prompt:
Chapter: There are many follies, in some degree, peculiar to women:  sins
against reason, of commission, as well as of omission; but all
flowing from ignorance or prejudice, I shall only point out such as
appear to be injurious to their moral character.  And in
animadverting on them, I wish especially to prove, that the
weakness of mind and body, which men have endeavoured by various
motives to perpetuate, prevents their discharging the peculiar duty
of their sex:  for when weakness of body will not permit them to
suckle their children, and weakness of mind makes them spoil their
tempers--is woman in a natural state?

SECTION 13.1.

One glaring instance of the weakness which proceeds from ignorance,
first claims attention, and calls for severe reproof.

In this metropolis a number of lurking leeches infamously gain a
subsistence by practising on the credulity of women, pretending to
cast nativities, to use the technical phrase; and many females who,
proud of their rank and fortune, look down on the vulgar with
sovereign contempt, show by this credulity, that the distinction is
arbitrary, and that they have not sufficiently cultivated their
minds to rise above vulgar prejudices.  Women, because they have
not been led to consider the knowledge of their duty as the one
thing necessary to know, or, to live in the present moment by the
discharge of it, are very anxious to peep into futurity, to learn
what they have to expect to render life interesting, and to break
the vacuum of ignorance.  I must be allowed to expostulate
seriously with the ladies, who follow these idle inventions; for
ladies, mistresses of families, are not ashamed to drive in their
own carriages to the door of the cunning man.  And if any of them
should peruse this work, I entreat them to answer to their own
hearts the following questions, not forgetting that they are in the
presence of God.

Do you believe that there is but one God, and that he is powerful,
wise, and good?

Do you believe that all things were created by him, and that all
beings are dependent on him?

Do you rely on his wisdom, so conspicuous in his works, and in your
own frame, and are you convinced, that he has ordered all things
which do not come under the cognizance of your senses, in the same
perfect harmony, to fulfil his designs?

Do you acknowledge that the power of looking into futurity and
seeing things that are not, as if they were, is an attribute of the
Creator?  And should he, by an impression on the minds of his
creatures, think fit to impart to them some event hid in the shades
of time, yet unborn, to whom would the secret be revealed by
immediate inspiration?  The opinion of ages will answer this
question--to reverend old men, to people distinguished for eminent
piety.

The oracles of old were thus delivered by priests dedicated to the
service of the God, who was supposed to inspire them.  The glare of
worldly pomp which surrounded these impostors, and the respect paid
to them by artful politicians, who knew how to avail themselves of
this useful engine to bend the necks of the strong under the
dominion of the cunning, spread a sacred mysterious veil of
sanctity over their lies and abominations.  Impressed by such
solemn devotional parade, a Greek or Roman lady might be excused,
if she inquired of the oracle, when she was anxious to pry into
futurity, or inquire about some dubious event:  and her inquiries,
however contrary to reason, could not be reckoned impious.  But,
can the professors of Christianity ward off that imputation?  Can a
Christian suppose, that the favourites of the most High, the highly
favoured would be obliged to lurk in disguise, and practise the
most dishonest tricks to cheat silly women out of the money, which
the poor cry for in vain?

Say not that such questions are an insult to common sense for it is
your own conduct, O ye foolish women! which throws an odium on your
sex!  And these reflections should make you shudder at your
thoughtlessness, and irrational devotion, for I do not suppose that
all of you laid aside your religion, such as it is, when you
entered those mysterious dwellings.  Yet, as I have throughout
supposed myself talking to ignorant women, for ignorant ye are in
the most emphatical sense of the word, it would be absurd to reason
with you on the egregious folly of desiring to know what the
Supreme Wisdom has concealed.

Probably you would not understand me, were I to attempt to show you
that it would be absolutely inconsistent with the grand purpose of
life, that of rendering human creatures wise and virtuous:  and
that, were it sanctioned by God, it would disturb the order
established in creation; and if it be not sanctioned by God, do you
expect to hear truth?  Can events be foretold, events which have
not yet assumed a body to become subject to mortal inspection, can
they be foreseen by a vicious worldling, who pampers his appetites
by preying on the foolish ones?

Perhaps, however, you devoutly believe in the devil, and imagine,
to shift the question, that he may assist his votaries? but if
really respecting the power of such a being, an enemy to goodness
and to God, can you go to church after having been under such an
obligation to him.  From these delusions to those still more
fashionable deceptions, practised by the whole tribe of
magnetisers, the transition is very natural.  With respect to them,
it is equally proper to ask women a few questions.

Do you know any thing of the construction of the human frame?  If
not, it is proper that you should be told, what every child ought
to know, that when its admirable economy has been disturbed by
intemperance or indolence, I speak not of violent disorders, but of
chronical diseases, it must be brought into a healthy state again
by slow degrees, and if the functions of life have not been
materially injured, regimen, another word for temperance, air,
exercise, and a few medicines prescribed by persons who have
studied the human body, are the only human means, yet discovered,
of recovering that inestimable blessing health, that will bear
investigation.

Do you then believe, that these magnetisers, who, by hocus pocus
tricks, pretend, to work a miracle, are delegated by God, or
assisted by the solver of all these kind of difficulties--the
devil.

Do they, when they put to flight, as it is said, disorders that
have baffled the powers of medicine, work in conformity to the
light of reason? Or do they effect these wonderful cures by
supernatural aid?

By a communication, an adept may answer, with the world of spirits.
A noble privilege, it must be allowed.  Some of the ancients
mention familiar demons, who guarded them from danger, by kindly
intimating (we cannot guess in what manner,) when any danger was
nigh; or pointed out what they ought to undertake.  Yet the men who
laid claim to this privilege, out of the order of nature, insisted,
that it was the reward or consequence of superior temperance and
piety.  But the present workers of wonders are not raised above
their fellows by superior temperance or sanctity.  They do not cure
for the love of God, but money.  These are the priests of quackery,
though it be true they have not the convenient expedient of selling
masses for souls in purgatory, nor churches, where they can display
crutches, and models of limbs made sound by a touch or a word.

I am not conversant with the technical terms, nor initiated into
the arcana, therefore I may speak improperly; but it is clear, that
men who will not conform to the law of reason, and earn a
subsistence in an honest way, by degrees, are very fortunate in
becoming acquainted with such obliging spirits.  We cannot, indeed,
give them credit for either great sagacity or goodness, else they
would have chosen more noble instruments, when they wished to show
themselves the benevolent friends of man.

It is, however, little short of blasphemy to pretend to such power.

>From the whole tenor of the dispensations of Providence, it appears
evident to sober reason, that certain vices produce certain
effects: and can any one so grossly insult the wisdom of God, as to
suppose, that a miracle will be allowed to disturb his general
laws, to restore to health the intemperate and vicious, merely to
enable them to pursue the same course with impunity?  Be whole, and
sin no more, said Jesus.  And are greater miracles to be performed
by those who do not follow his footsteps, who healed the body to
reach the mind?

The mentioning of the name of Christ, after such vile impostors may
displease some of my readers--I respect their warmth; but let them
not forget, that the followers of these delusions bear his name,
and profess to be the disciples of him, who said, by their works we
should know who were the children of God or the servants of sin.  I
allow that it is easier to touch the body of a saint, or to be
magnetised, than to restrain our appetites or govern our passions;
but health of body or mind can only be recovered by these means, or
we make the Supreme Judge partial and revengeful.

Is he a man, that he should change, or punish out of resentment?
He--the common father, wounds but to heal, says reason, and our
irregularities producing certain consequences, we are forcibly
shown the nature of vice; that thus learning to know good from
evil, by experience, we may hate one and love the other, in
proportion to the wisdom which we attain.  The poison contains the
antidote; and we either reform our evil habits, and cease to sin
against our own bodies, to use the forcible language of scripture,
or a premature death, the punishment of sin, snaps the thread of
life.

Here an awful stop is put to our inquiries.  But, why should I
conceal my sentiments?  Considering the attributes of God, I
believe, that whatever punishment may follow, will tend, like the
anguish of disease, to show the malignity of vice, for the purpose
of reformation.  Positive punishment appears so contrary to the
nature of God, discoverable in all his works, and in our own
reason, that I could sooner believe that the Deity paid no
attention to the conduct of men, than that he punished without the
benevolent design of reforming.

To suppose only, that an all-wise and powerful Being, as good as he
is great, should create a being, foreseeing, that after fifty or
sixty years of feverish existence, it would be plunged into never
ending woe--is blasphemy.  On what will the worm feed that is never
to die?  On folly, on ignorance, say ye--I should blush indignantly
at drawing the natural conclusion, could I insert it, and wish to
withdraw myself from the wing of my God!  On such a supposition, I
speak with reverence, he would be a consuming fire.  We should
wish, though vainly, to fly from his presence when fear absorbed
love, and darkness involved all his counsels.

