inseparable from a trial for murder, had slightly flagged, revived now
that a human being was virtually at grips with death. For what had just
passed meant that there was no defence or attempt at a defence, that
the jury must convict, and that the man must die, without hope of mercy
for so cowardly and ungrateful a murderer. There was not a sound in the
court. It was late in the afternoon, and the winter sun was setting.
Its rays lit up the crimson hangings, the scarlet robes of the judge,
the intent faces, all looking one way, the drooping head and white
composed countenance of the prisoner—the man standing up there in full
health and strength, and whose life was going down with the sun.
‘I have but a few words to say, my lord and gentlemen. I didn’t do it.
I was bad enough, and maybe cruel enough in those days, to do it; but I
didn’t. I was so drunk and so mad, my lord and gentlemen, that I might
have done it if it had happened earlier in the day, unknown almost to
myself, and be standing here rightly enough. But I _know_ I couldn’t
have done it, and why? Because I was miles away at the time. My poor
aunt, as I’ve heard from what has been said, must have been killed
between a quarter to and a quarter past eight in the evening. Well, at
eight o’clock I was at least five miles off. If I’d done it directly
the girl went out of the house—as she says, at a quarter to eight—it
isn’t according to reason that I could have broke open the cupboard,
took the money, and got five miles off in a quarter of an hour.’ He
stopped, and drew the cuff of his coat across his forehead.
Where _had_ I seen him before? Where and when had I seen him do that
very action?
‘O gentlemen, I couldn’t have done it! I couldn’t, bad as I was! I
know, now, how bad that must have been—the mercy of God has been upon
me since those days—but bad as I was, I owed her too much, and knew
it, to have hurt her in any way. Won’t you believe me? I tell you I was
miles away at the time—miles away. Who can tell us you’re saying true?
you will ask. No one, I suppose. Not a soul was near me that I knew, to
come here and speak the truth for me this day. But I know the same God
that saved Daniel can save me from a sorry end, if it is His will to
do it—if not, His will be done! I’m keeping you too long, only saying
the same over and over again. I’ll just tell you how it was, and I’ve
done, and you must do as duty bids you.’
Another pause. The silence of death, or rather of a deathbed. The faces
in the distance of the darkened court shimmered through the gloom, like
those of spectres waiting to welcome a coming shade. Then the gas-light
burst forth, and all sprang into sudden distinctness, and there was a
general half-stir as of relief.
‘Oh, isn’t there one here that can speak for me? Is there any one who
remembers the great gas-main explosion in —— Street that year?’
There was again a stir, and a more decided one. Clearly there were
many in court who remembered it. I did, for one. And remembering it,
I seemed as one in a tunnel, who sees the glimmer from the distant
opening, but can distinguish no feature of the landscape beyond.
‘I was there—that night. It was the night of the day I was turned
out of doors—the night of the murder. How I came to be there, so far
from my aunt’s neighbourhood, I don’t know, but I found myself working
hard, helping to lift the stones and timber of the house-fronts that
were blown in, and getting the poor crushed people out. I worked a long
time, till I was like to drop; and a policeman clapped me on the back
and gave me a word of praise and a drink of beer out of a can. I wonder
where that policeman is now, and if he’d remember?’
He did not respond, wherever he might be. No one to help—no friendly
plank to bridge over the yawning grave. What was it, this that I was
trying so hard to recall?
‘I wandered off after that into the by-streets. I knew those parts
well. I had had a comrade who used to live there, and many a wicked and
foolish prank we’d played thereabouts. The beer I had just drunk on an
empty stomach had muddled me again a bit, but I was quite sober enough
to know every step of the way I went, and remember it now. I turned up
Hoadley Street, and then to the left along Blewitt Street; and just
when my aunt must have been struggling with the wretch that took her
life, whoever it was, I heard a clock strike eight. I did, gentlemen,
and I suppose I never thought of it since; but now I remember it as
clear as day. I was standing at the time at the corner of Hauraki
Street.’
