Spring 1852 — Delivered to a “class of ladies” in a Sunday School basement, New York City

In my former lecture I laid before you the general principles on which all existence is based, viz.: 1st, the manifestation of life only by movement or exercise; 2d, the development of life in a definite order of movement, shown in the human being by the predominance, at different ages, of the different elements of his double nature — first the material then the spiritual nature; 3d, the compound nature of movement; and 4th, the end of all movement, viz., the law of use. I stated that it is in accordance with these principles that our human life should be regulated, and I then pointed out some of the evils that must inevitably result from the neglect of these, viz., imperfect, premature, undue development, or even the complete annihilation of true life.

We have seen the supremacy of these laws in all spheres of being, but it is my purpose to limit our inquiry, and examine only their application to the physical nature of man, THE LIFE OF THE BODY; and this order of examination is not only accordant with the plan of nature, but it is the one which my duty, as a physician, would especially lead me to adopt. And though, according to the law of compound movement, I shall have occasion frequently to refer to the intimately connected spiritual nature, such references will always be subordinate to our main inquiry.

I wish to make you intimately acquainted with the life of the body, so that you may realize fully its importance, the veneration which it should inspire, the attention which should be given to it. I shall open to you its wonderfully complicated and delicate mechanism, show you how it grows, and how it becomes strong and perfect, and how we may aid or injure this beautiful growth. To do this I shall not lead you through long anatomical descriptions, nor give you sketches of disease, nor even present you with much physiological detail; that would certainly be a much easier plan for me, and I could so give you lectures, ad infinitum, but the benefit to you would be highly questionable. If you wished to enter as medical students no subject would be irrelevant, no details useless, and to every such earnest worker I would gladly render aid, and give the right hand of fellowship, but that is not our present object. The studies in relation to the body, necessary to the MEDICAL STUDENT, and to the woman who would intelligently perform the noble duties of a mother and a rational member of society, are widely different, and it is productive of much mischief to attempt to mingle the former with the latter. A certain degree of anatomy and physiology you may obtain — you have probably obtained from some of the many popular works on those subjects. My object, as I have stated, is an eminently practical one. I wish to show you how to make the human race stronger and more beautiful. I must therefore digest for you the endless multiplicity of medical facts, and present you with the result thus obtained. I must give you knowledge which you can use, and teach you how to use it, and I trust that our studies will possess that deep interest and put forth that moulding force which belong to use.

The first fact to which I would call your attention is the limited range of our power over the body. Our will is able to accomplish a great many things, but there are also many for which it is completely impotent. We cannot stop the beating of the heart, nor change its method of action; we cannot alter its type; we cannot educate it; we may kill but we are unable to govern it. We cannot teach the lungs to inhale carbonic acid gas, nor can we learn to do without breathing. Yet we may remain inactive for years, the limbs that were meant for motion may be forced to constant repose, and life will still continue; the hand may remain idle by our side, or learn to move with wonderful agility over the notes of a musical instrument. The Anchorite may bind himself by a vow of silence, and permit no sound to escape his lips; or, he may train his voice to the production of melodious strains that will draw forth tears of admiring delight. But, should we force the stomach to a state of constant repose, or provide it with indigestible materials, we should speedily pay for the attempt with our life. The early germ of life is beyond our management; we cannot change its type nor its manifestations; but our power over the intellectual and moral life of childhood is so great, that we may be said almost to create it; we may leave the brain in a state of inaction — of constant slumber, while the rest of the body grows daily towards its maturity. And yet there is no faculty of body or soul completely withdrawn from the influence of our will. Stomach, heart, and lungs may all be injured by us, they may also be greatly aided in their work by our help, and the great fact of human generation may be powerfully affected for good or evil by the conditions with which we surround it. When we consider this confused multitude of facts, proving both the potency and the impotency of the intelligent human will to affect the growth of the body, it becomes a matter of essential importance to us clearly to understand the limits and nature of our power, that we may neither waste our efforts in attempts to perform what the Creator has placed beyond our reach, nor neglect any valuable opportunity for accomplishing wisely the part which is clearly allotted to us as free, intelligent, and progressive beings.