I know that many devout people boast of submitting to the Will of
God blindly, as to an arbitrary sceptre or rod, on the same
principle as the Indians worship the devil.  In other words, like
people in the common concerns of life, they do homage to power, and
cringe under the foot that can crush them.  Rational religion, on
the contrary, is a submission to the will of a being so perfectly
wise, that all he wills must be directed by the proper motive--must
be reasonable.

And, if thus we respect God, can we give credit to the mysterious
insinuations which insult his laws?  Can we believe, though it
should stare us in the face, that he would work a miracle to
authorize confusion by sanctioning an error?  Yet we must either
allow these impious conclusions, or treat with contempt every
promise to restore health to a diseased body by supernatural means,
or to foretell, the incidents that can only be foreseen by God.

SECTION 13.2.

Another instance of that feminine weakness of character, often
produced by a confined education, is a romantic twist of the mind,
which has been very properly termed SENTIMENTAL.

Women, subjected by ignorance to their sensations, and only taught
to look for happiness in love, refine on sensual feelings, and
adopt metaphysical notions respecting that passion, which lead them
shamefully to neglect the duties of life, and frequently in the
midst of these sublime refinements they plunge into actual vice.

These are the women who are amused by the reveries of the stupid
novelists, who, knowing little of human nature, work up stale
tales, and describe meretricious scenes, all retailed in a
sentimental jargon, which equally tend to corrupt the taste, and
draw the heart aside from its daily duties.  I do not mention the
understanding, because never having been exercised, its slumbering
energies rest inactive, like the lurking particles of fire which
are supposed universally to pervade matter.

Females, in fact, denied all political privileges, and not allowed,
as married women, excepting in criminal cases, a civil existence,
have their attention naturally drawn from the interest of the whole
community to that of the minute parts, though the private duty of
any member of society must be very imperfectly performed, when not
connected with the general good.  The mighty business of female
life is to please, and, restrained from entering into more
important concerns by political and civil oppression, sentiments
become events, and reflection deepens what it should, and would
have effaced, if the understanding had been allowed to take a wider
range.

But, confined to trifling employments, they naturally imbibe
opinions which the only kind of reading calculated to interest an
innocent frivolous mind, inspires.  Unable to grasp any thing
great, is it surprising that they find the reading of history a
very dry task, and disquisitions addressed to the understanding,
intolerably tedious, and almost unintelligible?  Thus are they
necessarily dependent on the novelist for amusement.  Yet, when I
exclaim against novels, I mean when contrasted with those works
which exercise the understanding and regulate the imagination.  For
any kind of reading I think better than leaving a blank still a
blank, because the mind must receive a degree of enlargement, and
obtain a little strength by a slight exertion of its thinking
powers; besides, even the productions that are only addressed to
the imagination, raise the reader a little above the gross
gratification of appetites, to which the mind has not given a shade
of delicacy.

This observation is the result of experience; for I have known
several notable women, and one in particular, who was a very good
woman--as good as such a narrow mind would allow her to be, who
took care that her daughters (three in number) should never see a
novel.  As she was a woman of fortune and fashion, they had various
masters to attend them, and a sort of menial governess to watch
their footsteps.  From their masters they learned how tables,
chairs, etc. were called in French and Italian; but as the few
books thrown in their way were far above their capacities, or
devotional, they neither acquired ideas nor sentiments, and passed
their time, when not compelled to repeat WORDS, in dressing,
quarrelling with each other, or conversing with their maids by
stealth, till they were brought into company as marriageable.

Their mother, a widow, was busy in the mean time in keeping up her
connexions, as she termed a numerous acquaintance lest her girls
should want a proper introduction into the great world.  And these
young ladies, with minds vulgar in every sense of the word, and
spoiled tempers, entered life puffed up with notions of their own
consequence, and looking down with contempt on those who could not
vie with them in dress and parade.

With respect to love, nature, or their nurses, had taken care to
teach them the physical meaning of the word; and, as they had few
topics of conversation, and fewer refinements of sentiment, they
expressed their gross wishes not in very delicate phrases, when
they spoke freely, talking of matrimony.

Could these girls have been injured by the perusal of novels?  I
almost forgot a shade in the character of one of them; she affected
a simplicity bordering on folly, and with a simper would utter the
most immodest remarks and questions, the full meaning of which she
had learned whilst secluded from the world, and afraid to speak in
her mother's presence, who governed with a high hand;  they were
all educated, as she prided herself, in a most exemplary manner;
and read their chapters and psalms before breakfast, never touching
a silly novel.

This is only one instance; but I recollect many other women who,
not led by degrees to proper studies, and not permitted to choose
for themselves, have indeed been overgrown children; or have
obtained, by mixing in the world, a little of what is termed common
sense;  that is, a distinct manner of seeing common occurrences, as
they stand detached:  but what deserves the name of intellect, the
power of gaining general or abstract ideas, or even intermediate
ones, was out of the question.  Their minds were quiescent, and
when they were not roused by sensible objects and employments of
that kind, they were low-spirited, would cry, or go to sleep.

When, therefore, I advise my sex not to read such flimsy works, it
is to induce them to read something superior; for I coincide in
opinion with a sagacious man, who, having a daughter and niece
under his care, pursued a very different plan with each.

The niece, who had considerable abilities, had, before she was left
to his guardianship, been indulged in desultory reading.  Her he
endeavoured to lead, and did lead, to history and moral essays; but
his daughter whom a fond weak mother had indulged, and who
consequently was averse to every thing like application, he allowed
to read novels;  and used to justify his conduct by saying, that if
she ever attained a relish for reading them, he should have some
foundation to work upon; and that erroneous opinions were better
than none at all.

In fact, the female mind has been so totally neglected, that
knowledge was only to be acquired from this muddy source, till from
reading novels some women of superior talents learned to despise
them.

The best method, I believe, that can be adopted to correct a
fondness for novels is to ridicule them;  not indiscriminately, for
then it would have little effect; but, if a judicious person, with
some turn for humour, would read several to a young girl, and point
out, both by tones and apt comparisons with pathetic incidents and
heroic characters in history, how foolishly and ridiculously they
caricatured human nature, just opinions might be substituted
instead of romantic sentiments.

In one respect, however, the majority of both sexes resemble, and
equally show a want of taste and modesty.  Ignorant women, forced
to be chaste to preserve their reputation, allow their imagination
to revel in the unnatural and meretricious scenes sketched by the
novel writers of the day, slighting as insipid the sober dignity
and matronly grace of history,* whilst men carry the same vitiated
taste into life, and fly for amusement to the wanton, from the
unsophisticated charms of virtue, and the grave respectability of
sense.

(*Footnote.  I am not now alluding to that superiority of mind
which leads to the creation of ideal beauty, when life surveyed
with a penetrating eye, appears a tragi-comedy, in which little can
be seen to satisfy the heart without the help of fancy.)

Besides, the reading of novels makes women, and particularly ladies
of fashion, very fond of using strong expressions and superlatives
in conversation; and, though the dissipated artificial life which
they lead prevents their cherishing any strong legitimate passion,
the language of passion in affected tones slips for ever from their
glib tongues, and every trifle produces those phosphoric bursts
which only mimick in the dark the flame of passion.

SECTION 13.3.

Ignorance and the mistaken cunning that nature sharpens in weak
heads, as a principle of self-preservation, render women very fond
of dress, and produce all the vanity which such a fondness may
naturally be expected to generate, to the exclusion of emulation
and magnanimity.

I agree with Rousseau, that the physical part of the art of
pleasing consists in ornaments, and for that very reason I should
guard girls against the contagious fondness for dress so common to
weak women, that they may not rest in the physical part.  Yet, weak
are the women who imagine that they can long please without the aid
of the mind; or, in other words, without the moral art of pleasing.
But the moral art, if it be not a profanation to use the word art,
when alluding to the grace which is an effect of virtue, and not
the motive of action, is never to be found with ignorance; the
sportiveness of innocence, so pleasing to refined libertines of
both sexes, is widely different in its essence from this superior
gracefulness.

A strong inclination for external ornaments ever appears in
barbarous states, only the men not the women adorn themselves; for
where women are allowed to be so far on a level with men, society
has advanced at least one step in civilization.

The attention to dress, therefore, which has been thought a sexual
propensity, I think natural to mankind.  But I ought to express
myself with more precision.  When the mind is not sufficiently
opened to take pleasure in reflection, the body will be adorned
with sedulous care; and ambition will appear in tattooing or
painting it.

So far is the first inclination carried, that even the hellish yoke
of slavery cannot stifle the savage desire of admiration which the
black heroes inherit from both their parents, for all the
hardly-earned savings of a slave are commonly expended in a little
tawdry finery.  And I have seldom known a good male or female
servant that was not particularly fond of dress.  Their clothes
were their riches; and I argue from analogy, that the fondness for
dress, so extravagant in females, arises from the same cause--want
of cultivation of mind.  When men meet they converse about
business, politics, or literature; but, says Swift, "how naturally
do women apply their hands to each others lappets and ruffles."
And very natural it is--for they have not any business to interest
them, have not a taste for literature, and they find politics dry,
because they have not acquired a love for mankind by turning their
thoughts to the grand pursuits that exalt the human race and
promote general happiness.

