Part 1

OUR HEALTH.

BY DR ANDREW WILSON, F.R.S.E.

III. SOME FOOD-DANGERS, AND HOW TO AVOID THEM.

In connection with the subject of food and health, an important topic naturally intervenes in the course of such discussion, in the shape of the relation which impure foods bear to the production of illness and disease. Pure air and pure water are required by natural and common consent as necessities of existence; but the purity of the food we consume is no less a paramount condition of physical well-being. Food-impurities may be ranked under diverse heads. Adulteration of foods is thus a common cause of illness. The food, rendered of poor quality, does not contain the necessary amount of nutritious material; or it may impart disease from its being impregnated with matters foreign to its composition, and which have been added thereto for purposes of unfair trade-profit. For example, when one hears of alum and sulphate of copper being added to bread, it is evident that a serious form of adulteration is thus practised; while equally reprehensible modes of procedure are known to be in vogue when flour is treated so as to yield more than its legitimate quantity of bread; when rice, potatoes, and other starchy matters are added to the bread in the course of manufacture; or when flour of damaged or inferior quality is used. Similarly, when milk is adulterated with water, treacle, turmeric, and so forth, a cause of ill-health is clearly discovered. If tea be ‘faced’ with black-lead, or with Prussian-blue, turmeric, and China clay, there can be no question of the fraudulent and dangerous nature of such a practice; and when we read of preserved green peas being largely adulterated with sulphate of copper, and that a one-pound tin of green peas has been found to contain two and a half grains of this poisonous compound, it becomes evident that legislation directed against this worst of frauds—food-adulteration—is both necessary and highly requisite as an active feature of social law.

Into questions connected with the adulteration of food, we need not enter. Such topics necessarily belong to the sphere of the analytical chemist and of the sanitary inspector. Where adulteration is suspected, the wisest course for the public to pursue is carefully to note the place and date of purchase of the suspected article—full evidence on this head is necessary—and to supply the sanitary authorities of the town or district with a sample of the substance in question. This clue will be followed up independently by the authorities; and if adulteration be present, means will be taken to substantiate the charge and to prosecute offenders. There should be no leniency shown where cases of food-adulteration can be satisfactorily proved. Such practices form the worst of all frauds; they involve not merely commercial dishonesty, but include fraud against the health and well-being of the community and nation at large.

Other forms of food-impurity are well known, and demand attention from the public; inasmuch as, by the exercise of ordinary knowledge, many of these latter dangers to health may be avoided. Of impurities in water, we shall treat hereafter; hence nothing need be said at present regarding this class of food-dangers. Our milk-supply and our meat-supply, however, are matters over which every householder may and should exercise supervision. Special dangers attach, for example, to the incautious treatment of milk. If milk is suspected to be adulterated, or of poor quality, the determination of the error or fraud is a matter of scientific examination; and with regard to the detection of milk-dangers, arising from disease-contagion, the same remark holds good. It is indeed unfortunate that the first information we usually receive regarding a milk-supply which is thoroughly impure or hurtful, is derived from the effects of such diseased matter on the human frame. In this case, we are unfortunately able only to prevent the spread of an epidemic of disease—the prevention of the epidemic itself is impossible, save, indeed, by the vigilance of the dairyman or farmer in keeping the milk he sells free from all source of contamination. Epidemics of typhoid fever, for instance, are, as a rule, only made known by the occurrence of a series of cases in a given district. On being traced out, these cases are usually found to have been supplied with milk from one and the same source. When the surroundings of the dairy or farm are inspected, sewage-contamination is usually found. Leakage of drains into a water-supply is a common occurrence; and as this infected water is used in cleansing the milk-vessels, the origin of the epidemic is clearly enough accounted for. In some cases, dairies have been found to be constructed in a thoroughly insanitary manner, and cleanliness—the first condition where milk is concerned—is by no means always observed. The remedy for these errors and negligences in connection with this all-important article of diet, lies in one direction only—namely, a system of rigid and continuous dairy inspection. Such inspection is never complained of by those tradesmen who take a pride in their occupation, and who endeavour, by ordinary attention to business, to secure the purity of the milk they sell. It might be added also, that if other articles of food are duly liable to official examination, and if the articles sold by grocer and butcher are duly supervised and examined, there is no reason why the premises of the dairyman should not be similarly inspected. We do not, as a rule, contract serious illness from impure coffee, or even from a poor quality of butcher-meat; but a dirty dairy and an infected milk-supply may, in a single day, sow the germs of a fever which may prostrate a village or community, and entail all the misery and hardship which serious illness inevitably carries in its train.

