The Young Mother: Management of Children in Regard to Health

CHAPTER XIX.
EDUCATION OF THE SENSES

Improving the senses. Examples of improvement. SEC. 1. Hearing—how injured—how improved.—SEC. 2. Seeing—how injured.—SEC. 3. Tasting and smelling—how benumbed—how preserved.—SEC. 4. Feeling. The blind. Hints to parents. Education of both hands.

Man is much less useful and happy in this world than he would be, if more pains were taken by parents and teachers, as well as by himself, to cultivate his senses—hearing, seeing, feeling; tasting, and smelling—and to preserve their rectitude.

The extent to which the senses can be improved or exalted, can best be understood by observing how perfect they become when we are compelled to cultivate them. Thus the blind, who are obliged to cultivate hearing, feeling, and smelling, often astonish us by the keenness of these senses. They will distinguish sounds—especially voices—which others cannot; and with so much accuracy, as to remember for several years the voice of a person in a large company, which they hear but once. They will also distinguish small pieces of money, different fabrics and qualities of cloth, &c.; and, in walking, often ascertain, by the feeling of the air, or by other sensations, when they approach a building, or any other considerable body. So the North American Indian, whose habits of life seem to require it, can hear the footsteps of an approaching enemy at distances which astonish us. So also the deaf and dumb are very keen-sighted, and generally make very accurate observations. Any reader who is sceptical in regard to the cultivation of the senses, would do well to consult the account of Julia Brace, the deaf and dumb and blind girl, as published in some of the early volumes of the "Annals of Education."

But it is hardly necessary to resort to the blind, or to savages, or to the deaf and dumb, in order to prove man's susceptibility in this respect. We may be reminded of the same fact by observing with what accuracy the merchant tailor can distinguish, by feeling, the quality of his goods; how quick a painter, an engraver, or a printer, will discover errors in painting or printing, which wholly escape ordinary readers or observers; and how quick the ear of a good musician will discover the existence and origin of a discordant sound in his choir.

Now I do not undertake to say or prove, that mankind would be better or happier for having their senses all cultivated in the highest possible degree; though I am not sure that this would not be the case. But so long as a large proportion of our ideas enter our minds through the medium of the five senses, it is desirable that something should be done to perfect them, instead of overlooking the whole subject. What mothers ought to do in this matter, deserves, therefore, a brief consideration.

SEC. 1. Hearing

The suggestion, in another place, to keep away caps from the child's head, if duly attended to, is one means of perfecting, or at least of preserving, the sense of hearing. For caps, by the heat they produce to a part which cannot safely endure an increase of temperature, greatly expose children to catarrhal affections; and many a catarrh has laid the foundation for dulness of hearing, if not of actual deafness.

The ears should be kept clean. If washed sufficiently often, and syringed once a week with warm milk and water, or with very weak soap-suds, gently warmed, the cerumen or ear wax will hardly be found accumulated in such masses as to produce deafness. And yet such accumulations, with such consequences, are by no means uncommon. It is not long since a young man with whom I am acquainted, applied to an eminent surgeon of Boston, on account of deafness in one ear, which had become quite troublesome, and as it was feared, incurable. Syringing with a large and strong syringe disengaged a large mass of cerumen, and hearing was immediately restored.

Children should be taught to distinguish sounds with closed eyes, or blindfolded. We may strike on various objects, and ask them to tell what we struck, &c. This will lead them to observe sounds; and will perfect their hearing in a remarkable degree.

There are also advantages to be derived from accustoming a child to a great variety of sounds; both as regards their strength and character. But this must only be occasional; for if the ear be constantly accustomed to sounds of any kind, and more especially those which are harsh or loud, the organ of hearing is liable to sustain injury. Music, as it is now beginning to be taught to children in our schools, will do much, I think, to improve the faculty of hearing.

SEC. 2. Seeing

The sight, says Addison, is the most perfect of all our senses; and this is unquestionably true. But it is more or less perfect, in different individuals, according to the early education they have received. Sometimes, it is true, we are born near-or dim-sighted; but such cases are comparatively rare.

The question is sometimes asked why there are so many persons, now-a-days, who lose their sight, become near-sighted, &c. very young. It may be difficult to answer this question fully; yet I cannot help thinking that the following are some of the causes.

1. The great heat of our apartments, which, together with late hours and much lamp light, affects the eyes unpleasantly, is believed to be among the more prominent causes of early decay of sight. Formerly, our apartments were neither so steadily nor so generally heated; and we rose earlier, and consequently went to bed earlier.

