The relation of the rich to the
poor, and the poor to the rich, has always been a subject of
interest to the philosopher, moralist, economist, and
philanthropist. This relation was, in feudal times, clearly
enunciated, and as vigorously acted upon. The dark days and
long evenings that witnessed the tolling of the curfew bell have
passed away. Since those days we have made advances in
social and political freedom, and class distinctions have become
less obvious. Freedom of thought has developed a greater
equality of social rights; but are the poor really any better off
now than they were in the days when William hunted in the New
Forest? I confess that many will reply in the affirmative;
but when I see around me on every side so much disease, poverty,
utter wretchedness, and crime, I conceive it difficult for the
condition of man to be worse than that in which thousands in this
metropolis exist. Look at the condition of the overcrowded
dwellings of the poor; they are not homes. The word
home in its full and happy significance and association is
unknown to them. The proud boast of every Englishman, that
his house is his castle, is a mere fiction. “There is
no place like home, be it ever so humble,” is a truth that
meets with the faintest response from thousands of miserable
tenants who live in yet more miserable tenements.
That the condition of the dwellings of the poor does not free
them from the obligation to observe personal cleanliness is perfectly
true, neither does the neglect of personal cleanliness on their
part justify the landlord in neglecting the sanitary condition of
his houses. It is to be regretted that more liberal and
enlightened measures are not adopted. I feel confident that
if the dwellings of the poor were made healthy and comfortable,
there would be a marked improvement in the status of the
poor. With improved health, cleanliness, and comfort we
should obtain improved industry and prosperity; and this would
not be confined exclusively to the poor, but its influence would
be felt through every grade of society. It would tend to
lessen the selfishness of the prosperous, and the suspicious
jealousy and impostures of the unfortunate. We are apt to
forget that:—
“Is there for honest poverty
That hangs his head, and a’ that?
The coward slave, we pass him by,
And dare be poor, for a’ that.
The rank is but the guinea stamp,
The man’s the gowd, for a’
that.”
Man is to a very great extent the creature of circumstances,
and is greatly influenced by external objects. That which
we like we become like. The fine arts cultivate the
æsthetic part of a man’s nature; painting, sculpture,
and poetry develop a man’s imagination. One man by a
constant contemplation of the beautiful acquires the habit of
admiring the beautiful; another man by the constant association
with dirt becomes dirty. Repeated acts of thought grow into
action, and actions repeated grow into habits, and habits form
the character of the man: hence the importance of a cleanly,
comfortable, and healthy home. A family that lives in a
dirty room, with nothing but dirty associations, must grow up
dirty. Thoughts grow in us as grain in wood. The
mental qualities of the poor are undeveloped, and especially the
moral force of character which is requisite to raise them above
their circumstances is hardly to be looked for. If the poor
could be accommodated with healthy dwellings they might
reasonably be expected to better their condition; but what man
can wage a successful war against disease and poverty
combined? Unhealthy dwellings not only keep them poor, but
foster a reckless indifference as to how things go with
them. This apathetic condition is the worst that can befall
either the individual or society. Idleness, dirt, poverty,
disease, and crime are intimate companions, though not
inseparable. The logic of the indifferent poor amounts to
this: that those who work must pay for those that don’t;
and hence arises one of the great difficulties in dealing with
and relieving the poor. There are many limited companies
formed to carry out various commercial enterprises; but if a
limited company could be formed to erect suitable dwellings for
the poor, at such a rental as they now pay, it would confer an
unspeakable benefit on the poor, benefit society generally, and
pay the really patriotic shareholders an equitable
percentage. This I merely throw out as a suggestion, but I
am convinced if carried out, it would be one of the best means of
effectually helping the poor to help themselves. I conceive
that whatever tends to smooth the rugged surface of life, and to
soften its harsher features, and to multiply the sources of human
health and enjoyment, must be held worthy of notice; and in so
far as it tends to improve the condition of the poor, and foster
in them provident and careful habits, just so far ought it to
receive our generous sympathy and support. That this may
not be mistaken to be merely philanthropic statement, but that it
is based upon a principle of true social economy, I quote the
following from Smith’s Wealth of Nations:
“Servants, labourers, and workmen of
different kinds, make up by far the greater portion of every
great political society. But what improves the
circumstances of the greater part can never be regarded as an inconveniency to
the whole. No society can surely be flourishing and happy
of which the far greater part of the members are poor and
miserable. It is but equity—besides that they who
feed, clothe, and lodge, the whole body of the people should have
such a share, as to be themselves tolerably well fed, clothed,
and lodged. The liberal reward of labour, as it is the
effect of increasing wealth, so it is the cause of increasing
population. To complain of it is to lament over the
necessary effect and cause of the greatest public
prosperity. It deserves to be remarked perhaps, that it is
in the progressive state, while the society is advancing to the
further acquisition, rather than when it has acquired its
complement of riches, that the condition of the labouring poor,
of the great body of the people seems to be the happiest and most
comfortable. It is hard in the stationary, and miserable in
the declining state.”
