Work is the natural heritage of mankind. “Man goeth forth unto his work and to his labour until the evening.” He does so in order to get the means of livelihood. Yet even those who inherit sufficient to make them independent must work also. They may not have to work in order to live, but they must of a certainty work in order to live healthily.

A certain statesman, well endowed with this world’s goods, has been known to say that even when he is out of office and on a holiday, he finds it necessary to his personal comfort to study hard for at least two or three hours each day, otherwise his nerves and his heart begin to trouble him. And while making due allowance for patriotism and sense of duty, there is no doubt that many men who do not need to work for a living take up work of some sort or other, politics, the army, or whatever else takes their fancy, because they feel vastly better for having something definite to do.

Work affords systematic exercise for the mind, and a mind to be healthy needs exercise as much as the body does. Why is it, then, that if work is indispensable to our bodily welfare from a health point of view we all look forward so eagerly to the time when we can retire and leave it behind us? Yet that seems to be the goal towards which we are most of us striving. And it is an aimless one, unless a man has some pursuit by means of which he can use and enjoy his years of leisure, some absorbing hobby or public work of one sort or other. It is the man who has applied himself so closely to his business or profession as to have deadened his interest in other matters, who finds retirement such a deadly dull affair.

It is often said that a man does his best work before he is forty. The cry is for young men in every branch of employment, and those who have reached middle age stand a poor chance if they are so unfortunate as to lose their situations. Yet their experience ought to make them more useful and indispensable than at any previous stage in their career. A man of fifty-five complained to me some years ago that he was being put on the shelf on account of his age. “Yet I am better fitted to do my work than I have ever been,” he said.

It is quite true that he was better fitted for it from the point of view of experience and judgment. Yet he was a confirmed dyspeptic, and was always taking cold, necessitating frequent absences from his work, which was a responsible one. And it is just on this very account that there is a demand for younger and stronger men to-day. Employers prefer a man who is warranted to turn up when he is wanted, rather than a more experienced one who is liable to be at home indisposed at the very time when his services are most urgently needed. They say quite rightly, “We cannot afford to have a man who is in danger of breaking down.”

Most of the breakdowns that we meet with are put down to work or overwork. It is, therefore, looking at the matter from the personal point of view, a burning question as to how work can be carried out without bringing in its train this much-dreaded climax. In other words, “How to work and be healthy.”

It is folly to go blindly on, as so many do, hoping for the best, and taking no steps to make sure of it. It is not work, but the conditions under which it is done, that accounts for the loss of health which so often accompanies it. And much of this loss, and most of the breakdowns which occur as a result of it, may be avoided by a careful, practical study of the whole question.

We need to look at it from three points: before, during, and after work.

If a man lies in bed until the last minute dresses in a hurry, perhaps cutting his chin while shaving and losing his shirt stud, bolts down his breakfast in the fewest possible minutes, and then runs to catch his tram or train, it is not to be wondered at if he returns home in the evening thoroughly fagged out. He has started the day by breaking nearly every rule of health in the course of about three-quarters of an hour, and is surprised and worried because he finds that his work takes such a lot out of him. Yet next morning he begins by doing the very same thing over again.

Then he sighs for the time when he will be able to rest on his oars and take life easily, leaving “the beastly business” behind him. And so long as he goes on in the way he is doing, he will sigh for it in vain. He may feel thankful if he is able to go on with his work, and does not find himself laid on one side, broken down in health and spirits.

Try an experiment, some of you who see yourselves in the picture I have just drawn. Get up in good time, and that means going to bed in good time also the night before. Dress and take your breakfast in a leisurely manner, and then either go for a turn in the garden or farther afield if you like, or else have a quiet rest by the fireside, if the weather is inclement. Give yourself plenty of time to get to your place of business, and at the end of the day you will be in a position to decide as to whether it was your work or your way of starting the day which was to blame.

Of one thing we have little doubt. Even if you do not feel as well as you might do when you reach home again, you will feel better than you have done for a long time past. But not so well as you may do before long. For there are different ways of going about your work, as well as of preparing for it and getting there.

It is astonishing how many people there are who are careful as to ventilation and such-like matters in their own homes, but will put up with all sorts of hygienic defects in their offices. They will sit with their heads or their feet in cold draughts in the winter time and in baking hot rooms in the summer. A strip of wood under the door, or a curtain over it, the removal of a desk to a more convenient position, or the fixing of a sunblind, as the case may be, would make all the difference in the world to their comfort and health. Yet they put up with these inconveniences, and go on taking colds and headaches, just because it is an office or a place of business and not a private house.

