We have to go to the bottom of things in order to get to the top of things, for the home of the eternal righteousness is so high that no ladder can reach it, unless its lower end rests on bed-rock. Who builds his house on quicksand runs the risk of his life. Who climbs to the skies by any false means of ascent that he may seek to establish, will find his fate foreshadowed in the simple fact that he does not commence his ascent from a secure foundation.
Yours very truly,
James C. Jackson.
Mr. Isaac B. Rumford, and son, hard-working farmers, of Bakersfield, Cal., have lived strictly on the “natural diet” for upwards of two years. Mr. Rumford has been a chronically-diseased man for many years; now, however, he is so far improved as to be able to do, as he says, “a good day’s work.” “It is
doing for me,” he writes, “what I have been seeking and sorrowing after, vainly until now, for twenty years—giving me health. My son also finds it a perfect diet, and would not readily exchange it for any other; indeed, we both enjoy our food more than formerly on the old system. By another year,” he adds, “I shall be able to give you still more information on this subject, as others are beginning to be impressed with the advantages of this regimen.” (See Appendix.)
A. R. B., of New York city, has lived chiefly on uncooked grain and fruit for upwards of a year; and his young wife, also, has tried it to a considerable extent. Two years ago Mrs. B. was threatened with consumption, and was told by her physician that unless she changed her diet (she was then beginning the vegetarian regimen) she would certainly not live a year. She “needed meat and milk in abundance,” he said. But she only lived the more abstemiously, and on coarse bread, with fruit, chiefly, and, during the past year, has eaten considerable uncooked “bread,” and all symptoms of her disease have disappeared. Mr. B. had nasal catarrh; but this has disappeared, and he now finds himself thoroughly nourished and better able than ever before to perform his duties. His diet consists of two meals,—7 A.M. and 6 P.M.,—and with but little variation, the two combined make about a half cupful each, wheat and oat groats, with five or six nice apples. His appetite has become sufficiently normal to enable him to enjoy this diet fully. This is in winter. In summer less grain and more fruit.
As bearing upon the supposed difficulties in the way of introducing the natural diet, should any choose to
adopt it, I can not forbear relating a little incident of recent occurrence: For some weeks past, I have been living exclusively, and with great satisfaction, upon this diet. In a conversation upon the subject, a friend expressed, along with some surprise at my statements as to the gustatory pleasures of this diet and its completeness for nutrifying the body, a curiosity to know just how it would seem to sit down to a meal without a single dish of cooked food, nor any odor of smoking viands about. “Very good,” I said, “dine with us to-morrow, and bring the children.” This he promised, and on the following day, Sunday, he came up with his two children, a boy of seven and a girl of three years. Nothing was said to them by their father before, nor by any one after their arrival, as to the kind of food to be set before them, they were simply invited out to dinner, and anticipated a good time. The injudicious comments, or “chaffing,” of parents and friends, will very easily “set” children against what would naturally be their own inclinations if given a fair chance, without having their minds prejudiced, I mean, by the notions, or the dyspeptic idiosyncracies of their elders. At 4 P.M. the table was set, but with no extras on account of company, although here “extras” would imply no additional trouble nor, perhaps, expense. There were dates,—“Persian,” or the kind which are in regular tiers and handled comfortably,—walnuts, filberts, raisins, a variety of apples, and, for bread, a fruit-dish containing “oat groats.” The latter was served as the first course, the children eating of this natural bread with
every appearance of satisfaction, as did all the company, a few teaspoonfuls each. All united in calling it sweet and good. Then came walnuts and raisins; some added filberts, others took only the latter, after which, dates, and then, for dessert, apples; of these, one or two each were eaten. In the midst of the nuts and raisins, I may add, and what surprised my visitor more than all else, both children asked, voluntarily, for “a few more oats,” which they received and ate with a gusto! As we arose from the table, my friend (a banker, by the way, and a “good liver,”) said, “There, I can truly say that I have never eaten a more satisfactory dinner; taken all in all, this has been a model meal.” “How about the children?” I asked, of him, but they answered; “I have had a splendid dinner,” said the boy. “I’ve had a splendid dinner,” chorused the little three-year-old. The father added (what was in my own mind), that he enjoyed the meal all the more because of the non-necessity for restricting the children in any manner: there was no occasion for caution—no “mustn’t eat so fast,” no “I’m afraid you are not chewing your food thoroughly,” “No, dear, no more of the preserves,—they will hurt you,” nor any nuisance of the sort; nor any risk in consequence; and I remarked, with my friend’s entire acquiescence, that, often as I had observed them, both in their home and at my own table, never had I seen them so apparently satisfied in every respect, from the beginning to the end of a meal; that, in fact, they had never enjoyed a meal in so utterly unrestricted a manner; and at
the same time, they arose from the table with no indication of surfeit—no heaviness, nor succeeding sleepiness or peevishness, as we often witness with children after an ordinary dinner.
Here was a delicious and ample midwinter dinner for six at a total cost of less than the meat alone for a mixed meal,—with no brewing, baking or fuming-up the home, or heating up and using up its mistress in the preparation, and clearing away of the meal, not to mention the other injurious effects of an ordinary “company dinner.” A few weeks later, in response to an invitation from my little guests, I had the pleasure of a return-dinner of the same sort, and a Christmas (1882) dinner at that, at which a larger company assembled, and all pronounced it complete; and the servants did not complain of being overworked—nor underfed. One of these was overheard to say, “Dessert’s good enough for me!”