Georgiana Bruce Kirby Writes for the Golden Gate Spiritualist Newspaper
In the article
entitled "Spiritualism,
Georgiana Bruce Kirby, and Scientific Medicine in 1885 Santa Cruz" I
mention that there is in the
historical archives of the Santa Cruz County Museum of Art and History a copy of Kirby's two contributions to the
San Francisco Spiritualist newspaper Golden
Gate. The first of these,
"Our Girls" is an article about the education of women, a topic dear
to Kirby. The other is a response
to an article that had appeared in the Golden
Gate about a physician who let the powers of nature cure his patients. Kirby wondered if the doctor really
achieved his results through
spiritualistic powers. To
facilitate research into the life of this early Santa Cruz Feminist, I am
placing here the text of these two writings, which, as far as I know, have not
until now appeared anywhere outside the Golden
Gate.
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[The Golden Gate August 22, 1885]
OUR GIRLS.
BY GEORGIANA B.
KIRBY.
Not even the
most inane mother will deny that the young are at the mercy of their
circumstances, of the conditions which surround them, and those which come to
meet them, as it were; and yet these very same mothers will continue, year
after year, in a state of blind security about their own growing girls, neither instructing them in the physiology of
sex, or giving them the watchful protection every girl should have. There is a certain loving suspicion
felt by a wise mother in regard to her child, from his or her earliest years,
until she sees that his character is firmly established. She realizes that her child is weak and
afraid of the verdict of its elders; that, for instance, it is not easy for him
to tell the exact truth, where he has been to blame; so she looks him in the
eye, with an affectionate, steady and determined gaze (in order to help him),
and says: "Now, my dear, tell me the honest truth. If you have done wrong in this matter,
acknowledge it. I never punish you
when you tell me the truth."
In nearly every
case, the child so dealt with will not only do as he is prompted, but will, by
degrees, acquire the courage to tell the truth without prompting.
The common,
unthinking mother, believes at once whatever her child says, and thus
encourages him in the habit of lying.
So with the
little girl. As a being,
conscious that she is in the power of her elders, she sometimes tries to obtain
her own way by strategem. If her
mother sees no need of this tender suspicion (which is concealed, and hence
never wounds the child's self-respect), and imagines that this weak creature,
because it is hers, is always equal to telling the truth, the girl, as she
grows older, learns, it may be, to tell a lie with perfect nonchalance -- to
say, for instance, that she is going to church when she is invited to go for a
walk with some young fellow. We
know just such a girl. She was
very pretty, but constant insincerity and coarse thoughts have destroyed all
her charm. I pity her good-hearted, industrious parents, whose trustfulness was
so fatal to their energetic and once promising child.
A young girl is
no fit judge of her own circumstances; being youthful, she is hopeful, and
neither suspects weakness in herself nor passion and selfishness on the part of
the young men she knows. If she
hears that a schoolmate has been imprudent, or allowed her reputation to be
smutched, she immediately concludes that she must, by nature, have been a
coarse girl; whereas, we know that in a large majority of such cases there was
not innate senusality; it was simply that they were neither instructed properly
nor protected carefully; and, I repeat, not only should every girl be taught
the physiology of sex in a pure and proper way, but she should never be
permitted to go out of evenings unprotected, or to picnics either. She can secure plenty of innocent
enjoyment without running any risk, and it is notorious that in this State
social pleasure for the young is carried to excess.
As an instance
of the danger attending ignorance and undue freedom I will relate an incident
which took place in the city of San Francisco a few years ago.
A very
attractive girl of fifteen, pure-minded and belonging to a good family, noticed
that on her way to and from school, she always met, at about the same point, a
well-dressed, gentlemanly-looking man, going in the opposite direction. It struch her as being so odd that,
after a month or more, when he smiled, she was quite ready to smile too. This encouraged him to lift his hat,
and presently they exchanged greetings, which as time went on, led to short
chats. Finally he got in the habit
of turning to walk with her a short distance.
One afternoon,
when, for some reason, school had closed earlier than usual, she was more than
ever amused to see him hurrying down the street, as was his wont. Coming up to her, he ventured to
suggest that it was a lovely afternoon for a drive. He had a little business to attend to in the neighborhood of
the Cliff House; would she not like to go with him? They could get back long before supper time.
