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Title: Thrift

Author: Samuel Smiles

Release date: December 22, 2004 [eBook #14418]
                Most recently updated: December 18, 2020

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Clare Boothby, Stephanie Bailey and the PG Online Distributed Proofreading Team


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Produced by Clare Boothby, Stephanie Bailey and the PG Online
Distributed Proofreading Team






THRIFT.



BY SAMUEL SMILES,



"Be thrifty, but not covetous; therefore give
Thy need, thine honour, and thy friend his due,
Never was scraper brave man. Get to _live_,
Then live, and use it; else it is not true
   That thou hast gotten. Surely use alone
   Make money not a contemptible stone."
                              GEORGE HERBERT.

"To catch Dame Fortune's golden smile,
   Assiduous wait upon her;
And gather gear by ev'ry wile
   That's justify'd by Honour:
Not for to hide it in a hedge,
   Not for a train attendant;
But for the glorious privilege
   Of being Independent."
                              ROBERT BURNS.

_FIFTIETH THOUSAND_.


LONDON: JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET. 1892.

Printed by Hazell, Watson, & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury.




PREFACE.



This book is intended as a sequel to "Self-Help," and "Character." It
might, indeed, have appeared as an introduction to these volumes; for
Thrift is the basis of Self-Help, and the foundation of much that is
excellent in Character.

The author has already referred to the Use and Abuse of Money; but the
lesson is worthy of being repeated and enforced. As he has already
observed,--Some of the finest qualities of human nature are intimately
related to the right use of money; such as generosity, honesty, justice,
and self-denial; as well as the practical virtues of economy and
providence. On the other hand, there are their counterparts of avarice,
fraud, injustice, and selfishness, as displayed by the inordinate lovers
of gain; and the vices of thoughtlessness, extravagance, and
improvidence, on the part of those who misuse and abuse the means
entrusted to them.

Sir Henry Taylor has observed that "industry must take an interest in
its own fruits, and God has appointed that the mass of mankind shall be
moved by this interest, and have their daily labour sweetened by it."
The earnings and savings of industry should be intelligent for a purpose
beyond mere earnings and savings. We do not work and strive for
ourselves alone, but for the benefit of those who dependent upon us.
Industry must know how to earn, how to spend, and how to save. The man
who knows, like St. Paul, how to spare and how to abound, has a great
knowledge.

Every man is bound to do what he can to elevate his social state, and to
secure his independence. For this purpose he must spare from his means
in order to be independent in his condition. Industry enables men to
earn their living; it should also enable them to learn to live.
Independence can only be established by the exercise of forethought,
prudence, frugality, and self-denial. To be just as well as generous,
men must deny themselves. The essence of generosity is self-sacrifice.

The object of this book is to induce men to employ their means for
worthy purposes, and not to waste them upon selfish indulgences. Many
enemies have to be encountered in accomplishing this object. There are
idleness, thoughtlessness, vanity, vice, intemperance. The last is the
worst enemy of all. Numerous cases are cited in the course of the
following book, which show that one of the best methods of abating the
Curse of Drink, is to induce old and young to practise the virtue of
Thrift.

Much of this book was written, and some of it published, years ago; but
an attack of paralysis, which compelled the author to give up writing
for some time, has delayed its appearance until now. For much of the
information recently received, he is indebted to Edward Crossley, Esq.,
Mayor of Halifax; Edward Akroyd, Esq., Halifax; George Chetwynd, Esq.,
General Post Office; S.A. Nichols, Esq., Over Darwen; Jeremiah Head,
Esq., Middlesborough; Charles W. Sikes, Esq., Huddersfield: and numerous
other correspondents in Durham, Renfrewshire, Yorkshire, Lancashire,
Staffordshire, and South Wales.

The author trusts that the book will prove useful and helpful towards
the purpose for which it is intended.

London, _November,_ 1875.





CONTENTS.


CHAPTER I.

INDUSTRY.

Private economy--Useful labours--Our birthright--Results of
labour--Necessity for labour--Industry and intellect--Thrift and
civilization--Thrifty industry--Thrifty economy. Pages 1--10


CHAPTER II.

HABITS OF THRIFT.

Workmen and capital--Habits of economy--Self-indulgence--Results of
thriftlessness--Uses of saved money--Extravagant
living--Bargain-buying--Thrift and unthrift--Johnson on
economy--Self-respect--Self-help--Uncertainty of life--Laws of
mortality--Will nobody help us?--Prosperous times the least
prosperous--National prosperity--Moral independence. Pages 11--29


CHAPTER III.

IMPROVIDENCE.

Misery and wealth--The uncivilized--The East End--Edward Denison--Thrift
in Guernsey--Improvidence and misery--Social Degradation--Fatalism of
improvidence--Self-taxation--Slowness of progress. Pages 30--40


CHAPTER IV.

MEANS OF SAVING.

Earnings of operatives--Colliers and iron-workers--Earnings of
colliers--The revellers--Lord Elcho and the colliers--High wages and
heavy losses--High wages and drink--Sensual indulgence--Indifference to
well-being--Hugh Miller's experience--Mr. Roebuck's advice--Survival of
slavery--Extinction of slavery--Power unexercised--Earnings and
character--Ignorance is power--Results of ignorance--Increase of
knowledge--Education not enough--Words of Sir Arthur Helps--Divine uses
of knowledge--Public school education--Words of William Felkin. Pages
41--64


CHAPTER V.

EXAMPLES OF THRIFT.

Spirit of order--Examples of economy--David Hume--Rev. Robert
Walker--Self-application--Distinguished miners--Geo. Stephenson--James
Watt--Working for independence--Working for higher things--Work and
culture--Richardson and Gregory--Results of application--Distinguished
artists--Canova and Lough--John Lough--Lough's success--Words of Lord
Derby--James Nasmyth--Bridgewater foundry--Advice to young men. Pages
65--88


CHAPTER VI.

METHODS OF ECONOMY.

Keeping regular account--Generosity and forethought--Prudent economy--A
dignity in saving--Self-improvement--Causes of failure--The price of
success--Power of combining--Principle of association--Savings of
capital--Loss by strikes--Money thrown away--Industrial
societies--Co-operative companies--Equitable pioneers--Darwen
co-operatives--Spread of co-operation--Thrift conservative--Uses of
investments in building societies. Pages 89--109


CHAPTER VII.

ECONOMY IN LIFE ASSURANCE.

Co-operation in assurance--Improvidence cruel--Compensation of
assurance--Benefit societies--French and Belgian thrift--Workmen's
societies--Manchester Unity--Duty and Dinners--Low rates of
contribution--Failure of friendly societies--Improvement by
experience--Defects will disappear. Pages 110--122


CHAPTER VIII.

SAVINGS BANKS.

Direct saving--Uses of saved money--Beginnings of savings banks--Dr.
Duncan of Ruthwell--Establishment of savings banks--Classes of
Depositors--Magic of drill--Military savings banks--Savings of
soldiers--Soldiers abroad--Deposits in savings banks--Savings at
Bilston--Savings of working men--Penny banks--Charles W.
Sikes--Mechanics' institute banks--The poor man's purse--Depositors in
penny banks--They cultivate prudent habits--Influence of women--Early
lessons in thrift--Belgian Schools--Facilities for saving--Extension of
savings banks--Money order offices--Post office savings banks--Charles
W. Sikes--Lessons of thrift--Mechanics' savings banks--Savings of
artizans--Savings in Preston. Pages 123--158


CHAPTER IX.

LITTLE THINGS.

Luck and labour--Neglect of little things--"It will do!"--Spending of
pennies--The thrifty woman--A helpful wife--A man's daily life--The two
workmen--Rights and habits--Influence of the wife--A penny a day--The
power of a penny--Joseph Baxendale--Pickford and Co.--Roads and
Railways--Business maxims. Pages 159--178


CHAPTER X.

MASTERS AND MEN.

Want of sympathy--Masters and servants--Christian
sympathy--Competition--What capital represents--Workmen and
employers--The Ashworths--New Eagley Mills--Improved workpeople--Public
spirit of manufacturers--Mr. Lister of Bradford--Mr. Foster's
speech--Great men wise savers--Sir Titus Salt--Saltaire--Its
institutions--Music and sobriety--Mr. Akroyd, Halifax--Yorkshire penny
bank--Origin of the bank--How to help the poor--Saving helps
sobriety--Drunkenness put down--"Childish work"--Penny banks. Pages
179--204


CHAPTER XI.

THE CROSSLEYS--MASTERS AND MEN (CONTINUED).

John Crossley--Martha Crossley--A courtship begun--A courtship
concluded--John Crossley begins business--Dean Clough Mill--The Crossley
family--Sir Francis Crossley--Martha Crossley's vow--Halifax People's
Park--Martha's vow fulfilled--Co-operation of colliers--Partnership of
industry--Other co-operative schemes--Jeremiah Head--Newport rolling
mills--Bonuses to workmen--Mr. Carlyle's letter--A contrast--A hundred
years ago--Popular amusements--Improvement of manners--English mechanics
and workmen--English engineers and miners--Swiftness of
machinery--Foreign workmen--Provident habits of foreigners. Pages
205--232


CHAPTER XII.

LIVING BEYOND THE MEANS.

Hypocrisy and debt--Conventionalism--Keeping up appearances--Exclusive
circles--Women and exclusiveness--Women and extravagance--Running into
debt--The temptation of shopkeepers--Temptations to crime--How crime is
committed--Love of dress--Gents--Reckless expenditure--Knowledge of
Arithmetic--Marriage--Happy tempers--Responsibilities of
marriage--Marriage not a lottery--The man who couldn't say "No"--The
courage to say "No"--"Respectable" funerals--Funeral extravagance--John
Wesley's will--Funeral reform. Pages 233--258


CHAPTER XIII.

GREAT DEBTORS.

Greatness and debt--Seedy side of debt--Running up bills--Loan
clubs--Genius and debt--Fox and Sheridan--Sheridan's
debts--Lamartine--Webster--Debts of men of science--Debts of
artists--Italian artists--Haydon--The old poets--Savage and
Johnson--Steele and Goldsmith--Goldsmith's debts--Goldsmith's
advice--Byron's debts--The burden of debt--Burns and Sydney Smith--De
Foe and Southey--Southey and Scott--Scott's debts and labours--Great
poor men--Johnson's advice--Genius and debt--Literary men. Pages
259--285


CHAPTER XIV.

RICHES AND CHARITY.

Helping the helpless--Dr. Donne--Rich people--Love of gold--Eagerness to
be rich--Riches and poverty--Riches in old age--Riches no claim to
distinction--Democrats and riches--Saladin the great--Don Jose de
Salamanca--Compensations of poverty--Honest poverty--Poverty and
happiness--Charity--Evils of money-giving--Philanthropy and
charity--Rich people's wills--Stephen Girard--Thomas Guy--Educational
charities--Peabody's benefaction--Benefactors of the poor--The Navvy's
Home. Pages 286--314


CHAPTER XV.

HEALTHY HOMES.

Healthy existence--Necessity for pure air--The fever tax--The
Arcadians--The rural poor--Influence of the home--Unhealthy
homes--Health and drunkenness--Wholesome dwellings--Edwin
Chadwick--Expectancy of life--The poor laws--The sanitary idea--The
sanitary inquiry--Sanitary commission--Sanitary science--Results of
uncleanness--Losses by ill-health--That terrible Nobody!--Home
reform--Domestic improvement--Cleanliness--Dirt and immorality--Worship
in washing--Knowledge of physiology--Domestic economy--English
cookery--Morals and cookery--Work for ladies--Joseph Corbet's story.
Pages 315--353


CHAPTER XVI.

THE ART OF LIVING.

Art of living exemplified--Taste an economist--Contrasts in cottage
life--Difference in workmen--Living at home--Home and
comfort--Comfortable people--Beneficence of house thrift--Organization
and method--Industry and punctuality--Management of temper--Good
manners--Habitual politeness--French manners--Happiness in good
manners--Amusement--Relaxation--Influence of music--Household
elegance--Elegance of flowers--Common enjoyments--Portraits of great
men--Art at home--Final art of living. Pages 358--378


INDEX 379





A FABLE.

A grasshopper, half starved with cold and hunger, came to a well-stored
beehive at the approach of winter, and humbly begged the bees to relieve
his wants with a few drops of honey.

One of the bees asked him how he had spent his time all the summer, and
why he had not laid up a store of food like them.

"Truly." said he, "I spent my time very merrily, in drinking, dancing,
and singing, and never once thought of winter."

"Our plan is very different," said the bee; "we work hard in the summer,
to lay by a store of food against the season when we foresee we shall
want it; but those who do nothing but drink, and dance, and sing in the
summer, must expect to starve in the winter."




THRIFT.




CHAPTER I.

INDUSTRY.



"Not what I have, but what I do, is my kingdom."--_Carlyle_.

"Productive industry is the only capital which enriches a people, and
spreads national prosperity and well-being. In all labour there is
profit, says Solomon. What is the science of Political Economy, but a
dull sermon on this text?"--_Samuel Laing_.

"God provides the good things of the world to serve the needs of nature,
by the labours of the ploughman, the skill and pains of the artizan, and
the dangers and traffic of the merchant.... The idle person is like one
that is dead, unconcerned in the changes and necessities of the world;
and he only lives to spend his time, and eat the fruits of the earth:
like a vermin or a wolf, when their time comes they die and perish, and
in the meantime do no good."--_Jeremy Taylor_.

"For the structure that we raise,
   Time is with materials filled;
 Our to-days and yesterdays
   Are the blocks with which we build."--_Longfellow_.

       *       *       *       *       *

Thrift began with civilization. It began when men found it necessary to
provide for to-morrow, as well as for to-day. It began long before money
was invented.

Thrift means private economy. It includes domestic economy, as well as
the order and management of a family.

While it is the object of Private Economy to create and promote the
well-being of individuals, it is the object of Political Economy to
create and increase the wealth of nations.

Private and public wealth have the same origin. Wealth is obtained by
labour; it is preserved by savings and accumulations; and it is
increased by diligence and perseverance.

It is the savings of individuals which compose the wealth--in other
words, the well-being--of every nation. On the other hand, it is the
wastefulness of individuals which occasions the impoverishment of
states. So that every thrifty person may be regarded as a public
benefactor, and every thriftless person as a public enemy.

There is no dispute as to the necessity for Private Economy. Everybody
admits it, and recommends it. But with respect to Political Economy,
there are numerous discussions,--for instance, as to the distribution of
capital, the accumulations of property, the incidence of taxation, the
Poor Laws, and other subjects,--into which we do not propose to enter.
The subject of Private Economy, of Thrift, is quite sufficient by itself
to occupy the pages of this book.

Economy is not a natural instinct, but the growth of experience,
example, and forethought. It is also the result of education and
intelligence. It is only when men become wise and thoughtful that they
become frugal. Hence the best means of making men and women provident is
to make them wise.

Prodigality is much more natural to man than thrift. The savage is the
greatest of spendthrifts, for he has no forethought, no to-morrow. The
prehistoric man saved nothing. He lived in caves, or in hollows of the
ground covered with branches. He subsisted on shellfish which he picked
up on the seashore, or upon hips and haws which he gathered in the
woods. He killed animals with stones. He lay in wait for them, or ran
them down on foot. Then he learnt to use stones as tools; making stone
arrow-heads and spear-points, thereby utilizing his labour, and killing
birds and animals more quickly.

The original savage knew nothing of agriculture. It was only in
comparatively recent times that men gathered seeds for food, and saved a
portion of them for next year's crop. When minerals were discovered, and
fire was applied to them, and the minerals were smelted into metal, man
made an immense stride. He could then fabricate hard tools, chisel
stone, build houses, and proceed by unwearying industry to devise the
manifold means and agencies of civilization.

The dweller by the ocean burnt a hollow in a felled tree, launched it,
went to sea in it, and fished for food. The hollowed tree became a boat,
held together with iron nails. The boat became a galley, a ship, a
paddle-boat, a screw steamer, and the world was opened up for
colonization and civilization.

Man would have continued uncivilized, but for the results of the useful
labours of those who preceded him. The soil was reclaimed by his
predecessors, and made to grow food for human uses. They invented tools
and fabrics, and we reap the useful results. They discovered art and
science, and we succeed to the useful effects of their labours.

All nature teaches that no good thing which has once been done passes
utterly away. The living are ever reminded of the buried millions who
have worked and won before them. The handicraft and skill displayed in
the buildings and sculptures of the long-lost cities of Nineveh,
Babylon, and Troy, have descended to the present time. In nature's
economy, no human labour is altogether lost. Some remnant of useful
effect continues to reward the race, if not the individual.

The mere material wealth bequeathed to us by our forefathers forms but
an insignificant item in the sum of our inheritance. Our birthright is
made up of something far more imperishable. It consists of the sum of
the useful effects of human skill and labour. These effects were not
transmitted by learning, but by teaching and example. One generation
taught another, and thus art and handicraft, the knowledge of mechanical
appliances and materials, continued to be preserved. The labours and
efforts of former generations were thus transmitted by father to son;
and they continue to form the natural heritage of the human race--one of
the most important instruments of civilization.

Our birthright, therefore, consists in the useful effects of the labours
of our forefathers; but we cannot enjoy them unless we ourselves take
part in the work. All must labour, either with hand or head. Without
work, life is worthless; it becomes a mere state of moral coma. We do
not mean merely physical work. There is a great deal of higher work--the
work of action and endurance, of trial and patience, of enterprise and
philanthropy, of spreading truth and civilization, of diminishing
suffering and relieving the poor, of helping the weak, and enabling them
to help themselves.