Besides, various are the paths to power and fame, which by accident
or choice men pursue, and though they jostle against each other,
for men of the same profession are seldom friends, yet there is a
much greater number of their fellow-creatures with whom they never
clash.  But women are very differently situated with respect to
each other--for they are all rivals.

Before marriage it is their business to please men; and after, with
a few exceptions, they follow the same scent, with all the
persevering pertinacity of instinct.  Even virtuous women never
forget their sex in company, for they are for ever trying to make
themselves AGREEABLE.  A female beauty and a male wit, appear to be
equally anxious to draw the attention of the company to themselves;
and the animosity of contemporary wits is proverbial.

Is it then surprising, that when the sole ambition of woman centres
in beauty, and interest gives vanity additional force, perpetual
rivalships should ensue?  They are all running the same race, and
would rise above the virtue of mortals if they did not view each
other with a suspicious and even envious eye.

An immoderate fondness for dress, for pleasure and for sway, are
the passions of savages; the passions that occupy those uncivilized
beings who have not yet extended the dominion of the mind, or even
learned to think with the energy necessary to concatenate that
abstract train of thought which produces principles.  And that
women, from their education and the present state of civilized
life, are in the same condition, cannot, I think, be controverted.
To laugh at them then, or satirize the follies of a being who is
never to be allowed to act freely from the light of her own reason,
is as absurd as cruel; for that they who are taught blindly to obey
authority, will endeavour cunningly to elude it, is most natural
and certain.

Yet let it be proved, that they ought to obey man implicitly, and I
shall immediately agree that it is woman's duty to cultivate a
fondness for dress, in order to please, and a propensity to cunning
for her own preservation.

The virtues, however, which are supported by ignorance, must ever
be wavering--the house built on sand could not endure a storm.  It
is almost unnecessary to draw the inference.  If women are to be
made virtuous by authority, which is a contradiction in terms, let
them be immured in seraglios and watched with a jealous eye.  Fear
not that the iron will enter into their souls--for the souls that
can bear such treatment are made of yielding materials, just
animated enough to give life to the body.

"Matter too soft a lasting mark to bear,
And best distinguish'd by black, brown, or fair."

The most cruel wounds will of course soon heal, and they may still
people the world, and dress to please man--all the purposes which
certain celebrated writers have allowed that they were created to
fill.

SECTION 13.4.

Women are supposed to possess more sensibility, and even humanity,
than men, and their strong attachments and instantaneous emotions
of compassion are given as proofs; but the clinging affection of
ignorance has seldom any thing noble in it, and may mostly be
resolved into selfishness, as well as the affection of children and
brutes.  I have known many weak women whose sensibility was
entirely engrossed by their husbands; and as for their humanity, it
was very faint indeed, or rather it was only a transient emotion of
compassion,  "Humanity does not consist in a squeamish ear," says
an eminent orator.  "It belongs to the mind as well as the nerves."

But this kind of exclusive affection, though it degrade the
individual, should not be brought forward as a proof of the
inferiority of the sex, because it is the natural consequence of
confined views:  for even women of superior sense, having their
attention turned to little employments, and private plans, rarely
rise to heroism, unless when spurred on by love; and love as an
heroic passion, like genius, appears but once in an age.  I
therefore agree with the moralist who asserts, "that women have
seldom so much generosity as men;" and that their narrow
affections, to which justice and humanity are often sacrificed,
render the sex apparently inferior, especially as they are commonly
inspired by men; but I contend, that the heart would expand as the
understanding gained strength, if women were not depressed from
their cradles.

I know that a little sensibility and great weakness will produce a
strong sexual attachment, and that reason must cement friendship;
consequently I allow, that more friendship is to be found in the
male than the female world, and that men have a higher sense of
justice.  The exclusive affections of women seem indeed to resemble
Cato's most unjust love for his country.  He wished to crush
Carthage, not to save Rome, but to promote its vain glory; and in
general, it is to similar principles that humanity is sacrificed,
for genuine duties support each other.

Besides, how can women be just or generous, when they are the
slaves of injustice.

SECTION 13.5.

As the rearing of children, that is, the laying a foundation of
sound health both of body and mind in the rising generation, has
justly been insisted on as the peculiar destination of woman, the
ignorance that incapacitates them must be contrary to the order of
things.  And I contend, that their minds can take in much more, and
ought to do so, or they will never become sensible mothers.  Many
men attend to the breeding of horses, and overlook the management
of the stable, who would, strange want of sense and feeling! think
themselves degraded by paying any attention to the nursery; yet,
how many children are absolutely murdered by the ignorance of
women!  But when they escape, and are neither destroyed by
unnatural negligence nor blind fondness, how few are managed
properly with respect to the infant mind!  So that to break the
spirit, allowed to become vicious at home, a child is sent to
school; and the methods taken there, which must be taken to keep a
number of children in order, scatter the seeds of almost every vice
in the soil thus forcibly torn up.

I have sometimes compared the struggles of these poor children who
ought never to have felt restraint, nor would, had they been always
held in with an even hand, to the despairing plunges of a spirited
filly, which I have seen breaking on a strand;  its feet sinking
deeper and deeper in the sand every time it endeavoured to throw
its rider, till at last it sullenly submitted.

I have always found horses, an animal I am attached to, very
tractable when treated with humanity and steadiness, so that I
doubt whether the violent methods taken to break them, do not
essentially injure them; I am, however, certain that a child should
never be thus forcibly tamed after it has injudiciously been
allowed to run wild; for every violation of justice and reason, in
the treatment of children, weakens their reason.  And, so early do
they catch a character, that the base of the moral character,
experience leads me to infer, is fixed before their seventh year,
the period during which women are allowed the sole management of
children.  Afterwards it too often happens that half the business
of education is to correct, and very imperfectly is it done, if
done hastily, the faults, which they would never have acquired if
their mothers had had more understanding.

One striking instance of the folly of women must not be omitted.
The manner in which they treat servants in the presence of
children, permitting them to suppose, that they ought to wait on
them, and bear their humours.  A child should always be made to
receive assistance from a man or woman as a favour; and, as the
first lesson of independence, they should practically be taught, by
the example of their mother, not to require that personal
attendance which it is an insult to humanity to require, when in
health; and instead of being led to assume airs of consequence, a
sense of their own weakness should first make them feel the natural
equality of man.  Yet, how frequently have I indignantly heard
servants imperiously called to put children to bed, and sent away
again and again, because master or miss hung about mamma, to stay a
little longer.  Thus made slavishly to attend the little idol, all
those most disgusting humours were exhibited which characterize a
spoiled child.

In short, speaking of the majority of mothers, they leave their
children entirely to the care of servants: or, because they are
their children, treat them as if they were little demi-gods, though
I have always observed, that the women who thus idolize their
children, seldom show common humanity to servants, or feel the
least tenderness for any children but their own.

It is, however, these exclusive affections, and an individual
manner of seeing things, produced by ignorance, which keep women
for ever at a stand, with respect to improvement, and make many of
them dedicate their lives to their children only to weaken their
bodies and spoil their tempers, frustrating also any plan of
education that a more rational father may adopt; for unless a
mother concurs, the father who restrains will ever be considered as
a tyrant.

But, fulfilling the duties of a mother, a woman with a sound
constitution, may still keep her person scrupulously neat, and
assist to maintain her family, if necessary, or by reading and
conversations with both sexes, indiscriminately, improve her mind.
For nature has so wisely ordered things, that did women suckle
their children, they would preserve their own health, and there
would be such an interval between the birth of each child, that we
should seldom see a house full of babes.  And did they pursue a
plan of conduct, and not waste their time in following the
fashionable vagaries of dress, the management of their household
and children need not shut them out from literature, nor prevent
their attaching themselves to a science, with that steady eye which
strengthens the mind, or practising one of the fine arts that
cultivate the taste.

But, visiting to display finery, card playing, and balls, not to
mention the idle bustle of morning trifling, draw women from their
duty, to render them insignificant, to render them pleasing,
according to the present acceptation of the word, to every man, but
their husband.  For a round of pleasures in which the affections
are not exercised, cannot be said to improve the understanding,
though it be erroneously called seeing the world; yet the heart is
rendered cold and averse to duty, by such a senseless intercourse,
which becomes necessary from habit, even when it has ceased to
amuse.

But, till more equality be established in society, till ranks are
confounded and women freed, we shall not see that dignified
domestic happiness, the simple grandeur of which cannot be relished
by ignorant or vitiated minds; nor will the important task of
education ever be properly begun till the person of a woman is no
longer preferred to her mind.  For it would be as wise to expect
corn from tares, or figs from thistles, as that a foolish ignorant
woman should be a good mother.