The girl
hesitated. How kind of him to be
willing to take a school-girl! It
was not quite right, unless she had her mother's consent, but he could not wait
for her to get that. Yes, she
would go, and tell her mother afterward.
"Well, let
us hurry, then. I will leave you
at a friend's house for a few minutes, while I go for the carriage."
The girl sat in
waiting attitude, gazing round at the bric-a-brac of the elegantly furnished
parlor, when a richly-dressed lady entered, and, addressing her, inquired her
name, and where she lived; if she knew what sort of a house she was in, and who
had brought her there. Then she
said to her:
"My child,
this house is no place for an innocent girl, and if you go to the Cliff House
with that man you will be a ruined girl, and never be able to look your mother
in the face again. One glass of
wine, and you would be powerless.
Come, I will put on my bonnet and take you home at once."
On ringing, and
the two being admitted, the woman in question, who was the keeper of a
well-known house of prostitution, asked to see the young girl's mother, and
when the latter appeared she remarked:
"Madam, I
am a woman whom you would consider too vile to speak to, but I have rescued
your child from a fate worse than death.
My name is --- --- and I keep what is known as the --- House. I never permit an innocent girl to be
wronged, in my establishment.
(Here she told the girl's story for her, the poor thing hanging her
head.)
"Madam,
teach her the risk she runs in making acquaintances on the street, but don't be
severe with her."
The lady,
trembling with horror at the thought of what might have befallen her darling
child, took --- ---'s hand and shed over it tears of gratitude.
"Never,
never shall I cease to bless you and to pray for you," she sobbed, as her
benefactor, having performed her mission, bowed low and left them. It was, indeed, a rare escape, where
one could not have expected assistance.
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[The Golden Gate September 18, 1886]
[Editor the
Golden Gate.]
"Old Doctor
Jennings."
A
few weeks ago I read a short article in the GOLDEN GATE, headed "Drug
Superstition," in which reference was had to Dr. Jennings of Derby,
Vermont, (if I remember rightly), who for twenty years practiced medicine most
successfully in that town, and never during the whole of that time gave his
patients anything but bread pills and colored water for drugs. He may have ordered a foot bath or a
mustard poultice, but the stomach of those who sought his services remained
uninjured by his contact with the various poisons we call medicines.
As your
correspondent stated very early in his practice he came to the conclusion there
was [i]vis.[sic] Medicatrix
naturae[/i], or creative power inherent in the human body, which, if allowed to
manifiest itself on every emergency, was quite equal to overruling
disease. But, just when she was
making her crowning effort, the friends of the patient got frightened and sent
for the Doctor, who at once prejudiced the case, by introducing a poison into
the stomach which must be gotten rid of, either by purging or vomiting.
The Doctor would
only test his theory by deceiving his patients. He knew well that should he undeceive them his power would
be gone, so he remained the great medical authority of the region for twenty
years, when having fully satisfied himself of the correctness of his theory he
disposed of his excellent practice and went to Oberlin, Ohio, and bought a good
farm. Returning to make the final
arrangements for his removal, he gave a public lecture in which he explained
his belief in nature's remedial powers and avowed the method he had used in
dealing with the sick.
The lecture
created immense surprise. There
were "ohs!" and "ahs!" on all sides. "What! When I had those fits did I
take nothing but colored water?
Surely, Doctor, there was something more than bread in those pills that
cured me of the terrible neuralgia?"
"Not another thing, ladies.
I have told you the exact truth," the Doctor replied.
Now the question
is, Did this genial practitioner possess, without knowing it, the mediumistic
touch which restores harmony to the system?
There is no
doubt about our modern superstition concerning value of drugs. Even for the baby, instead of sending
for a wise, experienced grandmother, we call a doctor, who will write a
prescription for any mite of humanity, and the poor, little stomach has to
stand its chance. Illiterate
youths can be made over into physicians, in two, or at most, three years, and
thousands shrinking from the inferior status to which they see honest labor
doomed rush into the professions to avoid what they are best fitted for. Naturally, belief in the efficacy of
drugs is on the increase, while the trade not only certain but lucrative. There are not many Dr. Jennings' in the
work, though he published his experience nearly forty years ago.
G.B.K.
(Paul Tutwiler, October, 2007)