THE SKETCHER

Otago Witness, Issue 3743, 8 December 1925, Page 77

THE SKETCHER

THE BREAKING POINT. Often at night I’ve passed her in the street, Poor stunted Ellen in the beaded cape That once was velvet; rusty draggled crape Around the hat that crowned her grizzled head, broken widespread boots upon her But “ that’s the lovely night! ” was all she said. Although the north wind brought the stinging rain, If she was chilled and sad she made no sign, For if you asked her of her health—“l’m fine, Now glory be to God! I can’t complain.” They say her man is just a porter shark, Who drinks the money if it comes his way. You'll see him propping walls up every day, Or with drink taken reeling home at night, For many times I’ve passed him in the dark, And pitied her, poor woman, for her plight. All day she must contend with work to earn The scanty wage that goes to pay the rent And feed the children, yet no discontent Shadows the face her n-eighoours see return. We thought she would lose heart when Josie left And joined the army, leaving her for good, Her eldest boy and best/ But “ now his food Will never fail, he’ll grow a man,” said she, And waved farewell, though with a heart bereft She went to work each morning steadfastly. The younger lads were idle, for a strike Had stopped the work they’d sought so long in vain. “ No matter, so,” said she, “ they’ll work again, The Ganger sure can seldom get their like.” When ’Siasia died, the youngest of them all, She set her face and had no tears to shed. “ Maybe the child is lucky being dead,” She muttered and went out to seek the price Of coffin, grave, and decent funeral. She had to beg, her pride made sacrifice. Sickness, it seemed, was ever at her door, But she had never time to heed her health. “ Let them go sick,” she said, “ that have the wealth, The like o’ that comes hard upon the poor.” So on. a sea of sorrow did she toss Like some forlorn and shabby little boat Storm beaten, drenched with spray, yet still afloat, Until the day when Fortune for surprise Gave gold for cargo where there had been dross. Ellen was dazzled by the radiant guise Of Death who came to her while yet she slept. She woke to new life with an angel’s kiss That bade her welcome to unending bliss, “ ’Tis joy that breaks my heart,” she said —and wept. —W. M. Letts, in the Irish Statesman. PERILS OF THE SUMMER SUN. A warm bath is all right; but not one in boiling water. Similarly, a “sun-bath” is invigorating, but in excess it may be injurious, or even fatal. A warning is issued by Dr C. F. Pabst, in Popular Science Monthly (New York, August). One night last summer, Dr Pabst tells us, he was called to attend one of the worst cases of sunburn he had ever seen. The patient was a young man who had spent the day at a bathing beach and, like many persons whose opportunities for outings are few, had made the most of his time, remaining in the bathing suit for hours under the broiling midsummer sun. He was paying for his indiscretion. His face was fire-red and swollen. His arms, shoulders, and legs literally were scorched, just as if he had exposed his naked body to the heat of a blast furnace. His eyes were narrow slits. He was nauseated and had a high fever. He screamed with nain when the doctor attempted to treat him. We read further:— “For three days he remained in bed, deathly ill and scarcely able to move. His was ail extreme case, and yet it was typical of thousands of others that come within my own and other skin specialist’s experience every summer. For few persons seem to realise that a severe case of sunburn actually is a dangerous affliction that causes not only excruciating pain, but may permanently affect the health, cause chronic skin diseases, and even result in death. “So little do people understand sunburn that they often martyrise themselves by deliberately burning their skins, not for the beneficial effects of sunlight, but to acquire a 'coat of tan.’ “An office worker goes to the beach for • week-end. He decides to get a good coat #1 tan, and impress his fellow-Morkers on Hond r r fnorning. He gets the tan, but