Now we shall find in the double nature of man, the life of the body and soul, the explanation which we need to direct us. The true life of man, the life of the soul, only proves itself by its manifestations, by speech, expressed thought, by action, by social and national relations, and all those various forms of incarnated soul which we call art, science, religion. All this external life is simply the relation of the inner life, the soul, to man, to nature, to God, and the only way in which this inner life can so express itself, is by employing the body as a medium. But if we could take from man the power of speech and movement, the electric glance of the eye, the language of touch — could we even paralyze the greater portion of the brain, and thus deprive him of every possible method of displaying the life of the soul, the individual would still live on, the stomach would continue to digest, the liver would still carry on its complicated processes of vital chemistry, the lungs would breathe in the purifying air, the heart would distribute fresh blood to every part of the body, and the warm living tint of the skin would indicate the continued existence of organic bodily health.

Here, then, we have at once a broad distinction between the organic life of the body, which is self-supporting and independent of individual will, and the related life of the body, which is the necessary instrument of the mind, directly under its control, and capable of immense development. The organic life has a fixed type of its own, we cannot educate it, each organ has its special peculiar use, to which any action of ours would be an impertinent interference, but the related life has our highest interests as its object, our interference is essential to its growth, it is capable of a wonderful education. The reason of this striking difference is evident from the order of movement which we have already observed. The lowest and coarsest forms of being always appear before the higher. The body is first in the order of development, it has to prepare for the mind, every function is fully and permanently established before the intelligent will makes its appearance; the body must therefore necessarily have its own independent laws in the child, and it remains through life independent of the experiments, the mistakes, and the long-continued efforts by which alone man can acquire knowledge — a fixed point, without which we could make no exertion; a broad firm foundation-stone, on which we may build the beautiful edifice of a noble life.

By the organic or involuntary life of the body, we mean the active life of those parts of our material framework which would be necessary to keep the body alive if we had no souls; thus the action of the heart, lungs, stomach, skin, &c., belongs to the organic life, while by the related or voluntary life we indicate those parts of our physical organization which are the direct instruments of our intelligent will, the brain, senses, and muscular system.

Having thus found the first division which our subject clearly presents, you will readily perceive that my remarks on “The Laws of Life, with special reference to the Physical Education of Girls,” will chiefly refer to the related life of the body, towards which we have so important a part to perform; but as we have already seen there is no such thing as simple isolated life in the universe, so our will may powerfully influence the organic life of the body, and its connection is so intimate with every part of our human nature, that I must first call your attention to this division of our subject before we shall be prepared to take up the important second branch.

Let us consider then the Organic Life of the body, and the way in which we can aid this life. We have seen that each organ has its own special work to do, and understands better than we can the best method of doing it. Therefore, in the organic life of the body we are not called upon either to furnish an object, or to educate any part to attain a certain object. Our part lies solely in placing the body in a position to work; in other words, our duty to the organic life consists in furnishing the following conditions, viz.: 1st, freedom to work; 2d, materials to work with. In these two rules lie enfolded our most important duties to the body. Our first duties for before education is possible the observance of these laws are essential to the life of the infant; our last duties — for when the aim of human life has been accomplished, when the related life of the body,  having finished its work, grows weak, and the period of separation approaches, with the most diligent care we must  observe these rules by which we can most effectually cheer the declining life of the aged; and through the whole period of youth and manhood, if we would prevent sickness, if we would strengthen the whole nature, if we would prolong life, we must never cease to perform our first grand duty to the body, that corner-stone of physical well-being, freedom to work and materials to work with.

Let us examine more in detail the application of these principles, and see how clear a light they shed upon the relation of our free will to every period of existence.