In a visit I paid to a poor patient in Burne Street, I could
not help being struck with the cold, damp, dirty condition of
this “attic near the sky.” The cold wind
pierced through every crevice. The rain had come in
plentifully through the ceiling and soaked the bed. The
walls were black and grimy; the fire in the grate, like the life
of my patient, feebly struggled for existence.
What dirt and neglect had done for the room—dirt,
disease, and poverty had done for the inmate. I feel sure
that had the dwelling been in a better condition my patient would
have been in better health, and consequently stood better in
every relation to society.
’Tis an old proverb that “prevention is better
than cure;” yet how few there are who practically believe
it. The principle embodied in this proverb received the
approval and sanction of past ages, but which it is most
difficult to enforce at the present time; it may be explained by
the fact, that men not being forewarned cannot be forearmed, and further,
because another principle which is expressed in the words,
“men think all men mortal but themselves,” lies deep
in the human mind. The blessing of health is not valued
till it is lost. Let the mysterious hand of disease touch
us, and we throb with painful anguish. Then do we long most
earnestly for our valued health and strength; we resolve that
once well again we will adopt such regulations and precautions as
shall ensure a continuance of the invaluable blessings of health:
such is the reasoning of the sick and afflicted. To the
invalid the quantity and quality of the air he breathes is of
vital importance, but to the man in comparative health, it is a
matter of indifference. The laws which regulate the
diffusion of gases on which ventilation depends, or the action of
pure or impure air on the animal economy, is to him a subject of
indifference; it does not yet affect him, and he has enough to do
without it. The subject of ventilation bears such an
important relation to health, and health is one of the greatest
blessings of life, that I conceive it to be the duty of all to be
fully alive to its value. In these days when the
schoolmaster is abroad, and the march of intellect so rapid, it
is not a little remarkable that the knowledge of the laws of
health, based upon scientific data, are so little known.
If therefore, some of the general laws which govern the
preservation of health be simply stated and illustrated, it may
be the beginning of much good, by teaching or inciting men to
become the guardians of their own health. One of the
primary laws of health is to have a good supply of fresh
air. The voice of nature cries aloud for fresh air, the cry
comes to us alike from the newly born babe in the cellar, and the
aged sufferer worn out in life’s troubles in the
garret. It is the cry of the weary and worn; their thin
blood flows feebly, and their life is ebbing fast as they cry,
“Oh, for one short hour to breathe the breath of the
cowslip sweet and to feel as I used to feel.” This is
all that is
craved ere the weary one welcomes the stifling hand of
death. Such is the cry of thousands in our city. Who
wonders at it? Not those who are practically acquainted
with the dwellings of the poor. For those who are not, I
shall in general terms indicate some of the features of the
homes in my district. It is not my object to raise
the veil of poverty to satisfy idle curiosity, or to awaken a
morbid philanthropy. Scenes which are photographed on my
mind, I shall from feelings of delicacy alike for the subject and
the reader omit. As parochial medical officer for Christ
Church district, it is very often my duty to visit East Cottages,
and Little Church Street, and I am daily called upon to witness
the suffering and sickness in crowded rooms, which is fostered by
bad ventilation and insufficient drainage; here small-pox and
typhus fever are frequent visitors. It is not an uncommon
thing for a family of eight or ten to occupy one small
room. In this single apartment, men women and children of
all ages eat, drink, and sleep; in such a place as this, and
under such circumstances, where little air enters, and less
light, can it be a matter of surprise that sickness and death are
frequent visitors. Death is so frequent a visitor, that to
those who witness his work he has lost all his terrors; yea, he
is rather a friendly visitor when he calls the younger members
home. Think, reader, of such a home as this in the
day of sickness, in the hour of nature’s woe, in the gloomy
night of death. Picture children of tender years becoming
familiar with these scenes, and can it reasonably be expected
that they should grow up healthy either in mind or body. I
could not but allude to the number of occupants in one small
apartment, as it bears directly on the amount of air supplied to
each one, and the necessity for free ventilation; overcrowding
also tends very materially to demoralise the rising
generation. In a word, it degenerates both body and
mind. At an early age they sow the seeds of consumption,
bronchitis, rheumatism, and a whole list of complaints, which may
be traced more or less to the violation of the ordinary sanitary
laws of health. The youth of our cities before they are
young grow old, before the bud blooms the blossom is blasted; as
flowers without the light of heaven, they are blanched, withered,
and die. These sickly ones crawl into their homes, such as
they are, from which the light of day is almost excluded, and
with it the light of hope. Under these circumstances the
parish doctor is sent for, but too often it is his lot only to be
a passive witness of the irreparable mischief which has been
done. I have a vivid and painful recollection of a visit I
paid to Devonshire-place. The room was small, dark, dirty,
and gloomy. There were but few squares of glass left in the
frame, through which the yellow light feebly struggled to enter;
the chimney was stopped up, the air stagnant and very oppressive,
even for the few minutes I was present, yet there were no less
than five people sleeping in this apartment, two children ill
with scarlet fever, and one resting in death. The
ventilation was so bad, that the recovery of my little patients
was doubtful, and the deterioration of the health of their
parents certain. In cases of this kind how important it is
for every one to know, that by excluding the breath of heaven, we
are extinguishing the breath of life. It is of the highest
importance that we should have fresh air in health, but it is
imperatively necessary in disease. Then more than ever does
nature feel the necessity for fresh air. A lowered vitality
like a fire that is dying out, requires a larger supply of
atmospheric air, but alas! how often is this innate craving for
fresh air stifled by prejudice and ignorance. Close rooms
are rendered closer by chimneys being blocked up, and every crook
and crevice being stuffed up by rags and paper, as if the great
object to be attained was effectually to prevent one
breathing. All this is done from the purest motive, and
with the best intention; it is done to prevent the patient taking
cold. So the patient has to struggle against sickness,
poverty, and impure air.