"A noble heart," says Barrow, "will disdain to subsist, like a drone,
upon others' labours; like a vermin to filch its food out of the public
granary; or, like a shark, to prey upon the lesser fry; but it will
rather outdo his private obligations to other men's care and toil, by
considerable service and beneficence to the public; for there is no
calling of any sort, from the sceptre to the spade, the management
whereof, with any good success, any credit, any satisfaction, doth not
demand much work of the head, or of the hands, or of both."

Labour is not only a necessity, but it is also a pleasure. What would
otherwise be a curse, by the constitution of our physical system becomes
a blessing. Our life is a conflict with nature in some respects, but it
is also a co-operation with nature in others. The sun, the air, and the
earth are constantly abstracting from us our vital forces. Hence we eat
and drink for nourishment, and clothe ourselves for warmth.

Nature works with us. She provides the earth which we furrow; she grows
and ripens the seeds that we sow and gather. She furnishes, with the
help of human labour, the wool that we spin and the food that we eat.
And it ought never to be forgotten, that however rich or poor we may be,
all that we eat, all that we are clothed with, all that shelters us,
from the palace to the cottage, is the result of labour.

Men co-operate with each other for the mutual sustenance of all. The
husbandman tills the ground and provides food; the manufacturer weaves
tissues, which the tailor and seamstress make into clothes; the mason
and the bricklayer build the houses in which we enjoy household life.
Numbers of workmen thus contribute and help to create the general
result.

Labour and skill applied to the vulgarest things invest them at once
with precious value. Labour is indeed the life of humanity; take it
away, banish it, and the race of Adam were at once stricken with death.
"He that will not work," said St. Paul, "neither shall he eat;" and the
apostle glorified himself in that he had laboured with his own hands,
and had not been chargeable to any man.

There is a well-known story of an old farmer calling his three idle sons
around him when on his deathbed, to impart to them an important secret.
"My sons," said he, "a great treasure lies hid in the estate which I am
about to leave to you." The old man gasped. "Where is it hid?" exclaimed
the sons in a breath. "I am about to tell you," said the old man; "you
will have to dig for it----" but his breath failed him before he could
impart the weighty secret; and he died. Forthwith the sons set to work
with spade and mattock upon the long neglected fields, and they turned
up every sod and clod upon the estate. They discovered no treasure, but
they learnt to work; and when fields were sown, and the harvests came,
lo! the yield was prodigious, in consequence of the thorough tillage
which they had undergone. Then it was that they discovered the treasure
concealed in the estate, of which their wise old father had advised
them.

Labour is at once a burden, a chastisement, an honour, and a pleasure.
It may be identified with poverty, but there is also glory in it. It
bears witness, at the same time, to our natural wants and to our
manifold needs. What were man, what were life, what were civilization,
without labour? All that is great in man comes of labour;--greatness in
art, in literature, in science. Knowledge--"the wing wherewith we fly to
heaven"--is only acquired through labour. Genius is but a capability of
labouring intensely: it is the power of making great and sustained
efforts. Labour may be a chastisement, but it is indeed a glorious one.
It is worship, duty, praise, and immortality,--for those who labour with
the highest aims, and for the purest purposes.

There are many who murmur and complain at the law of labour under which
we live, without reflecting that obedience to it is not only in
conformity with the Divine will, but also necessary for the development
of intelligence, and for the thorough enjoyment of our common nature. Of
all wretched men, surely the idle are the most so;--those whose life is
barren of utility, who have nothing to do except to gratify their
senses. Are not such men the most querulous, miserable, and dissatisfied
of all, constantly in a state of _ennui_, alike useless to themselves
and to others--mere cumberers of the earth, who when removed are missed
by none, and whom none regret? Most wretched and ignoble lot, indeed, is
the lot of the idlers.

Who have helped the world onward so much as the workers; men who have
had to work for necessity or from choice? All that we call
progress--civilization, well-being, and prosperity--depends upon
industry, diligently applied,--from the culture of a barley-stalk, to
the construction of a steamship,--from the stitching of a collar, to the
sculpturing of "the statue that enchants the world."

All useful and beautiful thoughts, in like manner, are the issue of
labour, of study, of observation, of research, of diligent elaboration.
The noblest poem cannot be elaborated, and send down its undying strains
into the future, without steady and painstaking labour. No great work
has ever been done "at a heat." It is the result of repeated efforts,
and often of many failures. One generation begins, and another
continues--the present co-operating with the past. Thus, the Parthenon
began with a mud-hut; the Last Judgment with a few scratches on the
sand. It is the same with individuals of the race; they begin with
abortive efforts, which, by means of perseverance, lead to successful
issues.

The history of industry is uniform in the character of its
illustrations. Industry enables the poorest man to achieve honour, if
not distinction. The greatest names in the history of art, literature,
and science, are those of labouring men. A working instrument-maker gave
us the steam-engine; a barber, the spinning-machine; a weaver, the mule;
a pitman perfected the locomotive;--and working men of all grades have,
one after another, added to the triumphs of mechanical skill.

By the working man, we do not mean merely the man who labours with his
muscles and sinews. A horse can do this. But _he_ is pre-eminently the
working man who works with his brain also, and whose whole physical
system is under the influence of his higher faculties. The man who
paints a picture, who writes a book, who makes a law, who creates a
poem, is a working man of the highest order,--not so necessary to the
physical sustainment of the community as the ploughman or the shepherd;
but not less important as providing for society its highest intellectual
nourishment.

Having said so much of the importance and the necessity of industry, let
us see what uses are made of the advantages derivable from it. It is
clear that man would have continued uncivilized but for the
accumulations of savings made by his forefathers,--the savings of skill,
of art, of invention, and of intellectual culture.

It is the savings of the world that have made the civilization of the
world. Savings are the result of labour; and it is only when labourers
begin to save, that the results of civilization accumulate. We have said
that thrift began with civilization: we might almost have said that
thrift produced civilization. Thrift produces capital; and capital is
the conserved result of labour. The capitalist is merely a man who does
not spend all that is earned by work.

But thrift is not a natural instinct. It is an acquired principle of
conduct. It involves self-denial--the denial of present enjoyment for
future, good--the subordination of animal appetite to reason,
forethought, and prudence. It works for to-day, but also provides for
to-morrow. It invests the capital it has saved, and makes provision for
the future.

"Man's right of seeing the future," says Mr. Edward Denison, "which is
conferred on him by reason, has attached to it the duty of providing for
that future; and our language bears witness to this truth by using, as
expressive of active precaution against future want, a word which in its
radical meaning implies only a passive foreknowledge of the same.
Whenever we speak of the _virtue of providence_, we assume that
forewarned is fore-armed, To know the future is no virtue, but it is the
greatest of virtues to prepare for it."[1]

[Footnote 1: _Letters of the late Edward Denison._ p. 240.]

But a large proportion of men do not provide for the future. They do not
remember the past. They think only of the present. They preserve
nothing. They spend all that they earn. They do not provide for
themselves: they do not provide for their families. They may make high
wages, but eat and drink the whole of what they earn. Such people are
constantly poor, and hanging on the verge of destitution.

It is the same with nations. The nations which consume all that they
produce, without leaving a store for future production, have no capital.
Like thriftless individuals, they live from hand to mouth, and are
always poor and miserable. Nations that have no capital, have no
commerce. They have no accumulations to dispose of; hence they have no
ships, no sailors, no docks, no harbours, no canals, and no railways.
Thrifty industry lies at the root of the civilization of the world.

Look at Spain. There, the richest soil is the least productive. Along
the banks of the Guadalquiver, where once twelve thousand villages
existed, there are now not eight hundred; and they are full of beggars.
A Spanish proverb says, "El cielo y suelo es bueno, el entresuelo
malo"--The sky is good, the earth is good; that only is bad which lies
between the sky and the earth. Continuous effort, or patient labour, is
for the Spaniard an insupportable thing. Half through indolence, half
through pride, he cannot bend to work. A Spaniard will blush to work; he
will not blush to beg![2]

[Footnote 2: EUGENE POITOU--_Spain and its People._ pp. 184--188.]

It is in this way that society mainly consists of two classes--the
savers and the wasters, the provident and the improvident, the thrifty
and the thriftless, the Haves and the Have-nots. The men who economize
by means of labour become the owners of capital which sets other labour
in motion. Capital accumulates in their hands, and they employ other
labourers to work for them. Thus trade and commerce begin.

The thrifty build houses, warehouses, and mills. They fit manufactories
with tools and machines. They build ships, and send them to various
parts of the world. They put their capital together, and build
railroads, harbours, and docks. They open up mines of coal, iron, and
copper; and erect pumping engines to keep them clear of water. They
employ labourers to work the mines, and thus give rise to an immense
amount of employment.

All this is the result of thrift. It is the result of economizing money,
and employing it for beneficial purposes. The thriftless man has no
share in the progress of the world. He spends all that he gets, and can
give no help to anybody. No matter how much money he makes, his position
is not in any respect raised. He husbands none of his resources. He is
always calling for help. He is, in fact, the born thrall and slave of
the thrifty.




CHAPTER II.

HABITS OF THRIFT.


"Die Hauptsache ist dass man lerne sich selbst zu beherrschen." [The
great matter is to learn to rule oneself.]--_Goethe_.

"Most men work for the present, a few for the future. The wise work for
both--for the future in the present, and for the present in the
future."--_Guesses at Truth_.

"The secret of all success is to know how to deny yourself.... If you
once learn to get the whip-hand of yourself, that is the best educator.
Prove to me that you can control yourself, and I'll say you're an
educated man; and without this, all other education is good for next to
nothing."--_Mrs. Oliphant_.

"All the world cries, 'Where is the man who will save us? We want a man!
Don't look so far for this man. You have him at hand. This man--it is
you, it is I, it is each one of us! ... How to constitute oneself a man?
Nothing harder, if one knows not how to _will_ it; nothing easier, if
one wills it."--_Alexandre Dumas_.


Competence and comfort lie within the reach of most people, were they to
take the adequate means to secure and enjoy them. Men who are paid good
wages might also become capitalists, and take their fair share in the
improvement and well-being of the world. But it is only by the exercise
of labour, energy, honesty, and thrift, that they can advance their own
position or that of their class.

Society at present suffers far more from waste of money than from want
of money. It is easier to make money than to know how to spend it. It is
not what a man gets that constitutes his wealth, but his manner of
spending and economizing. And when a man obtains by his labour more than
enough for his personal and family wants, and can lay by a little store
of savings besides, he unquestionably possesses the elements of social
well-being. The savings may amount to little, but they may be sufficient
to make him independent.

There is no reason why the highly-paid workman of to-day may not save a
store of capital. It is merely a matter of self-denial and private
economy. Indeed, the principal industrial leaders of to-day consist, for
the most part, of men who have sprung directly from the ranks. It is the
accumulation of experience and skill that makes the difference between
the workman and the _no_-workman; and it depends upon the workman
himself whether he will save his capital or waste it. If he save it, he
will always find that he has sufficient opportunities for employing it
profitably and usefully.

"When I was down in Lancashire the other day," said Mr. Cobden to his
fellow-townsmen at Midhurst, "I visited a mill, in company with some
other gentlemen, and that mill belonged to a person whose real name I
will not mention, but whom for the present purpose I will call Mr.
Smith. There could not have been less than three or four thousand
persons engaged in this mill when it was at work, and there were seven
hundred power-looms under one roof. As we were coming away, one of the
friends who accompanied me patted the owner of the mill on the shoulder,
and with that frank and manly familiarity which rather distinguishes the
Lancashire race, he said, 'Mr. Smith was a working man himself
twenty-five years ago, and he owes all this entirely to his own industry
and frugality.' To which Mr. Smith immediately replied, in the same
frank and good-humoured manner, 'Nay, I do not owe it all to myself; I
married a wife with a fortune; for she was earning 9_s_ 6_d_. a week as
a weaver at the power-loom, when she married me.'"

Thrift of Time is equal to thrift of money. Franklin said, "Time is
gold." If one wishes to earn money, it may be done by the proper use of
time. But time may also be spent in doing many good and noble actions.
It may be spent in learning, in study, in art, in science, in
literature. Time can be economized by system. System is an arrangement
to secure certain ends, so that no time may be lost in accomplishing
them. Every business man must be systematic and orderly. So must every
housewife. There must be a place for everything, and everything in its
place. There must also be a time for everything, and everything must be
done in time.

It is not necessary to show that economy is useful. Nobody denies that
thrift may be practised. We see numerous examples of it. What many men
have already done, all other men _may_ do. Nor is thrift a painful
virtue. On the contrary, it enables us to avoid much contempt and many
indignities. It requires us to deny ourselves, but not to abstain from
any proper enjoyment. It provides many honest pleasures, of which
thriftlessness and extravagance deprive us.

Let no man say that he cannot economize. There are few persons who could
not contrive to save a few shillings weekly. In twenty years, three
shillings saved weekly would amount to two hundred and forty pounds; and
in ten years more, by addition of interest, to four hundred and twenty
pounds. Some may say that they cannot save nearly so much. Well! begin
with two shillings, one shilling, or even sixpence. Begin somewhere;
but, at all events, make a beginning. Sixpence a week, deposited in the
savings bank, will amount to forty pounds in twenty years, and seventy
pounds in thirty years. It is the _habit_ of economizing and denying
oneself that needs to be formed.

Thrift does not require superior courage, nor superior intellect, nor
any superhuman virtue. It merely requires common sense, and the power of
resisting selfish enjoyments. In fact, thrift is merely common sense in
every-day working action. It needs no fervent resolution, but only a
little patient self-denial. BEGIN is its device! The more the habit of
thrift is practised, the easier it becomes; and the sooner it
compensates the self-denier for the sacrifices which it has imposed.

The question may be asked,--Is it possible for a man working for small
wages to save anything, and lay it by in a savings bank, when he
requires every penny for the maintenance of his family? But the fact
remains, that it _is_ done by many industrious and sober men; that they
do deny themselves, and put their spare earnings into savings banks, and
the other receptacles provided for poor men's savings. And if some can
do this, all may do it under similar circumstances,--without depriving
themselves of any genuine pleasure, or any real enjoyment.

How intensely selfish is it for a person in the receipt of good pay to
spend everything upon himself,--or, if he has a family, to spend his
whole earnings from week to week, and lay nothing by. When we hear that
a man, who has been in the receipt of a good salary, has died and left
nothing behind him--that he has left his wife and family destitute--left
them to chance--to live or perish anywhere,--we cannot but regard it as
the most selfish thriftlessness. And yet, comparatively little is
thought of such cases. Perhaps the hat goes round. Subscriptions may
produce something--perhaps nothing; and the ruined remnants of the
unhappy family sink into poverty and destitution.

Yet the merest prudence would, to a great extent, have obviated this
result. The curtailment of any sensual and selfish enjoyment--of a glass
of beer or a screw of tobacco--would enable a man, in the course of
years, to save at least something for others, instead of wasting it on
himself. It is, in fact, the absolute duty of the poorest man to
provide, in however slight a degree, for the support of himself and his
family in the season of sickness and helplessness which often comes upon
men when they least expect such a visitation.

Comparatively few people can be rich; but most have it in their power to
acquire, by industry and economy, sufficient to meet their personal
wants. They may even become the possessors of savings sufficient to
secure them against penury and poverty in their old age. It is not,
however, the want of opportunity, but the want of will, that stands in
the way of economy. Men may labour unceasingly with hand or head; but
they cannot abstain from spending too freely, and living too highly.

The majority prefer the enjoyment of pleasure to the practice of
self-denial. With the mass of men, the animal is paramount. They often
spend all that they earn. But it is not merely the working people who
are spendthrifts. We hear of men who for years have been earning and
spending hundreds a year, who suddenly die,--leaving their children
penniless. Everybody knows of such cases. At their death, the very
furniture of the house they have lived in belongs to others. It is sold
to pay their funeral expenses and debts which they have incurred during
their thriftless lifetime.

Money represents a multitude of objects without value, or without real
utility; but it also represents something much more precious,--and that
is independence. In this light it is of great moral importance.

As a guarantee of independence, the modest and plebeian quality of
economy is at once ennobled and raised to the rank of one of the most
meritorious of virtues. "Never treat money affairs with levity," said
Bulwer; "Money is Character." Some of man's best qualities depend upon
the right use of money,--such as his generosity, benevolence, justice,
honesty, and forethought. Many of his worst qualities also originate in
the bad use of money,--such as greed, miserliness, injustice,
extravagance, and improvidence.

No class ever accomplished anything that lived from hand to mouth.
People who spend all that they earn, are ever hanging on the brink of
destitution. They must necessarily be weak and impotent--the slaves of
time and circumstance. They keep themselves poor. They lose
self-respect, as well as the respect of others. It is impossible that
they can be free and independent. To be thriftless, is enough to deprive
one of all manly spirit and virtue.

But a man with something saved, no matter how little, is in a different
position. The little capital he has stored up, is always a source of
power. He is no longer the sport of time and fate. He can boldly look
the world in the face. He is, in a manner, his own master. He can
dictate his own terms. He can neither be bought nor sold. He can look
forward with cheerfulness to an old age of comfort and happiness.

As men become wise and thoughtful, they generally become provident and
frugal. A thoughtless man, like a savage, spends as he gets, thinking
nothing of to-morrow, of the time of adversity, or of the claims of
those whom he has made dependent on him. But a wise man thinks of the
future; he prepares in good time for the evil day that may come upon him
and his family; and he provides carefully for those who are near and
dear to him.

