right to interfere with them in the
disposal of their time than with any mechanic whom they employ. They
have, indeed, a right to regulate the hours of their own household,
and servants can choose between conformity to these hours and the loss
of their situation; but, within reasonable limits, their right to come
and go at their own discretion, in their own time, should be
unquestioned.

If employers are troubled by the fondness of their servants for dancing,
evening company, and late hours, the proper mode of proceeding is to
make these matters a subject of distinct contract in hiring. The more
strictly and perfectly the business matters of the first engagement
of domestics are conducted, the more likelihood there is of mutual
quiet and satisfaction in the relation. It is quite competent to every
housekeeper to say what practices are or are not consistent with the
rules of her family, and what will be inconsistent with the service
for which she agrees to pay. It is much better to regulate such affairs
by cool contract in the outset than by warm altercations and protracted
domestic battles.

As to the terms of social intercourse, it seems somehow to be settled
in the minds of many employers that their servants owe them and their
family more respect than they and the family owe to the servants. But
do they? What is the relation of servant to employer in a democratic
country? Precisely that of a person who for money performs any kind
of service for you. The carpenter comes into your house to put up a
set of shelves--the cook comes into your kitchen to cook your dinner.
You never think that the carpenter owes you any more respect than you
owe to him because he is in your house doing your behests; he is your
fellow-citizen, you treat him with respect, you expect to be treated
with respect by him. You have a claim on him that he shall do your
work according to your directions--no more.

Now, I apprehend that there is a very common notion as to the position
and rights of servants which is quite different from this. Is it not
a common feeling that a servant is one who may he treated with a degree
of freedom by every member of the family which he or she may not return?
Do not people feel at liberty to question servants about their private
affairs, to comment on their dress and appearance, in a manner which
they would feel to be an impertinence, if reciprocated? Do they not
feel at liberty to express dissatisfaction with their performances in
rude and unceremonious terms, to reprove them in the presence of
company, while yet they require that the dissatisfaction of servants
shall be expressed only in terms of respect? A woman would not feel
herself at liberty to talk to her milliner or her dress-maker in
language as devoid of consideration as she will employ toward her cook
or chambermaid. And yet both are rendering her a service which she
pays for in money, and one is no more made her inferior thereby than
the other. Both have an equal right to be treated with courtesy. The
master and mistress of a house have a right to require courteous
treatment from all whom their roof shelters; but they have no more
right to exact it of servants than of every guest and every child, and
they themselves owe it as much to servants as to guests.

In order that servants may be treated with respect and courtesy, it
is not necessary, as in simpler patriarchal days, that they sit at the
family-table. Your carpenter or plumber does not feel hurt that you
do not ask him to dine with you, nor your milliner and mantua-maker
that you do not exchange ceremonious calls and invite them to your
parties. It is well understood that your relations with them are of
a mere business character. They never take it as an assumption of
superiority on your part that you do not admit them to relations of
private intimacy. There may be the most perfect respect and esteem and
even friendship between then and you, notwithstanding. So it may be
in the case of servants. It is easy to make any person understand that
there are quite other reasons than the assumption of personal
superiority for not wishing to admit servants to the family privacy.
It was not, in fact, to sit in the parlor or at the table in themselves
considered, that was the thing aimed at by New--England girls; these
were valued only as signs that they were deemed worthy of respect and
consideration, and, where freely conceded, were often in point of fact
declined.

Let servants feel, in their treatment by their employers and in the
atmosphere of the family, that their position is held to be a
respectable one; let them feel, in the mistress of the family, the
charm of unvarying consideration and good manners; let their work-
rooms be made convenient and comfortable, and their private apartments
bear some reasonable comparison in point of agreeableness to those of
other members of the family, and domestic service will be more
frequently sought by a superior and self-respecting class. There are
families in which such a state of things prevails; and such families,
amid the many causes which unite to make the tenure of service
uncertain, have generally been able to keep good permanent servants.
There is an extreme into which kindly disposed people often run with
regard to servants which may be mentioned here. They make pets of them.
They give extravagant wages and indiscreet indulgences, and, through
indolence and easiness of temper, tolerate neglect of duty. Many of
the complaints of the ingratitude of servants come from those who have
spoiled them in this way; while many of the longest and most harmonious
domestic unions have sprung from a simple, quiet course of Christian
justice and benevolence, a recognition of servants as fellow-beings
and fellow-Christians, and a doing to them as we would in like
circumstances that they should do to us.

The mistresses of American families, whether they like it or not, have
the duties of missionaries imposed upon them by that class from which
our supply of domestic servants is drawn. They may as well accept the
position cheerfully, and, as one raw, untrained hand after another
passes through their family, and is instructed by them in the mysteries
of good house-keeping, comfort themselves with the reflection that
they are doing something to form good wives and mothers for the
republic.

The complaints made of Irish girls are numerous and loud; the failings
of green Erin, alas! are but too open and manifest; yet, in arrest of
judgment, let us move this consideration: let us imagine our own
daughters between the ages of sixteen and twenty-four, untaught and
inexperienced in domestic affairs as they commonly are, shipped to a
foreign shore to seek service in families. It may be questioned whether,
as a whole, they would do much better. The girls that fill our families
and do our house-work are often of the age of our own daughters,
standing for themselves, without mothers to guide them, in a foreign
country, not only bravely supporting themselves, but sending home in
every ship remittances to impoverished friends left behind. If our
daughters did as much for us, should we not be proud of their energy
and heroism?

When we go into the houses of our country, we find a majority of
well-kept, well-ordered, and even elegant establishments, where the
only hands employed are those of the daughters of Erin. True, American
women have been their instructors, and many a weary hour of care have
they had in the discharge of this office; but the result on the whole
is beautiful and good, and the end of it, doubtless, will be peace.

Instead, then, of complaining that we can not have our own peculiar
advantages and those of other nations too, or imagining how much better
off we should be if things were different from what they are, it is
much wiser and more Christian-like to strive cheerfully to conform to
actual circumstances; and, after remedying all that we can control,
patiently to submit to what is beyond our power. If domestics are found
to be incompetent, unstable, and unconfirmed to their station, it is
Perfect Wisdom which appoints these trials to teach us patience,
fortitude, and self-control; and if the discipline is met in a proper
spirit, it will prove a blessing rather than an evil.

But to judge correctly in regard to some of the evils involved in the
state of domestic service in this country, we should endeavor to
conceive ourselves placed in the situation of those of whom complaint
is made, that we may not expect from them any more than it would seem
right should be exacted from us in similar circumstances.

It is sometimes urged against domestics that they exact exorbitant
wages. But what is the rule of rectitude on this subject? Is it not
the universal law of labor and of trade that an article is to be valued
according to its scarcity and the demand? When wheat is scarce, the
farmer raises his price; and when a mechanic offers services difficult
to be obtained, he makes a corresponding increase of price. And why
is it not right for domestics to act according to a rule allowed to
be correct in reference to all other trades and professions? It is a
fact, that really good domestic service must continue to increase in
value just in proportion as this country waxes rich and prosperous;
thus making the proportion of those who wish to hire labor relatively
greater, and the number of those willing to go to service less.

Money enables the rich to gain many advantages which those of more
limited circumstances can not secure. One of these is, securing good
servants by offering high wages; and this, as the scarcity of this
class increases, will serve constantly to raise the price of service.
It is right for domestics to charge the market value, and this value
is always decided by the scarcity of the article and the amount of
demand. Right views of this subject will sometimes serve to diminish
hard feelings toward those who would otherwise be wrongfully regarded
as unreasonable and exacting.

Another complaint against servants is that of instability and
discontent, leading to perpetual change. But in reference to this, let
a mother or daughter conceive of their own circumstances as so changed
that the daughter must go out to service. Suppose a place is engaged,
and it is then found that she must sleep in a comfortless garret; and
that, when a new domestic comes, perhaps a coarse and dirty foreigner,
she must share her bed with her. Another place is offered, where she
can have a comfortable room and an agreeable room-mate; in such a case,
would not both mother and daughter think it right to change?

Or suppose, on trial, it was found that the lady of the house was
fretful or exacting and hard to please, or that her children were so
ungoverned as to be perpetual vexations; or that the work was so heavy
that no time was allowed for relaxation and the care of a wardrobe;
and another place offers where those evils can be escaped; would not
mother and daughter here think it right to change? And is it not right
for domestics, as well as their employers, to seek places where they
can be most comfortable?

In some cases, this instability and love of change would be remedied,
if employers would take more pains to make a residence with them
agreeable, and to attach servants to the family by feelings of gratitude
and affection. There are ladies, even where well-qualified domestics
are most rare, who seldom find any trouble in keeping good and steady
ones. And the reason is, that their servants know they can not better
their condition by any change within reach. It is not merely by giving
them comfortable rooms, and good food, and presents, and privileges,
that the attachment of domestic servants is secured; it is by the
manifestation of a friendly and benevolent interest in their comfort
and improvement. This is exhibited in bearing patiently with their
faults; in kindly teaching them how to improve; in showing them how
to make and take proper care of their clothes; in guarding their health;
in teaching them to read if necessary, and supplying them with proper
books; and in short, by endeavoring, so far as may be, to supply the
place of parents. It is seldom that such a course would fail to secure
steady service, and such affection and gratitude that even higher wages
would be ineffectual to tempt them away. There would probably be some
leases of ungrateful returns; but there is no doubt that the course
indicated, if generally pursued, would very much lessen the evil in
question.

When servants are forward and bold in manners and disrespectful in
address, they may be considerately taught that those who are among the
best-bred and genteel have courteous and respectful manners and language
to all they meet: while many who have wealth, are regarded as vulgar,
because they exhibit rude and disrespectful manners. The very term
_gentle man_ indicates the refinement and delicacy of address which
distinguishes the high-bred from the coarse and vulgar.

In regard to appropriate dress, in most cases it is difficult for an
employer to interfere, _directly_, with comments or advice. The
most successful mode is to offer some, service in mending or making
a wardrobe, and when a confidence in the kindness of feeling is thus
gained, remarks and suggestions will generally be properly received,
and new views of propriety and economy can be imparted. In some cases
it may be well for an employer who, from appearances, anticipates
difficulty of this kind, in making the preliminary contract or agreement
to state that she wishes to have the room, person, and dress of her
servants kept neat and in order, and that she expects to remind them
of their duty, in this particular, if it is neglected. Domestic servants
are very apt to neglect the care of their own chambers and clothing;
and such habits have a most pernicious influence on their well-being
and on that of their children in future domestic life. An employer,
then, is bound to exercise a parental care over them, in these respects.

There is one great mistake, not unfrequently made, in the management
both of domestics and of children, and that is, in supposing that the
way to cure defects is by finding fault as each failing occurs. But
instead of this being true, in many cases the directly opposite course
is the best; while, in all instances, much good judgment is required
in order to decide when to notice faults and when to let them pass
unnoticed. There are some minds very sensitive, easily discouraged,
and infirm of purpose. Such persons, when they have formed habits of
negligence, haste, and awkwardness, often need expressions of sympathy
and encouragement rather than reproof. They have usually been found
fault with so much that they have become either hardened or desponding;
and it is often the case, that a few words of commendation will awaken
fresh efforts and renewed hope. In almost every case, words of kindness,
confidence, and encouragement should be mingled with the needful
admonitions or reproof.

It is a good rule, in reference to this point, to _forewarn_ instead of
finding fault. Thus, when a thing has been done wrong, let it pass
unnoticed, till it is to be done again; and then, a simple request to
have it done in the right way will secure quite as much, and probably
more, willing effort, than a reproof administered for neglect. Some
persons seem to take it for granted that young and inexperienced minds
are bound to have all the forethought and discretion of mature persons;
and freely express wonder and disgust when mishaps occur for want of
these traits. But it would be far better to save from mistake or
forgetfulness by previous caution and care on the part of those who have
gained experience and forethought; and thus many occasions of complaint
and ill-humor will be avoided.

Those who fill the places of heads of families are not very apt to
think how painful it is to be chided for neglect of duty or for faults
of character. If they would sometimes imagine themselves in the place
of those whom they control, with some person daily administering reproof
to them, in the same _tone and style_ as they employ to those who
are under them, it might serve as a useful cheek to their chidings.
It is often the ease, that persons who are most strict and exacting
and least able to make allowances and receive palliations, are
themselves peculiarly sensitive to any tiling which implies that they
are in fault. By such, the spirit implied in the Divine petition,
"Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against
us," needs especially to be cherished.

One other consideration is very important. There is no duty more binding
on Christians than that of patience and meekness under provocations
and disappointment. Now, the tendency of every sensitive mind, when
thwarted in its wishes, is to complain and find fault, and that often
in tones of fretfulness or anger. But there are few servants who have
not heard enough of the Bible to know that angry or fretful
fault-finding from the mistress of a family, when her work is not done
to suit her, is not in agreement with the precepts of Christ. They
notice and feel the inconsistency; and every woman, when she gives way
to feelings of anger and impatience at the faults of those around her,
lowers herself in their respect, while her own conscience, unless very
much blinded, can not but suffer a wound.

In speaking of the office of the American mistress as being a missionary
one, we are far from, recommending any controversial interference with
the religious faith of our servants. It is far better to incite them
to be good Christians in their own way than to run the risk of shaking
their faith in all religion by pointing out to them what seem to us
the errors of that in which they have been educated. The general purity
of life and propriety of demeanor of so many thousands of undefended
young girls cast yearly upon our shores, with no home but their church,
and no shield but their religion, are a sufficient proof that this
religion exerts an influence over them not to be lightly trifled with.
But there is a real unity even in opposite Christian forms; and the
Roman Catholic servant and the Protestant mistress, if alike possessed
by the spirit of Christ, and striving to conform to the Golden Rule,
can not help being one in heart, though one go to mass and the other
to meeting.

Finally, the bitter baptism through which we have passed, the life-blood
dearer than our own which has drenched distant fields, should remind
us of the preciousness of distinctive American ideas. They who would
seek in their foolish pride to establish the pomp of liveried servants
in America are doing that which is simply absurd. A servant can never
in our country be the mere appendage to another man, to be marked like
a sheep with the color of his owner; he must be a fellow-citizen, with
an established position of his own, free to make contracts, free to
come and go, and having in his sphere titles to consideration and
respect just as definite as those of any trade or profession whatever.

Moreover, we can not in this country maintain to any great extent large
retinues of servants. Even with ample fortunes, they are forbidden by
the general character of society here, which makes them cumbrous and
difficult to manage. Every mistress of a family knows that her cares
increase with every additional servant. Two keep the peace with each
other and their employer; three begin a possible discord, which
possibility increases with four, and becomes certain with five or six.
Trained housekeepers, such as regulate the complicated establishments
of the old world, form a class that are not, and from the nature of
the case never will be, found in any great numbers in this country.
All such women, as a general thing, are keeping, and prefer to keep,
houses of their own.

A moderate style of housekeeping, small, compact, and simple domestic
establishments, must necessarily be the general order of life in
America. So many openings of profit are to be found in this country,
that domestic service necessarily wants the permanence which forms so
agreeable a feature of it in the old world.

This being the case, it should be an object in American to exclude
from the labors of the family all that can, with greater advantage,
be executed out of it by combined labor.

Formerly, in New England, soap and candles were to be made in each
separate family; now, comparatively few take this toil upon them. We
buy soap of the soap-maker, and candles of the candle-factor. This
principle might be extended much further. In France, no family makes
its own bread, and better bread can not be eaten than can be bought
at the appropriate shops. No family does its own washing; the family's
linen is all sent to women who, making this their sole profession, get
it up with a care and nicety which can seldom be equaled in any family.

How would it simplify the burdens of the American housekeeper to have
washing and ironing day expunged from her calendar! How much more
neatly and compactly could the whole domestic system be arranged! If
all the money that each separate family spends on the outfit and
accommodations for washing and ironing, on fuel, soap, starch, and the
other requirements, were united in a fund to create a laundry for every
dozen families, one or two good women could do in first rate style
what now is very indifferently done by the disturbance and
disarrangement of all other domestic processes in these families.
Whoever sets neighborhood laundries on foot will do much to solve the
American housekeeper's hardest problem.

Again, American women must not try with three servants to carry on
life in the style which in the old world requires sixteen; they must
thoroughly understand, and be prepared _to teach_, every branch
of housekeeping; they must study to make domestic service desirable,
by treating their servants in a way to lead them to respect themselves
and to feel themselves respected; and there will gradually be evolved
from the present confusion, a solution of the domestic problem which
shall be adapted to the life of a new and growing world.




XXVI.

CARE OF THE SICK.


It is interesting to notice in the histories of our Lord the prominent
place given to the care of the sick. When he first sent out the
apostles, it was to heal the sick as well as to preach. Again, when,
he sent out the seventy, their first command was to "heal the sick,"
and next to say, "the kingdom of God has come nigh unto you." The body
was to be healed first, in order to attend to the kingdom of God, even
when it was "brought nigh."

Jesus Christ spent more time and labor in the cure of men's bodies
than in preaching, even, if we subtract those labors with his earthly
father by which family homes were provided. When he ascended to the
heavens, his last recorded, words to his followers, as given by Mark,
were, that his disciples should "lay hands on the sick," that they
might recover. Still more directly is the duty of care for the sick
exhibited in the solemn allegorical description of the last day. It
was those who visited the sick that were the blessed; it was those who
did not visit the sick who were told to "depart." Thus are we abundantly
taught that one of the most sacred duties of the Christian family is
the training of its inmates to care and land attention to the sick.

Every woman who has the care of young children, or of a large family,
is frequently called upon to advise what shall be done for some one
who is indisposed; and often, in circumstances where she must trust
solely to her own judgment. In such cases, some err by neglecting to
do any thing at all, till the patient is quite sick; but a still greater
number err from excessive and injurious dosing.

The two great causes of the ordinary slight attacks of illness in a
family, are, sudden chills, which close the pores of the skin, and
thus affect the throat, lungs, or bowels; and the excessive or improper
use of food. In most cases of illness from the first cause, bathing
the feet, and some aperient drink to induce perspiration, are suitable
remedies.

In case of illness from improper food, or excess in eating, fasting
for one or two meals, to give the system time and chance to relieve
itself, is the safest remedy. Some-times, a gentle cathartic of
castor-oil may be needful; but it is best first to try fasting. A safe
relief from injurious articles in the stomach is an emetic of warm
water; but to be effective, several tumblerfuls must be given in quick
succession, and till the stomach can receive no more.

The following extract from a discourse of Dr. Burne, before the London
Medical Society, contains important, information: "In civilized life,
the causes which are most generally and continually operating in the
production of diseases are, affections of the mind, improper diet, and
retention of the intestinal excretions. The undue retention of
excrementitious matter allows of the absorption of its more liquid
parts, which is a cause of great impurity to the blood, and the
excretions, thus rendered hard and knotty, act more or less as
extraneous substances, and, by their irritation, produce a determination
of blood to the intestines and to the neighboring viscera, which
ultimately ends in inflammation. It also has a great effect on the
whole system; causes a determination of blood to the head, which
oppresses the brain, and dejects the mind; deranges the functions of
the stomach; causes flatulency; and produces a general state of
discomfort."

Dr. Combe remarks on this subject: "In the natural and healthy state,
under a proper system of diet, and with sufficient exercise, the bowels
are relieved regularly, once every day." _Habit_ "is powerful in
modifying the result, and in sustaining healthy action when once fairly
established. Hence the obvious advantage of observing as much regularity
in relieving the system, as in taking our meals." It is often the ease
that soliciting nature at a regular period, once a day, will remedy
constipation without medicine, and induce a regular and healthy state
of the bowels. "When, however, as most frequently happens, the
constipation arises from the absence of all assistance from the
abdominal and respiratory muscles, the first step to be taken is, again
to solicit their aid; first, by removing all impediments to free
respiration, such as stays, waistbands, and belts; secondly, by
resorting to such active exercise as shall call the muscles into full
and regular action; [Footnote: The most effective mode of exercising
the abdominal and respiratory muscles, in order to remedy constipation,
is by a continuous alternate contraction of the muscles of the abdomen,
and diaphragm. By contracting the muscles of the abdomen, the intestines
axe pressed inward and upward, and then the muscles of the diaphragm
above contract and press them downward and outward. Thus the blood is
drawn to the torpid parts to stimulate to the healthful action, while
the agitation moves their contents downward. An invalid can thus
exercise the abdominal muscles in bed. The proper time is just after
a meal. This exercise, continued ten minutes a day, including short
intervals of rest, and persevered in for a week or two, will cure most
ordinary cases of constipation, provided proper food is taken. Coarse
bread and fruit are needed for this purpose in most cases.] and lastly,
by proportioning the quantity of food to the wants of the system, and
the condition of the digestive organs.

"If we employ these means, systematically and perseveringly, we shall
rarely fail in at last restoring the healthy action of the bowels,
with little aid from medicine. But if we neglect these modes, we may
go on for years, adding pill to pill, and dose to dose, without ever
attaining the end at which we aim."

"There is no point in which a woman needs more knowledge and discretion
than in administering remedies for what seem slight attacks, which are
not supposed to require the attention of a physician. It is little
realized that purgative drugs are unnatural modes of stimulating the
internal organs, tending to exhaust them of their secretions, and to
debilitate and disturb the animal economy. For this reason, they should
be used as little as possible; and fasting, and perspiration, and the
other methods pointed out, should always be first resorted to."

When medicine must be given, it should be borne in mind that there are
various classes of purgatives, which produce very diverse effects.
Some, like salts, operate to thin the blood, and reduce the system;
others are stimulating; and others have a peculiar operation on certain
organs. Of course, great discrimination and knowledge are needed, in
order to select the kind which is suitable to the particular disease,
or to the particular constitution of the invalid. This shows the folly
of using the many kinds of pills, and other quack medicines, where no
knowledge can be had of their composition. Pills which are good for
one kind of disease, might operate as poison in another state of the
system.

It is very common in cases of colds, which affect the lungs or throat,
to continue to try one dose after another for relief. It will be well
to hear in mind at such times, that all which goes into the stomach
must be first absorbed into the blood before it can reach the diseased
part; and that there is some danger of injuring the stomach, or other
parts of the system, by such a variety of doses, many of which, it is
probable, will be directly contradictory in their nature, and thus
neutralize any supposed benefit they might separately impart.

When a cold affects the head and eyes, and also impedes breathing
through the nose, great relief is gained by a wet napkin spread over
the upper part of the face, covering the nose except an opening for
breath. This is to be covered by folds of flannel fastened over the
napkin with a handkerchief. So also a wet towel over the throat and
whole chest, covered with folds of flannel, often relieves oppressed
lungs.

Ordinarily, a cold can be arrested on its first symptoms by coverings
in bed and a bottle of hot water, securing free perspiration. Often,
at its first appearance, it can be stopped by a spoonful or two of
whisky, or any alcoholic liquor, in hot water, taken on going to bed.
Warm covering to induce perspiration will assist the process. These
simple remedies are safest. Perspiration should always be followed by
a towel-bath.

It is very unwise to tempt the appetite of a person who is indisposed.
The cessation of appetite is the warning of nature that the system is
in such a state that food can not be digested. When food is to be given
to one who has no desire for it, beef-tea is the best in most cases.

The following suggestions may be found useful in regard to nursing the
sick. As nothing contributes more to the restoration of health than
pure air, it should be a primary object to keep a sick-room well
ventilated. At least twice in the twenty-four hours, the patient should
be well covered, and fresh air freely admitted from out of doors. After
this, if need be, the room should be restored to a proper temperature,
by the aid of an open fire. Bedding and clothing should also be well
aired, and frequently changed; as the exhalations from the body, in
sickness, are peculiarly deleterious. Frequent ablutions of the whole
body, if possible, are very useful; and for these, warm water may be
employed, when cold water is disagreeable.

A sick-room should always be kept very neat and in perfect order; and
all haste, noise, and bustle should be avoided. In order to secure
neatness, order, and quiet, in case of long illness, the following
arrangement should be made. Keep a large box for fuel, which will need
to be filled only twice in twenty-four hours. Provide also and keep
in the room or an adjacent closet, a small, tea-kettle, a saucepan,
a pail of water for drinks and ablutions, a pitcher, a covered
porringer, two pint bowls, two tumblers, two cups and saucers, two
wine-glasses, two large and two small spoons; also a dish in which to
wash these articles; a good supply of towels and a broom. Keep a
slop-bucket near by to receive the wash of the room. Procuring all
these articles at once, will save much noise and confusion.

Whenever medicine or food is given, spread a clean towel over the
person or bed-clothing, and get a clean handkerchief, as nothing is
more annoying to a weak stomach than the stickiness and soiling
produced by medicine and food.

Keep the fire-place neat, and always wash all articles and put them
in order as soon as they are out of use. A sick person has nothing to
do but look about the room; and when every thing is neat and in order,
a feeling of comfort is induced, while disorder, filth, and neglect
are constant objects of annoyance which, if not complained of, are yet
felt.

One very important particular in the case of those who are delicate
in constitution, as well as in the case of the sick, is the preservation
of warmth, especially in the hands and the feet. The _equal_
circulation of the blood is an important element for good health, and
this is impossible when the extremities are habitually or frequently
cold. It is owing to this fact that the coldness caused by wetting the
feet is so injurious. In cases where disease or a weak constitution
causes a feeble or imperfect circulation, great pains should be taken
to dress the feet and hands warmly, especially around the wrists and
ankles, where the blood-vessels are nearest to the surface and thus
most exposed to cold. Warm elastic wristlets and anklets would save
many a feeble person from increasing decay or disease.

When the circulation is feeble from debility or disease, the union of
carbon and oxygen in the capillaries is slower than in health, and
therefore care should be taken to preserve the heat thus generated by
warm clothing and protection from cold draughts. In nervous debility,
it is peculiarly important to preserve the animal heat, for its
excessive loss especially affects weak nerves. Many an invalid is
carelessly and habitually suffering cold feet, who would recover health
by proper care to preserve animal heat, especially in the extremities.

The following are useful directions for dressing a blister. Spread
thinly, on a linen cloth, an ointment composed of one third of beeswax
to two thirds of tallow; lay this upon a linen cloth folded many times.
With a sharp pair of scissors make an aperture in the lower part of
the blister-bag, with a little hole above to give it vent. Break the
raised skin as little as possible. Lay on the cloth spread as directed.
The blister at first should be dressed as often as three times in a
day, and the dressing renewed each time. Hot fomentations in most cases
will be as good as a blister, less painful, and safer.

Always prepare food for the sick in the neatest and most careful manner.
It is in sickness that the senses of smell and taste are most
susceptible of annoyance; and often, little mistakes or negligences
in preparing food will take away all appetite.

Food for the sick should be cooked on coals, that no smoke may have
access to it; and great care must be taken to prevent, by stirring,
any adherence to the bottom of the cooking vessel, as this always gives
a disagreeable taste.

Keeping clean handkerchiefs and towels at hand, cooling the pillows,
sponging the hands with water, (with care to dry them thoroughly,)
swabbing the mouth with a clean linen rag on the end of a stick, are
modes of increasing the comfort of the sick. Always throw a shawl over
a sick person when raised up.

Be careful to understand a physician's directions, and _to obey them
implicitly_. If it be supposed that any other person knows better
about the case than the physician, dismiss the physician, and employ
that person in his stead.

It is always best to consult the physician as to where medicines shall
be purchased, and to show the articles to him before using them, as
great impositions are practiced in selling old, useless, and adulterated
drugs. Always put labels on vials of medicine, and keep them out of
the reach of children.

Be careful to label all powders, and particularly all _white powders_,
as many poisonous medicines in this form are easily mistaken for others
which are harmless.

In nursing the sick, always speak gently and cheeringly; and, while
you express sympathy for their pain and trials, stimulate them to bear
sill with fortitude, and with resignation to the Heavenly Father who
"doth not willingly afflict," and "who causeth all things to work
together for good to them that love him." Offer to read the Bible or
other devotional books, whenever it is suitable, and will not be deemed
obtrusive.

Miss Ann Preston, one of the most refined as well as talented and
learned female physicians, in a published article, gives valuable
instruction as to the training, of nurses. She claims that every woman
should be trained for this office, and that some who have special
traits that fit them for it should make it their daily professional
business. She remarks that the indispensable qualities in a good nurse
are common sense, conscientiousness, and sympathetic benevolence: and
thus continues:

"God himself made and commissioned one set of nurses; and in doing
this and adapting them to utter helplessness and weakness, what did
he do? He made them to love the dependence and to see something to
admire in the very perversities of their charge. He made them to humor
the caprices and regard both reasonable and unreasonable complainings.
He made them to bend tenderly over the disturbed and irritated, and
fold them to quiet assurance in arms made soft with love; in a word,
he made _mothers!_ And, other things being equal, whoever has most
maternal tenderness and warm sympathy with the sufferer is the best
nurse." And it is those most nearly endowed by nature with these
traits who should be selected to be trained for the sacred office of
nurse to the sick, while, in all the moral training of womanhood, this
ideal should be the aim.

Again, Miss Preston wisely suggests that "persons may be conscientious
and benevolent and possess good judgment in many respects, and yet be
miserable nurses of the sick for want of training and right knowledge.

"_Knowledge_, the assurance that one knows what to do, always gives
_presence of mind_--and presence of mind is important not only in a
sick-room but in every home. Who has not known consternation in a family
when some one has fainted, or been burned, or cut, while none were
present who knew how to stop the flowing blood, or revive the fainting,
or apply the saving application to the burn? And yet knowledge and
efficiency in such cases would save many a life, and be a most fitting
and desirable accomplishment in every woman."

"We are slow to learn the mighty influence of common agencies, and the
greatness of little things, in their bearing upon life and health. The
woman who believes it takes no strength to bear a little noise or some
disagreeable announcements, and loses patience with the weak, nervous
invalid who is agonized with creaking doors or shoes, or loud, shrill
voices, or rustling papers, or sharp, fidgety motions, or the whispering
so common in sick-rooms and often so acutely distressing to the
sufferer, will soon correct such misapprehensions by herself
experiencing a nervous fever."

Here the writer would put in a plea for the increasing multitudes of
nervous sufferers not confined to a sick-room, and yet exposed to all
the varied sources of pain incident to an exhausted nervous system,
which often cause more intolerable and also more wearing pain than
other kinds of suffering.

"An exceeding acuteness of the senses is the result of many forms of
nervous disease. A heavy breath, an unwashed hand, a noise that would
not have been noticed in health, a crooked table-cover or bed-spread
may disturb or oppress; and more than one invalid has spoken in my
hearing of the sickening effect produced by the nurse tasting her food,
or blowing in her drinks to make them cool. One woman, and a sensible
woman too, told me her nurse had turned a large cushion upon her bureau
with the back part in front. She determined not to be disturbed nor
to speak of such a trifle, but after struggling _three hours_ in
vain to banish the annoyance, she was forced to ask to have the cushion
placed right."

In this place should be mentioned the suffering caused to persons of
reduced nervous power not only by the smoke of tobacco, but by the
fetid effluvium of it from the breath and clothing of persons who
smoke. Many such are sickened in society and in car-traveling, and to
a degree little imagined by those who gain a dangerous pleasure at the
frequent expense of the feeble and suffering.

Miss Preston again remarks, "It is often exceedingly important to the
very weak, who can take but very little nutriment, to have that little
whenever they want it. I have known invalids sustain great injury and
suffering; when exhausted for want of food, they have had to wait and
wait, feeling as if every minute was an hour, while some well-fed nurse
delayed its coming. Said a lady, 'It makes me hungry now to think of
the meals she brought me upon that little waiter when I was sick, such
brown thin toast, such good broiled beef, such fragrant tea, and every
thing looking so exquisitely nice! If at any time I did not think of
any thing I wanted, nor ask for food, she did not annoy me with
questions, but brought some little delicacy at the proper time, and
when it came, I could take it.'

"If there is one purpose of a personal kind for which it is especially
desirable to lay up means, it is for being well nursed in sickness;
yet in the present state of society, this is absolutely impossible,
even to the wealthy, because of the scarcity of competent nurses.
Families worn down with the long and extreme illness of a member require
relief from one whose feelings will be less taxed, and who can better
endure the labor.

"But alas! how often is it impossible, for love or money, to obtain
one capable of taking the burden from the exhausted sister or mother
or daughter, and how often in consequence they have died prematurely
or struggled through weary years with a broken constitution. Appeal
to those who have made the trial, and you will find that very seldom
have they been able to have those who by nature or by training were
competent for their duties. Ignorant, unscrupulous, inattentive--how
often they disturb and injure the patient! A physician told me that
one of his patients had died because the nurse, contrary to orders,
had at a critical period washed her with cold water. I have known one
who, by stealth, quieted a fretful child with laudanum, and of others
who exhausted the sick by incessant talking. One lady said that when,
to escape this distressing garrulity, she closed her eyes, the nurse
exclaimed aloud, 'Why, she is going to sleep while I am talking to
her.'

"A few only of the sensible, quiet, and loving women, whose presence
everywhere is a blessing, have qualified themselves and followed nursing
as a business. Heaven bless that few! What a sense of relief have I
seen pervade a family when such a one has been procured; and what a
treasure seemed found!

"There is very commonly an extreme susceptibility in the sick to the
_moral atmosphere_ about them. They feel the healthful influence
of the presence of a true-hearted attendant and repose in it, though
they may not be able to define the cause; while dissimulation,
falsehood, recklessness, coarseness, jar terribly and injuriously on
their heightened sensibilities. 'Are the Sisters of Charity really
better nurses than most other women?' I asked an intelligent lady who
had seen much of our military hospitals. 'Yes, they are,' was her
reply. 'Why should it be so?' 'I think it is because with them it is
a work of self-abnegation, and of duty to God, and they are so quiet
and self-forgetful in its exercise that they do it better, while many
other women show such self-consciousness and are so fussy!"

Is there any reason why every Protestant woman should not be trained
for this self-denying office as _a duty owed to God?_ We can not better
close this chapter than by one more quotation from the same intelligent
and attractive writer: "The good nurse is an artist. O the pillowy,
soothing softness of her touch, the neatness of her simple, unrustling
dress, the music of her assured yet gentle voice and tread, the sense of
security and rest inspired by her kind and hopeful face, the promptness
and attention to every want, the repose that like an atmosphere
encircles her, the evidence of heavenly goodness, and love that she
diffuses!" Is not such an art as this worth much to attain?

In training children to the Christian life, one very important
opportunity occurs whenever sickness appears, in the family or
neighborhood. The repression of disturbing noises, the speaking in
tones of gentleness and sympathy, the small offices of service or
nursing in which children can aid, should be inculcated as ministering
to the Lord and Elder Brother of man, who has said, "Inasmuch as ye
have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done
it to me."

One of the blessed opportunities for such ministries is given to
children in the cultivation of flowers. The entrance into a sick-room
of a smiling, healthful child, bringing an offering of flowers raised
by its own labor, is like an angel of comfort and love, "and alike it
blesseth him who gives and him who takes."

A time is coming when the visitation of the sick, as a part of the
Christian life, will hold a higher consideration than is now generally
accorded, especially in the cases of uninteresting sufferers who have
nothing to attract kind attentions, except that they are suffering
children of our Father in heaven, and "one of the least" of the brethren
of Jesus Christ.




CHAPTER XXVII.

ACCIDENTS AND ANTIDOTES.


Children should be taught the following modes of saving life, health
and limbs in cases of sudden emergency, before a medical adviser can
be summoned.

In case of a common cut, bind the lips of the wound together with a
rag, and put on nothing else. If it is large, lay narrow strips of
sticking-plaster obliquely across the wound. In some cases it is needful
to draw a needle and thread through the lips of the wound, and tie the
two sides together.

If an artery be cut, it must be tied as quickly as possible, or the
person will soon bleed to death. The blood from an artery is a brighter
red than that from the veins, and spirts out in jets at each beat of
the heart. Take hold of the end of the artery and tie it or hold it
tight till a surgeon comes. In this case, and in all cases of bad
wounds that bleed much, tie a tight bandage near and above the wound,
inserting a stick into the bandage and twisting as tight as can be
borne, to stop the immediate effusion of blood.

Bathe bad bruises in hot water. Arnica water hastens a cure, but is
injurious and weakening to the parts when used too long and too freely.

A sprain is relieved from the first pains by hot fomentations, or the
application of very hot bandages, but entire rest is the chief permanent
remedy. The more the limb is used, especially at first, the longer the
time required for the small broken fibres to knit together. The sprained
leg should be kept in a horizontal position. When a leg is broken, tie
it to the other leg, to keep it still till a surgeon comes. Tie a
broken arm to a piece of thin wood, to keep it still till set.

In the case of bad burns that take off the skin, creosote water is the
best remedy. If this is not at hand, wood-soot (not coal) pounded,
sifted, and mixed with lard is nearly as good, as such soot contains
creosote. When a dressing is put on, do not remove it till a skin is
formed under it. If nothing else is at hand for a bad burn, sprinkle
flour over the place where the skin is off and then let it remain,
protected by a bandage. The chief aim is to keep the part without skin
from the air.

In case of drowning, the aim should be to clear the throat, mouth and
nostrils, and then produce the natural action of the lungs in breathing
as soon as possible, at the same time removing wet clothes and applying
warmth and friction to the skin, especially the hands and feet, to
start the circulation. The best mode of cleansing the throat and month
of choking water is to lay the person on the face, and raise the head
a little, clearing the mouth and nostrils with the finger, and then
apply hartshorn or camphor to the nose. This is safer and surer than
a common mode of lifting the body by the feet, or rolling on a barrel
to empty out the water.

To start the action of the lungs, first lay the person on the face and
press the back along the spine to expel all air from the lungs. Then
turn the body nearly, but not quite over on to the back, thus opening
the chest so that the air will rush in if the mouth is kept open. Then
turn the body to the face again and expel the air, and then again
nearly over on to the back; and so continue for a long time. Friction,
dry and warm clothing, and warm applications should be used in
connection with this process. This is a much better mode than using
bellows, which sometimes will close the opening to the windpipe. The
above is the mode recommended by Dr. Marshall Hall, and is approved
by the best medical authorities.

Certain articles are often kept in the house for cooking or medical
purposes, and sometimes by mistake are taken in quantities that are
poisonous.

_Soda, saleratus, potash,_ or any other alkali can be rendered
harmless in the stomach by vinegar, tomato-juice, or any other acid.
If sulphuric or oxalic acid are taken, pounded chalk in water is the
best antidote. If those are not at hand, strong soapsuds have been
found effective. Large quantities of tepid water should be drank after
these antidotes are taken, so as to produce vomiting.

_Lime_ or _baryta_ and its compounds demand a solution of glauber salts
or of sulphuric acid.

_Iodine_ or _Iodide of Potassium_ demands large draughts of wheat flour
or starch in water, and then vinegar and water. The stomach should then
be emptied by vomiting with as much tepid water as the stomach can hold.

_Prussic acid_, a violent poison, is sometimes taken by children in
eating the pits of stone fruits or bitter almonds which contain it.
The antidote is to empty the stomach by an emetic, and give water of
ammonia or chloric water. Affusions of cold water all over the body,
followed by warm hand friction, is often a remedy alone, but the above
should be added if at command. _Antimony_ and its compounds demand
drinks of oak bark, or gall nuts, or very strong green tea.