Look at the first faint gleam of life, the life of the embryo, the commencement of human existence. We see a tiny cell, so small that it may easily be overlooked; the anatomist may examine it with scalpel or microscope, and what does he discover? Nothing but a delicate, transparent membrane, containing one drop of clear water; the chemist may analyze it with the most scrupulous care, and find nothing but the trace of some simple salts. And yet there is in that simple germ-cell something most wonderful — life! — it is a living cell; it contains a power of progressive growth, according to laws, towards a definite type, that we can only regard with reverent admiration. Leave it in its natural home, tended by the rich life of the healthy maternal organization, and it will grow steadily in the human type; in no other by any possibility. Little by little the faint specks will appear in the enlarging cell, which mark the head, the trunk, the budding extremities; tiny channels will groove themselves in every direction, red particles of inconceivable minuteness will appear in them — they move, they tend towards one central spot, where a little channel has enlarged, has assumed a special form, has already begun to palpitate; finally the living blood in the small arteries joins that in the heart, and the circulation is established. From every delicate incomplete part, minute nerve-threads shoot forth, they tend inevitably towards their centres, they join the brain, the spinal marrow, the ganglia. The nervous system is formed. The cell rapidly enlarges, its attachments to the maternal organism become more powerful, for increasing amounts of fresh nourishment must be conveyed to the growing being, the work advances to perfection, each organ is distinctly formed, placed in the cavities of head, chest, and abdomen, that are now completely closed; the human type is surely attained, and after a brief period of consolidation the young existence, created from that simple cell, will awake to a further development of independent life. Throughout this period of early life we remain spectators merely of the wonderful growth; it would be impious folly to attempt to interfere directly with this act of creation; but even here, in this early stage of existence, we have important aid to render. We must, through the maternal organization, present the essential conditions, freedom to work and materials to work with. And the duty is imperative. Observe our action is indirect. No mother can determine the sex or appearance of the child; she cannot amputate a limb or disfigure the body by any direct violent action of her will; but the state of her health, the disposition of her mind, her habits of life, will materially affect the growth and influence the future constitution of the child. The most powerful action is not sudden and violent effort; earthquakes and revolutions are destructive, not creative; every really important change, every admirable and lasting growth, is the result of long-continued action, working silently but constantly in the right direction. This is true of all kinds of growth. The young sapling may be bent to the earth by a violent storm, and it will shortly recover its position, and shoot up tall and straight, under the genial influences of earth and sky; but plant it on the mountain side, exposed to the constant action of the sea breeze, and though no change in its position is perceptible in a single day, yet it is surely growing in the direction of the wind, and it will soon show, in its bent form, how much more powerfully the constant invisible influence has affected its growth, than the sudden evident action of the storm.

Such favoring influences are found in the daily life of the mother, during the early period of embryonic existence, in the cheerful sunshine of the spirit that should so naturally enfold the new centre of many hopes, in the observance of those important rules of hygiene, regular habits, early hours, periodic exercise, cold bathing, plain wholesome food, and loose comfortable clothing; these rules are simple, easily understood, not difficult to be observed, yet are they of immense importance ­— they are the favoring circumstances of growth, they are our part in the work of creation. Then, surely, they never can be neglected by the wise mother who has once clearly recognized their high use. No frivolous pleasure, no petty cares, no serious sorrow even, will induce the true mother to neglect the healthy rule of life, or disturb the cheerful serenity of her spirit, when she is thus directly the handmaid of the Creator.

We have watched the first development of embryonic life, and its gradual attainment of the human organization. Now, an immense change occurs in the life of the little being it is born, and remains henceforth subject to influences with which we are familiar, and under our immediate action. Previous to this epoch, notwithstanding the vigorous principle of life so evidently displayed, its existence was a mystery to us; we cannot understand a method of growth, whose conditions are so different from our own. But the child is born, we recognize the kindred claim at once established, it is become one of us, and direct and urgent duties are now opened to us.

It is one of us, but yet how different! every part of the body has to change its proportions, and the quality of its structure, to attain the perfect type. The head and abdomen are of undue size, the brain is soft, there is not a solid bone in its body, the liver is enormously large, the stomach and intestines irritable, and the skin of extreme delicacy. In every fibre of the infant organization, I could point you to these differences, which mark the transition epoch between two different states of existence, and indicate the plastic condition of the little being, which requires only favorable conditions to be moulded by the gentle hand of nature into the perfect
human form.