What a serious responsibility does the man incur who marries! Not many
seriously think, of this responsibility. Perhaps this is wisely ordered.
For, much serious thinking might end in the avoidance of married life
and its responsibilities. But, once married, a man ought forthwith to
determine that, so far as his own efforts are concerned, want shall
never enter his household; and that his children shall not, in the event
of his being removed from the scene of life and labour, be left a
burthen upon society.

Economy with this object is an important duty. Without economy, no man
can be just--no man can be honest. Improvidence is cruelty to women and
children; though the cruelty is born of ignorance. A father spends his
surplus means in drink, providing little, and saving nothing; and then
he dies, leaving his destitute family his lifelong victims. Can any form
of cruelty surpass this? Yet this reckless course is pursued to a large
extent among every class. The middle and upper classes are equally
guilty with the lower class. They live beyond their means. They live
extravagantly. They are ambitious of glare and glitter--frivolity and
pleasure. They struggle to be rich, that they may have the means of
spending,--of drinking rich wines, and giving good dinners.

When Mr. Hume said in the House of Commons, some years ago, that the
tone of living in England was altogether too high, his observation was
followed with "loud laughter." Yet his remark was perfectly true. It is
far more true now than it was then. Thinking people believe that life is
now too fast, and that we are living at high-pressure. In short, we live
extravagantly. We live beyond our means. We throw away oar earnings, and
often throw our lives after them.

Many persons are diligent enough in making money, but do not know how to
economize it,--or how to spend it. They have sufficient skill and
industry to do the one, but they want the necessary wisdom to do the
other. The temporary passion for enjoyment seizes us, and we give way to
it without regard to consequences. And yet it may be merely the result
of forgetfulness, and might be easily controlled by firmness of will,
and by energetic resolution to avoid the occasional causes of
expenditure for the future. The habit of saving arises, for the most
part, in the desire to ameliorate our social condition, as well as to
ameliorate the condition of those who are dependent upon us. It
dispenses with everything which is not essential, and avoids all methods
of living that are wasteful and extravagant. A purchase made at the
lowest price will be dear, if it be a superfluity. Little expenses lead
to great. Buying things that are not wanted, soon accustoms us to
prodigality in other respects.

Cicero said, "Not to have a mania for buying, is to possess a revenue."
Many are carried away by the habit of bargain-buying. "Here is something
wonderfully cheap: let us buy it." "Have you any use for it?" "No, not
at present; but it is sure to come in useful, some time." Fashion runs
in this habit of buying. Some buy old china--as much as will furnish a
china-shop. Others buy old pictures--old furniture--old wines,--all
great bargains! There would be little harm in buying these old things,
if they were not so often bought at the expense of the connoisseur's
creditors. Horace Walpole once said, "I hope that there will not be
another sale, for I have not an inch of room nor a farthing left."

Men must prepare in youth and in middle age the means of enjoying old
age pleasantly and happily. There can be nothing more distressing than
to see an old man who has spent the greater part of his life in
well-paid-for-labour, reduced to the necessity of begging for bread, and
relying entirely on the commiseration of his neighbours, or upon the
bounty of strangers. Such a consideration as this should inspire men in
early life with a determination to work and to save, for the benefit of
themselves and their families in later years.

It is, in fact, in youth that economy should be practised, and in old
age that men should dispense liberally, provided they do not exceed
their income. The young man has a long future before him, during which
he may exercise the principles of economy; whilst the other is reaching
the end of his career, and can carry nothing out of the world with him.


This, however, is not the usual practice. The young man now spends, or
desires to spend, quite as liberally, and often much more liberally,
than his father, who is about to end his career. He begins life where
his father left off. He spends more than his father did at his age, and
soon finds himself up to his ears in debt. To satisfy his incessant
wants, he resorts to unscrupulous means, and to illicit gains. He tries
to make money rapidly; he speculates, over-trades, and is speedily wound
up. Thus he obtains experience; but it is the result, not of well-doing,
but of ill-doing.

Socrates recommends fathers of families to observe the practice of their
thrifty neighbours--of those who spend their means to the best
advantage,--and to profit by their example. Thrift is essentially
practical, and can best be taught by facts. Two men earn, say, five
shillings a day. They are in precisely the same condition as respects
family living, and expenditure Yet the one says he cannot save, and does
not; while the other says he can save, and regularly deposits part of
his savings in a savings bank, and eventually becomes a capitalist.

Samuel Johnson fully knew the straits of poverty. He once signed his
name _Impransus_, or _Dinnerless_. He had walked the streets with
Savage, not knowing where to lay his head at night. Johnson never forgot
the poverty through which he passed in his early life, and he was always
counselling his friends and readers to avoid it. Like Cicero, he averred
that the best source of wealth or well-being was economy. He called it
the daughter of Prudence, the sister of Temperance, and the mother of
Liberty. his mind, his character. Self-respect, originating in
self-love, instigates the first step of improvement. It stimulates a man
to rise, to look upward, to develop his intelligence, to improve his
condition. Self-respect is the root of most of the virtues--of
cleanliness, chastity, reverence, honesty, sobriety. To think meanly of
one's self is to sink; sometimes to descend a precipice at the bottom of
which is infamy.

Every man can help himself to some extent. We are not mere straws thrown
upon the current to mark its course; but possessed of freedom of action,
endowed with power to stem the waves and rise above them, each marking
out a course for himself. We can each elevate ourselves in the scale of
moral being. We can cherish pure thoughts. We can perform good actions.
We can live soberly and frugally. We can provide against the evil day.
We can read good books, listen to wise teachers, and place ourselves
under the divinest influences on earth. We can live for the highest
purposes, and with the highest aims in view.

"Self-love and social are the same," says one of our poets. The man who
improves himself, improves the world. He adds one more true man to the
mass. And the mass being made up of individuals, it is clear that were
each to improve himself, the result would be the improvement of the
whole. Social advancement is the consequence of individual advancement.
The whole cannot be pure, unless the individuals composing it are pure.
Society at large is but the reflex of individual conditions. All this is
but the repetition of a truism, but truisms have often to be repeated to
make their full impression.

Then again, a man, when he has improved himself, is better able to
improve those who are brought into contact with him. He has more power.
His sphere of vision is enlarged. He sees more clearly the defects in
the condition of others that might be remedied. He can lend a more
active helping hand to raise them. He has done his duty by himself, and
can with more authority urge upon others the necessity of doing the like
duty to themselves. How can a man be a social elevator, who is himself
walking in the mire of self-indulgence? How can he teach sobriety or
cleanliness, if he be himself drunken or foul? "Physician, heal
thyself," is the answer of his neighbours.

The sum and substance of our remarks is this: In all the individual
reforms or improvements that we desire, we must begin with ourselves. We
must exhibit our gospel in our own life. We must teach by our own
example. If we would have others elevated, we must elevate ourselves.
Each man can exhibit the results in his own person. He can begin with
self-respect.

The uncertainty of life is a strong inducement to provide against the
evil day. To do this is a moral and social, as well as a religious duty.
"He that provideth not for his own, and especially for those of his own
household, hath denied the faith, and is worse than an infidel."

The uncertainty of life is proverbially true. The strongest and
healthiest man may be stricken down in a moment, by accident or disease.
If we take human life in the mass, we cannot fail to recognize the
uncertainty of life as much as we do the certainty of death.

There is a striking passage in Addison's "Vision of Mirza," in which
life is pictured as a passage over a bridge of about a hundred arches. A
black cloud hangs over each end of the bridge. At the entrance to it
there are hidden pitfalls very thickly set, through which throngs
disappear, so soon as they have placed their feet upon the bridge. They
grow thinner towards the centre; they gradually disappear; until at
length only a few persons reach the further side, and these also having
dropped through the pitfalls, the bridge at its further extremity
becomes entirely clear. The description of Addison corresponds with the
results of the observations made as to the duration of human life.

Thus, of a hundred thousand persons born in this country, it has been
ascertained that a fourth of them die before they have reached their
fifth year; and one-half before they have reached their fiftieth year.
One thousand one hundred will reach their ninetieth year. Sixteen will
live to a hundred. And only two persons out of the hundred
thousand--like the last barks of an innumerable convoy, will reach the
advanced and helpless age of a hundred and five years.

Two things are very obvious,--the uncertainty as to the hour of death in
individuals, but the regularity and constancy of the circumstances which
influence the duration of human life in the aggregate. It is a matter of
certainty that the _average_ life of all persons born in this country
extends to about forty-five years. This has been proved by a very large
number of observations of human life and its duration.

Equally extensive observations have been made as to the average number
of persons of various ages who die yearly. It is always the number of
the experiments which gives the law of the probability. It is on such
observations that the actuary founds his estimates of the mortality that
exists at any given period of life. The actuary tells you that he has
been guided by the Laws of Mortality. Now the results must be very
regular, to justify the actuary in speaking of Mortality as governed by
Laws. And yet it is so.

Indeed, there would seem to be no such thing as chance in the world. Man
lives and dies in conformity to a law. A sparrow falls to the ground in
obedience to a law. Nay, there are matters in the ordinary transactions
of life, such as one might suppose were the mere result of chance, which
are ascertained to be of remarkable accuracy when taken in the mass. For
instance, the number of letters put in the post-office without an
address; the number of letters wrongly directed; the number containing
money; the number unstamped; continue nearly the same, in relation to
the number of letters posted, from one year to another.

Now it is the business of man to understand the laws of health, and to
provide against their consequences,--as, for instance, in the matter of
sickness, accident, and premature death. We cannot escape the
consequences of transgression of the natural laws, though we may have
meant well. We must have done well. The Creator does not alter His laws
to accommodate them to our ignorance. He has furnished us with
intelligence, so that we may understand them and act upon them:
otherwise we must suffer the consequences in inevitable pain and sorrow.

We often hear the cry raised, "Will nobody help us?" It is a spiritless,
hopeless cry. It is sometimes a cry of revolting meanness, especially
when it issues from those who with a little self-denial, sobriety, and
thrift, might easily help themselves.

Many people have yet to learn, that virtue, knowledge, freedom, and
prosperity must spring from themselves. Legislation can do very little
for them: it cannot make them sober, intelligent, and well-doing. The
prime miseries of most men have their origin in causes far removed from
Acts of Parliament.

The spendthrift laughs at legislation. The drunkard defies it, and
arrogates the right of dispensing with forethought and
self-denial,--throwing upon others the blame of his ultimate
wretchedness. The mob orators, who gather "the millions" about them, are
very wide of the mark, when, instead of seeking to train their crowd of
hearers to habits of frugality, temperance, and self-culture, they
encourage them to keep up the cry, "Will nobody help us?"

The cry sickens the soul. It shows gross ignorance of the first elements
of personal welfare. Help is in men themselves. They were born to help
and to elevate themselves. They must work out their own salvation. The
poorest men have done it; why should not every man do it? The brave,
upward spirit ever conquers.

The number of well-paid workmen in this country has become very large,
who might easily save and economize, to the improvement of their moral
well-being, of their respectability and independence, and of their
status in society as men and citizens. They are improvident and
thriftless to an extent which proves not less hurtful to their personal
happiness and domestic comfort, than it is injurious to the society of
which they form so important a part.

In "prosperous times" they spend their gains recklessly, and when
adverse times come, they are at once plunged in misery. Money is not
used, but abused; and when wage-earning people should be providing
against old age, or for the wants of a growing family, they are, in too
many cases, feeding folly, dissipation, and vice. Let no one say that
this is an exaggerated picture. It is enough to look round in any
neighbourhood, and see how much is spent and how little is saved; what a
large proportion of earnings goes to the beershop, and how little to the
savings bank or the benefit society.

"Prosperous times" are very often the least prosperous of all times. In
prosperous times, mills are working full time; men, women, and children
are paid high wages; warehouses are emptied and filled; goods are
manufactured and exported; wherries full of produce pass along the
streets; immense luggage trains run along the railways, and
heavily-laden ships leave our shores daily for foreign ports, full of
the products of our industry. Everybody seems to be becoming richer and
more prosperous. But we do not think of whether men and women are
becoming wiser, better trained, less self-indulgent, more religiously
disposed, or living for any higher purpose than the satisfaction of the
animal appetite.

If this apparent prosperity be closely examined, it will be found that
expenditure is increasing in all directions. There are demands for
higher wages; and the higher wages, when obtained, are spent as soon as
earned. Intemperate habits are formed, and, once formed, the habit of
intemperance continues. Increased wages, instead of being saved, are for
the most part spent in drink.

Thus, when a population is thoughtless and improvident, no kind of
material prosperity will benefit them. Unless they exercise forethought
and economy, they will alternately be in a state of "hunger and burst."
When trade falls off, as it usually does after exceptional prosperity,
they will not be comforted by the thought of what they _might_ have
saved, had it ever occurred to them that the "prosperous times" might
not have proved permanent.

During prosperous times, Saint Monday is regularly observed. The Bank
Holiday is repeated weekly. "Where are all the workmen?" said a master
to his foreman on going the rounds among his builders,--this work must
be pushed on and covered in while the fine weather lasts." "Why, sir,"
said the foreman, "this is Monday; and they have not spent all their
money yet." Dean Boyd, preaching at Exeter on behalf of the Devonshire
hospitals, expressed his belief that the annual loss to the workpeople
engaged in the woollen manufacture, the cotton trade, the bricklaying
and building trade, by Idle Monday, amounted to over seven millions
sterling. If man's chief end were to manufacture cloth, silk, cotton,
hardware, toys, and china; to buy in the cheapest market, and to sell in
the dearest; to cultivate land, grow corn, and graze cattle; to live for
mere money profit, and hoard or spend, as the case might be, we might
then congratulate ourselves upon our National Prosperity. But is this
the chief end of man? Has he not faculties, affections, and sympathies,
besides muscular organs? Has not his mind and heart certain claims, as
well as his mouth and his back? Has he not a soul as well as a stomach?
And ought not "prosperity" to include the improvement and well-being of
his morals and intellect as well as of his bones and muscles?

Mere money is no indication of prosperity. A man's nature may remain the
same. It may even grow more stunted and deformed, while he is doubling
his expenditure, or adding cent, per cent, to his hoards yearly. It is
the same with the mass. The increase of their gains may merely furnish
them with increased means for gratifying animal indulgences, unless
their moral character keeps pace with their physical advancement. Double
the gains of an uneducated, overworked man, in a time of prosperity, and
what is the result? Simply that you have furnished him with the means of
eating and drinking more! Thus, not even the material well-being of the
population is secured by that condition of things which is defined by
political economists as "National Prosperity." And so long as the moral
elements of the question are ignored, this kind of "prosperity" is, we
believe, calculated to produce far more mischievous results than good.
It is knowledge and virtue alone that can confer dignity on a man's
life; and the growth of such qualities in a nation are the only true
marks of its real prosperity; not the infinite manufacture and sale of
cotton prints, toys, hardware, and crockery. The Bishop of Manchester,
when preaching at a harvest thanksgiving near Preston, referred to a
letter which he had received from a clergyman in the south of England,
who, after expressing his pleasure at the fact that the agricultural
labourers were receiving higher wages, lamented "that at present the
only result he could discover from their higher wages was that a great
deal _more beer_ was consumed. If this was the use we were making of
this prosperity, we could hardly call it a blessing for which we had a
right or ground to thank God. The true prosperity of the nation
consisted not so much in the fact that the nation was growing in
wealth--though wealth was a necessary attribute of prosperity--but that
it was growing in virtue; and that there was a more equable distribution
of comfort, contentment, and the things of this lower world."

In making the preceding observations we do not in the least advocate the
formation of miserly, penurious habits; for we hate the scrub, the
screw, the miser. All that we contend for is, that man should provide
for the future,--that they should provide during good times for the bad
times which almost invariably follow them,--that they should lay by a
store of savings as a breakwater against want, and make sure of a little
fund which may maintain them in old age, secure their self-respect, and
add to their personal comfort and social well-being. Thrift is not in
any way connected with avarice, usury, greed, or selfishness. It is, in
fact, the very reverse of these disgusting dispositions.

It means economy for the purpose of securing independence. Thrift
requires that money should be used and not abused--that it should be
honestly earned and economically employed--

"Not for to put it in a hedge,
 Not for a train attendent,--
 But for the glorious privilege
 Of being Independent."




CHAPTER III.

IMPROVIDENCE.


"The man who has a wife and children has given hostages to
fortune."--_Lord Bacon._

"In all conditions and circumstances, well-being is in the power of
those who have power over themselves."--_J.J. Gurney_.

"Where is their common sense? Alas, what imprudence! Early marriages;
many children; poor-rates, and the workhouse.... They are born; they are
wretched; they die.... In no foreign country of far less civilization
than England, is there the same improvidence."--_Lord Lytton_.

"No man oppresses thee, O free and independent franchiser; but does not
this stupid pewter pot oppress thee? No son of Adam can bid thee come or
go, but this absurd pot of heavy-wet can and does, Thou art the thrall,
not of Cedric the Saxon, but of thy own brutal appetites, and this
accursed dish of liquor. And thou pratest of thy 'liberty,' thou entire
blockhead!"--_Carlyle_.

"Never did any publike misery
 Rise of it selfe; God's plagues still grounded are
 On common staines of our Humanity:
     And to the flame, which ruineth Mankind,
     Man gives the matter, or at least gives winde."--_Daniell_.