_Arsenic_ demands oil or melted fat, with magnesia or lime water in
large quantities, till vomiting occurs.

_Corrosive Sublimate_, (often used to kill vermin,) and any other form
of mercury, requires milk or whites of eggs in large quantities. The
whites of twelve eggs in two quarts of water, given in the largest
possible draughts every three minutes till free vomiting occurs, is
a good remedy. Flour and water will answer, though not so surely as
the above. Warm water will help, if nothing else is in reach. The same
remedy answers when any form of copper, or tin, or zinc poison is
taken, and also for creosote.

_Lead_ and its compounds require a dilution of Epsom or Glauber salts,
or some strong, acid drink, as lemon or tomatoes.

_Nitrate of Silver_ demands salt water drank till vomiting occurs.

_Phosphorus_ (sometimes taken by children from matches) needs magnesia
and copious drinks of gum Arabic, or gum water of any sort.

_Alcohol_, in dangerous quantities, demands vomiting with warm water.

When one is violently sick from excessive use of _tobacco_, vomiting is
a relief, if it arise spontaneously. After that, or in case it does not
occur, the juice of a lemon and perfect rest, in a horizontal position
on the back, will relieve the nausea and faintness, generally soothing
the foolish and over-wrought patient into a sleep.

_Opium_ demands a quick emetic. The best is a heaping table-spoonful of
powdered mustard, in a tumblerful of warm water; or powdered alum in
half-ounce doses and strong coffee alternately in warm water. Give acid
drinks after vomiting. If vomiting is not elicited thus, a stomach pump
is demanded. Dash cold water on the head, apply friction, and use all
means to keep the person awake and in motion.

_Strychnia_ demands also quick emetics.

The stomach should be emptied always after taking any of these
antidotes, by a warm water emetic.

In case of bleeding at the lungs, or stomach, or throat, give a
tea-spoonful of dry salt, and repeat it often. For bleeding at the
nose, put ice, or pour cold water on the back of the neck, keeping the
head elevated.

If a person be struck with lightning, throw pailfuls of cold water on
the head and body, and apply mustard poultices on the stomach, with
friction of the whole body and inflation of the lungs, as in the case
of drowning. The same mode is to be used when persons are stupefied
by fumes of coal, or bad air.

In thunderstorms, shut the doors and windows. The safest part of a
room is its centre; and where there is a feather-bed in the apartment,
that will be found the most secure resting-place.

A lightning-rod if it be well pointed, and run deep into the earth,
is a certain protection to a circle, around it, whose diameter equals
the height of the rod above the highest chimney. But it protects _no
farther_ than this extent.

In case of fire, wrap about you a blanket, a shawl, a piece of carpet,
or any other woolen cloth, to serve as protection. Never read in bed,
lest you fall asleep, and the bed be set on fire. If your clothes get
on fire, never run, but lie down, and roll about till you can reach
a bed or carpet to wrap yourself in, and thus put out the fire. Keep
young children in woolen dresses, to save them from the risk of fire.




XXVIII.

SEWING, CUTTING, AND MENDING.


Every young girl should be taught to do the following kinds of stitch
with propriety: Over-stitch, hemming, running, felling, stitching,
back-stitch and run, buttonhole-stitch, chain-stitch, whipping, darning,
gathering, and cross-stitch.

In doing over-stitch, the edges should always be first fitted, either
with pins or basting, to prevent puckering. In turning wide hems, a
paper measure should be used, to make them even. Tucks, also, should
be regulated by a paper measure. A fell should be turned, before the
edges are put together, and the seam should be over-sewed before
felling. All biased or goring seams should be felled, for stitching,
draw a thread, and take up two or three threads at a stitch.

In cutting buttonholes, it is best to have a pair of scissors, made
for the purpose, which cut very neatly. For broadcloth, a chisel and
board are better. The best stitch is made by putting in the needle,
and then turning the thread round it near the eye. This is better than
to draw the needle through, and then take up a loop. A stay thread
should first be put across each side of the buttonhole, and also a bar
at each end before working it. In working the buttonhole, keep the
stay thread as far from the edge as possible. A small bar should be
worked at each end.

Whipping is done better by sewing _over_, and not under. The roll
should be as fine as possible, the stitches short, the thread strong,
and in sewing, every gather should be taken up.

The rule for _gathering_ in shirts is, to draw a thread, and then take
up two threads and skip four. In _darning_, after the perpendicular
threads are run, the crossing threads should interlace exactly, taking
one thread and leaving one, like woven threads. It is better to run a
fine thread around a hole and draw it together, and then darn across it.

The neatest sewers always fit and baste their work before sewing; and
they say they always save time in the end by so doing, as they never
have to pick out work on account of mistakes.

It is wise to sew closely and tightly all new garments which will never
be altered in shape; but some are more nice than wise, in sewing frocks
and old garments in the same style. However, this is the least common
extreme. It is much more frequently the case that articles which ought
to be strongly and neatly made are sewed so that a nice sewer would
rather pick out the threads and sew over again than to be annoyed with
the sight of grinning stitches, and vexed with constant rips.

If the thread kinks in sewing, break it off and begin at the other
end. In using spool-cotton, thread the needle with the end which comes
off first, and not the end where you break it off. This often prevents
kinks.

_Work-baskets_.--It is very important to neatness, comfort, and
success in sewing, that a lady's work-basket should be properly fitted
up. The following articles are needful to the mistress of a family:
a large basket to hold work; having in it fastened a smaller basket
or box, containing a needle-book in which are needles of every size,
both blunts and sharps, with a larger number of those sizes most used;
also small and large darning-needles, for woolen, cotton, and silk;
two tape needles, large and small; nice scissors for fine work,
button-hole scissors; an emery bag; two balls of white and yellow wax;
and two thimbles, in case one should be mislaid. When a person is
troubled with damp fingers, a lump of soft chalk in a paper is useful
to rub on the ends of the fingers.

Besides this box, keep in the basket common scissors; small shears;
a bag containing tapes of all colors and sizes, done up in rolls; bags,
one containing spools of white and another of colored cotton thread,
and another for silks wound on spools or papers; a box or bag for nice
buttons, and another for more common ones; a hag containing silk braid,
welting cords, and galloon binding. Small rolls of pieces of white and
brown linen and cotton are also often needed. A brick pin-cushion is
a great convenience in sewing, and better than screw cushions. It is
made by covering half a brick with cloth, putting a cushion on the
top, and covering it tastefully. It is very useful to hold pins and
needles while sewing, and to fasten long seams when basting and sewing.

_To make a Frock_.--The best way for a novice is to get a dress fitted
(not sewed) at the best mantua-maker's. Then take out a sleeve, rip it
to pieces, and cut out a paper pattern. Then take out half of the waist,
(it must have a seam in front,) and cut out a pattern of the back and
fore-body, both lining and outer part. In cutting the patterns, iron the
pieces smooth, let the paper be stiff, and with a pin; prick holes in
the paper, to show the gore in front and the depths of the seams. With a
pen and ink, draw lines from each pin-hole to preserve this mark. Then
baste the parts together again, in doing which the unbasted half will
serve as a pattern. When this is done, a lady of common ingenuity can
cut and fit a dress by these patterns. If the waist of a dress be too
tight, the seam under the arm must be let out; and in cutting a dress an
allowance should be made for letting it out if needful, at this seam.

The linings for the waists of dresses should be stiffened with cotton
or linen. In cutting bias-pieces for trimming, they will not set well
unless they are exact. In cutting them use a long rule, and a lead
pencil or piece of chalk. Welting-cords should be covered with
bias-pieces; and it saves time, in many cases, to baste on the
welting-cord at the same time that you cover it. The best way, to put
on hooks and eyes is to sew thorn on double broad tape, and sew this
on the frock lining. They can be moved easily, and do not show where
they are sewed on.

In putting on linings of skirts at the bottom, be careful to have it
a very little fuller than the dress, or it will shrink and look badly.
All thin silks look much better with lining, and last much longer, as
do aprons also. In putting a lining to a dress, baste it on each
separate breadth, and sew it at the seams, and it looks much better
than to have it fastened only at the bottom. Hake notches in selvedge,
to prevent it from drawing up the breadth. Dresses which are to be
washed should not be lined.

Figured silks do not generally wear well if the figure be large and
satin-like. Black and plain-colored silks can be tested by procuring
samples, and making creases in them; fold the creases in a bunch, and
rub them against a rough surface of moreen or carpeting. Those which
are poor will soon wear off at the creases.

Plaids look becoming for tall women, as they shorten the appearance
of the figure. Stripes look becoming on a large person, as they reduce
the apparent size. Pale, persons should not wear blue or green, and
brunettes should not wear light delicate colors, except shades of buff,
fawn, or straw color. Pearl white is not good for any complexion. Dead
white and black look becoming on almost all persons. It is best to try
colors by candle-light for evening dresses, as some colors which look
very handsome in the daylight are very homely when seen by candle-light.
Never be in haste to be first in a fashion, and never go to the
extremes.

_Linen and Cotton_.--In buying linen, seek for that which has a
round close thread and is perfectly white; for if it be not white at
first, it will never afterward become so. Much that is called linen
at the shops is half cotton, and does not wear so well as cotton alone.
Cheap linens are usually of this kind. It is difficult to discover
which are all linen; but the best way is to find a lot presumed to be
good, take a sample, wash it, and ravel it. If this be good, the rest
of the same lot will probably be so. If you can not do this, draw a
thread each way, and if both appear equally strong it is probably all
linen. Linen and cotton must be put in clean water, and boiled, to get
out the starch, and then ironed.

A "long piece" of linen, a yard wide, will, with care and calculation,
make eight shirts. In cutting it, take a shirt of the right size as
a guide in fitting and basting. Bosom-pieces and false collars must
be cut and fitted by patterns which suit the person for whom, the
articles are designed. Gentlemen's night-shirts are made like other
shirts, except that they are longer, and do not have bosoms and cuffs
for starching.

In cutting chemises, if the cotton or linen is a yard wide, cut off
small half-gores at the top of the breadths and set them on the bottom.
Use a long rule and a pencil in cutting gores. In cutting cotton winch
is quite wide, a seam can be saved by cutting out two at once, in this
manner: cut off three breadths, and with a long rule and a pencil,
mark and cut off the gores; thus from one breadth cut off two gores
the whole length, each gore one fourth of the breadth at the bottom,
and tapering off to a point at the top. The other two breadths are to
have a gore cut off from each, which is one fourth wide at the top and
two fourths at bottom. Arrange these pieces right and they will make
two chemises, one having four seams and the other three. This is a
much easier way of cutting than sewing the three breadths together in
bag fashion, as is often done. The biased or goring seams must always
be felled. The sleeves and neck can be cut according to the taste of
the wearer, by another, chemise for a pattern. There should be a lining
around the armholes and stays at all corners. Six yards of yard width
will make two chemises.

Long night-gowns are best cut a little goring. It requires five yards
for a long night-gown, and two and a half for a short one. Linen night
caps wear longer than cotton ones, and do not like them turn yellow.
They should be ruffled with linen, as cotton borders will not last so
long as the cap. A double-quilted wrapper is a great comfort, in case
of sickness. It may be made of two old dresses. It should not be cut
full, but rather like a gentleman's study-gown, having no gathers or
plaits, but large enough to slip off and on with ease. A double-gown
of calico is also very useful. Most articles of dress, for grown persons
or children, require patterns.

Old silk dresses quilted for skirts are very serviceable, White flannel
is soiled so easily and shrinks so much in washing that it is a good
plan to color it. Cotton flannel is also good for common skirts. In
making up flannel, back-stitch and run the seams and then cross-stitch
them open. Nice flannel for infants can be ornamented with very little
expense of time, by turning up the hem on the right side and making
a little vine at the edge with saddler's silk The stitch of the vine
is a modification of button-hole stitch.

_Mending_. Silk dresses will last much longer, by ripping out the
sleeves when thin, and changing the arms and also the breadths of the
skirt. Tumbled black silk, which is old and rusty, should be dipped
in water, then be drained for a few minutes, without squeezing or
pressing, and then ironed. Coffee or cold tea is better than water.
Sheets when worn thin in the middle should be ripped, and the other
edges sewed together. Window-curtains last much longer if lined, as
the sun fades and rots them.

Broadcloth should be cut with reference to the way the nap runs. When
pantaloons are thin, it is best to newly seat them, cutting the piece
inserted in a curve, as corners are difficult to fit. Hose can be cut
down when the feet are worn. Take an old stocking and cut it up for
a pattern. Make the heel short. In sewing, turn each edge and run it
down, and then sew over the edges. This is better than to stitch and
then cross-stitch. "Run" thin places in stockings, and it will save
darning a hole. If shoes are worn through on the sides, in the
upper-leather, slip pieces of broadcloth under, and sew them around
the holes.

_Bedding_. The best beds are thick hair mattresses, which for persons in
health are good for winter as well as summer use. Mattresses may also be
made of husks, dried and drawn into shreds; also of alternate layers of
cotton and moss. The most profitable sheeting is the Russian, which will
last three times as long as any other. It is never perfectly white.
Unbleached cotton is good for winter. It is poor economy to make narrow
and short sheets, as children and domestics will always slip them off,
and soil the bed-tick and bolster. They should be three yards long, and
two and a half wide, so that they can be tucked in all around. All bed-
linen should be marked and numbered, so that a bed can always be made
properly, and all missing articles be known.



XXIX.

FIRES AND LIGHTS.


A shallow fireplace saves wood and gives out more heat than a deeper
one. A false back of brick may be put up in a deep fireplace. Hooks
for holding up the shovel and tongs, a hearth-brush and bellows, and
brass knobs to hang them on, should be furnished to every fireplace.
An iron bar across the andirons aids in keeping the fire safe and in
good order. Steel furniture is neater, handsomer, and more easily kept
in order than that made of brass.

Use green wood for logs, and mix green and dry wood for the fire; and
then the wood-pile will last much longer. Walnut, maple, hickory, and
oak wood are best; chestnut or hemlock is bad, because it snaps. Do
not buy a load in which there are many crooked sticks. Learn how to
measure and calculate the solid contents of a load, so as not to be
cheated. A cord of wood should be equivalent to a pile eight feet long,
four feet wide and four feet high; that is, it contains (8 X 4 X 4 =
128) one hundred and twenty-eight cubic or solid feet. A city "load"
is usually one third of a cord. Have all your wood split and piled
under cover for winter. Have the green wood logs in one pile, dry wood
in another, oven wood in another, kindlings and chips in another, and
a supply of charcoal to use for broiling and ironing in another place.
Have a brick bin for ashes, and never allow them to be put in wood.
When quitting fires at night, never leave a burning stick across the
andirons, nor on its end, without quenching it. See that no fire adheres
to the broom or brush, remove all articles from the fire, and have two
pails filled with water in the kitchen where they will not freeze.


STOVES AND GRATES.

Rooms heated by stoves should always have some opening for the admission
of fresh air, or they will be injurious to health. The dryness of the
air, which they occasion, should be remedied by placing a vessel filled
with water on the stove, otherwise, the lungs or eyes will be injured.
A large number of plants in a room prevents this dryness of the air.
Where stove-pipes pass through fire-boards, the hole in the wood should
be much larger than the pipe, so that there may be no danger of the
wood taking fire. The unsightly opening thus occasioned should be
covered with tin. When pipes are carried through floors or partitions,
they should always pass either through earthen crocks, or what are
known as tin stove-pipe thimbles, which may be found in any stove store
or tinsmith's. Lengthening a pipe will increase its draught.

For those who use _anthracite_ coal, that which is broken or screened is
best for grates, and the nut-coal for small stoves. Three tons are
sufficient in the Middle States, and four tons in the Northern, to keep
one fire through the winter. That which is bright, hard, and clean is
best; and that which is soft, porous, and covered with damp dust is
poor. It will be well to provide two barrels of charcoal for kindling to
every ton of anthracite coal. Grates for _bituminous coal_ should have a
flue nearly as deep as the grate; and the bars should be round and not
close together. The better draught there is, the less coal-dust is made.
Every grate should be furnished with a poker, shovel, tongs, blower,
coal-scuttle, and holder for the blower. The latter may be made of
woolen, covered with old silk; and hung near the fire.

Coal-stoves should be carefully put up, as cracks in the pipe,
especially in sleeping rooms, are dangerous.


LIGHTS

Professor Phin, of the _Manufacturer and Builder_, has kindly given us
some late information on this important topic, which will be found
valuable.

In choosing the source of our light, the great points to be considered
are, first, the influence on the eyes, and secondly, economy. It is
poor economy to use a bad light. Modern houses in cities, and even in
large villages, are furnished with gas; where gas is not used,
sperm-oil, kerosene or coal-oil, and candles are employed. Gas is the
cheapest, (or ought to be;) and if properly used, is as good as any.
Good sperm-oil burned in an Argand lamp--that is, a lamp with a
circular wick, like the astral lamp and others--is perhaps the best;
but it is expensive and attended with many inconveniences. Good kerosene
oil gives a light which leaves little to be desired. Candles are used
only on rare occasions, though many families prefer to manufacture
into candles the waste grease that accumulates in the household. The
economy of any source of light will depend so much upon local
circumstances that no absolute directions can be given.

The effect produced by light on the eyes depends upon the following
points: First, _Steadiness_. Nothing is more injurious to the
eyes than a flickering, unsteady flame. Hence, all flames used for
light-giving purposes ought to be surrounded with glass chimneys or
small shades. No naked flame can ever be steady. Second, _Color_.
This depends greatly upon the temperature of the flame. A hot flame
gives a bright, white light; a flame which has not a high temperature
gives a dull, yellow light, which is very injurious to the eyes. In
the naked gas-jet a large portion of the flame burns at a low
temperature, and the same is the case with the flame of the kerosene
lamp when the height of the chimney is not properly proportioned to
the amount of oil consumed; a high wick needs a high chimney. In the
case of a well-trimmed Argand oil-lamp, or an Argand burner for gas,
the flame is in general most intensely hot, and the light is of a clear
white character.

The third point which demands attention is the _amount of heat_
transmitted from the flame to the eyes. It often happens that people,
in order to economize light, bring the lamp quite close to the face.
This is a very bad habit. The heat is more injurious than the light.
Better burn a larger flame, and keep it at a greater distance. It is
also well that various sized lamps should be provided to serve the
varying necessities of the household in regard to quantity of light.
One of the very best forms of lamp is that known as the "student's
reading-lamp," which is, in the burner, an Argand. Provide small lamps
with handles for carrying about, and broad-bottomed lamps for the
kitchen, as these are not easily upset. Hand and kitchen lamps are
best made of metal, unless they are to be used by very careful persons.

Sperm-oil, lard, tallow, etc., have been superseded to such an extent
by kerosene that it is scarcely worth while to give any special
directions in regard to them. In the choice of kerosene, attention
should be paid to two points: its _safety_ and its _light-giving
qualities_. Kerosene is not a simple fluid, like water; but is a
mixture of several liquids, all of which boil at different temperatures.
Good kerosene oil should be purified from all that portion which boils
or evaporates at a low temperature; for it is the production of this
vapor, and its mixture with atmospheric air, that gives rise to those
terrible explosions which sometimes occur when a light is brought near
a can of poor oil. To test the oil in this respect, pour a little into
an iron spoon, and heat it over a lamp until it is moderately warm to
the touch. If the oil produces vapor which can be set on fire by means
of a flame held a short distance above the surface of the liquid, it
is bad. Good oil poured into a teacup or on the floor does not easily
take fire when a light is brought in contact with it. Poor oil will
instantly ignite under the same circumstances, and hence, the breaking
of a lamp filled with poor oil is always attended by great peril of
a conflagration. Not only the safety but also the light-giving qualities
of kerosene are greatly enhanced by the removal of these volatile and
dangerous oils. Hence, while good kerosene should be clear in color
and free from all matters which can gum up the wick and thus interfere
with free circulation and combustion, it should also be perfectly safe.
It ought to be kept in a cool, dark place, and carefully excluded from
the air.

The care of lamps requires so much attention and discretion, that many
ladies choose to do this work themselves, rather than trust it with
domestics. To do it properly, provide the following things: an old
waiter to hold all the articles used; a lamp-filler, with a spout,
small at the end, and turned up to prevent oil from dripping; proper
wicks, and a basket or box to hold them; a lamp-trimmer made for the
purpose, or a pair of _sharp_ scissors; a small soap-cup and soap;
some washing soda in a broad-mouthed bottle; and several soft cloths
to wash the articles and towels to wipe them. If every thing, after
being used, is cleansed from oil and then kept neatly, it will not be
so unpleasant a task as it usually is, to take care of lamps.

The inside of lamps and oil-cans should be cleansed with soda dissolved
in water. Be careful to drain them well, and not to let any gilding
or bronze be injured by the soda coming in contact with it. Put one
table-spoonful of soda to one quart of water. Take the lamp to pieces
and clean it as often as necessary. Wipe the chimney at least once a
day, and wash it whenever mere wiping fails to cleanse it. Some persons,
owing to the dirty state of their chimneys, lose half the light which
is produced. Keep dry fingers in trimming lamps. Renew the wicks before
they get too short. They should never be allowed to burn shorter than
an inch and a half.

In regard to _shades_, which are always well to use, on lamps or
gas, those made of glass or porcelain are now so cheap that we can
recommend them as the best without any reservation. Plain shades,
making the light soft and even, do not injure the eyes. Lamps should
be lighted with a strip of folded or rolled paper, of which a quantity
should be kept on the mantelpiece. Weak eyes should always be especially
shaded from the lights. Small screens, made for the purpose, should
be kept at hand. A person with weak eyes can use them safely much
longer when they are protected from the glare of the light. Fill the
entry-lamp every day, and cleanse and fill night-lanterns twice a week,
if used often. A good night-lamp is made with a small one-wicked lamp
and a roll of tin to set over it. Have some holes made in the bottom
of this cover, and it can then be used to heat articles. Very cheap
floating tapers can he bought to burn in a teacup of oil through the
night.


TO MAKE CANDLES.

The nicest candles are those run in moulds. For this purpose, melt
together one quarter of a pound of white wax, one quarter of an ounce
of camphor, two ounces of alum, and ten ounces of suet or mutton-tallow.
Soak the wicks in lime-water and saltpetre, and when dry, fix them in
the moulds and pour in the melted tallow. Let them remain one night
to cool; then warm them a little to loosen them, draw them out, and
when they are hard, put them in a box in a dry and cool place.

To make dipped candles, cut the wicks of the right length, double them
over rods, and twist them. They should first be dipped in lime-water
or vinegar, and dried. Melt the tallow in a large kettle, filling it
to the top with hot water, when the tallow is melted. Put in wax and
powdered alum, to harden them. Keep the tallow hot over a portable
furnace, and fill the kettle with hot water as fast as the tallow is
used up. Lay two long strips of narrow board on which to hang the rods;
and set flat pans under, on the floor, to catch the grease. Take several
rods at once, and wet the wicks in the tallow; straighten and smooth
them when cool. Then dip them as fast as they cool, until they become
of the proper size. Plunge them obliquely and not perpendicularly; and
when the bottoms are too large, hold them in the hot grease till a
part melts off. Let them remain one night to cool; then cut off the
bottoms, and keep them in a dry, cool place. Cheap lights are made,
by dipping rushes in tallow; the rushes being first stripped of nearly
the whole of the hard outer covering and the pith alone being retained
with just enough of the tough bark to keep it stiff.




XXX.

THE CARE OF ROOMS.


It would be impossible in a work dealing, as this does, with general
principles of house-keeping, to elaborate in full the multitudinous
details which arise for attention and intelligent care. These will be
more largely treated of in the book soon to be published for the present
writer, (the senior authoress of this volume.) Yet, in the different
departments of family labor, there are certain leading matters
concerning which a few hints may be found useful in aiding the reader
to carry into operation the instructions and ideas of the earlier
chapters of this book, and in promoting the general comfort and
convenience of families.

And first, asking the reader to bear in mind that these suggestions
are chiefly applicable to country homes, not within easy reach of all
the conveniences which go under the name of "modern improvements," we
will say a few words on the care of _Parlors_.

In hanging pictures, put them so that the lower part shall be opposite
the eye. Cleanse the glass of pictures with whiting, as water endangers
the pictures. Gilt frames can be much better preserved by putting on
a coat of copal varnish, which with proper brushes, can be bought of
carriage or cabinet-makers. When dry, it can be washed with fair water.
Wash the brush in spirits of turpentine.

Curtains, ottomans, and sofas covered with worsted, can be cleansed
with wheat bran, rubbed on with flannel. Shades of linen or cotton,
on rollers and pulleys, are always useful to shut out the sun from
curtains and carpets. Paper curtains, pasted on old cotton, are good
for chambers. Put them on rollers, having cords nailed to them, so
that when the curtain falls, the cord will be wound up. Then, by pulling
the cord, the curtain will be rolled up.

Varnished furniture should be rubbed only with silk, except
occasionally, when a little sweet-oil should be rubbed over, and wiped
off carefully. For unvarnished furniture, use bees-wax, a little
softened with sweet-oil; rub it in with a hard brush, and polish with
woolen and silk rags. Some persons rub in linseed-oil; others mix
bees-wax with a little spirits of turpentine and rosin, making it so
that it can be put on with a sponge, and wiped off with a soft rag.
Others keep in a bottle the following mixture: two ounces of spirits
of turpentine, four table-spoonfuls of sweet-oil, and one quart of
milk. This is applied with a sponge, and wiped off with a linen rag.

Hearths and jambs, of brick, look best painted over with black lead,
mixed with soft-soap. Wash the bricks which are nearest the fire with
redding and milk, using a painter's brush. A sheet of zinc, covering
the whole hearth, is cheap, saves work, and looks very well. A tinman
can fit it properly.

Stone hearths should be rubbed with a paste of powdered stone, (to be
procured of the stone-cutters,) and then brushed with a stiff brush.
Kitchen hearths, of stone, are improved by rubbing in lamp-oil.

Stains can be removed from marble, by oxalic acid and water, or oil
of vitriol and water, left on a few minutes, and then rubbed dry. Gray
marble is improved by linseed-oil. Grease can be taken from marble,
by ox-gall and potter's clay wet with soapsuds, (a gill of each.) It
is better to add, also, a gill of spirits of turpentine. It improves
the looks of marble, to cover it with this mixture, leaving it two
days, and then rubbing it off.

Unless a parlor is in constant use, it is best to sweep it only once
a week, and at other times use a whisk-broom and dust-pan. When a
parlor with handsome furniture is to be swept, cover the sofas, centre
table, piano, books, and mantelpiece with old cottons kept for the
purpose. Remove the rugs and shake them, and clean the jambs, hearth,
and fire-furniture. Then sweep the room, moving every article. Dust
the furniture with a dust-brush and a piece of old silk. A painter's
brush should be kept, to remove dust from ledges and crevices. The
dust-cloths should be often shaken and washed, or else they will soil
the walls and furniture when they are used. Dust ornaments and fine
books with feather brushes, used for no other purpose.

_Chambers and Bedrooms_ are of course a portion of the house to
be sedulously and scrupulously attended to, if either health or comfort
are aimed at in the family. And first, every mistress of a family
should see, not only that all sleeping-rooms in her house _can be_
well ventilated at night, but that they actually are so. Where there
is no provision made for the introduction of pure air, in the
construction of the house, and in the bedroom itself no open fire-place
to allow the easy exit of foul air, a door should be left open into
an entry or room where fresh air is admitted; or else a small opening
should be made in a window, taking care not to allow a draught of air
to cross the bed. The debility of childhood, the lassitude of domestics,
and the ill-health of families, are often caused by neglecting to
provide a supply of pure air.

It is not deemed necessary to add much to the earlier chapters treating
of bedroom conveniences; but one subject is of marked importance, as
being characteristic of good or poor housekeeping--that is, the _making
of beds_.

Few servants will make a bed properly, without much attention from the
mistress of the family; and every young woman who expects to have a
household of her own to manage should be able to do it well herself,
and to instruct others in doing it. The following directions should
be given to those who do this work:

Open the windows, and lay off the bed-covering on two chairs, at the
foot of the bed. If it be a feather-bed, after it is well aired, shake
the feathers from each corner to the middle; then take up the middle,
shake it well, and turn the bed over. Then push the feathers in place,
making the head higher than the foot, and the sides even, and as high
as the middle part. A mattress, whether used on top of a feather-bed
or by itself, should in like manner be well aired and turned. Then put
on the bolster and the under sheet, so that the wrong side of the sheet
shall go next the bed, and the _marking_ always come at the head,
tucking in all around. Then put on the pillows, evenly, so that the
open ends shall come to the sides of the bed, and spread on the upper
sheet so that the wrong side shall be next the blankets, and the marked
end always at the head. This arrangement of sheets is to prevent the
part where the feet lie from being reversed, so as to come to the face;
and also to prevent the parts soiled by the body from coming to the
bedtick and blankets. Put on the other covering, except the outer one,
tucking in all around, and then turn over the upper sheet at the head,
so as to show a part of the pillows. When the pillow-cases are clean
and smooth, they look best outside of the cover, but not otherwise.
Then draw the hand along the side of the pillows, to make an even
indentation, and then smooth and shape the whole outside. A nice
housekeeper always notices the manner in which a bed is made; and in
some parts of the country, it is rare to see this work properly
performed.

The writer would here urge every mistress of a family, who keeps more
than one domestic servant, to provide them with single beds, that they
might not be obliged to sleep with all the changing domestics, who
come and go so often. Where the room is too small for two beds, a
narrow truckle-bed kept under another during the day will answer.
Domestics should be furnished with washing conveniences in their
chambers, and be encouraged to keep their persons and rooms neat and
in order.

_The care of the Kitchen, Cellar, and Store-room is necessarily the
foundation of all proper housekeeping._

If parents wish their daughters to grow up with good domestic habits,
they should have, as one means of securing this result, a neat and
cheerful kitchen. A kitchen should always, if possible, be entirely
above-ground, and well lighted. It should have a large sink, with a
drain running under-ground, so that all the premises may be kept sweet
and clean. If flowers and shrubs be cultivated around the doors and
windows, and the yard near them be kept well turfed, it will add very
much to their agreeable appearance. The walls should often be cleaned
and white-washed, to promote a neat look and pure air. The floor of
a kitchen should be painted, or, what is better, covered with an
oilcloth. To procure a kitchen oilcloth as cheaply as possible, buy
cheap tow cloth, and fit it to the size and shape of the kitchen. Then
have it stretched, and nailed to the south side of the barn, and, with
a brush, cover it with a coat of thin rye paste. When this is dry, put
on a coat of yellow paint, and let it dry for a fortnight. It is safest
to first try the paint, and see if it dries well, as some paint never
will dry. Then put on a second coat, and at the end of another
fortnight, a third coat. Then let it hang two months, and it will last,
uninjured, for many years. The longer the paint is left to dry, the
better. If varnished, it will last much longer.

A sink should be scalded out every day, and occasionally with hot lye.
On nails, over the sink, should be hung three good dish-cloths, hemmed,
and furnished with loops; one for dishes not greasy, one for greasy
dishes, and one for washing greasy pots and kettles. These should be
put in the wash every week. The lady who insists upon this will not
be annoyed by having her dishes washed with dark, musty and greasy
rags, as is too frequently the case.

Under the sink should be kept a slop-pail; and, on a shelf by it, a
soap-dish and two water-pails. A large boiler of warm soft water should
always be kept over the fire, well covered, and a hearth-broom and
bellows be hung near the fire. A clock is a very important article in
the kitchen, in order to secure regularity at meals.


WASHING DISHES.

No item of domestic labor is so frequently done in a negligent manner,
by domestics, as this. A full supply of conveniences will do much
toward the remedy of this evil. A swab, made of strips of linen tied
to a stick, is useful to wash nice dishes, especially small, deep
articles. Two or three towels, and three dish-cloths should be used.
Two large tin tubs, painted on the outside, should be provided; one
for washing, and one for rinsing; also, a large old waiter, on which
to drain the dishes. A soap-dish, with hard soap, and a fork, with
which to use it, a slop-pail, and two pails for water, should also be
furnished. The following rules for washing dishes will aid in promoting
the desired care and neatness:

1. Scrape the dishes, putting away any food which may remain on them,
and which it may be proper to save for future use. Put grease into the
grease-pot, and whatever else may be on the plates into the slop-pail.
Save tea-leaves for sweeping. Set all the dishes, when scraped, in
regular piles, the smallest at the top.

2. Put the nicest articles in the wash-dish, and wash them in hot suds
with the swab or nicest dish-cloth. Wipe all metal articles as soon
as they are washed. Put all the rest into the rinsing-dish, which
should be filled with hot water. When they are taken out, lay them to
drain on the waiter. Then rinse the dish-cloth, and hang it up, wipe
the articles washed, and put them in their places.

3. Pour in more hot water, wash the greasy dishes with the dish-cloth
made for them, rinse them, and set them to drain. Wipe them, and set
them away. Wash the knives and forks, _being careful that the handles
are never put in water_; wipe them, and then lay them in a
knife-dish, to be scoured.

4. Take a fresh supply of clean suds, in which wash the milk-pans,
buckets, and tins. Then rinse and hang up this dish-cloth, and take
the other, with which, wash the roaster, gridiron, pots, and kettles.
Then wash and rinse the dish-cloth, and hang it up. Empty the
slop-bucket, and scald it. Dry metal teapots and tins before the fire.
Then put the fire-place in order, and sweep and dust the kitchen.

Some persons keep a deep and narrow vessel, in which to wash knives
with a swab, so that a careless servant _can not_ lay them in the
water while washing them. This article can be carried into the
eating-room, to receive the knives and forks when they are taken from
the table.


KITCHEN FURNITURE.

_Crockery_.--Brown earthen pans are said to be best for milk and
for cooking. Tin pans are lighter, and more convenient, but are too
cold for many purposes. Tall earthen jars, with covers, are good to
hold butter, salt, lard, etc. Acids should never be put into the red
earthen ware, as there is a poisonous ingredient in the glazing which
the acid takes off. Stone ware is better and stronger, and safer every
way than any other kind.

_Iron Ware_.--Many kitchens are very imperfectly supplied with
the requisite conveniences for cooking. When a person has sufficient
means, the following articles are all desirable: A nest of iron pots,
of different sizes, (they should be slowly heated when new,) a long
iron fork, to take out articles from boiling water; an iron hook, with
a handle, to lift pots from the crane; a large and small gridiron,
with grooved bars, and a trench to catch the grease; a Dutch oven,
called also a bake-pan; two skillets, of different sizes, and a spider,
or flat skillet, for frying; a griddle, a waffle-iron, tin and iron
bake and bread pans; two ladles, of different sizes; a skimmer; iron
skewers; a toasting-iron; two teakettles, one small and one large
one; two brass kettles, of different sizes, for soap-boiling, etc.
Iron kettles, lined with porcelain, are better for preserves. The
German are the best. Too hot a fire will crack them, but with care in
this respect, they will last for many years.

Portable charcoal furnaces, of iron or clay, are very useful in summer,
in washing, ironing, and stewing, or making preserves. If used in the
house, a strong draught must be made, to prevent the deleterious effects
of the charcoal. A box and mill, for spice, pepper, and coffee, are
needful to those who use these articles. Strong knives and forks, a
sharp carving-knife, an iron cleaver and board, a fine saw, steelyards,
chopping-tray and knife, an apple-parer, steel for sharpening knives,
sugar-nippers, a dozen iron spoons, also a large iron one with a long
handle, six or eight flat-irons, one of them very small, two
iron-stands, a ruffle-iron, a crimping-iron, are also desirable.

_Tin Ware_.--Bread-pans; large and small patty-pans; cake-pans,
with a centre tube to insure their baking well; pie-dishes, (of
block-tin;) a covered butter-kettle; covered kettles to hold berries;
two sauce-pans; a large oil-can; (with a cock;) a lamp-filler; a
lantern; broad bottomed candlesticks for the kitchen; a candle-box;
a funnel; a reflector for baking warm cakes; an oven or tin-kitchen;
an apple-corer; an apple-roaster; an egg-boiler; two sugar-scoops, and
flour and meal-scoop; a set of mugs; three dippers; a pint, quart, and
gallon measure; a set of scales and weights; three or four pails,
painted on the outside; a slop-bucket with a tight cover, painted on
the outside; a milk-strainer; a gravy-strainer; a colander; a
dredging-box; a pepper-box; a large and small grater; a cheese-box;
also a large box for cake, and a still larger one for bread, with tight
covers. Bread, cake, and cheese, shut up in this way, will not grow
dry as in the open air.

_Wooden Ware_.--A nest of tubs; a set of pails and bowls; a large
and small sieve; a beetle for mashing potatoes; a spade or stick for
stirring butter and sugar; a bread-board, for moulding bread and making
pie-crust; a coffee-stick; a clothes-stick; a mush-stick; a meat-beetle,
to pound tough meat; an egg-beater; a ladle, for working butter; a
bread-trough, (for a large family;) flour-buckets, with lids, to hold
sifted flour and Indian meal; salt-boxes; sugar-boxes; starch and
indigo-boxes; spice-boxes; a bosom-board; a skirt-board; a large
ironing-board; two or three clothes-frames; and six dozen clothes-pins.

_Basket Ware_.--Baskets of all sizes, for eggs, fruit, marketing,
clothes, etc.; also chip-baskets. When often used, they should be
washed in hot suds.

_Other Articles_.--Every kitchen needs a box containing balls of
brown thread and twine, a large and small darning needle, rolls of
waste paper and old linen and cotton, and a supply of common holders.
There should also be another box, containing a hammer, carpet-tacks,
and nails of all sizes, a carpet-claw, screws and a screw-driver,
pincers, gimlets of several sizes, a bed-screw, a small saw, two
chisels, (one to use for button-holes in broadcloth,) two awls and two
files.

In a drawer or cupboard should be placed cotton table-cloths for kitchen
use; nice crash towels for tumblers, marked T T; coarser towels for
dishes marked T; six large roller-towels; a dozen hand-towels, marked
H T; and a dozen hemmed dish-cloths with loops. Also two thick linen
pudding or dumpling-cloths, a jelly-bag made of white flannel, to
strain jelly, a starch-strainer, and a bag for boiling clothes.

In a closet should be kept, arranged in order, the following articles:
the dust-pan, dust-brush, and dusting-cloths, old flannel and cotton
for scouring and rubbing, large sponges for washing windows and
looking-glasses, a long brush for cobwebs, and another for washing the
outside of windows, whisk-brooms, common brooms, a coat-broom or brush,
a whitewash-brush, a stove-brush, shoe-brushes and blacking, articles
for cleaning tin and silver, leather for cleaning metals, bottles
containing stain-mixtures and other articles used in cleansing.


CARE OF THE CELLAR.