What are those conditions which constitute its freedom to work? 1st. Unimpeded movement of every part of the body — there must be no pressure, no constrained position. In the large Lying-in Hospital in Paris, La Matérnité, the old practice of swathing the infants is still observed; the lower limbs, each one enveloped in a fold of linen, are stretched to their fullest extent, and closely bound with thick cloths, which effectually prevent any movement in them. Every mother who has watched the evident delight with which the little limbs move, under the gentle friction of her hand, and observed the instant response of every part of the body to every painful or pleasurable sensation, will feel the torture of such a method of constraint; and it has made my heart ache in seeing these poor little mummies unrolled, to observe the half-paralyzed condition of the little limbs, which would gradually recover their activity with their freedom, only to be again tortured, under the foolish idea of straightening the limbs — the surest method, certainly, of defeating the object — for by substituting the violence of external constraint, for the gradual and strengthening method of growth, by which nature straightens the naturally flexed limbs, they remain weak and imperfectly developed, and when the child begins to crawl or walk about, they inevitably bend under the burden they are not prepared to support. Now though this practice of swathing will seem an unnatural and cruel custom, it should be borne in mind, that any amount of confinement by clothing or position, differs only in degree, and produces, to some extent, the same discomfort to the infant, and the same injury to growth; an intelligent care should, therefore, be exercised in the construction of the clothing, in the application of bands, and in the manner of nursing, that the perfect freedom of the body shall be preserved, and no part of the soft, tender frame be compelled to bear an undue burden.

Another condition to be observed, is the warm temperature necessary to the infant. I might say the warm, living atmosphere of human affection necessary to it; for it is very certain that we cannot raise children upon chemical principles; and though it is impossible to reduce the maternal influence to vital electricity or any scientific formula, or clearly understand the peculiar action of affection on the irrational infant, it is none the less certain that human heat, whether spiritual or material, is the most genial atmosphere for infant growth. It is the want of this which is one cause of the great mortality in foundling hospitals, where the little nurslings lie the greater part of the day in cribs alone. The utmost care is taken to supply every external condition on the most rational and scientific principles — the nurseries, admirably clean, are warmed with great care — but there is no home like the mother’s bosom, with its living warmth and nourishment. This gentle, penetrating heat is essential to this period of life, for the infant possesses, in extreme measure, the irritability and delicacy which always attend rapid growth, without the power of reaction which belongs to consolidated strength; it is, therefore, peculiarly sensitive to changes, to violence of any kind, and its heat is withdrawn with remarkable rapidity.

Perfect cleanliness is another condition of growth, and I need not enlarge upon this. Every observer has seen how easily the skin is acted upon in infancy, by the secretions of the body, either from neglect of thorough washing, or change of clothes — and it should always be borne in mind, that the invisible effects extend farther than the visible, and that the evils of uncleanliness are not limited to the sore on the skin, or the inflammation of the eyes, but extend by a thousand unseen ramifications through the whole economy, hindering and injuring the work of nature.

Our second rule in aiding the organic life of the body, is to furnish materials for work; and under this head let me call your attention particularly to the life of the Lungs in the infant, and the material which we are bound to furnish them, viz., pure air. There is no organ which changes so remarkably at birth, as the Lungs. There had previously been some degree of functional activity in every other part of the body. The stomach and intestines indicate that digestion had taken place to some extent. The heart beat with extreme rapidity, free movements of the body had often occurred; but the lungs had remained entirely impassive, tightly folded together, they had contributed nothing to the life of the child; now, in a moment, all is changed — with the first inspiration, a new sphere of existence is opened, the lungs, hitherto useless, become at once the mainspring of life. How eagerly we await that first inspiration! The mother, forgetful of weariness and suffering, lifts her pale face from the pillow, and listens with her whole soul. The physician, profoundly penetrated with the mystery of birth, bends in suspense over the little being hovering on the threshold of a new existence — for one moment they await the issue — life or death! — the feeble cry is the token of victory — the mother’s face lights up with ineffable joy, as she sinks back exhausted, and the sentiment of sympathy, of reverence, thrills through the physician’s heart.