Those who are in health, though they may sleep in overcrowded
rooms, have the advantage of being out in the open air some part
of the day, and this in some measure compensates for their close
confinement. The open air quickens the pulse and restores
the vitality of the various functions of the body.
Fortunate are those whose employment is out of doors. This
obtains rather with the male than the female poor. They too
often leave a closely confined and overcrowded bed-room to go
into a still worse work-room, there to work twelve or
fourteen hours under flaring gas-lights in a heated and
impure atmosphere. Those who live like this succumb at an
early period of life to disease:—
“With fingers weary and worn,
With eye-lids heavy and red,”
they rush out of their overcrowded work-rooms and seek to
palliate their physical sufferings at the gin-shop.
The air which surrounds us on every side, though invisible, is
not inactive. To the casual observer its existence might be
doubted if it did not manifest itself in the gentle breezes which
bear the faded leaves of the widowed trees to their resting
place; or in the wintry blast which uproots the sturdy oak of the
forest, or lashes the white-crested billows of the ocean into a
storm. In this way does the air we breathe make itself
known to us. The composition of atmospheric air, the laws
which govern it, as illustrating the theory of ventilation, the
action of air on the animal economy, on the vegetable and mineral
kingdoms, we must pass by. Suffice it to say that
atmospheric air is a compound; that oxygen is the life-sustaining
element; and that carbonic acid gas has an opposite effect; also
the nitrogen; and that when we breathe we take in oxygen and
give out carbonic acid gas. There is a law which governs
cases called gaseous diffusion, by which gases pass equally into
one another, and thus become equally diffused. If it were
not for the operation of this law, there would be no variation of
climate, no winds to waft the mariner over the briny deep, no
provision for the scattering of the sun’s golden rays of
light. The beauty of a summer’s sky would have been
lost. No clouds would have hung around the portals of the
setting sun tinged with crimson and with gold. No verdure
in the meadow would have greeted our eye. No ark of hope
would have spanned the clear vault of heaven. But, by the
combination of oxygen and hydrogen, and the laws which govern
them, provision is made for all these blessings. Light and
heat are freely scattered. Animal and vegetable life
rejoice. The priests of the morning chant their matins when
the sun arises, and the flowers scatter their evening incense
when the sun descends to glorify the western world.
In a sanitary point of view the law of gaseous diffusion is of
importance, because noxious gases are thereby diluted by the
atmosphere, and are thus rendered comparatively harmless; hence,
by free ventilation, we may do much to lessen the predisposition
to epidemics, and the virulence of poisonous malaria.
The labouring man, above all others, should rise in the
morning refreshed by nature’s sweet restorer—balmy
sleep. But, by neglecting ventilation, it is not so.
Drowsiness, sickness, headache, and languor are his lot; and in
order to bring himself up to the mark, he is obliged to have
recourse to artificial stimulants. Scavengers are necessary
to maintain the comfort and cleanliness of our streets, so oxygen
is necessary to maintain the health and comfort of our
bodies. By depriving our bodies of pure air, we deprive
them of the power to throw off infectious diseases. This may
simply be illustrated by placing a lighted candle under a shade
when a limited amount of air only can be introduced. If not
supplied the candle will go on burning for a while, giving out
less light and less heat; but when the oxygen is exhausted, the
candle will die out. Thus it is with man. The candle,
when deprived of pure air, gave evidence of less light, so to man
under the same conditions would give evidence of less life.
A lower vitality is equivalent to a closer approach to
death. Day is opposed to night. Life to death.
But even as between day and night there is twilight, so in our
experience there is the twilight of disease. Thousands in
this metropolis, through the neglect of the laws of health, live
in the twilight of disease, rather than in the noon-day
brightness of health.
I have endeavoured to show that fresh air is a necessary of
life just as much as food. I have indicated its importance
in relation to health and how imperatively necessary it was in
sickness to aid the body to overcome disease. If
overcrowding in small dwellings and its consequent ill effects
upon health, morality, and industry be a necessary social evil,
it is evidently our duty to lessen that evil, if we cannot
altogether remove it. This, in some measure, may be
accomplished by free ventilation and paying due regard to the
ordinary sanitary laws of health. If we turn a deaf ear to
the warning voices of conscience and reason, and go on living and
breaking the laws of health, we must expect to pay the penalty
for breaking those laws. If men habitually sleep in an
atmosphere of carbonic acid gas and fetid exhalations, they must
of necessity exhaust the vitality of their bodies.