It all came back to me in a moment! I heard the patter of the rain
on the cab-roof—I saw the gleam of the infrequent lights on the wet
flags—I listened to the objurgations of the cabman at the obstructing
dray—I took note of the reflection in the mirror, the queer
street-name which would not rhyme so as to make sense. The strokes of
the clock striking eight were in my ears. I saw the lamp at the corner,
and the man underneath looking up at it—the man with the short broad
face, the sharp chin, the long thin mouth turned down at the corners,
and the blank in the front teeth—the innocent man I was hounding to
his death—the prisoner at the bar!
As I sprang to my feet, down with a crash went my bag full of papers,
my hat and umbrella, so that even the impassive judge gave a start, and
the usher, waking up, once more proclaimed ‘Si-lence!’ with shocked
and injured inflection. Heedless of the majesty of the law, I beckoned
to my counsel, and as he leaned over to me in surprise, I whispered
earnestly in his ear. I never saw the human face express more entire
astonishment. However, seeing that I was unmistakably in earnest, he
merely nodded and rose to his feet.
‘Your lordship will pardon me,’ he said, ‘for interfering at this
stage between the prisoner and the jury; but I am instructed to make a
communication which I feel sure will be as astounding to your lordship
and the jury as it is to myself. I think I may say that it is the most
surprising and unprecedented thing which ever occurred in a court of
justice. My lord, the solicitor who instructs me to prosecute tenders
himself as a witness for the defence!’
OUR HEALTH.
BY DR ANDREW WILSON, F.R.S.E.
II. FOOD AND HEALTH.
From the point of view of the political economist, the idle man has no
right to participate in the food-supply of the active worker. Whatever
may be the correctness and force of the arguments which the economist
may use by way of proving that the non-worker and non-producer has
no right to participate in the ordinary nutritive supply of his
fellows, the physiological standpoint assumes another and different
aspect. The idle man grows hungry and thirsty with the regularity of
the man who works. He demands food and drink as does his energetic
companion; and the plea that idleness can need no food-support,
may be met in a singularly happy and forcible fashion by a plain
scientific consideration. In the first instance, the idle man might,
by an appeal to science, show, that whilst he apparently spent life
without exertion, his bodily functions really represented in their
ordinary working an immense amount of labour. Sleeping or waking, that
bodily pumping-engine the heart does not fail to discharge its work,
in the circulation of the blood. The rise and fall of the chest in
the sleeping man remind us that it is not death but his ‘twin-brother
sleep,’ that we are observing. If we make a calculation respecting the
work which the heart of a man, idle or active, performs in twenty-four
hours, we may discover that it represents an amount of labour equal to
one hundred and twenty foot-tons. That is to say, if we could gather
all the force expended by the heart during its work of twenty-four
hours into one huge lift, such force would be equal to that required
to raise one hundred and twenty tons-weight one foot high. Similarly,
the work of the muscles of breathing in twenty-four hours, represents
a force equal to that required to lift twenty-one tons one foot high.
These are only two examples out of many, which the ordinary work and
labour of mere vegetative existence, without taking into consideration
any work performed—in the popular sense of the term—involves.
We thus discover that, apart altogether from the every-day labour of
life, in which brain and muscles engage, an immense amount of work is
performed in the mere act of keeping ourselves alive. Nowhere in nature
is work performed without proportionate waste, or wear and tear of the
machine that works. This dictum holds quite as true of the human body
as of the steam-engine. And as the engine or other machine requires to
be supplied with the conditions necessary for the production of force,
so the living body similarly demands a supply of material from which
its energy (or the power of doing work) can be derived. As the engine
obtains the necessary conditions from the fuel and water it consumes,
so the living body derives its energy from the food upon which it
subsists. Food in this light is therefore merely matter taken from the
outside world, and from which our bodies derive the substances required
for the repair of the waste which the continual work of life entails.
In the young, food serves a double purpose—it supplies material for
growth, and it also affords substance from which the supply of force is
derived. In the adult, whilst no doubt, to a certain extent, the food
supplies actual loss of substance, it is more especially devoted to the
performance of work, and of maintaining that equilibrium or balance
between work and repair, which, as we have seen, constitutes health.