doesn’t appear Monday morning. Ha is in bed. The statistics of hours lost from work on account of sunburn, if such records were available, I am sure, would be amazing. In fact, a tanned skin is no index to health. A bronzed skin may cover the most serious of body disorders. “July and August are the dangerous months for sunburn, for then the sun delivers the most ultra-violet light, the invisible part of sunshine that burns the skin. Ultra-violet light, we recently discovered, helps cure many ills. It is especially beneficial in treating skin diseases, such as acne and eczema. But while it is good for us to be in the sunshine, out-of-doors, the danger lies in getting too large a dose of ultra-violet light in a single exposure. “Sunburn is caused when ultra-violet light is stopt in the skin cells. The light causes a chemical change. A poison is manufactured that enters the blood, causing fever and headache. The chemical burn kills the skin. Some of this dead skin has to be absorbed by the blood, and this process adds to the poisoning. All this means extra work for the blood. Large supplies of blood rush to the burned surfaces with consequent disturbance of the circulatory system. This may be followed by congestion of the lungs and inflammation of the kidneys. “The heat of sunshine has nothing to do with the burning. You can prove this for yourself. Expose your arm to a 90degree temperature before a fireplace, or immerse it in hot water. The skin reddens, but the redness disappears when the heat is removed. Expose your arm in direct sunlight of the same temperature for two or three hours, and you will receive a burn lasting for days. * Sometimes, not alwa}s, sunburn is followed by pigmentation—discoloration of the skin—the familiar ‘coat of tan.’ Sometimes this pigment, instead of being distributed evenly, collects in spots that we call freckles. The pigment is manufactured in the deepest layer of skin cells. Under a microscope the pigment looks like tiny particles of Drown paint. The more of these particles manufactured the darker the skin becomes. “But perhaps you are one of those unfortunate individuals who never tan. You suffer far worse from sunburn than your bronzed companion. Why?’’ The latest experiments with ultra-violet light lead us to believe, Dr Pabst says, that the presence of pigment in the skin aids in transmission of That is, after you have acquired a coat of tan, the ultra-violet light can get through your skin, enter the blood, and be diffused through the body without being stopped on the way to produce a chemical burn. He goes on : “Recent tests indicate that there may be relief for non-tanning skins in a preparation containing esculin, derived from horse chestnuts. This is put on before exposure to the sun. “When you fish or lie in the sun for hours at a time, exposing skin that has been protected all winter, you are inviting trouble. The skin cannot manufacture pigment quickly enough or in large enough quantity to protect you from burns. ‘Burns may be considered in three classes—first degree, when the skin is simply inflamed; second degree, when blisters are formed; and third degree, when charring takes place. A bum of the first degree, covering the entire body, probably would result in death. A blistering burn on half the body would be as severe, and a charring burn on a third of the body, equally so. That is, a superficial burn is as serious as one that blisters, if covering twice the area. “You probably have noticed that you have suffered your worst burns while you were on water in a boat. That is because water reflects ultra-violet light, and this reaches your face and eyes, even if they are protected from direct rays of the sun by a hat. “One of the best and simplest treatments for shock from sunburn is to get into a tub of lukewarm water into which a pound of bicarbonate of soda has been dissolved. A physician always should be called, since heart stimulants may he required to prevent collapse. Anv sort of fat helps to soothe sunburn. Either lard or butter can be used in an emergency:’’ A KNIGHT OF THE ROAD. Certain lives have a romance about them that clings like scent of lavender in a drawer, like pot-pourri in a porcelain jar. “We are of all-time,” they seem to say. “We are not ordinary humdrum mortals, our lives are the quintessence of living; possiblv there is a drop of fairy blood in our veins.” And Jerrv Abersliaw bad this touch of faery about him. He was rcDrehensihle, yes; we cannot altogether hold a brief for “ a noted highway man who was hanged.’’ But what love and laughter, romance and devilry, he crammed into his short life. About a hundred and thirtv vears ago peaceful citizens whose business took them on the roads between London, Kingston, and Wimbledqn went quaking in their shoes; armed to the teeth if they had to travel at night. And all for fear of Jerry. “ They say he rides a black horse.” “ They say he’ll fight two at once.” “He must be a powerful gTeafc man! ” “ Yes, indeed, and mighty experienced.” But what do we find when we go into the matter? Why, that our noted highwayman wan only 22 when he left this world, which objected to him and his high-handed ways.