A cellar should often be whitewashed, to keep it sweet. It should have
a drain to keep it perfectly dry, as standing water in a cellar is a
sure cause of disease in a family. It is very dangerous to leave decayed
vegetables in a cellar. Many a fever has been caused by the poisonous
miasm thus generated. The following articles are desirable in a cellar:
a safe, or movable closet, with sides of wire or perforated tin, in
which cold meats, cream, and other articles should be kept; (if ants
be troublesome, set the legs in tin cups of water;) a refrigerator,
or a large wooden-box, on feet, with a lining of tin or zinc, and a
space between the tin and wood filled with powdered charcoal, having
at the bottom a place for ice, a drain to carry off the water, and
also movable shelves and partitions. In this, articles are kept cool.
It should be cleaned once a week. Filtering jars to purify water should
also be kept in the cellar. Fish and cabbages in a cellar are apt to
scent a house, and give a bad taste to other articles.


STOREROOM.

Every house needs a storeroom, in which to keep tea, coffee, sugar,
rice, candles, etc. It should be furnished with jars, having labels,
a large spoon, a fork, sugar and flour-scoops, a towel, and a
dish-cloth.


MODES OF DESTROYING INSECTS AND VERMIN.

_Bed-bugs_ should be kept away, by filling every chink in the bedstead
with putty, and if it be old, painting it over. Of all the mixtures for
killing them, _corrosive sublimate and alcohol_ is the surest. This is a
strong poison.

_Cockroaches_ may be destroyed by pouring boiling water into their
haunts, or setting a mixture of arsenic mixed with Indian meal and
molasses where they are found. Chloride of lime and sweetened water
will also poison them.

_Fleas_.--If a dog be infected with these insects, put him in a
tub of warm soapsuds, and they will rise to the surface. Take them
off, and burn them. Strong perfumes about the person diminish their
attacks. When caught between the fingers, plunge them in water, or
they will escape.

_Crickets_.--Scalding, and sprinkling Scotch snuff about the haunts of
these insects, are remedies for the annoyance caused by them.

_Flies_ can be killed in great quantities, by placing about the house
vessels filled with sweetened water and _cobalt_. Six cents' worth of
cobalt is enough for a pint of water. It is very poisonous.

_Mosquitoes_.--Close nets around a bed are the only sure protection
at night against these insects. Spirits of hartshorn is the best
antidote for their bite. Salt and water is good.

_Red or Black Ants_ may be driven away by scalding their haunts,
and putting Scotch snuff wherever they go for food. Set the legs of
closets and safes in pans of water, and they can not get at them.

_Moths_.--Airing clothes does not destroy moths, but laying them
in a hot sun does. If articles be tightly sewed up in linen when laid
away, and fine tobacco put about them, it is a sure protection. This
should be done in April.

_Rats and Mice_.--A good cat is the best remedy for these annoyances.
Equal quantities of hemlock (or _cicuta_) and old cheese will poison
them; but this renders the house liable to the inconvenience of a bad
smell. This evil, however, may be lessened, by placing a dish containing
oil of vitriol poured on saltpetre where the smell is most annoying.
Chloride of lime and water is also good.

In using any of the above-mentioned poisons, great care should be taken
to guard against their getting into any article of food or any utensil
or vessel used for cooking or keeping food, or where children can get
at them.




XXXI.

THE CARE OF YARDS AND GARDENS.


First, let us say a few words on the _Preparation of Soil_. If
the garden soil be clayey and adhesive, put on a covering of sand,
three inches thick, and the same depth of well-rotted manure. Spade
it in as deep as possible, and mix it well. If the soil be sandy and
loose, spade in clay and ashes. Ashes are good for all kinds of soil,
as they loosen those which are close, hold moisture in those which are
sandy, and destroy insects. The best kind of soil is that which will
hold water the longest without becoming hard when dry.

_To prepare Soil for Pot-plants_, take one fourth part of common
soil, one fourth part of well-decayed manure, and one half of vegetable
mould, from the woods or from a chip-yard. Break up the manure fine,
and sift it through a lime-screen, (or coarse wire sieve.) These
materials must be thoroughly mixed. When the common soil which is used
is adhesive, and indeed in most other cases, it is necessary to add
sand, the proportion of which must depend on the nature of the soil.

_To Prepare a Hot-Bed_, dig a pit six feet long, five feet wide,
and thirty inches deep. Make a frame of the same size, with the back
two feet high, the front fifteen inches, and the sides sloped from the
back to the front. Make two sashes, each three feet by five, with the
panes of glass lapping like shingles instead of having cross-bars. Set
the frame over the pit, which should then be filled with fresh
horse-dung, which has not lain long nor been sodden by water. Tread
it down hard; then put into the frame light and very rich soil, six
or eight inches deep, and cover it with the sashes for two or three
days. Then stir the soil, and sow the seeds in shallow drills, placing
sticks by them, to mark the different kinds. Keep the frame covered
with the glass whenever it is cold enough to chill the plants; but at
all other times admit fresh air, which is indispensable to their health.
When the sun is quite warm, raise the glasses enough to admit air, and
cover them with matting or blankets, or else the sun may kill the young
plants. Water the bed at evening with water which has stood all day,
or, if it be fresh drawn, add a little warm water. If there be too
much heat in the bed, so as to scorch or wither the plants, lift the
sashes, water freely, shade by day; make deep holes with stakes, and
fill them up when the heat is reduced. In very cold nights, cover the
sashes and frame with straw-mats.

_For Planting Flower Seeds_.--Break up the soil, till it is very
soft, and free from lumps. Rub that nearest the surface between the
hands, to make it fine. Make a circular drill a foot in diameter. Seeds
are to be planted either deeper or nearer the surface, according to
their size. For seeds as large as sweet peas, the drill should be half
an inch deep. The smallest seeds must be planted very near the surface,
and a very little fine earth be sifted over them. After covering them
with soil, beat them down with a trowel, so as to make the earth as
compact as it is after a heavy shower. Set up a stick in the middle
of the circle, with the name of the plant heavily written upon it with
a dark lead pencil. This remains more permanent if white-lead be first
rubbed over the surface. Never plant when the soil is very wet. In
very dry times, water the seeds at night. Never use very cold water.
When the seeds are small, many should be planted together, that they
may assist each other in breaking the soil. When the plants are an
inch high, thin them out, leaving only one or two, if the plant be a
large one, like the balsam; five or six, when it is of a medium size;
and eighteen or twenty of the smaller size. Transplanting, unless the
plant be lifted with a ball of earth, retards the growth about a
fortnight. It is best to plant at two different times, lest the first
planting should fail, owing to wet or cold weather.

_To plant Garden-Seeds_, make the beds from one to three yards
wide; lay across them a board a foot wide, and with a stick, make a
furrow on each side of it, one inch deep. Scatter the seeds in this
furrow, and cover them. Then lay the board over them, and step on it,
to press down the earth. When the plants are an inch high, thin them
out, leaving spaces proportioned to their sizes. Seeds of similar
species, such as melons and squashes, should not be planted very near
to each other, as this causes them to degenerate. The same kinds of
vegetables should not be planted in the same place for two years in
succession. The longer the rows are, the easier is the after culture.

_Transplanting_ should be done at evening, or which is better,
just before a shower. Take a round stick sharpened at the point, and
make openings to receive the plants. Set them a very little deeper
than they were before, and press the soil firmly round them. Then water
them, and cover them for three or four days, taking care that sufficient
air be admitted. If the plant can be removed without disturbing the
soil around the root, it will not be at all retarded by transplanting.
Never remove leaves and branches, unless a part of the roots be lost.

_To Re-pot House-Plants, renew the soil every year, soon after the
time of blossoming. Prepare soil as previously directed. Loosen the
earth from the pot by passing a knife around the skies. Turn the plant
upside down, and remove the pot. Then remove all the matted fibres at
the bottom, and all the earth, except that which adheres to the roots.
From woody plants, like roses, shake off all the earth. Take the new
pot, and put a piece of broken earthen-ware over the hole at the bottom,
and then, holding the plant in the proper position, shake in the earth
around it. Then pour in water to settle the earth, and heap on fresh
soil, till the pot is even full. Small pots are considered better than
large ones, as the roots are not so likely to rot, from excess of
moisture.

_In the Laying out of Yards and Gardens_, there is room for much
judgment and taste. In planting trees in a yard, they should be arranged
in groups, and never planted in straight lines, nor sprinkled about
as solitary trees. The object of this arrangement is to imitate Nature,
and secure some spots of dense shade and some of clear turf. In yards
which are covered with turf, beds can be cut out of it, and raised for
flowers. A trench should be made around, to prevent the grass from
running on them. These beds can be made in the shape of crescents,
ovals, or other fanciful forms.

In laying out beds in gardens and yards, a very pretty bordering can
be made, by planting them with common flax-seed, in a line about three
inches from the edge. This can be trimmed with shears, when it grows
too high.

_For Transplanting Trees_, the autumn is the best time. Take as much of
the root as possible, especially the little fibres, which should never
become dry. If kept long before they are set out, put wet moss around
them and water them. Dig holes larger than the extent of the roots; let
one person hold the tree in its former position, and another place the
roots carefully as they were before, cutting off any broken or wounded
root. _Be careful not to let the tree be more than an inch deeper them
it was before_. Let the soil be soft and well manured; shake the tree as
the soil is shaken in, that it may mix well among the small fibres. Do
not tread the earth down, while filling the hole; but, when it is full,
raise a slight mound of say four inches deep around the stem to hold
water, and fill it. Never cut off leaves nor branches, unless some of
the roots are lost. Tie the trees to a stake, and they will be more
likely to live. Water them often.

_The Care of House-Plants_ is a matter of daily attention, and well
repays all labor expended upon it. The soil of house-plants should be
renewed every year as previously directed. In winter, they should be
kept as dry as they can be without wilting. Many house-plants are
injured by giving them too much water, when they have little light
and fresh air. This makes them grow spindling. The more fresh air,
warmth and light they have, the more water is needed. They ought not
to be kept very warm in winter, nor exposed to great changes of
atmosphere. Forty degrees is a proper temperature for plants in winter,
when they have little sun and air. When plants have become spindling,
cut off their heads entirely, and cover the pot in the earth, where
it has the morning sun only. A new and flourishing head will spring
out. Few houseplants can bear the sun at noon. When insects infest
plants, set them in a closet or under a barrel, and burn tobacco under
them. The smoke kills any insect enveloped in it. When plants are
frozen, cold water and a gradual restoration of warmth are the best
remedies. Never use very cold water for plants at any season.




XXXII.

THE PROPAGATION OF PLANTS.

This is an occupation requiring much attention and constant care.
Bulbous roots are propagated by offsets; some growing on the top,
others around the sides. Many plants are propagated by cutting off
twigs, and setting them in earth, so that two or three eyes are covered.
To do this, select a side shoot, ten inches long, two inches of it
being of the preceding year's growth, and the rest the growth of the
season when it is set. Do this when the sap is running, and put a piece
of crockery at the bottom of the shoot, when it is buried. One eye,
at least, must be under the soil. Water it and shade it in hot weather.

Plants are also propagated by layers. To do this, take a shoot which
comes up near the root, bend it down so as to bring several eyes under
the soil, leaving the top above-ground. If the shoot be cut half
through, in a slanting direction, at one of these eyes, before burying
it, the result is more certain. Roses, honeysuckles, and many other
shrubs are readily propagated thus. They will generally take root by
being simply buried; but cutting them as here directed is the best
method. Layers are more certain than cuttings.

_Budding and Grafting_, for all woody plants, are favorite methods
of propagation. In all such plants, there is an outer and inner bark,
the latter containing the sap vessels, in which the nourishment of the
tree ascends. The success of grafting or inoculating consists in so
placing the bud or graft that the sap vessels of the inner bark shall
exactly join those of the plant into which they are grafted; so that
the sap may pass from one into the other.

The following are directions for _budding_, which may be performed
at any time from July to September:

[Illustration: Fig. 64]

Select a smooth place on the stock into which you are to insert the
bud. Make a horizontal cut across the rind through to the firm wood;
and from the middle of this, make a slit downward perpendicularly, an
inch or more long, through to the wood. Raise the bark of the stock
on each side of the perpendicular cut, for the admission of the bud,
as is shown in the annexed engraving, (Fig. 64.) Then take a shoot of
this year's growth, and slice from it a bud, taking an inch below and
an inch above it, and some portion of the wood under it. Then, carefully
slip off the woody part under the bud. Examine whether the eye or germ
of the bud be perfect. If a little hole appear in that part, the bud
has lost its root, and another must be selected. Insert the bud, so
that _a_, of the bud, shall pass to a, of the stock; then _b_,
of the bud, must be cut off, to match the cut b, in the stock, and
fitted exactly to it, as it is this alone which insures success. Bind
the parts with fresh bass or woolen yarn, beginning a little below the
bottom, of the perpendicular slit, and winding it closely around every
part, except just over the eye of the bud, until you arrive above the
horizontal cut. Do not bind it too tightly, but just sufficient to
exclude air, sun, and wet. This is to be removed after the bud is
firmly fixed, and begins to grow.

Seed-fruit can be budded into any other seed-fruit, and stone-fruit
into any other stone-fruit; but stone and seed-fruits can not be thus
mingled.

Rose-bushes can have a variety of kinds budded into the same stock.
Hardy roots are the best stocks. The branch above the bud must be cut
off the next March or April after the bud is put in. Apples and pears
are more easily propagated by ingrafting than by budding.

_Ingrafting_ is a similar process to budding, with this advantage,
that it can be performed on large trees, whereas budding can be applied
only on small ones. The two common kinds of ingrafting are whip-grafting
and split-grafting. The first kind is for young trees, and the other
for large ones.

[Illustration: Fig. 65.]

The time for ingrafting is from May to October. The cuttings must be
taken from horizontal shoots, between Christmas and March, and kept
in a damp cellar. In performing the operation, cut off in a sloping
direction (as seen in Fig. 65) the tree or limb to be grafted. Then
cut off in a corresponding slant the slip to be grafted on. Then put
them together, so that the inner bark of each shall match exactly on
one side, and tie them firmly together with yellow yarn. It is not
essential that both be of equal size; if the bark of each meet together
exactly on _one_ side, it answers the purpose. But the two must
not differ much in size. The slope should be an inch and a half, or
more, in length. After they are tied together, the place should be
covered with a salve or composition of bees-wax and rosin. A mixture
of clay and cow-dung will answer the same purpose. This last must be
tied on with a cloth. Grafting is more convenient than budding, as
grafts can be sent from a great distance; whereas buds must be taken,
in July or August, from a shoot of the present year's growth, and can
not be sent to any great distance.

[Illustration: Fig. 66]

This engraving (Fig. 66) exhibits the mode called stock-grafting;
_a_ being the limb of a large tree, which is sawed off and split,
and is to be held open by a small wedge till the grafts are put in.
A graft inserted in the limb is shown at _b_, and at _c_ is one not
inserted, but designed to be put in at _d_, as two grafts can be put
into a large stock. In inserting the graft, be careful to make the edge
of the inner bark of the graft meet exactly the edge of the inner bark
of the stock; for on this success depends. After the grafts are put in,
the wedge must be withdrawn, and the whole of the stock be covered with
the thick salve or composition before mentioned, reaching from where the
grafts are inserted to the bottom of the slit. Be careful not to knock
or move the grafts after they are put in.

_Pruning_ is an operation of constant exercise, for keeping plants
and trees in good condition. The following rules are from a
distinguished horticulturist: Prune off all dead wood, and all the
little twigs on the main limbs. Retrench branches, so as to give light
and ventilation to the interior of the tree. Cut out the straight and
perpendicular shoots, which give little or no fruit; while those which
are most nearly horizontal, and somewhat curving, give fruit abundantly
and of good quality, and should be sustained. Superfluous and ill-placed
buds may be rubbed off at any time; and no buds pushing out after
midsummer should be spared. In choosing between shoots to be retained,
preserve the lowest placed, and on lateral shoots, those which are
nearest the origin. When branches cross each other so as to rub, remove
one or the other. Remove all suckers from the roots of trees or shrubs.
Prune after the sap is in full circulation, (except in the case of
grapes,) as the wounds then heal best. Some think it best to prune
before the sap begins to run. Pruning-shears, and a pruning-pole, with
a chisel at the end, can be procured of those who deal in agricultural
utensils.

_Thinning_ is also an important but very delicate operation. As
it is the office of the leaves to absorb nourishment from the
atmosphere, they should never be removed, except to mature the wood
or fruit. In doing this, remove such leaves as shade the fruit, as
soon as it is ready to ripen. To do it earlier impairs the growth. Do
it gradually at two different times. Thinning the fruit is important,
as tending to increase its size and flavor, and also to promote the
longevity of the tree. If the fruit be thickly set, take off one half
at the time of setting. Revise in June, and then in July, taking off
all that may be spared. One _very large_ apple to every square
foot is a rule that may be a sort of guide in other cases. According
to this, two hundred large apples would be allowed to a tree whose
extent is fifteen feet by twelve. If any person think this thinning
excessive, let him try two similar trees, and thin one as directed and
leave the other unthinned. It will be found that the thinned tree will
produce an equal weight, and fruit of much finer flavor.




XXXIII.

THE CULTIVATION OF FRUIT.


By a little attention to this matter, a lady with the help of her
children can obtain a rich abundance of all kinds of fruit. The writer
has resided in families where little boys of eight, ten, and twelve
years old amused themselves, under the direction of their mother, in
planting walnuts, chestnuts, and hazelnuts, for future time; as well
as in planting and inoculating young fruit-trees of all descriptions.
A mother who will take pains to inspire a love for such pursuits in
her children, and who will aid and superintend them, will save them
from many temptations, and at a trifling expense secure to them and
herself a rich reward in the choicest fruits. The information given
in this work on this subject may be relied on as sanctioned by the
most experienced nursery-men.

The soil for a nursery should be rich, well dug, dressed with
well-decayed manure, free from weeds, and protected from cold winds.
Fruit-seeds should be planted in the autumn, an inch and a half or two
inches deep, in ridges four or five feet apart, pressing the earth
firmly over the seeds. While growing, they should be thinned out,
leaving the best ones a foot and a half apart. The soil should be kept
loose, soft, and free from weeds. They should be inoculated or ingrafted
when of the size of a pipe stem; and in a year after this may be
transplanted to their permanent stand. Peach-trees sometimes bear in
two years from budding, and in four years from planting if well kept.

In a year after transplanting, take pains to train the head aright.
Straight upright branches produce _gourmands_, or twigs bearing
only leaves. The side branches which are angular or curved yield the
most fruit. For this reason, the limbs should be trained in curves,
and perpendicular twigs should be cut off if there be need of pruning.
The last of June is the time for this. Grass should never be allowed
to grow within four feet of a large tree, and the soil should be kept
loose to admit air to the roots. Trees in orchards should be twenty-five
feet apart. The soil _under_ the top soil has much to do with the
health of the trees. If it be what is called _hard-pan_, the trees
will deteriorate. Trees need to be manured and to have the soil kept
open and free from weeds.

_Filberts_ can be raised in any part of this country.

_Figs_ can be raised in the Middle, Western, and Southern States.
For this purpose, in the autumn loosen the roots on one side, and bend
the tree down to the earth on the other; then cover it with a mound
of straw, earth, and boards, and early in the spring raise it up and
cover the roots.

_Currants_ grow well in any but a wet soil. They are propagated
by cuttings. The old wood should be thinned in the fall and manure be
put on. They can be trained into small trees.

_Gooseberries_ are propagated by layers and cuttings. They are
best when kept from suckers and trained like trees. One third of the
old wood should be removed every autumn.

_Raspberries_ do best when shaded during a part of the day. They
are propagated by layers, slips, and suckers. There is one kind which
bears monthly; but the varieties of this and all other fruits are now
so numerous that we can easily find those which are adapted to the
special circumstances of the case.

_Strawberries_ require a light soil and vegetable manure. They should be
transplanted in April or September, and be set eight inches apart, in
rows nine inches asunder, and in beds which are two feet wide, with
narrow alleys between them. A part of these plants are _non-bearers_.
These have large flowers with showy stamens and high black anthers. The
_bearers_ have short stamens, a great number of pistils, and the flowers
are every way less showy. In blossom-time, pull out all the non-bearers.
Some think it best to leave one non-bearer to every twelve bearers, and
others pull them all out. Many beds never produce any fruit, because all
the plants in them are non-bearers. Weeds should be kept from the vines.
When the vines are matted with young plants, the best way is to dig over
the beds in cross lines, so as to leave some of the plants standing in
little squares, while the rest are turned under the soil. This should be
done over a second time in the same year.

_To Raise Grapes_, manure the soil, and keep it soft and free
from weeds. A gravelly or sandy soil, and a south exposure are best.
Transplant the vines in the early spring, or better in the fall. Prune
them the first year so as to have only two main branches, taking off
all other shoots as fast as they come. In November, cut off all of
these two branches except four eyes. The second year, in the spring,
loosen the earth around the roots, and allow only two branches to grow,
and every month take off all side shoots. When they are very strong,
preserve only a part, and cut off the rest in the fall. In November,
cut off all the two main stems except eight eyes. After the second
year, no more pruning is needed, except to reduce the side shoots, for
the purpose of increasing the fruit. All the pruning of grapes (except
nipping side shoots) must be done when the sap is not running, or they
will bleed to death. Train, them on poles, or lattices, to expose them
to the air and sun. Cover tender vines in the autumn. Grapes are
propagated by cuttings, layers, and seeds. For cuttings, select in the
autumn well-ripened wood of the former year, and take fire joints for
each. Bury them till April; then soak them for some hours, and set
them out _aslant_, so that all the eyes but one shall be covered.

Apples, grapes, and such like fruit can be preserved in their natural
state by packing them when dry and solid in dry sand or saw-dust,
putting alternate layers of fruit and cotton, saw-dust or sand. Some
saw-dust gives a bad flavor to the fruit.

_Modes of Preserving Fruit-Trees_.--Heaps of ashes or tanner's bark
around peach-trees prevent the attack of the worm. The _yellows_ is a
disease of peach-trees, which is spread by the pollen of the blossom.
When a tree begins to turn yellow, take it away with all its roots,
before it blossoms again, or it will infect other trees. Planting tansy
around the roots of fruit-trees is a sure protection against worms, as
it prevents the moth from depositing her egg. Equal quantities of salt
and saltpetre, put around the trunk of a peach-tree, half a pound to a
tree, improve the size and flavor of the fruit. Apply this about the
first of April; and if any trees have worms already in them, put on half
the quantity in addition in June. To young trees just set out, apply one
ounce in April, and another in June, close to the stem. Sandy soil is
best for peaches.

Apple-trees are preserved from insects by a wash of strong lye to the
body and limbs, which, if old, should be first scraped. Caterpillars
should be removed by cutting down their nests in a damp day. Boring
a hole in a tree infested with worms, and filling it with sulphur,
will often drive them off immediately.

The _fire-blight_, or _brulure_ in pear-trees can be stopped by cutting
off all the blighted branches. It is supposed by some to be owing to an
excess of sap, which is remedied by diminishing the roots.

The _curculio_, which destroys plums and other stone-fruit, can be
checked only by gathering up all the fruit that falls, (which contains
their eggs,) and destroying it. The _canker-worm_ can be checked by
applying a bandage around the body of the tree, and every evening
smearing it with fresh tar.




XXXIV.

THE CARE OF DOMESTIC ANIMALS.


One of the most interesting illustrations of the design of our
benevolent Creator in establishing the family state is the nature of
the domestic animals connected with it. At the very dawn of life, the
infant watches with delight the graceful gambols of the kitten, and
soon makes it a playmate. Meantime, its out-cries when hurt appeal to
kindly sympathy, and its sharp claws to fear; while the child's mother
has a constant opportunity to inculcate kindness and care for weak and
ignorant creatures. Then the dog becomes the out-door playmate and
guardian of early childhood, and he also guards himself by cries of
pain, and protects himself by his teeth. At the same time, his faithful
loving nature and caresses awaken corresponding tenderness and care;
while the parent again has a daily opportunity to inculcate these
virtues toward the helpless and dependent. As the child increases in
knowledge and reason, the horse, cows, poultry, and other domestic
animals come under his notice. These do not ordinarily express their
hunger or other sufferings by cries of distress, but depend more on
the developed reason and humanity of man. And here the parent is called
upon to instruct a child in the nature and wants of each, that he may
intelligently provide for their sustenance and for their protection
from injury and disease.

To assist in this important duty of home life, which so often falls
to the supervision of woman, the following information is prepared
through the kindness of one of the editors of a prominent, widely
known, agricultural paper.

Domestic animals are very apt to catch the spirit and temper of their
masters. A surly man will be very likely to have a cross dog and a
biting horse. A passionate man will keep all his animals in moral fear
of him, making them, snappish, and liable to hurt those of whom they
are not afraid.

It is, therefore, most important that all animals should be treated
uniformly with kindness. They are all capable of returning affection,
and will show it very pleasantly if we manifest affection for them.
They also have intuitive perceptions of our emotions which we can not
conceal. A sharp, ugly dog will rarely bite a person who has no fear
of him. A horse knows the moment a man mounts or takes the reins whether
he is afraid or not; and so it is with other animals.

If live stock can not be well fed, they ought not to be kept. One well
wintered horse is worth as much, as two that drag through on straw,
and by browsing the hedgerows. The same is true of oxen, and
emphatically so of cows. The owner of a half-starved dog loses the use
of him almost altogether; for, at the very time--the night--when lie
is most needed as a guard, he must be off scouring the country for
food.

_Shelter_ in winter is most important for cows. They should have
good tight stables or byres, well ventilated, and so warm that water
in a pail will only freeze a little on the top the severest nights.
Oxen should have the same stabling, though they bear cold better.
Horses in stables will bear almost any degree of cold, if they have
all they can eat. Sheep, except young lambs, are well enough sheltered
in dry sheds, with one end open. Cattle, sheep, and dogs do not sweat
as horses do, they "loll;" that is, water or slobber runs from their
tongues; hence, they are not liable to take cold as the horse is. Hogs
bear cold pretty well; but they eat enough to convince any one that
true economy lies in giving them warm sties in winter, for the colder
they are the more they eat. Fowls will not lay in cold weather unless
they have light and warm quarters.

_Cleanliness_ is indispensable, if one would keep his animals healthy.
In their wild state all our domestic animals are very clean, and, at the
same time, very healthy. The hog is not naturally a dirty animal, but
quite the reverse. He enjoys currying as much as a horse or a cow, and
would be as careful of his litter as a cat if he had a fair chance.
Horses ought to be groomed daily; cows and oxen as often as twice a
week; dogs should be washed with soapsuds frequently. Stables should be
cleaned out daily. Absorbents of liquid in stables should be removed as
often as they become wet. Dry earth is one of the best absorbents, and
is especially useful in the fowl-house. Hogs in pens should have straw
for their rests or lairs, and it should be often renewed.

_Parasitic Vermin_.--These are lice, fleas, ticks, the scale insects,
and other pests which afflict our live stock. There are many ways of
destroying them; the best and safest is a free use of _carbolic acid
soap_. The larger animals, as well as hogs, dogs, and sheep may be
washed in strong suds of this soap, without fear, and the application
repeated after a week. This generally destroys both the creatures and
their eggs. Hen lice are best destroyed by greasing the fowls, and
dusting them with flowers of sulphur. Sitting hens must never be
greased, but the sulphur may be dusted freely in their nests,
and it is well to put it in all hens' nests.

_Salt and Water_.--All animals except poultry require salt, and all,
free supplies of fresh water.

_Light_.--Stables, or places where any kind of animals are confined,
should have plenty of light. Windows are not more important in a house
than in a barn. The _sun_ should come in freely; and if it shines
directly upon the stock, all the better. When beeves and sheep are
fattening very rapidly, the exclusion of the light makes them more
quiet, and fatten faster; but their state is an unnatural and hardly a
healthy one.

_Exercise_ in the open air is important for breeding animals. It
is especially necessary for horses of all kinds. Cows need very little
and swine none, unless kept for breeding.

_Breeding_,--Always use thorough-bred males, and improvement is certain.

_Horses_.--The care which horses require varies with the circumstances
in which the owner is placed, and the uses to which they are put. In
general, if kept stabled, they should be fed with good upland hay,
almost as much as they will eat; and if absent from the stable, and at
work most of the day, they should have all they will eat of hay,
together with four to eight quarts of oats or an equal weight of other
grain or meal. Barley is good for horses, and so is dry corn. Corn-meal
put upon cut hay, wet and well-mixed, is good, steady feed, if not in
too large quantities. Four quarts a day may be fed unmixed with other
grain; but if the horse be hard worked and needs more, mix the meal with
wheat bran, or linseed oil-cake meal, or use corn and oats ground
together; carrots are especially wholesome. A quart of linseed oil-cake
meal, daily, is an excellent occasional addition to a horse's food, when
carrots can not be had. It gives a lustre to his coat, and brings the
new coat of hair out in the spring. A stabled horse needs daily
exercise, as much as to trot three miles. Where a horse is traveling, it
is well to give him six quarts of oats in the morning, four at noon, and
six at night.

Thorough grooming is indispensable to the health of horses. Especial
care should be taken of the legs and fetlocks, that no dirt remain to
cause that distressing disease, _grease_ or _scratches_, which results
from filthy fetlocks and standing in dirty stables. When a horse comes
in from work on muddy roads with dirty legs, they should be immediately
cleaned, the dirt brushed off, then rubbed with straw; then, if very
dirty, washed clean and rubbed dry with a piece of sacking. A horse
should never stand in a draught of cold air, if he can not turn and put
his back to it. If sweaty or warm from work, he should be blanketed, if
he is to stand a minute in the winter air. If put at once into the
stable, he should be stripped and rubbed down with straw actively for
five minutes or more, and then blanketed. The blanket must be removed in
an hour, and the horse given water and feed, if it is the usual time. It
will not hurt him to eat hay when hot, unless he be thoroughly
exhausted, when all food should be withheld for a while.

It is very comforting to a tired horse, when he is too hot to drink,
to sponge out his mouth with cool water. A horse should never drink
when very hot, nor be turned into a yard to "cool off," even in summer,
neither should he be turned out to pasture before he is quite cool.

_Cows_.--Gentle but firm treatment will make a cow easy to milk
and to handle in every way. If stabled or yarded, cows should have
access to water at all times, or have it frequently offered to them.
Clover hay is probably the best steady food for milk cows. Cornstalks
cut up, thoroughly soaked with water for half a day, and then sprinkled
with corn or oil-cake meal is perhaps unsurpassed as good winter food
for milk cows. The amount of meal may vary. With plenty of oil-meal,
there is little danger of feeding too much, as that is loosening to
the bowels and a safe nutritious article. Corn-meal alone, in large
quantities, is too heating. Roots should, if possible, form part of
the diet of a milch cow, especially before and soon after calving;
feed well before this period, yet not to make the cow very fat; but
it is better to err in that way than to have her "come in" thin. Take
the calf away from the mother as soon as it stands tip, and the
separation will worry neither dam nor young. This is always best,
unless the calf is to be kept with the cow. The calf will soon learn
to drink its food, if two fingers be held in its mouth. Let it have
all the first drawn milk for three days as soon as milked; after this,
skimmed milk warmed to blood heat. Soon a little fine scalded meal may
be mixed with the milk; and it will, at three to five weeks old, nibble
hay and grass. It is well also to keep a box containing some dry
wheat-bran and fine corn-meal mixed in the calf-pen, so that calves
may take as much as they like.

In milking, put the fingers around the teat close to the bag; then
firmly close the forefingers of each hand alternately, immediately
squeezing with the other fingers. The forefingers prevent the milk
flowing back into the bag, while the others press it out. Sit with the
left knee close to the right hind leg of the cow, the head pressed
against her flank, the left hand always ready to ward off a blow from
her feet, which the gentlest cow may give almost without knowing it,
if her tender teats be cut by long nails, or if a wart be hurt, or her
bag be tender. She must be stripped dry every time she is milked, or
she will dry up; and if she gives much milk, it pays to milk three
times a day, as nearly eight hours apart as possible. Never stop while
milking till done, as this will cause the cow to stop giving milk.

To tether a cow, tie her by one hind leg, making the rope fast above
the fetlock joint, and protecting the limb with a piece of an old
bootleg or similar thing. The knot must be one that will not slip;
regular fetters of iron bound with leather are much better.

A cow should go unmilked two months before calving, and her milk should
not be used by the family till four days after that time.

_Swine_.--The filthy state of hog-pens is allowed on account of
the amount of manure they will make by working over all sorts of
vegetable matter, spoiled hay, weeds, etc., etc. This is unhealthy for
the family near and also for the animal. The hog is, naturally, a
cleanly animal, and if given a chance he will keep himself very neat
and clean. Breeding sows should have the range of a small pasture, and
be regularly fed. They need fresh water constantly, and often suffer
for lack of it when they have liquid swill, which they do not like to
drink. All hogs should have a warm, dry, well-littered pen to lie in,
away from flies and disturbance of any kind. They are fond of charcoal,
and it is worth while frequently to throw a few handfuls where they
can get at it. It has a very beneficial effect on the appetite,
regulates the tone of the stomach and digestive organs, and can not
do any harm. Pigs ought always to be well fed and kept growing fast;
and when being fattened, they should be penned always, the herd being
sorted so that all may have an equal chance. It is well to feed soft
corn in the ear; but hard corn should always be ground and cooked for
pigs.

_Sheep_.--In the winter, sheep need deep, well-littered, dry
sheds, dry yards, and hay, wheat, or oat straw, as much as they will
eat. They should be kept gaining by grain regularly fed to them, and
so distributed that each gets its share. Corn, either whole or ground,
or oil-cake meal, or both, are used for fattening sheep. They will
easily surfeit themselves on any grain except oil-meal, which is very
safe feed for them, and usually economical. Strong sheep will often
drive the weaker ones away, and so get more than their share of food
and make themselves sick. This must be guarded against, and the flock
sorted, keeping the weaker and stronger apart.

Sheep are very useful in clearing land of brush and certain weeds,
which they gnaw down, and kill. To accomplish this, the land must be
overstocked, and it is best not to keep sheep on short pasturage more
than a few weeks at a time; but if they are returned after a few days,
it will serve as good a purpose as if they were to be kept on all the
time. Sheep at pasture must be restrained by good fences, or they will
be a great nuisance. Dog-proof hedge fences of Osage orange are to
be highly recommended, wherever this plant will grow. Mutton sheep
will generally pay better to raise than merinos, but they need more
care.

_Poultry_.--Few objects of labor are more remunerative than poultry,
raised on a moderate scale. _Turkeys_, when young, need great care; some
animal food, dry, warm quarters, and must be kept out of the wet grass,
and kept in when it rains. As soon as fledged, they become very hardy,
and, with free range, will almost take care of themselves. _Geese_ need
water and good grass pasture. _Ducks_ do very well without water to swim
in, if they have all they need to drink. They will lay a great many eggs
if kept shut in a pen until say eight o'clock in the morning. If let out
earlier, they wander away, and will hide their nests, and lay only about
as many eggs as they can cover. It is best to set duck's eggs under
hens, and to keep young ducks shut up in a dry roomy pen for four weeks,
at least. _Fowls_ need light, warm, dry quarters in winter, plenty of
feed, but not too much. They relish animal food, and ought to have some
frequently to make them lay. Pork or beef scrap-cake can be bought for
two to three cents a pound, and is very good for them. Any kind of grain
is good for poultry. Nothing is better than wheat screenings. Early
hatched chickens must be kept in a warm, dry, sunny room, with plenty of
gravel, and the hen should have no more than eight or nine chickens to
brood; though in summer, one hen will take good care of fifteen. Little,
chickens, turkeys, and ducks need frequent feeding, and must have their
water changed often. It is well to grease the body of the hen and the
heads of the chicks with lard, in order to prevent their becoming
lousy.

Hens set about twenty days, and should be well fed and watered. Cold
or damp weather is bad for young fowls, and when they have been chilled,
pepper-corns are a good remedy, in addition to the warmth of an
inclosed dry place.

The most absorbing part of the "Woman's question" of the present time
is the remedy for the varied sufferings of women who are widows or
unmarried, and without means of support. As yet, few are aware how
many sources of lucrative enterprise and industry lie open to woman
in the employments directly connected with the family state. A woman
can invest capital in the dairy and qualify herself to superintend a
dairy farm as well as a man. And if she has no capital of her own, if
well trained for this business, she can find those who have capital
ready to furnish--an investment that well managed will become
profitable. And, too, the raising of poultry, of dogs, and of sheep
are all within the reach of a woman with proper abilities and training
for this business. So that if a woman chooses, she can find employment
both interesting and profitable in studying the care of domestic
animals.

_Bees_.--But one of the most profitable as well as interesting
kinds of business for a woman is the care of bees. In a recent
agricultural report, it is stated that one lady bought four hives for
ten dollars, and in five years she was offered one thousand five hundred
dollars for her stock, and refused it as not enough. In addition to
this increase of her capital, in one of these five years she sold
twenty-two hives and four hundred and twenty pounds of honey. It is
also stated that in five years one man, from six colonies of bees to
start with, cleared eight thousand pounds of honey and one hundred and
fifty-four colonies of bees.

The raising of bees and their management is so curious and as yet
unknown an art in most parts of our country, that any directions or
advice will be omitted in this volume, as requiring too much space,
and largely set forth and illustrated in the second part. When properly
instructed, almost any woman in the city, as easily as in the country,
can manage bees, and make more profit than in any other method demanding
so little time and labor. But in the modes ordinarily practiced, few
can make any great profit in this employment.

It is hoped a time is at hand when every woman will be trained to some
employment by which she can secure to herself an independent home and
means to support a family, in case she does not marry, or is left a
widow, with herself and a family to support.




XXXV.

EARTH-CLOSETS.


In some particulars, the Chinese are in advance of our own nation in
neatness, economy, and healthful domestic arrangements. In China, nota
particle of manure is wasted, and all that with us is sent off in
drains and sewers from water-closets and privies, is collected in a
neat manner and used for manure. This is one reason that the compact
and close packing of inhabitants in their cities is practicable, and
it also accounts for the enormous yields of some of their crops.

The earth-closet is an invention which relieves the most disagreeable
item in domestic labor, and prevents the disagreeable and unhealthful
effluvium which is almost inevitable in all family residences, The
general principle of construction is somewhat like that of a
water-closet, except that in place of water is used dried earth. The
resulting compost is without disagreeable odor, and is the richest
species of manure. The expense of its construction and use is no greater
than that of the common water-closet; indeed, when the outlays for
plumber's work, the almost inevitable troubles and disorders of
water-pipes in a house, and the constant stream of petty repairs
consequent upon careless construction or use of water-works are
considered, the earth-closet is in itself much cheaper, besides being
an accumulator of valuable matter.

To give a clear idea of its principles, mode of fabrication, and use,
we can not do better than to take advantage of the permission given
by Mr. George E. Waring, Jr., of Newport, R. I., author of an admirable
pamphlet on the subject, published in 1868 by "The Tribune Association"
of New-York. Mr. Waring was formerly Agricultural Engineer of the
New-York Central Park, and has given much attention to sanitary and
agricultural engineering, having published several valuable works
bearing in the same general direction. He is now consulting director
of "The Earth-Closet Company," Hartford, Ct., which manufactures the
apparatus and all things appertaining to it--any part which might be
needed to complete a home-built structure. But with generous and no
less judicious freedom, they are endeavoring to extend the knowledge
of this wholesome and economical process of domestic sanitary
engineering as widely as possible, and so allow us to present the
following instructions for those who may desire to construct their own
apparatus.

