of lead, but it occurs in this manner:--The file-maker, in order to hold
the file securely, and, at the same time, to protect the fine edge of the
sharp chisel with which he cuts the face of the file, places it upon a bed
of lead which rests upon an anvil. In cutting the larger three-square
files, the workman uses as much as a pound of lead a week; this is
detached from the mass by friction and the use of the chisel, in the form
of a fine black powder. It is curious that the first portion of the
file-cutter's anatomy that is affected is the finger that rests upon the
lead; at first it feels numb, and then becomes paralyzed. If the artisan
will not take warning by this fastidious touch of a digit, before long the
poison grips him by the wrist, and then some fine morning he wakes and
finds that he has what is termed in the trade "a dropped hand;"[53] that
is, the extensor muscles of the wrist are paralyzed, and the hand falls
helplessly forward, like the fore-paw of a kangaroo. Here the specific
action of the poison has exerted itself through the skin of the part
affected. The same thing is observable in painters, who are more subject
to lead-paralysis than perhaps any other workers in lead. The finger which
first touches the brush first suffers; and the potter, who has in the
course of his trade to dip his ware in a preparation of lead and flints in
order to form the glaze, is in like manner, but still more severely,
afflicted. It is well ascertained, however, that the constitutional
effects which show themselves in obstinate constipation and cholic, arise
from the reception of the lead directly into the mouth, either in the
shape of finely-divided particles, or floating in the air, or direct from
the fingers to the manipulators: thus, painters will eat their food with
fingers soiled with the brush. The mere exhalations of paint are
sufficient to paralyze some constitutions very speedily; a single night
spent in a newly-painted house is sufficient to produce cholic,
especially in young children. And Dr. Watson, in his "Practice of Physic,"
relates a case in which a person suffered from dropped hands who had, she
said, no concern with lead in any way: on cross-examining her, however, it
at last came out that her sons "had in the preceding summer occupied their
leisure time with making birdcages and painting them green in the one room
in which she habitually lived." The dippers, as they are termed in the
potteries, are perhaps subjected to more frightful effects from
lead-poisoning than any other workmen: in addition to paralysis and
cholic, the subtle poison sometimes creeps into the brain, mania comes on,
and they die raving mad. The grinding and packing of white lead is so
destructive, that the men can work at the occupation for a few hours in
the day only; the dust that is given off penetrates the clothes, and
covers the skin to such an extent that these artisans, after taking a
medicated bath of sulphuret of potassium in water, come out like
blackamoors.
In these works rats and mice are speedily poisoned by the fine white-lead
dust, which penetrates even to their holes. The artisan who handles lead
in its various combinations may, however, vastly mitigate his trouble by
adopting perfect cleanliness. Before every meal he should wash his hands
thoroughly, and after work he should change his clothes. Medical science
has given him the means of being forewarned that lead is entering his
system by a particular and rarely-failing diagnostic sign: where the metal
has entered the system a blue line will be discovered near the edge of the
gums; when this blue Peter is hoisted he may know that danger is at hand,
and that, unless he is more careful, his bread-earning hand will speedily
drop powerless by his side. In all cases, however, prevention is better
than cure; and we are glad to learn that almost perfect exemption from
painter's cholic and paralysis has been secured in some extensive painting
establishments, by causing artisans to drink a lemonade made by adding a
drop of sulphuric acid to a gallon of water. The sulphuric acid is
supposed to form, with the lead received into the mouth and stomach, a
sulphuret of that metal, which is insoluble, and, therefore, cannot be
taken up by the absorbents into the system.
There are many important classes of workers whose sufferings have nothing
either curious or dramatic about them, who nevertheless furnish the
largest contingent to the army of death. At the head of these dismal
companies march tailors, bakers, and milliners of large cities and towns.
These three classes supply more victims to what has been erroneously
termed "the English death," or consumption, than any other. Yet there can
be no doubt that there is but one condition wanting to render these
employments comparatively speaking healthy, and that one want is pure air.
