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1880s Column Essay

Care of the Eyes

Care of the Eyes

By Dr. J. H. Hanaford
Annotations by Jessica Abell
Artist unknown. Eye. Watercolor on ivory, c. 1900, Smithsonian American Art Museum and its Renwick Gallery,
Washington, D.C. [1]

Having but two eyes, and both being absolutely necessary to good and accurate sight, measuring distances, &c.[2], it becomes necessary to take good care of our eyes, and to learn, not only what injures them, but how we can avoid danger, and improve the sight. If one supposes that he can see as well with one eye as with both, let him close one, and then try to quickly bring together two pointed objects, as two pencils, or the finger ends, one of each hand, first extending the arms, and he will learn that his sight is not very accurate, that he cannot measure distances accurately.

But how shall we avoid injury to sight? A glare of light is always more or less injurious to the eye, generally causing pain, which is usually a warning, a caution. When the eye “waters,” the ball feels sore, or aches, or smarts, when it seems as if “sticks” were in the eyes, as some children complain, it is as if the eye should say, “My little boy, or girl, take care; you are spoiling these eyes, and soon may become blind, unless you stop your abuse.” None would wish to exchange places with the blind, who see nothing—no beautiful flowers, no sunset skies, none of their friends; but grope their way through the world, or are led by some friendly hand.

We cannot look safely at the sun, even when in eclipse, without a “smoked glass,” seeing as “through a glass darkly.” A steady look at the sun, shining in all his brilliancy, would soon destroy the sight, as in the case of criminals, whose eyelids are sometimes cut off, in some barbarous countries, the poor creatures looking at the sun without any protection. For the same reason, the glare of the sunlight, reflected from new snow, is oppressive and painful, always injuring the sight. The same is true of very bright light, as that of gas, shining directly on the page when one is reading, or writing, &c., producing a glare and pain, particularly if the light is reflected to the eye. A shade on the lamp or gas, or one worn over the eyes, will do much toward obviating the injury. Again, while too much light, or too much of a glare, is injurious to sight, too little is also unfavorable. Reading, writing, sewing, &c., at twilight or by an inferior light, is nearly as bad, taxing and weakening the eyes, sometimes producing inflammation, or redness of the eyes. If we overtask the eye, or any member of the body, we are sure to suffer. While proper exercise, a proper use of any member or power, increases our strength, too much effort, or abuse, will always weaken or destroy.

Artist unknown. Eye Miniature on an Elliptical Ivory Box. Watercolor on ivory, c. 1800, Smithsonian American Art Museum and its Renwick Gallery, Washington, D.C.

Artificial light, such as that of a lamp, gas, &c., taxes the eyes more than the natural light—the light of the sun. So far as we are able, it is best to avoid taxing or straining the eyes by such light. If we must read, study, sew, &c., by lamp light, it is well to have our evenings in the morning—retiring early enough to secure sufficient time before the dawn of the day. Since the eyes are taxed more to read, &c. by lamp or gas light than by daylight, it is safer to use such light after the eyes have been rested by a night’s sleep, using them under the most favorable circumstances. It is also true that the eyes are taxes far less when we simply open them and let them see, than by straining them, trying hard to see, compelling them to see. We never gain time by using them at an improper time, or in an improper manner. Blindness, inflamed and painful eyes, weak eyes,—so weak that we cannot use them for a few weeks or months,—will teach us how much we lose in this way. What we seem to gain by reading, &c., at twilight, in the cars or under ay circumstances in which we overwork them, we lose in the end.

Never rub the eyes, either when dust get into them or when grieved. If the dust, &c., has sharp corners or edges, such rubbing is sure to injure them. It is safer to draw the lids away from the eye, and let the tears wash the dust, &c., away; or, with a syringe, throw warm water into the eye for the same purpose, which is easily done, and not painful. Soft water is said to be the best “eye-water.” Wash them out with such in the morning, and wear a wet cloth, several thicknesses, over them at night, if they are red, hot, or inflamed, keeping them and the head cool.

Hanaford, J. H. “Care of the Eyes.” Oliver Optic’s Magazine: Our Boys and Girls 5, no. 127 (June 1869): 363.

[2] &c. is used throughout the text to mean etcetera.