England is one of the richest countries in the world. Our merchants are
enterprising, our manufacturers are industrious, our labourers are
hard-working. There is an accumulation of wealth in the country to which
past times can offer no parallel. The Bank is gorged with gold. There
never was more food in the empire; there never was more money. There is
no end to our manufacturing productions, for the steam-engine never
tires. And yet notwithstanding all this wealth, there is an enormous
mass of poverty. Close alongside the Wealth of Nations, there gloomily
stalks the Misery of Nations,--luxurious ease resting upon a dark
background of wretchedness.

Parliamentary reports have again and again revealed to us the miseries
endured by certain portions of our working population. They have
described the people employed in factories, workshops, mines, and
brickfields, as well as in the pursuits of country life. We have tried
to grapple with the evils of their condition by legislation, but it
seems to mock us. Those who sink into poverty are fed, but they remain
paupers. Those who feed them, feel no compassion; and those who are fed,
return no gratitude. There is no bond of sympathy between the givers and
the receivers. Thus the Haves and the Have-nots, the opulent and the
indigent, stand at the two extremes of the social scale, and a wide gulf
is fixed between them.

Among rude and savage people, the condition of poverty is uniform.
Provided the bare appetites are satisfied, suffering is scarcely felt.
Where slavery exists, indigence is little known; for it is the master's
interest to keep the slave in a condition fit for labour, and the
employer generally takes care to supply the animal wants of the
employed. It is only when society becomes civilized and free, and man
enters into competition with his fellows, that he becomes exposed to
indigence, and experiences social misery. Where civilization, as in this
country, has reached its highest point, and where large accumulations of
wealth have been made, the misery of the indigent classes is only
rendered more acute by the comfort and luxury with which it is placed in
immediate contrast.

Much of the existing misery is caused by selfishness--by the greed to
accumulate wealth on the one hand, and by improvidence on the other.
Accumulation of money has become the great desire and passion of the
age. The wealth of nations, and not the happiness of nations, is the
principal aim. We study political economy, and let social economy shift
for itself. Regard for "Number One" is the prevailing maxim.

High profits are regarded as the _summum bonum_,--no matter how
obtained, or at what sacrifice. Money is our god: "Devil take the
hindmost" our motto. The spirits of darkness rule supreme--

          "Mammon has led them on,
Mammon, the least erect of all the spirits
That fell from Heaven."

With respect to the poorer classes,--what has become of them in the
midst of our so-called civilization? An immense proportion of them
remain entirely uncivilized. Though living in a Christian country,
Christianity has never reached them. They are as uncivilized and
unchristianized as the Trinobantes were at the landing of Julius Caesar,
about nineteen hundred years ago. Yet these uncivilized people live in
our midst. St. James's and St. Giles's lie close together. In the Parks
of London, you may see how gold is worshipped; in the East End of
London, you may see to what depths human misery may fall.

They work, eat, drink, and sleep: that constitutes their life. They
think nothing of providing for to-morrow, or for next week, or for next
year. They abandon themselves to their sensual appetites; and make no
provision whatever for the future. The thought of adversity, or of
coming sorrow, or of the helplessness that comes with years and
sickness, never crosses their minds. In these respects, they resemble
the savage tribes, who know no better, and do no worse. Like the North
American Indians, they debase themselves by the vices which accompany
civilization, but make no use whatever of its benefits and advantages.

Captain Parry found the Esquimaux near the North Pole as uncivilized as
the miserable creatures who inhabit the dens of our great cities. They
were, of course, improvident; for, like savages generally, they never
save. They were always either feasting or famished.

When they found a quantity of whale's blubber, they would eat as much of
it as they could, and hide the rest. Yet their improvidence gave them no
concern. Even when they had been without food or fuel for days together,
they would be as gay and good-humoured as usual. They never thought of
how they should be provided for to-morrow. Saving for the future forms
no part of the savage economy.

Amongst civilized peoples, cold is said to be the parent of frugality.
Thus the northern nations of Europe owe a portion of their prosperity to
the rigour of their climate. Cold makes them save during summer, to
provide food, coal, and clothing during winter. It encourages
house-building and housekeeping. Hence Germany is more industrious than
Sicily; Holland and Belgium than Andalusia; North America and Canada
than Mexico.

When the late Edward Denison, M.P. for Newark, with unexampled
self-denial, gave up a large portion of his time and labour to reclaim
the comparatively uncivilized population of the East End of London, the
first thing he did was to erect an iron church of two stories, the lower
part of which was used as a school and lecture room, and also as a club
where men and boys might read, play games, and do anything else that
might keep them out of the drinking-houses. "What is so bad in this
quarter," said Mr. Denison, "is the habitual condition of this mass of
humanity--its uniform mean level, the absence of anything more
civilizing than a grinding organ to raise the ideas beyond the daily
bread and beer, the utter want of education, the complete indifference
to religion, with the fruits of all this--improvidence, dirt, and their
secondaries, crime and disease.... There is no one to give a push to
struggling energy, to guide aspiring intelligence, or to break the fall
of unavoidable misfortune.... The Mission Clergyman," he goes on to say,
"is a sensible, energetic man, in whose hands the work of _civilizing
the people_ is making as much progress as can be expected. But most of
his energy is taken up in serving tables, nor can any great advance be
made while every nerve has to be strained to keep the people from
absolute starvation. And this is what happens every winter.... What a
monstrous thing it is that in the richest country in the world, large
masses of the population should be condemned annually, by a natural
operation of nature, to starvation and death. It is all very well to
say, how can it be helped? Why, it was not so in our grandfathers' time.
Behind us they were in many ways, but they were not met every winter
with the spectacle of starving thousands. The fact is, we have accepted
the marvellous prosperity which has in the last twenty years been
granted us, without reflecting on the conditions attached to it, and
without nerving ourselves to the exertion and the sacrifices which their
fulfilment demands."

And yet Mr. Denison clearly saw that if the people were sufficiently
educated, and taught to practise the virtue of Thrift, much of this
misery might be prevented. "The people," he elsewhere says, "_create_
their destitution and their disease. Probably there are hardly any of
the most needy who, if they had been only moderately frugal and
provident, could not have placed themselves in a position to tide over
the occasional months of want of work, or of sickness, which there
always must be.... I do not underrate the difficulty of laying by out of
weekly earnings, but I say it _can_ be done. A dock-labourer, while a
young, strong, unmarried man, could lay by half his weekly wages, and
such men are almost sure of constant employment."

After showing how married men might also save, Mr. Denison goes on to
say, "Saving is within the reach of nearly every man, even if quite at
the bottom of the tree; but if it were of anything like _common_
occurrence, the destitution and disease of this city would be kept
within quite manageable limits. And this will take place. I may not live
to see it, but it will be within two generations. For, unfortunately,
this amount of change may be effected without the least improvement in
the spiritual condition of the people. Good laws, energetically
enforced, with compulsory education, supplemented by gratuitous
individual exertion (which will then have a much reduced field and much
fairer prospects), will certainly succeed in giving the mass of the
people so much light as will generally guide them into so much industry
and morality as is clearly conducive to their bodily ease and
advancement in life."

The difference in thriftiness between the English workpeople and the
inhabitants of Guernsey is thus referred to by Mr. Denison: "The
difference between poverty and pauperism is brought home to us very
strongly by what I see here. In England, we have people faring
sumptuously while they are getting good wages, and coming on the parish
paupers the moment those wages are suspended. Here, people are never
dependent upon any support but their own; but they live, of their own
free will, in a style of frugality which a landlord would be hooted at
for suggesting to his cottagers. We pity Hodge, reduced to bacon and
greens, and to meat only once a week. The principal meal of a Guernsey
farmer consists of _soupe à la graisse_, which is, being interpreted,
cabbage and peas stewed with a little dripping. This is the daily dinner
of men who _own_ perhaps three or four cows, a pig or two, and poultry.
But the produce and the flesh of these creatures they sell in the
market, investing their gains in extension of land, or stock, or in
"quarters," that is, rent-charges on land, certificates of which are
readily bought and sold in the market."[1]

[Footnote 1: _Letters and other writings of the late Edward Denison,
M.P._, pp. 141, 142.]

Mr. Dension died before he could accomplish much. He was only able to
make a beginning. The misery, arising from improvidence, which he so
deeply deplored, still exists, and is even more widely spread. It is not
merely the artizan who spends all that he earns, but the classes above
him, who cannot plead the same excuse of ignorance. Many of what are
called the "upper" classes are no more excusable than the "lower." They
waste their means on keeping up appearances, and in feeding folly,
dissipation, and vice.

No one can reproach the English workman with want of industry. He works
harder and more skilfully than the workman of any other country; and he
might be more comfortable and independent in his circumstances, were he
as prudent as he is laborious. But improvidence is unhappily the defect
of the class. Even the best-paid English workmen, though earning more
money than the average of professional men, still for the most part
belong to the poorer classes because of their thoughtlessness. In
prosperous times they are not accustomed to make provision for adverse
times; and when a period of social pressure occurs, they are rarely
found more than a few weeks ahead of positive want.

Hence, the skilled workman, unless trained in good habits, may exhibit
no higher a life than that of the mere animal; and the earning of
increased wages will only furnish him with increased means for indulging
in the gratification of his grosser appetites. Mr. Chadwick says, that
during the Cotton Famine, "families trooped into the relief rooms in the
most abject condition, whose previous aggregate wages exceeded the
income of many curates,--as had the wages of many of the individual
workmen."[1] In a time of prosperity, working-people feast, and in a
time of adversity they "clem." Their earnings, to use their own phrase,
"come in at the spigot and go out at the bunghole." When prosperity
comes to an end, and they are paid off, they rely upon chance and
providence--the providence of the Improvident!

[Footnote 1: _Address on Economy and Trade._ By EDWIN CHADWICK, C.B., p.
22.]

Though trade has invariably its cycles of good and bad years, like the
lean and fat kine in Pharaoh's dream--its bursts of prosperity, followed
by glut, panic, and distress--the thoughtless and spendthrift take no
heed of experience, and make no better provision for the future.
Improvidence seems to be one of the most incorrigible of faults. "There
are whole neighbourhoods in the manufacturing districts," says Mr. Baker
in a recent Report, "where not only are there no savings worth
mentioning, but where, within a fortnight of being out of work, the
workers themselves are starving for want of the merest necessaries." Not
a strike takes place, but immediately the workmen are plunged in
destitution; their furniture and watches are sent to the pawnshop,
whilst deplorable appeals are made to the charitable, and numerous
families are cast upon the poor-rates.

This habitual improvidence--though of course there are many admirable
exceptions--is the real cause of the social degradation of the artizan.
This too is the prolific source of social misery. But the misery is
entirely the result of human ignorance and self-indulgence. For though
the Creator has ordained poverty, the poor are not necessarily, nor as a
matter of fact, the miserable. Misery is the result of moral
causes,--most commonly of individual vice and improvidence.

The Rev. Mr. Norris, in speaking of the habits of the highly paid miners
and iron-workers of South Staffordshire, says, "Improvidence is too tame
a word for it--it is recklessness; here young and old, married and
unmarried, are uniformly and almost avowedly self-indulgent
spendthrifts. One sees this reckless character marring and vitiating the
nobler traits of their nature. Their gallantry in the face of danger is
akin to foolhardiness; their power of intense labour is seldom exerted
except to compensate for time lost in idleness and revelry; their
readiness to make 'gatherings' for their sick and married comrades seems
only to obviate the necessity of previous saving; their very creed--and,
after their sort, they are a curiously devotional people, holding
frequent prayer-meetings in the pits--often degenerates into fanatical
fatalism. But it is seen far more painfully and unmistakably in the
alternate plethora and destitution between which, from year's end to
year's end, the whole population seems to oscillate. The prodigal
revelry of the _reckoning night_, the drunkenness of Sunday, the refusal
to work on Monday and perhaps Tuesday, and then the untidiness of their
home towards the latter part of the two or three weeks which intervene
before the next pay-day; their children kept from school, their wives
and daughters on the pit-bank, their furniture in the pawnshop; the
crowded and miry lanes in which they live, their houses often cracked
from top to bottom by the 'crowning in' of the ground, without drainage,
or ventilation, or due supply of water;--such a state of things as this,
co-existing with earnings which might ensure comfort and even
prosperity, seems to prove that no legislation can cure the evil."

We have certainly had numerous "Reforms." We have had household
suffrage, and vote by ballot. We have relieved the working classes of
the taxes on corn, cattle, coffee, sugar, and provisions generally; and
imposed a considerable proportion of the taxes from which they have been
relieved on the middle and upper ranks. Yet these measures have produced
but little improvement in the condition of the working people. They have
not applied the principle of Reform to themselves. They have not begun
at home. Yet the end of all Reform is the improvement of the individual.
Everything that is wrong in Society results from that which is wrong in
the Individual. When men are bad, society is bad.

Franklin, with his shrewd common sense, observed, "The taxes are indeed
very heavy; and if those laid on by the Government were the only ones we
had to pay, we might more easily discharge them; but we have many
others, and much more grievous to some of us. We are taxed quite as much
by our idleness, three times as much by our pride, and four times as
much by our folly; and from these taxes the Commissioners cannot ease or
deliver us by allowing an abatement."

Lord John Russell once made a similar statement to a body of working men
who waited upon him for the purpose of asking relief from taxation. "You
complain of the taxes," he said; "but think of how you tax yourselves.
You consume about fifty millions yearly in drink. Is there any
Government that would dare to tax you to that extent? You have it in
your own power greatly to reduce the taxes, and that without in any way
appealing to us."

Complaining that the laws are bad, and that the taxes are heavy, will
not mend matters. Aristocratic government, and the tyranny of masters,
are nothing like so injurious as the tyranny of vicious appetites. Men
are easily led away by the parade of their miseries, which are for the
most part voluntary and self-imposed,--the results of idleness,
thriftlessness, intemperance, and misconduct. To blame others for what
we suffer, is always more agreeable to our self-pride, than to blame
ourselves. But it is perfectly clear that people who live from day to
day without plan, without rule, without forethought--who spend all their
earnings, without saving anything for the future--are preparing
beforehand for inevitable distress. To provide only for the present, is
the sure means to sacrificing the future. What hope can there be for a
people whose only maxim seems to be, "Let us eat and drink, for
to-morrow we die"?

All this may seem very hopeless; yet it is not entirely so. The large
earnings of the working classes is an important point to start with. The
gradual diffusion of education will help them to use, and not abuse,
their means of comfortable living. The more extended knowledge of the
uses of economy, frugality, and thrift, will help them to spend their
lives more soberly, virtuously, and religiously. Mr. Denison was of
opinion that much of this might be accomplished "within two
generations." Social improvement is always very slow. How extremely
tardy has been the progress of civilization! How gradually have its
humanizing influences operated in elevating the mass of the people! It
requires the lapse of generations before its effects can be so much as
discerned: for a generation is but as a day in the history of
civilization. It has cost most nations ages of wars, before they could
conquer their right of existence as nations. It took four centuries of
persecutions and martyrdoms to establish Christianity, and two centuries
of civil wars to establish the Reformation. The emancipation of the
bondsmen from feudal slavery was only reached through long ages of
misery. From the days in which our British progenitors rushed to battle
in their war-paint,--or those more recent times when the whole of the
labouring people were villeins and serfs, bought and sold with the soil
which they tilled,--to the times in which we now live,--how wide the
difference, how gratifying the contrast. Surely it ought not to be so
difficult to put an end to the Satanic influences of thriftlessness,
drunkenness, and improvidence!




CHAPTER IV.

MEANS OF SAVING.


"Self-reliance and self-denial will teach a man to drink out of his own
cistern, and eat his own sweet bread, and to learn and labour truly to
get his own living, and carefully to save and expend the good things
committed to his trust."--_Lord Bacon._

"Love, therefore, labour: if thou should'st not want it for food, thou
may'st for physic. It is wholesome for the body, and good for the mind;
it prevents the fruit of idleness."--_William Penn._

"The parent who does not teach his child a trade, teaches him to be a
thief."--_Brahminical Scriptures._


Those who say that "It can't be done," are probably not aware that many
of the working classes are in the receipt of incomes considerably larger
than those of professional men.

That this is the case, is not, by any means, a secret. It is published
in blue-books, it is given in evidence before parliamentary committees,
it is reported in newspapers. Any coal-owner, or iron-master, or
cotton-spinner, will tell you of the high wages that he pays to his
workpeople.

Families employed in the cotton manufacture are able to earn over three
pounds a week, according to the number of the children employed.[1]
Their annual incomes will thus amount to about a hundred and fifty
pounds a year,--which is considerably larger than the incomes of many
professional men--higher than the average of country surgeons, higher
than the average of the clergy and ministers of all denominations,
higher than the average of the teachers of common schools, and probably
higher than the average income of the middle classes of the United
Kingdom generally.

[Footnote 1: A return of seven families employed by Henry Ashworth, New
Cayley Mills, Lancashire, is given in the Blue Book, entitled, "Report
of the Paris Universal Exhibition, 1867, containing the Returns relative
to the New Order of Reward," p. 163. Of the seven families, the lowest
earnings per family amounted to £2 14s. 6d.; and the highest to £3 19s.
a week.]

An employer at Blackburn informs us that many persons earn upwards of
five pounds a week,--or equal to an average income of two hundred and
sixty pounds a year. Such families, he says, "ought not to expend more
than three pounds weekly. The rest should be saved. But most of them,
after feeding and clothing themselves, spend the rest in drink and
dissipation."

The wages are similar in the Burnley district, where food, drink, and
dress absorb the greater part of the workpeople's earnings. In this, as
in other factory districts, "the practice of young persons
(mill-workers) boarding with their parents is prevalent, and is very
detrimental to parental authority." Another reporter says, "Wages are
increasing: as there is more money, and more time to spend it in,
sobriety is not on the increase, especially amongst females."