In the brief introduction to his pamphlet, Mr. Waring says:

"It is sufficiently understood, by all who have given the least thought
to the subject, that the waste of the most vital elements of the soil's
fertility, through our present practice of treating human excrement
as a thing that is to be hurried into the sea, or buried in underground
vaults, or in some other way put out of sight and out of reach, is
full of danger to our future prosperity.

"Our bodies have come out of our fertile fields; our prosperity is
based on the production and the exchange of the earth's fruits; and
all our industry has its foundation in arts and interests connected
with, or dependent on, a successful agriculture.

"Liebig asserts that the greatness of the Roman empire was sapped by
the _Cloaca Maxima_, through which the entire sewage of Rome was
washed into the Tiber. The yearly decrease of productive power in the
older grain regions of the West, and the increasing demand for manures
in the Atlantic States, sufficiently prove that our own country is no
exception to the rule that has established its sway over Europe.

"The large class who will fail to feel the force of the agricultural
reasons in favor of the reform which this pamphlet is written to uphold,
will realize, more clearly than farmers will, the importance of
protecting dwellings against the gravest annoyance, the most fertile
source of disease, and the most certain vehicle of contagion."

Nevertheless, Mr. Waring thinks that the agricultural argument is no
mean or unimportant one, and says:

"The importance of any plan by which the excrement of our bodies may
be returned to our fields is in a measure shown in the following extract
from an article that I furnished for the _American Agricultural Annual_
for 1868.

"The average population of New York City--including its temporary
visitors--is probably not less than 1,000,000. This population consumes
food equivalent to at least 30,000,000 bushels of corn in a year.
Excepting the small proportion that is stored up in the bodies of the
growing young, which is fully offset by that contained in the bodies
of the dead, the constituents of the food are returned to the air by
the lungs and skin, or are voided as excrement. That which goes to the
air was originally taken from the air by vegetation, and will be so
taken again: here is no waste. The excrement contains all that was
furnished by the mineral elements of the soil oil which the food was
produced. This all passes into the sewers, and is washed into the sea.
Its loss to the present generation is complete."

... "30,000,000 bushels of corn contain, among other minerals, nearly
7000 tons of phosphoric acid, and this amount is annually lost in the
wasted night-soil of New-York City. [Footnote: Other mineral
constituents of food--important ones, too--are washed away in even
greater quantities through the same channels; but this element is the
best for illustration, because its effect in manure is the most
striking, even so small a dressing as twenty pounds per acre, producing
a marked effect on all cereal crops. Ammonia, too, which is so important
that it is usual in England to estimate the value of manure in exact
proportion to its supply of this element, is largely yielded by human
excrement.]

"Practically the human excrement of the whole country is nearly all
so disposed of as to be lost to the soil. The present population of
the United States is not far from 35,000,000. On the basis of the above
calculation, their annual food contains 200,000 tons of phosphoric
acid, being the amount contained in about 900,000 tons of bones, which,
at the price of the best flour of bone, (for manure,) would be worth
over $50,000,000. It would be a moderate estimate to say that the other
constituents of food are of at least equal value with the other
constituents of the bone, and to assume $50,000,000 as the money value
of the wasted night-soil of the United States every year.

"In another view, the importance of this waste can not be estimated
in money. Money values apply, rather, to the products of labor and to
the exchange of these products. The waste of fertilizing matter reaches
farther than the destruction or exchange of products: it lessens the
ability to produce.

"If mill-streams were failing year by year, and steam were yearly
losing force, and the ability of men to labor were yearly growing less,
the doom of our prosperity would not be more plainly written, than if
this slow but certain impoverishment of our soil were sure to continue.

.... "But the good time is coming, when (as now in China and Japan)
men must accept the fact that the soil is not a warehouse to be
plundered--only a factory to be worked. Then they will save their raw
material, instead of wasting it, and, aided by nature's wonderful laws,
will weave over and over again the fabric by which we live and prosper.
Men will build up as fast as men destroy; old matters will be reproduced
in new forms, and, as the decaying forests feed the growing wood, so
will all consumed food yield food again."

With the above brief extract, we shall cease using marks of quotation,
as the following information and statements are appropriated bodily,
either directly or with mere modifications for brevity, from the little
pamphlet of Mr. Waring.

The earth-closet is the invention of the Rev. Henry Moule, of Fordington
Vicarage, Dorsetshire, England.

It is based on the power of clay, and the decomposed organic matter
found in the soil, to absorb and retain all offensive odors and all
fertilizing matters; and it consists, essentially, of a mechanical
contrivance (attached to the ordinary seat) for measuring out and
discharging into the vault or pan below a sufficient quantity of sifted
dry earth to entirely cover the solid ordure and to absorb the urine.

The discharge of earth is effected by an ordinary pull-up similar to
that used in the water-closet, or (in the self-acting apparatus) by
the rising of the seat when the weight of the person is removed.

The vault or pan under the seat is so arranged that the accumulation
may be removed at pleasure.

From the moment when the earth is discharged, and the evacuation is
covered, all offensive exhalation entirely ceases. Under certain
circumstances, there may be, at times, a slight odor as of guano mixed
with earth; but this is so trifling and so local, that a commode
arranged on this plan may, without the least annoyance, be kept in use
in any room.

This statement is made as the result of personal experience. Mr. Waring
says:

"I have in constant use in a room in my house an earth-closet commode;
and even when the pan is entirely full, with the accumulation of a
week's use, visitors examining it invariably say, with some surprise,
'You don't mean that this particular one has been used!'"


HOW TO MAKE AN EARTH-CLOSET.

The principle on which the earth-closet is based is as free to all as
is the earth itself, and any person may adopt his own method of applying
it. All that is necessary is to have a supply of coarsely sifted
sun-dried earth with which to cover the bottom of the vessel to be
used, and after use to cover the deposit. A small box of earth, and
a tin scoop are sufficient to prevent the gravest annoyance of the
sickroom. But, of course, for constant use, it is desirable to have
a more convenient apparatus--something which requires less care, and
is less troublesome in many ways.

To this end, the patent invention of Mr. Moule is applicable. This
comprises a tight receptacle under the seat, a reservoir for storing
dry earth, and an apparatus to measure out the requisite quantity, and
throw it upon the deposit.

[Illustration: Fig. 67.]

The arrangement at the mechanism is shown in Fig. 67. A hopper-shaded
reservoir, made of galvanized iron, is supported by a framework at the
back of the seat, which rests on the framework _a_, _a_. Connected with
the handle at the right-hand side, there is an iron lever, which
operates a movable box at the bottom of the reservoir, and causes it to
discharge its contents directly under the seat. When the handle is
dropped, the box returns to its position, and is immediately filled
preparatory to another use.

The hopper-shaped reservoir is supported by two pivots, and has a
slight rocking or vibrating motion imparted to it by each lifting of
the lever. This prevents the earth from becoming clogged, and insures
its regular delivery.

[Illustration: Fig. 68 THE "PULL-UP" APPARATUS.]

The construction is more clearly shown in Fig. 68.

In this figure, A is the vibrating hopper for holding the earth. Its
capacity may be increased to any desired extent by building above it
a straight-sized box of any height. It is not unusual, in fixed privies,
to make this reservoir large enough to hold a supply for several months.
As the earth is dry, there is no occasion for the use of any thing
better than common pine boards in making this addition to the reservoir.

B is one side of the wooden, frame by which the hopper is supported
and it may be made of one inch pine or spruce.

C is a box of lacquered or galvanized iron, without either top or
bottom. It moves on two pivots, one of winch is shown on its exposed
side. In its present position, its upper end opens into the hopper,
and its lower end is dosed by the stationary board over which it stands.
When the handle is pulled up, the lever, which is connected with the
box, jerks it rapidly up, so that its back side closes the opening of
the reservoir, and its bottom opens to the front. In its movement it
discharges its contents of earth forward under the seat. When the
handle is dropped, the box returns to its natural position, and is
charged again.

D is one of the pivots--a corresponding one being on the other side--by
which the hopper is supported, and on which it vibrates.

_a_, _a_, _a_, _a_, _a_, _a_, are the parts of the framework, the
dimensions of which in feet and inches are given.

The only essential part not shown is an earthen-ware pan without a
bottom, similar to the pan of a water-closet, only not so deep and
with a larger opening, which is attached to the under side of the seat,
and which in a measure prevents the rising of dust, and conducts the
urine to the point at which the most earth falls. This is the least
important part of the invention, but it has a certain advantage.

The self-acting apparatus is more complicated, and persons wishing it
would do best to apply directly to the Company.


THE ORDINARY PRIVY.

In the circular published by the Earth-Closet Company, the following
directions are given:

[Illustration: Fig. 69.--Commode, 3 ft. 3 in. high, 1 ft. 11 in. wide,
2 ft. 2 in. deep.]

"An ordinary fixed closet requires the apparatus to be placed at the
back of, and in connection with, the usual seat; the reservoir for
containing the earth being placed above it. Under it there should be
a chamber or vault about four feet by three wide, and of any convenient
depth, with a paved or asphalted bottom, and the sides lined with
cement. Should there be an existing cesspool, it may be altered to the
above dimensions. Into this the deposit and earth fall, and may remain
there three, six, or twelve months, and continue perfectly inodorous
and innoxious, merely requiring to be occasionally leveled by a rake
or hoe. If, however, it should be found impossible or inconvenient to
have a vault underneath, a movable trough, of iron or tarred wood, on
wheels, may be substituted. In this case, it will be advisable to raise
the seat somewhat above the floor, to allow the trough to be of
sufficient size.

"By one form of construction, (the 'pull-up,') the pulling up of a
handle releases a sufficient quantity of the dry earth, which is thrown
into the pit or vault, covering the deposit and completely preventing
all smell. By another, (the 'self-acting,') the same effect is produced
by the action of the seat. The apparatus may be placed in, and adapted
to, almost any existing closet or privy, and so arranged that the
supply and removal of earth may be carried on inside or outside as
desired."

The following is taken from the company's circular:

"In the commode, the apparatus and earth-reservoir are self-contained,
and a movable pail takes the place of the chamber or vault above
described. This must be emptied as often as necessary, and the contents
may be applied to the garden or field, or be allowed to accumulate in
a heap under cover until wanted for use. This accumulation is inodorous,
and rapidly becomes dry. The commode can stand in any convenient place
in or out of doors. For use in bedrooms, hospital wards, infirmaries,
etc., the commode is invaluable. It is entirely free from those faint,
depressing odors common to portable water-closets and night-stools,
and through its admission one of the greatest miseries of human life,
the foul smells of the sick-room, and one of the most frequent means
of communicating infection, may be entirely prevented. It is invariably
found that, if any failure takes place, it arises from the earth _not
being properly dry_. Too much importance can not be attached to
this requirement. The earth-commode will no more act properly without
dry earth, than will a water-closet without water.

"These commodes are made in a variety of patterns, from the cottage
commode to the more expensive ones in mahogany or oak, and vary in
price accordingly. They are made to act either by a handle, as in the
ordinary water-closet, or self-acting on rising from the seat. The
earth-reservoir is calculated to hold enough for about twenty-five
times; and where earth is scarce, or the manure required of
extraordinary strength, the product may be dried as many as seven
times, and without losing any of its deodorizing properties.

"If care be taken to cast one service of earth into the pail when first
placed in the commode, and to have the commonest regard to cleanliness,
not the least offensive smell will be perceptible, though the receptacle
remain unemptied for weeks. Care must also be taken, that no liquid,
but that which they are intended to receive, be thrown into the pails."

The pail used in the commode is made of galvanized iron, and is shaped
very much like an ordinary coal-hod. It has a cover of the same
material, and it may be carried from an upper floor with no more
offensiveness than a hodful of common earth.

Fig. 70 represents a cross-section of the commode, and will enable the
reader more clearly to understand the construction and operation of
the apparatus.

_a_ is the opening in the seat; _b_, the "pan;" _c_, the pail for
receiving the deposit; _d_, the hopper for containing the earth supply;
_e_, the box by which the earth is measured, and by which it is thrown
into the pail when moved to the position _e'_ by the operation of the
"pull-up;" _f_, a door by which the pail is shut in; _g_, the cover of
the seat; _h_, the cover of the hopper; _i_ a platform which prevents
the escape of earth from _e_.

[Illustration: Fig. 70 HOW TO USE THE EARTH-CLOSET.]

Under this head, the circular issued by the original London company
contains the following:

"The first requirement for the proper working of the earth-closet is
earth perfectly dry and sifted. Earth alone is proved to be the best
deodorizer, and far superior to any disinfectants; but where it is
difficult to obtain earth abundantly, sifted ashes, as before stated,
may be mixed with, it in proportion of two of earth to one of ashes.

"As the first requirement is _dry earth sifted_, and as this is
usually thought to be a great difficulty in the way of the adoption
of the dry earth system, the following remarks will at once remove
such an impression.

"The earth-commode and closet, if used by six persons daily, will
require, on an average, about one hundred weight of earth per week.
This may be dried for family use in a drawer made to fit under the
kitchen range, and which may be filled with earth one morning and left
until the next. The drawer should reach to within two inches of the
bottom bar of the grate. A frame with a handle, covered with fine
wire-netting, forming a kind of shovel, should be placed on this drawer;
the finer ashes will fall through, mixing with the earth, whilst the
cinders will remain on the top, to be, from time to time, thrown on
the fire.

"Of course, the most economical method is to provide in the summer-time
a winter store of dry earth, which may be kept in an out-house, shed,
or other convenient place, just as we lay in a winter store of coals.

"THINGS TO BE OBSERVED

 "Let one fall of earth be in the pail before using.
 "The earth must be dry and sifted.
 "Sand must not be used.
 "No 'slops' must be thrown down.
 "The handle must be pulled up with a jerk, and let fall sharply."


REPEATED USE OF EARTH

Concerning the value and use of the product of the earth-closet, the
following is copied from the London company's circular. (It will be
noticed that reference is made, to _the repeated use of the same
earth._ When the ordure is completely dried and decomposed, it has
not only lost its odor, but it has become, like all decomposed organic
matter, an excellent disinfectant, and the fifth or sixth time that
the same earth is passed through the closet it is fully as effective
in destroying odors as it was when used for the first time, and of
course each use adds to its value as manure, until it becomes as strong
as Peruvian guano, which is now worth seventy-five dollars per ton.
In fact, it may be made so rich that _one hundred pounds will be a
good dressing for an acre of land_.)

"If the closet is over a water-tight cesspool or pit, it will require
emptying at the end of three or six months. The produce, which will
be quite inodorous, should be thrown, together in a heap, sheltered
from wet, and occasionally turned over. At the end of a few weeks, it
will be dry and fit for use.

"If the receptacle be an iron trough or pail, the contents should be
thrown together, re-dried, and used over again, four or five times.
In a few weeks they will be dry and fit for use; the value being
increased by repeated action. The condition of the manure should be
much the same as that of guano, and fit for drilling."

The inventor of the earth-closet, Rev. Mr. Moule, says:

"It was to this point (the power of earth or clay to absorb the products
of the decomposition of manure) but particularly to the _repeated
action_, and consequently the repeated use of the same earth, that
I first directed the attention of the public. I then pointed out:
First. That a very small portion of dry and sifted earth (one and a
half pints) is sufficient by covering the deposit, to prevent
fermentation, (which so soon sets in whenever water is used,) and the
consequent generation and emission of noxious gases. Second. That if
within a few hours, or even a few days, the mass that would be formed
by the repeated layers of deposit, be intimately mixed by a coarse
rake or spade, or by a mixer made for the purpose, then, in five or
ten minutes, neither to the eye or sense of smell is any thing
perceptible but so much earth.... When about three cart-loads of sifted
earth had thus been used for my family, (which averaged fifteen
persons,) and left under a shed, I found that the material first
employed was sufficiently dried to be used again. This process of
alternate mixing and drying was renewed five times, the earth still
retaining its absorbent powers apparently unimpaired. Of the visitors
taken to the spot, none could guess the nature of the compost, though
in some cases the heap which they visited in the afternoon had been
turned over that same morning ...

"It is only in towns, where the delivery, stowage, and removal of earth
is attended with cost and difficulty, that any artificial aid for
drying the compost would be desirable. On premises not cramped for
space, the atmosphere, especially with a glass roof to the shed, will
act sufficiently fast.

"You may by means of it (the earth system) have a privy close to the
house and a closet up-stairs, from neither of which shall proceed any
offensive smell or any noxious gas. A projection from the back of the
cottage, eight feet long and six feet wide, would be amply sufficient
for this purpose. The nearer three or four feet down-stairs, would be
occupied by the privy, in which, by the seat, would be a receptacle
for dry earth. The 'soil' and earth would fall into the further five
or four feet, which would form the covered and closed shed for mixing
and drying. Up-stairs, the arrangement would be much the same, the
deposit being made to fall clear of every wall. Through, this closet
the removal of noxious and offensive matters in time of sickness, and
of slop-buckets, would be immediate and easy; and if the shed below
be kept well supplied with earth, all effluvium would be almost
immediately checked. As to the trouble which this will cause, a very
little experience will convince the cottager that it is less instead
of greater, than the women generally go through at present, while the
value of the manure will afford an inducement to exertion.

     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .

"The truth is, that the machinery is more simple, much less expensive,
and far less liable to injury than that of the water-closet. The
supply of earth to the house is as easy as that of coals. To the closet
it may be supplied more easily than water is supplied by a forcing-pump,
and to the commode it can be conveyed just as coal is carried to the
chamber. After use, it can be removed in either case by the bucket or
box placed under the seat, or from the fixed reservoir, with less
offense than that of the ordinary slop-bucket--indeed, (I speak after
four years' experience,) with as little offense as is found in the
removal of coal-ashes. So that, while servants and others will shrink
from novelty and at first imagine difficulties, yet many, to my
knowledge, would now vastly prefer the daily removal of the bucket or
the soil to either the daily working of a forcing-pump or to being
called upon once a year, or once in three years, to assist in emptying
a vault or cesspool."

To the above complete and convincingly apt arguments and statements
of fact, we do not care to add any thing. All that we desire is to
direct public attention to the admirable qualities of this Earth System,
and to suggest that, at least for those living in the country away
from the many conveniences of city life, great water power, and
mechanical assistance, the use of it will conduce largely to the economy
of families, the health of neighborhoods, and the increasing fertility
and prosperity of the country round about.




XXXVI.

WARMING AND VENTILATION


There is no department of science, as applied to practical matters,
which has so often baffled experimenters as the healthful mode of
warming and ventilating houses. The British nation spent over a million
on the House of Parliament for this end, and failed. Our own government
has spent half a million on the Capitol, with worse failure; and now
it is proposed to spend a million more. The reason is, that the old
open fireplace has been supplanted by less expensive modes of heating,
destructive to health; and science has but just begun experiments to
secure a remedy for the evil.

The open fire warms the person, the walls, the floors and the furniture
by radiation, and these, together with the fire, warm the air by
convection. For the air resting on the heated surfaces is warmed by
convection, rises and gives place to cooler particles, causing a
constant heating of its particles by movement. Thus in a room with an
open fire, the person is warmed in part by radiation from the fire and
the surrounding walls and furniture, and in part by the warm air
surrounding the body.

In regard to the warmth of air, the thermometer is not an exact index
of its temperature. For all bodies are constantly radiating their heat
to cooler adjacent surfaces until all come to the same temperature.
This being so, the thermometer is radiating its heat to walls and
surrounding objects, in addition to what is subtracted by the air that
surrounds it, and thus the air is really several degrees warmer than
the thermometer indicates. A room at 70 degrees by the thermometer is
usually filled with air five or more degrees warmer than this.

Now, the cold air is denser than warm, and therefore contains more
oxygen. Consequently, the cooler the air inspired, the larger the
supply of oxygen and of the vitality and vigor which it imparts. Thus,
the great problem for economy of health is to warm the person as much
as possible by radiated heat, and supply the lungs with cool air. For
when we breathe air at from 16 to 20 degrees, we take double the amount
of oxygen that we do when we inhale it at 80 to 90 degrees, and
consequently can do double the amount of muscle and brain work.

Warming by an open fire is nearest to the natural mode of the Creator,
who heats the earth and its furniture by the great central fire of
heaven, and sends cool breezes for our lungs. But open fires involve
great destruction of fuel and expenditure of money, and in consequence
economic methods have been introduced to the great destruction of
health and life.

Of these methods, the most popular is that by which radiated heat is
banished, and all warmth is gained by introducing heated air. This is
the method employed in our national Capitol, where both warming and
ventilation are attempted by means of _fans_ worked by steam, which
force in the heated air. This is an expensive mode, used only for large
establishments, and its entire failure at our capitol will probably
prevent in future any very extensive use of it.

But the most common mode of warming is by heated air introduced from
a furnace. The chief objection to this is the loss of all radiated
heat, and the consequent necessity of breathing air which is
debilitating both from its heat and also from being usually deprived
of the requisite moisture provided by the Creator in all out-door air.
Another objection is the fact that it is important to health to preserve
an equal circulation of the blood, and the greatest impediment to this
is a mode of heating which keeps the head in warmer air than the feet.
This is especially deleterious in an age and country where active
brains are constantly drawing blood from the extremities to the head.
All furnace-heated rooms have coldest air at the feet, and warmest
around the head. It is also rarely the case that furnace-heated houses
have proper arrangements for carrying off the vitiated air.

There are some recent scientific discoveries that relate to impure air
which may properly be introduced here. It is shown by the microscope
that _fermentation_ is a process which generates extremely minute
plants, that gradually increase till the whole mass is pervaded by
this vegetation. The microscope also has revealed the fact that, in
certain diseases, these microscopic plants are generated in the blood
and other fluids of the body, in a mode similar to the ordinary process
of fermentation.

And, what is very curious, each of these peculiar diseases generates
diverse kinds of plants. Thus in the typhoid fever, the microscope
reveals in the fluids of the patient a plant that resembles in form
some kinds of seaweed. In chills and fever, the microscopic plant has
another form, and in small-pox still another. A work has recently been
published in Europe, in which representations of these various
microscopic plants generated in the fluids of the diseased persons are
exhibited, enlarged several hundred times by the microscope. All
diseases that exhibit these microscopic plants are classed together,
and are called _Zymotic_, from a Greek word signifying _to ferment_.

These zymotic diseases sometimes have a _local_ origin, as in the case
of ague caused by miasma of swamps; and then they are named _endemic_.
In other cases, they are caused by personal contact with the diseased
body or its clothing, as the itch or small-pox; or else by effluvia from
the sick, as in measles. Such are called _contagious_ or _infectious_.
In other cases, diseases result from some unknown cause in the
atmosphere, and affect numbers of people at the same time, as in
influenza or scarlet fever, and these are called _epidemics_.

It is now regarded as probable that most of these diseases are generated
by the microscopic plants which float in an impure or miasmatic
atmosphere, and are taken into the blood by breathing.

Recent scientific investigations in Great Britain and other countries
prove that the _power of resisting_ these diseases depends upon the
purity of the air which has been _habitually_ inspired. The human body
gradually accommodates itself to unhealthful circumstances, so that
people can live a long time in bad air. But the "reserve power" of the
body, that is, the power of resisting disease, is under such
circumstances gradually destroyed, and then an epidemic easily sweeps
away those thus enfeebled. The plague of London, that destroyed
thousands every day, came immediately after a long period of damp,
warm days, when there was no wind to carry off the miasma thus
generated; while the people, by long breathing of bad air, were all
prepared, from having sunk into a low vitality, to fall before the
pestilence.

Multitudes of public documents show that the fatality of epidemics is
always proportioned to the degree in which impure air has previously
been respired. Sickness and death are therefore regulated by the degree
in which air is kept pure, especially in case of diseases in which
medical treatment is most uncertain, as in cholera and malignant fevers.

Investigations made by governmental authority, and by boards of health
in this country and in Great Britain, prove that zymotic diseases
ordinarily result from impure air generated by vegetable or animal
decay, and that in almost all cases they can be prevented by keeping
the air pure. The decayed animal matter sent off from the skin and
lungs in a close, unventilated bedroom is one thing that generates
these zymotic diseases. The decay of animal and vegetable matter in
cellars, sinks, drains, and marshy districts is another cause; and the
decayed vegetable matter thrown up by plowing up of decayed vegetable
matter in the rich soil in new countries is another.

In the investigations made in certain parts of Great Britain, it
appeared that in districts where the air is pure the deaths average
11 in 1000 each year; while in localities most exposed to impure miasma,
the mortality was 45 in every thousand. At this rate, thirty-four
persons in every thousand died from poisoned air, who would have
preserved health and life by well-ventilated homes in a pure atmosphere.
And, out of all who died, the proportion who owed their deaths to foul
air was more than three fourths. Similar facts have been obtained by
boards of health in our own country.

Mr. Leeds gives statistics showing, that in Philadelphia, by improved
modes of ventilation and other sanitary methods, there was a saving
of 3237 lives in two years; and a saving of three fourths of a million
of dollars, which would pay the whole expense of the public schools.
Philadelphia being previously an unusually cleanly and well-ventilated
city, what would be the saving of life, health, and wealth were such
a city as New-York perfectly cleansed and ventilated?

Here it is proper to state again that conflicting opinions are found
in many writers on ventilation, in regard to the position of ventilating
registers to carry off vitiated air. Most writers state that the impure
air is heavier, and falls to the bottom of a room. After consulting
scientific men extensively on this point, the writer finds the true
result to be as follows: Carbonic acid is heavier than common air,
and, unmixed, falls to the floor. But by the principle of _diffusion
of gases_, the air thrown from the lungs, though at first it sinks
a little, is gradually diffused, and in a heated room, in the majority
of cases, it is found more abundantly at the top than at the bottom
of the room, though in certain circumstances it is more at the bottom.
For this reason, registers to carry off impure air should be placed
at both the top and bottom of a room.

In arranging for pure air in dwellings, it is needful to proportion
the air admitted and discharged to the number of persons. As a guide
to this, we have the following calculation: On an average, every adult
vitiates about half a pint of air at each inspiration, and inspires
twenty times a minute. This would amount to one hogshead of air vitiated
every hour by every grown person. To keep the air pure, this amount
should enter and be carried out every hour for each person. If, then,
ten persons assemble in a dining-room, ten hogsheads of air should
enter and ten be discharged each hour. By the same rule, a gathering
of five hundred persons demands the entrance and discharge of five
hundred hogsheads of air every hour, and a thousand persons require
a thousand hogsheads of air every hour.

In calculating the size of registers and conductors, then, we must
have reference to the number of persons who are to abide in a dwelling;
while for rooms or halls intended for large gatherings, a far greater
allowance must be made.

The most successful mode before the public, both for warming and
ventilation, is that of Lewis Leeds, who was employed by government
to ventilate the military hospitals and also the treasury building at
Washington. This method has been adopted in various school-houses, and
also by A. T. Stewart in his hotel for women in New-York City. The
Leeds plan embraces the mode of heating both by radiation and
convection, very much resembling the open fireplace in operation, and
yet securing great economy. It is modeled strictly after the mode
adopted by the Creator in warming and ventilating the earth, the home
of his great earthly family. It aims to have a passage of pure air
through, every room, as the breezes pass over the hills, and to have
a method of warming chiefly by radiation, as the earth is warmed by
the sun. In addition to this, the air is to be provided with moisture,
as it is supplied out-doors by exhalations from the earth, and its
trees and plants.

The mode of accomplishing this is by placing coils of steam, or hot
water pipes, under windows, which warm the parlor walls and furniture,
partly by radiation, and partly by the air warmed on the heated surfaces
of the coils. At the same time, by regulating registers, or by simply
opening the lower part of the window, the pure air, guarded from
immediate entrance into the room, is admitted directly upon the coils,
so that it is partially warmed before it reaches the person: and thus
cold drafts are prevented. Then the vitiated air is drawn off through
registers both at the top and bottom of the room, opening into a heated
exhausting flue, through which the constantly ascending current of
warm air carries it off. These heated coils are often used for warming
houses without any arrangement for carrying off the vitiated air, when,
of course, their peculiar usefulness is gone.

The moisture may be supplied by a broad vessel placed on or close to
the heated coils, giving a large surface for evaporation. When rooms
are warmed chiefly by radiated heat, the air can be borne much cooler
than in rooms warmed by hot-air furnaces, just as a person in the
radiating sun can bear much cooler air than in the shade. A time will
come when walls and floors will be contrived to radiate heat instead
of absorbing it from the occupants of houses, as is generally the case
at the present time, and then all can breathe pure and cool air.

We are now prepared to examine more in detail the modes of warming and
ventilation employed in the dwellings planned for this work.

In doing this, it should be remembered that the aim is not to give
plans of houses to suit the architectural taste or the domestic
convenience of persons who intend to keep several servants, and care
little whether they breathe pure or bad air, nor of persons who do not
wish to educate their children to manual industry or to habits of close
economy.

On the contrary, the aim is, first, to secure a house in which every
room shall be perfectly ventilated both day and night, and that too
without the watchful care and constant attention and intelligence
needful in houses not provided with a proper and successful mode of
ventilation.

The next aim is, to arrange the conveniences of domestic labor so as
to save time, and also to render such work less repulsive than it is
made by common methods, so that children can be trained to love
house-work. And lastly, economy of expense in house-building is sought.
These things should be borne in mind in examining the plans of this
work.

In the Cottage plan, (Chap II. Fig. 1,) the pure air for rooms on the
ground floor is to be introduced by a wooden conductor one foot square,
running under the floor from the front door to the stove-room; with
cross branches to the two large rooms. The pure air passes through
this, protected outside by wire netting, and delivered inside through
registers in each room, as indicated in Fig. 1.

In case open Franklin stoves are used in the large rooms, the pure air
from the conductor should enter behind them, and thus be partially
warmed. The vitiated air is carried off at the bottom of the room
through the open stoves, and also at the top by a register opening
into a conductor to the exhausting warm-air shaft, which, it will be
remembered, is the square chimney, containing the iron pipe which
receives the kitchen stove-pipe. The stove-room receives pure air from
the conductor, and sends off impure air and the smells of cooking by
a register opening directly into the exhausting shaft; while its hot
air and smoke, passing through the iron pipe, heat the air of the
shaft, and produce the exhausting current. The construction of the
exhausting or warm-air shaft is described on page 63.

The large chambers on the second floor (Fig. 12) have pure air conducted
from the stove-room through registers that can be closed if the heat
or smells of cooking are unpleasant. The air in the stove-room will
always be moist from the water of the stove boiler,

The small chambers have pure air admitted from windows sunk at top
half an inch; and the warm, vitiated air is conducted by a register
in the ceiling which opens into a conductor to the exhausting warm-air
shaft at the centre of the house, as shown in Fig. 17.

The basement or cellar is ventilated by an opening into the exhausting
air shaft, to remove impure air, and a small opening over each glazed
door to admit pure air. The doors open out into a "well," or recess,
excavated in the earth before the cellar, for the admission of light
and air, neatly bricked up and whitewashed. The doors are to be made
entirely of strong, thick glass sashes, and this will give light enough
for laundry work; the tubs and ironing-table being placed close to the
glazed door. The floor must be plastered with water-lime, and the walls
and ceiling be whitewashed, which will add reflected light to the room.
There will thus be no need of other windows, and the house need not
be raised above the ground. Several cottages have been built thus, so
that the ground floors and conservatories are nearly on the same level;
and all agree that they are pleasanter than when raised higher.

When a window in any room is sunk at the top, it should have a narrow
shelf in front inclined to the opening, so as to keep out the rain.
In small chambers for one person, an inch opening is sufficient, and
in larger rooms for two persons, a two-inch opening is needed. The
openings into the exhausting air flue should vary from eight inches
to twelve inches square, or more, according to the number of persons
who are to sleep in the room.

The time when ventilation is most difficult is the medium weather in
spring and fall, when the air, though damp, is similar in temperature
outside and in. Then the warm-air flue is indispensable to proper
ventilation. This is especially needed in a room used for school or
church purposes.

Every room used for large numbers should have its air regulated not
only as to its warmth and purity, but also as to its supply of moisture;
and for this purpose will be found very convenient the instrument
called the Hygrodeik, [Footnote: It is manufactured by N. M. Lowe,
Boston, and sold by him: and J. Queen & Co., Philadelphia.] which shows
at once the temperature and the moisture. A work by Dr. Derby on
Anthracite Coal, scientific men say has done much mischief by an
_unproved_ theory that the discomfort of furnace heat is caused by the
passage of carbonic _oxide_ through the iron of the furnace heaters, and
_not_ by want of moisture. God made the air right, and taking out its
moisture _must_ be wrong.

The preceding remarks illustrate the advantages of the cottage plan
in respect to ventilation. The economy of the mode of warming next
demands attention. In the first place, it should be noted that the
chimney being at the centre of the house, no heat is lost by its
radiation through outside walls into open air, as is the case with all
fireplaces and grates that have their backs and flues joined to an
outside wall.

In this plan, all the radiated heat from the stove serves to warm the
walls of adjacent rooms in cold weather; while in the warm season, the
non-conducting summer casings of the stove send all the heat not used
in cooking either into the exhausting warm-air shaft or into the central
cast-iron pipe. In addition to this, the sliding doors of the stove-room
(which should be only six feet high, meeting the partition coming from
the ceiling) can be opened in cool days, and then the heat from the
stove would temper the rooms each side of the kitchen. In hot weather,
they could be kept closed except when the stove is used, and then
opened only for a short time. The Franklin stoves in the large room
would give the radiating warmth and cheerful blaze of an open fire,
while radiating heat also from all their surfaces. In cold weather,
the air of the larger chambers could be tempered by registers admitting
warm air from the stove-room, which would always be sufficiently
moistened by evaporation from the stationary boiler. The conservatories
in winter, protected from frost by double sashes, would contribute
agreeable moisture to the larger rooms. In case the size of a family
required more rooms, another story could be ventilated and warmed by
the same mode, with little additional expense.

We will next notice the economy of time, labor, and expense secured
by this cottage plan. The laundry work being done in the basement, all
the cooking, dish-washing, etc., can be done in the kitchen and
stove-room on the ground floor. But in case a larger kitchen is needed,
the lounges can be put in the front part of the large room, and the
movable screen placed so as to give a work-room adjacent to the
kitchen, and the front side of the same be used for the eating-room.
Where the movable screen is used, the floor should be oiled wood. A
square piece of carpet can be put in the centre of the front part of
the room, to keep the feet warm when sitting around the table, and
small rugs can be placed before the lounges or other sitting-places,
for the same purpose.

Most cottages are so divided by entries, stairs, closets, etc., that
there can be no large rooms. But in this plan, by the use of the movable
screen, two fine large rooms can be secured whenever the family work
is over, while the conveniences for work will very much lessen the
time required.

In certain cases, where the closest economy is needful, two small
families can occupy the cottage, by having a movable screen in both
rooms, and using the kitchen in common, or divide it and have two
smaller stoves. Each kitchen will then have a window and as much room
as is given to the kitchen in great steamers that provide for several
hundred.

Whoever plans a house with a view to economy must arrange rooms around
a central chimney, and avoid all projecting appendages. Dormer windows
are far more expensive than common ones, and are less pleasant. Every
addition projecting from a main building greatly increases expense of
building, and still more of warming and ventilating.

It should be introduced, as one school exercise in every female
seminary, to plan houses with reference to economy of time, labor, and
expense, and also with reference to good architectural taste; and the
teacher should be qualified to point out faults and give the instruction
needed to prevent such mistakes in practical life. Every girl should
be trained to be "a wise woman" that "buildeth her house" aright.

There is but one mode of ventilation yet tried, that will, at all
seasons of the year and all hours of the day and night, secure pure
air without dangerous draughts, and that is by an exhausting warm-air
flue. This is always secured by an open fireplace, so long as its
chimney is kept warm by any fire. And in many cases, a fireplace with
a flue of a certain dimension and height will secure good ventilation
except when the air without and within are at the same temperature.

When no exhausting warm-air flue can be used, the opening of doors and
windows is the only resort. Every sleeping-room _without a fireplace
that draws smoke well_ should have a window raised at the bottom
or sunk at the top at least an inch, with an inclined shelf outside
or in, to keep out rain, and then it is properly ventilated. Or a door
should be kept opened into a hall with an open window. Let the
bed-clothing be increased, so as to keep warm in bed, and protect the
head also, and then the more air comes into a sleeping-room the better
for health.

In reference to the warming of rooms and houses already built, there
is no doubt that stoves are the most economical mode, as they radiate
heat and also warm by convection. The grand objection to their use is
the difficulty of securing proper ventilation. If a room is well warmed
by a stove and then a suitable opening made for the entrance of a good
supply of out-door air, and by a mode that will prevent dangerous
draughts, all is right as to pure air. But in this case, the feet are
always on cold floors, surrounded by the coldest air, while the head
is in air of much higher temperature.

There is a great difference as to healthfulness and economy in the
great variety of stoves with which the market is filled. The competition
in this manufacture is so stringent, and so many devices are employed
by agents, that there is constant and enormous imposition on the public
and an incredible outlay on poor stoves, that soon burn out or break,
while they devour fuel beyond calculation. If some benevolent and
scientific organization could be formed that would, from disinterested
motives, afford some reliable guidance to the public, it probably would
save both millions of money and much domestic discomfort.

The stove described in Chapter V. is protected by patents in its chief
advantages, but this has not restrained many of the trade from
incorporating some of its leading excellencies and claiming to have
added superior elements. Others will inform any who inquire for it,
that it is out of market, because later stoves have proved superior.
Should any who read this work wish to be sure of securing this stove,
and also of gaining minute directions for its use, they may apply to
the writer, Miss C. E. Beecher, 69 West 38th Street, New-York, inclosing
25 cents.

She will then forward the manufacturers' printed descriptive circulars,
and her own advice as to the best selection from the different sizes,
and directions for its use, based on her own personal experience and
that of many friends. Should any purchases be made through this medium,
the manufacturers have agreed to pay a certain percentage into the
treasury of the Benevolent Association mentioned at the close of this
volume.

There is no more dangerous mode of heating a room than by a gas-stove.
There is inevitably more or less leakage of the gas which it is
unhealthful to breathe. And proper ventilation is scarcely ever secured
by those who use such stoves. The same fatal elements of imperfect
ventilation with its attendant horrors of disease, extravagant
wastefulness of material, of fuel, of labor, of time, and of destruction
to the apparatus itself, seem concomitants of all ordinary stoves and
cooking arrangements of the present day, unless those who use them are
constant and unremitting in the exercise of intelligent watchfulness,
guarding against these evils. And in view of the almost inevitable
stupidity and carelessness of servants, who generally have charge of
such things, and the frequent thoughtlessness even of intelligent women
who manage their own kitchens, the writer believes she is doing a
public service by offering her own experience as a guide to simpler,
cheaper, and more wholesome means of living and preparing the family
food.




XXXVII.

CARE OF THE HOMELESS, THE HELPLESS, AND THE VICIOUS.