Viewed in this light, the first important rule for food-taking is
founded on the plain fact, that in the food we must find the substances
necessary for the repair of our bodies, and for the production of the
energy through which work is performed. Food-substances in this light
fall into two well-marked classes—namely, into _Nitrogenous_ and
_Non-nitrogenous_ substances. Another classification of foods divides
them into _organic_ and _inorganic_, the former being derived from
animals and plants—that is, from living beings—while the latter are
derived from the world of non-living matter. Thus, animal and plant
substances represent organic foods; while water and minerals, both of
which are absolutely essential for the support of the body, represent
inorganic food materials. It would appear that from living matter
alone, do we obtain the materials for generating force. The inorganic
water and minerals, however, appear to be absolutely necessary for the
chemical alterations and changes which are continually taking place
within the body.
Adopting the classification of foods into the _Nitrogenous_ and
_Non-nitrogenous_ groups, we discover examples of the first class in
such substances as _albumen_, seen familiarly in white of egg and other
substances; _gluten_, found in flour; _gelatin_, obtained from hoofs
and horns; _legumin_, obtained from certain vegetables; _casein_, found
in milk; and allied chemical substances. These substances possess a
remarkable similarity or uniformity of composition. It would appear
that in the process of digestion they are reduced to a nearly similar
state, and on this account they can replace one another to a certain
extent in the dietaries of mankind.
The nitrogenous foods have often been popularly termed ‘flesh-formers,’
and doubtless this name is well merited. For, as the result of
experiment, it would seem that the chief duty performed by the
nitrogenous parts of our food is that of building up and repairing the
tissues of the body. They also produce heat, through being chemically
changed in the blood, and thus aid in the production of force or
energy. But it would also appear tolerably certain, that in a complex
fashion the nitrogenous parts of our bodies assist or regulate in a
very exact manner the oxidation or chemical combustion of the tissues.
It should be noted that nitrogenous foods are composed chemically of
the four elements, carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, and nitrogen; the presence
of the last element giving the characteristic name and chemical
features to the group. Most of these foods in addition contain small
proportions of sulphur and phosphorus.
An interesting advance in our knowledge of the part played by
nitrogenous foods in the work of the body was made, when an idea
of Liebig was overthrown by later experimentation. Liebig supposed
that the nitrogenous foods required first to be actually converted
into tissue—that is, into bodily substance—before their energy
or work-producing power could be liberated. In this view, muscular
force, through which we move, was believed to be dependent on the
changes, destructive or otherwise, which take place in the muscles. The
substance called _urea_, chiefly given off as a waste product by the
kidneys and chemically representing nitrogenous waste, was in Liebig’s
view regarded as representing the results of muscular force which
had been exerted. But two scientists, Fick and Wislicenus of Zurich,
proved, by a laborious series of personal experiments in mountain
ascents, that a non-nitrogenous diet will maintain the body for a short
time during the performance of severe work, no great increase in the
amount of urea given off being noticed. The work in question was proved
to have been performed on the carbon and hydrogen of the food consumed.
These experiments have led to the now accepted view, that a muscle,
instead of losing substance during work and thus wasting, in reality
consumes nitrogen, and grows. The exhaustion of the muscle is dependent
not so much on chemical waste, as on the accumulation within it of the
waste products of other foods. The muscle, in other words, is merely
the agent whereby so much energy, derived from the food, is converted
into actual and applied force. Did muscle really waste, as Liebig
supposed, the heart’s substance would be entirely consumed by its work
of one week!