Dr. Arnot makes the monkeys in the Zoological Garden teach us a lesson in
this particular which should not be lost upon us. In his evidence before
the Health Commission he says:--
"A new house was built to receive the monkeys, and no expense was
spared which, in the opinion of those intrusted with the management,
could ensure to those natives of a warm climate all attainable comfort
and safety. Unhappily, however, it was believed that the object would
be best secured by making the new room nearly what an English
gentleman's drawing-room is. For warming it, two ordinary drawing-room
grates were put in as close to the floor as possible, and with low
chimney openings, that the heated air in the room should not escape by
the chimneys, while the windows and other openings in the walls above
were made as close as possible. Some additional warm air was admitted
through the openings in the floor, from hot-water pipes placed beneath
it. For ventilation in cold weather, openings were made in the
skirting of the room below the floor, with the erroneous idea that the
carbonic acid produced in the respiration of these animals, because
heavier than the other air in the room, would separate from this and
escape below. When all this was done, about sixty healthy monkeys,
many of which had already borne several winters in England, were put
into the room. A month afterwards more than fifty of them were dead,
and the few remaining ones were dying. This room, only open below, was
as truly an extinguisher to the living monkeys as an inverted coffee
cup held over and around the flame of a candle is an extinguisher of
the candle. Not only the warmth of the fires and the warm air that was
allowed to enter by the openings in the floor, but the hot breath and
all the impure exhalations from the bodies of the monkeys ascended,
first to the upper part of the room to be completely incorporated with
the atmosphere there, and by no possibility could escape except as a
part of that impure atmosphere, gradually passing away by the chimneys
and openings in the skirting. Therefore, from the time the monkeys
went into the room until they died, they could not have had a single
breath of fresh air."
The _post-mortem_ examination proved that these monkeys all died of
consumption; so that we have a practical proof that this dread disease
can be brought on at will. Now, what took place in the monkey-house is
taking place, in a milder form, in the hundreds of workshops in which
tailors and milliners work in this metropolis. In the great majority of
cases tailors work together in rooms by no means proportioned to the
number that occupies them. In many cases they work knee to knee on the
shop-board with the thermometer ranging from 95 to 100 degrees, no
ventilation whatever being present, for when it is provided, the enfeebled
workers, fearing catarrhal complaints, stop them up. The result is, an
amount of consumption among them second only to that prevalent among the
grinders of Sheffield and bakers. The cross-legged fashion in which he
works in some measure assimilates him to the collier. It has been
suggested that instead of thus doubling himself up for the whole time of
his working life, he should work on a board having a hole in it of the
circumference of his body, with a seat fixed for his support beneath. Such
a contrivance would render his position easy, and enable him to bring his
work pretty close to his eyes without his having to bend over it as he
does at present. As the tailor is principally employed on black and dark
clothes, his eyes are much strained, especially if he works by gas-light:
hence he is subject to great impairment of vision.
The baker is subjected to a still greater number of debilitating
influences as regards his health than the tailor. In all cases his place
of work is in a confined basement, where the oven and the gas contrive to
keep the temperature at a tropical point. There is generally a privy close
at hand, and the drains are not always in good order; the air, already
foul enough, has yet to be contaminated with the floating flour-dust so
irritating to the fine air-passages of the lungs. In an atmosphere thus
deliberately poisoned with the elements of sickness, the journeyman baker
is confined ordinarily from seven o'clock at night until four the
following morning, and towards the end of the week he is engaged nearly
two entire days in succession. Is it surprising that their rate of
sickness is dreadful--greater than even that of the tailors? Dr. Guy tells
us that no less than thirty-one in the hundred spit blood, and that every
other journeyman of the low-priced bakers, who work under still worse
conditions, is subjected to this most dangerous disease. We feel convinced
that the public cannot be aware that they eat their daily bread at the
expense of the life-blood of the producers. Parliament has refused to
interfere in their behalf, but Lord Shaftesbury has taken up their cause,
and we believe that ere long the force of public opinion will lead to the
abolition of the nightwork, which is at the bottom of the evil. At all
events, those who wish to assist in the emancipation of these slaves of
civilization, will see with pleasure the introduction of the aërated
bread, which by the aid of machinery manufactures the loaf in a much more
cleanly method than by hand-labour, and performs the whole process in less
than an hour. The introduction of machinery into this trade will at once
cure the evils complained of, which result in the majority of cases from
the confined establishments and insufficient means of the master-bakers.