The domestic care of milk is a second topic to which the attention of the householder should be directed. It cannot be too clearly borne in mind that milk, of all fluids, is singularly apt to absorb deleterious matters. Sewage-emanations and other gases, paint, metallic matters, &c., are all readily taken up by milk. Hence the absolute necessity for seeing that when milk is received into our homes, it is stored in a safe and sanitary position. Milk should never be stored in metallic vessels in the first place; and it should not be kept in cupboards or other receptacles which are situated in the neighbourhood of sinks, closets, or open drains. Too frequently, such carelessness in the home-treatment of the milk-supply leads to illness, which is all the more serious, because its origin is unsuspected.

With regard to the liability of milk, taken from cows suffering from various diseases, to produce illness in man, many and varied opinions exist. A general rule, and one in the observance of which great safety exists, is, that milk from an animal in any way affected with disease should never be sold to the public. Where uncertainty exists, it is a matter of sheer common-sense to err on the safe side, and to incur no risk whatever. It is only fair to add, that milk from cows suffering from ‘foot-and-mouth’ disease has been consumed in many cases without injury resulting. But opposed to this fact, we find cases in which the use of such milk has been followed by throat-ailments and other troubles in man. The milk of over-driven cows—‘heated milk,’ as it is called—has been known to produce colic and diarrhœa in children. It is also probable that while some persons in robust health may escape, others are liable to be affected by milk taken from diseased animals. Pigs to which the milk of cows, ill with ‘foot-and-mouth’ disease, has been given, are seized with that disease in a few hours. The safe rule, therefore, appears to be that already mentioned. If a cow is affected with any disorder or disease, the milk of the animal should not be consumed by man. Only by attention to this rule can outbreaks of disease in man be avoided, and the public safety fully secured.

The flesh of animals is liable to acquire under certain conditions diseased properties. Hence, it is necessary that we should be on our guard against such sources of illness. Thus, certain fevers to which pigs, sheep, and cattle are subject render their flesh unfit for human food; and there are certain parasites inhabiting the flesh of fish which may also be productive of disease when the meat in question has been eaten by man.

Good meat in a fresh state should be firm and elastic to the touch. The characteristic odour of fresh meat should be present, and the meat-tissue should be dry, or at the most merely moist. The appearance of good meat is marbled, and its action on blue litmus-paper is acid—that is, it turns the blue paper to a red colour. Bad meat, on the other hand, is usually extremely moist, or even wet; it has a sodden feel, and the presence of dark spots in the fat is a suspicious sign. The marrow of the bones, instead of being light red in colour, as in fresh meat, is brown-tinted, and often shows black spots. Tested by litmus-paper, bad meat is either neutral or alkaline, and turns red litmus-paper to blue, or does not alter either red or blue test papers. The odour of bad meat is highly distinctive; and its colour, as a rule, is suspiciously dark.

Regarding those animal-diseases which are believed to unfit the flesh for human use, considerable diversity of opinion exists. For example, the flesh of animals suffering from _pleuro-pneumonia_ is regarded, almost universally, as unfit for consumption; although opinions exist which regard such flesh as harmless. Here, as in the case of milk, already alluded to, it is probable diversity of opinion arises from the different conditions under which the results of eating such flesh have been studied. In some cases, it is true, no evil results have accrued from this practice; Loiset showing that during nineteen years, at least eighteen thousand oxen suffering from pleuro-pneumonia were killed and used in Lyons, as food, without any known evil results. But it should be remembered that the disease has its advanced as well as its initial stages; and in any case the opinions expressed with regard to the harmless character of the flesh, can only apply to cases in which the animals have been killed in an early phase of the disorder. The disease known as ‘braxy’ in sheep presents a similar conflict of opinions. Over fifty per cent. of young sheep in Scotland are stated by Mr Cowan in his Essay (1863) to perish from this disease. The disorder is a fever, attended by very characteristic symptoms; but ‘braxy mutton’ is eaten nevertheless by Scottish shepherds with impunity—although an important precaution is observed in this case by steeping the mutton in brine for six or eight weeks, and then drying it. The chief danger which appears to arise in man from the use of diseased meat is the development of blood-disorders and of blood-poisoning. ‘Carbuncular disease’ has increased in Scotland since 1842, when pleuro-pneumonia first appeared; and this affection has apparently increased since lung-diseases in animals have become common. On the whole, then, it may be urged that even with opinions of weight which allege the harmless character, in certain cases, of the flesh of diseased animals, there are risks involved which make the rule, that meat under such circumstances should be rejected, a highly safe and commendable practice both for public and trade attention.

