Part 53

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.

Dr. Guy, who has taken considerable pains to ascertain the value of life in the educated classes, has worked out the extraordinary result that, the higher the step in the social hierarchy, the greater the means of self-indulgence, the less the chance of long life. People have so long been accustomed to look upon the possession of wealth as the best guarantee for a flourishing bodily condition, that they will be surprised, perhaps, to hear that in proportion as the wholesome stimulus of labour is withdrawn from any class, in the same proportion the value of its average term of life is shortened. And yet our common experience but tallies with the results of scientific inquiry in this matter. When a man who has lived a long and active life, suddenly retires with the idea that he has earned his ease, and that it is time for him to enjoy himself, ten to one but he has taken the most effectual method of shortening his life; and much as we may smile at the taste of the retired soap-boiler, who always made a point of going down to his old shop on "boiling days," yet we can see that his instinct directed him rightly, for we can none of us bear idleness, least of all those who have long practised industry.

Regularity, sobriety, and activity of mind and body, are the pabulum on which vital force is fed; while, on the contrary, luxury, licentiousness, and sloth, are the cankers of life. A comparison of the longevity of the different educated classes proves this in a remarkable manner. Let us take, for instance, the three learned professions. If the reader were asked whether the clergyman, the lawyer, or the physician lived longest, most probably he would say the lawyer. Accustomed to venerable age on the judgment-seat, and struck with the fact that our leading law lords have generally been, and still are, noblemen of very advanced age, he would perhaps be justified in giving the palm of longevity to them. Yet, in truth, as a class, they are the shortest-lived. The race is neck and neck, it is true, but they lose by a neck. The clergyman, as we should naturally suppose, enjoys a higher standard of health, and attains a greater age, than any member of the community, excepting poor Hodge, the humblest member of his flock. His average age, taking those persons only into account who have passed their 50th year, is 74·04 years, or rather better than one year longer than the physician, who lives to an average age of 72·95 years. This trifling difference, we should expect, as the latter is subject to many chances of infection, and lives more a town life than the former. If the comparison is made, however, between the highest grades of the two professions, between archbishops and bishops, and baronets who have filled the posts of physicians and surgeons to the sovereign, the latter have the advantage by four years, and in both cases the lawyer lags behind in the race with clergymen and physicians: with the latter in his ordinary rank by a few days only, and with the class of medical baronets, as compared with judges, upwards of four years, how much hard study, alternated with tawny port, has to do with the difference, we should scarcely like to say. The gentry may be reckoned to be about as long-lived as the clergy; well-housed, well-fed, and living an agricultural life with active habits, they have few diseases, and are especially exempt from consumption. Officers of the navy have slightly the advantage of those of the army--say one year of life. From this point, where the social hierarchy takes a leap, and clothes itself in the purple and fine linen of nobility, the lamp of life begins rapidly to burn low. The aristocracy of this country are shorter-lived, by more than one year, than he who works with all the cares and anxieties of the priest, the lawyer, or the physician; and members of royal houses (calculated from the ages of members of continental as well as English royalty) descend the ladder of life so rapidly, that they have three years less of existence than the peer; and, lastly, we come to the "round and top of sovereignty itself." The potentate who stands on the highest pinnacle of human greatness, surrounded, it would seem, with every condition favourable to comfort and longevity, fenced about from casualties which constantly beset the paths of ordinary mortals--his would appear indeed a charmed life; yet the hard fact will stare us in the face, that the sands of life run far quicker with him than with any other of the educated classes. His years are on an average but 64, or 10 less than the clergy, who probably have to fight the hardest battle in the world--the fight of comparative poverty against appearances. It could be "clearly shown," says Mr. Neison, in his "Vital Statistics," "by tracing the various classes of society in which there exists sufficient means of subsistence, by beginning with the most humble, and passing on to the middle and upper classes, that a gradual deterioration in the duration of life takes place; and that just as life, with all its wealth, pomp, and magnificence, would seem to become more valuable and tempting, so are its opportunities and chances of enjoyment lessened. As far as the results of figures admit of judging, this condition would seem to flow directly from the luxurious and pampered style of living among the wealthier classes, whose artificial habits interfere with the nature and degree of those physical exercises which, in a simpler class of society, are accompanied with long life." Truly, there is a spirit of compensation in this life, if we could only "distil it forth." The poor countryman of thirty years of age, who takes his frugal repast under a hedge, has a chance of thirteen years' longer life than the monarch of the same age clothed in purple, and lord, perhaps, of half the habitable world!

THE END.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] This _cophee-house_ in Sweeting's Rents is not alluded to by Mr. Cunningham in his Handbook of London. He mentions the first as established in 1657, in St. Michael's Alley, Cornhill, and the second (no date mentioned) as set up at the Rainbow in Fleet Street. We think we must make way for this new discovery between the two.

[2] A furniture broker made his fortune by an advertisement headed "Advice to Persons about to Marry." Our witty friend _Punch_ followed up this prelude with the single word _Don't_, as the substitute for the lists of four-posted beds.

[3] In an article upon the teas of commerce, which appeared in the _Quarterly Journal of the Chemical Society_ for July, 1851.

[4] Assam tea is the only exception to this rule, but very little of it is imported.

[5] That sold by Messrs. Dakin, of St. Paul's Churchyard.

[6] It will be scarcely necessary to say that the great London brewers have never laid themselves open to the suspicion of having adulterated their liquor.

[7] An act has lately been passed which will, we trust, check in some degree the grosser food-frauds on the public.

[8] Since gone to make bears' grease.

[9] The great merit of this inference may be judged from the circumstance that several eminent naturalists, out of an honest regard for the reputation of Professor Owen, endeavoured to prevent the publication of the paper in which, with the sure sagacity of scientific genius, he confidently announced the fact.

[10] The history of the migrations of the rat is involved in doubt, and none of the accounts can be relied on. Goldsmith had been assured that the Norway rat, as it is called, though it was quite unknown in that country when it established itself in England, came to us from the coast of Ireland, whither it had been carried in the ships that traded in provisions to Gibraltar.