The operatives employed in the woollen manufacture receive about forty
shillings a week, and some as much as sixty,[1] besides the amount
earned by their children.

A good mechanic in an engine shop makes from thirty-five to forty-five
shillings a week, and some mechanics make much larger wages. Multiply
these figures, and it will be found that they amount to an annual income
of from a hundred to a hundred and twenty pounds a year.

[Footnote 1: See the above Blue Book, p. 57, certifying the wages paid
by Bliss and Son, of Chipping Norton Woollen Factory.]

But the colliers and iron-workers are paid much higher wages. One of the
largest iron-masters recently published in the newspapers the names of
certain colliers in his employment who were receiving from four to five
pounds a week,--or equal to an annual income of from two hundred to two
hundred and fifty pounds a year.[1]

[Footnote 1: Richard Fothergill, Esq., M.P. He published a subsequent
letter, from which we extract the following:--

"No doubt such earnings seem large to clerks, and educated men, who
after receiving a costly education have often to struggle hard for
bread; but they are nevertheless the rightful earnings of steady manual
labour; and I have the pleasure of adding that, while all steady,
well-disposed colliers, in good health, could make equally good wages,
many hundreds in South Wales are quietly doing as much or more: witness
a steady collier in my employment, with his two sons living at home,
whose monthly pay ticket has averaged £30 for the past twelvemonth.

"Another steady collier within my information, aided by his son, h as
earned during the past five months upwards of £20 a month on the
average, and from his manual labour as an ordinary collier--for it is of
the working colliers and firemen I am speaking all along--he has built
fifteen good houses, and, disregarding all menaces, he continues his
habits of steady industry, whereby he hopes to accumulate an
independence for his family in all events."]

Iron-workers are paid a still higher rate of wages. A plate-roller
easily makes three hundred a year.[2] The rollers in rail mills often
make much more. In busy times they have made as much as from seven to
ten guineas a week, or equal to from three to five hundred a year.[3]
But, like the workers in cotton mills, the iron workers are often helped
by their sons, who are also paid high wages. Thus, the under-hands are
usually boys from fourteen years of age and upwards, who earn about
nineteen shillings a week, and the helpers are boys of under fourteen,
who earn about nine shillings a week.

[Footnote 2: See Messrs. Fox, Head, and Co.'s return, in the Blue Book
above referred to. This was the rate of wages at Middlesborough, in
Yorkshire. In South Wales, the wages of the principal operatives engaged
in the iron manufacture, recently, were--Puddlers. 9_s_. a day; first
heaters on the rail mills. 8_s_. 9_d_. a day: second heaters, 11_s_.
7_d_.: roughers, 10_s_. 9_d_.: rollers, 13_s_. 2_d_., or equal to that
amount.]

[Footnote 3: Even at the present time, when business is so much
depressed, the mill-rollers make an average wage of £5 10_s_. a week.]

These earnings are far above the average incomes of the professional
classes. The rail rollers are able to earn a rate of pay equal to that
of Lieutenant-Colonels in Her Majesty's Foot Guards; plate-rollers equal
to that of Majors of Foot; and roughers equal to that of Lieutenants and
Adjutants.

Goldsmith spoke of the country curate as "passing rich with forty pounds
a year." The incomes of curates have certainly increased since the time
when Goldsmith wrote, but nothing like the incomes of skilled and
unskilled workmen. If curates merely worked for money, they would
certainly change their vocation, and become colliers and iron-workers.

When the author visited Renfrewshire a few years ago, the colliers were
earning from ten to fourteen shillings a day. According to the common
saying, they were "making money like a minting machine." To take an
instance, a father and three sons were earning sixty pounds a month,--or
equal to a united income of more than seven hundred pounds a year. The
father was a sober, steady, "eident" man. While the high wages lasted,
he was the first to enter the pit in the morning, and the last to leave
it at night. He only lost five days in one year (1873-4),--the loss
being occasioned by fast-days and holidays. Believing that the period of
high wages could not last long, he and his sons worked as hard as they
could. They saved a good deal of money, and bought several houses;
besides educating themselves to occupy higher positions.

In the same neighbourhood, another collier, with four sons, was earning
money at about the same rate per man, that is about seventy-five-pounds
a mouth, or nine hundred pounds a year. This family bought five houses
within a year, and saved a considerable sum besides. The last
information we had respecting them was that the father had become a
contractor,--that he employed about sixty colliers and "reddsmen,"[1]
and was allowed so much for every ton of coals brought to bank. The sons
were looking after their father's interests. They were all sober,
diligent, sensible men; and took a great deal of interest in the
education and improvement of the people in their neighbourhood.

[Footnote 1: "Reddsmen" are the men who clear the way for the colliers.
They "redd up" the _debris_, and build up the roof (in the long wall
system) as the colliery advances.]

At the same time that these two families of colliers were doing so well,
it was very different with the majority of their fellow-workmen. These
only worked about three days in every week. Some spent their earnings at
the public-house; others took a whisky "ploy" at the seaside. For that
purpose they hired all the gigs, droskies, cabs, or "machines," about a
fortnight beforehand. The results were seen, as the successive Monday
mornings come round. The magistrate sat in the neighbouring town, where
a number of men and women, with black eyes and broken heads, were
brought before him for judgment. Before the time of high wages, the
Court-house business was got through in an hour: sometimes there was no
business at all. But when the wages were doubled, the magistrate could
scarcely get through the business in a day. It seemed as if high wages
meant more idleness, more whisky, and more broken heads and faces.

These were doubtless "roaring times" for the colliers, who, had they
possessed the requisite self-denial, might have made little fortunes.
Many of the men who worked out the coal remained idle three or four days
in the week; while those who burnt the coal, were famished and frozen
for want of it. The working people who were _not_ colliers, will long
remember that period as the time of the _coal famine_. While it lasted,
Lord Elcho went over to Tranent--a village in East Lothian--to address
the colliers upon their thriftlessness, their idleness, and their
attempted combinations to keep up the price of coal.

He had the moral courage--a quality much wanted in these days--to tell
his constituents some hard but honest truths. He argued with them about
the coal famine, and their desire to prolong it. They were working three
days a week, and idling the other days. Some of them did not do a stroke
of work during a week or a fortnight; others were taking about a hundred
Bank holidays yearly. But what were they doing with the money they
earned? Were they saving it for a rainy day; or, when the "roaring
times" no longer existed, were they preparing to fall back upon the
poor-rates? He found that in one case a man, with his two sons, was
earning seven pounds in a fortnight. "I should like," he said, "to see
those Scotchmen who are in the mining business taking advantage of these
happy times, and endeavouring by their industry to rise from their
present position--to exercise self-help, to acquire property, and
possibly to become coal masters themselves."

It had been said in a newspaper, that a miner was earning wages equal to
that of a Captain, and that a mining boy was earning wages equal to that
of a Lieutenant in Her Majesty's service. "I only know," said Lord
Elcho, "that I have a boy who, when he first joined Her Majesty's
service, was an Ensign, and that his wage--to earn which, remember, he
had, under the purchase system, to pay five hundred pounds,--was not the
wage you are now receiving, but the wage which you were receiving in bad
times,--and that was only five shillings a day." It might be said that
the collier risks his life in earning his wages; but so does the
soldier; and the gallant boy to whom Lord Elcho referred, afterwards
lost his life in the Ashantee campaign.

The times of high wages did not leave a very good impression on the
public mind. Prices became higher, morals became lower, and the work
done was badly done. There was a considerable deterioration in the
character of British workmanship. "We began to rely too much upon the
foreigner. Trade was to a large extent destroyed, and an enormous loss
of capital was sustained, both by the workmen and by the masters. Lord
Aberdare was of opinion that three millions sterling were lost by _the
workmen alone_, during the recent strike in South Wales. One hundred and
twenty thousand workmen were in enforced idleness at once, and one
hundred and fifty thousand pounds were lost every week in wages during
the time that they remained idle.

What the employers think of the recent flash of "prosperity," can easily
be imagined. But it may not be unnecessary to quote some of the
statements of correspondents. A large employer of labour in South
Lancashire says: "Drunkenness increases, and personal violence is not
sufficiently discouraged. High wages and household suffrage came upon
the people before education had prepared them for the change."

In a large iron-work near Newcastle, where the men were paid the highest
wages for rolling plates and rails--and where they were earning between
three and four hundred pounds a year--the proprietors observe: "Except
in a few instances, we are afraid that workmen and their families spend
most of their earnings." Another employer in South Staffordshire says:
In the majority of cases, the men employed in the iron-work spend the
whole of their wages before the end of the following week. There are, of
course, some exceptions; but they are, unhappily, very few." Another, in
South Wales, says: "As to the thrifty habits of the men, a small
minority are careful and saving; they generally invest their money in
cottage property. But the great majority of the men spend their money
often before they earn it, and that in the most reckless way. Large sums
are spent in drink: this leads to idleness; and, owing to drinking and
idling, the works are kept short of men until about Wednesday in each
week, when the greater part of the most idly disposed have become
sobered down. Of course, when wages are low, the men work more
regularly. There is less drinking, and altogether the condition of the
place is healthier in every respect both in a moral and physical sense."

Another observer remarks, that the miners of Bilston are about six
thousand in number, and they spend more than fifty thousand pounds
annually in the purchase of ale and liquors. Their improvidence may be
studied with advantage in the Bilston Market. No other market is
supplied with finer poultry, or comparatively to the population, in
greater abundance; and this is chiefly, if not entirely, for, the
consumption of the labouring classes,--for the resident inhabitants, not
directly associated with those classes are few in number. Sordid and
ill-favoured men may there be seen buying on Saturday, chickens, ducks,
and geese, which they eat for supper; and in some instances, bottled
porter and wine. Yet, so little have they beforehand in the world, that
if the works were to stop, they would begin within a fortnight to pawn
the little furniture of their cottages, and their clothes, for
subsistence and for drink.

Mr. Chambers, of Edinburgh, in his description of the working classes of
Sunderland makes these remarks: "With deep sorrow I mention that
everywhere one tale was told. Intemperance prevails to a large extent;
good wages are squandered on mean indulgences; there is little care for
the morrow, and the workhouse is the ultimate refuge. One man, a skilled
worker in an iron-foundry, was pointed out as having for years received
a wage of one guinea a day, or six guineas a week; he had spent all,
mostly in drink, and was now reduced to a lower department at a pound a
week."

Another illustration occurs. A clerk at Blackburn took a house for
twenty pounds a year, and sublet the cellars underneath to a factory
operative at a rental of five pounds a year. The clerk had a wife, four
children, and a servant; the operative had a wife and five children. The
clerk and his family were well dressed, their children went to school,
and all went to church on Sundays. The operative's family went, some to
the factory, others to the gutter, but none to school; they were
ill-dressed, excepting on Sundays, when they obtained their clothes from
the pawnshop. As the Saturdays came round, the frying-pan in the cellar
was almost constantly at work until Monday night; and as regularly as
Thursday arrived, the bundle of clothes was sent to the pawnshop. Yet
the income of the upper-class family in the higher part of the house was
a hundred a year; and the income of the lower class family in the cellar
was fifty pounds more--that is, a hundred and fifty pounds a year!

An employer in the same neighbourhood used to say, "I cannot afford
lamb, salmon, young ducks and green peas, new potatoes, strawberries and
such-like, until after my hands have been consuming these delicacies of
the season for some three or four weeks."

The intense selfishness, thriftlessness, and folly of these highly paid
operatives, is scarcely credible. Exceptions are frequently taken to
calling the working classes "the lower orders;" but "the lower orders"
they always will be, so long as they indicate such sensual indulgence
and improvidence. In cases such as these, improvidence is not only a
great sin, and a feeder of sin, but it is a great _cruelty_. In the case
of the father of a family, who has been instrumental in bringing a
number of helpless beings into the world, it is heartless and selfish in
the highest degree to spend money on personal indulgences such as drink,
which do the parent no good, and the mother and the children, through
the hereditary bad example, an irreparable amount of mischief. The
father takes sick, is thrown out of work, and his children are at once
deprived of the means of subsistence. The reckless parent has not even
taken the precaution to enter a Provident or a Benefit Society; and
while he is sick, his wife and children are suffering the pangs of
hunger. Or, he dies; and the poor creatures are thrown upon the charity
of strangers, or on the miserable pittance wrung from the poor-rates.

It would seem to be of little use preaching up an extension of rights to
a people who are so supinely indifferent to their own well-being,--who
are really unconcerned about their own elevation. The friends of the
industrious should faithfully tell them that they must exercise
prudence, economy, and self-denial, if they would really be raised from
selfish debasement, and become elevated to the dignity of thinking
beings. It is only by practising the principles of self-dependence that
they can achieve dignity, stability, and consideration in society; or
that they can acquire such influence and power as to raise them in the
scale of social well-being.

Brown, the Oxford shoemaker, was of opinion that "a good mechanic is the
most independent man in the world." At least he ought to be such. He has
always a market for his skill; and if he be ordinarily diligent, sober,
and intelligent, he may be useful, healthy, and happy. With a thrifty
use of his means, he may, if he earns from thirty to forty shillings a
week, dress well, live well, and educate his children creditably.

Hugh Miller never had more than twenty-four shillings a week while
working as a journeyman stonemason, and here is the result of his
fifteen years' experience:--

"Let me state, for it seems to be very much the fashion to draw dolorous
pictures of the condition of the labouring classes, that from the close
of the first year in which I worked as a journeyman until I took final
leave of the mallet and chisel, I never knew what it was to want a
shilling; that my two uncles, my grandfather, and the mason with whom I
served my apprenticeship--all working men--had had a similar experience;
and that it was the experience of my father also. I cannot doubt that
deserving mechanics may, in exceptional cases, be exposed to want; but I
can as little doubt that the cases _are_ exceptional, and that much of
the suffering of the class is a consequence either of improvidence on
the part of the competently skilled, or of a course of trifling during
the term of apprenticeship, quite as common as trifling at school, that
always lands those who indulge in it in the hapless position of the
inferior workman."

It is most disheartening to find that so many of the highest paid
workmen in the kingdom should spend so large a portion of their earnings
in their own personal and sensual gratification. Many spend a third, and
others half their entire earnings, in drink. It would be considered
monstrous, on the part of any man whose lot has been cast among the
educated classes to exhibit such a degree of selfish indulgence; and to
spend even one-fourth of his income upon objects in which his wife and
children have no share.

Mr. Roolmck recently asked, at a public meeting,[1] "Why should the mail
who makes £200 or £300 a year by his mechanical labour, be a rude,
coarse, brutal fellow? There is no reason why he should be so.

[Footnote 1: Meeting of the Mechanics' Institutes at Dewsbury,
Yorkshire.]

Why should he not be like a gentleman? Why should not his house be like
my house? When I go home from my labour, what do I find? I find a
cheerful wife--I find an elegant, educated woman. I have a daughter; she
is the same. Why should not you find the same happy influences at home?
I want to know, when the working man comes from his daily labour to his
home, why he should not find his table spread as mine is spread; why he
should not find his wife well dressed, cleanly, loving, kind, and his
daughter the same?... We all know that many working men, earning good
wages, spend their money in the beerhouse and in drunkenness, instead of
in clothing their wives and families. Why should not these men spend
their wages as I spend my small stipend, in intellectual pleasures, in
joining with my family in intellectual pursuits? Why should not working
men, after enjoying their dinners and thanking God for what they have
got, turn their attention to intellectual enjoyments, instead of going
out to get drunk in the nearest pothouse! Depend on it these things
ought to go to the heart of a working man; and he is not a friend to the
working man who talks to him and makes him believe that he is a great
man in the State, and who don't tell him what are the duties of his
position."

It is difficult to account for the waste and extravagance of working
people. It must be the hereditary remnant of the original savage. It
must be a survival. The savage feasts and drinks until everything is
gone; and then he hunts or goes to war. Or it may be the survival of
slavery in the State. Slavery was one of the first of human
institutions. The strong man made the weak man work for him. The warlike
race subdued the less warlike race, and made them their slaves. Thus
slavery existed from the earliest times. In Greece and Rome the righting
was done by freemen, the labour by helots and bondsmen. But slavery also
existed in the family. The wife was the slave of her husband as much as
the slave whom he bought in the public market.

Slavery long existed among ourselves. It existed when Caesar lauded. It
existed in Saxon times, when the household work was done by slaves. The
Saxons were notorious slave-dealers, and the Irish were their best
customers. The principal mart was at Bristol, from whence the Saxons
exported large numbers of slaves into Ireland so that, according to
Irish historians, there was scarcely a house in Ireland without a
British slave in it.

When the Normans took possession of England, they continued slavery.
They made slaves of the Saxons themselves whom they decreed villeins and
bondsmen. Domesday Book shows that the toll of the market at Lewes in
Sussex was a penny for a cow, and fourpence for a slave--not a serf
(_adscriptus glebae_), but an unconditional bondsman. From that time
slavery continued in various forms. It is recorded of "the good old
times," that it was not till the reign of Henry IV. (1320--1413) that
villeins, farmers, and mechanics were permitted by law to put their
children to school; and long after that, they dared not educate a son
for the Church without a licence from the lord.[1] The Kings of England,
in their contests with the feudal aristocracy, gradually relaxed the
slave laws. They granted charters founding Royal Burghs; and when the
slaves fled into them, and were able to conceal themselves for a year
and a day, they then became freemen of the burgh, and were declared by
law to be free.