The milliners, especially of London, are nearly as unhealthy as the
tailors. The evidence given before the Select Committee of the House of
Lords in 1855, to inquire into the expediency of passing a bill for the
protection of needlewomen, certainly is appalling in the tale it tells of
the waste of youthful life. During the season of four months, the shortest
time these poor young creatures work is from six in the morning until
twelve at night, and when they are very hard pressed for time they are
obliged to take their meals standing. At times of great pressure young
girls have been worked four days and nights consecutively; and Lord Ashley
publicly made mention at the meeting at Exeter Hall, July 11th, 1856, of a
witness who had worked without going to bed from four o'clock on Thursday
afternoon until half-past ten on Sunday night. Such toil as this in close
rooms reeking with human exhalations, and further deteriorated by the
excessive use of gas, is scarcely to be matched in deadliness by any
occupation engaged in even by the stronger sex; and we are not surprised
to hear that it is a frequent thing in fashionable millinery
establishments to find the workers faint from sheer exhaustion; as the
Queen's physician emphatically says, "a mode of life more completely
calculated to destroy human health could scarcely be contrived." Mr.
White Cooper, the Queen's oculist, states, in his lately-published work on
the eyes, that he has generally observed a great increase of patients of
this class come to him after there has been a general mourning. The
committee of the Society of Arts which some few years since made a report
on the industrial pathology of trades which affect the eyes, recommend
that the light should be thrown on the work rather than the eye; they also
recommend that the colour of the material upon which needlewomen are
engaged should be changed as often as possible, upon the ground that to
preserve the tone of the organ it should have variety of stimulus, its
long application to the same colour inevitably exhausting it. The
following suggestion from a traveller, which is embodied in this
interesting report, is worthy of notice:--"Needlewomen, embroiderers, and
lacemakers should work in rooms hung with green blinds and curtains to the
windows. When in North China, I became convinced of the very great
advantage with which this rule has been adopted by the exquisite
embroiderers of that part. Their books of patterns are frequently called
'Books of the Lady of the Green Window.'" Among the diseases affecting
female workers we must not omit to mention an affection called
"housemaid's knee," which is peculiar to those servants who kneel much
upon hard wet stones or boards. The pressure on the knee gives rise to a
very painful inflammation of the bursa, or pad, which nature has
interposed between the skin and the patella, or knee-cap.
Shoemakers live a sedentary life, like tailors and milliners, but they do
not work so frequently in company, consequently they escape the
destructive influence of foul air; they are subject, like weavers,
however, to disease of the stomach, owing to the constant pressure made
upon it, in their case, by the last. Some old cobblers are found to have a
depression at the pit of the stomach of the shape of the heel of the boot,
moulded in fact by the pressure of this article, which he clasps between
this portion of his body and his knees whilst sewing. Like the milliners
and tailors, their sight suffers through having to direct so fine an
object as a needle point: patent bootmakers are particularly liable to
suffer in their eyes through the brilliant blackness of the material they
work upon. We perceive that sewing-machines have been introduced into this
trade at Northampton, much to the disgust of those whom they will benefit.
The introduction of this useful machine will at once elevate this and
scores of other handicrafts, such as those of tailors, milliners, glovers,
and all who use the needle, to the dignity of manufacturers requiring
considerable capital, the presence of which is some guarantee for the
intelligence and benevolence of the masters, and for the adoption of
larger and more healthful workshops for their people. As this very large
class of workers numbers upwards of half a million in Great Britain, we
hail the sewing-machine as an emancipator from drudgery of no ordinary
kind.
The compositor, who works in an atmosphere very similar to that breathed
by the tailor and milliner, is, like them, subject to severe pulmonary
diseases. In some newspaper offices they are planted as thickly as their
type-cases can stand, and they carry on their monotonous labour, which is
confined to a multitude of small motions of the right hand, conveying to
the left types in course of "setting up," Jobbing printers, who have a
much greater variety of motion, are invariably healthier than newspaper
compositors; and Dr. Guy has remarked that those compositors who work in
the upper stories of large establishments, and consequently in an
atmosphere reeking with the impurities which have ascended from the
crowded rooms below, and possibly from an engine-room in addition, are
much more troubled with spitting of blood and consumption than those
working beneath them. In a printing office thus foully ventilated, he was
enabled to make a very instructive comparison; for instance, there were
fifteen men employed on the second floor, and seventeen men in precisely
the same way on the third and uppermost floor. On making personal
inquiries of each of the men respecting his health, four only out of the
fifteen on the second floor made any complaint; one was subject to
indigestion, a second to cough, the third to ulcers of the legs, and the
fourth was what might be termed a valetudinarian. But of the seventeen
employed on the uppermost floor, three had had spitting of blood, two were
subject to affections of the lungs, and five to constant and severe colds.
