Death in the Pot by J. H. Smith

Seventh-day Adventist Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Aug 31, 1882

Death in the Pot.

By J. H. Smith

SOME years ago I read a strange and highly wrought story. It told of a man who went to take possession of some property in England which had just been bequeathed to him. He was not very graciously received by the people in charge, and living there for a time he finally became ill, and without any apparent cause, drooped, and grew worse and worse.

If I remember rightly, he escaped with his life, but the discovery was made by his physician that the green with which his room was furnished was in part arsenic green, and that he was slowly and surely being poisoned. Whether it was by intent or by accident was not proved, but the case looked rather dark for the people in possession, who had a snug berth in the house so long as there was no master living in it. At any rate, the story, which was evidently told by way of caution to all householders, made much more impression than a mere statement that it is dangerous to use arsenic colors in furnishing a room.

Within a few weeks one of my brother doctors writes of some young people who had been “decorating” their room, and what with lambrequins and other varieties the bed was pushed into a corner, and one of the sisters slept with her face toward the wall. She always had a headache in the morning, and her doctor suggested that the bed be moved out from the corner, and it being summer, with windows open and plenty of fresh air her headaches ceased. But it then occurred to me that possibly also the paper might have something to do with her symptoms. They talk of legislation, but the best legislation would be for people to take care of themselves. Act intelligently and with care. The whole has lately come to my mind in a new experience.

My practice lies in a small town in the interior of the State, where there is no crowding, and plenty of fresh air. I was called to see two children who were ill, drooping, with all sorts of anomalous symptoms; the eldest, a boy, not as seriously as his little sister. Of course, as was wise, I ordered careful nursing and watching, and waited to see what was the matter. On my second or third visit, the nurse, who slept in the same room, told me she was not well; not really ill, but “weak all over,” and generally miserable. The mother was in an adjoining room, and both she and the other children seemed quite well. I told them my suspicions about the paper, for without the fatal “arsenic green,” the peculiar hue of Paris green, I knew still that there were other tints and hues that also betrayed arsenic. They moved across the hall into another room, and I took a piece of the paper to be analyzed.

It was full of arsenic, and as soon as they were removed from its baleful influence, they began to recover. This is the most marked case, though I could tell of others; and this is the moral: Never buy papers with arsenic green in them; nor green tarlatan dresses. Have your wall-papers examined, especially if they are cheap; and in any cases of unaccountable illness in the family, look first for such a cause. It is a burning shame that such things should be, and that there is no law to control the manufacturers. The first man who will solemnly and truthfully assure us that he uses no arsenic colors, is the man we should trust, after we are sure that he tells the truth.

Painted walls are better for bedrooms, for they can be dusted, and can be washed when they need it. But in these days, when “decoration”

is so much the order, of course paper bears the palm.

One paper should never be put over another, except it be necessary—as was once said in a poorly built house—to strengthen the walls! Paper is often a lurking place for the seeds of disease—germs they call them now. But at least do not have poison in the paper.—J. H. Smith, M. D., in Christian Union.