[Footnote 1: _Henry's History of England_, Book v., chap. 4]

The last serfs in England were emancipated in the reign of Queen
Elizabeth; but the last serfs in Scotland, were not emancipated until
the reign of George III, at the end of last century. Before then, the
colliers and salters belonged to the soil. They were bought and sold
with it. They had no power to determine what their wages should be. Like
the slaves in the Southern States of America, they merely accepted such
sustenance as was sufficient to maintain their muscles and sinews in
working order.

They were never required to save for any purpose, for they had no right
to their own savings. They did not need to provide for to-morrow; their
masters provided for them. The habit of improvidence was thus formed;
and it still continues. The Scotch colliers, who were recently earning
from ten to fourteen shillings a day, are the grandsons of men who were
slaves down to the end of last century. The preamble of an Act passed in
1799 (39th Geo. III., c. 56), runs as follows: "Whereas, before the
passing of an Act of the fifteenth of his present Majesty, many
colliers, coal-bearers, and salters _were bound for life to, and
transferable with, the collieries and salt-works where they worked_, but
by the said Act their bondage was taken off and they were declared to be
free, notwithstanding which many colliers and coalbearers and salters
still continue in a state of bondage from not having complied with the
provisions, or from having become subject to the penalties of that Act,"
etc. The new Act then proceeds to declare them free from servitude. The
slaves formerly earned only enough to keep them, and laid by nothing
whatever for the future. Hence we say that the improvidence of the
colliers, as of the iron-workers, is but a survival of the system of
slavery in our political constitution.

Matters have now become entirely different. The workman, no matter what
his trade, is comparatively free. The only slavery from which he
suffers, is his passion for drink. In this respect he still resembles
the Esquimaux and the North American Indians. Would he be really free?
Then he must exercise the powers of a free, responsible man. He must
exercise self-control and self-constraint,--and sacrifice present
personal gratifications for prospective enjoyments of a much higher
kind. It is only by self-respect and self-control that the position of
the workman can be really elevated.

The working man is now more of a citizen than he ever was before. He is
a recognized power, and has been admitted within the pale of the
constitution. For him mechanics' institutes, newspapers, benefit
societies, and all the modern agencies of civilization, exist in
abundance. He is admitted to the domain of intellect; and, from time to
time, great thinkers, artists, engineers, philosophers, and poets, rise
up from his order, to proclaim that intellect is of no rank, and
nobility of no exclusive order. The influences of civilization are
rousing society to its depths; and daily evidences are furnished of the
rise of the industrious classes to a position of social power.
Discontent may, and does, exhibit itself; but discontent is only the
necessary condition of improvement; for a man will not be stimulated to
rise up into a higher condition unless he be first made dissatisfied
with the lower condition out of which he has to rise. To be satisfied is
to repose; while, to be rationally dissatisfied, is to contrive, to
work, and to act, with an eye to future advancement.

The working classes very much under-estimate themselves. Though they
receive salaries or wages beyond the average earnings of professional
men, yet many of them have no other thought than that of living in mean
houses, and spending their surplus time and money in drink. They seem
wanting in respect for themselves as well as for their class. They
encourage the notion that there is something degrading in labour,--than
which nothing can be more false. Labour of all kinds is dignifying and
honourable; it is the idler, above all others, who is undignified and
dishonourable.

"Let the working man," says Mr. Sterling, "try to connect his daily
task, however mean, with the highest thoughts he can apprehend, and he
thereby secures the rightfulness of his lot, and is raising his
existence to his utmost good. It is because the working man has failed
to do this, and because others have failed to help him as they ought,
that the lot of labour has hitherto been associated with what is mean
and degrading."

With respect to remuneration, the average of skilled mechanics and
artisans, as we have already said, are better paid than the average of
working curates. The working engineer is better paid than the ensign in
a marching regiment. The foreman in any of our large engineering
establishments is better paid than an army surgeon. The rail-roller
receives over a guinea a day, while an assistant navy surgeon receives
fourteen shillings, and after three years' service, twenty-one
shillings, with rations. The majority of dissenting ministers are much
worse paid than the better classes of skilled mechanics and artizans;
and the average of clerks employed in counting-houses and warehouses
receive wages very much lower.

Skilled workmen might--and, if they had the will, they would--occupy a
social position as high as the educated classes we refer to. What
prevents them rising? Merely because they will not use their leisure to
cultivate their minds. They have sufficient money; it is culture that
they want. They ought to know that the position of men in society does
not depend so much upon their earnings, as upon their character and
intelligence. And it is because they neglect their abundant
opportunities,--because they are thriftless and spend their earnings in
animal enjoyments,--because they refuse to cultivate the highest parts
of their nature,--that they are excluded, or rather self-excluded, from
those social and other privileges in which they are entitled to take
part.

Notwithstanding their high wages, they for the most part cling to the
dress, the language, and the manners of their class. They appear, during
their leisure hours, in filthy dresses, and unwashed hands. No matter
how skilled the workman may be, he is ready to sink his mind and
character to the lowest level of his co-workers. Even the extra money
which he earns by his greater skill, often contributes to demoralize and
degrade him. And yet he might dress as well, live as well, and be
surrounded by the physical comforts and intellectual luxuries of
professional men. But no! From week to week his earnings are wasted. He
does not save a farthing; he is a public-house victim; and when work
becomes slack, and his body becomes diseased, his only refuge is the
workhouse.

How are these enormous evils to be cured? Some say by better education;
others by moral and religious instruction; others by better homes, and
better wives and mothers. All these influences will doubtless contribute
much towards the improvement of the people. One thing is perfectly
clear, that an immense amount of ignorance prevails, and that such
ignorance must be dissipated before the lower classes can be elevated.
Their whole character must be changed, and they must be taught in early
life habits of forecast and self-control.

We often hear that "Knowledge is Power;" but we never hear that
Ignorance is Power. And yet Ignorance has always had more power in the
world than Knowledge. Ignorance dominates. It is because of the evil
propensities of men that the costly repressive institutions of modern
governments exist.

Ignorance arms men against each other; provides gaols and
penitentiaries; police and constabulary. All the physical force of the
State is provided by Ignorance; is required by Ignorance; is very often
wielded by Ignorance. We may well avow, then, that Ignorance is Power.

Ignorance is powerful, because Knowledge, as yet, has obtained access
only to the minds of the few. Let Knowledge become more generally
diffused; let the multitude become educated, thoughtful, and wise; and
then Knowledge may obtain the ascendancy over Ignorance. But that time
has not yet arrived.

Look into the records of crime, and you will find that, for one man
possessed of wisdom or knowledge who commits a crime, there are a
hundred ignorant. Or, into the statistics of drunkenness and
improvidence of all sorts; still Ignorance is predominant. Or, into the
annals of pauperism; there, again, Ignorance is Power.

The principal causes of anxiety in this country, are the social
suffering and disease which proceed from Ignorance. To mitigate these,
we form associations, organize societies, spend money, and labour in
committees. But the power of Ignorance is too great for us. We almost
despair while we work. We feel that much of our effort is wasted. We are
often ready to give up in dismay, and recoil from our encounter with the
powers of evil.

"How forcible are right words!" exclaimed Job. Yes! But, with equal
justice, he might have said, "How forcible are wrong words!" The wrong
words have more power with ignorant minds than the right words. They fit
themselves into wrong heads, and prejudiced heads, and empty heads; and
have power over them. The right words have often no meaning for them,
any more than if they were the words of some dead language. The wise
man's thoughts do not reach the multitude, but fly over their heads.
Only the few as yet apprehend them.

The physiologist may discuss the laws of health, and the Board of Health
may write tracts for circulation among the people; but half the people
cannot so much as read; and of the remaining half, but a very small
proportion are in the habit of _thinking_. Thus the laws of health are
disregarded; and when fever comes, it finds a wide field to work upon:
in undrained and filthy streets and back-yards,--noisome, pestilential
districts,--foul, uncleansed dwellings,--large populations ill-supplied
with clean water and with pure air. There death makes fell havoc; many
destitute widows and children have to be maintained out of the
poor's-rates; and then we reluctantly confess to ourselves that
Ignorance is Power.

The only method of abating this power of Ignorance, is by increasing
that of Knowledge. As the sun goes up the sky, the darkness disappears;
and the owl, the bat, and the beasts of prey, slink out of sight. Give
the people knowledge,--give them better education,--and thus, crime will
be abated,--drunkenness, improvidence, lawlessness, and all the powers
of evil, will, to a certain extent, disappear.[1]

[Footnote 1: The recent reports of Mr. Tremenheere to the Secretary of
State for the Home Department, with respect to the condition of the
population in the iron and coal districts, show that he places
considerable reliance upon the effect of Education. The evidence which
he brought together from all parts of the country, shows that the
increase of immorality with the increase of wages was attributed to the
low tastes and desires of the people.--that the obstinate refusal of the
men to exert more than two-thirds of their fair powers of work, by which
the cost of production is largely enhanced, capital crippled, and the
public mulcted, was due to the same cause,--that their readiness to
become the prey of unionists and agitators is traceable to their want of
the most elementary principles of thought,--that most of the accidents,
which are of weekly occurrence, are occasioned by their stupidity and
ignorance,--that wherever they have advanced in intelligence, they have
become more skilful, more subordinate, and more industrious. These facts
have convinced the more thoughtful and far-sighted masters, that the
only sure means of maintaining their ground under increasing foreign
competition, and averting a social crisis, is to reform the character of
the rising generation of operatives by _education_,]

It must, however, be admitted that education is not enough. The clever
man may be a clever rogue; and the cleverer he is, the cleverer rogue he
will be. Education, therefore, must be based upon religion and morality;
for education by itself will not eradicate vicious propensities. Culture
of intellect has but little effect upon moral conduct. You may see
clever, educated, literary men, with no conduct whatever,--wasteful,
improvident, drunken, and vicious. It follows, therefore, that education
must be based upon the principles of religion and morality.

Nor has the poverty of the people so much to do with their social
degradation as is commonly supposed. The question is essentially a moral
one. If the income of the labouring community could be suddenly doubled,
their happiness will not necessarily be increased; for happiness does
not consist in money. In fact, the increased wages might probably prove
a curse instead of a blessing. In the case of many, there would be an
increased consumption of drink, with the usual results,--an increase of
drunken violence, and probably an increase of crime.

The late Mr. Clay, chaplain of the Preston House of Correction, after
characterizing drunkenness as the GREAT SIN, proceeds: "It still rises
in savage hostility, against everything allied to order and religion; it
still barricades every avenue by which truth and peace seek to enter the
poor man's home and heart.... Whatever may be the predominant cause of
crime, it is very clear that ignorance, religious ignorance, is the
chief ingredient in the character of the criminal. This combines with
the passion for liquor, and offences numberless are engendered by the
union."

The late Sir Arthur Helps, when speaking of high and low wages, and of
the means of getting and spending money, thus expresses himself on the
subject, in his "Friends in Council":"My own conviction is, that
throughout England every year there is sufficient wages given, even at
the present low rate, to make the condition of the labouring poor quite
different from what it is. But then these wages must be well spent. I do
not mean that the poor could of themselves alone effect this change; but
were they seconded by the advice, the instruction, and the aid (not
given in money, or only in money lent to produce the current interest of
the day) of the classes above them, the rest the poor might accomplish
for themselves. And, indeed, all that the rich could do to elevate the
poor could hardly equal the advantage that would be gained by the poor
themselves, if they could thoroughly subdue that one vice of
drunkenness, the most wasteful of all the vices.

"In the living of the poor (as indeed of all of us) there are two things
to be considered; how to get money, and how to spend it. Now, I believe,
the experience of employers will bear me out in saying, that it is
frequently found that the man with 20s. a week does not live more
comfortably, or save more, than the man with 14s.,--the families of the
two men being the same in number and general circumstances. It is
probable that unless he have a good deal of prudence and thought, the
man who gets at all more than the average of his class does not know
what to do with it, or only finds in it a means superior to that which
his fellows possess of satisfying his appetite for drinking."

Notwithstanding, however, the discouraging circumstances to which we
have referred, we must believe that in course of time, as men's nature
becomes improved by education--secular, moral, and religious--they may
be induced to make a better use of their means, by considerations of
prudence, forethought, and parental responsibility. A German writer
speaks of the education given to a child as _a capital_--equivalent to a
store of money--placed at its disposal by the parent. The child, when
grown to manhood, may employ the education, as he might employ the
money, badly; but that is no argument against the possession of either.
Of course, the value of education, as of money, chiefly consists in its
proper use. And one of the advantages of knowledge is, that the very
acquisition of it tends to increase the capability of using it aright;
which is certainly not the case with the accumulation of money.

Education, however obtained, is always an advantage to a man. Even as a
means of material advancement, it is worthy of being sought after,--not
to speak of its moral uses as an elevator of character and intelligence.
And if, as Dr. Lyon Playfair insists, the composition between industrial
nations must before long become a competition mainly of intelligence, it
is obvious that England must make better provision for the education of
its industrial classes, or be prepared to fall behind in the industrial
progress of nations.

"It would be of little avail," said Dr. Brewster of Edinburgh, "to the
peace and happiness of society, if the great truths of the material
world were confined to the educated and the wise. The organization of
science thus limited would cease to be a blessing. Knowledge secular,
and knowledge divine, the double current of the intellectual life-blood
of man, must not merely descend through the great arteries of the social
frame; it must be taken up by the minutest capillaries before it can
nourish and purify society. Knowledge is at once the manna and the
medicine of our moral being. Where crime is the bane, knowledge is the
antidote. Society may escape from the pestilence and may survive the
famine; but the demon of ignorance, with his grim adjutants of vice and
riot, will pursue her into her most peaceful haunts, destroying our
institutions, and converting into a wilderness the paradise of social
and domestic life. The State has, therefore, a great duty to perform. As
it punishes crime, it is bound to prevent it. As it subjects us to laws,
it must teach us to read them; and while it thus teaches, it must teach
also the ennobling truths which display the power and the wisdom of the
great Lawgiver, thus diffusing knowledge while it is extending
education; and thus making men contented, and happy, and humble, while
it makes them quiet and obedient subjects."

A beginning has already been made with public school education. Much
still remains to be done to establish the system throughout the empire.
At present we are unable to judge of the effects of what has been done.
But if general education accomplish as much for England as it has
already accomplished for Germany, the character of this country will be
immensely improved during the next twenty years. Education has almost
banished drunkenness from Germany; and had England no drunkenness, no
thriftlessness, no reckless multiplication, our social miseries would be
comparatively trivial.

We must therefore believe that as intelligence extends amongst the
working class, and as a better moral tone pervades them, there will be a
rapid improvement in their sober, thrifty and provident habits; for
these form the firmest and surest foundations for social advancement.
There is a growing desire, on the part of the more advanced minds in
society, to see the working men take up their right position. They who
do society's work,--who produce, under the direction of the most
intelligent of their number, the wealth of the nation,--are entitled to
a much higher place than they have yet assumed. We believe in this "good
time coming," for working men and women,--when an atmosphere of
intelligence shall pervade them--when they will prove themselves as
enlightened, polite, and independent as the other classes of society;
and, as the first and surest step towards this consummation, we counsel
them to PROVIDE--to provide for the future as well as for the
present--to provide, in times of youth and plenty, against the times of
adversity, misfortune, and old age.

"If any one intends to improve his condition," said the late William
Felkin, Mayor of Nottingham, himself originally a working man, "he must
earn all he can, spend as little as he can, and make what he does spend,
bring him and his family all the real enjoyment he can. The first saving
which a working man makes out of his earnings is the first step,--and
because it is the first, the most important step towards true
independence. Now independence is as practicable in the case of an
industrious and economic, though originally poor, workman, as in that of
the tradesman or merchant,--and is as great and estimable a blessing.
The same process must be attended to,--that is, the entire expenditure
being kept below the clear income, all contingent claims being carefully
considered and provided for, and the surplus held sacred, to be employed
for those purposes, and those only, which duty or conscience may point
out as important or desirable. This requires a course of laborious
exertion and strict economy, a little foresight, and possibly some
privation. But this is only what is common to all desirable objects. And
inasmuch as I know what it is to labour with the hands long hours, and
for small wages, as well as any workman to whom I address myself, and to
practise self-denial withal, I am emboldened to declare from experience
that the gain of independence, or rather self-dependence, for which I
plead, is worth infinitely more than all the cost of its attainment;
and, moreover, that to attain it in a greater or less degree, according
to circumstances, is within the power of by far the greater number of
skilled workmen engaged in our manufactories."




CHAPTER V.

EXAMPLES OF THRIFT.


"Examples demonstrate the possibility of success."--_Cotton._


_"The force of his own merit, makes his way."--_Shakespeare._

"Reader, attend, whether thy soul
Soars Fancy's flight beyond the Pole,
Or darkling grubs this earthly hole
                       In low pursuit--
Know, prudent, cautious self-control,
                       Is wisdom's root."--_Burns._

"In the family, as in the State, the best source of wealth is
Economy."--_Cicero._

"Right action is the result of right faith; but a true and right faith
cannot be sustained, deepened, extended, save in a course of right
action."--_M'Combie._


Thrift is the spirit of order applied to domestic management and
organization. Its object is to manage frugally the resources of the
family; to prevent waste; and avoid useless expenditure. Thrift is under
the influence of reason and forethought, and never works by chance or by
fits. It endeavours to make the most and the best of everything. It does
not save money for saving's sake. It makes cheerful sacrifices for the
present benefit of others; or it submits to voluntary privation for some
future good.