Ten of these seventeen, therefore, were subject to diseases affecting the
chest, while only one of the fifteen in the room beneath had a disease of
this nature. In the course of his inquiries respecting the health of
workers in printing-offices, the same intelligent statist hit upon another
fact with respect to pressmen, which appears to be of general application.
Pressmen, or those who take the impressions of the types set up by the
compositors, are generally located in the same building with them, and
often in the same room, under precisely similar conditions as regards
ventilation and quality of air; yet a series of inquiries brings out the
fact that the pressmen are far the healthier of the two. The only manner
of accounting for this difference lies in the nature of their labour. The
pressman has to use long-sustained and somewhat violent exertions in
swinging round the lever of his press, unfolding and refolding the tympan,
and screwing up its bed. Compared to these varied muscular movements, the
compositor's hardest work is lifting types from his case to his
composing-stick; yet the result is, that the pressman's liability to
consumption is but half that of the compositor, and of other diseases a
third less.
This is a very remarkable fact, and irresistibly points to the conclusion
that foul air and a heated atmosphere can be borne with far greater
impunity by those who labour hard than by those who employ themselves in a
sedentary manner. The fair lady who honours us with her attention will
perhaps draw a conclusion of her own from this experience, which, no
doubt, tallies with her practice and her instinct, that it is far better
to waltz till five o'clock in the morning in a crowded ball-room than to
remain for the same period a disconsolate "wall-flower." There appears
also to be another law, with respect to the two classes of workmen,
equally worthy of remark. The pressman, although he enjoys the best
health, and the greatest green age, does not, in individual cases, live as
long as the compositor. In the same manner, the stalwart blacksmith,
although a far healthier man than the tailor, and generally longer-lived,
does not yet count so many patriarchs among his ranks as snip does. This
comparison holds good between those who take much or little exercise out
of doors. Mr. Neison, who has carefully worked the fact out, in his volume
on Vital Statistics, gives the following highly interesting table:--
+-------------------------------------------------------+
| | EXPECTATION OF LIFE IN |
| |--------------------------------------------------|
|Age.|In-door occupation, with|Out-door occupation, with|
| |------------------------|-------------------------|
| | Little | Great | Little | Great |
| | Exercise. | Exercise. | Exercise. | Exercise. |
|----|-----------|------------|-----------|-------------|
| 20 | 41·8822 | 42·0133 | 37·8017 | 43·4166 |
| 30 | 35·1170 | 34·5022 | 30·1435 | 36·5832 |
| 40 | 27·9113 | 27·8004 | 23·0357 | 29·1284 |
| 50 | 20·5022 | 21·1805 | 17·2754 | 21·9732 |
| 60 | 14·0430 | 15·1413 | 11·0169 | 15·5635 |
| 70 | 8·6490 | 10·4407 | 4·5607 | 9·3313 |
+-------------------------------------------------------+
Thus, between twenty and thirty, the gardener, the labourer, the thatcher,
the drover, and the whole class of men who earn their bread toilfully in
wind, rain, and sun, have the expectation of living at least six years
longer than the coachman, the watchman, and others who are equally exposed
to the weather, but whose blood is not equally circulated or sweetened by
continual and active exertion. It will be remarked also, that the out-door
worker with little exercise comes off but badly in the comparison with the
sedentary in-door worker--in other words, the coachman's is a worse life
than the shopman's. We suspect, however, with Mr. Neison, that
intemperance must thus kick the beam against sedentary out-door
employments. We all know, for instance, that Jehu is not a teetotaller,
and our suspicions are, moreover, strengthened by the fact that
engine-drivers, who are forced to maintain a strict sobriety, although
among the class of sedentary out-door workers and exposed to a hurricane
of air, and to driving wet during the greater part of their existence--are
yet remarkably free from consumption--the fell disease which decimates
the poor printer, who cannot tolerate the minutest draft in his place of
work.