In considering the duties of the Christian family in regard to the
helpless and vicious classes, some recently developed facts need to
be considered. We have stated that the great end for which, the family
was instituted is the training to virtue and happiness of our whole
race, as the children of our Heavenly Father, and this with chief
reference to their eternal existence after death. In the teachings of
our Lord we find that it is for sinners--for the lost and wandering
sheep, that he is most tenderly concerned. It is not those who by
careful training and happy temperaments have escaped the dangers of
life that God and good angels most anxiously watch. "For there is more
joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth than over ninety and nine
that went not astray."

The hardest work of all is to restore a guilty, selfish, hardened
spirit to honor, truth, and purity; and this is the divine labor to
which the pitying Saviour calls all his true followers; to lift up the
fallen, to sustain the weak, to protect the tempted, to bind up the
broken-hearted, and especially to rescue the sinful. This is the
peculiar privilege of woman in the sacred retreat of a "Christian
home." And it is for such self-denying ministries that she is to train
all who are under her care and influence, both by her teaching and by
her example.

In connection with these distinctive principles of Christ for which
the family state was instituted, let the following facts be considered.
The Massachusetts Board of State Charities, consisting of some of the
most benevolent and intelligent gentlemen of that State, in pursuance
of their official duty visited all the State institutions, and held
twenty-five meetings during the year 1867-8. By these visits and
consequent discussions they arrived at certain conclusions, which may
be briefly condensed as follows.

No state or nation excels Massachusetts in a wise and generous care
of the helpless, poor, and vicious. The agents employed for this end
are frugal, industrious, intelligent, and benevolent men and women,
with high moral principles. The pauper and criminal classes requiring
to be cared for by Massachusetts are less in proportion to the whole
number of inhabitants than in any other state or nation. Yet, admirable
as are these comparative results, there is room for improvement in a
most important particular. The report of the Board urges that the
present mode of collecting special classes in great establishments,
though it may be the best in a choice of evils, is not the best method
for the physical, social, and moral improvement of those classes; as
it involves many unfortunate influences (which are stated at large:)
and the report suggests that a better way would be to scatter these
unfortunates from temporary receiving asylums into families of Christian
people all over the State.

It is suggested in view of the above, that collecting fallen women
into one large community is not the best way to create a pure moral
atmosphere; and that gathering one or two hundred children in one
establishment is not so good for them as to give each child a home in
some loving Christian family. So of the aged and the sick, the blessings
of a quiet home, and the tender, patient nursing of true Christian
love, must be sought in a Christian family; not in a great asylum.

In view of these important facts and suggestions, it may be inquired,
if the great end and aim of the family state is to train the inmates
to self-denying love and labor for the weak, the suffering, and the
sinful, how can it be done where there are no young children, no aged
persons, no invalids, and no sinful ones for whom such sacrifices are
to be made?

Why are orphan children thrown upon the world, why are the aged held
in a useless, suffering life, except that they may aid in cultivating
tender love and labor for the helpless, and reverence for the hoary
head? And yet, how few children are trained thus to regard the orphan,
the aged, the helpless, and the vicious around them!

Great houses are built for these destitute ones, and all the labor and
self-denial in taking care of them is transferred to paid agents, while
thousands of families are thus deprived of all opportunity to cultivate
the distinctive virtues of the Christian household.

In this connection, let us look at some facts recently published in
the city of New-York.

The writer, Rev. W. O. Van Meter, says in his report:

"The following astounding statistics are carefully selected from the
Reports of the Police, Board of Health, Citizens' Association, and
more than twelve years' personal experience."

He then gives the following description of a section of the city only
a few rods from the stores and residences of those who count their
wealth by hundreds of thousands and millions, many of them professing
to be followers of Christ:

"First, we see old sheds, stable lofts, dilapidated buildings, too
worthless to be repaired, lofts over warehouses and shops; cellars,
too worthless for business purposes, and too unhealthy for horses or
pigs, and therefore occupied by human beings at high rent.--Second,
houses erected for tenant purposes. Take one near our Mission, as a
fair specimen of the better class of '_model_' tenant houses. It
contains one hundred and twenty-six families--is entered at the sides
from alleys eight feet wide; and by reason of another barrack of equal
height, the rooms are so darkened, that on a cloudy day it is impossible
to sew in them without artificial light. It has not one room that can
be thoroughly ventilated.

"The vaults and sewers which are to carry off the filth of one hundred
and twenty-six families have grated openings in the alleys, and doorways
in the cellars, through which the deadly miasma penetrates and poisons
the air of the house and courts. The water-closets for the whole vast
establishment are a range of stalls, without doors, and accessible not
only from the building, but even from the street. Comfort here is out
of the question; common decency impossible, and the horrid brutalities
of the passenger-ship are day after day repeated, but on a larger
scale.

"In similar dwellings are living five hundred and ten thousand persons,
(nearly one half of the inhabitants of the city,) chiefly from the
laboring classes, of very moderate means, and also the uncounted
thousands of those who do not know to-day what they shall have to live
on to-morrow. This immense population is found chiefly in an area of
less than four square miles. The vagrant and neglected children among
them would form a procession in double file eight miles long from the
Battery to Harlem.

"In the Fourth ward, the tenant-house population is crowded at the
rate of two hundred and ninety thousand inhabitants to the square mile.
Such packing was probably never equaled in any other city. Were the
buildings occupied by these miserable creatures removed, and the people
placed by each other, there would be but one and two ninths of a square
yard for each, and this unparalleled packing is _increasing_. Two
hundred and twenty-four families in the ward live below the sidewalk,
many of them _below high-water mark_. Often in very high tide they are
driven from their cellars or lie in bed until the tide ebbs. Not one
half of the houses have any drain or connection with the sewer. The
liquid refuse is emptied on the sidewalk or into the street, giving
forth sickening exhalations, and uniting its fetid streams with others
from similar sources. There are more than four hundred families in
this ward whose homes can only be reached by wading through a disgusting
deposit of filthy refuse. 'In one tenant-house one hundred and forty-six
were sick with small-pox, typhus fever, scarlatina, measles, marasmus,
phthisis pulmonalis, dysentery, and chronic diarrhea. In another,
containing three hundred and forty-nine persons, _one in nineteen died_
during the year, and on the day of inspection, which was during the most
healthy season of the year, there were one hundred and fifteen persons
sick! In another (in the Sixth Ward, but near us,) are sixty-five
families; seventy-seven persons were sick or diseased at the time of
inspection, and one in four _always_ sick. In fifteen of these families
twenty-five children were living, thirty-seven had died.'

"Here are found the lowest class of sailor boarding-houses, dance-
houses, and dens of infamy. There are _less than two dwelling-houses
for each rum-hole_. Here are the poorest, vilest, most degraded,
and desperate representatives of all nations. In the homes of thousands
here, a ray of sunlight never shines, a flower never blooms, a bird
song is never heard, a breath of pure air never breathed." A procession
of vagrant and neglected children that in double file would reach eight
miles, living in such filth, vice, and unhealthful pollution; all of
them God's children, all Christ's younger brethren, to save whom he
humbled himself, even to the shameful death of the cross!

Meantime, the city of New York has millions of wealth placed in the
hands of men and women who profess to be followers of Jesus Christ,
and to have consecrated themselves, their time, and their wealth to
his service. And they daily are passing and repassing within a stone's
throw of the streets where all this misery and sin are accumulated!

So in all our large cities and towns all over the land are found
similar, if not so extensive, collections of vice and misery. And even
where there are not such extremes of degradation, there are contrasts
of condition that should "give us pause." For example, in the vicinity
of our large towns and cities will be seen spacious mansions inhabited
by professed followers of Jesus Christ, each surrounded by ornamented
grounds. Not far from them will be seen small tenement-houses, abounding
with children, each house having about as many square yards of land
as the large houses have square acres. In the small tenements, the
boys rise early and go forth with the father to work from eight to ten
hours, with little opportunity for amusement or for reading or study.
In the large houses, the boys sleep till a late breakfast, then lounge
about till school-time, then spend three hours in school, stimulating
brain and nerves. Then home to a hearty dinner, and then again to
school.

So with the girls: in the tenement-houses, they, go to kitchens and
shops to work most of the day, with little chance for mental culture
or the refinements of taste. In the large mansions, the daughters sleep
late, do little or no labor for the family, and spend their time in
school, or in light reading, ornamental accomplishments, or amusement.

Thus one class are trained to feel that they are a privileged few for
whom others are to work, while they do little or nothing to promote
the improvement or enjoyment of their poorer neighbors.

Then, again, labor being confined chiefly to the unrefined and
uncultivated, is disgraced and rendered unattractive to the young. One
class is overworked, and the body deteriorates from excess. The other
class overwork the brain and nerves, and the neglected muscles grow
thin, flabby, and weak.

Notice also the style in which they accumulate the elegances of
civilization without even an attempt to elevate their destitute
neighbors to such culture and enjoyment. Their expensive pictures
multiply on their frescoed walls, their elegant books increase in their
closed bookcases, their fine pictures and prints remain shut in
portfolios, to be only occasionally opened by a privileged few. Their
handsome equipages are for the comfortable and prosperous--not for
the feeble and poor who have none of their own. All their social
amusements are exclusive, and their expensive entertainments are for
those only who can return the same to them.

Our Divine Master thus teaches, "When thou makest a feast, call not
thy kinsmen or thy rich neighbors, lest they also bid thee again, and
a recompense he made thee. But when thou makest a feast, call the poor,
for they can not recompense thee; for thou shalt be recompensed at the
resurrection of the just." Again, our Lord, after performing the most
servile office, taught thus: "If I, your Lord and Master, have washed
your feet, ye ought to wash one another's feet."

In all these large towns and cities are women of wealth and leisure,
who profess to be followers of Jesus Christ. Some of them, having
property in their own right, live in large mansions, with equipage and
servants demanding a large outlay. They travel abroad, and gather
around themselves the elegant refinements of foreign lands. They give,
perhaps, a tenth of their time and income (which is far less than was
required of the Jews), for benevolent purposes, and then think and say
that they have consecrated themselves and _all_ they have to the
service of Christ.

If there is any thing plainly taught in the New Testament it is, that
the followers of Christ are to be different and distinct from the world
around them; "a peculiar people," and subject to opposition and ill-will
for their distinctive peculiarities.

Of these peculiarities demanded, _humility_ and _meekness_ are
conspicuous: "Come and learn of me, for I am meek and lowly, and
ye shall find rest." Now, the grand aim of the rich, worldly, and
ambitious is to be at least equal, or else to rise higher than others,
in wealth, honor, and position. This is the great struggle of humanity
in all ages, especially in this country, and among all classes, to
_rise higher_--to be as rich or richer than others--to be as well
dressed--to be more learned, or in more honored positions than others.
This was the very thing that made contention among the apostles, even
in the company of their Lord, as they walked and "disputed who should
be the greatest." "And Jesus sat down and called the twelve, and said
unto them, If any man desire to be first, the same _shall be last
and servant of all;_" and "he that is least among you shall be
great."

At another time, the ambitious mother of two disciples came and asked
that her sons might have the _highest_ place in his kingdom, and the
other disciples were "moved with indignation." Then the Lord taught
them that the honor and glory of his kingdom was to be exactly the
reverse of this world; and that whoever would be great must be a
_minister_, and who would be chief must be a _servant_; even as the Son
of Man came not to be ministered to, but to minister.

Again, he rebuked the love of high position and the desire of being
counted wise as teachers of others: "Be not ye called Rabbi, neither
be ye called Master; but he that is greatest among you shall be your
servant, and whosoever exalteth himself shall be abased."

Then, as to the strife after wealth, into which all are now rushing
so earnestly, the Lord teaches: "Lay not up for yourselves treasures
on earth. Whosoever of you forsaketh not all that he hath can not be
my disciple. Sell that ye have, and give alms; provide yourselves with
bags that wax not old--a treasure in heaven that faileth not." To the
rich young man, asking how to gain eternal life, the reply was, "Sell
all thou hast, and give to the poor, and come and follow me." When the
poor widow cast in _all her living_ she was approved. When the
first Christians were "filled with the Holy Ghost," they sold all their
possessions, to be distributed to those that had need, and were
approved.

And nowhere do we find any direction or approval of laying up money
for self or for children. A man is admonished to provide sustenance
and education for his family, but never to lay up money for them; and
the history of the children of the rich is a warning that, even in a
temporal view, the chances are all against the results of such use of
property. We are to spend all to _save the world_; For this we
are to labor and sacrifice ease and wealth, and we are to train children
to the same self-sacrificing labors; All that is spent for earthly
pleasure ends here. Nothing goes into the future world as a good secured
but training our own and other immortal minds. Thus only can we lay
up treasures in heaven.

There is a crisis at hand in the history of individuals, of the church,
and of our nation, which must inaugurate a new enterprise to save "the
whole world." There must be something coming in the Christian churches
more consistent, more comprehensive, more in keeping with the command
of our ascending Lord--"Go ye (_all_ my followers) into _all the world_,
and preach the gospel to every creature; he that believeth shall be
saved, and he that believeth not shall be damned!"

It is in hope and anticipation of such a "revival" of the true,
self-denying spirit of Christ and of his earnest followers, that plans
have been drawn for simple modes of living, in which both labor and
economy may be practiced for benevolent ends, and yet without
sacrificing the refinements of high civilization. One method is
exhibited in the first chapters, adapted to country residence. In what
follows will be presented a plan for a city home, having the same aim.

The chief points are to secure economy of labor and time by the
_selection and close packing of conveniences_, and also economy
of health by a proper mode of _warming and ventilation_. In this
connection will be indicated opportunities and modes that thus may be
attained for aiding to save the vicious, comfort the suffering, and
instruct the ignorant. Fig. 71 is the ground plan, of a city tenement
occupying two lots of twenty-two feet front, in which there can be no
side windows; as is the case with most city houses. There are two front
and two back-parlors, each twenty feet square, with a bedroom and
kitchen appended to each: making four complete sets of living-rooms.
A central hall runs from basement to roof, and is lighted by skylights.
There is also a ventilating recess running from basement to roof with
whitened walls, and windows opening into it secure both light and air
to the bedrooms. On one end of this recess is a trash-flue closed with
a door in the basement, and opening into each story, which must be
kept closed to prevent an upward draught, causing dust and light
articles to rise. At the other end is a dumb-waiter, running from
cellar to roof, and opening into the hall of each story. Four chimneys
are constructed near the centre of the house, one for each suite of
rooms, to receive a smoke-pipe of cast-iron or terra cotta, as described
previously, with a space around it for warm air; and this serves as
the exhausting-shaft to carry off the vitiated air from parlors,
kitchens, bedrooms, and water-closets. In each kitchen is a stove such
as is described in Chapter IV., its pipe connecting with the central
cast-iron or terra cotta pipe. The stove can be inclosed by sliding
doors shutting off the heat in warm weather. These kitchen stoves, and
a large stove in the basement to warm the central hall, would suffice
for all the rooms, except in the coldest months, when a small terra
cotta stove, made for this purpose, or even an ordinary iron stove,
placed by one window in each of the parlors, would give the additional
heat needed; while fresh air could be admitted from the windows behind
the stove, and thus be partially warmed.

This exhibits the essential feature and peculiarity of Mr. Leeds's
system of ventilation, before described. Fresh air, admitted at the
bottom of a slightly raised window, is to enter below a window-seat
which projects over the stove; the air being thus warmed before entering
the room. The flue of the stove is seen (in the finished corner of
Fig. 71, which is a model for the four other suites of rooms on each
floor) running along the wall to the _front_ chimney, which also
receives the corresponding stove-flue from the nearest window in the
adjoining parlor: the same arrangement being repeated at the back of
the house. This, the two front and back chimneys are for the heating
and ventilating parlor stoves; the four central chimneys for cooking,
heating, and ventilation.

When possible, in a large building, steam generated in the basement
heater will be found better than the parlor stove. In this case, the
room will be heated by the coil of steam-pipe mentioned before; the
slab covering it being the window-seat, or guard, under which the cool
fresh air is conducted to be warmed before passing into the room.

[Illustration: Fig. 71 Diagram of living quarters.]
Fig. 72 shows one side of the parlor, giving a series of sliding-
doors, behind which are hooks, shelves, and "shelf-boxes," as described
earlier in the book.

[Illustration: Fig. 72.]

The recess occupied by the sofa stands between these two closets. In
case the room is used for sleeping, the double couch on page 30 might
be substituted for the sofa, serving as a lounge by day, and two single
beds by night. The curtain hanging above can be so fastened by rings
on a strong semi-circular wire as to be let down while dressing and
undressing, as is done in some of our steamboats. Pockets and hooks
on the inside of the curtains may be made very useful.

[Illustration: Fig. 73.]

Fig. 73 represents another side of the same room where are two large
windows, each having a cushioned seat in its recess, (although one may
be occupied by a stove, as described above.) A study-table with drawers
or both the front and back sides furnishes large accommodations for
many small articles.

Fig. 74 represents a third side of the same room, with sliding doors
glazed from top to bottom to give light to the bedroom and kitchen.

[Illustration: Fig. 74.]

The fourth side appears on the ground plan (Fig. 71.) The ottomans and
a few chairs will complete the needful furniture.

By means of forms, shelves, and shelf-boxes, the kitchen, could hold
all stores and implements for cooking and setting tables, on the method
shown page 34. The eating table is close to the kitchen and sink, so
that few steps are required to bring and remove every article. Thus
stove, sink, cooking materials, the table and its furniture, are all
in close proximity, and yet, when the inmates are seated at table, the
sliding-doors will shut out the kitchen, while the bad air and smells
of cooking are earned off by the ventilating exhaust-shaft.

The bedroom has a bath-tub and water-closet. The tub need not be more
than four feet long, and a half-cover raised by a hinge will, when
down, hold wash-bowl and pitcher, when the tub is not in use. Around
the bedroom high and wide shelves and shelf-boxes near the ceiling
serve to store large articles; and narrower shelves with pegs under
them for clothing, protected by a curtain, furnish other conveniences
for storage. The trash-flue serves to send off rubbish, with but few
steps, and the dumb waiter brings up fuel, stores, etc. Each bedroom
must be provided with a ventilating register at the top, connecting
with the warm foul-air flue in the chimney.

For a family of four persons, one parlor, with its kitchen and bedroom,
couches and side closets, would supply all needful accommodations. For
a larger family, sliding-doors into the adjacent parlor, its appended
kitchen being arranged for another bedroom, would accommodate a family
of ten persons.

A front and a back entrance may be in the basement, which, can be used
for family stores, each family having one room. A general laundry with
drying closets could be provided in the attic, and lighted from the
roof.

Such a building, four stories high, would accommodate sixteen families
of four members, or eight larger families, and provide light, warmth,
ventilation, and more comforts and conveniences than are usually found
in most city houses built for only one family. Here young married
persons with frugal and benevolent tastes could commence housekeeping
in a style of comfort and good taste rarely excelled in mansions of
the rich. The spaces usually occupied by stairs, entries, closets,
etc., would on this plan be thrown into fine large airy rooms, with
every convenience close at hand.

In one of our large cities is to be found a Christian lady who inherited
a handsome establishment with means to support it in the style common
to the rich. In the spirit of Christ she "sold all that she had, and
gave to the poor," by establishing a _Home for Incurables_, and
making her home with them, giving her time and wealth to promoting
their temporal comfort and spiritual welfare. Was this doing _more_
than her duty--_more_ than the example and teachings of Christ require?

Suppose several ladies of similar views and character in one city,
having only moderate wealth, and leisure, unite to erect such a building
as the one described, in a light and healthful part of the city of New
York, and then should take up their residence in it, and from the vast
accumulation of misery and sin at hand on every side, should select
the orphans, the aged, the sick, and the sinful, and spend time and
money for their temporal and spiritual elevation; would they do
_more_ than the example and teachings of Christ enjoin? Or would
their enjoyment, even in this life, be diminished by exchanging a
routine chiefly of personal gratification for such self-denying
ministries? It was "for _the joy_ that was set before Him" through
the everlasting ages that our Lord "endured the cross," and it is to
the same supernal glories that he invites his followers, and by the
same path he trod.

Here it probably will be said that all rich women can not do what is
here suggested, owing to multitudinous claims, or to incapacity of
mind or body for carrying out such an attempt. It will also be said
that there are many other ways for practicing self-denial besides
selling our homes and taking a humbler style of living. This is all
true. But we are told that there are "greatest" and "least" in that
kingdom of heaven where the chief happiness is in living to serve
others, and not for self. Those who can not change their expensive
style of living, and are obliged to spend most of their thoughts and
wealth on self and those who are a part of self, will be among the
least and lowest in happiness and honor, while those who take the low
places on earth to raise others will be the happiest and most honored
in the kingdom of heaven.

There are many residences in our large cities where women claiming to
be Christ's followers live in almost solitary grandeur till the warm
season, and then shut them up to spend their time at watering-places
or country resorts. The property invested in such city establishments,
and the income required to keep them up, would secure "Christian homes"
to many suffering, neglected, homeless children of Christ, who are
living in impure air, with all the debasing influences found in city
tenement-houses. Meantime, the owners of this wealth are suffering in
mind and body for want of some grand and noble object in life. If such
could not personally live in such an establishment as is here described,
by self-denying arrangements and combination with others they could
provide and superintend one.

Our minds are created in the image of our Father in heaven, and capable
of being made happy, as his is, by the outpouring of blessings on
others. And when we are invited by our divine Lord to take his yoke
and bear his burden, it is for our own highest happiness as well as
for the good of others. And whoever truly obeys finds the yoke easy
and the burden light, and that they bring rest to the soul. But those
who shrink from the true good, to live a life of self-indulgent ease,
will surely find that mere earthly enjoyments pall on the taste, that
they perish in the using, that they never satisfy the cravings of a
soul created for a higher sphere and nobler mission.

The Bible represents that there is an emergency-a great conflict in
the world unseen-and that we on earth, who are Christ's people, are
to take a part in this conflict and in the "fellowship of his
sufferings," to redeem his children from the slavery of sin and eternal
death; and there is the same call to labor and sacrifice now as there
was when he commanded, "Go into all the world and preach the Gospel
to _every_ creature."

But is not the larger part of the church--especially those who have
wealth--practically living on no higher principles than the pious Jews
and virtuous heathen? Are they not living just as if there were no
great emergency, no terrible risks and danger to their fellow-men in
the life to, come? Are they not living just as if all men were safe
after they leave this world, and all we need to aim at is to make
ourselves and others virtuous and happy in this life, without disturbing
anxiety about the life to come? And is the _training_ of most
Christian families diverse from that of pious Jews, in reference to
the dangers of our fellow-men in the future state, and the consequent
duty of labor and sacrifice in order to extend the true religion all
over the earth?

One mode of avoiding self-denial in style of living is by the plea
that, if all rich Christiana gave up the expensive establishments
common to this class and adopted such economies as are here suggested,
it would tend to lower civilization and take away support from those
living by the fine arts. But while the world is rushing on to such
profuse expenditure, will not all these elegancies and refinements be
abundantly supported, and is there as much danger in this direction
as there is of avoiding the self-denying example of Christ and his
early followers? They gave up all they had, and "were scattered abroad,
preaching the word;" and was there any reason existing then for
self-denying labor that does not exist now? There are more idolaters
and more sinful men now, in actual numbers, than there were then; while
teaching them the way of eternal life does not now, as it did then,
involve the "loss of all things" and "deaths often."

Moreover, would not the fine arts, in the end, he better supported by
imparting culture and refined tastes to the neglected ones? Teaching
industry, thrift, and benevolence is far better than scattering alms,
which often do more harm than good; and would not enabling the masses
to enjoy the fine arts and purchase in a moderate style subserve the
interests of civilization as truly as for the rich to accumulate
treasures for themselves in the common exclusive style?

Suppose some Protestant lady of culture and fortune should unite with
an associate of congenial taste and benevolence to erect such a building
as here described, and then devote her time and wealth to the elevation
and salvation of the sinful and neglected, would she sacrifice as much
as does a Lady of the Sacred Heart or a Sister of Charity, many of
whom have been the daughters of princes and nobles? They resign to
their clergy and superiors not only the control of their wealth but
their time, labor, and conscience. In doing this, the Roman Catholic
lady is honored and admired as a saint, while taught that she is doing
more than her duty, and is thus laying up a store of good works to
repay for her own past deficiencies, and also to purchase grace and
pardon for humbler sinners. If this is really believed, how soothing
to a wounded conscience! And what a strong appeal to generous and
Christian feeling! And the more terrific the pictures of purgatory and
hell, the stronger the appeal to these humane and benevolent principles.

But how would it be with the Protestant woman practicing such
self-denial? For example, the lady of wealth and culture, who gave up
her property and time to provide a home for incurables--would her
pastor say she was doing _more_ than her duty? and if not, would
he preach to other rich women who, in other ways, could humble
themselves to raise up the poor, the ignorant, and the sinful, that
they are doing _less_ than their duty?

Is it not sometimes the case, that both minister and people, by example,
at least, seem to teach that, the more riches increase, the less demand
there is for economy, labor, and self-denial for the benefit of the
destitute and the sinful?

Protestants are little aware of the strong attractions which, are
drawing pious and benevolent women toward the Roman Catholic Church,
To the poor and neglected: in humble life are offered a quiet home,
with sympathy, and honored work. To the refined and ambitious are
offered the best society and high positions of honor and trust. To the
sinful are offered pardon for past offenses and a fresh supply of
"grace" for all acts of penitence or of benevolence. To the anxiously
conscientious, perplexed with contentions as to doctrines and duties,
are offered an infallible pope and clergy to decide what is truth and.
duty, and what is the true interpretation of the Bible, while they are
taught that the "faith" which saves the soul is implicit belief in the
teachings of the Roman Catholic Church. All this enables many, even
of the intelligent, to receive the other parts of a system that
contradicts both common sense and the Bible.

Meantime, a highly educated priesthood, with no family ties to distract
attention, are organizing and employing devoted, self-denying women,
all over the land, to perform the distinctive work that Protestant
women, if wisely trained and organized by their clergy, could carry
out in thousands of scattered Christian homes and villages.

In the Protestant churches, women are educated only to be married; and
when not married, there is no position provided which is deemed as
honorable as that of a wife. But in the Roman Catholic Church, the
unmarried woman who devotes herself to works of Christian benevolence
is the most highly honored, and has a place of comfort and
respectability provided which is suited to her education and capacity.
Thus come great nunneries, with lady superiors to control conscience
and labor and wealth.

But a time is coming when the family state is to be honored and ennobled
by single women, qualified to sustain it by their own industries; women
who will both support and train the children of their Lord and Master
in the true style of Protestant independence, controlled by no superior
but Jesus Christ. And in the Bible they will find the Father of the
faithful, to both Jews and Gentiles, their great exemplar. For nearly
one hundred years Abraham had no child of his own; but his household,
whom he trained to the number of three hundred and eighteen, were
children of others. And he was the friend of God, chosen to be father
of many nations, because he would "command his household to do justice
and judgment and keep the way of the Lord."

The woman who from true love consents to resign her independence and
be supported by another, while she bears children and trains them for
heaven, has a noble mission; but the woman who earns her own
independence that she may train the neglected children of her Lord and
Saviour has a still higher one. And a day is coming when Protestant
women will be _trained_ for this their highest ministry and profession
as they never yet have been.




XXXVII.

THE CHRISTIAN NEIGHBORHOOD.


The spirit of Christian missions to heathen lands and the organizations
to carry them forward commenced, in most Protestant lands, within the
last century. The writer can remember the time when an annual collection
for domestic missions was all the call for such benefactions in a
wealthy New-England parish; while such small pittances were customary
that the sight of a dollar-bill in the collection, even from the richest
men of the church-members, produced a sensation.

In the intervening period since that time, the usual mode of extending
the Gospel among the heathen has been for a few of the most
self-sacrificing men and women to give up country and home and all the
comforts and benefits of a Christian community, and then commence the
family state amid such vice and debasement that it was ruinous to
children to be trained in its midst. And so the result has been, in
multitudes of cases, that children were born only to be sent from
parents to be trained by strangers, and the true "Christian family"
could not be exhibited in heathen lands. And as a Christian
neighborhood, in its strictest sense, consists of a collection of
Christian families, such a community has been impossible in most cases
among the heathen.

[Illustration: Fig. 75]

When our Lord ascended, his last command was "Go ye into all the world,
and preach the Gospel to _every_ creature." For ages, most Christian
people have supposed this command was limited to the apostles.
In the present day, it has been extended to Include a few men and
women, who should practice the chief labor and self-sacrifice, while
most of the church lived at ease, and supposed they were obeying this
command, by giving a small portion of their abundance to support those
who performed the chief labor and self-sacrifice.

But a time is coming when Christian churches will under stand this
command in a much more comprehensive sense; and the "Christian family"
and "Christian neighborhood" will be the grand ministry of salvation.
In order to assist in making this a practicable anticipation, some
additional drawings are given in this chapter. The aim is to illustrate
one mode of commencing a Christian neighborhood that is so economical
and practical that two or three ladies, with very moderate means, could
carry it out.

A small church, a school-house, and a comfortable family dwelling may
all be united in one building, and for a very moderate sum, as will
be illustrated by the following example.

At the head of the first chapter is a sketch which represents a
perspective view of the kind of edifice indicated. On the opposite
page (Fig. 75) is an enlarged and more exact view of the front elevation
of the same, which is now building in one of the most Southern States,
where tropical plants flourish. The three magnificent trees on the
drawing heading the first chapter are live-oaks adorned with moss,
rising over one hundred feet high and being some thirty or more feet
in circumference. Nearly under their shadow is the building to be
described.

[Illustration: Fig. 76.]

Fig. 76 is the ground plan, which includes one large room twenty-five
feet wide and thirty-five feet long, having a bow window at one end,
and a kitchen at the other end. The bow-window has folding-doors,
closed during the week, and within is the pulpit for Sunday service.
The large room may be divided either by a movable screen or by sliding
doors with a large closet on either side. The doors make a more perfect
separation; but the screen affords more room for storing family
conveniences, and also secured more perfect ventilation for the whole
large room by the exhaust-flue.

Thus, through the week, the school can be in one division, and the
other still a sizable room, and the kitchen be used for teaching
domestic economy and also for the eating-room. Oil Sunday, if there
is a movable screen, it can be moved back to the fireplace; or
otherwise, the sliding--doors may be opened, giving the whole space
to the congregation. The chimney is finished off outside as a steeple.
It incloses a cast-iron or terra cotta pipe, which receives the
stove-pipe of the kitchen and also pipes connecting the two fireplaces
with the large pipe, and finds exit above the slats of the steeple at
the projections. Thus the chimney is made an exhaust shaft for carrying
off vitiated air from all the rooms both above and below, which have
openings into it made for the purpose.

Two good-sized chambers are over the large lower story, as shown in
Fig. 77. Large closets are each side of these chambers, where are
slatted openings to admit pure air; and under these openings are
registers placed to enable pure air to pass through the floor into the
large room below. Thus a perfect mode of ventilation is secured for
a large number.

[Illustration: Fig. 77.]

On Sunday, the folding-doors of the bow-window are to be opened for
the pulpit, the sliding-doors opened, or the screen moved back, and
camp-chairs brought from the adjacent closet to seat a congregation
of worshipers.

During the week, the family work is to be done in the kitchen, and the
room adjacent be used for both a school and an eating-room. Here the
aim will be, during the week, to collect the children of the
neighborhood, to be taught not only to read, write, and cipher, but
to perform in the best manner all the practical duties of the family
state. Two ladies residing in this building can make an illustration
of the highest kind of "Christian family," by adopting two orphans,
keeping in training one or two servants to send out for the benefit
of other families, and also providing for an invalid or aged member
of Christ's neglected ones. Here also they could employ boys and girls
in various kinds of floriculture, horticulture, bee-raising, and other
out-door employments, by which an income could be received and young
men and women trained to industry and thrift, so as to earn an
independent livelihood.

The above attempt has been made where, in a circuit of fifty miles,
with a thriving population, not a single church is open for Sunday
worship, and not a school to be found except what is provided by
faithful Roman Catholic nuns, who, indeed, are found engaged in similar
labors all over our country. The cost of such a building, where lumber
is $50 a hundred and labor $3 a day, would not much exceed $1200.

Such destitute settlements abound all over the West and South, while,
along the Pacific coast, China and Japan are sending their pagan
millions to share our favored soil, climate, and government.

Meantime, throughout our older States are multitudes of benevolent,
well-educated, Christian women in unhealthful factories, offices, and
shops; and many, also, living in refined leisure, who yet are pining
for an opportunity to aid in carrying the Gospel to the destitute.
Nothing is needed but _funds_ that are in the keeping of thousands of
Christ's professed disciples, and _organisations_ for this end, which
are at the command of the Protestant clergy.

Let such a truly "Christian family" be instituted in any destitute
settlement, and soon its gardens and fields would cause "the desert
to blossom as the rose," and around would soon gather a "Christian
neighborhood." The school-house would no longer hold the multiplying
worshipers. A central church would soon appear, with its appended
accommodations for literary and social gatherings and its appliances
for safe and healthful amusements.

The cheering example would soon spread, and ere long colonies from
these prosperous and Christian communities would go forth to shine as
"lights of the world" in all the now darkened nations. Thus the
"Christian family," and "Christian neighborhood" would become the grand
ministry, as they were designed to be, in training our whole race for
heaven.

This final chapter should not close without a few encouraging words
to those who, in view of the many difficult duties urged in these
pages, sorrowfully review their past mistakes and deficiencies. None
can do this more sincerely than the writer. How many things have been
done unwisely even with good motives! How many have been left undone
that the light of present knowledge would have secured!

In this painful review, the good old Bible comes as the abundant
comforter. The Epistle to the Romans was written especially to meet
such regrets and fears. It teaches that all men are sinners, in many
cases from ignorance of what is right, and in many from stress of
temptation, so that neither Greek nor Jew can boast of his own
righteousness. For it is not "by works of righteousness" that we are
to be considered and treated as righteous persons, but through a "faith
that _works by love_;" that _faith_ or _belief_ which is not a mere
intellectual conviction, but a _controlling purpose_ or spiritual
principle which _habitually controls_ the feelings and conduct. And so
long as there is this constant aim and purpose to obey Christ in all
things, mistakes in judgment as to what is right and wrong are pitied,
"even as a father pitieth his children," when from ignorance they run
into harm. And even the most guilty transgressors are freely forgiven
when truly repentant and faithfully striving to forsake the error of
their ways.

Moreover, this tender and pitiful Saviour is the Almighty One who rules
both this and the invisible world, and who "from every evil still
educes good." This life is but the infant period of our race, and much
that we call evil, in his wise and powerful ruling may be for the
highest good of all concerned.

The Blessed Word also cheers us with pictures of a dawning day to which
we are approaching, when a voice shall be heard under the whole heavens,
saying, "Alleluia"--"the kingdoms of this world are become the kingdoms
of our Lord and of his Christ, and he shall reign forever and ever."
And "a great voice out of heaven" will proclaim, "Behold, the tabernacle
of God is with men, and he shall dwell with them, and they shall be
his people. And God himself shall be with them, and be their God. And
God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no
more death, neither sorrow, nor crying; neither shall there be any
more pain; for the former things are passed away."

The author still can hear the echoes of early life, when her father's
voice read to her listening mother in exulting tones the poet's version
of this millennial consummation, which was the inspiring vision of his
long life-labors--a consummation to which all their children were
consecrated, and which some of them may possibly live to behold.

  "O scenes surpassing fable, and yet true!
  Scenes of accomplished bliss! which who can see,
  Though but in distant prospect, and not feel
  His soul refreshed with foretaste of the joy!

  "Rivers of gladness water all the earth,
  And clothe all climes with beauty; the reproach
  Of barrenness is past. The fruitful field
  Laughs with abundance; and the land once lean,
  Or fertile only in its own disgrace,
  Exults to see its thistly curse repealed.

  "Error has no place:
  That creeping pestilence is driven away;
  The breath of Heaven has chased it. In the heart
  No passion touches a discordant string,
  But all is harmony and love. Disease
  Is not: the pure and uncontaminate blood
  Holds its due course, nor fears the frost of age.

   One song employs all nations; and all cry,
  'Worthy the Lamb, for he was slain for us!'
  The dwellers in the vales and on the rocks
  Shout to each other; and the mountain-tops
  From distant mountains catch the flying joy;
  Till, nation after nation taught the strain,

  "Behold the measure of the promise filled!
  See Salem built, the labor of a God!
  Bright as a sun the sacred city shines;
  All kingdoms and all princes of the earth
  Flock to that light; the glory of all lands
  Flows into her; unbounded is her joy,
  And endless her increase. Thy rams are there,
  Nebaioth, and the flocks of Kedar there;
  The looms of Ormus and the mines of Ind,
  And Saba's spicy groves pay tribute there.

  "Praise is in all her gates: upon her walls,
  And in her streets, and in her spacious courts,
  Is heard salvation. Eastern Java there
  Kneels with the native of the farthest west;
  And Athiopia spreads abroad the hand,
  And worships. Her report has traveled forth
  Into all lands. From every clime they come
  To see thy beauty, and to share thy joy,
  O Zion! an assembly such as earth
  Saw never, such as Heaven stoops down to see!"
  [Footnote: Cowper's _Task_.]




AN APPEAL TO AMERICAN WOMEN BY THE SENIOR AUTHOR OF THIS VOLUME.


My honored countrywomen:

It is now over forty years that I have been seeking to elevate the
character and condition of our sex, relying, as to earthly aid, chiefly
on your counsel and cooperation. I am sorrowful at results that have
followed these and similar efforts, and ask your sympathy and aid.

Let me commence with a brief outline of the past. I commenced as an
educator in the city of Hartford, Ct., when only the primary branches
and one or two imperfect accomplishments were the ordinary school
education, and was among the first pioneers in seeking to introduce
some of the higher branches. The staid, conservative citizen's queried
of what use to women were Latin, Geometry, and Algebra, and wondered
at a request for six recitation rooms and a study-hall for a school
of nearly a hundred, who had as yet only one room. The appeal was then
made to benevolent, intelligent women, and by their influence all that
was sought was liberally bestowed.

But the course of study then attempted was scarcely half of what is
now pursued in most of our colleges for young women, while there has
been added a round and extent of accomplishments then unknown. Yet
this moderate amount so stimulated brain and nerves, and so excited
competition, that it became needful to enforce a rule, requiring a
daily report, that only two hours a day had been devoted to study out
of school hours. Even this did not avail to save from injured health
both the teacher who projected these improvements and many of her
pupils. This example and that of similar institutions spread all over
the nation, with constantly increasing demand for more studies, and
decreasing value and respect for domestic pursuits and duties.

Ten years of such intellectual excitement exhausted the nervous
fountain, and my profession as a school-teacher was ended.

The next attempt was to introduce Domestic Economy as _a science to
be studied_ in schools for girls. For a while it seemed to succeed;
but ere long was crowded out by Political Economy and many other
economies, except those most needed to prepare a woman for her
difficult and sacred duties.

In the progress of years, it came to pass that the older States teemed
with educated women, qualified for no other department of woman's
profession but that of a schoolteacher, while the newer States abounded
in children without schools.