Contexts

Oliver’s Optics Magazine: Our Boys and Girls was a weekly magazine published from January 1867 to December 1875. It was edited by William Taylor Adams, who used the pen name “Oliver Optic” for this publication. The magazine contained fiction, essays, dialogues, illustrations, and puzzles for its readers.

Eye health was an important topic in the late 19th century, and several periodicals published guides to eye care, such as this one from the Philadelphia Times and Register 26, no. 49 (December 1893): 1124.

Resources for Further Study

This tiny painting measures only three-quarters of an inch high and wide, and the one below is three-quarters of an inch high by one and five-sixteenths inches wide. From the Luce Center label for both: “Small paintings of eyes first became popular during the late eighteenth century. They reminded wearers of a loved one, whose identity remained a secret. The single eye also symbolized the watchful gaze of a jealous partner, who feared that his or her lover might stray. One of the earliest known eye miniatures was painted in 1786 by the English artist Richard Cosway for the Prince of Wales, later King George IV. The miniature showed the eye of Mrs. Fitzherbert, the prince’s mistress. The eye miniatures shown in the Luce Center would have been set in lockets, brooches, rings, or small boxes.”

Categories
1880s Column Education Essay Native American

Our Young Folks

Our Young Folks

By The Indian
Annotations by jessica cory
The header of The Indian newspaper. Volume 1 in the left hand corner, number 7 in the right hand corner. Hagersville, Ontario and Wednesday, April 14, 1886 in the middle.
Header for the issue of the The Indian containing the new column, “Our Young Folks.”

Under this head we propose to establish a new feature in our journal. The bulk of the matter hitherto appearing in the The Indian has been to mature and older heads. This, our new departure [sic] is calculated to be especially for the Indian children, but answers and questions will receive all due attention, no matter from what source they come. We propose publishing continuously an interesting story suitable for juvinile [sic] readers, also a series of questions of a general character: Historical, Geographical, Mathematical, etc, and also conundrums, graded to suit our young readers and to come within their scope of knowledge. The answers to these questions will be published in each following issue with the names of those who answer correctly. We shall be glad to have questions sent to us by those who have any which they may deem worthy of publication. Our object in this is to create a spirit or desire for knowledge among the young of our people to whom The Indian comes. As soon as we can arrive at an opinion as to the capacity of our readers to grapple with the problems of a varied character, we shall offer prizes and awards to successful candidates. This feature will be added to this department from time to time. We commence this issue with the following:—

                1) Find the cost of a 160-acre farm at $11.25 an acre.

                2) A fence is 38 rods long. How many feet long is it?

                3) How many cords of wood in a pile 32 feet long, 12 feet wide, 14 feet wide?

Pictured is a yellowed newspaper clipping with the page's text included on it.
The original column in The Indian from April 14, 1886. Original is held by The Newberry Library in Chicago, Illinois.
“Our young folks.” The Indian, April 14, 1886, 82. https://webvoyage.carli.illinois.edu/nby/cgi-bin/Pwebrecon.cgi?DB=local&v1=1&BBRecID=494884.

Contexts

The Indian was published by The Indian Publishing Company from December 30, 1885 until December 29, 1886. According to the American Indian Newspapers database, “The Indian: A paper devoted to the aborigines of North America and especially to the Indians of Canada was established by Peter Edmund Jones – or Kahkewaquonaby – a Mississauga Ojibwa chief. The first newspaper to be published by an Indigenous Canadian, The Indian was circulated across Ontario’s Indian Reserves and intended to inform the First Nations people about Canadian legislation.” Not many Indigenous newspapers at the time contained features specifically for children, and it’s notable that features, such as this one, would contain environmental themes like cords of wood or farming, as these topics would’ve been familiar to readers, including youth.

Though no way way to know for certain, the column’s title, “Our Young Folks,” may have been inspired from the popular U.S. children’s periodical Our Young Folks: an Illustrated Magazine for Boys and Girls that circulated in the 1860s and ’70s.

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Categories
1910s Book chapter Essay

From My First Summer In the Sierra

From My First Summer in the Sierra

By John Muir
Annotations by Abby Army
Charles S. Olcott. The Yosemite Falls, Yosemite National Park. Frontispiece
photograph from My First Summer in the Sierra.