The defective sanitary condition of hundreds of houses in this
district render it imperative that something should not only be
said, but done. But the question arises—who is to do
it? I take it that the duty lies not alone with either the
tenant, or landlord, or parochial authorities. It is a work of
co-operation in which there is work for each; and each must do
his work. In endeavouring to urge this sanitary reformation
it may be Utopian to expect a perfect result; yet I am convinced
that much can be done to render even the present wretched
dwellings of the poor much more healthy than they are at
present. I have frequently in my visits to Charles-street,
Stephen-street, Stephen’s-court, and, in fact, in the
houses contiguous, met, on going upstairs in the morning, a hot,
fetid air. On going into the rooms I have observed that the
walls were damp with exhalations caused by so many herding
together. I have naturally requested the windows to be
opened, in order to let out the hot and impure air, and, to my
dismay, I have almost invariably found that the upper sash was a
fixture. This state of things is to be deplored, inasmuch
as it prevents efficient ventilation and is not only injurious to
health but beyond the means of poor lodgers to remedy. I
would venture to suggest the propriety of landlords seeing that
all windows be made to open at the top, or a square of glass be
removed and a perforated tin plate be inserted in its place, or
better still, a window ventilator. A brick removed out of
the chimney, close to the ceiling, and a valve fitted so as to
allow the escape of foul air up the flue, is a good means of
ventilation. There are many ways of ventilating an
apartment; and it matters little how it is done if it be done
efficiently. If any one of the above methods be adopted I
feel sure it would be a great boon to many poor.
There is one subject that bears a most important relation to
the health and comfort of those over-crowded dwellings, and that
is the supply of water. This is anything but adequate to
the requirements of the many people that are sheltered under one
roof in my district. The tubs and cisterns are in many
cases only sufficient to supply one family, but in the houses
where the poor live, each room is occupied by one or two families at
the least; the consequence is, that there is a great demand for
water, and not being sufficient, impurities of all kinds abound;
personal cleanliness is neglected to a frightful extent, washing
the skin is looked upon as a terrible innovation, and the result
is often dreaded. To suggest a bath is often looked upon
with as great a horror as a surgical operation. If there
were a more plentiful supply of water, there would not be the
excuse for such a neglect of washing and cleansing the dwellings
of the poor. Personal cleanliness and the washing out of
rooms, &c., is the duty of the tenant quite as much as paying
the rent. It would be well if cleanliness were made a
condition of tenancy,—if the rent collector insisted on the
cleanliness of the rooms with the same firmness that he insists
on the punctual payment of the rent, yea, rather allow a
week’s rent to stand over than a dirty room to go
unwashed.
The sewerage to the houses is not adequate to carry off the
enormous waste of fifty people. These houses were only
built for the accommodation of fifteen to eighteen people.
If there be not a sufficient supply of water to flush the drains
at least once a-day, they become clogged up and generate
poisonous gases, which enter the houses and bring on a lowered
state of health; skin diseases, scabies, typhus, and choleraic
diarrhœa are the results. That this is not an
overstatement may be shown by the fact, that outbreaks of
choleraic diarrhœa have over and over again been suddenly
stopped by a heavy fall of rain. This beneficial result has
come about by the rain flushing the sewers and clearing off the
morbid poisons.
There are other nuisances which contribute to contaminate the
air. I have, in visits from house to house, noticed that
the dust heaps are allowed to accumulate to a frightful extent,
they are neither more nor less than one vast mass of decayed
animal and vegetable matter, with a good proportion of the remains of
decomposed fish. The consequence was that if windows were
opened for the purpose of ventilation, a worse condition of the
room was induced. Further, I cannot help remarking that the
sanitary condition of the streets and courts in my district,
especially part of Bell-street, Charles-street, George-street,
part of Devonshire-street, is far from satisfactory. Those
that live in the cellars in these streets are constantly inhaling
poisonous exhalations arising from putrid animal and vegetable
matter, and I am sure the stench which arises from stinking
muscles and cockle shells, must be injurious to health. I
would ask upon what principle do the authorities do their
work? Broad streets, squares, and open thoroughfares appear
to me to be oftener watered and swept than these out-of-the-way
courts, alleys, and narrow streets, which are overcrowded with a
teeming dirty population. Surely these are just the places
that require the greatest care, for these are the places which,
if they do not breed an epidemic, would readily foster it.
The slums of a city ought to be made as healthy as possible, not
only for the good of those who live in the slums, but for the
good of the community at large. Society is like the body;
one member cannot be affected without the whole body
suffering. It is not only right, but profitable to make the
dwellings of the poor healthy, and to surround them by all the
protection that preventive measures can do. Sickness is one
of the worst calamities that can befall the poor labouring
man. When laid low, all his resources are cut off.
His family, and so must he, go without the necessaries of life,
or run up a heavy score at the small huxter’s shop.