I again appealed to my countrywomen for help, addressing them through
the press and also by the assistance of a brother (in assemblies in
many chief cities) in order to raise funds to support an agent. The
funds were bestowed, and thus the services of Governor Slade were
secured, and, mainly by these agencies, nearly one thousand teachers
were provided with schools, chiefly in the West.

Meantime, the intellectual taxation in both private and public schools,
the want of proper ventilation in both families and schools, the want
of domestic exercise which is so valuable to the feminine constitution,
the pernicious modes of dress, and the prevailing neglect of the laws
of health, resulted in the general decay of health among women. At the
same time, the overworking of the brain and nerves, and the "cramming"
system of study, resulted in a deficiency of mental development which
is very marked. It is now a subject of general observation that young
women, at this day, are decidedly inferior in mental power to those
of an earlier period, notwithstanding their increased advantages. For
the mind, crowded with undigested matter, is debilitated the same as
is the body by over-feeding,

Recent scientific investigations give the philosophy of these results.
For example, Professor Houghton, of Trinity College, Dublin, gives as
one item of protracted experiments in animal chemistry, that two hours
of severe study abstracts as much vital strength as is demanded by a
whole day of manual labor. The reports of the Massachusetts Board of
Education add other facts that, in this connection, should be deeply
pondered. For example, in one public school of eighty-five pupils only
fifty-four had refreshing sleep; fifty-nine had headaches or constant
weariness, and only fifteen were perfectly well. In this school it was
found, and similar facts are common in all our public and high schools,
that, in addition to six school-hours, thirty-one studied three hours
and a half; thirty-five, four hours; and twelve, from four to seven
hours. And yet the most learned medical men maintain that the time
devoted to brain labor, daily, should not exceed six hours for healthy
men, and three hours for growing children.

Alarmed at the dangerous tendencies of female education, I made another
appeal to my sex, which resulted in the organization of the American
Woman's Education Association, the object being to establish
_endowed_ professional schools, in connection with literary
institutions, in which woman's profession should be honored and taught
as are the professions of men, and where woman should be trained for
some self-supporting business. From this effort several institutions
of a high literary character have come into existence at the West, but
the organization and endowment of the professional schools is yet
incomplete from many combining impediments, the chief being a want of
appreciation of woman's profession, and of the _science_ and _training_
which its high and sacred duties require. But the reports of the
Association will show that never before were such superior intellectual
advantages secured to a new country by so economical an outlay.

Let us now look at the dangers which are impending. And first, in
regard to the welfare of the family state, the decay of the female
constitution and health has involved such terrific sufferings, in
addition to former cares and pains of maternity, that multitudes of
both sexes so dread the risks of marriage as either to avoid it, or
meet them by methods _always_ injurious and often criminal. Not
only so, multitudes of intelligent and conscientious persons, in private
and by the press, unaware of the penalties of violating nature, openly
impugn the inspired declaration, "Children are a heritage of the Lord."

Add to these, other influences that are robbing home of its safe and
peaceful enjoyments. Of such, the condition of domestic service is not
the least. We abound in domestic helpers from foreign shores, but they
are to a large extent thriftless, ignorant, and unscrupulous, while
as thriftless and inexperienced housekeepers, from boarding-school
life, have no ability to train or to control. Hence come antagonism
and ceaseless "worries" in the parlor, nursery, and kitchen, while the
husband is wearied with endless complaints of breakage, waste of fuel
and food, neglect, dishonesty, and deception, and home is any thing
but a harbor of comfort and peace. Thus come clubs to draw men from
comfortless homes, and, next, clubs for the deserted women.

Meantime, domestic service--disgraced, on one side, by the stigma of
our late slavery, and, on the other, by the influx into our kitchens
of the uncleanly and ignorant--is shunned by the self-respecting and
well educated, many of whom prefer either a miserable pittance or the
career of vice to this fancied degradation. Thus comes the overcrowding
in all avenues for woman's work, and the consequent lowering of wages
to starvation prices for long protracted toils.

From this come diseases to the operatives, bequeathed often to their
offspring. Factory girls must stand ten hours or more, and consequently
in a few years debility and disease ensue, so that they never can rear
healthy children, while the foreigners who supplant them in kitchen
labor are almost the only strong and healthy women to rear large
families. The sewing-machine, hailed as a blessing, has proved a curse
to the poor; for it takes away profits from needlewomen, while employers
testify that women who use this machine for steady work, in two years
or less become hopelessly diseased and can rear no children. Thus it
is that the controlling political majority of New-England is passing
from the educated to the children of ignorant foreigners.

Add to these disastrous influences, the teachings of "free love;" the
baneful influence of spiritualism, so called; the fascinations of the
_demi-monde_; the poverty of thousands of women who, but for
desperate temptations, would be pure--all these malign influences are
sapping the foundations of the family state. Meantime, many intelligent
and benevolent persons imagine that the grand remedy for the heavy
evils that oppress our sex is to introduce woman to political power
and office, to make her a party in primary political meetings, in
political caucuses, and in the scramble and fight for political offices;
thus bringing into this dangerous _melee_ the distinctive tempting
power of her sex. Who can look at this new danger without dismay?
But it is neither generous nor wise to join in the calumny and ridicule
that are directed toward philanthropic and conscientious laborers for
the good of our sex, because we fear their methods are not safe. It
would be far wiser to show by example a better way.

Let us suppose that our friends have gained the ballot and the powers
of office: are there any real beneficent measures for our sex, which
they would enforce by law and penalties, that fathers, brothers, and
husbands would not grant to a united petition of our sex, or even to
a majority of the wise and good? Would these not confer what the wives,
mothers, and sisters deemed best for themselves and the children they
are to train, very much sooner than they would give power and office
to our sex to enforce these advantages by law? Would it not be a wiser
thing to _ask_ for what we need, before trying so circuitous and
dangerous a method? God has given to man the physical power, so that
all that woman may gain, either by petitions or by ballot, will be the
gift of love or of duty; and the ballot never will be accorded till
benevolent and conscientious men are the majority--a millennial point
far beyond our present ken.

The American Woman's Education Association aims at a plan which its
members believe, in its full development, will more effectually remedy
the "wrongs of woman" than any other urged on public notice. Its general
aim has been stated; its details will appear at another time and place.
Its managers include ladies of high character and position from six
religious denominations, and also some of the most reliable business
men of New York. Any person who is desirous to aid by contributions
to this object can learn more of the details of the plan by addressing
me at No. 69 West Thirty-eighth Street. But it is needful to state
that letters from those who seek aid or employment of any sort can not
be answered at present, nor for some months to come.

Every woman who wishes to aid in this effort for the safety and
elevation of our sex can do so by promoting the sale of this work, and
its introduction as a text-book into schools. An edition for the use
of schools will be in readiness next fall, which will contain school
exercises, and questions that will promote thought and discussion in
classrooms, in reference to various topics included in the science of
Domestic Economy. And it is hoped that a previous large sale of the
present volume will prepare the public mind to favor the introduction
of this branch of study into both public and private schools. Ladies
who write for the press, and all those who have influence with editors,
can aid by directing general attention to this effort.

All the profits of the authors derived from the edition of this volume
prepared for schools, will be paid into the Treasury of the A. W.E.
Association, and the amount will be stated in the annual reports.

The complementary volume of this work will follow in a few months, and
will consist, to a great extent, of _receipts and directions_ in
all branches of domestic economy, especially in the department of
_healthful and economical cooking_. The most valuable receipts
in my _Domestic Receipt Book_, heretofore published by the Harpers,
will be retained, and a very large number added of new ones, which are
healthful, economical, and in many cases ornamental. One special aim
will be to point out modes of _economizing labor_ in preparing food.

Many directions will be given that will save from purchasing poisonous
milk, meats, beers, and other medicated drinks. Directions for detecting
poisonous ingredients in articles for preserving the hair, and in
cosmetics for the complexion, which now are ruining health, eyesight,
and comfort all over the nation, will also be given.

Particular attention will be given to modes of preparing and preserving
clothing, at once economical, healthful, and in good taste.

A large portion of the book will be devoted to instruction, in the
various ways in which women may _earn an independent livelihood_,
especially in employments that can be pursued in sunlight and the open
air.

Should any who read this work wish for more minute directions in regard
to ventilation of a house already built, or one projected, they can
obtain his aid by addressing Lewis Leeds, No. 110 Broadway, New York
City. His associate, Mr. Herman Kreitler, who prepared the architectural
plans in this work relating to Mr. Leeds's system, can be addressed
at the same place.

CATHARINE E. BEECHER.

NEW YORK, June 1, 1869.





APPENDIX.

GLOSSARY OF SUCH WORDS AND PHRASES AS MAY NOT EASILY BE UNDERSTOOD BY
THE YOUNG READER

[Many words not contained in this GLOSSARY will be found explained in
the body of the work, in the places where they first occur.]


_Action brought by the Commonwealth:_ A prosecution conducted in the
name of the public, or by the authority of the State.

_Albumen:_ Nourishing matter stored up between the undeveloped germ and
its protecting wrappings in the seed of many plants. It is the flowery
part of grain, the oily part of poppy seeds, the fleshy part in cocoa-
nuts, etc.

_Alcoholic:_ Made of or containing alcohol, an inflammable liquid which
is the basis of ardent spirits.

_Alkali,_ (plural, _alkalies:_) A chemical substance, which has the
property of combining with and neutralizing the properties of acids,
producing salts by the combination. Alkalies change most of the
vegetable blues and purples to green, red to purple, and yellow to
brown. _Caustic alkali:_ An alkali deprived of all impurities,
being thereby rendered more caustic and violent in its operation. This
term is usually applied to pure potash. _Fixed alkali:_ An alkali
that emits no characteristic smell, and can not be volatilized or
evaporated without great difficulty. Potash and soda are called the
fixed alkalies. Soda is also called a _fossil_ or _mineral alkali,_ and
potash the _vegetable alkali. Volatile alkali:_ An elastic, transparent,
colorless, and consequently an invisible gas, known by the name of
ammonia or ammoniacal gas. The odor of spirits of hartshorn is caused by
this gas.

_Anglo-American:_ English-American, relating to Americans descended
from English ancestors.

_Anther:_ That part of the stamen of a flower which contains the pollen
or farina, a sort of mealy powder or dust, which is necessary to the
production of the flower.

_Anthracite:_ One of the must valuable kinds of mineral coal, containing
no bitumen. It is very abundant in the United States.

_Aperient:_ Opening.

_Archaology:_ A discourse or treatise on antiquities.

_Arrow-root_: A white powder, obtained from the fecula or starch, of
several species of tuberous plants in the East and West Indies, Bermuda,
and other places. That from Bermuda is most highly esteemed. It is used
as an article for the table, in the form of puddings, and also as a
highly nutritive, easily digested, and agreeable food for invalids. It
derives its name from having been originally used by the Indians as a
remedy for the poison of their arrows, by mashing and applying it to the
wound.

_Articulating process_: The protuberance or projecting part of a bone,
by which it is so joined to another bone as to enable the two to move
upon each other.

_Asceticism_: The state of an ascetic or hermit, who flies from
society and lives in retirement, or who practices a greater degree of
mortification and austerity than others do, or who inflicts
extraordinary severities upon himself.

_Astral lamp_: A lamp, the principle of which was invented by
Benjamin Thompson, (a native of Massachusetts, and afterward Count
Rumford,) in which the oil is contained in a large horizontal ring,
having at the centre a burner which communicates with the ring by
tubes. The ring is placed a little below the level of the flame, and
from its large surface affords a supply of oil for many hours.

_Astute_: Shrewd.

_Auricles_: (From a Latin word, signifying the ear,) the name given to
two appendages of the heart, from their fancied resemblance to the ear.

_Baglivi, (George)_: An eminent physician, who was born at Ragusa,
in 1668, and was educated at Naples and Paris. Pope Clement XIV., on
the ground of his great merit, appointed him, while a very young man,
Professor of Anatomy and Surgery in the College of Sapienza, at Rome.
He wrote several works, and did much to promote the cause of medical
science. He died A.D. 1706.

_Bass_, or bass-wood: A large forest-tree of America, sometimes called
the lime-tree. The wood is white and soft, and the bark is sometimes
used for bandages.

_Bell, Sir Charles_: A celebrated surgeon, who was born in Edinburgh, in
the year 1778. He commenced his career in London, in 1806, as a lecturer
on Anatomy and Surgery. In 1830, he received the honors of knighthood,
and in 1836 was appointed Professor of Surgery in the College of
Edinburgh. He died near Worcester, in England, April 29th, 1842. His
writings are very numerous and have been, much celebrated. Among the
most important of these, to general readers, are his _Illustrations of
Paley's Natural Theology_, and his treatise on _The Hand, its Mechanism
and Vital Endowments, as evincing Design_.

_Bergamot_: A fruit which was originally produced by ingrafting a branch
of a citron or lemon-tree upon the stock of a peculiar kind of pear,
called the bergamot pear.

_Biased_: Cut diagonally from one corner to another of a square or
rectangular piece of cloth.

_Bias pieces_: Triangular pieces cut as above mentioned.

_Bituminous_: Containing _bitumen_, which is an inflammable mineral
substance, resembling tar or pitch in its properties and uses. Among
different bituminous substances, the names _naphtha_ and _petrolium_
have been given to those which are fluid, _maltha_, to that which has
the consistence of pitch, and _asphaltum_ to that which is solid.

_Blight_: A disease in plants by which they are blasted, or prevented
from producing fruit.

_Blonde lace_: Lace made of silk.

_Blood heat_: The temperature which the blood is always found to
maintain, or ninety-eight degrees of Fahrenheit's thermometer.

_Blue vitriol_: Sulphate of copper.

_Blunts_: Needles of a short and thick shape, distinguished from
_Sharps_, which are long and slender.

_Booking_: A kind of thin carpeting or coarse baize.

_Botany_: (From a Greek word signifying an herb,) a knowledge of
plants; the science which treats of plants.

_Brazil wood_: The central part or heart of a large tree which
grows in Brazil, called the _Caesalpinia echinata_. It produces
very lively and beautiful red tints, but they are not permanent.

_Bronze_: A metallic composition, consisting of copper and tin.

_Brulure_: A French term, denoting a burning or scalding; a blasting of
plants.

_Brussels_, (carpet:) A kind of carpeting, so called from the city of
Brussels, in Europe. Its basis is composed of a warp and woof of strong
linen threads, with the warp of which are intermixed about five times
the quantity of woolen threads of different colors.

_Bulb_: A root with a round body, like the onion, turnip, or hyacinth.

_Bulbous_: Having a bulb.

_Byron, (George Gordon,) Lord_: A celebrated poet, who was born in
London, January 23d, 1788, and died in Missolonghi, in Greece, April
18th, 1824.

_Calisthenics_: From two Greek words--_kalos_, beauty, and _sthenos_,
strength, being the union of both.

_Camwood_: A dyewood, procured from a leguminous (or pod-bearing)
tree, growing on the western coast of Africa, and called _Baphianitida_.

 _Canker-worm_: A worm which is very destructive to trees and plants.
It springs from an egg deposited by a miller that issues from the
ground, and in some years destroys the leaves and fruit of apple and
other trees.

_Capillary_: A minute, hair-like tube.

_Carbon_: A simple, inflammable body, forming the principal part
of wood and coal, and the whole of the diamond.

_Carbonic acid:_ A compound gas, consisting of one part of carbon
and two parts of oxygen; fatal to animal life. It has lately been
obtained in a solid form.

_Carbonic Oxide:_ A compound, consisting of one part of carbon and one
part of oxygen; it is fatal to animal life. Burns with a pale, blue
flame, forming carbonic acid.

_Carmine:_ A crimson color, the most beautiful of all the reds. It is
prepared from a decoction of the powdered cochineal insect, to which
alum and other substances are added.

_Caseine:_ One of the great forms of blood-making matter; the
cheesy or curd-part of milk; found in both animal and vegetable
kingdoms.

_Caster:_ A small vial or vessel for the table, in which to put
vinegar, mustard, pepper, etc. Also, a small wheel on a swivel-joint,
on which furniture may be turned in any direction.

_Chancellor of the Exchequer: In England, the highest judge of the
law; the principal financial minister of a government, and the one who
manages its revenue.

_Chateau:_ A castle, a mansion.

_Chemistry:_ The science which treats of the elementary constituents of
bodies.

_Chinese belle,_ deformities of: In China, it is the fashion to compress
the feet of female infants, to prevent their growth; in consequence of
which, the feet of all the females of China are distorted, and so small
that the individuals can not walk with ease.

_Chloride:_ A compound of chlorine and some other substance.

_Chlorine_ is a simple substance, formerly called oxymuriatic acid. In
its pure state, it is a gas of green color, (hence its name, from a
Greek word signifying green.) Like oxygen, it supports the combustion of
some inflammable substances. _Chloride of lime_ in a compound of
chlorine and lime.

_Cholera infantum:_ A bowel-complaint to which infants are subject.

_Chyle:_ A white juice formed from the chyme, and consisting of the
finer and more nutritious parts of the food. It is afterward converted
into blood.

_Chyme:_ The result of the first process which food undergoes in the
stomach previously to its being converted into chyle.

_Cicuta:_ The common American hemlock, an annual plant of four or five
feet in height, and found commonly along walls and fences and about old
ruins and buildings. It is a virulent poison as well as one of the most
important and valuable medicinal vegetables. It is a very different
plant from the hemlock-tree or _Pinus Canadiensis_.

_Clarke, (Sir Charles Mansfield,) Dr.:_ A distinguished English
physician and surgeon, who was born, in London, May 28th, 1783. Ha was
appointed physician to Queen Adelaide, wife of King William IV., in
1830, and in 1831 he was created a baronet. He was the author of several
valuable medical works.

_Cobalt:_ A brittle metal, of a reddish-gray color and weak
metallic lustre, used in coloring glass. It is not easily melted nor
oxidized in the air.

_Cochineal:_ A color procured from the cochineal insect, (or
_Coccus cacti,_) which feeds upon the leaves of several species
of the plant called cactus, and which is supposed to derive its coloring
matter from its food. Its natural color is crimson; but, by the addition
of a preparation of potash, it yields a rich scarlet dye.

_Cologne-water:_ A fragrant perfume, which derives its name from
having been originally made in the city of Cologne, which is situated
on the river Rhine, in Germany. The best kind is still procured from
that city.

_Comparative anatomy:_ The science which has for its object a comparison
of the anatomy, structure, and functions of the various organs of
animals, plants, etc., with those of the human body.

_Confection:_ A sweetmeat; a preparation of fruit with sugar; also a
preparation of medicine with honey, syrup, or similar saccharine
substance, for the purpose of disguising the unpleasant taste of the
medicine.

_Cooper, Sir Astley Paston:_ A celebrated English surgeon, who was born
at Brooke, in Norfolk county, England, August 23d, 1768, and commenced
the practice of surgery in London, in 1792. He was appointed surgeon to
King George IV. in 1827, was created a baronet in 1831, and died
February 12th, 1841. He was the author of many valuable works.

_Copal:_ A hard, shining, transparent resin, of a light citron color,
brought originally from Spanish-America, and now almost wholly from the
East-Indies. It is principally employed in the preparation of _copal
varnish._

_Copper, Sulphate of:_ See _Sulphate of copper.

_Copperas:_ (Sulphate of iron or green vitriol,) a bright green
mineral substance, formed by the decomposition of a peculiar ore of
iron called pyrites, which is a sulphuret of iron. It is first in the
form of a greenish-white powder or crust, which is dissolved in water,
and beautiful green crystals of copperas are obtained by evaporation.
It is principally used in dyeing and in making black ink. Its solution,
mixed with a decoction of oak bark, produces a black color.

_Coronary:_ Relating to a crown or garland. In anatomy, it is
applied to arteries which encompass the heart, in the manner, as it
is fancied, of a garland.

_Corrosive sublimate:_ A poisonous substance composed of chlorine
and quicksilver.

_Cosmetics:_ Preparations which, some people foolishly think will
preserve and beautify the skin.

_Cream of tartar_: See _Tartar_.

_Curculio_: A weevil or worm, which affects the fruit of the
plum-tree and sometimes that of the apple-tree, causing the unripe
fruit to fall to the ground.

_Cuvier, Baron_: The moat eminent naturalist of the present age;
was born A. D. 1769, and died A.D. 1832. He was Professor of Natural
History in the College of France, and held various important posts
under the French government at different times. His works on Natural
History are of the greatest value.

_Cynosure_: The constellation of the Lesser Bear, containing the star
near the North Pole, by which sailors steer. It is used, in a figurative
sense, as synonymous with _pole-star_ or _guide_, or anything to which
the eyes of many are directed.

_De Tocqueville_: See _Tocqueville_.

_Diamond cement_: A cement sold in the shops, and used for mending
broken glass and similar articles.

_Drab_: A thick woolen cloth, of a light brown or dun color. The
name is sometimes used for the color itself.

_Dredging-box_: A box with holes in the top, used to sift or scatter
flour on meat when roasting.

_Drill_: (In husbandry,) to sow grain in rows, drills, or channels;
the row of grain so sowed.

_Duchess of Orleans_: See _Orleans_.

The _East_, and the _Eastern States_: Those of the United States
situated in the north-east part of the country, including Maine,
New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Connecticut, and Vermont.

_Elevation_, (of a house:) A plan representing the upright view
of a house, as a ground-plan shows its appearance on the ground.

_Euclid_: A celebrated mathematician, who was born in Alexandria,
in Egypt, about two hundred and eighty years before Christ. He
distinguished himself by his writings on music and geometry. The most
celebrated of his works is his _Elements of Geometry_, which is in use
at the present day. He established a school at Alexandria, which became
so famous that, from his time to the conquest of Alexandria by the
Saracens, (A.D. 646,) no mathematician was found who had not studied
at Alexandria. Ptolemy, King of Egypt, was one of his pupils; and it
was to a question of this king, whether there was not a shorter way
of coming at geometry than by the study of his _Elements_, that Euclid
made the celebrated answer, "There is no royal path to geometry."

_Equator_ or _equinoctial line_: An imaginary line passing round the
earth, from east to west and directly under the sun, which always shines
nearly perpendicularly down upon all countries situated near the
equator.

_Evolve_: To throw off, to discharge.

_Exchequer:_ A court in England in which the Chancellor presides, and
where the revenues of and the debts due to the king, are recovered.
This court was originally established by King William, (called "the
Conqueror,") who died A.D. 1087; and its name is derived from a
checkered cloth (French _echiquier_, a chess-hoard, checker-work)
on the table.

_Excretion:_ Something discharged from the body, a separation of animal
matters. _Excrementitious:_ Consisting of matter excreted from the body;
containing excrements.

_Fahrenheit, (Gabriel Daniel:)_ A celebrated natural philosopher,
who was born at Dantzig, A.D. 1686. He made great improvements in the
thermometer, and his name is sometimes used for that instrument.

_Farinaceous:_ Mealy, tasting like meal.

_Fell:_ To turn down on the wrong side the raw edges of a seam after it
has been stitched, run, or sewed, and then to hem or sew it to the
cloth.

_Festivals_ of the Jews, the three great annual: These were, the
Feast of the Passover, that of Pentecost, and that of Tabernacles; on
occasion of which, all the males of the nation were required to visit
the temple at Jerusalem, in whatever part of the country they might
reside. See Exodus 28:14, 17; 34:23; Leviticus 33: 4; Deuteronomy
16:16. The Passover was kept in commemoration of the deliverance of
the Israelites from Egypt, and was so named because the night before
their departure the destroying angel, who slew all the first-born of
the Egyptians, _passed over_ the houses of the Israelites without
entering them. See Exodus 12. The Feast of Pentecost was so called
from a word meaning _the fiftieth_, because it was celebrated on
the fiftieth day after the Passover, and was instituted in commemoration
of the giving of the Law from Mount Sinai on the fiftieth day from the
departure out of Egypt. It is also called the Feast of Weeks, because
it was kept seven weeks after the Passover. See Exodus 34:32; Leviticus
23: 15-21; Deuteronomy 16: 9, 10. The Feast of Tabernacles, or Feast
of Tents, was so called because it was celebrated under tents or
tabernacles of green boughs, and was designed to commemorate their
dwelling in tents during their passage through the wilderness. At this
feast they also returned thanks, to God for the fruits of the earth
after they had been gathered. See Exodus 23: 16; Leviticus 33: 34-44;
Deuteronomy 16:13; and also St. John 7: 2.

_Fire-blight:_ A disease in the pear and some other fruit-trees,
in which they appear burnt as if by fire. It is supposed, by some to
be caused by an insect, others suppose it to be caused by-an
over-abundance of sap.

_Fluting-iron:_ An instrument for making flutes, channels, furrows,
or hollows in ruffles, etc.

_Foundation muslin_: A nice kind of buckram, stiff and white, used for
the foundation or basis of bonnets, etc.

_Free States_: A phrase formerly used to distinguish those States in
which slavery was not allowed, as distinguished from Slave States, in
which slavery did exist.

_French chalk_: A variety of the mineral called talc, unctuous to the
touch, of greenish color, glossy, soft, and easily scratched, and
leaving a silvery line when drawn on paper. It is used for marking
on cloth, and extracting grease-spots.

_Fuller's earth_: A species of clay remarkable for its property of
absorbing oil, for which reason it is valuable for extracting grease
from cloth, etc. It is used by fullers in scouring and cleansing
cloth, whence its name.

_Fustic_: The wood of a tree which grows in the West-Indies called
_Morus tinctoria_. It affords a durable but not very brilliant
yellow dye, and is also used in producing some greens and drab colors.

_Gastric_: (From the Greek [Transliterated: gasths], _gaster_, the
belly,) belonging or relating to the belly, or stomach. _Gastric
juice_: The fluid which dissolves the food in the stomach. It is
limpid, like water, of a saltish taste, and without odor.
_Geology_: The science which treats of the formation of the earth.

_Gluten_: The glue-like, sticky, tenacious substance which gives
adhesiveness to dough. The principle of gelly, (now generally written
_jelly_.)

_Gore_: A triangular piece of cloth.

_Goring_: Cut in a triangular shape.

_Gothic_: A peculiar and strongly-marked style of architecture,
sometimes called the ecclesiastical style, because it is most frequently
used in cathedrals, churches, abbeys, and other religious edifices. Its
principle seems to have originated in the imitation of groves and
bowers, under which the ancients performed their sacred rites; its
clustered pillars and pointed arches very well representing the trunks
of trees and their in-locking branches.

_Gourmand_ or _Gormand_: A glutton, a greedy eater. In agriculture, it
is applied to twigs which take up the sap but bear only leaves.

_Green vitriol_: See _Copperas_.

_Griddle_: An iron pan, of a peculiarly broad and shallow construction,
used for baking cakes.

_Ground-plan_: The map or plan of the floor of any building, in which
the various apartments, windows, doors, fire-places, and other things
are represented, like the rivers, towns, mountains, roads, etc., on a
map.

_Gum Arabic_: A vegetable juice which exudes through the bark of
the _Acacia, Mimosa nilotica_, and some other similar trees growing
in Arabia, Egypt, Senegal, and Central Africa. It is the purest of all
gums.

_Hardpan_: The hard, unbroken layer of earth below the mould or
cultivated soil.

_Hartshorn_, (spirits of:) A volatile alkali, originally prepared
from the horns of the stag or hart, but now procured from various other
substances. It is known by the name of ammonia or spirits of ammonia.

_Hemlock_: see _Cicuta.

_Horticulturist:_ One skilled in horticulture, or the art of cultivating
gardens: horticulture being to the garden what agriculture is to the
farm, the application of labor and science to a limited spot, for
convenience, for profit, or for ornament--though implying a higher
state of cultivation than is common in agriculture. It includes the
cultivation of culinary vegetables and of fruits, and forcing or exotic
gardening as far as respects useful products.

_Hydrogen_: A very light, inflammable gas, of which water is in part
composed. It is used to inflate balloons.

_Hypochondriasis_: Melancholy, dejection, a disorder of the imagination,
in which the person supposes he is afflicted with various diseases.

_Hysteria or hysterics_: A spasmodic, convulsive affection of the
nerves, to which women are subject. It is somewhat similar to
hypochondriasis in men.

_Ingrain_: A kind of carpeting, in which the threads are dyed in
the grain or raw material before manufacture.

_Ipecac_: (An abbreviation of _ipecacuanha_) an Indian medicinal plant,
acting as an emetic.

_Isinglass_: A fine kind of gelatin or glue, prepared from the
swimming-bladders of fishes, used as a cement, and also as an ingredient
in food and medicine. The name is sometimes applied to a transparent
mineral substance called mica.

_Jams_: A side-piece or post.

_Kamtschadales_: Inhabitants of _Kamtschatka_, a large peninsula
situated on the north-eastern coast of Asia, having the North Pacific
Ocean on the east. It is remarkable for its extreme cold, which
is heightened by a range of very lofty mountains extending the whole
length of the peninsula, several of which are volcanic. It is very
deficient in vegetable productions, but produces a great variety of
animals, from which the richest and most valuable furs are procured.
The inhabitants are in general below the common height, but have broad
shoulders and large heads. It is under the dominion of Russia.

_Kerosene_: Refined Petroleum, which see.

_Kink_: A knotty twist in a thread or rope.

_Lambrequin_: Originally a kind of pendent scarf or covering attached to
a helmet to protect and adorn it. Hence, a pendent ornamental curtain
over a window.

_Lapland_: A country at the extreme north part of Europe, where it is
very cold. It contains lofty mountains, some of which are covered with
perpetual snow and ice.

_Latin:_ The language of the Latins or inhabitants of Latium, the
principal country of ancient Italy. After the building of Rome, that
city became the capital of the whole country.

_Leguminous:_ Pod-bearing.

_Lent:_ A fast of the Christian Church, (lasting forty days, from
Ash-Wednesday to Easter,) in commemoration of our Saviour's miraculous
fast of forty days and forty nights in the wilderness. The word Lent
means spring, this fast always occurring at that season of the year.

_Levite:_ One of the tribe of Levi, the son of Jacob, which tribe
was set apart from the others to minister in the services of the
Tabernacle, and the Temple at Jerusalem. The priests were taken from
this tribe. See Numbers 1: 47-53.

_Ley:_ Water which has percolated through ashes, earth, or other
substances, dissolving and imbibing a part of their contents. It is
generally spelled _lye_.

_Linnaeus, (Charles:)_ A native of Sweden, and the most celebrated
naturalist of his age. He was born May 13th, 1707, and died January
11th, 1778. His life was devoted to the study of natural history. The
science of botany, in particular, is greatly indebted to his labors.
His _Amaenitates Academicae_ (Academical Recreations) is a collection of
the dissertations of his pupils, edited by himself, a work rich in
matters relating to the history and habits of plants. He was the first
who arranged Natural History into a regular system, which has been
generally called by his name. His proper name was Linne.

_Lobe:_ A division, a distinct part; generally applied to the two
divisions of the lungs.

_Loire:_ The largest river of France, being about five hundred and fifty
miles in. length. It rises in the mountains of Cevennes, and empties
into the Atlantic Ocean about forty miles below the city of Nantes. It
divides France into two almost equal parts.

_London Medical Society:_ A distinguished association, formed in 1773.
It has published some valuable volumes of its transactions. It has a
library of about 40,000 volumes, which is kept in a house presented to
the Society, in 1788, by the celebrated Dr. Lettsom, who was one of its
first members.

_Louis XIV.:_ A celebrated King of France and Navarre, who was born
September 5th, 1638, and died September 1st, 1715. His mother having
before had no children, though she had been married twenty-two years,
his birth was considered as a particular favor from heaven, and he was
called the "Gift of God." He is sometimes styled "Louis the Great," is
notorious as a period of licentiousness. He left behind him monuments of
unprecedented splendor and expense, consisting of palaces, gardens, and
other like works.

_Lumbar:_(From the Latin lumbus, the loin,) relating or pertaining to
the loins.

_Lunacy, writ of:_ A judicial proceeding to ascertain whether a person
be a lunatic.

_Mademoiselle:_ The French word for miss, a young girl.

_Magnesia:_ A light and white alkaline earth, which enters into the
composition of many rocks, communicating to them a greasy or soapy
feeling and a striped texture, with sometimes a greenish color.

_Malaria:_ (Italian, _mal/aria, bad air_,) a noxious vapor or
exhalation; a state of the atmosphere or soil, or both, which, in
certain regions and in warm weather, produces fever, sometimes of great
violence.

_Mammon:_ Riches, the Syrian god of riches. See Luke 16:11-13; St.
Matthew 6:24. _Mexico:_ A country situated south-west of the United
States and extending to the Pacific Ocean.

_Miasms:_ Such particles or atoms as are supposed to arise from
distempered, putrefying, or poisonous bodies.

_Michilimackinac_ or _Mackinac:_ (Now frequently corrupted into
_Mackinaw_, which is the usual pronunciation of the name,) a military
post in the State of Michigan, situated upon an island, about nine miles
in circuit, in the strait which connects Lakes Michigan and Huron. It is
much resorted to by Indians and fur-traders. The highest summit of the
island is about three hundred feet above the lakes and commands an
extensive view of them.

_Midsummer:_ With us, the time when the sun arrives at his greatest
distance from the equator, or about the twenty-first of June, called,
also the summer solstice, (from the Latin _sol, the sun_ and _sto, to
stop_ or _stand still_,) because when the sun reaches this point he
seems to stand still for some time, and then appears to retrace his
steps. The days are then longer than at any other time.

_Migrate:_ To remove from one place to another; to change residence.

_Mildew:_ A disease of plants; a mould, spot, or stain in paper, cloths,
etc., caused by moisture.

_Militate:_ To oppose, to operate against.

_Millinet:_ A coarse kind of stiff muslin, formerly used for the
foundation or basis of bonnets, etc.

_Mineralogy:_ A science which treats of the inorganic natural substances
found upon or in the earth, such as earths, salts, metals, etc., and
which are called by the general name of minerals.

_Minutiae:_ The smallest particulars.

_Monasticism:_ Monastic life; religiously recluse life in a monastery or
house of religious retirement.

_Montagu, Lady Mary Wortley:_ One of the most celebrated among the
female literary characters of England. She was daughter of Evelyn,
Duke of Kingston, and was born about 1690, at Thoresby, in England She
displayed uncommon abilities at a very early age, and was educated by
the best masters in the English, Latin, Greek, and French languages.
She accompanied her husband (Edward Wortley Montagu) on an embassy to
Constantinople, and her correspondence with her friends was published
and much admired. She introduced the practice of inoculation for the
small-pox into England, which proved of great benefit to millions. She
died at the age of seventy-two, A.D. 1762.

_Moral Philosophy:_ The science which treats of the motives and rules of
human actions, and of the ends to which they ought to be directed.

_Moreen: A kind of woolen stuff used for curtains, covers of cushions,
bed hangings, etc.

_Mortise: A cavity cut into a piece of timber to receive the end of
another piece called the _Tenon_.

_Mucous:_ Having the nature of _mucus, a glutinous, sticky, thready,
transparent fluid, of a salt savor, produced by different membranes of
the body, and serving to protect the membranes and other internal parts
against the action of the air, food, etc. The fluid of the mouth and
nose is mucus.

_Mucous membrane: That membrane which lines the mouth, nose, intestines,
and other open cavities of the body.

_Muriatic acid: An acid composed of chlorine and hydrogen, called also,
hydrochloric acid and spirit of salt.

_Mush-stick:_ A stick to use in stirring _mush, which is corn-meal
boiled in water.

_Nankeen_ or _Nankin:_ A light cotton cloth, originally brought from
Nankin, in China, whence its name.

_Nash, (Richard:)_ Commonly called _Beau Nash, or King of Bath, a
celebrated leader of the fashions in England. He was born at Swansea,
in South-Wales, October 8th, 1674, and died in the city of Bath,
(England,) February 3d, 1761.

_Natural History:_ The history of animals, plants, and minerals.

_Natural Philosophy:_ The science which treats of the powers of nature,
the properties of natural bodies, and their action one upon another. It
is sometimes called _physics_.

_New-milch cow:_ A cow which has recently calved.

_Newton, (Sir Isaac:)_ An eminent English philosopher and mathematician,
who was born on Christmas day, 1642, and died March. 20th, 1727. He was
much distinguished for his very important discoveries in Optics and
other branches of Natural Philosophy. See the first volume of _Pursuit
of Knowledge under Difficulties_, forming the fourteenth volume of _The
School Library_, larger series.

_Night-Soil:_ Human excrement, so-called because usually removed from
privies by night.

_Non-bearers:_ Plants which bear no flowers nor fruit.

_Northern States_: Those of the United States situated in the northern
and eastern part of the country.

_Ordinary_: See _Physician in ordinary_.

_Oil of Vitriol_: (sulphuric acid, or vitriolic acid,) an acid composed
of oxygen and sulphur.

_Oino-mania_: A disease of the brain produced by excessive use of
alcoholic stimulants; derived from two Greek words, _oinos_, wine, and
_mania_, madness. The same disease sometimes arises from overuse of
tobacco and other stimulants of the nerves.

_Orleans, (Elizabeth Charlotte de Baviere) Duchess of_: Second wife of
Philippe, the brother of Louis XIV., was born at Heidelberg, May 26th,
1652, and died at the palace of St. Cloud, in Paris, December 8th, 1722.
She was author of several works; among which were _Memoirs and Anecdotes
of the Court of Louis XIV._

_Ottoman_: A kind of hassock or thick mat for kneeling upon; so-called
from being used by the Ottomans or Turks.

_Oxalic acid_: a vegetable acid, which exists in sorrel.

_Oxide_: A compound of a substance with oxygen, though not enough
oxygen to produce an acid; for example, oxide of iron, or rust of
metals.

_Oxidize_: To combine oxygen with a body without producing acidity.

_Oxygen_: The vital element of air, a simple and very important
substance which exists in the atmosphere and supports the breathing
of animals and the burning of combustibles. It was called oxygen from
two Greek words, signifying to produce acid, from its power of giving
acidity to many compounds in which it predominates.

_Oxygenized_: Combined with oxygen.

_Pancreas_: A gland within the abdomen just below and behind the
stomach, and providing a fluid to assist digestion. In animals, it is
called the sweet-bread.

_Pancreatic_: Belonging to the pancreas.

_Parterre_: A level division of ground, a flower-garden.

_Pearlash_: The common name for impure carbonate of potash, which in a
purer form is called _Saleratus_.

_Peristaltic_: Contracting in successive circles; worm-like.

_Petroleum_: Rock oil, an inflammable, bituminous liquid exuding from
rocks or from the earth in the neighborhood of the carboniferous or
coal-bearing formation.

_Phosphorous_: One of the elementary substances.

_Physician in Ordinary to the Queen_: The physician who attends the
Queen in ordinary cases of illness.

_Pitt, William_: A celebrated English statesman, son of the Earl
of Chatham. He was born May 28th, 1759, and at the age of twenty-three
was made Chancellor of the Exchequer, and soon afterward Prime Minister.
He died January 23d, 1806.

_Political Economy_: The science which treats of the general
causes affecting the production, distribution, and consumption of
articles of exchangeable value, in reference to their effects upon
national wealth and welfare.