Mrs. Inchbald, author of the "Simple Story," was, by dint of thrift,
able to set apart the half of her small income for the benefit of her
infirm sister. There was thus about two pounds a week for the
maintenance of each. "Many times," she says, "during the winter, when I
was crying with cold, have I said to myself, 'Thank God, my dear sister
need not leave her chamber; she will find her fire ready for her each
morning; for she is now far less able than I am to endure privation.'"
Mrs. Inchbald's family were, for the most part very poor; and she felt
it right to support them during their numerous afflictions. There is one
thing that may be say of Benevolence,--that it has never ruined anyone;
though selfishness and dissipation have ruined thousands.

The words "Waste not, want not," carved in stone over Sir Walter Scott's
kitchen fireplace at Abbotsford, expresses in a few words the secret of
Order in the midst of abundance. Order is most useful in the management
of everything,--of a household, of a business, of a manufactory, of an
army. Its maxim is--A place for everything, and everything in its place.
Order is wealth; for, whoever properly regulates the use of his income,
almost doubles his resources. Disorderly persons are rarely rich; and
orderly persons are rarely poor.

Order is the best manager of time; for unless work is properly arranged,
Time is lost; and, once lost, it is gone for ever. Order illustrates
many important subjects. Thus, obedience to the moral and natural law,
is order. Respect for ourselves and our neighbours, is order. Regard for
the rights and obligations of all, is order. Virtue is order. The world
began with order. Chaos prevailed, before the establishment of order.

Thrift is the spirit of order in human life. It is the prime agent in
private economy. It preserves the happiness of many a household. And as
it is usually woman who regulates the order of the household, it is
mainly upon her that the well-doing of society depends. It is therefore
all the more necessary that she should early be educated in the habit
and the virtue of orderliness.

The peer, the merchant, the clerk, the artizan, and the labourer, are
all of the same nature, born with the same propensities and subject to
similar influences. They are, it is true, born in different positions,
but it rests with themselves whether they shall live their lives nobly
or vilely. They may not have their choice of riches or poverty; but they
have their choice of being good or evil,--of being worthy or worthless.


People of the highest position, in point of culture and education, have
often as great privations to endure as the average of working people.
They have often to make their incomes go much further. They have to keep
up a social standing. They have to dress better; and live sufficiently
well for the purpose of health. Though their income may be less than
that of colliers and iron-workers, they are under the moral necessity of
educating their sons and bringing them up as gentlemen, so that they may
take their fair share of the world's work.

Thus, the tenth Earl of Buchan brought up a numerous family of children,
one of whom afterwards rose to be Lord Chancellor of England, upon an
income not exceeding two hundred a year. It is not the amount of income,
so much as the good use of it, that marks the true man; and viewed in
this light, good sense, good taste, and sound mental culture, are among
the best of all economists.

The late Dr. Aiton said that his father brought up a still larger family
on only half the income of the Earl of Buchan. The following dedication,
prefixed to his work on "Clerical Economics," is worthy of being
remembered: "This work is respectfully dedicated to a Father, now in the
eighty-third year of his age, who, on an income which never exceeded a
hundred pounds yearly, educated, out of a family of twelve children,
four sons to liberal professions, and who has often sent his last
shilling to each of them, in their turn, when they were at college."

The author might even cite his own case as an illustration of the
advantages of thrift. His mother was left a widow, when her youngest
child--the youngest of eleven--was only three weeks old. Notwithstanding
a considerable debt on account of a suretyship, which was paid, she
bravely met the difficulties of her position, and perseveringly overcame
them. Though her income was less than that of many highly paid working
men, she educated her children well, and brought them up religiously and
virtuously. She put her sons in the way of doing well, and if they have
not done so, it was through no fault of hers.

Hume, the historian, was a man of good family; but being a younger
brother, his means were very small. His father died while he was an
infant; he was brought up by his mother, who devoted herself entirely to
the rearing and educating of her children. At twenty-three, young Hume
went to France to prosecute his studies. "There," says he, in his
Autobiography, "I laid down that plan of life which I have steadily and
successfully pursued. I resolved to make a very rigid frugality supply
my deficiency of fortune, to maintain unimpaired my independency, and to
regard every object as contemptible, except the improvement of my
talents in literature." The first book he published was a complete
failure. But he went on again; composed and published another book,
which was a success. But he made no money by it. He became secretary to
the military embassy at Vienna and Turin; and at thirty-six he thought
himself rich. These are his own words: "My appointments, with my
frugality, had made me reach a fortune which I called independent,
though most of my friends were inclined to smile when I said so: in
short, I was now master of near a thousand pounds." Every one knows that
a thousand pounds, at five per cent., means fifty pounds a year; and
Hume considered himself independent with that income. His friend Adam
Smith said of him: "Even in the lowest state of his fortune, his great
and necessary frugality never hindered him from exercising, upon proper
occasions, acts both of charity and generosity. It was a frugality
founded not on avarice, but upon the love of independency."

But one of the most remarkable illustrations of Thrift is to be found in
the history of the Rev. Robert Walker--the _Wonderful_ Robert Walker, as
he is still called in the district of Cumberland where he resided. He
was curate of Leathwaite during the greater part of last century. The
income of the curacy, at the time of his appointment (1735), was only
five pounds a year. His wife brought him a fortune of forty pounds. Is
it possible that he could contrive to live upon his five pounds a year,
the interest of his wife's fortune, and the result of his labours as a
clergyman? Yes, he contrived to do all this; and he not only lived well,
though plainly, but he saved money, which he left for the benefit of his
family. He accomplished all this by means of industry, frugality, and
temperance.

First, about his industry. He thoroughly did the work connected with his
curacy. The Sabbath was in all respects regarded by him as a holy day.
After morning and evening service, he devoted the evening to reading the
Scriptures and family prayer. On weekdays, he taught the children of the
parish, charging nothing for the education, but only taking so much as
the people chose to give him. The parish church was his school; and
while the children were repeating their lessons by his side, he was,
like Shenstone's schoolmistress, engaged in spinning wool. He had the
right of pasturage upon the mountains for a few sheep and a couple of
cows, which required his attendance. With this pastoral occupation he
joined the labours of husbandry, for he rented two or three acres of
land in addition to his own acre of glebe, and he also possessed a
garden,--the whole of which was tilled by his own hand. The fuel of the
house consisted of peat, procured by his labour from the neighbouring
mosses. He also assisted his parishioners in haymaking and shearing
their flocks,--in which latter art he was eminently dexterous. In
return, the neighbours would present him with a haycock, or a fleece, as
a general acknowledgment of his services.

After officiating as curate of Leathwaite for about twenty years, the
annual value of the living was increased to seventeen pounds ten
shillings. His character being already well known and highly
appreciated, the Bishop of Carlisle offered Mr. Walker the appointment
of the adjoining curacy of Ulpha; but he conscientiously refused it, on
the ground that the annexation "would be apt to cause a general
discontent among the inhabitants of both places, by either thinking
themselves slighted, being only served alternately, or neglected in the
duty, or attributing it to covetousness in me; all which occasions of
murmuring I would willingly avoid." Yet at this time Mr. Walker had a
family of eight children. He afterwards maintained one of his sons at
Trinity College Dublin, until he was ready for taking Holy Orders.

The parish pastor was, of course, a most economical man. Yet no act of
his life savoured in the least degree of meanness or avarice. On the
other hand, his conduct throughout life displayed the greatest
disinterestedness and generosity. He knew very little of luxuries, and
he cared less. Tea was only used in his house for visitors. The family
used milk, which was indeed far better. Excepting milk, the only other
drink used in the house was water--clear water drawn from the mountain
spring. The clothing of the family was comely and decent; but it was all
home-made: it was simple, like their diet. Occasionally one of the
mountain sheep was killed for purposes of food; and towards the end of
the year, a cow was killed and salted down for provision during winter.
The hide was tanned, and the leather furnished shoes for the family. By
these and other means, this venerable clergyman reared his numerous
family; not only preserving them, as he so affectingly says, "from
wanting the necessaries of life," but affording them "an unstinted
education, and the means of raising themselves in society."[1]

Many men, in order to advance themselves in the world, and to raise
themselves in society, have "scorned delights and lived laborious days."
They have lived humbly and frugally, in order to accomplish greater
things. They have supported themselves by their hand labour, until they
could support themselves by their head labour. Some may allege that this
is not justifiable--that it is a sin against the proletariat to attempt
to rise in the world,--that "once a cobbler always a cobbler." But,
until a better system has been established, the self-application of
individuals is the only method by which science and knowledge can be
conquered, and the world permanently advanced.

Goethe says, "It is perfectly indifferent within what circle an honest
man acts, provided he do but know how to understand and completely fill
out that circle;" and again, "An honest and vigorous will could make
itself a path and employ its activity to advantage under every form of
society." "What is the best government?" he asks: "That which teaches us
to govern ourselves!" All that we need, in his opinion, is individual
liberty, and self-culture. "Let every one," he says, "only do the right
in his place, without troubling himself about the turmoil of the world."

[Footnote 1: The best account of Mr. Walker is to be found in the
Appendix to the Poems of Wordsworth. The poet greatly appreciated the
clergyman's character, and noticed him in his "Excursion," as well as in
the Notes to the Sonnets entitled "The River Duddon."]

At all events, it is not by socialism, but by individualism, that
anything has been done towards the achievement of knowledge, and the
advancement of society. It is the will and determination of individual
men that impels the world forward in art, in science, and in all the
means and methods of civilization.

Individual men are willing to deny themselves, but associated
communities will not. The masses are too selfish, and fear that
advantage will be taken of any sacrifices which they may be called upon
to make. Hence it is amongst the noble band of resolute spirits that we
look for those who raise and elevate the world, as well as themselves.
The recollection of what they have done, acts as a stimulus to others.
It braces the mind of man, reanimates his will, and encourages him to
further exertions.

When Lord Elcho addressed the East Lothian colliers, he named several
men who had raised themselves from the coalpit; and first of all he
referred to Mr. Macdonald, member for Stafford. "The beginning of my
acquaintance with Mr. Macdonald," he said, "was, when I was told that a
miner wanted to see me in the lobby of the House of Commons. I went out
and saw Mr. Macdonald, who gave me a petition from this district, which
he asked me to present. I entered into conversation with him, and was
much struck by his intelligence. He told me that he had begun life as a
boy in the pit in Lanarkshire, and that the money he saved as a youth in
the summer, he spent at Glasgow University in the winter; and that is
where he got whatever book-learning or power of writing he possesses. I
say that is an instance that does honour to the miners of Scotland.
Another instance was that of Dr. Hogg, who began as a pitman in this
county; worked in the morning, attended school in the afternoon; then
went to the University for four years and to the Theological Hall for
five years; and afterwards, in consequence of his health failing, he
went abroad, and is now engaged as a missionary in Upper Egypt. Or take
the case of Mr. (now Sir George) Elliot, member for North Durham, who
has spoken up for the miners all the better, for having had practical
knowledge of their work. He began as a miner in the pit, and he worked
his way up till he has in his employment many thousand men. He has risen
to his great wealth and station from the humblest position; as every man
who now hears me is capable of doing, to a greater or less degree, if he
will only be thrifty and industrious."

Lord Elcho might also have mentioned Dr. Hutton, the geologist, a man of
a much higher order of genius; who was the son of a coal-viewer. Bewick,
the wood engraver, is also said to have been the son of a coal-miner.
Dr. Campbell was the son of a Loanhead collier: he was the forerunner of
Moffat and Livingstone, in their missionary journeys among the Bechuanas
in South Africa. Allan Ramsay, the poet, was also the son of a miner.

George Stephenson worked his way from the pithead to the highest
position as an engineer. George began his life with industry, and when
he had saved a little money, he spent it in getting a little learning.
What a happy man he was, when his wages were increased to twelve
shillings a week. He declared upon that occasion that he was "made a man
for life!" He was not only enabled to maintain himself upon his
earnings, but to help his poor parents, and to pay for his own
education. When his skill had increased, and his wages were advanced to
a pound a week, he immediately began, like a thoughtful, intelligent
workman, to lay by his surplus money; and when he had saved his first
guinea, he proudly declared to one of his colleagues that he "was now a
rich man!"

And he was right. For the man who, after satisfying his wants, has
something to spare, is no longer poor. It is certain that from that day
Stephenson never looked back; his advance as a self-improving man was as
steady as the light of sunrise. A person of large experience has indeed
stated that he never knew, amongst working people, a single instance of
a man having out of his small earnings laid by a pound, who had in the
end become a pauper.

When Stephenson proposed to erect his first locomotive, he had not
sufficient means to defray its cost. But in the course of his life as a
workman, he had established a character. He was trusted. He was
faithful. He was a man who could be depended on. Accordingly, when the
Earl of Havensworth was informed of Stephenson's desire to erect a
locomotive, he at once furnished him with the means for enabling him to
carry his wishes into effect.

Watt, also, when inventing the condensing steam-engine, maintained
himself by making and selling mathematical instruments. He made flutes,
organs, compasses,--anything that would maintain him, until he had
completed his invention. At the same time he was perfecting his own
education--learning French, German, mathematics, and the principles of
natural philosophy. This lasted for many years; and by the time that
Watt developed his steam-engine and discovered Mathew Boulton, he had,
by his own efforts, become an accomplished and scientific man.

These great workers did not feel ashamed of labouring with their hands
for a living; but they also felt within themselves the power of doing
head-work as well as hand-work. And while thus labouring with their
hands, they went on with their inventions, the perfecting of which has
proved of so much advantage to the world. Hugh Miller furnished, in his
own life, an excellent instance of that practical common sense in the
business of life which he so strongly recommended to others. When he
began to write poetry, and felt within him the growing powers of a
literary man, he diligently continued his labour as a stone-cutter.

Horace Walpole has said that Queen Caroline's patronage of Stephen Duck,
the thresher poet, ruined twenty men, who all turned poets. It was not
so with the early success of Hugh Miller. "There is no more fatal
error," he says, "into which a working man of a literary turn can fall,
than the mistake of deeming himself too good for his humble employments;
and yet it is a mistake as common as it is fatal. I had already seen
several poor wrecked mechanics, who, believing themselves to be poets,
and regarding the manual occupation by which they could alone live in
independence as beneath them, and become in consequence little better
than mendicants,--too good to work for their bread, but not too good
virtually to beg it; and looking upon them as beacons of warning, I
determined that, with God's help, I should give their error a wide
offing, and never associate the idea of meanness with an honest calling,
or deem myself too good to be independent."

At the same time, a man who feels that he has some good work in him,
which study and labour might yet bring out, is fully justified in
denying himself, and in applying his energies to the culture of his
intellect. And it is astonishing how much carefulness, thrift, the
reading of books, and diligent application, will help such men onward.

The author in his boyhood knew three men who worked in an agricultural
implement maker's shop. They worked in wood and iron, and made carts,
ploughs, harrows, drilling-machines, and such-like articles. Somehow or
other, the idea got into their heads that they might be able to do
something better than making carts and harrows. They did not despise the
lot of hand-labour, but they desired to use it as a step towards
something better. Their wages at that time could not have exceeded from
eighteen to twenty shillings a week.

Two of the young men, who worked at the same bench, contrived to save
enough money to enable them to attend college during the winter. At the
end of each session they went back to their hand-labour, and earned
enough wages during the summer to enable them to return to their classes
during the winter. The third did not adopt this course. He joined a
mechanics' institute which had just been started in the town in which he
lived. By attending the lectures and reading the books in the library,
he acquired some knowledge of chemistry, of the principles of mechanics,
and of natural philosophy. He applied himself closely, studied hard in
his evening hours, and became an accomplished man.

It is not necessary to trace their history; but what they eventually
arrived at, may be mentioned. Of the first two, one became the teacher
and proprietor of a large public school; the other became a well-known
dissenting minister; while the third, working his way strenuously and
bravely, became the principal engineer and manager of the largest
steamship company in the world.

Although mechanics' institutes are old institutions, they have scarcely
been supported by working men. The public-house is more attractive and
more frequented. And yet mechanics' institutes--even though they are
scarcely known south of Yorkshire and Lancashire--have been the means of
doing a great deal of good. By placing sound mechanical knowledge within
the reach of even the few persons who have been disposed to take
advantage of them, they have elevated many persons into positions of
great social influence. "We have heard a distinguished man say publicly,
that a mechanics' institution had _made him_; that but for the access
which it had afforded him to knowledge of all kinds, he would have
occupied a very different position. In short, the mechanics' institution
had elevated him from the position of a licensed victualler to that of
an engineer.

We have referred to the wise practice of men in humble position
maintaining themselves by their trade until they saw a way towards
maintaining themselves by a higher calling. Thus Herschell maintained
himself by music, while pursuing his discoveries in astronomy. When
playing the oboe in the pump-room at Bath, he would retire while the
dancers were lounging round the room, go out and take a peep at the
heavens through his telescope, and quietly return to his instrument. It
was while he was thus maintaining himself by music, that he discovered
the Georgium Sidus. When the Royal Society recognized his discovery, the
oboe-player suddenly found himself famous.

Franklin long maintained himself by his trade of printing. He was a
hard-working man,--thrifty, frugal and a great saver of time. He worked
for character as much as for wages; and when it was found that he could
be relied on, he prospered. At length he was publicly recognized as a
great statesman, and as one of the most scientific men of his time.