SECTION 13.6.

It is not necessary to inform the sagacious reader, now I enter on
my concluding reflections, that the discussion of this subject
merely consists in opening a few simple principles, and clearing
away the rubbish which obscured them.  But, as all readers are not
sagacious, I must be allowed to add some explanatory remarks to
bring the subject home to reason--to that sluggish reason, which
supinely takes opinions on trust, and obstinately supports them to
spare itself the labour of thinking.

Moralists have unanimously agreed, that unless virtue be nursed by
liberty, it will never attain due strength--and what they say of
man I extend to mankind, insisting, that in all cases morals must
be fixed on immutable principles; and that the being cannot be
termed rational or virtuous, who obeys any authority but that of
reason.

To render women truly useful members of society, I argue, that they
should be led, by having their understandings cultivated on a large
scale, to acquire a rational affection for their country, founded
on knowledge, because it is obvious, that we are little interested
about what we do not understand.  And to render this general
knowledge of due importance, I have endeavoured to show that
private duties are never properly fulfilled, unless the
understanding enlarges the heart; and that public virtue is only an
aggregate of private.  But, the distinctions established in society
undermine both, by beating out the solid gold of virtue, till it
becomes only the tinsel-covering of vice; for, whilst wealth
renders a man more respectable than virtue, wealth will be sought
before virtue; and, whilst women's persons are caressed, when a
childish simper shows an absence of mind--the mind will lie fallow.
Yet, true voluptuousness must proceed from the mind--for what can
equal the sensations produced by mutual affection, supported by
mutual respect?  What are the cold or feverish caresses of
appetite, but sin embracing death, compared with the modest
overflowings of a pure heart and exalted imagination?  Yes, let me
tell the libertine of fancy when he despises understanding in
woman--that the mind, which he disregards, gives life to the
enthusiastic affection from which rapture, short-lived as it is,
alone can flow!  And, that, without virtue, a sexual attachment
must expire, like a tallow candle in the socket, creating
intolerable disgust.  To prove this, I need only observe, that men
who have wasted great part of their lives with women, and with whom
they have sought for pleasure with eager thirst, entertain the
meanest opinion of the sex.  Virtue, true refiner of joy! if
foolish men were to fright thee from earth, in order to give loose
to all their appetites without a check--some sensual wight of taste
would scale the heavens to invite thee back, to give a zest to
pleasure!

That women at present are by ignorance rendered foolish or vicious,
is, I think, not to be disputed; and, that the most salutary
effects tending to improve mankind, might be expected from a
REVOLUTION in female manners, appears at least, with a face of
probability, to rise out of the observation.  For as marriage has
been termed the parent of those endearing charities, which draw man
from the brutal herd, the corrupting intercourse that wealth,
idleness, and folly produce between the sexes, is more universally
injurious to morality, than all the other vices of mankind
collectively considered.  To adulterous lust the most sacred duties
are sacrificed, because, before marriage, men, by a promiscuous
intimacy with women, learned to consider love as a selfish
gratification--learned to separate it not only from esteem, but
from the affection merely built on habit, which mixes a little
humanity with it.  Justice and friendship are also set at defiance,
and that purity of taste is vitiated, which would naturally lead a
man to relish an artless display of affection, rather than affected
airs.  But that noble simplicity of affection, which dares to
appear unadorned, has few attractions for the libertine, though it
be the charm, which, by cementing the matrimonial tie, secures to
the pledges of a warmer passion the necessary parental attention;
for children will never be properly educated till friendship
subsists between parents.  Virtue flies from a house divided
against itself--and a whole legion of devils take up their
residence there.

The affection of husbands and wives cannot be pure when they have
so few sentiments in common, and when so little confidence is
established at home, as must be the case when their pursuits are so
different.  That intimacy from which tenderness should flow, will
not, cannot subsist between the vicious.

Contending, therefore, that the sexual distinction, which men have
so warmly insisted upon, is arbitrary, I have dwelt on an
observation, that several sensible men, with whom I have conversed
on the subject, allowed to be well founded; and it is simply this,
that the little chastity to be found amongst men, and consequent
disregard of modesty, tend to degrade both sexes; and further, that
the modesty of women, characterized as such, will often be only the
artful veil of wantonness, instead of being the natural reflection
of purity, till modesty be universally respected.

>From the tyranny of man, I firmly believe, the greater number of
female follies proceed; and the cunning, which I allow, makes at
present a part of their character, I likewise have repeatedly
endeavoured to prove, is produced by oppression.  Were not
dissenters, for instance, a class of people, with strict truth
characterized as cunning?  And may I not lay some stress on this
fact to prove, that when any power but reason curbs the free spirit
of man, dissimulation is practised, and the various shifts of art
are naturally called forth?  Great attention to decorum, which was
carried to a degree of scrupulosity, and all that puerile bustle
about trifles and consequential solemnity, which Butler's
caricature of a dissenter brings before the imagination, shaped
their persons as well as their minds in the mould of prim
littleness.  I speak collectively, for I know how many ornaments to
human nature have been enrolled amongst sectaries; yet, I assert,
that the same narrow prejudice for their sect, which women have for
their families, prevailed in the dissenting part of the community,
however worthy in other respects; and also that the same timid
prudence, or headstrong efforts, often disgraced the exertions of
both.  Oppression thus formed many of the features of their
character perfectly to coincide with that of the oppressed half of
mankind; for is it not notorious, that dissenters were like women,
fond of deliberating together, and asking advice of each other,
till by a complication of little contrivances, some little end was
brought about?  A similar attention to preserve their reputation
was conspicuous in the dissenting and female world, and was
produced by a similar cause.

Asserting the rights which women in common with men ought to
contend for, I have not attempted to extenuate their faults; but to
prove them to be the natural consequence of their education and
station in society.  If so, it is reasonable to suppose, that they
will change their character, and correct their vices and follies,
when they are allowed to be free in a physical, moral, and civil
sense.

Let woman share the rights, and she will emulate the virtues of
man; for she must grow more perfect when emancipated, or justify
the authority that chains such a weak being to her duty.  If the
latter, it will be expedient to open a fresh trade with Russia for
whips; a present which a father should always make to his
son-in-law on his wedding day, that a husband may keep his whole
family in order by the same means; and without any violation of
justice reign, wielding this sceptre, sole master of his house,
because he is the only being in it who has reason; the divine,
indefeasible, earthly sovereignty breathed into man by the Master
of the universe.  Allowing this position, women have not any
inherent rights to claim; and, by the same rule their duties
vanish, for rights and duties are inseparable.

Be just then, O ye men of understanding! and mark not more severely
what women do amiss, than the vicious tricks of the horse or the
ass for whom ye provide provender, and allow her the privileges of
ignorance, to whom ye deny the rights of reason, or ye will be
worse than Egyptian task-masters, expecting virtue where nature has
not given understanding!

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Wollstonecraft decides that she wants to close Vindication with a discussion of some of the faults that are most common to women. As you can imagine, she attributes most of these faults to a lack of education. Here, Wollstonecraft directly accuses her women readers of being the cause of their own oppression, because so many of them try to gain an advantage in life by acting as "ladylike" as possible. But these women don't realize that their actions reflect on their entire gender and have an impact outside their personal lives. She especially goes after women who like to visit quack doctors who use magnets and crazy things to cure diseases. Wollstonecraft thinks these quacks should all be arrested, and she blames gullible, uneducated women for making quackery such a thriving industry in England. Another common fault that Wollstonecraft sees with women is that their ideas about life are way too influenced by the romance novels they read. Women grow up thinking that Prince Charming will ride up on his horse and sweep them away. To be fair, Wollstonecraft thinks that some reading is better than no reading at all. But she thinks there are better things women could be putting their minds to. The best way for people to deal with novels is to point out all of the things in a novel that are silly or nonsensical. This might seem kind of harsh, but Wollstonecraft is more interested in producing good citizens than women who think that life is one big romance. One of the things that Wollstonecraft dislikes most about women is how judgmental they are toward other women, especially when it comes to appearances. Society tends to make a big deal out of how compassionate women are compared to men. But this compassion usually stems from ignorance, and women are often compassionate toward people who don't deserve it. They're just as likely to feel compassion for a murderer as for a poor person because they haven't got the education to know any better. On top of all the other faults, women are often too harsh with their servants, especially in front of their own children. What kind of message does it teach your child when you're mean to those who are worse off than you? In closing, Wollstonecraft says that she has no interest in excusing the faults of women. She simply thinks that these faults wouldn't be so bad if women were given a better education and a more equal place in society.


prompt:
Chapter: IN the year 1878 I took my degree of Doctor of Medicine of the
University of London, and proceeded to Netley to go through the course
prescribed for surgeons in the army. Having completed my studies there,
I was duly attached to the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers as Assistant
Surgeon. The regiment was stationed in India at the time, and before
I could join it, the second Afghan war had broken out. On landing at
Bombay, I learned that my corps had advanced through the passes, and
was already deep in the enemy's country. I followed, however, with many
other officers who were in the same situation as myself, and succeeded
in reaching Candahar in safety, where I found my regiment, and at once
entered upon my new duties.