2. The fine print of a large proportion of our books, especially our school books, has done immense injury. I do not believe that reading fine print, occasionally, for a few moments at a time, or reading by a very strong or very weak light in the same way, does harm. On the contrary, I think it may strengthen and improve the sight. It is the long continuance of these things that does the mischief; and the mischief thus done is immense. I rejoice that printers and publishers are beginning of late to use much larger type than they have done for some years past.

3. The early use of spectacles does mischief—I mean before they are needed. After they begin to be needed, there is no advantage in delaying to use them, as some do, for fear they shall wear them too soon. This is about as wise as the practice of going cold to harden ourselves.

4. Reading when we are fatigued, or ill, or have a very full stomach, is another way to injure the sight.

5. Rubbing the eyes with the fingers, or with anything else, does inevitable mischief. The Germans have a proverb which says—"Never touch your eye, except with your elbow." There is much of good sense in it.

In short, there are a thousand ways in which that delicate organ, the human eye, may sustain injury; and nearly as many in which it may be strengthened, cultivated, and improved. But my limits merely permit me to add, that the frequent but gentle application of water to the eye, several times a day, at such a temperature as is most agreeable—but cold, when it can be borne—is one of the best preservatives of sight which the world affords.

Connected alike with physical and intellectual education, is the practice of measuring by the eye heights, distances, superfices, weights, and solids. It is not difficult to train the eye to an accuracy in this matter which would astonish the uninstructed.

SEC. 3. Tasting and Smelling

I do not know that it is worth our while to take pains, by any direct methods, to cultivate the organs of taste or smell; but I think it proper, at the least, to preserve their original rectitude.

Many, I know, undertake to say, that were it not for our errors in regard to food and drink, and were it not, in particular, for the multitude of strange mixtures which tend to benumb those two senses, we might determine the qualities of food and drink—whether they are favorable or adverse—by means of taste and smell, like the animals. But I do not believe this. The Creator has substituted reason, in us, for instinct in the brute animals. It is not necessary that we should possess the latter, when the former is so manifestly superior to it; and accordingly I do not believe that it is given us, or any of that acuteness of sensation which exists in the dog, the tiger, the vulture, &c.—and which so closely resembles it.

There can be no doubt—no reasonable doubt, certainly—that the wretched customs of modern cookery benumb the senses of taste and smell, more or less, and that high-seasoned food, condiments, and stimulating drinks do the same; and should for this reason, were it for no other, be studiously avoided.

Closely connected with the organ of taste are the TEETH. A volume might profitably be written on these—as on the eye. But I will only say that they should be kept perfectly clean, either by rinsing or brushing, or both, especially after eating; that they should be permitted to chew all our food, instead of merely standing by as silent spectators to the passage of that which is mashed, soaked, chopped, &c.; that they should not be picked or cleaned with pins, or other equally hard instruments; that they should not be used to crack nuts or other hard, indigestible substances; and that the stomach, with which they are apt to sympathize very strongly, should also be kept in a good and healthy condition.

SEC. 4. Feeling

Corpulence and slovenliness are generally among the more prolific sources of a want of acuteness in feeling. The first is a disease, and may be avoided by a proper diet, and by active mental and bodily employment. Slovenliness we may of course avoid, whenever there is a wish to do so, and an abundance of water.

But the sense of feeling, or especially that accumulation of it which we call TOUCH, and which seems to be specially located in the balls of the fingers and on the palm of the hand, is susceptible of a degree of improvement far beyond what would be the natural result of cleanliness, and freedom from plethora or corpulence.

I have already alluded, in my general remarks at the head of this chapter, to the acuteness of this sense in the blind, as well as in the dealer in cloths. I might add many more illustrations, but a single one, in relation to the blind, which was accidentally omitted in that place, will be sufficient.

The blind at the Institution in this city, as well as in other similar institutions, are now taught to read and write with considerable facility. But how? Most of my readers may have heard how they read, but I will describe the process as well as I can. A description of their method of writing is more difficult.

The letters are formed by pressing the paper, while quite moist, upon rather large type, which raises a ridge in the line of every letter, and which remains prominent after the paper is dry. In order to read, the pupil has to feel out these ridges. A circular ridge on the paper he is told is O; a perpendicular one, I; a crooked one, S; &c. They read music and arithmetic printed in a similar manner. A few months of practice, in this way, will enable an ingenious youth to read with considerable ease and despatch.

Now if nothing is wanting but a little training to render the touch so accurate, would it not be useful to train every child to judge frequently of the properties of bodies by this sense? And cannot every one recall to his mind a thousand situations in which a greater accuracy of this sense would have saved him much inconvenience, as well as afforded him no little pleasure?