Such being the functions and nature of nitrogenous foods, we may now
glance at the non-nitrogenous division. Four groups of foods are
included in this latter class—namely (1) Starches and sugars, or
‘amyloids’ as they are often termed; (2) fats and oils; (3) minerals;
(4) water. The _starches and sugars_ include not merely starch and
sugar, as ordinarily known, but various gums, and certain acids,
such as lactic and acetic acids. Starch, as in bread, is a most
important food. These foods appear to go directly to maintain animal
heat, and to give energy, or the power of doing work, to the animal
frame. The heat-producing powers of starches and sugars are certainly
inferior to those of the fats and oils. But starches and sugars can
be converted into fat within the system; and hence persons who suffer
from a tendency to obesity are warned to exclude these foods from
their dietaries. Starches and sugars likewise appear to assist in
some measure the digestion of nitrogenous foods. That _fats and oils_
are heat-producing foods is a fact taught us by the common experience
of mankind that northern nations consume the greatest proportion of
fat. The heat-producing powers of fat have been set down at two and
a half times as great as those of starch and sugar; and there is no
doubt that, in addition to assisting in the conversion of food into
body substances, the fatty parts of our food also assist in the work
of removing waste matters from the body. Fat, in addition, being
chemically burned in the blood, gives rise to the force which we exert
in ordinary muscular work.
The _mineral_ parts of our food play an important part in the
maintenance of the frame. We thus require iron for the blood,
phosphorus for the brain and nerves, and lime for the bones; whilst
a variety of other minerals is likewise found in the blood and other
fluids of the frame. The uses of the mineral constituents of our
body are still a matter of speculation. Small as may be the quantity
of certain minerals required for the support of the body, serious
health-derangement may result when we are deprived of these substances.
Thus, scurvy appears to be a disease associated with the want of the
mineral potash in the blood; and the cure of this disease is therefore
accomplished when we supply to the blood those mineral elements which
have previously been deficient. Common salt, or chloride of sodium, as
it is chemically termed, although not entering into the composition
of the body, appears to form an important part of all the secretions;
and there can be little doubt that this mineral aids the formation and
chemical integrity of the gastric juice of the stomach.
_Water_ forms the last item in the list of non-nitrogenous foods. Of
all foods, perhaps, water is the most important, seeing that it is a
substance which, in the absence of all other nourishment, can sustain
life for a period numbering many days. Thus, whilst a man dies in
from six to seven days when deprived of solid food and water, life
may be prolonged to as many as sixty days on water alone. The high
importance of water as a food is abundantly proved, when we discover
that it constitutes about two-thirds of the weight of the body; that it
enters into the composition of the brain to the extent of eighty per
cent.; that the blood consists of nearly eighty per cent. of water;
and that even bone contains ten per cent. of this fluid. Entering thus
into the composition of every fluid and tissue of the body, and being
perpetually given off from lungs, skin, and kidneys in the ordinary
work of life, there is little wonder that water assumes the first place
amongst foods. Regarding the uses of water as a food, we see that
it dissolves and conveys other foods throughout the system; that it
assists in removing waste products; and that it also takes a share in
regulating the temperature of the body through its evaporation on the
skin.
Having thus considered the chemistry of foods, we may now pass
to discuss the natural rules which science describes for the
health-regulation of life in the matter of diet. A primary rule for
food-taking is that which shows that, for the due support of the
body, we require a combination of nitrogenous and non-nitrogenous
foods. This fact is proved by the consideration that milk, ‘nature’s
own food,’ on which the human being grows rapidly in early life, is
a compound of both classes of foods. So also, in an egg, from which
is formed an animal body, we find a combination of the two classes.
Death results if we attempt to feed on either class alone; and as the
body consists of both classes of substances, the justification for
the combination of foods is complete. Man can obtain the required
combination of nitrogenous and non-nitrogenous foods from animals
alone, from vegetables alone, or from animals and vegetables combined.
The water, of course, which is an absolutely essential feature of all
dietaries, is regarded as an additional item. In regulating the dietary
of mankind, it is found that the food of nations is determined largely,
or completely, by their situation on the earth’s surface. Thus, the
northern nations are largely animal feeders; whilst the southern
peoples of the world are to a great extent vegetarians. Individual
experience and taste produce amongst the units of a nation special
proclivities in the way of diet. But we can readily see that mankind,
with that elasticity of constitution and power to avail themselves of
their surroundings, can adapt themselves to their environments, and
become animal feeders, vegetable feeders, or subsist on a mixed dietary
at will. This is the true solution of the vegetarian controversy. It is
climate and race which determine the food of a nation. It is individual
intelligence, liking, and constitution which determine variations and
departures from the dietaries of the race.