In the case of the _parasites_ which may affect meat under certain circumstances, there is fortunately no diversity of opinion to be encountered. The question of ‘braxy mutton’ may be debatable; in that of meat infested with parasites, no argument is permissible. All parasitic animals are liable to induce disease of more or less serious character in man; hence, if meat can be proved to be so infested, it should be summarily rejected.

The most common parasites which man is liable to acquire from flesh of various kinds are certainly _tapeworms_, which have been frequently described, and the dangers from which are well known. More serious in its nature is the _Trichina spiralis_, a minute worm, found chiefly in the muscles of the pig. This worm, if eaten by man with pork, develops with great rapidity within the human digestive system, and produces enormous numbers of young, which, boring their way through the tissues to the muscles of the patient, cause serious and often fatal illness. Once in the muscles, no further change ensues to the worms, which simply degenerate into mere specks of lime. It is this _trichina_ which produces the disease known as _trichinosis_. Fatal epidemics of this disease are not uncommon on the continent, especially where the unsanitary practice of eating uncooked or dried sausages is greatly in vogue.

Regarding the prevention of the diseases caused by parasites, one stringent rule should be invariably kept in mind—namely, that all flesh-meat should be _thoroughly cooked_ before it is consumed. The practice of eating underdone meat and smoked provisions is attended with great danger. A degree of heat sufficient to cook meat thoroughly, may, as a rule, be trusted to destroy parasitic life which the flesh may contain—although, of course, no one would sanction the employment as food of any meat known to be parasitically infested. To this necessary precaution may be added the advice, that drinking-water should never be taken from ponds, lakes, canals, or rivers in which vegetable matter grows freely, as such water is liable to contain parasitic germs; and all vegetables used for food, and especially those used raw—as in the case of salads—should be thoroughly washed before use. Our dogs being liable to harbour certain forms of internal parasites highly injurious to man, should also have their health and feeding inspected and supervised. And it may be lastly mentioned, by way of encouragement in sanitary reform, and in the care and selection of our flesh-foods, that as far back as the reign of Henry III. the desirability of securing meat free from parasites was clearly known. In the reign of that monarch, butchers who were convicted of selling ‘measly pork’ were sentenced to exposure in the pillory as a punishment for their misdeeds.

BY MEAD AND STREAM.

CHAPTER XXXV.—THE MAID WAS IN THE GARDEN.

Madge was glad that it was in her power to comfort Philip, most glad, because, in spite of the relief which he found in her presence, a vague fear was beginning to creep into her mind that somehow this power was slowly weakening. Was it his fault or hers? Was it the knowledge that the confidence which they had desired to keep perfect between them was no longer perfect? Was it the knowledge that she had accepted a secret which could not be shared with him that, disturbing her mind, suggested changes in him which had no existence? Maybe, maybe, and yet ... relieved as he had been for a little while, there was no mistake, there was no mistake about the weary look in his eyes when he was going away, or about his nervously lingering manner of saying ‘Good-night,’ as if he were afraid to leave her, lest the bogeys which had arisen in his path should seize upon him the moment he should be alone.

She had many bitter reflections that night before she went to sleep: first, about the position in which she was placed against her will; and next about the customs which allowed a woman so few opportunities to give practical assistance to the man she loved. If he had been only a labourer and she a washerwoman, then she could have been of some real value to him. As it was, she must stay at home, await his coming when the struggle was over, give him sympathy when he was in difficulty, and nurse him when he was sick. That was all. She wanted to be by his side in the heat of the struggle, helping him with hands and head as well as heart. She wished that his enterprise had assumed some other form than its present one, so that she might have had a full share in the actual work of it. To her it was absurd that, because she wore petticoats and happened to be above the necessity to earn a living, she should be excluded from his office, or go to it under the penalty of bringing ridicule upon him. She knew how many times in those weary chambers, and in that weary office during this period of worry and disappointment, he must long for her to cheer and steady him as only she could do.

As for Wrentham, she had not much faith in him, although, having no specific charge to make against him, and aware of Philip’s confidence in him, she remained silent. She could only have said: ‘I do not like him;’ and Philip would have laughed at her, or chid her for being ungracious to his friend. She had not forgiven Wrentham for the accident with the horse; and she was not yet satisfied about it, for she could not forget what Uncle Dick had said in his passion.

‘If I wanted to kill anybody, do you know what I’d do?—that is, supposing I could go about it in cold blood. Well, I’d keep a mettlesome mare in the stable for three or four days, feed her high, and then ask the man I wanted to hurt to take a ride on her. Five hundred to one but he’d come back in a worse plight than Philip did. And that’s what I’d have said the man was trying on, if they hadn’t been such close friends.’