That moment, my friends, is prophetic of the important part which the lungs play throughout the whole period of our existence — life and death wait always on our breath, not from any fear of its sudden cessation — a violent death-blow, but because, with the air we breathe, poison or nourishment enters into the most secret recesses of our organization. Vitiated air — air laden with human exhalations, with impure odors, with miasm — air deprived of its natural properties, overheated, becomes poison to the human body — not to the lungs only — it reaches every fibre of the body — the cheek grows pale, the skin loses its healthy hue, the flesh becomes soft, the eye dim, the organs grow weak, their functions are imperfectly performed, nutrition becomes perverted, and disease inevitably appears. Such are the results of impure air on the economy, more or less slowly, as the case may be. So slowly, sometimes, that the cause is quite overlooked; but there is no neglect which more surely undermines the constitution, than the continued breathing of vitiated air.

When we think, then, of the extreme susceptibility of infant life, of the immense importance which the lungs have all at once acquired, of the imperfect ventilation of our houses, and the many ways in which the air is spoiled, we can understand the dangers which must arise from the neglect of this point, and the constant care with which we should strive to supply to the lungs their pure, unfailing nutriment. No one can have failed to notice the tranquil, smiling slumber, which will last for hours, as the infant is carried in its nurse’s arms in the fresh air of park or garden — it will fret and fume and torment a household in doors — but protect it well and send it out, and the gentle air and movement prove the most happy anodyne — a charm after nature’s heart. We should do well to meditate earnestly upon that peaceful slumber.

We have another duty to the infant, under our second head, viz., the supply of food, and it is well that nature has so clearly provided the suitable food, that we have only to follow her indications as closely as possible. Breathing, eating, and sleeping are the main features of infant existence, and we must provide for the free exercise of these faculties, with religious care. The prominent place which the alimentary canal holds in the infant economy, would be indicated by reason alone, when we consider that rapid growth has to take place, and air and food are the means provided for this growth. But actual observation confirms this view; the alimentary canal, measured from its two extremities, is in the infant twelve times the length of the body, whereas in the adult it is not more than eight times that length. It is suited to the mildest nutriment, it is easily acted upon; it works and rests with equal rapidity. The rules of digestion, therefore, that apply to the adult, are unsuited to the very different organization of the infant. A little nourishment, frequently taken, at regular intervals, is the plan indicated by nature. The changes which occur in the alimentary canal, in the power of digestion, and the wants of the individual in relation to food, during the period of youth, form, by the visible effects which they produce, distinct divisions of this period, which aid us greatly in obtaining a clear general view of the wants of youth, and our duties in relation to it. For these material changes have a profounder meaning than the simple appearance which is obvious to all — they work changes in the whole life of the young. The gradual unfolding of the soul is, in truth, deeper, more wonderful, than the development of the body; it is the object of the latter — these material changes are the words which the soul utters; and they become constantly more significant, as the body advances to perfection.

Now, in pursuing our inquiry, viz., our duty to the organic life of the body, we need to cast a glance over the whole period of youth, in order to see how far the duties we have already pointed out are modified by the different stages of growth. Let us consider the distinct epochs of youthful existence.

We observe first in order, this early period of infant life, when the delicate being seems just learning to live, striving to strike its little roots into our soil. The next epoch is marked by the appearance of the first teeth — a new instrument is given, a wider range of life allowed, and thus with the first teeth appear the first harmonic movements, the first attempts at walking; a period of rest, of consolidation, follows then preparation is made for new efforts, and at seven years old the provisional teeth begin to make way for the permanent and more important set; but this set cannot be so quickly completed, they have much weightier duties than the milk teeth to perform — they must last through life, and be strong for the service of manhood as well as childhood; the principal part may be changed by the tenth year, but the completion of the permanent teeth may be delayed till the seventeenth or nineteenth year. The last epoch in the period of material growth is the age of puberty, which, as it is the change of most importance, is also the longest in preparation and in completion — it is, in fact, only from the twentieth to the twenty-fifth year that the body has finished its growth, become strong in all its parts, and fit for the exercise of every function.