The relations between food and work naturally present themselves
as topics of the highest importance. In determining the standard
of health, it is clear that from our food alone, we can obtain the
energy or power of work required for the discharge of the duties of
life. An interesting point therefore arises regarding the differences
which are entailed by varying conditions and amounts of labour. Dr
Letheby tells us that an adult man in _idleness_ requires, to obtain
from his food for the support of his body, 2.67 ounces of nitrogenous
matter and 19.16 ounces of non-nitrogenous matter per day. If the
individual is to participate in _ordinary labour_, the amount of
nitrogenous matter obtained from his food must be increased to 4.56
ounces, while the non-nitrogenous must be represented by 29.24 ounces.
In the case, lastly, of _active labour_ the amount of food required
must be increased to 5.81 ounces of nitrogenous, and 34.97 ounces of
non-nitrogenous matter.
Dalton gives the following as the quantity of food, per day, required
for the healthy man, taking free exercise in the open air: meat,
sixteen ounces; bread, nineteen ounces; fat or butter, three and a
half ounces; water, fifty-two fluid ounces. It ought to be borne in
mind that these amounts of food represent the diet for a whole day
compressed, so to speak, into a convenient and readily understood form.
Another calculation, setting down the daily amount of food required by
an adult, at nitrogenous matter three hundred grains, and carbon at
four thousand grains, shows that these amounts would be obtained from
eighteen ounces of bread; one ounce of butter; four ounces of milk;
two ounces of bacon; eight ounces of potatoes; six ounces of cabbage;
three and a half ounces of cheese; one ounce of sugar; three-quarters
of an ounce of salt; and water (alone, and in beverages) sixty-six and
a quarter ounces—a total of no less than six pounds fourteen and a
quarter ounces. Summing up the question of the amounts of food required
by a healthy adult daily, and _excluding water in all forms as a matter
of separate calculation_, it may be said that four and a half ounces of
pure nitrogenous matter would be required in addition to three ounces
of fatty food, fourteen ounces of starch or sugar, and one ounce of
mineral matter. An ordinary adult consuming in twenty-four hours, food
items equal to those contained in one pound of meat and two pounds
of bread, may be regarded as consuming food of sufficient amount for
ordinary work. When the work is increased, the diet must naturally be
increased likewise. We find that persons in active employment require
about a fifth part more nitrogenous food, and about twice the quantity
of fat consumed by those engaged in light work; the sugars and starches
remaining the same.
An interesting practical calculation has been made regarding the
amounts of different foods required to perform a given and fixed piece
of work. Taking the work performed by the German observers already
named, as a standard, namely, that of raising a man’s weight (one
hundred and forty pounds) ten thousand feet high, it has been found
that the amounts and cost of various foods required for the performance
of this work is as follows: Bread, 2.345 pounds, cost 3½d.; oatmeal,
1.281 pounds, cost 3½d.; potatoes, 5.068 pounds, cost 5¼d.; beef-fat,
0.555 pounds, cost 5¼d.; cheese, 1.156 pounds, cost 11½d.; butter,
0.693 pounds, cost 1s. 0½d.; lean beef, 3.532 pounds, cost 3s. 6½d.;
pale ale, nine bottles, cost 4s. 6d.
The proportion of the different food-elements in an ordinary
dietary has been set down as follows: nitrogenous matter one, fats
six, starches and sugars three; and these proportions appear to be
represented with singular exactness in the ordinary dietaries which
experience has recommended to mankind. Excess of food in the matter of
nitrogenous elements tends to induce diseases of an inflammatory and
gouty nature, and likewise leads to fatty degeneration of the tissues.
When, on the other hand, there exists lack of nitrogenous substances,
the individual experiences weakness, want of muscular power, and
general prostration. The healthy mean is that in which the proportions
of nitrogenous and non-nitrogenous food are maintained as above
indicated.