His rent cannot be paid; and should his illness last long, both
he and his family become a burden to the ratepayers; and should
he recover his health, it is weeks, aye, months before he can
recover his position and stand free from debt. Now, suppose
that this illness was brought on by the defective sanitary
condition of his dwelling, and his own neglect of proper
attention to cleanliness, why it is at once evident that it is
the interest of the landlord to see that his houses are healthy,
for a dead man pays no debts, and a sick man pays no rent;
further, it is the interest of the tenant to observe the laws of
health. What pen can describe the racking torture of
disease and poverty combined? I have visited houses where
the head of the family has been thrown of work, by
ill-health. I have witnessed the gradual departure of
articles of ornament from his little room, soon to be followed by
other pieces of furniture, until even the necessary utensils of
civilised life were gone. The bedstead and bedding have
been put away, and a sack of shavings supplied its place.
The room has been literally stripped. The children have
been equally deprived of their clothes, and were huddled up in a
corner in quite as primitive a fashion as their forefathers the
ancient Britons. The mother went out washing for two or
three days a week; what she earned they all lived on. It
may be asked why did he not go to the workhouse? I reply
that the deserving poor, the earnest, striving poor, have the
greatest possible objection to go to the house. They would
rather die in want and wretchedness than become an inmate of the
house. Whether this dislike be well founded or no, it is
not my object now to inquire, but I must state that there are
some clamorous for admission. From what has been said, I
think it may fairly be inferred that if a liberal and just regard
be paid to the sanitary condition of the dwellings of the poor it
would, to look at it from the £ s. d. point of view, be a
benefit to tenant, landlord, and ratepayer. It would also
tend very materially to improve the physical, moral and mental
condition of the poor; it would make them healthier men, happier
men. It would materially better fit them for all the social
conditions of life.
I know
of no subject in a sanitary point of view that demands a more
careful consideration than the possibility of a choleraic
epidemic next spring. I wish not to alarm, but to try and
urge people to be on their guard so as effectually to lessen if
not prevent the dire effects of a cholera visitation.
Should cholera visit this part of the metropolis—and we
have no guarantee that it will not—it is our duty to be
prepared to deal promptly and effectually with it.
The news has been already flashed through the land that it has
made its appearance. Although confined at present to two
places, this has made many a stout heart tremble. But this
is not a time for fear. “Let us, then, be up and
doing with a heart for any fate,” and seek by an earnest
endeavour to render our homes untenable to this terrible
pestilence. Every man this day must do his duty.
These are stirring words, and they call us to action, for a
deadlier foe now threatens the happiness of our sea-girt island
than that which Nelson fought. Cholera, an unseen foe, is
nevertheless a real one. Many a hero that has braved a
hundred fights has blanched before this deadlier foe. Like
a mighty conqueror and destroyer, it has marched onward as
regardless of the ermine of the judge as the swaddling clothes of
the infant. In vain has the mother wrung her hands in
passionate anguish over the death of her little one; husband has
mourned for wife, and wife for husband; children have been left
fatherless; and fathers have been left childless; nothing but
darkness, blackness, death, and desolation, have marked the route
of this potent enemy to man.
One of the best preventive measures is to have a plentiful
supply of pure water. We can then keep our sewers
flushed—our homes clean, and so render our hearths and
homes comparatively safe from the devastating pest of
cholera.
There
is nothing in nature that possesses more interest than
water. It is composed of oxygen and hydrogen. This
may be easily demonstrated by throwing a piece of potassium on
water, when it will instantly take fire: because of the rapid
affinity of the oxygen of the water for the metal potassium the
hydrogen is liberated, which burns during the decomposition which
takes place. This experiment, which is equally simple and
beautiful, shows the composition of water. The combinations
into which water enters in the animal and vegetable kingdoms are
as various and as beautiful as the magic forms of the
kaleidoscope. Neither animals nor plants can live without
water. It is, therefore, a necessary of life. On the
purity of water, in a great measure, our health depends.
Various are the sources of water, and equally various the degrees
of the purity or impurity of water: for this reason—that
water is the great solvent in nature. The first great
source of our water supply is from the ocean, which receives the
water from all the sparkling rills that murmur as they leap down
the mountain side, which unite and form rivulets. These
rivulets unite again, and form the mighty flowing rivers with
majestic water-falls, cataracts, and cascades; and these flow on
till they empty themselves into the ocean.
Reader, did you ever stand on the sea beach shore and see day
go out in a flood of glory—the bosom of the ocean blush as
the monarch of day smiled his parting beams of
light—tinging the clouds with golden hue and shedding a
light on all creation and making it beautiful? These clouds
were not alone created for the poet or the painter, nor to give
scenic beauty to the landscape; but to supply the wants of the
flowers of the valley, the beasts of the forest, and to be a
source of health, power, and wealth to man. The heating
rays from the sun so act upon the water as to cause a mist like a
gossamer veil to arise. This is tossed about in the atmosphere by
the various currents of winds which set in from the Equator to
the Arctic and Antarctic regions. Thus is it that
rain-bearing clouds are distributed over the land. The
vapour contained in these clouds is condensed by the various
degrees of temperature through which they are wafted, and form
either snow or rain. This sinks down into the earth, and
forms springs; or the snow, melting on the mountains, runs down
and forms rivulets: and hence our chief water supply.