The campaign brought honours and promotion to many, but for me it had
nothing but misfortune and disaster. I was removed from my brigade and
attached to the Berkshires, with whom I served at the fatal battle of
Maiwand. There I was struck on the shoulder by a Jezail bullet, which
shattered the bone and grazed the subclavian artery. I should have
fallen into the hands of the murderous Ghazis had it not been for the
devotion and courage shown by Murray, my orderly, who threw me across a
pack-horse, and succeeded in bringing me safely to the British lines.

Worn with pain, and weak from the prolonged hardships which I had
undergone, I was removed, with a great train of wounded sufferers, to
the base hospital at Peshawar. Here I rallied, and had already improved
so far as to be able to walk about the wards, and even to bask a little
upon the verandah, when I was struck down by enteric fever, that curse
of our Indian possessions. For months my life was despaired of, and
when at last I came to myself and became convalescent, I was so weak and
emaciated that a medical board determined that not a day should be lost
in sending me back to England. I was dispatched, accordingly, in the
troopship "Orontes," and landed a month later on Portsmouth jetty, with
my health irretrievably ruined, but with permission from a paternal
government to spend the next nine months in attempting to improve it.

I had neither kith nor kin in England, and was therefore as free as
air--or as free as an income of eleven shillings and sixpence a day will
permit a man to be. Under such circumstances, I naturally gravitated to
London, that great cesspool into which all the loungers and idlers of
the Empire are irresistibly drained. There I stayed for some time at
a private hotel in the Strand, leading a comfortless, meaningless
existence, and spending such money as I had, considerably more freely
than I ought. So alarming did the state of my finances become, that
I soon realized that I must either leave the metropolis and rusticate
somewhere in the country, or that I must make a complete alteration in
my style of living. Choosing the latter alternative, I began by making
up my mind to leave the hotel, and to take up my quarters in some less
pretentious and less expensive domicile.

On the very day that I had come to this conclusion, I was standing at
the Criterion Bar, when some one tapped me on the shoulder, and turning
round I recognized young Stamford, who had been a dresser under me at
Barts. The sight of a friendly face in the great wilderness of London is
a pleasant thing indeed to a lonely man. In old days Stamford had never
been a particular crony of mine, but now I hailed him with enthusiasm,
and he, in his turn, appeared to be delighted to see me. In the
exuberance of my joy, I asked him to lunch with me at the Holborn, and
we started off together in a hansom.

"Whatever have you been doing with yourself, Watson?" he asked in
undisguised wonder, as we rattled through the crowded London streets.
"You are as thin as a lath and as brown as a nut."

I gave him a short sketch of my adventures, and had hardly concluded it
by the time that we reached our destination.

"Poor devil!" he said, commiseratingly, after he had listened to my
misfortunes. "What are you up to now?"

"Looking for lodgings." [3] I answered. "Trying to solve the problem
as to whether it is possible to get comfortable rooms at a reasonable
price."

"That's a strange thing," remarked my companion; "you are the second man
to-day that has used that expression to me."

"And who was the first?" I asked.

"A fellow who is working at the chemical laboratory up at the hospital.
He was bemoaning himself this morning because he could not get someone
to go halves with him in some nice rooms which he had found, and which
were too much for his purse."

"By Jove!" I cried, "if he really wants someone to share the rooms and
the expense, I am the very man for him. I should prefer having a partner
to being alone."

Young Stamford looked rather strangely at me over his wine-glass. "You
don't know Sherlock Holmes yet," he said; "perhaps you would not care
for him as a constant companion."

"Why, what is there against him?"

"Oh, I didn't say there was anything against him. He is a little queer
in his ideas--an enthusiast in some branches of science. As far as I
know he is a decent fellow enough."

"A medical student, I suppose?" said I.

"No--I have no idea what he intends to go in for. I believe he is well
up in anatomy, and he is a first-class chemist; but, as far as I know,
he has never taken out any systematic medical classes. His studies are
very desultory and eccentric, but he has amassed a lot of out-of-the way
knowledge which would astonish his professors."

"Did you never ask him what he was going in for?" I asked.

"No; he is not a man that it is easy to draw out, though he can be
communicative enough when the fancy seizes him."

"I should like to meet him," I said. "If I am to lodge with anyone, I
should prefer a man of studious and quiet habits. I am not strong
enough yet to stand much noise or excitement. I had enough of both in
Afghanistan to last me for the remainder of my natural existence. How
could I meet this friend of yours?"

"He is sure to be at the laboratory," returned my companion. "He either
avoids the place for weeks, or else he works there from morning to
night. If you like, we shall drive round together after luncheon."

"Certainly," I answered, and the conversation drifted away into other
channels.

As we made our way to the hospital after leaving the Holborn, Stamford
gave me a few more particulars about the gentleman whom I proposed to
take as a fellow-lodger.

"You mustn't blame me if you don't get on with him," he said; "I know
nothing more of him than I have learned from meeting him occasionally in
the laboratory. You proposed this arrangement, so you must not hold me
responsible."

"If we don't get on it will be easy to part company," I answered. "It
seems to me, Stamford," I added, looking hard at my companion, "that you
have some reason for washing your hands of the matter. Is this fellow's
temper so formidable, or what is it? Don't be mealy-mouthed about it."

"It is not easy to express the inexpressible," he answered with a laugh.
"Holmes is a little too scientific for my tastes--it approaches to
cold-bloodedness. I could imagine his giving a friend a little pinch of
the latest vegetable alkaloid, not out of malevolence, you understand,
but simply out of a spirit of inquiry in order to have an accurate idea
of the effects. To do him justice, I think that he would take it himself
with the same readiness. He appears to have a passion for definite and
exact knowledge."

"Very right too."

"Yes, but it may be pushed to excess. When it comes to beating the
subjects in the dissecting-rooms with a stick, it is certainly taking
rather a bizarre shape."

"Beating the subjects!"

"Yes, to verify how far bruises may be produced after death. I saw him
at it with my own eyes."

"And yet you say he is not a medical student?"

"No. Heaven knows what the objects of his studies are. But here we
are, and you must form your own impressions about him." As he spoke, we
turned down a narrow lane and passed through a small side-door, which
opened into a wing of the great hospital. It was familiar ground to me,
and I needed no guiding as we ascended the bleak stone staircase and
made our way down the long corridor with its vista of whitewashed
wall and dun-coloured doors. Near the further end a low arched passage
branched away from it and led to the chemical laboratory.

This was a lofty chamber, lined and littered with countless bottles.
Broad, low tables were scattered about, which bristled with retorts,
test-tubes, and little Bunsen lamps, with their blue flickering flames.
There was only one student in the room, who was bending over a distant
table absorbed in his work. At the sound of our steps he glanced round
and sprang to his feet with a cry of pleasure. "I've found it! I've
found it," he shouted to my companion, running towards us with a
test-tube in his hand. "I have found a re-agent which is precipitated
by hoemoglobin, [4] and by nothing else." Had he discovered a gold mine,
greater delight could not have shone upon his features.

"Dr. Watson, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said Stamford, introducing us.

"How are you?" he said cordially, gripping my hand with a strength
for which I should hardly have given him credit. "You have been in
Afghanistan, I perceive."

"How on earth did you know that?" I asked in astonishment.

"Never mind," said he, chuckling to himself. "The question now is about
hoemoglobin. No doubt you see the significance of this discovery of
mine?"

"It is interesting, chemically, no doubt," I answered, "but
practically----"

"Why, man, it is the most practical medico-legal discovery for years.
Don't you see that it gives us an infallible test for blood stains. Come
over here now!" He seized me by the coat-sleeve in his eagerness, and
drew me over to the table at which he had been working. "Let us have
some fresh blood," he said, digging a long bodkin into his finger, and
drawing off the resulting drop of blood in a chemical pipette. "Now, I
add this small quantity of blood to a litre of water. You perceive that
the resulting mixture has the appearance of pure water. The proportion
of blood cannot be more than one in a million. I have no doubt, however,
that we shall be able to obtain the characteristic reaction." As he
spoke, he threw into the vessel a few white crystals, and then added
some drops of a transparent fluid. In an instant the contents assumed a
dull mahogany colour, and a brownish dust was precipitated to the bottom
of the glass jar.

"Ha! ha!" he cried, clapping his hands, and looking as delighted as a
child with a new toy. "What do you think of that?"

"It seems to be a very delicate test," I remarked.