So when he first mftde the Bald-faced Stag, an inn near Kingston, his headquartern, he was but a stripling. Yet few who passed there escaped untouched; he levied toll ou the rich and prosperous, so that, in approved highwayman fashion, he could aid the needy. He kissed a pretty wench with a gay laugh; but tradition whispers of a damsel he loved at Clerkenwell. For when the Bald-faced Stag and its neighbourhood became too unhealthy for him Jerrv would depart unostentatiously, and dwell a while in a house in Clerkenwell, near Saffron Hill, known as the Old House in West street.

An account of this dwelling-place 6tirs the blood in these days of law and order. “ It had dark closets, trap doors, sliding panels; Jack Sheppard also had used it.” And to this house Jerry came at a gallop one winter’s evening, for he had been outrageously successful in a highway robbery, and wanted to tell of his good fortune to sympathetic ears. We picture him drawing up at the old house, and hear the rap on the door. Then a panel slips back; such an unobtrusive little peep-hole is uncovered; and ho is looked at from within. He passes the scrutiny, the door opens. Then there is a rustle of flounced dress, sandalled feet run down the passage, cherrycoloured ribbons in a mob-cap quiver; and we discreetly look away. For ghosts have their right to privacy like mortal folk. But one January Jerry went too far. In Southwark he shot dead a constable sent to arrest him, and tried to shoot another; and for this was brought to trial at the Surrey Assizes in July of the same year, 1795.

Picture the excitement there was at the news of his arrest. Respectable citizens slept more peaceably, for they need no longer dread their next journey; in many a tavern the news was received with dismay; it did not seem possible that he should have been captured. And in a comfortable little house in Kingston a genial doctor clad in snuff-coloured brown told a strange _ tale to his wife over the tea-table which gleamed from light of candles in tall silver sconces. “My dear, do you remember a night last winter when I was called away by an urgent messenger? ‘My master lies sick; follow me.’ We rode through the rain; it was all I could do to keep pace with the fellow; and at last drew up at the Bald-faced Stag. I was shown into a room where a lad lay in the fourposter, tossing with pain. ‘ I must away to-morrow,’ he said. ‘ Dress my wound, I had an accident with my pistol.’ He spoke like a young sprig of nobility; the heavy furniture was covered with the paraphernalia any young man of wealth and fashion surrounds himself with on his travels. What did he in such surroundings ? I attended to the wound, then prepared to return home, whether to say a word of advice to my young gentleman as to the unsuitability of the hostel. ‘ But the young never hearken to their elders,’ I thosgnt, and bid him good-bye. As I was about to leave the room he said: ‘ I would deem it a favour, sir, if you let one of my men accompany you home; this is a neighbourhood of no good repute.’ “ * Oh, you know that, my young cocksparrow,’ thought I; ‘it is good I did not try to offer you advice.’ But I made answer aloud: 4 I thank you, sir, but I fear no one; not even the notorious Jerry Abershaw.’ “ A smile flickered across his lips: ‘ That is well,’ he said. 4 farewell, then, sir; I thank you for your care.’ ” The doctor paused and leaned across the table to nis wife; then went on, impressively: “My dear, to-day I saw a sketch of Jerry made by an eye-w T itness of his arrest. And he was my patient that night at the Bald-faced Stag.” And so we come to the end of Jerry's 22 years. During his trial he was unperturbed. He received the sentence of death calmly, and when the judge put on the black cap, put on his highwayman’s broad hat with a swaggering gesture, and “ observed him with contemptuous looks.” During the interval between his conviction and execution tales spread like wildfire about him; and when it became known that with the aid of squashed cherries he had decorated his cell with sketches of his daring adventures he was indeed acclaimed the Prince of Highwaymen. He was hanged on August 3 on Kennington Common, and drove to his execution with a flower in his mouth, gay words for his companions who pressed around him, a wave of the hand for the immense crowd which cheered him. And after Iris execution his oody swung from a gallows on Putney Common as a warning to malefactors. But malefactors and law-abiding citizens alike have enshrined him as a popular hero. He laughed. Ho went to death with a flower in his mouth. WALL PAPER. Aunt Sophronia lives alone In a great, high box of a house Fringed by a stiff, white fence That leans over in places Like trees bent by the wind. Its tall rooms bewail the emptiness Of their precision, And through all the house Weary ghosts of forgotten yesterdays Stalk ceaselessly, Prisoners Behind the doors of tradition. Narrow slits of sunlight Steal through the shuttered windows, And light up family albums and portraits In stiff frames. Bric-a-brac Reclines in every posture On shelf and what-not. Aunt Sophronia sleeps in a room Where blue wall paper roses