Uncle Dick did not repeat this angry exclamation; but Madge could not forget it, and the remembrance of it made her this night the more discontented that she could not be always with Philip during the ordeal through which he was passing.

However, there was one way in which she might render him practical assistance; that was, by setting Caleb Kersey’s mind at ease, and so enabling him to serve his master with a light heart, which is always a brave one. She had delayed speaking to Sam Culver until she could tell him that Caleb was not only working steadily but was successful, and could offer Pansy a comfortable home. She would not wait any longer: she would speak to them both in the morning. That thought helped her to sleep. For the time, the more serious business which she had to do with Mr Hadleigh held only a distant place in her mind.

* * * * *

Caleb had not been making progress in his wooing, and when he became aware of that fact, he grew discontented with the nature of things in general and especially with himself. The discontent with the condition of his fellow-labourers which had earned for him an ill repute amongst the farmers, had some grains of reason in it. There was no doubt that the majority of the labourers had large families and scant fare; that their cottages were in many instances examples of the deplorable state of ruin into which roof and walls may fall and still be reckoned fit for human habitation; whilst in harvest-time, when there was an influx of labouring men, women, and children from the large towns and from Ireland, the lodging arrangements were disreputable. But in the present case, he could discover no reason to justify his discontent, and that made him feel bad.

He had never been a regular churchgoer, and for some time he had ceased going altogether; but lately he had become so punctual in his attendance, that the beadle-sexton, the clerk, with old Jerry and young Jerry Mogridge, had held more than one consultation on the subject in the taproom of the _Cherry Tree_. They shook their heads very wisely, and thought that there must be something wrong about this sudden conversion. But the vicar, who had as quick an eye for every face in his congregation as the thorough shepherd has for every sheep in his flock, was pleased, and concluded that there was some good spirit at work in the Agitator’s mind. He would not speak to him yet. He knew how easily a hesitating sheep may be frightened away by over-zeal on the part of the shepherd. He would wait until the man felt quite at his ease.

So, in a distant corner of the church, Caleb sat Sunday after Sunday, his eyes fixed on the back of Pansy’s hat, and brightening when any of her movements enabled him to catch a glimpse of her face. At first he merely dawdled along the road in the wake of Pansy and her father on their way home, until they entered the gates of Ringsford. There it was Sam’s custom to halt and gossip with the gatekeeper; whilst Pansy hastened home by a bypath through the trees, in order to have dinner ready for her father. Then Caleb, by hurrying to the home-field and crossing it, would catch another glimpse of her before she entered the cottage.

He was ashamed of dogging their steps in this fashion, and could not help himself. Several times he made up his mind to speak to the gardener, and find some excuse for walking along with them; but he could not yet muster courage to grasp so much joy, although it was well within his reach. One bright day, however, he was as usual standing in the porch to see Pansy as she went out, and receive from her as usual a bashful glance and timid smile, which made the food he lived on for the week, when he was almost startled by her father speaking to him:

‘Come up the road a bit wi’ us, Kersey, if you have naething better ado.’

Caleb muttered that he was ready, and muttered still more awkwardly to Pansy that he hoped he saw her quite well.

‘Quite well, thank you,’ was the demure reply; and there was no further conversation.

She took her place on one side of her father, Caleb walked on the other. But she was there quite close to him, and—although decidedly ill at ease—he began to feel a degree of content which he had not known for many days.

The gardener had been amongst those who had observed Caleb’s conversion in the matter of church attendance, and being already sensible of the young man’s intelligent appreciation of his flowers, he was willing to credit him with having turned over a new leaf, and had charitably set aside his doubts of him.

‘Man, Kersey,’ said Sam, as soon as they were free from the crowd, ‘I have got one of the bonniest geraaniums that ever mortal set een on, and I want you to see it for yoursel’. I wouldna have asked you to come on the Sabbath, if it hadna been that I can never get sight of you on a week-day noo.’

‘I don’t suppose there can be any harm in looking at the flower,’ said Caleb, restraining the much more decided opinion he would have expressed on the subject if Pansy had not been there, or if he had been able to guess what she might have thought of it. One strong principle of his creed was that the more beautiful things men look at, the more refined their natures will become, and that for this purpose Sunday was the most appropriate day.

‘That’s just my opinion,’ was the satisfied comment of the gardener; ‘and I wonder you that’s fond o’ flowers, dinna take to studying them in earnest. Do you know anything at all about botany?’

‘Nothing,’ was the honest and regretful reply, for it was not easy to confess absolute ignorance in her presence.

‘Then you’ll just have to come whiles to see me, and I’ll learn you something about it. You will have to come especially in the spring-time; and it’s wonderful how soon you’ll find a real pleasure in it—especially in the geraaniums.’