We have, then, these distinct epochs in the youthful life of the body. Birth, first dentition, second dentition, puberty; each epoch being preceded by a time of preparation, and followed by a time of consolidation. There are successive waves of growth, before high water-mark is reached; and each successive effort is of far greater importance in the scale of existence than the preceding one. It is more lasting in its effects, and wider in its range of action. Besides this progressive importance in the growth of the body, there is another point to which I would direct attention, viz., the successive excitements to which the body is thus subjected. Growth is not one slow uniform progress, but a progress with frequent accelerations; and at these special periods of excitement, the body is peculiarly susceptible to good or evil influences. Let me illustrate this point, which is of great importance. If a finger is burned, the effects are not confined to the immediate spot — a knowledge of the evil is at once telegraphed through the body, and preparations are made to remedy it; the pain and heat extend, the whole hand, or arm, becomes exquisitely sensitive, and shrinks from the slightest touch; accidental circumstances which, in the ordinary state, would not be noticed, are magnified into causes of annoyance or alarm — changes of temperature, a sudden noise, shock the system and jar the nerves, in a manner quite unusual to the individual; and if the accident is of considerable severity, this sympathetic excitability will be raised to an intense and dangerous pitch. So a fall on the ice, or a narrow escape from being knocked down by an omnibus, will arouse every sense into unusual and unnatural activity; we concentrate our energy into an exaggerated carefulness of tread on the slippery pavement, and employ eye and ear, and the quick movement of the head, in nervous anxiety, as we cross the street.

Now this same increased susceptibility is present at the various marked epochs of growth; it seems to be the condition of any unusual or special action of the body; an impulse is given, an important work is to be done, and the vitality of every fibre is raised to the highest point to give its aid. There is only this difference between the excited sensibility caused by accident which we have noticed, and that which accompanies growth — it is that the former accompanies a morbid condition; while the latter is the attendant of normal, necessary action, requires no remedial means, and if guarded by a strict observance of the laws of health, will aid the progressive growth.

From these two facts in the history of youth — 1st, the marked and increasingly important epochs, into which we find the life divided; 2d, the heightened susceptibility of those periods of growth — we derive fresh confirmation of that law of order in movement, which has placed as the first necessary step in life, the development of the material frame. We also see clearly the duty which we have constantly to perform to the organic life.

We have spoken of the freedom of movement, the temperature, the cleanliness necessary as conditions for the life of the infant, and of the essential importance of providing the best food for the lungs and the stomach. We now see that throughout the whole period of youth, the necessity for these conditions increases, with the increasing importance of the changes which take place in the system. When the period of infant life ceases, and the child is able to run about, to eat a variety of food, and to be in some degree independent, the maternal care instead of diminishing, should take a wider range — it should increase with the growing necessities. That would indeed be a narrow and unworthy view of maternal duty, which should limit its tender solicitude to the direct dependency of infancy — with every advancing step, the duties of the mother become nobler, and more important in the scale of existence. This will be felt with greater force, when I speak of the life of relation, which increases with the growth of the child. I urge now the increasing importance of the mother’s care, because I wish it to be felt as applying also to the organic life throughout youth. Our two great principles of duty to this life must never, for a moment, be forgotten. Freedom to work, and materials to work with, must always be provided, with at least as anxious a care for the growing girl of fifteen, with her expanding frame and enlarging desires, as for the little sleeper in the mother’s arms. It would be quite as cruel, to compress the chest, to weigh down the form, to impede the movements at thirteen years of age, as to swathe the infant of thirteen days — quite as wicked to slowly poison the body with close, vitiated air and unwholesome food, when the mind is rapidly unfolding and the individual has wide external relations to sustain, as to injure by the same means the unfolded life of the infant. Through the whole period of youth the maternal care must enfold the organic life of the advancing being, and provide for its necessities, with the watchfulness of intelligent parental love.