"Beautiful! beautiful! The old Guiacum test was very clumsy and
uncertain. So is the microscopic examination for blood corpuscles. The
latter is valueless if the stains are a few hours old. Now, this appears
to act as well whether the blood is old or new. Had this test been
invented, there are hundreds of men now walking the earth who would long
ago have paid the penalty of their crimes."

"Indeed!" I murmured.

"Criminal cases are continually hinging upon that one point. A man is
suspected of a crime months perhaps after it has been committed. His
linen or clothes are examined, and brownish stains discovered upon them.
Are they blood stains, or mud stains, or rust stains, or fruit stains,
or what are they? That is a question which has puzzled many an expert,
and why? Because there was no reliable test. Now we have the Sherlock
Holmes' test, and there will no longer be any difficulty."

His eyes fairly glittered as he spoke, and he put his hand over his
heart and bowed as if to some applauding crowd conjured up by his
imagination.

"You are to be congratulated," I remarked, considerably surprised at his
enthusiasm.

"There was the case of Von Bischoff at Frankfort last year. He would
certainly have been hung had this test been in existence. Then there was
Mason of Bradford, and the notorious Muller, and Lefevre of Montpellier,
and Samson of New Orleans. I could name a score of cases in which it
would have been decisive."

"You seem to be a walking calendar of crime," said Stamford with a
laugh. "You might start a paper on those lines. Call it the 'Police News
of the Past.'"

"Very interesting reading it might be made, too," remarked Sherlock
Holmes, sticking a small piece of plaster over the prick on his finger.
"I have to be careful," he continued, turning to me with a smile, "for I
dabble with poisons a good deal." He held out his hand as he spoke, and
I noticed that it was all mottled over with similar pieces of plaster,
and discoloured with strong acids.

"We came here on business," said Stamford, sitting down on a high
three-legged stool, and pushing another one in my direction with
his foot. "My friend here wants to take diggings, and as you were
complaining that you could get no one to go halves with you, I thought
that I had better bring you together."

Sherlock Holmes seemed delighted at the idea of sharing his rooms with
me. "I have my eye on a suite in Baker Street," he said, "which would
suit us down to the ground. You don't mind the smell of strong tobacco,
I hope?"

"I always smoke 'ship's' myself," I answered.

"That's good enough. I generally have chemicals about, and occasionally
do experiments. Would that annoy you?"

"By no means."

"Let me see--what are my other shortcomings. I get in the dumps at
times, and don't open my mouth for days on end. You must not think I am
sulky when I do that. Just let me alone, and I'll soon be right. What
have you to confess now? It's just as well for two fellows to know the
worst of one another before they begin to live together."

I laughed at this cross-examination. "I keep a bull pup," I said, "and
I object to rows because my nerves are shaken, and I get up at all sorts
of ungodly hours, and I am extremely lazy. I have another set of vices
when I'm well, but those are the principal ones at present."

"Do you include violin-playing in your category of rows?" he asked,
anxiously.

"It depends on the player," I answered. "A well-played violin is a treat
for the gods--a badly-played one----"

"Oh, that's all right," he cried, with a merry laugh. "I think we may
consider the thing as settled--that is, if the rooms are agreeable to
you."

"When shall we see them?"

"Call for me here at noon to-morrow, and we'll go together and settle
everything," he answered.

"All right--noon exactly," said I, shaking his hand.

We left him working among his chemicals, and we walked together towards
my hotel.

"By the way," I asked suddenly, stopping and turning upon Stamford, "how
the deuce did he know that I had come from Afghanistan?"

My companion smiled an enigmatical smile. "That's just his little
peculiarity," he said. "A good many people have wanted to know how he
finds things out."

"Oh! a mystery is it?" I cried, rubbing my hands. "This is very piquant.
I am much obliged to you for bringing us together. 'The proper study of
mankind is man,' you know."

"You must study him, then," Stamford said, as he bade me good-bye.
"You'll find him a knotty problem, though. I'll wager he learns more
about you than you about him. Good-bye."

"Good-bye," I answered, and strolled on to my hotel, considerably
interested in my new acquaintance.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: The novel opens with Watson giving a first-person narrative about the contemporary events in his life. He explains that he received his Doctor of Medicine degree in 1878 from the University of London but was immediately assigned to wartime duties as Assistant Surgeon and sent to Bombay. He then traveled to Candahar. The campaign was quite unfortunate for him as he was struck by a bullet in the shoulder and had to be dragged back to British lines by his orderly. He then suffered from typhoid fever. After he was somewhat healed, his country dispatched him to England to spend some months nourishing his health. He knew no one in London, but the money he had from the government allowed him to live a "comfortless, meaningless existence" in an expensive hotel. His money soon came close to running out and as such he sought a new living situation. One day at the Criterion Bar he ran into an old acquaintance named Stamford; Stamford had been a dresser at Barts. Both men were happy to see a familiar face and began chatting amiably. Watson spoke of his various misadventures and his current need for a new residence. Stamford replied that another man at the chemical laboratory where he was working had also told him that very day that he sought a roommate. Watson inquired about the details of this man; Stamford explained that Sherlock Holmes was a very strange man and that while he was not actually a medical student and "his studies are very desultory and eccentric" he also had "amassed a lot of out-of-the-way knowledge which would astonish his professors." Watson was pleased to hear that he potential roommate was studious and quiet, and asked Stamford to introduce them. Stamford agreed and the two of them made their way to the hospital. Along the way Stamford spoke more of Holmes; at one point curiously stated that he would bear no responsibility if the living situation did not work out for Watson. The latter was surprised at this statement, and prodded Stamford for more information. For Stamford, Holmes was too scientific and could tend toward cold-bloodedness. He did, however, have a "passion for definite and exact knowledge" and conducted strange experiments. The two men arrived at the laboratory and entered the room where Holmes was working. As soon as Holmes saw the men entered he jumped up with glee and announced that he had found "a re-agent that is precipitated by haemoglobin." Stamford introduced Watson to Holmes, the latter remarking that Watson had clearly been in Afghanistan recently. Holmes explained the discovery he had made, which was an "infallible test for blood stains." He demonstrated how it worked and why it was better than the old tests that existed. He was sure that several criminals who had walked free would have been jailed if this test had been used. After a few moments Stamford brought Holmes' attention back to the situation at hand, stating that Watson was looking for a roommate. Holmes was pleased and mentioned that he had his eye upon Baker Street. Watson and Holmes discussed their vices and shortcomings with each other; Holmes said that he " in the dumps at times, and open mouth for days on end" and Watson revealed that he was prone to laziness, weak nerves, and ungodly hours for rising. As the conversation was pleasing to both parties, they agreed to meet the following day and visit the available rooms. As Watson and Stamford left the laboratory, Stamford remarked that he was pleased the two men got along. Watson replied that he enjoyed the mystery of Holmes, and quoted Alexander Pope: "The proper study of man is man." Stamford's response was that Watson would find Holmes "a knotty problem, though" and wagered that "he more about you than you about him." The two said goodbye and parted ways.


prompt:
Chapter: WE met next day as he had arranged, and inspected the rooms at No. 221B,
[5] Baker Street, of which he had spoken at our meeting. They
consisted of a couple of comfortable bed-rooms and a single large
airy sitting-room, cheerfully furnished, and illuminated by two broad
windows. So desirable in every way were the apartments, and so moderate
did the terms seem when divided between us, that the bargain was
concluded upon the spot, and we at once entered into possession.
That very evening I moved my things round from the hotel, and on the
following morning Sherlock Holmes followed me with several boxes and
portmanteaus. For a day or two we were busily employed in unpacking and
laying out our property to the best advantage. That done, we
gradually began to settle down and to accommodate ourselves to our new
surroundings.

Holmes was certainly not a difficult man to live with. He was quiet
in his ways, and his habits were regular. It was rare for him to be
up after ten at night, and he had invariably breakfasted and gone out
before I rose in the morning. Sometimes he spent his day at the chemical
laboratory, sometimes in the dissecting-rooms, and occasionally in long
walks, which appeared to take him into the lowest portions of the City.
Nothing could exceed his energy when the working fit was upon him; but
now and again a reaction would seize him, and for days on end he would
lie upon the sofa in the sitting-room, hardly uttering a word or moving
a muscle from morning to night. On these occasions I have noticed such
a dreamy, vacant expression in his eyes, that I might have suspected him
of being addicted to the use of some narcotic, had not the temperance
and cleanliness of his whole life forbidden such a notion.

As the weeks went by, my interest in him and my curiosity as to his
aims in life, gradually deepened and increased. His very person and
appearance were such as to strike the attention of the most casual
observer. In height he was rather over six feet, and so excessively
lean that he seemed to be considerably taller. His eyes were sharp and
piercing, save during those intervals of torpor to which I have alluded;
and his thin, hawk-like nose gave his whole expression an air of
alertness and decision. His chin, too, had the prominence and squareness
which mark the man of determination. His hands were invariably
blotted with ink and stained with chemicals, yet he was possessed of
extraordinary delicacy of touch, as I frequently had occasion to observe
when I watched him manipulating his fragile philosophical instruments.