I shall conclude this section with a few remarks on the HAND. The custom of neglecting, or almost neglecting the left hand, though nearly universal, in this country at least, appears to me to be wrong—decidedly so. For although more blood may be sent to the right arm than to the left, as physiologists say, yet the difference is not as great at birth as it is afterward; so that education either weakens the one or strengthens the other.

Besides this, we occasionally find a person who is left-handed, as it is called; that is, his left hand and arm are as much larger and stronger than the right, as the right is usually stronger than the left. How is this? Do we find a corresponding change in the internal structure? But suppose it could be ascertained that such a change did exist, which I believe has never been done, the question would still arise whether the difference was the same at birth, or whether the more frequent use of the left hand has not, in part, produced it.

I do not mean, here, to intimate that a more frequent use of the left hand than the right would make new blood-vessels grow where there were none before. But it would certainly do one thing; it would make the same vessels carry more blood than they did before, which is, in effect, nearly the same thing:—for the more blood in the limb, as a general rule, the more strength—provided the limb is in due health and exercise.

The inference which I wish the reader to make from all this is, that since the left hand and arm, by due cultivation, and without essential difference or change of structure to begin with, can occasionally be made stronger than the right, it is fair to conclude that it may, if found desirable, be always rendered more nearly equal to it than, in adult years, we usually find it.

The question is now fairly before us—Is such a result desirable? I maintain that it is; and shall endeavor to show my reasons.

How often is one hand injured by an accident, or rendered nearly useless by disease? But if it should be the right, how helpless it makes us! The man who is accustomed to shave himself, must now resort to a barber. If he is a barber himself, or almost any other mechanic, his business must be discontinued. Or if he is a clerk, he cannot use his left hand, and must consequently lose his time. Or if amputation chances to be performed on a favorite arm, how entirely useless to society we are, till we have learned to use the other! It not only takes up a great deal of valuable time to acquire a facility of using it, but if we are already arrived at maturity, we can never use it so well as the other, during our whole lives; because it is too late in life to increase its size and strength much by constant exercise. Whereas in youth, it might have been done easily.

Is it not then important—for these and many more reasons—to teach a child to use with nearly equal readiness, both of his hands? But if so, who can do it better than the mother? And when can it be better done than in the earliest infancy? When is the time which would be devoted to it worth less than at this period?

CHAPTER XX.
ABUSES

Bad seats for children at table and elsewhere. Why children hate Sunday. Seats at Sabbath school—at church—at district schools. Suspending children between the heavens and the earth. Cushions to sit on. Seats with backs. Children in factories. Evils produced. Bodily punishment. Striking the heads of children very injurious. Beating across the middle of the body. Anecdote of a teacher. Concluding advice to mothers.

It is difficult to determine, in regard to many things which concern the management of the young, whether they belong most properly to moral or physical education; so close is the connection between the two, and so decidedly does everything, or nearly everything which relates to the management of the body, have a bearing upon the formation of moral character. This work might be extended very much farther, did it comport with my original plan. But I hasten to close the volume, with a few thoughts on certain abuses of the body, which prevail to a greater or less extent in families and schools; and to which I have not adverted elsewhere.

The seats of children are usually bad, both at table and elsewhere. It seems not enough that we condemn them to the use of knives, forks, spoons, &c., of the same size with those of adults. We go farther; and give them chairs of the same height and proportion with our own. There are a few exceptions to the truth of this remark. Here and there we see a child's chair, it is true—but not often.

But how unreasonable is it to seat a child in a chair so high that his feet cannot reach the floor; and so constructed that there is no outer place on which the feet can rest. What adult would be willing to sit in so painful a posture, with his legs dangling? No wonder children dislike to sit much, in such circumstances. And it is a great blessing to both parent and child that they do. No wonder children hate the Sabbath, especially in those families where they are compelled to keep the day holy by sitting motionless! Sabbath schools, though they bring with them some evil along with a great deal of good, are a relief to the young in this particular—especially if their seats are more comfortable elsewhere than at home. They consider it much more tolerable to spend the morning and intermission of the day in going and returning from Sabbath school, than in constant and close confinement. They prefer variety, and the occasional light and air of heaven, to monotony and seclusion and silence.

It happens, however, that the seats at the Sabbath school and at church, are not always what they should be; nor, so far as church is concerned, do I see that this evil can be wholly avoided. Children usually sit with their parents, in the sanctuary—and they ought to do so: and the height of the seats cannot, of course, accommodate both. If there is a building erected solely for the use of the Sabbath school, the seats may be constructed accordingly, without seriously incommoding anybody; but in the church, I do not see, as I have once before observed, how the evil can be remedied.