Noises in the street outside are a frequent cause of tiredness. Through long custom people fail to hear them, and become unaware of their existence, but the consequent nervous tension is there all the same. No expenditure in the shape of mechanical contrivances, even if it necessitates some re-building, is too great if it can mitigate this constant source of irritation to the nervous system.

As to the telephone, we are almost afraid to mention it, simply because we have no remedy to suggest. There is no doubt that it has increased the stress and strain of work considerably, not merely by forcing the pace, but also by its direct effect on the nerves of the head.

We are only able to offer one piece of advice, and that, we fear, a poor one. It is this. Do not lose your temper if it is not working properly. It may be a source of satisfaction to tell the operator at the Exchange exactly what you think of him and the system in general, but invective is like a boomerang, it often does more damage to the thrower than to anyone else.

One of the common causes of strain is the habit of writing in a bad light, or with the eyes facing the light. Nothing causes the brain more discomfort than a constant glare of light on the face, or trying to read or write in a poor light. And there is no need for it. It must be a poor sort of office where the window, or artificial means of lighting, cannot be so arranged as to illuminate the paper without causing any strain on the eyesight.

Whether headaches be due to this or any other cause, they should never be neglected, especially if they are liable to come on while at work. For repeated headaches, even though they may be but slight, have a wearing effect on the brain and other parts of the nervous system. They may be due to most trivial causes in some cases, which is all the more pity why they should be allowed to persist. A man who was at the head of a large firm once consulted a doctor because he found that his work took it out of him more than before. The medical man noticed that the patient was slightly deaf, though the latter did not seem to be aware of the fact. On examination, the ears were found to be blocked with wax, the removal of which restored the man to his usual state of health and vigour. It had been simply the strain of trying to hear what was being said which had produced a constant sense of fatigue.

There is one custom which in these busy times tends to be dying out. It is that of the midday meal rest, the old-fashioned forty winks. “There is no time for it now,” people say. But there is time for everything, if we choose to make it. The head of one of the largest firms in this country used to insist on this rest, no matter how urgent the matters might be that needed his attention. He kept a couch in his private office, and each day, as soon as he had had his lunch, he locked the door, and for twenty minutes took a comfortable rest and snooze. And woe betide anyone who disturbed him. It was to this custom that he attributed the fact that he had retained his faculties and vigour to an age at which most of his confrÈres were dead or broken down.

Some may prefer to have a walk in the fresh air, and if their occupation is a sedentary one and they have been cooped up in an office all the morning, it will probably suit them better than lying down.

It is not uncommon to find cases in which there is over-fatigue because the intervals between the meals is too long, apart from any circumstances which interfere with them. A man gets his breakfast at eight o’clock and his lunch at half-past one it may be. He objects to eating between meals, so takes nothing for the whole of that time. Now this for most people is too long; the system becomes exhausted, and has to do its work without proper nourishment. This means that it has to draw upon the reserve forces, and while this may be done now and then, it cannot be repeated often without depleting them. Many people would find the greatest benefit from a little light refreshment in the course of the morning. They do not need much: a cup of coffee or soup, or a glass of milk and a biscuit, are quite sufficient to keep them going until the luncheon hour.

For the same reason a cup of tea with bread and butter or cake about four o’clock or thereabouts is an excellent thing. And like the morning snack, it provides more than nourishment, for it necessitates a break and a breath of fresh air, which invigorate the nervous system, and often enable a man to reach home fresh and well, when otherwise he would get there jaded and tired.

Sometimes it is the nature of the work which imposes a special strain. Great responsibilities and grave issues may have to be met, as in the case of contractors, stockbrokers, etc. An enormous degree of nervous tension may have to be concentrated into a few minutes. There is no escaping from it, we know. Yet the man who has consistently looked after his health, not only in the mornings before setting out but at all other times, is in a much more satisfactory state to deal with such emergencies and to bear the strain of them.

Often it is working against time which does the harm. Sometimes this rush cannot be helped. The journalist, for instance, must have his news or his leader ready by a certain hour. The newspaper, like time and tide, cannot wait. Yet at other times it can be helped. A man finds that if he goes on for another hour, instead of going to his lunch or dinner at the proper time, he can finish what there is to do. He may finish his work, to be sure. Often he finishes himself at the same time. It would be to his advantage in the long run, if he left the work and had his meal, and returned to complete his duties afterwards.

This interference with meal-times is a fruitful source of nervous exhaustion and breakdown. The system is deprived of nourishment just when it is most in need of it. Every meal postponed under such circumstances brings the hour of retribution nearer.