Stare at her from every angle— A thousand mocking eyes Peering into her old age, asking, “How much longer must we cling here?” At night she twists her thin, grey hair Into a knot upon her head, And places her black-lace shoes Side by side On a footstool covered with patchwork. In her ruffled, long-sleeved nightgown By her high-backed walnut bed, She reminds me somehow, of those blue roses That should have been pink, instead. —Beatrice Reynolds, in the Buccaneer. GREAT-GRAND-PAPA’S BAD HEALTH. Poor, darling great-grandp’pa and great-grandm’ma ! As handsomely as I am able, I take back all the cold and cutting things I have ever said or written casting disrespect on their habits and views. I know now how they must have suffered. In a battered, age-freckled volume, picked up in an hotel library, I got some horrifying glimpses into the common medical practice of those brutal old days when sick people, and even those but mildly indisposed, were bled white, using the term for once in its literal sense. This book, “Being a Treatise on the Character, Causes, Symptoms, Morbid Appearance and Treatment of the Diseases of Men, Women, and Children of All Climates, on Vegetable or Botanical Principles : As Taught at the Reformed Medical Colleges in the United States,” was published in 1836 by W. Beach, M.D., a gentleman who appears to have been one of the pioneers of medical reform which aimed - at sweeping away superstition, quackery, and the too common use of mercury, the lancet, and the knife. He says in his introduction, “A few poisonous minerals constitute almost the whole of the Materia Medica. In a word, the human family daily fall victims to the present mode of treating the various diseases incident to the human body. Instead of resorting to Nature’s garden for remedies, the chemical laboratory of the bowels of the earth are explored for articles which are unfriendly and poisonous to the system. A noted professor of Baltimore exclaimed to his class, ‘Give me calomel in one hand and the lancet in the other, and I am prepared to cope with disease in every shape and form.’ ” And hear him (if your constitution is strong enough) on the fearful subject of blood-letting. “If the employment of the lancet was abolished altogether, it would perhaps save annually a greater number of lives than in any one year the sw.ord has ever destroyed. I am unable to determine precisely the commencement of this pernicious custom, but it was not, however, carried out to such an extent till after the discovery of the circulation of the blood by Harvey. It was at period that the whole facultv began their mad career, in committing the most wanton violation of the laws of Nature. Those who were so unfortunate as to fall victims to disease were doomed to suffer the most extravagent effusion of blood, and the poor sufferers were soon hurried to an untimely grave; even the guillotine of France scarcely surpassed this syste matic murdering. How much it is to be regretted that such an awful scourge of humanity should exist!” Indeed, liow awful. The mind faints at the very thought of it. They bled for influenza, the common cold, and troublesome coughs. Ladies subject to bad headaches were supplied with a dozen leeches. Blood-letting and leeches were even resorted to in difficult obstetric cases. Babies were bled and purged with calomel. Little children suffering from “dropsy of the head” (“a complaint peculiar to infants,” says Dr Beach], or common infantile complaints, were Died, blistered, and dosed with mercury until they expired from exhaustion. ‘A little patient was reduced to copious and repeated bleeding for croup. There supervened a state of irritability of tern per, so that, when greatly exhausted, it made great efforts to scratch, bite, and beat its attendants. This state of agitation continued until the power of life gradually waned and faded away altogether.” The common practice with inflammation of the brain (the brain fever with which the good old-fashioned heroine went down like a Uinepin) was: (1) to bleed repeatedly and copiously from the arm, jugular veins and temporal arteries; (2) shave the head and blister; (3) mercury, antimony. For ear troubles, bleeding and blistering. Mumps, mercurial ointment, leeches and bleedings. Quinsy, bleeding, mercury, and jalap. Croup, bleeding, and mercury. Asthma, bleeding, digitalis, and prussic acid