The greatest trouble in regard to seats, however, is at the day school; especially in our district or common schools. There, it is usual for children to be confined six hours a day—and sometimes two in succession—to hard, narrow, plank seats, a large proportion of which are without backs, and raised so high that the feet of most of the pupils cannot possibly touch the floor. There, "suspended," as I have said in another work,²³ "between the heavens and the earth, they are compelled to remain motionless for an hour or an hour and a half together."

I have also shown, in the same essay, that in regard to the desks, and indeed many other things which pertain to, or are connected with the school, very little pains is taken to provide for the physical welfare or even comfort of the pupils; and that a thorough reform on the subject appears to be indispensable.

When I speak of hard plank seats, let me not be understood as hinting at the necessity of cushions. When I wrote the essay above mentioned, I did indeed believe that they were desirable. But I am now opposed to their use, either by children or adults, even where a laborious employment would seem to demand a long confinement to this awkward and unnatural position. If our seats are cushioned, we shall sit too easily. I believe that our health requires a hard seat; because its very hardness inclines us to change, frequently, our position.

But if we must sit, be it ever so short a time, our seats should always have backs; and those which are designed for children, should not be so high as to render them uncomfortable. Nor should the backs of seats be so high as they usually are, either for children or adults. They should never come much higher than the middle of the body. If they reach the shoulders, they either favor a crouching forward, or interfere with the free action of the lungs.

This might be deemed a proper place for saying something on the position of children in manufactories. But here a world of abuse opens upon my view, the full development of which demands a large volume. How many crooked spines, emaciated bodies, decaying lungs, as well as scrofulas, fevers, and consumptions, are either induced or accelerated by these unnatural employments! I mean they are unnatural for the young. As to employing adults in them, I have nothing at present to say. But when I think of the cruel custom of placing children in these places, whose bodies—and were this the place, I might add, minds—are immature, and especially girls, I am compelled, by the voice of conscience, and, as I trust, by a regard to those laws which God has established in our physical frames, but which are yet so strangely violated, to protest against it. Better that no factories should exist, than that children should be ruined in them as they now are. Better by far that we should return, were it possible, to the primitive habits of New England—to those by-gone days when mothers and daughters made the wearing apparel of themselves and their families—when, if there was less of intellectual cultivation, and less money expended for luxuries and extravagances, there was much more of health and happiness.

There is one more species of abuse to which, in closing, I wish to direct maternal attention. I allude to injudicious modes of inflicting corporal punishment.

Let me not be understood to appear, in this place, as the advocate of bodily punishments of any kind; for if they are even admissible under some circumstances, I am fully convinced that in the way in which they are commonly administered, they do much more harm than good.

But leaving the question of their utility, in the abstract, wholly untouched, and taking it for granted, for the present, that they are—as is undoubtedly the fact—sometimes employed, and will continue to be so for a great while to come, I proceed to speak of their more flagrant abuses.

Among these, none are more reprehensible than blows of any kind on the head. Even the rod is objectionable for this purpose, since it exposes the eyes. But the hand—in boxing the ears or striking in any way—is more so. The bones of the head, in young children, are not yet firmly knit together, and these concussions may injure the tender brain. I know of whole families, whose mental faculties are dull, as the consequence—I believe—of a perpetual boxing and striking of the head. Some individuals are made almost idiots, in this very manner.—But the worst is not yet told. Many teachers are in the habit of striking their pupils' heads with thick heavy books; and with wooden rules. I have seen one of the latter, of considerable size and thickness, broken in two across the head of a very small boy; and this, too—such is the public mind—in the presence of a mother who was paying a visit to the school. I have seen parents and masters strike the heads of their children with pieces of wood, of much larger size;—in one instance with a common sized tailor's press-board; in another with the heavy end of a wooden whip-handle, about an inch in diameter.

Children are sometimes severely beaten across the middle of the body—the region where lie the vital organs—the lungs, the heart, the liver, &c. They are sometimes beaten too, across the joints, or in any place that the excited, perhaps passionate teacher or parent can reach. Rules and books are thrown with violence at pupils in school. There is a story in the "Annals of Education," Vol. IV. at page 28, of a teacher who threw a rule at a little boy, six years old, which struck him with great force, within an inch of one of his eyes. Had it struck a little nearer to his nose, it would, in all probability, have destroyed his left eye.

But without extending these remarks any farther, every intelligent mother who reads what I have already written, will see, as I trust, the necessity of properly informing herself on the great subject of physical education; and of being better prepared than she has hitherto been for acquitting herself, with satisfaction, of those high and sacred responsibilities which, in the wise arrangements of Nature and Providence, devolve upon her.