_Pollen_: The fertilizing dust of flowers, produced by the stamens and
falling upon the pistils in order to render a flower capable of
producing fruit or seed.

_Potter's clay_: The clay used in making articles of pottery.

_Prairie_: A French word, signifying meadow. In the United States,
it is applied to the remarkable natural meadows or plains which are
found in the Western States. In some of these vast and nearly level
plains, the traveler may wander for days without meeting with wood or
water, and see no object rising above the plane of the horizon. They
are very fertile.

_Prime Minister_: The person appointed by the ruler of a nation
to have the chief direction and management of the public affairs.

_Process_: A protuberance or projecting part of a bone.

_Pulmonary_: Belonging to or affecting the lungs.

_Pulmonary artery_: An artery which passes through the lungs, being
divided into several branches, which form a beautiful network over the
air-vessels, and finally empty themselves into the left auricle of the
heart.

_Puritans_: A sect which professed to follow the pure word of God
in opposition to traditions, human constitutions, and other authorities.
In the reign, of Queen Elizabeth, part of the Protestants were desirous
of introducing a simpler, and, as they considered it, a _purer_ form of
church government and worship than that established by law, from which
circumstance they were called _Puritans_. In process of time, this party
increased in numbers and openly broke off from the church, laying aside
the English liturgy, and adopting a service-book published at Geneva by
the disciples of Calvin. They were treated with great rigor by the
government, and many of them left the kingdom and settled in Holland.
Finding themselves not so eligibly situated in that country as they had
expected to be, a portion of them embarked for America, and were the
first settlers of New England.

_Quixotic_: Absurd, romantic, ridiculous; from _Don Quixote_, the hero
of a celebrated fictitious work written by Cervantes, a distinguished
Spanish writer, and intended to reform the tastes and opinions of his
country-men.

_Reeking_: Smoking, emitting vapor.

_Residue_: The remainder or part which remains.

_Routine_: A round or course of engagements, business, pleasure, etc.

_To Run a seam_: To lay the two edges of a seam together and pass
the threaded needle out and in, with small stitches, a few threads
below the edge and on a line with it.

_To Run a stocking_: To pass a thread of yarn, with a needle, straight
along each row of the stocking, as far as is desired, taking up one loop
and missing two or three, until tie row is completed, so as to double
the thickness at the part which is run.

_Sabbatical year_: Every seventh year among the Jews, which was a year
of rest for the land, when it was to be left without culture. In this
year, all debts were to be remitted, and slaves set at liberty. See
Exodus 21:2:23:10; Leviticus 25:2, 3, etc.; Deuteronomy 15:12; and
other similar passages.

_Saleratus_: See _Pearlash_.

_Sal ammoniac_: A salt, called also muriate of ammonia, which derives
its name from a district in Libya, Egypt, where there was a temple of
Jupiter Ammon, and where this salt was found.

_Scotch Highlanders_: Inhabitants of the Highlands of Scotland.

_Selvedge_: The edge of cloth, a border. Improperly written _selvage_.

_Service-book_: A book prescribing the order of public services in a
church or congregation.

_Sharps_: See _Blunts_.

_Shorts_: The coarser part of wheat bran.

_Shrubbery_: A plantation of shrubs.

_Siberia_: A large country in the extreme northern part of Asia, having
the Frozen Ocean on the north, and the Pacific Ocean on the east, and
forming a part of the Russian empire. The northern part is extremely
cold, almost uncultivated, and contains but few inhabitants. It
furnishes fine skins, and some of the most valuable furs in the
world. It also contains rich mines of iron and copper, and several
kinds of precious stones.

_Sinclair, Sir John_: Of whom it was said, "There is no greater name in
the annals of agriculture than his," was born in Caithness, Scotland,
May 10th, 1754, and became a member of the British Parliament in 1780.
He was strongly opposed to the measures of the British government toward
America, which produced the American Revolution. He was author of many
valuable publications on various subjects. He died December 21st, 1835.

_Sirloin_: The loin of beef. The appellation "sir" is the title of a
knight or baronet, and has been added to the word "loin," when applied
to beef, because a king of England, in a freak of good humor, once
conferred the honor of knighthood upon a loin of beef.

_Slack_: To loosen, to relax, to deprive of cohesion.

_Soda_: An alkali, usually obtained from the ashes of marine plants.

To _Spade_: To throw out earth with a spade.

_Spermaceti_: An oily substance found in the head of a species of whale
called the spermaceti whale.

_Spindling_: Shooting into a long, small stalk.

_Spinous process_: A process or bony protuberance, resembling a spine or
thorn, whence it derives its name.

_Spool_: A piece of cane or reed or a hollow cylinder of wood, with a
ridge at each end, used to wind yarn and thread upon.

_Stamen_, (plural, _stamens_ and _stamina_:) In _weaving_, the warp, the
thread, any thing made of threads. In _botany_, that part of a flower on
which the artificial classification is founded, consisting of the
filament or stalk, and the anther, which contains the pollen or
fructifying powder.

_Stigma_, (plural _stigmas_ and _stigmata_:) The summit or top of the
pistil of a flower.

_Style_ or Stile: The part of the pistil between the germ and the
stigma.

_Sub-carbonate_: An imperfect carbonate.

_Sulphate, Sulphates, Sulphites_: Salts formed by the combination
of some base with sulphuric acid, as _Sulphate of copper_, (blue
vitriol or blue stone,) a combination of sulphuric acid with copper.
_Sulphate of iron_: Copperas or green vitriol. _Sulphate of lime_:
Gypsum or plaster of Paris. _Sulphate of magnesia_: Epsom salts.
_Sulphate of potash_: A chemical salt, composed of sulphuric acid and
potash. _Sulphate of soda_: Glauber's salts. _Sulphate of zinc_:

White vitriol. _Sulphuret_: A combination of an alkaline earth
or metal with sulphur, as _Sulphuret of iron_, a combination of
iron and sulphur. _Sulphuric acid_: Oil of vitriol, vitriolic
acid.

_Suture_: A sewing; the uniting of parts by stitching; the seamor
joint which unites the flat bones of the skull, which are notched
like the teeth of a saw, and the notches, being united together, present
the appearance of a seam.

_Tartar_: A substance, deposited on the inside of wine casks, consisting
chiefly of tartaric acid and potash.

_Cream of tartar_: The crude tartar separated from all its impurities by
being dissolved in water and then crystallized, when it becomes a
perfectly white powder.

_Tartaric acid_: A vegetable acid which exists in the grape.

_Technology_: A description of the arts, considered generally in
their theory and practice as connected with moral, political, and
physical science.

_Three-ply_ or _triple ingrain_: A kind of carpeting, in which the
threads are woven in such a manner as to make three thicknesses of the
cloth.

_Tic douloureux_: A painful affection of the nerves, mostly those
of the face.

_Tocqueville, (Alexis de:)_ A celebrated statesman and writer of
France, and author of volumes on the political condition, and the
penitentiaries of the United States, and other works.

_Trachea_: The windpipe, so named (from a Greek word signifying
_rough_) from the roughness or inequalities of the cartilages of
which it is formed.

_Truckle-bed_ or _Trundle-bed_: A bed that runs on wheels.

_Tuber_: A solid, fleshy, roundish root, like the potato.

_Tuberous_: Thick and fleshy; composed of or having tubers.

_Tucks_, (improperly _Tacks_): Folds in garments.

_Turmeric:_ The root of a plant called _Curcuma longa_, a native of the
East-Indies, used as a yellow dye.

_Twaddle:_ Idle, foolish talk or conversation.

_Unbolted:_ Unsifted. _Unslacked:_ Not loosened or deprived of cohesion.
Lime, when it has been slacked, crumbles to powder from being deprived
of cohesion.

_Valance:_ The drapery or fringe hanging round the cover of a bed,
couch, or other similar article.

_Vascular:_ Relating to or full of vessels.

_Venetian:_ A kind of carpeting, composed of a striped woolen warp on a
thick woof of linen thread,

_Verisimilitude:_ Probability, resemblance to truth.

_Verbatim:_ Word for word.

_Vice versa:_ The side being changed, or the question reversed, or the
terms being exchanged.

_Viscera_, (plural of _viscus:_) Organs contained in the great cavities
of the body, the skull, the abdomen, and the chest. Generally applied to
the contents of the abdomen.

_Vitriol:_ A compound mineral salt of a very caustic taste. _Blue
Vitriol_, sulphate of copper. _Green Vitriol_, see _Copperas. _Oil of
Vitriol_, sulphuric acid.

_White Vitriol_, sulphate of zinc.

_Waffle-iron:_ An iron utensil for the purpose of baking waffles,
which are thin and soft cakes indented by the iron in which they are
baked.

_Wash-leather:_ A soft, pliable leather dressed with oil, and in
such a way that it may be washed without shrinking. It is used for
various articles of dress, as undershirts, drawers, etc., and also for
rubbing silver, and other articles having a high polish. The article
known in commerce as chamois or shammy leather is also called
wash-leather.

_Welting-cord:_ A cord sewed into the welt or border of a garment.

_The West_ or _Western World_. When used in Europe, or in distinction
from the Eastern World, it means America. When used in this country, the
West refers to the Western States of the Union.

_Western Wilds:_ The wild, thinly-settled lands of the Western States.

_White vitriol:_ see _Zinc.

_Wilton carpet:_ A kind of carpets made in England, and so called from
the place which is the chief seat of their manufacture. They are woolen
velvets with variegated colors.

_Writ of lunacy_. See _Lunacy.

_Xantippe:_ The wife of Socrates, noted for her violent temper and
scolding propensities. The name is frequently applied to a shrew,
or peevish, turbulent, scolding woman.

_Zinc:_ A bluish-white metal, which is used as a constituent of brass
and some other alloys. _Sulphate of Zinc_ or _White vitriol_; A
combination of Zinc with sulphuric acid.







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The New Atlantis

by Sir Francis Bacon

December, 2000  [Etext# 2434]
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Revision to edition 11 by William Fishburne





THE NEW ATLANTIS

BY SIR FRANCIS BACON




INTRODUCTORY NOTE

Bacon's literary executor, Dr. Rowley, published "The New Atlantis" in
1627, the year after the author's death.  It seems to have been
written about 1623, during that period of literary activity which
followed Bacon's political fall.  None of Bacon's writings gives in
short apace so vivid a picture of his tastes and aspirations as this
fragment of the plan of an ideal commonwealth.  The generosity and
enlightenment, the dignity and splendor, the piety and public spirit,
of the inhabitants of Bensalem represent the ideal qualities which
Bacon the statesman desired rather than hoped to see characteristic of
his own country; and in Solomon's House we have Bacon the scientist
indulging without restriction his prophetic vision of the future of
human knowledge.  No reader acquainted in any degree with the
processes and results of modern scientific inquiry can fail to be
struck by the numerous approximations made by Bacon's imagination to
the actual achievements of modern times.  The plan and organization of
his great college lay down the main lines of the modern research
university; and both in pure and applied science he anticipates a
strikingly large number of recent inventions and discoveries.  In
still another way is "The New Atlantis" typical of Bacon's attitude.
In spite of the enthusiastic and broad-minded schemes he laid down for
the pursuit of truth, Bacon always had an eye to utility.  The
advancement of science which he sought was conceived by him as a means
to a practical end the increase of man's control over nature, and the
comfort and convenience of humanity.  For pure metaphysics, or any
form of abstract thinking that yielded no "fruit," he had little
interest; and this leaning to the useful is shown in the practical
applications of the discoveries made by the scholars of Solomon's
House.  Nor does the interest of the work stop here.  It contains much,
both in its political and in its scientific ideals, that we have as
yet by no means achieved, but which contain valuable elements of
suggestion and stimulus for the future.






THE NEW ATLANTIS



We sailed from Peru, (where we had continued for the space of one
whole year) for China and Japan, by the South Sea; taking with us
victuals for twelve months; and had good winds from the east, though
soft and weak, for five months space, and more.  But the wind came
about, and settled in the west for many days, so as we could make
little or no way, and were sometime in purpose to turn back.  But then
again there arose strong and great winds from the south, with a point
east, which carried us up (for all that we could do) towards the north;
by which time our victuals failed us, though we had made good spare
of them.  So that finding ourselves, in the midst of the greatest
wilderness of waters in the world, without victuals, we gave ourselves
for lost men and prepared for death.  Yet we did lift up our hearts
and voices to God above, who showeth his wonders in the deep,
beseeching him of his mercy, that as in the beginning he discovered
the face of the deep, and brought forth dry land, so he would not
discover land to us, that we might not perish.

And it came to pass that the next day about evening we saw within a
kenning before us, towards the north, as it were thick clouds, which
did put us in some hope of land; knowing how that part of the South
Sea was utterly unknown; and might have islands, or continents, that
hitherto were not come to light.  Wherefore we bent our course thither,
where we saw the appearance of land, all that night; and in the
dawning of the next day, we might plainly discern that it was a land;
flat to our sight, and full of boscage; which made it show the more
dark.  And after an hour and a half's sailing, we entered into a good
haven, being the port of a fair city; not great indeed, but well built,
and that gave a pleasant view from the sea: and we thinking every
minute long, till we were on land, came close to the shore, and
offered to land.  But straightways we saw divers of the people, with
bastons in their hands (as it were) forbidding us to land; yet without
any cries of fierceness, but only as warning us off, by signs that
they made.  Whereupon being not a little discomforted, we were
advising with ourselves, what we should do.

During which time, there made forth to us a small boat, with about
eight persons in it; whereof one of them had in his hand a tipstaff of
a yellow cane, tipped at both ends with blue, who came aboard our ship,
without any show of distrust at all.  And when he saw one of our
number, present himself somewhat before the rest, he drew forth a
little scroll of parchment (somewhat yellower than our parchment, and
shining like the leaves of writing tables, but otherwise soft and
flexible,) and delivered it to our foremost man.  In which scroll were
written in ancient Hebrew, and in ancient Greek, and in good Latin of
the school, and in Spanish, these words: Land ye not, none of you; and
provide to be gone from this coast, within sixteen days, except you
have further time given you.  Meanwhile, if you want fresh water or
victuals, or help for your sick, or that your ship needeth repairs,
write down your wants, and you shall have that, which belongeth to
mercy.  This scroll was signed with a stamp of cherubim: wings, not
spread, but hanging downwards; and by them a cross.  This being
delivered, the officer returned, and left only a servant with us to
receive our answer.

Consulting hereupon amongst ourselves, we were much perplexed.  The
denial of landing and hasty warning us away troubled us much; on the
other side, to find that the people had languages, and were so full of
humanity, did comfort us not a little.  And above all, the sign of the
cross to that instrument was to us a great rejoicing, and as it were a
certain presage of good.  Our answer was in the Spanish tongue; that
for our ship, it was well; for we had rather met with calms and
contrary winds than any tempests.  For our sick, they were many, and
in very ill case; so that if they were not permitted to land, they ran
danger of their lives.  Our other wants we set down in particular;
adding, That we had some little store of merchandise, which if it
pleased them to deal for, it might supply our wants, without being
chargeable unto them.  We offered some reward in pistolets unto the
servant, and a piece of crimson velvet to be presented to the officer;
but the servant took them not, nor would scarce look upon them; and
so left us, and went back in another little boat, which was sent for
him.

About three hours after we had dispatched our answer, there came
towards us a person (as it seemed) of place.  He had on him a gown
with wide sleeves, of a kind of water chamolet, of an excellent azure
colour, fair more glossy than ours; his under apparel was green; and
so was his hat, being in the form of a turban, daintily made, and not
so huge as the Turkish turbans; and the locks of his hair came down
below the brims of it.  A reverend man was he to behold.  He came in a
boat, gilt in some part of it, with four persons more only in that
boat; and was followed by another boat, wherein were some twenty.
When he was come within a flightshot of our ship, signs were made to
us, that we should send forth some to meet him upon the water; which
we presently did in our ship-boat, sending the principal man amongst
us save one, and four of our number with him.

When we were come within six yards of their boat, they called to us to
stay, and not to approach farther; which we did.  And thereupon the
man, whom I before described, stood up, and with a loud voice, in
Spanish, asked, "Are ye Christians?"  We answered, "We were;" fearing
the less, because of the cross we had seen in the subscription.  At
which answer the said person lifted up his right hand towards Heaven,
and drew it softly to his mouth (which is the gesture they use, when
they thank God;) and then said : "If ye will swear (all of you) by the
merits of the Saviour, that ye are no pirates, nor have shed blood,
lawfully, nor unlawfully within forty days past, you may have licence
to come on land."  We said, "We were all ready to take that oath."
Whereupon one of those that were with him, being (as it seemed) a
notary, made an entry of this act.  Which done, another of the
attendants of the great person which was with him in the same boat,
after his Lord had spoken a little to him, said aloud: "My Lord would
have you know, that it is not of pride, or greatness, that he cometh
not aboard your ship; but for that in your answer you declare that you
have many sick amongst you, he was warned by the Conservator of Health
of the city that he should keep a distance."  We bowed ourselves
towards him, and answered, "We were his humble servants; and accounted
for great honour, and singular humanity towards us, that which was
already done; but hoped well, that the nature of the sickness of our
men was not infectious."  So he returned; and a while after came the
Notary to us aboard our ship; holding in his hand a fruit of that
country, like an orange, but of color between orange-tawney and
scarlet; which cast a most excellent odour.  He used it (as it
seemeth) for a preservative against infection.  He gave us our oath;
"By the name of Jesus, and his merits:" and after told us, that the
next day, by six of the Clock, in the Morning, we should be sent to,
and brought to the Strangers' House, (so he called it,) where we
should be accommodated of things, both for our whole, and for our sick.
So he left us; and when we offered him some pistolets, he smiling
said, "He must not be twice paid for one labour:" meaning (as I take
it) that he had salary sufficient of the State for his service.  For
(as I after learned) they call an officer that taketh rewards, "twice
paid."

The next morning early, there came to us the same officer that came to
us at first with his cane, and told us, He came to conduct us to the
Strangers' House; and that he had prevented the hour, because we might
have the whole day before us, for our business.  "For," said he, "if
you will follow my advice, there shall first go with me some few of
you, and see the place, and how it may be made convenient for you; and
then you may send for your sick, and the rest of your number, which ye
will bring on land."  We thanked him, and said, "That this care, which
he took of desolate strangers, God would reward."  And so six of us
went on land with him: and when we were on land, he went before us,
and turned to us, and said, "He was but our servant, and our guide."
He led us through three fair streets; and all the way we went, there
were gathered some people on both sides, standing in a row; but in so
civil a fashion, as if it had been, not to wonder at us, but to
welcome us: and divers of them, as we passed by them, put their arms a
little abroad; which is their gesture, when they did bid any welcome.

The Strangers' House is a fair and spacious house, built of brick, of
somewhat a bluer colour than our brick; and with handsome windows,
some of glass, some of a kind of cambric oiled.  He brought us first
into a fair parlour above stairs, and then asked us, "What number of
persons we were?  And how many sick?"  We answered, "We were in all,
(sick and whole,) one and fifty persons, whereof our sick were
seventeen."  He desired us to have patience a little, and to stay till
he came back to us; which was about an hour after; and then he led us
to see the chambers which were provided for us, being in number
nineteen: they having cast it (as it seemeth) that four of those
chambers, which were better than the rest, might receive four of the
principal men of our company; and lodge them alone by themselves; and
the other fifteen chambers were to lodge us two and two together.  The
chambers were handsome and cheerful chambers, and furnished civilly."
Then he led us to a long gallery, like a dorture, where he showed us
all along the one side (for the other side was but wall and window),
seventeen cells, very neat ones, having partitions of cedar wood.
Which gallery and cells, being in all forty, many more than we needed,
were instituted as an infirmary for sick persons.  And he told us
withal, that as any of our sick waxed well, he might be removed from
his cell, to a chamber; for which purpose there were set forth ten
spare chambers, besides the number we spake of before.  This done, he
brought us back to the parlour, and lifting up his cane a little, (as
they do when they give any charge or command) said to us, "Ye are to
know, that the custom of the land requireth, that after this day and
to-morrow, (which we give you for removing of your people from your
ship,) you are to keep within doors for three days.  But let it not
trouble you, nor do not think yourselves restrained, but rather left
to your rest and ease.  You shall want nothing, and there are six of
our people appointed to attend you, for any business you may have
abroad."  We gave him thanks, with all affection and respect, and said,
"God surely is manifested in this land."  We offered him also twenty
pistolets; but he smiled, and only said; "What? twice paid!"  And so
he left us.

Soon after our dinner was served in; which was right good viands, both
for bread and treat: better than any collegiate diet, that I have
known in Europe.  We had also drink of three sorts, all wholesome and
good; wine of the grape; a drink of grain, such as is with us our ale,
but more clear: And a kind of cider made of a fruit of that country; a
wonderful pleasing and refreshing drink.  Besides, there were brought
in to us, great store of those scarlet oranges, for our sick; which
(they said) were an assured remedy for sickness taken at sea.  There
was given us also, a box of small gray, or whitish pills, which they
wished our sick should take, one of the pills, every night before
sleep; which (they said) would hasten their recovery.

The next day, after that our trouble of carriage and removing of our
men and goods out of our ship, was somewhat settled and quiet, I
thought good to call our company together; and when they were
assembled, said unto them; "My dear friends, let us know ourselves,
and how it standeth with us.  We are men cast on land, as Jonas was,
out of the whale's belly, when we were as buried in the deep: and now
we are on land, we are but between death and life; for we are beyond,
both the old world, and the new; and whether ever we shall see Europe,
God only knoweth.  It is a kind of miracle bath brought us hither: and
it must be little less, that shall bring us hence.  Therefore in
regard of our deliverance past, and our danger present, and to come,
let us look up to God, and every man reform his own ways.  Besides we
are come here amongst a Christian people, full of piety and humanity:
let us not bring that confusion of face upon ourselves, as to show our
vices, or unworthiness before them.  Yet there is more.  For they have
by commandment, (though in form of courtesy) cloistered us within
these wall, for three days: who knoweth, whether it be not, to take
some taste of our manners and conditions?  And if they find them bad,
to banish us straightways; if good, to give us further time.  For
these men that they have given us for attendance, may withal have an
eye upon us.  Therefore for God's love, and as we love the weal of our
souls and bodies, let us so behave ourselves, as we may be at peace
with God, and may find grace in the eyes of this people."  Our company
with one voice thanked me for my good admonition, and promised me to
live soberly and civilly, and without giving any the least occasion of
offence.  So we spent our three days joyfully, and without care, in
expectation what would be done with us, when they were expired.
During which time, we had every hour joy of the amendment of our sick;
who thought themselves cast into some divine pool of healing; they
mended so kindly, and so fast.

The morrow after our three days were past, there came to us a new man,
that we had not seen before, clothed in blue as the former was, save
that his turban was white, with a small red cross on the top.  He had
also a tippet of fine linen.  At his coming in, he did bend to us a
little, and put his arms abroad.  We of our parts saluted him in a
very lowly and submissive manner; as looking that from him, we should
receive sentence of life, or death: he desired to speak with some few
of us: whereupon six of us only staid, and the rest avoided the room.
He said, "I am by office governor of this House of Strangers, and by
vocation I am a Christian priest: and therefore am come to you to
offer you my service, both as strangers and chiefly as Christians.
Some things I may tell you, which I think you will not be unwilling to
hear.  The State hath given you license to stay on land, for the space
of six weeks; and let it not trouble you, if your occasions ask
further time, for the law in this point is not precise; and I do not
doubt, but my self shall be able, to obtain for you such further time,
as may be convenient.  Ye shall also understand, that the Strangers'
House is at this time rich, and much aforehand; for it hath laid up
revenue these thirty-seven years; for so long it is since any stranger
arrived in this part: and therefore take ye no care; the State will
defray you all the time you stay; neither shall you stay one day the
less for that.  As for any merchandise ye have brought, ye shall be
well used, and have your return, either in merchandise, or in gold and
silver: for to us it is all one.  And if you have any other request to
make, hide it not.  For ye shall find we will not make your
countenance to fall by the answer ye shall receive.  Only this I must
tell you, that none of you must go above a karan," (that is with them
a mile and an half) "from the walls of the city, without especial
leave."

We answered, after we had looked awhile one upon another, admiring
this gracious and parent-like usage; "That we could not tell what to
say: for we wanted words to express our thanks; and his noble free
offers left us nothing to ask.  It seemed to us, that we had before us
a picture of our salvation in Heaven; for we that were a while since
in the jaws of death, were now brought into a place, where we found
nothing but consolations.  For the commandment laid upon us, we would
not fail to obey it, though it was impossible but our hearts should be
enflamed to tread further upon this happy and holy ground."  We added,
"That our tongues should first cleave to the roofs of our mouths, ere
we should forget, either his reverend person, or this whole nation, in
our prayers."  We also most humbly besought him, to accept of us as
his true servants; by as just a right as ever men on earth were
bounden; laying and presenting, both our persons, and all we had, at
his feet.  He said; "He was a priest, and looked for a priest's reward;
which was our brotherly love, and the good of our souls and bodies."
So he went from us, not without tears of tenderness in his eyes; and
left us also confused with joy and kindness, saying amongst ourselves;
"That we were come into a land of angels, which did appear to us daily,
and prevent us with comforts, which we thought not of, much less
expected."

The next day about ten of the clock, the Governor came to us again,
and after salutations, said familiarly; "That he was come to visit us;"
and called for a chair, and sat him down: and we, being some ten of
us, (the rest were of the meaner sort, or else gone abroad,) sat down
with him, And when we were set, he began thus: " We of this island of
Bensalem," (for so they call it in their language,) "have this; that
by means of our solitary situation; and of the laws of secrecy, which
we have for our travellers, and our rare admission of strangers; we
know well most part of the habitable world, and are ourselves unknown.
Therefore because he that knoweth least is fittest to ask questions,
it is more reason, for the entertainment of the time, that ye ask me
questions, than that I ask you."

We answered; "That we humbly thanked him that he would give us leave
so to do: and that we conceived by the taste we had already, that
there was no worldly thing on earth, more worthy to be known than the
state of that happy land.  But above all," (we said,) "since that we
were met from the several ends of the world, and hoped assuredly that
we should meet one day in the kingdom of Heaven, (for that we were
both parts Christians,) we desired to know, (in respect that land was
so remote, and so divided by vast and unknown seas, from the land
where our Saviour walked on earth,) who was the apostle of that nation,
and how it was converted to the faith?"  It appeared in his face that
he took great contentment in this our question: he said; "Ye knit my
heart to you, by asking this question in the first place; for it
sheweth that you first seek the kingdom of heaven; and I shall gladly,
and briefly, satisfy your demand.

"About twenty years after the ascension of our Saviour, it came to
pass, that there was seen by the people of Renfusa, (a city upon the
eastern coast of our island,) within night, (the night was cloudy, and
calm,) as it might be some mile into the sea, a great pillar of light;
not sharp, but in form of a column, or cylinder, rising from the sea a
great way up towards heaven; and on the top of it was seen a large
cross of light, more bright and resplendent than the body of the
pillar.  Upon which so strange a spectacle, the people of the city
gathered apace together upon the sands, to wonder; and so after put
themselves into a number of small boats, to go nearer to this
marvellous sight.  But when the boats were come within (about) sixty
yards of the pillar, they found themselves all bound, and could go no
further; yet so as they might move to go about, but might not approach
nearer: so as the boats stood all as in a theatre, beholding this
light as an heavenly sign.  It so fell out, that there was in one of
the boats one of the wise men, of the society of Salomon's House;
which house, or college (my good brethren) is the very eye of this
kingdom; who having awhile attentively and devoutly viewed and
contemplated this pillar and cross, fell down upon his face; and then
raised himself upon his knees, and lifting up his hands to heaven,
made his prayers in this manner.

"`LORD God of heaven and earth, thou hast vouchsafed of thy grace to
those of our order, to know thy works of Creation, and the secrets of
them: and to discern (as far as appertaineth to the generations of
men) between divine miracles, works of nature, works of art, and
impostures and illusions of all sorts.  I do here acknowledge and
testify before this people, that the thing which we now see before our
eyes is thy Finger and a true Miracle.  And forasmuch as we learn in
our books that thou never workest miracles, but to divine and
excellent end, (for the laws of nature are thine own laws, and thou
exceedest them not but upon great cause,) we most humbly beseech thee
to prosper this great sign, and to give us the interpretation and use
of it in mercy; which thou dost in some part secretly promise by
sending it unto us.'

"When he had made his prayer, he presently found the boat he was in,
moveable and unbound; whereas all the rest remained still fast; and
taking that for an assurance of leave to approach, he caused the boat
to be softly and with silence rowed towards the pillar.  But ere he
came near it, the pillar and cross of light brake up, and cast itself
abroad, as it were, into a firmament of many stars; which also
vanished soon after, and there was nothing left to be seen, but a
small ark, or chest of cedar, dry, and not wet at all with water,
though it swam.  And in the fore-end of it, which was towards him,
grew a small green branch of palm; and when the wise man had taken it,
with all reverence, into his boat, it opened of itself, and there were
found in it a Book and a Letter; both written in fine parchment, and
wrapped in sindons of linen.  The Book contained all the canonical
books of the Old and New Testament, according as you have them; (for
we know well what the churches with you receive); and the Apocalypse
itself, and some other books of the New Testament, which were not at
that time written, were nevertheless in the Book.  And for the Letter,
it was in these words:

"`I, Bartholomew, a servant of the Highest, and Apostle of Jesus
Christ, was warned by an angel that appeareth to me, in a vision of
glory, that I should commit this ark to the floods of the sea.
Therefore I do testify and declare unto that people where God shall
ordain this ark to come to land, that in the same day is come unto
them salvation and peace and good-will, from the Father, and from the
Lord Jesus.'

"There was also in both these writings, as well the Book, as the
Letter, wrought a great miracle, conform to that of the Apostles, in
the original Gift of Tongues.  For there being at that time in this
land Hebrews, Persians, and Indians, besides the natives, every one
read upon the Book, and Letter, as if they had been written in his own
language.  And thus was this land saved from infidelity (as the
remainder of the old world was from water) by an ark, through the
apostolical and miraculous evangelism of Saint Bartholomew."  And here
he paused, and a messenger came, and called him from us.  So this was
all that passed in that conference.

The next day, the same governor came again to us, immediately after
dinner, and excused himself, saying; "That the day before he was
called from us, somewhat abruptly, but now he would make us amends,
and spend time with us if we held his company and conference agreeable."
We answered, "That we held it so agreeable and pleasing to us, as
we forgot both dangers past and fears to come, for the time we hear
him speak; and that we thought an hour spent with him, was worth years
of our former life."  He bowed himself a little to us, and after we
were set again, he said; "Well, the questions are on your part."

One of our number said, after a little pause; that there was a matter,
we were no less desirous to know, than fearful to ask, lest we might
presume too far.  But encouraged by his rare humanity towards us,
(that could scarce think ourselves strangers, being his vowed and
professed servants,) we would take the hardiness to propound it:
humbly beseeching him, if he thought it not fit to be answered, that
he would pardon it, though he rejected it.  We said; "We well observed
those his words, which he formerly spake, that this happy island,
where we now stood, was known to few, and yet knew most of the nations
of the world; which we found to be true, considering they had the
languages of Europe, and knew much of our state and business; and yet
we in Europe, (notwithstanding all the remote discoveries and
navigations of this last age), never heard of the least inkling or
glimpse of this island.  This we found wonderful strange; for that all
nations have inter-knowledge one of another, either by voyage into
foreign parts, or by strangers that come to them: and though the
traveller into a foreign country, doth commonly know more by the eye,
than he that stayeth at home can by relation of the traveller; yet
both ways suffice to make a mutual knowledge, in some degree, on both
parts.  But for this island, we never heard tell of any ship of theirs
that had been seen to arrive upon any shore of Europe; nor of either
the East or West Indies; nor yet of any ship of any other part of the
world, that had made return from them.  And yet the marvel rested not
in this.  For the situation of it (as his lordship said) in the secret
conclave' of such a vast sea might cause it.  But then, that they
should have knowledge of the languages, books, affairs, of those that
lie such a distance from them, it was a thing we could not tell what
to make of; for that it seemed to us a conditioner and propriety of
divine powers and beings, to be hidden and unseen to others, and yet
to have others open and as in a light to them."

At this speech the Governor gave a gracious smile, and said; "That we
did well to ask pardon for this question we now asked: for that it
imported, as if we thought this land, a land of magicians, that sent
forth spirits of the air into all parts, to bring them news and
intelligence of other countries."  It was answered by us all, in all
possible humbleness, but yet with a countenance taking knowledge, that
we knew that he spake it but merrily, "That we were apt enough to
think there was somewhat supernatural in this island; but yet rather
as angelical than magical.  But to let his lordship know truly what it
was that made us tender and doubtful to ask this question, it was not
any such conceit," but because we remembered, he had given a touch in
his former speech, that this land had laws of secrecy touching
strangers."  To this he said; "You remember it aright and therefore in
that I shall say to you, I must reserve some particulars, which it is
not lawful for me to reveal; but there will be enough left, to give
you satisfaction.

"You shall understand (that which perhaps you will scarce think
credible) that about three thousand years ago, or somewhat more, the
navigation of the world, (especially for remote voyages,) was greater
than at this day.  Do not think with yourselves, that I know not how
much it is increased with you, within these six-score years: I know it
well: and yet I say greater then than now; whether it was, that the
example of the ark, that saved the remnant of men from the universal
deluge, gave men confidence to adventure upon the waters; or what it
was; but such is the truth.  The Phoenicians, and especially the
Tyrians, had great fleets.  So had the Carthaginians their colony,
which is yet further west.  Toward the east the shipping of Egypt and
of Palestine was likewise great.  China also, and the great Atlantis,
(that you call America,) which have now but junks and canoes, abounded
then in tall ships.  This island, (as appeareth by faithful registers
of those times,) had then fifteen hundred strong ships, of great
content.  Of all this, there is with you sparing memory, or none; but
we have large knowledge thereof.

"At that time, this land was known and frequented by the ships and
vessels of all the nations before named.  And (as it cometh to pass)
they had many times men of other countries, that were no sailors, that
came with them; as Persians, Chaldeans, Arabians; so as almost all
nations of might and fame resorted hither; of whom we have some stirps,
and little tribes with us at this day.  And for our own ships, they
went sundry voyages, as well to your straits, which you call the
Pillars of Hercules, as to other parts in the Atlantic and Mediterrane
Seas; as to Paguin, (which is the same with Cambaline,) and Quinzy,
upon the Oriental Seas, as far as to the borders of the East Tartary.

"At the same time, and an age after, or more, the inhabitants of the
great Atlantis did flourish.  For though the narration and description,
which is made by a great man with you; that the descendants of
Neptune planted there; and of the magnificent temple, palace, city,
and hill; and the manifold streams of goodly navigable rivers, (which
as so many chains environed the same site and temple); and the several
degrees of ascent, whereby men did climb up to the same, as if it had
been a scala coeli, be all poetical and fabulous: yet so much is true,
that the said country of Atlantis, as well that of Peru, then called
Coya, as that of Mexico, then named Tyrambel, were mighty and proud
kingdoms in arms, shipping and riches: so mighty, as at one time (or
at least within the space of ten years) they both made two great
expeditions; they of Tyrambel through the Atlantic to the Mediterrane
Sea; and they of Coya through the South Sea upon this our island: and
for the former of these, which was into Europe, the same author
amongst you (as it seemeth) had some relation from the Egyptian priest
whom he cited.  For assuredly such a thing there was.  But whether it
were the ancient Athenians that had the glory of the repulse and
resistance of those forces, I can say nothing: but certain it is,
there never came back either ship or man from that voyage.  Neither
had the other voyage of those of Coya upon us had better fortune, if
they had not met with enemies of greater clemency.  For the king of
this island, (by name Altabin,) a wise man and a great warrior,
knowing well both his own strength and that of his enemies, handled
the matter so, as he cut off their land-forces from their ships; and
entoiled both their navy and their tamp with a greater power than
theirs, both by sea and land: arid compelled them to render themselves
without striking stroke and after they were at his mercy, contenting
himself only with their oath that they should no more bear arms
against him, dismissed them all in safety.

"But the divine revenge overtook not long after those proud
enterprises.  For within less than the space of one hundred years, the
great Atlantis was utterly lost and destroyed: not by a great
earthquake, as your man saith; (for that whole tract is little subject
to earthquakes;) but by a particular' deluge or inundation; those
countries having, at this day, far greater rivers and far higher
mountains to pour down waters, than any part of the old world.  But it
is true that the same inundation was not deep; not past forty foot, in
most places, from the ground; so that although it destroyed man and
beast generally, yet some few wild inhabitants of the wood escaped.
Birds also were saved by flying to the high trees and woods.  For as
for men, although they had buildings in many places, higher than the
depth of the water, yet that inundation, though it were shallow, had a
long continuance; whereby they of the vale that were not drowned,
perished for want of food and other things necessary.

"So as marvel you not at the thin population of America, nor at the
rudeness and ignorance of the people; for you must account your
inhabitants of America as a young people; younger a thousand years, at
the least, than the rest of the world: for that there was so much time
between the universal flood and their particular inundation.  For the
poor remnant of human seed, which remained in their mountains, peopled
the country again slowly, by little and little; and being simple and
savage people, (not like Noah and his sons, which was the chief family
of the earth;) they were not able to leave letters, arts, and civility
to their posterity; and having likewise in their mountainous
habitations been used (in respect of the extreme cold of those
regions) to clothe themselves with the skins of tigers, bears, and
great hairy goats, that they have in those parts; when after they came
down into the valley, and found the intolerable heats which are there,
and knew no means of lighter apparel, they were forced to begin the
custom of going naked, which continueth at this day.  Only they take
great pride and delight in the feathers of birds; and this also they
took from those their ancestors of the mountains, who were invited
unto it by the infinite flights of birds that came up to the high
grounds, while the waters stood below.  So you see, by this main
accident of time, we lost our traffic with the Americans, with whom of,
all others, in regard they lay nearest to us, we had most commerce.

"As for the other parts of the world, it is most manifest that in the
ages following (whether it were in respect of wars, or by a natural
revolution of time,) navigation did every where greatly decay; and
specially far voyages (the rather by the use of galleys, and such
vessels as could hardly brook the ocean,) were altogether left and
omitted.  So then, that part of intercourse which could be from other
nations to sail to us, you see how it hath long since ceased; except
it were by some rare accident, as this of yours.  But now of the
cessation of that other part of intercourse, which might be by our
sailing to other nations, I must yield you some other cause.  For I
cannot say (if I shall say truly,) but our shipping, for number,
strength, mariners, pilots, and all things that appertain to
navigation, is as great as ever; and therefore why we should sit at
home, I shall now give you an account by itself: and it will draw
nearer to give you satisfaction to your principal question.