“Look around on this world, it is sweet, it
is fair,
There is light in the sky, there is life in its air,
Sublimity breathes from the forms of its hills,
And beauty winds on with its rivers and rills;
The dew as with diamonds its mead hath bespread,
From its groves are a thousand wild melodies sent;
While flowers of each tint are by morning imparted,
Oh! why is there woe in so lovely a world.”
Rain water, when collected in the country, is doubtless the
purest and best adapted for ordinary household purposes, but in
London and large cities it contains many impurities; when
collected in our tubs or cisterns, it is impregnated with all the
dust, dirt, and smoke that hangs more or less like a funeral pall
over smoky cities; the air contains more or less sulphurous acid,
and the carbon that escapes from our chimneys and is deposited on
the tops of our houses, hence the sooty taste that soft or rain
water has.
Well or spring water always partakes more or less of the
character of the ground or the strata through which it passes,
hence the explanation of the great differences which exist.
Water that passes through chalk is characterised by its hardness,
because it holds a large quantity of carbonate of lime in
solution. Thus it is with chalybeate springs, which contain
a large proportion of the salts of iron, and others, that contain
sulphate of magnesia; these instances illustrate the fact that
water is a great solvent, and partakes of the character of the
materials through which it passes, and hence the differences
which we find existing in the water we derive from wells.
There are not many public pumps in my district, and fortunately
they are not in the vicinity of churchyards, nor in communication
with cesspools. There is not therefore much danger of
wholesale poisoning by drinking water from these sources.
The water, as supplied by the West London and Grand Junction
Companies, is, I believe, of good quality; for from the samples I
have examined, and the reports furnished by Dr. Whitmore, the
water appears free from those organic impurities which are
indications of danger, and are specially to be guarded against in
times when cholera threatens us. The water, which in not a
few of the houses in my district, is supplied by the water
companies pure, is rendered impure in the tubs and cisterns in
which it is stored. Water not only has the property of
becoming impregnated with mineral substances, but also the
property of absorbing gases. It is strange, but
nevertheless true, that the worst place possible for tubs,
cisterns, and water reservoirs, is selected, viz., next to or
over water closets, or over dust bins; this obtains almost
universally in my district. The consequence is, in the one
case feculent exhalations arise, and are absorbed by the water;
and in the other, exhalations from the decomposed and decomposing
vegetable and animal refuse; further, the tubs and cisterns in
many cases appear to have been neglected for a long time.
The lids do not fit, consequently these cisterns are receptacles
for all kinds of filth. Those who live in the upper rooms
are not over-scrupulous as to how, when, or where, they dispose
of their waste matters, but it often finds a lodgement on the
outbuildings, and not seldom is washed more or less into the
cisterns. These cisterns, like the people and the rooms they inhabit,
are not characterised by cleanliness. If I might judge from
appearances, I should conclude that they are seldom washed
out. If I ask when the tub or cistern was last cleaned out,
nobody seems to know; for, what is everybody’s duty is
nobody’s work.
It is a well-known fact, that when animal and feculent matters
are suspended in water, and that water is used for drinking
purposes, that it has produced diarrhœa. In water
that is contaminated with sewerage the diarrhœa is
accompanied with choleric symptoms, such as purging, vomiting,
cramp, and even some loss of heat. This should be a warning
not to allow impurities of any kind to abound in our drinking
water. Fetid gases absorbed by water render the water bad;
not that the sulphuretted hydrogen in itself is the thing to be
dreaded, but because its presence fosters the growth of vegetable
and animal products that are highly detrimental to health, and
are, I believe, predisposing causes, if not virtually the agents
in choleraic diarrhœa. It is in water under these
conditions that plants and animals abound. They are minute,
microscopic, I admit, but on that account none the less
dangerous. The living plants and animals are not to be
regarded with so much horror as the dead, because they rapidly
undergo decomposition; and, while in this state, if taken into
the system, act as ferments disturbing the normal functions of
the body, and often giving rise to diarrhœa. This is
not a mere assertion or hypothesis, but is supported by
well-observed cases by some of the most competent men in the
medical profession. In support of the above, I quote the
following words from Dr. Parkes, professor of military
hygiène. He says:—“An epidemic of
diarrhoea in a community is almost always owing to either impure
air, impure water, or bad food.” The practical
deduction is, that if we would maintain the health of a parish
and prevent cholera, diarrhœa, typhus, or any other
epidemic, we must improve our sanitary condition. Pure water
lies at the foundation of all sanitary improvements. Let it
be well known that impure water is to be dreaded, and the fear of
an epidemic may prove a healthy stimulus to increased activity
and cleanliness in connection with a subject of such vital
importance. Whether cholera visits us or not, we shall be
all the better for having paid proper attention to our sanitary
arrangements. I would suggest the propriety of having all
tubs, cisterns and reservoirs cleaned out; all waste matters
removed from the roofs of outhouses; all back premises thoroughly
cleaned. I think from what I have said, this can hardly be
regarded an unnecessary work; but should this be deemed
impracticable—though I cannot see how it can be—I
would suggest the desirability of all water used for drinking and
culinary purposes being filtered; that is, where there is any
suspicion of decomposed organic matter in the cistern, tub,
&c. Any working man with ordinary ingenuity might
contrive to filter his water through a little sand and vegetable
charcoal. I know of no filters that could be purchased for
1s. 6d. or 2s., which I presume is about the extent that many of
the poor in my district could go to. A rough-and-ready
filter might be made out of a large flower-pot, the hole at the
bottom being plugged up with sponge, and then a layer of charcoal
and another layer of sand. The water would percolate
through these substances, and be as clean and pure as the water
from the mountain rill. The flowerpot might be suspended
over another vessel, which would receive the pure water, or it
might be so placed as to stand on two pieces of wood over another
vessel. There are many ways of filtering water, but it is
only my object to show how simple, inexpensive it is, and that it
is within the means of the poorest to protect themselves from the
disastrous effects of impure water, at a little cost of labour
and at a still less cost of money.