July 15. Followed the mono trail up the eastern rim of the basin nearly to its summit, then turned off southward to a small shallow valley that extends to the edge of the Yosemite, which we reached about noon, and encamped. After luncheon, I made haste to high ground, and from the top of the ridge on the west side of Indian Cañon gained the noblest view of the summit peaks I have ever yet enjoyed. Nearly all the upper basin of the Merced was displayed, with its sublime domes and canons, dark upsweeping forests, and [a] glorious array of white peaks deep in the sky, every feature glowing, radiating beauty that pours into our flesh and bones like heat rays from fire. Sunshine overall; no breath of wind to stir the brooding calm. Never before had I seen so glorious a landscape, so boundless an affluence of sublime mountain beauty. The most extravagant description I might give of this view to anyone who has not seen similar landscapes with his own eyes would not so much as hint at its grandeur and the spiritual glow that covered it. I shouted and gesticulated in a wild burst of ecstasy much to the astonishment of St. Bernard Carlo, who came running up to me, manifesting in his intelligent eyes a puzzled concern that was very ludicrous, which had the effect of bringing me to my senses. A brown bear, too, it would seem, had been a spectator of the show I had made of myself, for I had gone but a few yards when I started one from a thicket of brush. He evidently considered me dangerous, for he ran away very fast, tumbling over the tops of the tangled manzanita bushes in his haste. Carlo drew back, with his ears depressed as if afraid, and kept looking me in the face, as if expecting me to pursue and shoot, for he had seen many a bear battle in his day.

Following the ridge, which made a gradual descent to the south, I came at length to the brow of that massive cliff that stands between Indian Cañon and Yosemite Falls, and here the far-famed valley came suddenly into view throughout almost its whole extent. The noble walls—sculptured into an endless variety of domes and gables, spires and battlements and plain mural precipices—all a-tremble with the thunder tones of the falling water. The level bottom seemed to be dressed like a garden—sunny meadows here and there, and groves of pine and oak; the river of Mercy sweeping in majesty through the midst of them and flashing back the sunbeams. The great Tissiack, or Half-Dome, rising at the upper end of the valley to a height of nearly a mile, is nobly proportioned and life-like, the most impressive of all the rocks, holding the eye in devout admiration, calling it back again and again from falls or meadows, or even the mountains “beyond,—marvelous cliffs, marvelous in sheer dizzy depth and sculpture, types of endurance. Thousands of years have they stood in the sky exposed to rain, snow, frost, earthquake, and avalanche, yet they still wear the bloom of youth.

I rambled along the valley rim to the westward; most of it is rounded off on the very brink so that it is not easy to find places where one may look clear down the face of the wall to the bottom. When such places were found, and I had cautiously set my feet and drawn my body erect, I could not help fearing a little that the rock might split off and let me down, and what a down!—more than three thousand feet. Still, my limbs did not tremble, nor did I feel the least uncertainty as to the reliance to be placed on them. My only fear was that a flake of the granite, which in some places showed joints more or less open and running parallel with the face of the cliff, might give way. After withdrawing from such places, excited with the view I had got, I would say to myself, “Now don’t go out on the verge again.” But in the face of Yosemite scenery cautious remonstrance is vain; under its spell one’s body seems to go where it likes with a will over which we seem to have scarce any control.

After a mile or so of this memorable cliff work I approached Yosemite Creek, admiring its easy, graceful, confident gestures as it comes bravely forward in its narrow channel, singing the last of its mountain songs on its way to its fate—a few rods more over the shining granite, then down half a mile in showy foam to another world, to be lost in the Merced, where climate, vegetation, inhabitants, all are different. Emerging from its last gorge, it glides in wide lace-like rapids down a smooth incline into a pool where it seems to rest and compose its gray, agitated waters before taking the grand plunge, then slowly slipping over the lip of the pool basin, it descends another glossy slope with rapidly accelerated speed to the brink of the tremendous cliff, and with sublime, fateful confidence springs out free in the air.

Sketch by John Muir: approach of Dome Creek to Yosemite
John Muir. Approach of Dome Creek to Yosemite, illustration
from My First Summer in the Sierra, p. 150.