The reader may set me down as a hopeless busybody, when I confess how
much this man stimulated my curiosity, and how often I endeavoured
to break through the reticence which he showed on all that concerned
himself. Before pronouncing judgment, however, be it remembered, how
objectless was my life, and how little there was to engage my attention.
My health forbade me from venturing out unless the weather was
exceptionally genial, and I had no friends who would call upon me and
break the monotony of my daily existence. Under these circumstances, I
eagerly hailed the little mystery which hung around my companion, and
spent much of my time in endeavouring to unravel it.

He was not studying medicine. He had himself, in reply to a question,
confirmed Stamford's opinion upon that point. Neither did he appear to
have pursued any course of reading which might fit him for a degree in
science or any other recognized portal which would give him an entrance
into the learned world. Yet his zeal for certain studies was remarkable,
and within eccentric limits his knowledge was so extraordinarily ample
and minute that his observations have fairly astounded me. Surely no man
would work so hard or attain such precise information unless he had some
definite end in view. Desultory readers are seldom remarkable for the
exactness of their learning. No man burdens his mind with small matters
unless he has some very good reason for doing so.

His ignorance was as remarkable as his knowledge. Of contemporary
literature, philosophy and politics he appeared to know next to nothing.
Upon my quoting Thomas Carlyle, he inquired in the naivest way who he
might be and what he had done. My surprise reached a climax, however,
when I found incidentally that he was ignorant of the Copernican Theory
and of the composition of the Solar System. That any civilized human
being in this nineteenth century should not be aware that the earth
travelled round the sun appeared to be to me such an extraordinary fact
that I could hardly realize it.

"You appear to be astonished," he said, smiling at my expression of
surprise. "Now that I do know it I shall do my best to forget it."

"To forget it!"

"You see," he explained, "I consider that a man's brain originally is
like a little empty attic, and you have to stock it with such furniture
as you choose. A fool takes in all the lumber of every sort that he
comes across, so that the knowledge which might be useful to him gets
crowded out, or at best is jumbled up with a lot of other things so that
he has a difficulty in laying his hands upon it. Now the skilful workman
is very careful indeed as to what he takes into his brain-attic. He will
have nothing but the tools which may help him in doing his work, but of
these he has a large assortment, and all in the most perfect order. It
is a mistake to think that that little room has elastic walls and can
distend to any extent. Depend upon it there comes a time when for every
addition of knowledge you forget something that you knew before. It is
of the highest importance, therefore, not to have useless facts elbowing
out the useful ones."

"But the Solar System!" I protested.

"What the deuce is it to me?" he interrupted impatiently; "you say
that we go round the sun. If we went round the moon it would not make a
pennyworth of difference to me or to my work."

I was on the point of asking him what that work might be, but something
in his manner showed me that the question would be an unwelcome one. I
pondered over our short conversation, however, and endeavoured to draw
my deductions from it. He said that he would acquire no knowledge which
did not bear upon his object. Therefore all the knowledge which he
possessed was such as would be useful to him. I enumerated in my own
mind all the various points upon which he had shown me that he was
exceptionally well-informed. I even took a pencil and jotted them down.
I could not help smiling at the document when I had completed it. It ran
in this way--

SHERLOCK HOLMES--his limits.

  1. Knowledge of Literature.--Nil.
  2.              Philosophy.--Nil.
  3.              Astronomy.--Nil.
  4.              Politics.--Feeble.
  5.              Botany.--Variable.  Well up in belladonna,
                              opium, and poisons generally.
                              Knows nothing of practical gardening.
  6.              Geology.--Practical, but limited.
                               Tells at a glance different soils
                               from each other.  After walks has
                               shown me splashes upon his trousers,
                               and told me by their colour and
                               consistence in what part of London
                               he had received them.
  7.              Chemistry.--Profound.
  8.              Anatomy.--Accurate, but unsystematic.
  9.              Sensational Literature.--Immense.  He appears
                              to know every detail of every horror
                              perpetrated in the century.
  10. Plays the violin well.
  11. Is an expert singlestick player, boxer, and swordsman.
  12. Has a good practical knowledge of British law.

When I had got so far in my list I threw it into the fire in despair.
"If I can only find what the fellow is driving at by reconciling all
these accomplishments, and discovering a calling which needs them all,"
I said to myself, "I may as well give up the attempt at once."

I see that I have alluded above to his powers upon the violin. These
were very remarkable, but as eccentric as all his other accomplishments.
That he could play pieces, and difficult pieces, I knew well, because
at my request he has played me some of Mendelssohn's Lieder, and other
favourites. When left to himself, however, he would seldom produce any
music or attempt any recognized air. Leaning back in his arm-chair of
an evening, he would close his eyes and scrape carelessly at the fiddle
which was thrown across his knee. Sometimes the chords were sonorous and
melancholy. Occasionally they were fantastic and cheerful. Clearly they
reflected the thoughts which possessed him, but whether the music aided
those thoughts, or whether the playing was simply the result of a whim
or fancy was more than I could determine. I might have rebelled against
these exasperating solos had it not been that he usually terminated them
by playing in quick succession a whole series of my favourite airs as a
slight compensation for the trial upon my patience.

During the first week or so we had no callers, and I had begun to think
that my companion was as friendless a man as I was myself. Presently,
however, I found that he had many acquaintances, and those in the most
different classes of society. There was one little sallow rat-faced,
dark-eyed fellow who was introduced to me as Mr. Lestrade, and who came
three or four times in a single week. One morning a young girl called,
fashionably dressed, and stayed for half an hour or more. The same
afternoon brought a grey-headed, seedy visitor, looking like a Jew
pedlar, who appeared to me to be much excited, and who was closely
followed by a slip-shod elderly woman. On another occasion an old
white-haired gentleman had an interview with my companion; and on
another a railway porter in his velveteen uniform. When any of these
nondescript individuals put in an appearance, Sherlock Holmes used to
beg for the use of the sitting-room, and I would retire to my bed-room.
He always apologized to me for putting me to this inconvenience. "I have
to use this room as a place of business," he said, "and these people
are my clients." Again I had an opportunity of asking him a point blank
question, and again my delicacy prevented me from forcing another man to
confide in me. I imagined at the time that he had some strong reason for
not alluding to it, but he soon dispelled the idea by coming round to
the subject of his own accord.

It was upon the 4th of March, as I have good reason to remember, that I
rose somewhat earlier than usual, and found that Sherlock Holmes had not
yet finished his breakfast. The landlady had become so accustomed to my
late habits that my place had not been laid nor my coffee prepared. With
the unreasonable petulance of mankind I rang the bell and gave a curt
intimation that I was ready. Then I picked up a magazine from the table
and attempted to while away the time with it, while my companion munched
silently at his toast. One of the articles had a pencil mark at the
heading, and I naturally began to run my eye through it.

Its somewhat ambitious title was "The Book of Life," and it attempted to
show how much an observant man might learn by an accurate and systematic
examination of all that came in his way. It struck me as being a
remarkable mixture of shrewdness and of absurdity. The reasoning was
close and intense, but the deductions appeared to me to be far-fetched
and exaggerated. The writer claimed by a momentary expression, a twitch
of a muscle or a glance of an eye, to fathom a man's inmost thoughts.
Deceit, according to him, was an impossibility in the case of one
trained to observation and analysis. His conclusions were as infallible
as so many propositions of Euclid. So startling would his results appear
to the uninitiated that until they learned the processes by which he had
arrived at them they might well consider him as a necromancer.

"From a drop of water," said the writer, "a logician could infer the
possibility of an Atlantic or a Niagara without having seen or heard of
one or the other. So all life is a great chain, the nature of which is
known whenever we are shown a single link of it. Like all other arts,
the Science of Deduction and Analysis is one which can only be acquired
by long and patient study nor is life long enough to allow any mortal
to attain the highest possible perfection in it. Before turning to
those moral and mental aspects of the matter which present the greatest
difficulties, let the enquirer begin by mastering more elementary
problems. Let him, on meeting a fellow-mortal, learn at a glance to
distinguish the history of the man, and the trade or profession to
which he belongs. Puerile as such an exercise may seem, it sharpens the
faculties of observation, and teaches one where to look and what to look
for. By a man's finger nails, by his coat-sleeve, by his boot, by his
trouser knees, by the callosities of his forefinger and thumb, by his
expression, by his shirt cuffs--by each of these things a man's calling
is plainly revealed. That all united should fail to enlighten the
competent enquirer in any case is almost inconceivable."

"What ineffable twaddle!" I cried, slapping the magazine down on the
table, "I never read such rubbish in my life."

"What is it?" asked Sherlock Holmes.