There
can be no doubt that water is not appreciated as a sanitary
agent. This may arise either from ignorance or
indifference; but, after what has been said, I trust that the
apathetic neglect of the primary laws of health, and that blind
confidence in an overruling Providence, that in the end all will
come well—may vanish as the baseless fabric of a
vision. It is in vain to call upon the local authorities to
supply a larger quantity of water, if we either from ignorance or
indolence neglect to use it. It is in vain to call upon
landlords to build houses properly drained and ventilated if
those who take them are ignorant and indifferent to the value of
fresh air and good drainage. Dirt is allowed to begrime the
walls, so as to render it difficult to tell what the original
colour was; in a word, many of the rooms in George-street,
Charles-street, Little Bell-street, Little Church-street,
East-cottages, and many others in my district, are so neglected
by the tenants as to become neither more nor less than fever
nests. Soap and water and white lime, to judge from the
condition of very many of the rooms in my district, might be as
expensive a luxury as salt in Abyssinia. Every traveller
that visits tropical countries is sure to complain of the
annoyance and inconvenience of mosquitoes, and I am equally sure
that every visitor to the dwellings of the poor in the locality I
have indicated might reasonably complain of the visitors, who, on
account of the dirt, have taken up a permanent residence, but
whose name it is not deemed polite to mention, though as far as
number is concerned they might be justly termed legion.
Almost without exception the poor bear the marks on their own
body of their careless indifference to the laws of health and
cleanliness. I do not believe that the poor are too bad to
be mended, nor that they are too dirty to be taught the necessity
and desirability of cleanliness. Those who suffer thus from
sanitary mismanagement are not to be improved by calling them filthy,
incorrigible, and worthless, but by kindly pointing out the evils
which arise from their own carelessness, and suggesting remedies
which they themselves can carry into operation. The very
worst have some good in them, and by appealing to that good in a
kindly, honest spirit we may arouse that laudable ambition of
self-respect and self-help, which will do more to improve the
sanitary and social condition of the needy poor than could be
accomplished by extraneous help, if it did not secure the hearty
sympathy and co-operation of the poor. Until the poor take
an interest in their homes and feel a pride in preserving them
clean, healthy, and comfortable, we shall always be hearing of
and seeing the homes of the poor in a dilapidated
condition. Flooring and doors will be used as
firewood—sewers will be blocked up by materials that ought
never to have been thrown down—dirt, filth, and all manner
of rubbish will be allowed to accumulate—how is this to be
remedied? To remedy this evil, mere obstructiveness and
selfishness must get out of the way. The homes of the poor
must be cleansed, repaired, and made comfortable; and then if
cleanliness were made a condition of tenancy as I have had
occasion before to suggest, it would go a long way to keep the
property in repair. I feel confident that where tenants
keep their rooms clean they acquire an interest in them, and do
not destroy nor wilfully damage them. Further, every effort
ought to be made to instruct the poor in the knowledge of the
laws of health. Let it be clearly shown to them that dirt,
disease, and poverty, are intimate companions, and that if they
would escape from the bitter experience of poverty, they must
each sweep before their own doors; then a future, gilded with the
promise of a joyous hope, shall open up before their view.