There is another principle which should be distinctly understood in relation to this stage of life — it is the vast difference that exists between the period of active growth, and that of complete attainment — between the physical condition of youth, and manhood. The excitements, the privations, the subjugation of the body, that may be borne without injury in healthy adult life, would be keenly felt, and highly hurtful in youthful life. Consider for one moment the difference in these two states. In the first period, there is a regular succession of marked and most important physical changes, affecting sympathetically every portion of the organization. In the second period of life there is no physical change —  the body strong and useful, quietly performs its part, as a perfect subordinate instrument. In the first, the mind, though growing, by no means keeps pace with the body, but remains unformed when the material organization has attained its perfection. But during adult life, the mind is supreme, it is strong and active, and its action is the object of life — here then we see a total difference of method and aim — there is an harmonic connection between them, as the first is but a preparation for the latter — but in actual condition there is an immense difference, the same fact may have a totally different significance, during the two ages, and the rules for the material well-being, must be different. I wish to call your attention to the bearing which this difference of condition has upon the organic life, because the life of youth being regulated by adult experience, the danger exists, that the habits of daily life which may be innocent to the adult, may therefore be considered as suitable to youth. The stomach and digestive apparatus, for example, occupy a different relative position to the economy in youth, and manhood. I have noticed these peculiarities in my remarks on infancy; they continue to exist, less in degree, but still strongly marked, through the whole period of growth. Food occupies a place of more prominent importance; the total amount required, is comparatively greater, but the power of digesting at one time is less; delicacy of structure, and general susceptibility, are strongly marked in youth; consequently the quality of food, the amount taken, and the length of abstinence, must differ in the two periods of life; and the violation of true principles, will be far more injurious to the young than to those advanced in life. Over-eating is one of the most injurious as well as most common habits of childhood; the appetite becoming ravenous by too long abstinence, induces the child to eat enormously — the total amount taken in the twenty-four hours may not be too great — the mischief lies in giving the stomach too much at once — or food of an improper quality — heavy pastry or bread, half-cooked vegetables, tough meat, hot cakes swimming in butter and molasses, coffee, spices, pickles, and the heterogeneous mixture of articles which so often constitutes our present diet. Simple nourishing food, well prepared, in abundant quantity, but not too much at once, is the necessary provision for the young, rapidly growing body. The same difference should be observed in all the habits of youthful and adult life; and the tendency which exists in the young to imitate the old, should never blind us to the injurious consequences which would result from such imitation. The freshness of the young intellect, its quick perceptions, and perpetual activity, may lead us to imagine the existence of the corresponding strength, which would accompany those qualities in manhood. A child may learn to keep late hours and turn night into day; to live on coffee and wine, and spicy food; the boy may smoke a cigar, and the little girl may imitate the unnatural tournure, and adult airs represented in our fashion plates — they may learn with wonderful accuracy the habits and follies of an older age; but not with impunity, such untruthfulness to nature destroys her beautiful work; this bright young life is sparkling but not deep, and we dry up its source when we subject it to artificial habits, and to the rules of a later period. The excitability of the child is surprising; the praise of a superior, will stimulate to its own destruction, as with the Spartan boy, who suffered the concealed animal to destroy his life, rather than be degraded in the eyes of his companions and teachers, as an inexpert thief. This extreme susceptibility must be guarded by us, as an important means of good to the child; as a condition by which it may draw health and life from every favorable circumstance. Let it be surrounded, as of the first importance, by those agents which will conduce to its physical well-being; let us understand the importance of our position as the intelligent guardians of youth, and provide for the peculiarities of its bodily wants. Let every organ have a full supply of the healthy stimulus peculiar to it, and full freedom to perform thoroughly its function. And let us avoid most carefully, forcing upon the youthful growing organization, the customs, the thoughts, the restraints and indulgencies of our own advanced condition.

Here I leave this branch of our subject. I have pointed out the peculiarities of the organic life, particularly during the period of youth. I have shown how we are called upon to aid this life, and what are the limits of our power in regard to it. We have seen that this attention on our part, is essential to youthful well-being, as the organic life is the foundation of all other life; and finally I have dwelt upon the different habits and objects that should influence youthful and adult life. In the next lecture I shall call your attention to a most important subject, viz., the Related Life of the Body, and our Duties to that Life.

Source: The Laws of Life: With Special Reference to the Physical Education of Girls, by Elizabeth Blackwell, M.D., (New-York: George P. Putnam, 1852), pp. 63-89.