As we ascend in the social scale, it would naturally be supposed that we
should find the value of life greater, and occupations more healthy. It is
a great question, however, if the artisan, subject as he is to so many
injurious circumstances, has not the advantage over the shopkeeper. This
may appear at first impossible, but when we come to consider the life led
by the tradesman, and especially by the smaller ones, who form so large a
proportion of the class, we find they are subjected to an accumulation of
adverse influences. In the generality of cases the individual of this
genus confines himself to the smallest possible amount of room, in which
he can possibly carry on his business--the rest of the house he lets off
for offices. In this confined space he lives, without taking any adequate
exercise, often lying perdu in a dark inner room, through a peep-hole of
which he watches for customers. At night, he inhales an atmosphere
polluted by many gas-lights, and when, finally, the shutters are closed,
he will often be found sorting and placing away the goods disturbed during
the day. Under such circumstances, is it wonderful that he perishes at a
more rapid rate than the artisan who labours all day at some noxious
trade, and sleeps at night in some wretched lodging? It is well-known that
there is scarcely such a thing to be found as a London tradesman of the
third generation. The class is entirely kept up by the rosy-faced youths
who come up from the country full of hope and health, and then gradually
subside into the pallid tradesman of middle life, taking on, as it were,
the sad colour and aspect of the great city, just as hares and foxes turn
white in northern latitudes, when winter brings about her snow.
There are certain classes of tradesmen who suffer from singular skin
diseases consequent upon handling articles of their trade. Thus the
miller, whose hands are constantly immersed in his meal, is subject to an
irruptive disease of those members, in consequence of the attacks of the
meal-mite--a small insect to be found in some kinds of flour. The
grocer's itch, again, is occasioned by handling sugar infected with an
animalcule peculiar to it. We have seen sugar which absolutely moved
throughout its entire mass in consequence of the immense number of insects
present in it, and these readily attack the hand, and produce an irruption
similar to that of the ordinary itch. Chimney-sweepers, again, suffer from
a more formidable disease--cancer induced by the irritative qualities of
the soot upon certain portions of the skin of the body. Neither must we
omit from the ranks of unhealthy town occupations the squalid race of
clerks, whose monotonous occupation and posture perpetually fixed in the
form of a Z, renders them a very unhealthy class of men.
Waiters in hotels and taverns sap their health by surreptitious tippling.
A medical friend says, his experience of them is, that with few
exceptions, they are _all rotten with perpetual imbibition_. Footmen do
not drink so much, but they are so grossly overfed and under-worked, that
they are always suffering from plethora. "Jeames'" aim is to run to
calves, but he pays the penalty for his ambition. They are, in fact, in
the position of the convicts at Fremantle, Australia, who, during the time
that our soldiers were dying for want of food in the Crimea, suffered from
what was significantly called the gluttony plague. Excessive over-feeding
and under-working was, it appears, the rule at the convict establishment;
and, in consequence, no less than 1554 patients were under medical
treatment in less than six months, with diseases of the digestive organs,
inflammatory affections of the eyes, and cutaneous eruptions. The physic
of short allowance and plenty of work soon set matters to rights. It is
not often that the lower or middle classes suffer from over-feeding; but
drink is the bane of many trades and occupations. The gigantic brewer's
drayman, who seems built as a match for the Flemish team he drives, is but
a giant with feet of clay; his jolly looks are a delusion and a snare. The
enormous amount of beer and stout he is allowed by his employers--on the
principle, we suppose, that you should not muzzle the ox that treadeth
out the corn--so deteriorates his blood, that a scratch prostrates him,
and any serious illness is pretty sure to carry him off. The common
labourer, who lives under pretty much the same condition, with the
exception of the temptation to drink, has an average life of 47-1/2 years,
but he is cut off at the early age of 43 years.
If we take another class of persons thrown continually in the way of
tippling, we find the result is equally unfavourable. The pot-boy of the
metropolis, with whose doughy face and pert leer we are so well
acquainted, scarcely lives out half his days. In his case, in addition to
continual potations, he is perpetually breathing, until twelve o'clock at
night, an atmosphere compounded of drunkards' breath, stale tobacco, and
all the impurities arising from the brilliant gas illumination of a
gin-palace; it is not, therefore, surprising to find that his average age
is but 41-1/2 years; while the footman may reckon upon helping himself to
his master's venison until he is 44-1/2 years old. The publican is almost
as great a sinner as his man in the way of intemperance, and his life in
consequence is at least 2-1/2 years shorter than the very limited span of
the tradesman.