Dirt with all its disgusting associations shall be supplanted by
cleanliness with all its cheering comforts; disease manifesting
itself in the emaciated body, the anxious brow, the glazed eye, and
shrivelled face, shall give place to joyous health, with firm
elastic step, with ruddy face, bright sparkling eye, and the
alacrity and pleasure with which labour and toil is
welcomed. Poverty in all its intensified bitterness, when
associated with disease shall give place to a comfortable
competency. This and much more may justly be expected, if
we sow aright the seeds of the science of life, and teach men the
laws which govern their health and life. The proper study
of mankind is man; a more comprehensive principle has seldom been
enunciated. Man in all his relations is too vast a subject
for us to contemplate, therefore we purpose the consideration of
man in his social relations, in so far as these relations bear
upon the health of the individual or the community of which we
form a part. It would be well if we all took a deeper
interest in the welfare of each other, if we felt that any
disease, epidemic, or misfortune, that affects any member of the
community, must by the common law of relationship, affect us; the
man who wilfully breaks the laws of health, not only injures
himself and his next of kin, but he injures society, of which he
is a member, by depriving society of the creative wealth of
labour; hence we see that the individual welfare and the
prosperity of the commonwealth, depends upon a right
understanding of those great laws by which the Creator governs
the health and life of man. I know of few places where
personal cleanliness is at a lower standard than in many of the
small streets in my district, therefore at the risk of being
personal, I must press the subject of the importance of
baths. All nations have valued baths, some have regarded
ablutions as a necessary part of their religion, and have
accordingly most faithfully carried into daily practice their
ablutions. Others have regarded the bath as a luxury, and
only to be indulged in occasionally. There are those who inhabit the
far, far north, where mountains of ice wreathed in the
scintillations of the northern lights tower in colossal
grandeur. The cold is so intense, that animal and vegetable
life struggle feebly to maintain an existence, nevertheless there
man prizes his bath. There are nations basking beneath a
tropical sun, where vegetation revels in luxurious richness,
where birds with gorgeous plumage carol in the clear blue sky,
and dolphins as they sport in the water sparkle and glitter like
a thousand gems, and here man values the bath as one of the best
gifts of the great Creator. Nor was ancient Greece or Rome
backward in discovering the value of the bath as a sanitary and
curative agent. They bear us ample testimony of the high
value they put upon baths. In this short paper it would be
an impossibility to discuss the various kinds of baths, hot,
shower, swimming, cold, Turkish, and vapour baths; neither can it
be expected that I should indicate the relative value of each to
particular conditions of health or disease, but we may rest
assured that each kind of bath may, when rightly used, be
regarded as a health preserving and health restoring agent.
In order fairly to estimate the value of baths, we ought to
know something of the structure and functions of the skin.
The skin is furnished with millions of little holes and tubes,
these holes are called the pores of the skin, through which
watery vapour or sweat is poured out; it is estimated that there
are no less than 3,000 of the tubes and holes pouring out sweat
in space not larger than a shilling, so that as long as the skin
is kept clean, sweat or watery vapour is poured out from the
skin. This sweat contains decaying and poisonous waste
matter, which is worse than useless to the system. Hence
the importance of baths and personal ablutions. Further,
the healthy action of the skin bears a greater relation to our
health than we might at first imagine. The function or
office of the skin is closely correlated with the office of other
internal organs. The skin performs the various functions of
absorption, secretion, excretion, &c. If the skin fails
in its duty, the work is thrown upon the liver and kidneys,
consequently, they are doing double duty, and if not soon
relieved they become overtaxed, and consequently injured.
Further, a dirty skin affects our spirits; if the skin is dirty
the terminal branches of nerves and blood vessels are not
benefited and strengthened by atmospheric air. I hope the
above is simple and intelligible, and that I have shown that it
is impossible to enjoy life if we allow our skin to be clogged
with dirt. We have seen the vital importance of fresh air
and pure water. Yet, as Dr. Lankester so suggestively
remarks in his address upon public health at the last Social
Science Congress, “As the animal organism cannot live in
air and water, but requires the varied compounds of carbon,
oxygen, hydrogen, and nitrogen for its existence, the whole
question of the relation of the elements used as food becomes the
subject of our inquiries. Here our researches are based
especially on chemical facts, and we must take for our guides
Mülder and Liebig, and the great school of chemical
physiologists. The freshest air and the purest water will
be no protection from disease and death, unless the human system
is supplied in its food with the elements necessary for the play
of those chemical forces which result in life. Not only
must there be food supplying the materials of combustion and
nutrition, but each tissue is built up and constituted its own
peculiar way. The blood must be supplied with chloride of
sodium and iron, the bones with phosphate, carbonate, and fluate
of lime; the muscles with potash; the bile with sulphur; the
saliva with cyanogen; the teeth, hair and nails with
silica. A diet deficient of any of these materials may be
the source of disease. Our navy was formerly decimated for
want of fresh vegetables, our army was starved on an excessive
diet of salt beef, our children die if fed alone on arrowroot or
corn-flour. Those who inhale abundance of fresh air, and
have access to infinite stores of pure water, nevertheless fall
easy victims to diseases which result from the rebundance or
deficiency of the compounds which, in natural quantities,
constitute the source of their daily life.”
From the above comprehensive sketch of the principles of diet,
we see to what an extent food influences the health of the
individual, and consequently the prosperity and happiness of the
nation. The subject of diet is so important, so full of
interest, and opens so wide a field for interesting
investigation, that I feel I cannot do better than refer those
who wish for scientific information conveyed in popular terms on
the subject of food, to Dr. Lankester’s “Lectures on
Food;” and, in conclusion, I would say that it is only when
the processes of digestion, respiration, and elimination, are in
proper correlation, that we can expect either to enjoy or
preserve good health.