"Why, this article," I said, pointing at it with my egg spoon as I sat
down to my breakfast. "I see that you have read it since you have marked
it. I don't deny that it is smartly written. It irritates me though. It
is evidently the theory of some arm-chair lounger who evolves all these
neat little paradoxes in the seclusion of his own study. It is not
practical. I should like to see him clapped down in a third class
carriage on the Underground, and asked to give the trades of all his
fellow-travellers. I would lay a thousand to one against him."

"You would lose your money," Sherlock Holmes remarked calmly. "As for
the article I wrote it myself."

"You!"

"Yes, I have a turn both for observation and for deduction. The
theories which I have expressed there, and which appear to you to be so
chimerical are really extremely practical--so practical that I depend
upon them for my bread and cheese."

"And how?" I asked involuntarily.

"Well, I have a trade of my own. I suppose I am the only one in the
world. I'm a consulting detective, if you can understand what that is.
Here in London we have lots of Government detectives and lots of private
ones. When these fellows are at fault they come to me, and I manage to
put them on the right scent. They lay all the evidence before me, and I
am generally able, by the help of my knowledge of the history of
crime, to set them straight. There is a strong family resemblance about
misdeeds, and if you have all the details of a thousand at your finger
ends, it is odd if you can't unravel the thousand and first. Lestrade
is a well-known detective. He got himself into a fog recently over a
forgery case, and that was what brought him here."

"And these other people?"

"They are mostly sent on by private inquiry agencies. They are
all people who are in trouble about something, and want a little
enlightening. I listen to their story, they listen to my comments, and
then I pocket my fee."

"But do you mean to say," I said, "that without leaving your room you
can unravel some knot which other men can make nothing of, although they
have seen every detail for themselves?"

"Quite so. I have a kind of intuition that way. Now and again a case
turns up which is a little more complex. Then I have to bustle about and
see things with my own eyes. You see I have a lot of special knowledge
which I apply to the problem, and which facilitates matters wonderfully.
Those rules of deduction laid down in that article which aroused your
scorn, are invaluable to me in practical work. Observation with me is
second nature. You appeared to be surprised when I told you, on our
first meeting, that you had come from Afghanistan."

"You were told, no doubt."

"Nothing of the sort. I _knew_ you came from Afghanistan. From long
habit the train of thoughts ran so swiftly through my mind, that I
arrived at the conclusion without being conscious of intermediate steps.
There were such steps, however. The train of reasoning ran, 'Here is a
gentleman of a medical type, but with the air of a military man. Clearly
an army doctor, then. He has just come from the tropics, for his face is
dark, and that is not the natural tint of his skin, for his wrists are
fair. He has undergone hardship and sickness, as his haggard face says
clearly. His left arm has been injured. He holds it in a stiff and
unnatural manner. Where in the tropics could an English army doctor have
seen much hardship and got his arm wounded? Clearly in Afghanistan.' The
whole train of thought did not occupy a second. I then remarked that you
came from Afghanistan, and you were astonished."

"It is simple enough as you explain it," I said, smiling. "You remind
me of Edgar Allen Poe's Dupin. I had no idea that such individuals did
exist outside of stories."

Sherlock Holmes rose and lit his pipe. "No doubt you think that you are
complimenting me in comparing me to Dupin," he observed. "Now, in my
opinion, Dupin was a very inferior fellow. That trick of his of breaking
in on his friends' thoughts with an apropos remark after a quarter of
an hour's silence is really very showy and superficial. He had some
analytical genius, no doubt; but he was by no means such a phenomenon as
Poe appeared to imagine."

"Have you read Gaboriau's works?" I asked. "Does Lecoq come up to your
idea of a detective?"

Sherlock Holmes sniffed sardonically. "Lecoq was a miserable bungler,"
he said, in an angry voice; "he had only one thing to recommend him, and
that was his energy. That book made me positively ill. The question was
how to identify an unknown prisoner. I could have done it in twenty-four
hours. Lecoq took six months or so. It might be made a text-book for
detectives to teach them what to avoid."

I felt rather indignant at having two characters whom I had admired
treated in this cavalier style. I walked over to the window, and stood
looking out into the busy street. "This fellow may be very clever," I
said to myself, "but he is certainly very conceited."

"There are no crimes and no criminals in these days," he said,
querulously. "What is the use of having brains in our profession. I know
well that I have it in me to make my name famous. No man lives or has
ever lived who has brought the same amount of study and of natural
talent to the detection of crime which I have done. And what is the
result? There is no crime to detect, or, at most, some bungling villainy
with a motive so transparent that even a Scotland Yard official can see
through it."

I was still annoyed at his bumptious style of conversation. I thought it
best to change the topic.

"I wonder what that fellow is looking for?" I asked, pointing to a
stalwart, plainly-dressed individual who was walking slowly down the
other side of the street, looking anxiously at the numbers. He had
a large blue envelope in his hand, and was evidently the bearer of a
message.

"You mean the retired sergeant of Marines," said Sherlock Holmes.

"Brag and bounce!" thought I to myself. "He knows that I cannot verify
his guess."

The thought had hardly passed through my mind when the man whom we were
watching caught sight of the number on our door, and ran rapidly across
the roadway. We heard a loud knock, a deep voice below, and heavy steps
ascending the stair.

"For Mr. Sherlock Holmes," he said, stepping into the room and handing
my friend the letter.

Here was an opportunity of taking the conceit out of him. He little
thought of this when he made that random shot. "May I ask, my lad," I
said, in the blandest voice, "what your trade may be?"

"Commissionaire, sir," he said, gruffly. "Uniform away for repairs."

"And you were?" I asked, with a slightly malicious glance at my
companion.

"A sergeant, sir, Royal Marine Light Infantry, sir. No answer? Right,
sir."

He clicked his heels together, raised his hand in a salute, and was
gone.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Watson narrates that he and Holmes were pleased with their new rooms and living arrangement. Holmes was not difficult to live with, as he had regular hours and was often out. He did have occasional bouts of lethargy and immobility, which Watson believed were not related to drugs because of the man's "temperance and cleanliness." Watson was incredibly interested in Holmes and his mysterious doings; he had a copious amount of free time while regaining his health as well as a lack of friends in London to occupy his time. Holmes was clearly not studying medicine, Watson concluded, and he was not perusing any other degree. His knowledge seemed exact and desultory, focused on several small things and amazingly lacking in others. In particular, Watson was shocked that Holmes had never heard of the Copernican discovery of Earth's revolutions around the sun; Holmes responded that this was because "it is of the highest importance...not to have useless facts elbowing out the useful ones." At one point, Watson took up a pen and wrote a list of the different types of knowledge and marked which ones Holmes seemed conversant in. He knew little to nothing of literature, philosophy, astronomy, and politics. He had a practical but limited understanding of geography, a variable understanding of botany, a profound knowledge of chemistry, an accurate but unsystematic knowledge of anatomy, and an immense knowledge of sensational literature. Holmes was quite talented on the violin, and seemed to play pieces of music that reflected his current thoughts, whether gloomy or excited. Watson believed Holmes to have no friends when they first began their cohabitation, but soon noticed various individuals from different classes of society visiting him. Holmes explained that they were his clients but offered no further information. One morning while Watson was waiting for his breakfast he picked up a magazine from the table and glanced at an article called "The Book of Life." This article attempted to explain "how much an observant man might learn by an accurate and systematic examination of everything that came in his way." A man could look at a drop of water and know what ocean it came from, or learn a man's calling from his fingernails or coat-sleeve. Watson scoffed that this article was "ineffable twaddle" and threw it upon the table. He complained to Holmes, who sat across from him, that the article was irritating and impractical. Holmes listened to Watson and then told him that he was in fact the author of the article and that his job was a "consulting detective." This, in essence, meant that he was a private detective and he endeavored to help government detectives sort out their evidence in crimes. Those clients he mentioned were people who came to him to ask for "enlightening" on some problem they had. For more complex cases, Holmes would visit the site itself and apply his specialized knowledge and powers of observation. To make this clearer, he explained to Watson how, upon their first meeting, he had known Watson was just from Afghanistan. Watson was surprised at these revelations and commented that Holmes reminded him of Edgar Allen Poe's Dupin and Gaboriau's detective Lecoq. Holmes was disdainful of these comparisons, not finding them accurate enough or indicative of his own talents. He then began to complain that he never got to work on any real cases as there were no crimes being committed. Watson, becoming annoyed at Holmes' "bumptious style of conversation," changed the topic to wondering who a man on the street below was looking for. Holmes glanced at the man and said that he was a retired sergeant of Marines. Watson was skeptical at this instantaneous assessment, but had little time to consider it further because the man on the street came up to their very door. Upon it being opened, the man handed Holmes a letter. Before he left Watson asked him his profession, and to his amazement the man answered that he was a sergeant from the Royal Marine Light Infantry.