"There reigned in this land, about nineteen hundred years ago, a king,
whose memory of all others we most adore; not superstitiously, but as
a divine instrument, though a mortal man; his name was Solamona: and
we esteem him as the lawgiver of our nation.  This king had a large
heart, inscrutable for good; and was wholly bent to make his kingdom
and people happy.  He therefore, taking into consideration how
sufficient and substantive this land was to maintain itself without
any aid (at all) of the foreigner; being five thousand six hundred
miles in circuit, and of rare fertility of soil in the greatest part
thereof; and finding also the shipping of this country might be
plentifully set on work, both by fishing and by transportations from
port to port, and likewise by sailing unto some small islands that are
not far from us, and are under the crown and laws of this state; and,
recalling into his memory the happy and flourishing estate wherein
this land then was; so as it might be a thousand ways altered to the
worse, but scarce any one way to the better; thought nothing wanted to
his noble and heroical intentions, but only (as far as human foresight
might reach) to give perpetuity to that which was in his time so
happily established.  Therefore amongst his other fundamental laws of
this kingdom, he did ordain the interdicts and prohibitions which we
have touching entrance of strangers; which at that time (though it was
after the calamity of America) was frequent; doubting novelties, and
commixture of manners.  It is true, the like law against the admission
of strangers without licence is an ancient law in the kingdom of China,
and yet continued in use.  But there it is a poor thing; and hath
made them a curious, ignorant, fearful, foolish nation.  But our
lawgiver made his law of another temper.  For first, he hath preserved
all points of humanity, in taking order and making provision for the
relief of strangers distressed; whereof you have tasted."

At which speech (as reason was) we all rose up and bowed ourselves.
He went on.

"That king also, still desiring to join humanity and policy together;
and thinking it against humanity, to detain strangers here against
their wills, and against policy that they should return and discover
their knowledge of this estate, he took this course: he did ordain
that of the strangers that should be permitted to land, as many (at
all times) might depart as would; but as many as would stay should
have very good conditions and means to live from the state.  Wherein
he saw so far, that now in so many ages since the prohibition, we have
memory not of one ship that ever returned, and but of thirteen persons
only, at several times, that chose to return in our bottoms.  What
those few that returned may have reported abroad I know not.  But you
must think, whatsoever they have said could be taken where they came
but for a dream.  Now for our travelling from henna into parts abroad,
our Lawgiver thought fit altogether to restrain it.  So is it not in
China.  For the Chinese sail where they will or can; which sheweth
that their law of keeping out strangers is a law of pusillanimity and
fear.  But this restraint of ours hath one only exception, which is
admirable; preserving the good which cometh by communicating with
strangers, and avoiding the hurt; and I will now open it to you.  And
here I shall seem a little to digress, but you will by and by find it
pertinent.

"Ye shall understand (my dear friends) that amongst the excellent acts
of that king, one above all hath the pre-eminence.  It was the
erection and institution of an Order or Society, which we call
Salomon's House; the noblest foundation (as we think) that ever was
upon the earth; and the lanthorn of this kingdom.  It is dedicated to
the study of the works and creatures of God.  Some think it beareth
the founder's name a little corrupted, as if it should be Solamona's
House.  But the records write it as it is spoken.  So as I take it to
be denominate of the king of the Hebrews, which is famous with you,
and no stranger to us.  For we have some parts of his works, which
with you are lost; namely, that natural history, which he wrote, of
all plants, from the cedar of Libanus to the moss that groweth out of
the wall, and of all things that have life and motion.  This maketh me
think that our king, finding himself to symbolize in many things with
that king of the Hebrews (which lived many years before him), honored
him with the title of this foundation.  And I am rather induced to be
of this opinion, for that I find in ancient records this Order or
Society is sometimes called Salomon's House, and sometimes the College
of the Six Days Works; whereby I am satisfied that our excellent king
had learned from the Hebrews that God had created the world and all
that therein is within six days: and therefore he instituting that
House for the finding out of the true nature of all things, (whereby
God might have the more glory in the workmanship of them, and insert
the more fruit in the use of them), did give it also that second name.

"But now to come to our present purpose.  When the king had forbidden
to all his people navigation into any part that was not under his
crown, he made nevertheless this ordinance; that every twelve years
there should be set forth, out of this kingdom two ships, appointed to
several voyages; That in either of these ships there should be a
mission of three of the Fellows or Brethren of Salomon's House; whose
errand was only to give us knowledge of the affairs and state of those
countries to which they were designed, and especially of the sciences,
arts, manufactures, and inventions of all the world; and withal to
bring unto us books, instruments, and patterns in every kind: That the
ships, after they had landed the brethren, should return; and that the
brethren should stay abroad till the new mission.  These ships are not
otherwise fraught, than with store of victuals, and good quantity of
treasure to remain with the brethren, for the buying of such things
and rewarding of such persons as they should think fit.  Now for me to
tell you how the vulgar sort of mariners are contained from being
discovered at land; and how they that must be put on shore for any
time, color themselves under the names of other nations; and to what
places these voyages have been designed; and what places of rendezvous
are appointed for the new missions; and the like circumstances of the
practique; I may not do it: neither is it much to your desire.  But
thus you see we maintain a trade not for gold, silver, or jewels; nor
for silks; nor for spices; nor any other commodity of matter; but only
for God's first creature, which was Light: to have light (I say) of
the growth of all parts of the world."

And when he had said this, he was silent; and so were we all.  For
indeed we were all astonished to hear so strange things so probably
told.  And he, perceiving that we were willing to say somewhat but had
it not ready in great courtesy took us off, and descended to ask us
questions of our voyage and fortunes and in the end concluded, that we
might do well to think with ourselves what time of stay we would
demand of the state; and bade us not to scant ourselves; for he would
procure such time as we desired: Whereupon we all rose up, and
presented ourselves to kiss the skirt of his tippet; but he would not
suffer us; and so took his leave.  But when it came once amongst our
people that the state used to offer conditions to strangers that would
stay, we had work enough to get any of our men to look to our ship;
and to keep them from going presently to the governor to crave
conditions.  But with much ado we refrained them, till we might agree
what course to take.

We took ourselves now for free men, seeing there was no danger of our
utter perdition; and lived most joyfully, going abroad and seeing what
was to be seen in the city and places adjacent within our tedder; and
obtaining acquaintance with many of the city, not of the meanest
quality; at whose hands we found such humanity, and such a freedom and
desire to take strangers as it were into their bosom, as was enough to
make us forget all that was dear to us in our own countries: and
continually we met with many things right worthy of observation and
relation: as indeed, if there be a mirror in the world worthy to hold
men's eyes, it is that country.

One day there were two of our company bidden to a Feast of the Family,
as they call it.  A most natural, pious, and reverend custom it is,
shewing that nation to be compounded of all goodness.  This is the
manner of it.  It is granted to any man that shall live to see thirty
persons descended of his body alive together, and all above three
years old, to make this feast which is done at the cost of the state.
The Father of the Family, whom they call the Tirsan, two days before
the feast, taketh to him three of such friends as he liketh to choose;
and is assisted also by the governor of the city or place where the
feast is celebrated; and all the persons of the family, of both sexes,
are summoned to attend him.  These two days the Tirsan sitteth in
consultation concerning the good estate of the family.  There, if
there be any discord or suits between any of the family, they are
compounded and appeased.  There, if any of the family be distressed or
decayed, order is taken for their relief and competent means to live.
There, if any be subject to vice, or take ill courses, they are
reproved and censured.  So likewise direction is given touching
marriages, and the courses of life, which any of them should take,
with divers other the like orders and advices.  The governor assisteth,
to the end to put in execution by his public authority the decrees
and orders of the Tirsan, if they should be disobeyed; though that
seldom needeth; such reverence and obedience they give to the order of
nature.  The Tirsan doth also then ever choose one man from among his
sons, to live in house with him; who is called ever after the Son of
the Vine.  The reason will hereafter appear.

On the feast day, the father or Tirsan cometh forth after divine
service into a large room where the feast is celebrated; which room
hath an half-pace at the upper end.  Against the wall, in the middle
of the half-pace, is a chair placed for him, with a table and carpet
before it.  Over the chair is a state, made round or oval, and it is
of ivy; an ivy somewhat whiter than ours, like the leaf of a silver
asp; but more shining; for it is green all winter.  And the state is
curiously wrought with silver and silk of divers colors, broiding or
binding in the ivy; and is ever of the work of some of the daughters
of the family; and veiled over at the top with a fine net of silk and
silver.  But the substance of it is true ivy; whereof, after it is
taken down, the friends of the family are desirous to have some leaf
or sprig to keep.

The Tirsan cometh forth with all his generation or linage, the males
before him, and the females following him; and if there be a mother
from whose body the whole linage is descended, there is a traverse
placed in a loft above on the right hand of the chair, with a privy
door, and a carved window of glass, leaded with gold and blue; where
she sitteth, but is not seen.  When the Tirsan is come forth, he
sitteth down in the chair; and all the linage place themselves against
the wall, both at his back and upon the return of the half-pace, in
order of their years without difference of sex; and stand upon their
feet.  When he is set; the room being always full of company, but well
kept and without disorder; after some pause, there cometh in from the
lower end of the room, a taratan (which is as much as an herald) and
on either side of him two young lads; whereof one carrieth a scroll of
their shining yellow parchment; and the other a cluster of grapes of
gold, with a long foot or stalk.  The herald and children are clothed
with mantles of sea-water green satin; but the herald's mantle is
streamed with gold, and hath a train.

Then the herald with three curtesies, or rather inclinations, cometh
up as far as the half-pace; and there first taketh into his hand the
scroll.  This scroll is the king's charter, containing gifts of
revenew, and many privileges, exemptions, and points of honour,
granted to the Father of the Family; and is ever styled and directed,
To such do one our well beloved friend and creditor: which is a title
proper only to this case.  For they say the king is debtor to no man,
but for propagation of his subjects.  The seal set to the king's
charter is the king's image, imbossed or moulded in gold; and though
such charters be expedited of course, and as of right, yet they are
varied by discretion, according to the number and dignity of the
family.  This charter the herald readeth aloud; and while it is read,
the father or Tirsan standeth up supported by two of his sons, such as
he chooseth.  Then the herald mounteth the half-pace and delivereth
the charter into his hand: and with that there is an acclamation by
all that are present in their language, which is thus much: Happy are
the people of Bensalem.

Then the herald taketh into his hand from the other child the cluster
of grapes, which is of gold, both the stalk and the grapes.  But the
grapes are daintily enamelled; and if the males of the family be the
greater number, the grapes are enamelled purple, with a little sun set
on the top; if the females, then they are enamelled into a greenish
yellow, with a crescent on the top.  The grapes are in number as many
as there are descendants of the family.  This golden cluster the
herald delivereth also to the Tirsan; who presently delivereth it over
to that son that he had formerly chosen to be in house with him: who
beareth it before his father as an ensign of honour when he goeth in
public, ever after; and is thereupon called the Son of the Vine.

After the ceremony endeth the father or Tirsan retireth; and after
some time cometh forth again to dinner, where he sitteth alone under
the state, as before; and none of his descendants sit with him, of
what degree or dignity soever, except he hap to be of Salomon's House.
He is served only by his own children, such as are male; who perform
unto him all service of the table upon the knee; and the women only
stand about him, leaning against the wall.  The room below the
half-pace hath tables on the sides for the guests that are bidden; who
are served with great and comely order; and towards the end of dinner
(which in the greatest feasts with them lasteth never above an hour
and an half) there is an hymn sung, varied according to the invention
of him that composeth it (for they have excellent posy) but the
subject of it is (always) the praises of Adam and Noah and Abraham;
whereof the former two peopled the world, and the last was the Father
of the Faithful: concluding ever with a thanksgiving for the nativity
of our Saviour, in whose birth the births of all are only blessed.

Dinner being done, the Tirsan retireth again; and having withdrawn
himself alone into a place, where he makes some private prayers, he
cometh forth the third time, to give the blessing with all his
descendants, who stand about him as at the first.  Then he calleth
them forth by one and by one, by name, as he pleaseth, though seldom
the order of age be inverted.  The person that is called (the table
being before removed) kneeleth down before the chair, and the father
layeth his hand upon his head, or her head, and giveth the blessing in
these words: Son of Bensalem, (or daughter of Bensalem,) thy father
with it: the man by whom thou hast breath and life speaketh the word:
the blessing of the everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace, and the
Holy Dove, be upon thee, and make the days of thy pilgrimage good and
many.  This he saith to every of them; and that done, if there be any
of his sons of eminent merit and virtue, (so they be not above two,)
he calleth for them again; and saith, laying his arm over their
shoulders, they standing; Sons, it is well ye are born, give God the
praise, and persevere to the end.  And withall delivereth to either of
them a jewel, made in the figure of an ear of wheat, which they ever
after wear in the front of their turban or hat.  This done, they fall
to music and dances, and other recreations, after their manner, for
the rest of the day.  This is the full order of that feast.

By that time six or seven days were spent, I was fallen into straight
acquaintance with a merchant of that city, whose name was Joabin.  He
was a Jew and circumcised: for they have some few stirps of Jews yet
remaining among them, whom they leave to their own religion.  Which
they may the better do, because they are of a far differing
disposition from the Jews in other parts.  For whereas they hate the
name of Christ; and have a secret inbred rancour against the people
among whom they live: these (contrariwise) give unto our Saviour many
high attributes, and love the nation of Bensalem extremely.  Surely
this man of whom I speak would ever acknowledge that Christ was born
of a virgin and that he was more than a man; and he would tell how God
made him ruler of the seraphims which guard his throne; and they call
him also the Milken Way, and the Eliah of the Messiah; and many other
high names; which though they be inferior to his divine majesty, yet
they are far from the language of other Jews.

And for the country of Bensalem, this man would make no end of
commending it; being desirous, by tradition among the Jews there, to
have it believed that the people thereof were of the generations of
Abraham, by another son, whom they call Nachoran; and that Moses by a
secret Cabala ordained the Laws of Bensalem which they now use; and
that when the Messiah should come, and sit in his throne at Hierusalem,
the king of Bensalem should sit at his feet, whereas other kings
should keep a great distance.  But yet setting aside these Jewish
dreams, the man was a wise man, and learned, and of great policy, and
excellently seen in the laws and customs of that nation.

Amongst other discourses, one day I told him I was much affected with
the relation I had, from some of the company, of their custom, in
holding the Feast of the Family; for that (methought) I had never
heard of a solemnity wherein nature did so much preside.  And because
propagation of families proceedeth from the nuptial copulation, I
desired to know of him what laws and customs they had concerning
marriage; and whether they kept marriage well and whether they were
tied to one wife; for that where population is so much affected,' and
such as with them it seemed to be, there is commonly permission of
plurality of wives.

To this he said, "You have reason for to commend that excellent
institution of the Feast of the Family.  And indeed we have experience
that those families that are partakers of the blessing of that feast
do flourish and prosper ever after in an extraordinary manner.  But
hear me now, and I will tell you what I know.  You shall understand
that there is not under the heavens so chaste a nation as this of
Bensalem; nor so free from all pollution or foulness.  It is the
virgin of the world.  I remember I have read in one of your European
books, of an holy hermit amongst you that desired to see the Spirit of
Fornication; and there appeared to him a little foul ugly Aethiop.
But if he had desired to see the Spirit of Chastity of Bensalem, it
would have appeared to him in the likeness of a fair beautiful
Cherubim.  For there is nothing amongst mortal men more fair and
admirable, than the chaste minds of this people.  Know therefore, that
with them there are no stews, no dissolute houses, no courtesans, nor
anything of that kind.  Nay they wonder (with detestation) at you in
Europe, which permit such things.  They say ye have put marriage out
of office: for marriage is ordained a remedy for unlawful
concupiscence; and natural concupiscence seemeth as a spar to marriage.
But when men have at hand a remedy more agreeable to their corrupt
will, marriage is almost expulsed.  And therefore there are with you
seen infinite men that marry not, but chose rather a libertine and
impure single life, than to be yoked in marriage; and many that do
marry, marry late, when the prime and strength of their years is past.
And when they do marry, what is marriage to them but a very bargain;
wherein is sought alliance, or portion, or reputation, with some
desire (almost indifferent) of issue; and not the faithful nuptial
union of man and wife, that was first instituted.  Neither is it
possible that those that have cast away so basely so much of their
strength, should greatly esteem children, (being of the same matter,)
as chaste men do.  So likewise during marriage, is the case much
amended, as it ought to be if those things were tolerated only for
necessity?  No, but they remain still as a very affront to marriage.
The haunting of those dissolute places, or resort to courtesans, are
no more punished in married men than in bachelors.  And the depraved
custom of change, and the delight in meretricious embracements, (where
sin is turned into art,) maketh marriage a dull thing, and a kind of
imposition or tax.  They hear you defend these things, as done to
avoid greater evils; as advoutries, deflowering of virgins, unnatural
lust, and the like.  But they say this is a preposterous wisdom; and
they call it Lot's offer, who to save his guests from abusing, offered
his daughters: nay they say farther that there is little gained in
this; for that the same vices and appetites do still remain and abound;
unlawful lust being like a furnace, that if you stop the flames
altogether, it will quench; but if you give it any vent, it will rage.
As for masculine love, they have no touch of it; and yet there are
not so faithful and inviolate friendships in the world again as are
there; and to speak generally, (as I said before,) I have not read of
any such chastity, in any people as theirs.  And their usual saying is,
That whosoever is unchaste cannot reverence himself; and they say,
That the reverence of a man's self, is, next to religion, the chiefest
bridle of all vices."

And when he had said this, the good Jew paused a little; whereupon I,
far more willing to hear him speak on than to speak myself, yet
thinking it decent that upon his pause of speech I should not be
altogether silent, said only this; "That I would say to him, as the
widow of Sarepta said to Elias; that he was come to bring to memory
our sins; and that I confess the righteousness of Bensalem was greater
than the righteousness of Europe."  At which speech he bowed his head,
and went on in this manner:

"They have also many wise and excellent laws touching marriage.  They
allow no polygamy.  They have ordained that none do intermarry or
contract, until a month be past from their first interview.  Marriage
without consent of parents they do not make void, but they mulct" it
in the inheritors: for the children of such marriages are not admitted
to inherit above a third part of their parents' inheritance.  I have
read in a book of one of your men, of a Feigned Commonwealth, where
the married couple are permitted, before they contract, to see one
another naked.  This they dislike; for they think it a scorn to give a
refusal after so familiar knowledge: but because of many hidden
defects in men and women's bodies, they have a more civil way; for
they have near every town a couple of pools, (which they call Adam and
Eve's pools,) where it is permitted to one of the friends of the men,
and another of the friends of the woman, to see them severally bathe
naked."

And as we were thus in conference, there came one that seemed to be a
messenger, in a rich huke, that spake with the Jew: whereupon he
turned to me and said; "You will pardon me, for I am commanded away in
haste."  The next morning he came to me again, joyful as it seemed,
and said; "There is word come to the Governor of the city, that one of
the Fathers of Salomon's House will be here this day seven-night: we
have seen none of them this dozen years.  His coming is in state; but
the cause of his coming is secret.  I will provide you and your
fellows of a good standing to see his entry."  I thanked him, and told
him, I was most glad of the news.

The day being come, he made his entry.  He was a man of middle stature
and age, comely of person, and had an aspect as if he pitied men.  He
was clothed in a robe of fine black cloth, with wide sleeves and a
cape.  His under garment was of excellent white linen down to the foot,
girt with a girdle of the same; and a sindon or tippet of the same
about his neck.  He had gloves, that were curious,`' and set with
stone; and shoes of peach-coloured velvet.  His neck was bare to the
shoulders.  His hat was like a helmet, or Spanish montera; and his
locks curled below it decently: they were of colour brown.  His beard
was cut round, and of the same colour with his hair, somewhat lighter.
He was carried in a rich chariot without wheels, litter-wise; with
two horses at either end, richly trapped in blue velvet embroidered;
and two footmen on each side in the like attire.  The chariot was all
of cedar, gilt, and adorned with crystal; save that the fore-end had
panels of sapphires, set in borders of gold; and the hinder-end the
like of emeralds of the Peru colour.  There was also a sun of gold,
radiant, upon the top, in the midst; and on the top before, a small
cherub of gold, with wings displayed.  The chariot was covered with
cloth of gold tissued upon blue.  He had before him fifty attendants,
young men all, in white satin loose coats to the mid leg; and
stockings of white silk; and shoes of blue velvet; and hats of blue
velvet; with fine plumes of diverse colours, set round like hat-bands.
Next before the chariot, went two men, bare-headed, in linen garments
down the foot, girt, and shoes of blue velvet; who carried, the one a
crosier, the other a pastoral staff like a sheep-hook; neither of them
of metal, but the crosier of balm-wood, the pastoral staff of cedar.
Horsemen he had none, neither before nor behind his chariot: as it
seemeth, to avoid all tumult and trouble.  Behind his chariot went all
the officers and principals of the companies of the city.  He sat
alone, upon cushions of a kind of excellent plush, blue; and under his
foot curious carpets of silk of diverse colours, like the Persian, but
far finer.  He held up his bare hand as he went, as blessing the
people, but in silence.  The street was wonderfully well kept: so that
there was never any army had their men stand in better battle-array
than the people stood.  The windows likewise were not crowded, but
every one stood in them as if they had been placed.

When the shew was past, the Jew said to me; "I shall not be able to
attend you as I would, in regard of some charge the city hath laid
upon me, for the entertaining of this great person."  Three days after
the Jew came to me again, and said; "Ye are happy men; for the Father
of Salomon's House taketh knowledge of your being here, and commanded
me to tell you that he will admit all your company to his presence,
and have private conference with one of you, that ye shall choose: and
for this hath appointed the next day after to-morrow.  And because he
meaneth to give you his blessing, he hath appointed it in the forenoon."

We came at our day and hour, and I was chosen by my fellows for the
private access.  We found him in a fair chamber, richly hanged, and
carpeted under foot without any degrees to the state.  He was set upon
a low Throne richly adorned, and a rich cloth of state over his head,
of blue satin embroidered.  He was alone, save that he had two pages
of honour, on either hand one, finely attired in white.  His under
garments were the like that we saw him wear in the chariot; but
instead of his gown, he had on him a mantle with a cape, of the same
fine black, fastened about him.  When we came in, as we were taught,
we bowed low at our first entrance; and when we were come near his
chair, he stood up, holding forth his hand ungloved, and in posture of
blessing; and we every one of us stooped down, and kissed the hem of
his tippet.  That done, the rest departed, and I remained.  Then he
warned the pages forth of the room, and caused me to sit down beside
him, and spake to me thus in the Spanish tongue.

"God bless thee, my son; I will give thee the greatest jewel I have.
For I will impart unto thee, for the love of God and men, a relation
of the true state of Salomon's House.  Son, to make you know the true
state of Salomon's House, I will keep this order.  First, I will set
forth unto you the end of our foundation.  Secondly, the preparations
and instruments we have for our works.  Thirdly, the several
employments and functions whereto our fellows are assigned.  And
fourthly, the ordinances and rites which we observe.

"The end of our foundation is the knowledge of causes, and secret
motions of things; and the enlarging of the bounds of human empire, to
the effecting of all things possible.

"The Preparations and Instruments are these.  We have large and deep
caves of several depths: the deepest are sunk six hundred fathom: and
some of them are digged and made under great hills and mountains: so
that if you reckon together the depth of the hill and the depth of the
cave, they are (some of them) above three miles deep.  For we find,
that the depth of a hill, and the depth of a cave from the flat, is
the same thing; both remote alike, from the sun and heaven's beams,
and from the open air.  These caves we call the Lower Region; and we
use them for all coagulations, indurations, refrigerations, and
conservations of bodies.  We use them likewise for the imitation of
natural mines; and the producing also of new artificial metals, by
compositions and materials which we use, and lay there for many years.
We use them also sometimes, (which may seem strange,) for curing of
some diseases, and for prolongation of life in some hermits that
choose to live there, well accommodated of all things necessary, and
indeed live very long; by whom also we learn many things.

"We have burials in several earths, where we put diverse cements, as
the Chineses do their porcellain.  But we have them in greater variety,
and some of them more fine.  We have also great variety of composts
and soils, for the making of the earth fruitful.

"We have high towers; the highest about half a mile in height; and
some of them likewise set upon high mountains; so that the vantage of
the hill with the tower is in the highest of them three miles at least.
And these places we call the Upper Region; accounting the air
between the high places and the low, as a Middle Region.  We use these
towers, according to their several heights, and situations, for
insolation, refrigeration, conservation; and for the view of divers
meteors; as winds, rain, snow, hail; and some of the fiery meteors
also.  And upon them, in some places, are dwellings of hermits, whom
we visit sometimes, and instruct what to observe.

"We have great lakes, both salt, and fresh; whereof we have use for
the fish and fowl.  We use them also for burials of some natural
bodies: for we find a difference in things buried in earth or in air
below the earth, and things buried in water.  We have also pools, of
which some do strain fresh water out of salt; and others by art do
turn fresh water into salt.  We have also some rocks in the midst of
the sea, and some bays upon the shore for some works, wherein is
required the air and vapor of the sea.  We have likewise violent
streams and cataracts, which serve us for many motions: and likewise
engines for multiplying and enforcing of winds, to set also on going
diverse motions.

"We have also a number of artificial wells and fountains, made in
imitation of the natural sources and baths; as tincted upon vitriol,
sulphur, steel, brass, lead, nitre, and other minerals.  And again we
have little wells for infusions of many things, where the waters take
the virtue quicker and better, than in vessels or basins.  And amongst
them we have a water which we call Water of Paradise, being, by that
we do to it made very sovereign for health, and prolongation of life.

"We have also great and spacious houses where we imitate and
demonstrate meteors; as snow, hail, rain, some artificial rains of
bodies and not of water, thunders, lightnings; also generations of
bodies in air; as frogs, flies, and divers others.

"We have also certain chambers, which we call Chambers of Health,
where we qualify the air as we think good and proper for the cure of
divers diseases, and preservation of health.

"We have also fair and large baths, of several mixtures, for the cure
of diseases, and the restoring of man's body from arefaction: and
others for the confirming of it in strength of sinewes, vital parts,
and the very juice and substance of the body.

"We have also large and various orchards and gardens; wherein we do
not so much respect beauty, as variety of ground and soil, proper for
divers trees and herbs: and some very spacious, where trees and
berries are set whereof we make divers kinds of drinks, besides the
vineyards.  In these we practise likewise all conclusions of grafting,
and inoculating as well of wild-trees as fruit-trees, which produceth
many effects.  And we make (by art) in the same orchards and gardens,
trees and flowers to come earlier or later than their seasons; and to
come up and bear more speedily than by their natural course they do.
We make them also by art greater much than their nature; and their
fruit greater and sweeter and of differing taste, smell, colour, and
figure, from their nature.  And many of them we so order, as they
become of medicinal use.

"We have also means to make divers plants rise by mixtures of earths
without seeds; and likewise to make divers new plants, differing from
the vulgar; and to make one tree or plant turn into another.

"We have also parks and enclosures of all sorts of beasts and birds
which we use not only for view or rareness, but likewise for
dissections and trials; that thereby we may take light what may be
wrought upon the body of man.  Wherein we find many strange effects;
as continuing life in them, though divers parts, which you account
vital, be perished and taken forth; resuscitating of some that seem
dead in appearance; and the like.  We try also all poisons and other
medicines upon them, as well of chirurgery, as physic.  By art
likewise, we make them greater or taller than their kind is; and
contrariwise dwarf them, and stay their growth: we make them more
fruitful and bearing than their kind is; and contrariwise barren and
not generative.  Also we make them differ in colour, shape, activity,
many ways.  We find means to make commixtures and copulations of
different kinds; which have produced many new kinds, and them not
barren, as the general opinion is.  We make a number of kinds of
serpents, worms, flies, fishes, of putrefaction; whereof some are
advanced (in effect) to be perfect creatures, like bests or birds; and
have sexes, and do propagate.  Neither do we this by chance, but we
know beforehand, of what matter and commixture what kind of those
creatures will arise.

"We have also particular pools, where we make trials upon fishes, as
we have said before of beasts and birds.

"We have also places for breed and generation of those kinds of worms
and flies which are of special use; such as are with you your
silk-worms and bees.

"I will not hold you long with recounting of our brewhouses,
bake-houses, and kitchens, where are made divers drinks, breads, and
meats, rare and of special effects.  Wines we have of grapes; and
drinks of other juice of fruits, of grains, and of roots; and of
mixtures with honey, sugar, manna, and fruits dried, and decocted;
Also of the tears or woundings of trees; and of the pulp of canes.
And these drinks are of several ages, some to the age or last of forty
years.  We have drinks also brewed with several herbs, and roots, and
spices; yea with several fleshes, and white-meats; whereof some of the
drinks are such, as they are in effect meat and drink both: so that
divers, especially in age, do desire to live with them, with little or
no meat or bread.  And above all, we strive to have drink of extreme
thin parts, to insinuate into the body, and yet without all biting,
sharpness, or fretting; insomuch as some of them put upon the back of
your hand will, with a little stay, pass through to the palm, and yet
taste mild to the mouth.  We have also waters which we ripen in that
fashion, as they become nourishing; so that they are indeed excellent
drink; and.many will use no other.  Breads we have of several grains,
roots, and kernels; yea and some of flesh and fish dried; with divers
kinds of leavenings and seasonings: so that some do extremely move
appetites; some do nourish so, as divers do live of them, without any
other meat; who live very long.  So for meats, we have some of them so
beaten and made tender and mortified,' yet without all corrupting, as
a weak heat of the stomach will turn them into good chylus; as well as
a strong heat would meat otherwise prepared.  We have some meats also
and breads and drinks, which taken by men enable them to fast long
after; and some other, that used make the very flesh of men's bodies
sensibly' more hard and tough and their strength far greater than
otherwise it would be.

"We have dispensatories, or shops of medicines.  Wherein you may
easily think, if we have such variety of plants and living creatures
more than you have in Europe, (for we know what you have,) the simples,
drugs, and ingredients of medicines, must likewise be in so much the
greater variety.  We have them likewise of divers ages, and long
fermentations.  And for their preparations, we have not only all
manner of exquisite distillations and separations, and especially by
gentle heats and percolations through divers strainers, yea and
substances; but also exact forms of composition, whereby they
incorporate almost, as they were natural simples.

"We have also divers mechanical arts, which you have not; and stuffs
made by them; as papers, linen, silks, tissues; dainty works of
feathers of wonderful lustre; excellent dies, and, many others; and
shops likewise, as well for such as are not brought into vulgar use
amongst us as for those that are.  For you must know that of the
things before recited, many of them are grown into use throughout the
kingdom; but yet, if they did flow from our invention, we have of them
also for patterns and principals.

"We have also furnaces of great diversities, and that keep great
diversity of heats; fierce and quick; strong and constant; soft and
mild; blown, quiet; dry, moist; and the like.  But above all, we have
heats, in imitation of the Sun's and heavenly bodies' heats, that pass
divers inequalities, and (as it were) orbs, progresses, and returns,
whereby we produce admirable effects.  Besides, we have heats of dungs;
and of bellies and maws of living creatures, and of their bloods and
bodies; and of hays and herbs laid up moist; of lime unquenched; and
such like.  Instruments also which generate heat only by motion.  And
farther, places for strong insulations; and again, places under the
earth, which by nature, or art, yield heat.  These divers heats we use,
as the nature of the operation, which we intend, requireth.

"We have also perspective-houses, where we make demonstrations of all
lights and radiations; and of all colours: and out of things
uncoloured and transparent, we can represent unto you all several
colours; not in rain-bows, (as it is in gems, and prisms,) but of
themselves single.  We represent also all multiplications of light,
which we carry to great distance, and make so sharp as to discern
small points and lines.  Also all colourations of light; all delusions
and deceits of the sight, in figures, magnitudes, motions, colours all
demonstrations of shadows.  We find also divers means, yet unknown to
you, of producing of light originally from divers bodies.  We procure
means of seeing objects afar off; as in the heaven and remote places;
and represent things near as afar off; and things afar off as near;
making feigned distances.  We have also helps for the sight, far above
spectacles and glasses in use.  We have also glasses and means to see
small and minute bodies perfectly and distinctly; as the shapes and
colours of small flies and worms, grains and flaws in gems, which
cannot otherwise be seen, observations in urine and blood not
otherwise to be seen.  We make artificial rain-bows, halo's, and
circles about light.  We represent also all manner of reflexions,
refractions, and multiplications of visual beams of objects.

"We have also precious stones of all kinds, many of them of great
beauty, and to you unknown; crystals likewise; and glasses of divers
kinds; and amongst them some of metals vitrificated, and other
materials besides those of which you make glass.  Also a number of
fossils, and imperfect minerals, which you have not.  Likewise
loadstones of prodigious virtue; and other rare stones, both natural
and artificial.

"We have also sound-houses, where we practise and demonstrate all
sounds, and their generation.  We have harmonies which you have not,
of quarter-sounds, and lesser slides of sounds.  Divers instruments of
music likewise to you unknown, some sweeter than any you have,
together with bells and rings that are dainty and sweet.  We represent
small sounds as great and deep; likewise great sounds extenuate and
sharp; we make divers tremblings and warblings of sounds, which in
their original are entire.  We represent and imitate all articulate
sounds and letters, and the voices and notes of beasts and birds.  We
have certain helps which set to the ear do further the hearing greatly.
We have also divers strange and artificial echoes, reflecting the
voice many times, and as it were tossing it: and some that give back
the voice louder than it came, some shriller, and some deeper; yea,
some rendering the voice differing in the letters or articulate sound
from that they receive.  We have also means to convey sounds in trunks
and pipes, in strange lines and distances.

"We have also perfume-houses; wherewith we join also practices of
taste.  We multiply smells, which may seem strange.  We imitate smells,
making all smells to breathe outs of other mixtures than those that
give them.  We make divers imitations of taste likewise, so that they
will deceive any man's taste.  And in this house we contain also a
confiture-house; where we make all sweet-meats, dry and moist; and
divers pleasant wines, milks, broths, and sallets; in far greater
variety than you have.

"We have also engine-houses, where are prepared engines and
instruments for all sorts of motions.  There we imitate and practise
to make swifter motions than any you have, either out of your muskets
or any engine that you have: and to make them and multiply them more
easily, and with small force, by wheels and other means: and to make
them stronger and more violent than yours are; exceeding your greatest
cannons and basilisks.  We represent also ordnance and instruments of
war, and engines of all kinds: and likewise new mixtures and
compositions of gun-powder, wild-fires burning in water, and
unquenchable.  Also fireworks of all variety both for pleasure and use.
We imitate also flights of birds; we have some degrees of flying in
the air.  We have ships and boats for going under water, and brooking
of seas; also swimming-girdles and supporters.  We have divers curious
clocks, and other like motions of return: and some perpetual motions.
We imitate also motions of living creatures, by images, of men, beasts,
birds, fishes, and serpents.  We have also a great number of other
various motions, strange for equality, fineness, and subtilty.

"We have also a mathematical house, where are represented all
instruments, as well of geometry as astronomy, exquisitely made.

"We have also houses of deceits of the senses; where we represent all
manner of feats of juggling, false apparitions, impostures, and
illusions; and their fallacies.  And surely you will easily believe
that we that have so many things truly natural which induce admiration,
could in a world of particulars deceive the senses, if we would
disguise those things and labour to make them seem more miraculous.
But we do hate all impostures, and lies; insomuch as we have severely
forbidden it to all our fellows, under pain of ignominy and fines,
that they do not show any natural work or thing, adorned or swelling;
but only pure as it is, and without all affectation of strangeness.

"These are (my son) the riches of Salomon's House.

"For the several employments and offices of our fellows; we have
twelve that sail into foreign countries, under the names of other
nations, (for our own we conceal); who bring us the books, and
abstracts, and patterns of experiments of all other parts.  These we
call Merchants of Light.

"We have three that collect the experiments which are in all books.
These we call Depredators.

"We have three that collect the experiments of all mechanical arts;
and also of liberal sciences; and also of practices which are not
brought into arts.  These we call Mystery-men.

"We have three that try new experiments, such as themselves think good.
These we call Pioneers or Miners.

"We have three that draw the experiments of the former four into
titles and tables, to give the better light for the drawing of
observations and axioms out of them.  These we call Compilers.

"We have three that bend themselves, looking into the experiments of
their fellows, and cast about how to draw out of them things of use
and practise for man's life, and knowledge, as well for works as for
plain demonstration of causes, means of natural divinations, and the
easy and clear discovery of the virtues and parts of bodies.  These we
call Dowry-men or Benefactors.

"Then after divers meetings and consults of our whole number, to
consider of the former labours and collections, we have three that
take care, out of them, to direct new experiments, of a higher light,
more penetrating into nature than the former.  These we call Lamps.

"We have three others that do execute the experiments so directed, and
report them.  These we call Inoculators.

"Lastly, we have three that raise the former discoveries by
experiments into greater observations, axioms, and aphorisms.  These
we call Interpreters of Nature.

"We have also, as you must think, novices and apprentices, that the
succession of the former employed men do not fail; besides, a great
number of servants and attendants, men and women.  And this we do also:
we have consultations, which of the inventions and experiences which
we have discovered shall be published, and which not: and take all an
oath of secrecy, for the concealing of those which we think fit to
keep secret: though some of those we do reveal sometimes to the state
and some not.

"For our ordinances and rites: we have two very long and fair
galleries: in one of these we place patterns and samples of all manner
of the more rare and excellent inventions in the other we place the
statues of all principal inventors.  There we have the statue of your
Columbus, that discovered the West Indies: also the inventor of ships:
your monk that was the inventor of ordnance and of gunpowder: the
inventor of music: the inventor of letters: the inventor of printing:
the inventor of observations of astronomy: the inventor of works in
metal: the inventor of glass: the inventor of silk of the worm: the
inventor of wine: the inventor of corn and bread: the inventor of
sugars: and all these, by more certain tradition than you have.  Then
have we divers inventors of our own, of excellent works; which since
you have not seen, it were too long to make descriptions of them; and
besides, in the right understanding of those descriptions you might
easily err.  For upon every invention of value, we erect a statue to
the inventor, and give him a liberal and honourable reward.  These
statues are some of brass; some of marble and touch-stone; some of
cedar and other special woods gilt and adorned; some of iron; some of
silver; some of gold.

"We have certain hymns and services, which we say daily, of Lord and
thanks to God for his marvellous works: and forms of prayers,
imploring his aid and blessing for the illumination of our labours,
and the turning of them into good and holy uses.

"Lastly, we have circuits or visits of divers principal cities of the
kingdom; where, as it cometh to pass, we do publish such new
profitable inventions as we think good.  And we do also declare
natural divinations of diseases, plagues, swarms-of hurtful creatures,
scarcity, tempests, earthquakes, great inundations, comets,
temperature of the year, and divers other things; and we give counsel
thereupon, what the people shall do for the prevention and remedy of
them."

And when he had said this, he stood up; and I, as I had been taught,
kneeled down, and he laid his right hand upon my head, and said; "God
bless thee, my son; and God bless this relation, which I have made.  I
give thee leave to publish it for the good of other nations; for we
here are in God's bosom, a land unknown."  And so he left me; having
assigned a value of about two thousand ducats, for a bounty to me and
my fellows.  For they give great largesses where they come upon all
occasions.

[The rest was not perfected.]





End of this Project Gutenberg Etext of "The New Atlantis" by Francis Bacon