Side by side with these crude and dreadful “common treatments” was Dr Beach’s “reformed practice.” For the common cought and cold he advised : (1) Bathe the feet twice daily in blood-warm water. (2) Use the vapour bath every other day. (3) Give a dose of physic. (4) If the cough is troublesome, especially at night, give a teaspoonful of paregoric, or syrup of poppies. For asthma he recommends in a cup of warm tea. an ordinary sized tablespoonful of tincture of lobelia, “which exerts the most astonishing effects on the complaint.” How grateful these simple, gentle recipes must nave fallen on ears long tuned to dreadful “doctors* orders.** He was, too, all for simple diet (being a disciple of “Mr Abernethy”) and was a disbeliever in animal food, alcohol, smoking, and whito bread. “I am satisfied that bread us now made and used, is one of the great causes of disease. Too much yeast, alum, vitriol, and other deleterious substances are added, which render it very unwholesome.*’

So, in 1836, and for goodness knows how many years afterwards, the lancet and the leech were present in sinister company, at thousands and thousands of sick beds. No wonder great-grand-p’pa was remarkable for his testiness, and his harshness, and great-grand-ra’ma for her ever-present lassitude. And no wonder this present human family is a prey to the scourges of rheumatism, consumption, cancer, influenza, and the rest. All the good, rich blood of the race must have been drained dry long, long ago —Jane Doe, in the Daily Chronicle. MODERN GREDULITY. In these days when lack of employment is with many a chronic disease, it is interesting to observe the “ingenious” ways and means adopted by a certain class of men to enable them to earn their board and lodgings in a more or less honest manner. While many sit and wail because they have not sufficient money to provide themselves with the good things, or even the necessities of life, others, possessed of the tiue trading spirit, and a profound knowledge of the average working man’s character termed gullibility, invests his whole capital, amounting sometimes to a couple of shillings, and hies him to the corner of a street in the city, or, as is more generally the case, to the market place. Here he plants his establishment firmly on three sticks, and then commences to attract the crowd. With no other qualification than the possession of a large amount of assurance, he disposes of his goods in a few hours, and has earned enough to pay his keep for a few days.

Here h* a gentleman hacking and chopping a small log of wood with a razor, and appealing to his audience to observe that there is no deception. Then rubbing a small quantity of his unequalled paste upon a strop, he commences to strop the razor, and to prove the merit of his paste in restoring the edge, he severs with the blade a hair pulled from some boy’s head for this purpose, or shaves the back of a man's hand. He repeats the process of spoiling the edge of the razor and restoring it as often as necessary. This paste he sells in cakes, and is composed of nothing more or less than hog’s lard and fuller’s earth.

There is another individual, respectfully attired, and wearing a long yellow coat. For the last twenty years he has been doctoring the British public with “flagroot”—or, rather, the root of the iris. i‘he root is stained a brownish tint, and given a delicate perfume by means of a Few drops of bergamot, and then offered to the public ,as an Indian herb, with a long name, and which only practice enables him to pronounce. Ground down md taken line snuix it relieves headaches —or, at least, so he says; rub it on the gums, and toothache becomes a thing of the past; use it internally, and dyspepsia takes wings; and, in fact, there is nothing that it cannot cure. This gentleman with the root poses as a philanthropist and public benefactor, and does a flourishing trade.

Further on is the silver plating man, which we must not miss. He is busily engaged before a small crowd in silver plating a brass door-knob with a pink coloured powder. During the time he is rubbing he explains the process, which is very simple, it being only necessary to rub the powder over the surface of the article which it is desired to plate. Pennies borrowed from the onlookers are plated free of charge, and the powder itself is sold in penny boxes, though even at this-small charge the vendor makes a large profit, sixpencewortli of mercury mixed with, a pound of whiting and coloured witn red ochre being sufficient to make forty or fifty boxe<*. • * # * *

The sporting prophet, who disposes of his “cards,” which he states is exclusive information ; the vendor of cement, who mends pieces of crockery ware with his composition of shellac and resin, and then makes frantic efforts to break them again without success; the “corn-curing king,” with his salve of fused tallow and resin—these and others dot the market-place pursuing their business with commendable energy, and a profound faith in the public. —Trumps.