Apart from interference with meals, working against time has a bad effect of its own. It is like running for a train. A man who could cover the same distance in the same time without any effort if there was no train to catch will arrive at the station breathless. The anxiety of getting there in time has caused a mental disturbance, which has affected the heart on its own account. In the same way there are cases of nervous exhaustion and loss of health due entirely to the habit of rushing at correspondence in order to get it off by a certain post. It may have to be done, but the man would be better off in the end if he lost the business rather than acquire it at the expense of his health.

There is a peculiar strain connected with work which demands appearing before the public. It is pitiable to reflect how many artistes, actors, musicians, and others break down in their efforts to give pleasure and diversion to the tired minds of others.

The reason lies in the fact of their having to do a certain thing at a certain time, and to do it with an audience. They must give their performance and maintain their highest standard of excellence, when perchance their heads are aching, or they have got a bad cold and are only fit to be in bed. They must be up to time, or they may find their place occupied by another.

For similar reasons the parson is always vastly more liable to breakdowns than the lawyer or doctor. He may get up feeling tired or ill on Sunday morning, but, except at the risk of causing great inconvenience to others, he must put in an appearance in the pulpit.

Yet there is another consideration which enters even more largely into the question. It is that these public appearances often interfere with meal-times and sleep. A performance or a meeting in the evening necessitates a delayed supper and late hours of retiring to rest. The nervous system is at the same time worked up into an excited condition, so that it has its rest and nourishment cut off just when it stands most in need of both.

Much of this may, however, be avoided by judicious care. There have been speakers, artistes and other public characters who have been able to continue in harness up to an advanced age. They have achieved this simply by strict attention to the needs of the body. They would fortify themselves with a good meal beforehand; whatever else happened, they would not allow that function to be interfered with. If they could not get food before leaving home, they would arrange for it to be ready for them at the rendezvous. On arriving home again, they would give their nervous systems the best chance by taking a meal and then having a quiet read, with a smoke if they were so inclined, afterwards going to bed as soon as was compatible with their digestions.

Many of these may seem trivial details, yet it is the little things of life which amount to so much; and if these precautions are observed, there are many weary workers in all ranks of life who will find that labour loses much of its drudgery. If everyone were to carry them out, we should see fewer haggard faces and tired eyes than we do at present. One has only to travel in any suburban train to find out how many people there are who go home each evening weary and done up. This is not what life was meant to be. Honest fatigue there will always be, but no one objects to that. It is the jaded despondency on the faces of so many people at the close of their day’s work that is contrary to all principles of humanity. It is one thing to be tired; it is a different thing to reach home more dead than alive, and ready to drop.

If people would take more care in preparing themselves for their daily duties, and in improving their conditions of work, both for themselves and their employees, we should hear very much less of breakdowns than we do at present.

The way in which people spend their spare time in the evenings is of the greatest importance. It is their opportunity for repairing the wear and tear of the day’s work, and of fitting themselves to stand the brunt of that which is to come. The manner in which they spend it depends largely on the nature of the day’s proceedings.

If a man has been sitting at a desk all day, he will be all the better for a walk on returning home. It will give him a chance of fresh air, and the exercise will do his cramped legs good. If, however, he is tired in body as well as mind, a rest is what he needs. A man was once suffering in health, and always feeling done up. He rarely had an appetite for his dinner in the evening. It was all due to one thing. He was in the habit of going for an hour’s hard walk each evening after returning from business. He did it with the best of motives, being impressed with the value of exercise. He overlooked the fact that he had had as much exercise as he could stand already, as his work not only threw a strain on his thinking powers, but also involved a constant amount of standing or walking throughout the day. When he stopped taking this duty walk—for such it was, it gave him no pleasure, as he was too tired to enjoy it—his health improved by leaps and bounds.

There are many such persons who would feel vastly better, and have better appetites and digestions, if they took a rest on reaching home, instead of rushing off to golf or for a walk. It would refresh them as much as exercise braces up those who have had too little of it during the day.

As to the recreations with which people seek to restore their lost energies, that too must vary according to the nature of their daily avocation. Chess is a splendid game, there is no doubt. Yet anyone who has had a mental strain all day had better choose something that demands less call on their thinking powers. Under such circumstances we confess to a preference for something of a lighter or more frivolous nature. Anyhow, in whatever way people choose to spend their evenings let it be a change, for in that way alone can rest be obtained. The brain worker had better select fiction or some such light form of literature if he is disposed for reading. But there are thousands of people whose work is cut and dried, and does not involve any mental strain, who would improve both their minds and their sense of well-being by taking up some reading or hobby which demands a certain amount of application and study.

The great point after all is to do something, anything rather than nothing. Not that they can do nothing if they try, for it is an impossible feat, as we all know. Yet the trying to do it is the greatest effort a man can make, and tires him out more rapidly than anything else.