I took off my shoes and stockings and worked my way cautiously down alongside the rushing flood, keeping my feet and hands pressed firmly on the polished rock. The blooming, roaring water, rushing past close to my head was very exciting. I had expected that the sloping apron would terminate with the perpendicular wall of the valley, and that from the foot of it, where it is less steeply inclined, I should be able to lean far enough out to see the forms and behavior of the fall all the way down to the bottom. But I found that there was yet another small brow over which I could not see, and which appeared to be too steep for mortal feet. Scanning it keenly, I discovered a narrow shelf about three inches wide on the very brink, just wide enough for a rest for one’s heels. But there seemed to be no way of reaching it over so steep a brow. At length, after careful scrutiny of the surface, I found “an irregular edge of a flake of the rock some distance back from the margin of the torrent. If I was to get down to the brink at all that rough edge, which might offer slight finger-holds, was the only way. But the slope beside it looked dangerously smooth and steep, and the swift roaring flood beneath, overhead, and beside me was very nerve-trying. I, therefore, concluded not to venture farther but did nevertheless. Tufts of artemisia were growing in clefts of the rock nearby, and I filled my mouth with the bitter leaves, hoping they might help to prevent giddiness. Then, with a caution not known in ordinary circumstances, I crept down safely to the little ledge, got my heels well planted on it, then shuffled in a horizontal direction twenty or thirty feet until close to the outplunging current, which, by the time it had descended thus far, was already white. Here I obtained a perfectly free view down into the heart of the snowy, chanting throng of comet-like streamers, into which the body of the fall soon separates. “While perched on that narrow niche I was not distinctly conscious of danger. The tremendous grandeur of the fall in form and sound and motion, acting at close range, smothered the sense of fear, and in such places one’s body takes keen care for safety on its own account. How long I remained “down there, or how I returned, I can hardly tell. Anyhow I had a glorious time, and got back to camp about dark, enjoying triumphant exhilaration soon followed by dull weariness. Hereafter I’ll try to keep from such extravagant, nerve-straining places. Yet such a day is well worth venturing for. My first view of the High Sierra, first view looking down into Yosemite, the death song of Yosemite Creek, and its flight over the vast cliff, each one of these is of itself enough for a great life-long landscape fortune—a most memorable of days—enjoyment enough to kill if that were possible.

July 16. My enjoyments yesterday afternoon, especially at the head of the fall, were too great for good sleep. Kept starting up last night in a nervous tremor, half awake, fancying that the foundation of the mountain we were camped on had given way and was falling into Yosemite Valley. In vain I roused myself to make a new beginning for sound sleep. The nerve strain had been too great, and again and again I dreamed I was rushing through the air above a glorious avalanche of water and rock. One time, springing to my feet, I said, “This time it is real—all must die, and where could mountaineer find a more glorious death!”

Left camp soon after sunrise for an all day ramble eastward. Crossed the head of Indian Basin, forested with Abies magnifica, underbrush mostly Ceanothus cordulatus and manzanita, a mixture not easily trampled over or penetrated, for the ceanothus is thorny and grows in dense snow-pressed masses, and the manzanita has exceedingly crooked, stubborn branches. From the head of the cañon continued on past North Dome into the basin of Dome or Porcupine Creek. Here are many fine meadows imbedded in the woods, gay with Lilium parvum and its companions; the elevation, about eight thousand feet, seems to be best suited for it–saw specimens that were a foot or two higher than my head. Had more magnificent views of the upper mountains, and of the great South Dome, said to be the grandest rock in the world. Well it may be, since it is of such noble dimensions and sculpture. A wonderfully impressive monument, its lines exquisite in fineness, and though sublime in size, is finished like the finest work of art, and seems to be alive.

Photo by Charles S. Olcott: The Vernal Falls, Yosemite National Park
Charles S. Olcott. The Vernal Falls, Yosemite National Park. Photograph
printed in My First Summer in the Sierra, p. 181.
Muir, John. From “Chapter 5: The Yosemite” In My First Summer in the Sierra, 115-122. Boston: Houghton MIfflin, 1917.
Contexts

My First Summer in the Sierra was first published in 1911; this text is from another printing in 1917 published as the “Sierra Edition.” The full text and illustrations from this edition are available at Project Gutenberg.

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