Ferguson, the astronomer, lived by portrait painting, until his merits
as a scientific man were recognized. John Dollond maintained himself as
a silk weaver in Spitalfields. In the course of his studies he made
great improvements in the refracting telescope; and the achromatic
telescope, which he invented, gave him a high rank among the
philosophers of his age. But during the greater part of his life, while
he was carrying on his investigations, he continued, until the age of
forty-six, to carry on his original trade. At length he confined himself
entirely to making telescopes; and then he gave up his trade of a silk
weaver. Winckelmann, the distinguished writer on classical antiquities
and the fine arts, was the son of a shoemaker. His father endeavoured,
as long as he could, to give his hoy a learned education; but becoming
ill and worn-out, he had eventually to retire to the hospital.
Winckelmann and his father were once accustomed to sing at night in the
streets to raise fees to enable the boy to attend the grammar school.
The younger Winckelmann then undertook, by hard labour, to support his
father; and afterwards, by means of teaching, to keep himself at
college. Every one knows how distinguished he eventually became.

Samuel Richardson, while writing his novels, stuck to his trade of a
bookseller. He sold his books in the front shop, while he wrote them in
the back. He would not give himself up to authorship, because he loved
his independence. "You know," he said to his friend Defreval, "how my
business engages me. You know by what snatches of time I write, that I
may not neglect that, and that I may preserve that independency which is
the comfort of my life. I never sought out of myself for patrons. My own
industry and God's providence have been my whole reliance. The great are
not great to me unless they are good, and it is a glorious privilege
that a middling man enjoys, who has preserved his independency, and can
occasionally (though not stoically) tell the world what he thinks of
that world, in hopes to contribute, though by his mite, to mend it."

The late Dr. Olynthus Gregory, in addressing the Deptford Mechanics'
Institution at their first anniversary, took the opportunity of
mentioning various men in humble circumstances (some of whom he had been
able to assist), who, by means of energy, application, and self-denial,
had been able to accomplish great things in the acquisition of
knowledge. Thus he described the case of a Labourer on the turnpike
road, who had become an able Greek scholar; of a Fifer, and a Private
Soldier, in a regiment of militia, both self-taught mathematicians, one
of whom became a successful schoolmaster, the other a lecturer on
natural philosophy; of a journeyman Tin-plate worker, who invented rules
for the solution of cubic equations; of a country Sexton, who became a
teacher of music, and who, by his love of the study of musical science,
was transformed from a drunken sot to an exemplary husband and father;
of a Coal Miner (a correspondent of Dr. Gregory's), who was an able
writer on topics of the higher mathematics; of another correspondent, a
labouring Whitesmith, who was also well acquainted with the course of
pure mathematics, as taught at Cambridge, Dublin, and the military
colleges; of a Tailor, who was an excellent geometrician, and had
discovered curves which escaped the notice of Newton, and who laboured
industriously and contentedly at his trade until sixty years of age,
when, by the recommendation of his scientific friends, he was appointed
Nautical Examiner at the Trinity House; of a ploughman in Lincolnshire,
who, without aid of men or books, discovered the rotation of the earth,
the principles of spherical astronomy, and invented a planetary system
akin to the Tychonic; of a country Shoemaker, who became distinguished
as one of the ablest metaphysical writers in Britain, and who, at more
than fifty years of age, was removed by the influence of his talents and
their worth, from his native country to London, where he was employed to
edit some useful publications devoted to the diffusion of knowledge and
the best interests of mankind.

Students of Art have had to practise self-denial in many ways. Quentin
Matsys, having fallen in love with a painter's daughter, and determined
to win her. Though but a blacksmith and a farrier, he studied art so
diligently, and acquired so much distinction, that his mistress
afterwards accepted the painter whom she had before rejected as the
blacksmith. Flaxman, however, married his wife before he had acquired
any distinction whatever as an artist. He was merely a skilful and
promising pupil. When Sir Joshua Reynolds heard of his marriage, he
exclaimed, "Flaxman is ruined for an artist!" But it was not so. When
Flaxman's wife heard of the remark, she said, "Let us work and
economize; I will never have it said that Ann Denbam ruined John Flaxman
as an artist." They economized accordingly. To earn money, Flaxman
undertook to collect the local rates; and what with art and industry,
the patient, hard-working, thrifty couple, after five years of careful
saving, set out for Rome together. There Flaxman studied and worked;
there he improved his knowledge of art; and there he acquired the
reputation of being the first of English sculptors.

The greater number of artists have sprung from humble life. If they had
been born rich, they would probably never have been artists. They have
had to work their way from one position to another; and to strengthen
their nature by conquering difficulty. Hogarth began his career by
engraving shop-bills. William Sharp began by engraving door-plates.
Tassie the sculptor and medallist, began life as a stone-cutter. Having
accidentally seen a collection of pictures, he aspired to become an
artist and entered an academy to learn the elements of drawing. He
continued to work at his old trade until he was able to maintain himself
by his new one. He used his labour as the means of cultivating his skill
in his more refined and elevated profession.

Chantry of Sheffield, was an economist both of time and money. He saved
fifty pounds out of his earnings as a carver and gilder; paid the money
to his master, and cancelled his indentures. Then he came up to London,
and found employment as a journeyman carver; he proceeded to paint
portraits and model busts, and at length worked his way to the first
position as a sculptor.

Canova was a stone-cutter, like his father and his grandfather; and
through stone-cutting he worked his way to sculpture. After leaving the
quarry, he went to Venice, and gave his services to an artist, from whom
he received but little recompense for his work. "I laboured," said he,
"for a mere pittance, but it was sufficient. It was the fruit of my own
resolution; and, as I then flattered myself, the foretaste of more
honourable rewards,--for I never thought of wealth." He pursued his
studies,--in drawing and modelling; in languages, poetry, history,
antiquity, and the Greek and Roman classics. A long time elapsed before
his talents were recognised, and then he suddenly became famous.

Lough, the English sculptor, is another instance of self-denial and hard
work. When a boy, he was fond of drawing. At school, he made drawings of
horses, dogs, cows, and men, for pins: that was his first pay; and he
used to go home with his jacket sleeve stuck full of them. He and his
brothers next made figures in clay. Pope's Homer lay on his father's
window. The boys were so delighted with it, that they made thousands of
models--one taking the Greeks, and the other the Trojans. An odd volume
of Gibbon gave an account of the Coliseum. After the family were in bed,
the brothers made a model of the Coliseum, and filled it with fighting
gladiators. As the boys grew up, they were sent to their usual outdoor
work, following the plough and doing the usual agricultural labour; but
still adhering to their modelling at leisure hours. At Christmas-time,
Lough was very much in demand. Everybody wanted him to make models in
pastry for Christmas pies,--the neighbouring farmers especially, "It was
capital practice," he afterwards said.

At length Lough went from Newcastle to London, to push his way in the
world of art. He obtained a passage in a collier, the skipper of which
he knew. When he reached London, he slept on board the collier as long
as it remained in the Thames. He was so great a favourite with the men,
that they all urged him to go back. He had no friends, no patronage, no
money; What could he do with everything against him? But, having already
gone so far, he determined to proceed. He would not go back--at least,
not yet. The men all wept when he took farewell of them. He was alone in
London; under the shadow of St. Paul's.

His next step was to take a lodging in an obscure first floor in
Burleigh Street, over a greengrocer's shop; and there he began to model
his grand statue of Milo. He had to take the roof off to let Milo's head
out. There Haydon found him, and was delighted with his genius. "I
went," he says, "to young Lough, the sculptor, who has just burst out,
and has produced a great effect. His Milo is really the most
extraordinary thing, considering all the circumstances, in modern
sculpture. It is another proof of the efficacy of inherent genius." [1]
That Lough must have been poor enough at this time, is evident from the
fact that, during the execution of his Milo, he did not eat meat for
three months; and when Peter Coxe found him out, he was tearing up his
shirt to make wet rags for his figure, to keep the clay moist. He had a
bushel and a half of coals during the whole winter; and he used to lie
down by the side of his clay model of the immortal figure, damp as it
was, and shiver for hours till he fell asleep.

[Footnote 1: Haydon's _Autobiography_, vol. ii., p, 155.]

Chantrey once said to Haydon, "When I have made money enough, I will
devote myself to high art." But busts engrossed Chantrey's time. He was
munificently paid for them, and never raised himself above the
money-making part of his profession. When Haydon next saw Chantrey at
Brighton, he said to him, "Here is a young man from the country, who has
come to London; and he is doing precisely what you have so long been
dreaming of doing."

The exhibition of Milo was a great success. The Duke of Wellington went
to see it, and ordered a statue. Sir Matthew White Eidley was much
struck by the genius of young Lough, and became one of his greatest
patrons. The sculptor determined to strike out a new path for himself.
He thought the Greeks had exhausted the Pantheistic, and that heathen
gods had been overdone. Lough began and pursued the study of lyric
sculpture: he would illustrate the great English poets. But there was
the obvious difficulty of telling the story of a figure by a single
attitude. It was like a flash of thought. "The true artist," he said,
"must plant his feet firmly on the earth, and sweep the heavens with his
pencil. I mean," he added, "that the soul must be combined with the
body, the ideal with the real, the heavens with the earth."

It is not necessary to describe the success of Mr. Lough as a sculptor.
His statue of "The Mourners" is known all over the world. He has
illustrated Shakespeare and Milton. His Puck, Titania, and other great
works, are extensively known, and their genius universally admired. But
it may be mentioned that his noble statue of Milo was not cast in bronze
until 1862, when it was exhibited at the International Exhibition of
that year.

The Earl of Derby, in recently distributing the prizes to the successful
pupils of the Liverpool College[1], made the following observations:--

"The vast majority of men, in all ages and countries, must work before
they can eat. Even those who are not under the necessity, are, in
England, generally impelled by example, by custom, perhaps by a sense of
what is fitted for them, to adopt what is called an active pursuit of
some sort.... If there is one thing more certain than another, it is
this--that every member of a community is bound to do something for that
community, in return for what he gets from it; and neither intellectual
cultivation, nor the possession of material wealth, nor any other plea
whatever, except that of physical or mental incapacity, can excuse any
of us from that plain and personal duty.... And though it may be, in a
community like this, considered by some to be a heterodox view, I will
say that it often appears to me, in the present day, that we are a
little too apt in all classes to look upon ourselves as mere machines
for what is called 'getting on,' and to forget that there are in every
human being many faculties which cannot be employed, and many wants
which cannot be satisfied, by that occupation. I have not a word to
utter against strenuous devotion to business while you are at it. But
one of the wisest and most thoroughly cultivated men whom I ever knew,
retired before the age of fifty, from a profession in which he was
making an enormous income, because, he said, he had got as much as he or
any one belonging to him could want, and he did not see why he should
sacrifice the rest of his life to money-getting. Some people thought him
very foolish. I did not. And I believe that the gentleman of whom I
speak never once repented his decision."

[Footnote 1: A collection ought to be made and published of Lord Derby's
admirable Addresses to Young Men.]

The gentleman to whom Lord Derby referred was Mr. Nasmyth, the inventor
of the steam hammer. And as he has himself permitted the story of his
life to be published, there is no necessity for concealing his name. His
life is besides calculated to furnish one of the best illustrations of
our subject. When a boy, he was of a bright, active, cheerful
disposition. To a certain extent he inherited his mechanical powers from
his father, who, besides being an excellent painter, was a thorough
mechanic. It was in his workshop that the boy made his first
acquaintance with tools. He also had for his companion the son of an
iron-founder, and he often went to the founder's shop to watch the
moulding, iron-melting, casting, forging, pattern-making, and smith's
work that was going on.

"I look back," Mr. Nasmyth says, "to the hours of Saturday afternoons
spent in having the run of the workshops of this small foundry as the
true and only apprenticeship of my life. I did not trust to reading
about such things. I saw, handled, and helped when I could; and all the
ideas in connection with them became in all details, ever after,
permanent in my mind,--to say nothing of the no small acquaintance
obtained at the same time of the nature of workmen."

In course of time, young Nasmyth, with the aid of his father's tools,
could do little jobs for himself. He made steels for tinder-boxes, which
he sold to his schoolfellows. He made model steam-engines, and sectional
models, for use at popular lectures and in schools; and by selling such
models, he raised sufficient money to enable him to attend the lectures
on Natural Philosophy and Chemistry at the Edinburgh University. Among
his works at that time, was a working model of a steam carriage for use
on common roads. It worked so well that he was induced to make another
on a larger scale. After having been successfully used, he sold the
engine for the purpose of driving a small factory.

Nasmyth was now twenty years old, and wished to turn his practical
faculties to account. His object was to find employment in one of the
great engineering establishments of the day. The first, in his opinion,
was that of Henry Maudslay, of London. To attain his object, he made a
small steam-engine, every part of which was his own handiwork, including
the casting and forging. He proceeded to London; introduced himself to
the great engineer; submitted his drawings; showed his models; and was
finally engaged as Mr. Maudslay's private workman.

Then came the question of wages. When Nasmyth finally left home to begin
the world on his own account, he determined _not to cost his father
another farthing_. Being the youngest of eleven children, he thought
that he could maintain himself, without trenching farther upon the
family means. And he nobly fulfilled his determination. He felt that the
wages sufficient to maintain other workmen, would surely be sufficient
to maintain him. He might have to exercise self-control and self-denial;
but of course he could do that. Though but a youth, he had wisdom enough
and self-respect enough to deny himself everything that was unnecessary,
in order to preserve the valuable situation which he had obtained.

Well, about the wages. When Mr. Maudslay referred his young workman to
the chief cashier as to his weekly wages, it was arranged that Nasmyth
was to receive ten shillings a week. He knew that, by strict economy, he
could live within this amount. He contrived a small cooking apparatus,
of which we possess the drawings. It is not necessary to describe his
method of cooking, nor his method of living; it is sufficient to say
that his little cooking apparatus (in which he still takes great pride)
enabled him fully to accomplish his purpose. He lived within his means,
and did not cost his father another farthing.

Next year his wages were increased to fifteen shillings. He then began
to save money. He did not put it in a bank, but used his savings for the
purpose of making the tools with which he afterwards commenced business.
In the third year of his service, his wages were again increased, on
account, doubtless, of the value of his services. "I don't know," he has
since said, "that any future period of my life abounded in such high
enjoyment of existence as the three years I spent at Maudslay's. It was
a glorious situation for one like myself,--so earnest as I was in all
that related to mechanism--in the study of men as well as of machinery.
I wish many a young man would do as I then did. I am sure they would
find their reward in that feeling of constant improvement, of daily
advancement, and true independence, which will ever have a charm for
those who are earnest in their endeavours to make right progress in life
and in the regard of all good men."

After three years spent at Maudslay's, Mr. Nasmyth returned to Edinburgh
to construct a small stock of engineering tools suitable for starting
him in business on his own account. He hired a workshop and did various
engineering jobs, in order to increase his little store of money and to
execute his little stock of tools. This occupied him for two years; and
in 1834 he removed the whole of his tools and machinery to Manchester.
He began business there in a very humble way, but it increased so
rapidly that he was induced to remove to a choice piece of land on the
banks of the Bridgewater Canal at Patricroft, and there make a
beginning--at first in wooden sheds--of the now famous Bridgewater
Foundry.

"There," says he, "I toiled right heartily until December 31st, 1856,
when I retired to enjoy, in _active_ leisure, the result of many an
anxious and interesting day. I had there, with the blessing of God,
devoted the best years of my life to the pursuit of a business of which
I was proud. And I trust that, without undue vanity, I may be allowed to
say that I have left my mark upon several useful inventions, which
probably have had no small share in the mechanical works of the age.
There is scarcely a steamship or locomotive that is not indebted to my
steam hammer; and without it, Armstrong and Whitworth guns and
iron-plated men-of-war could scarcely have existed."

But though Nasmyth retired from business at the age of forty-eight, he
did not seek repose in idleness. He continues to be as busy as the
busiest; but in an altogether different direction. Instead of being tied
to the earth, he enjoys himself amongst the stars. By means of
telescopes of his own making, he has investigated the sun, and
discovered its "willow leaves;" he has examined and photographed the
moon, and in the monograph of it which he has published, he has made us
fully acquainted with its geography. He is also a thorough artist, and
spends a considerable portion of his time in painting,--though he is too
modest to exhibit. The last time we visited his beautiful home at
Hammerfield, he was busy polishing glasses for one of his new
telescopes,--the motive power being a windmill erected on one of his
outhouses.

Another word before we have done. "If," said Nasmyth, "I were to try to
compress into one sentence the whole of the experience I have had during
an active and successful life, and offer it to young men as a rule and
certain receipt for success in any station, it would be composed in
these words--'Duty _first!_ Pleasure _second!_' From what I have seen of
young men and their after-progress, I am satisfied that what is
generally termed 'bad fortune,' 'ill luck,' and 'misfortune,' is in nine
cases out of ten, simply the result of _inverting_ the above simple
maxim. Such experience as I have had, convinces me that absence of
success arises in the great majority of cases from want of self-denial
and want of common sense. The worst of all maxims is 'Pleasure _first!_
Work and Duty _second!_"




CHAPTER VI.

METHODS OF ECONOMY.


"It was with profound wisdom that the Romans called by the same name
courage and virtue. There is in fact no virtue, properly so called,
without victory over ourselves; and what cost us nothing, is worth
nothing."--_De Maistre_.

"Almost all the advantages which man possesses above the inferior
animals, arise from his power of acting in combination with his fellows;
and of accomplishing by the united efforts of numbers what could not be
accomplished by the detached efforts of indivduals."--_J.S. Mill_.

"For the future, our main security will be in the wider diffusion of
Property, and in all such measures as will facilitate this result. With
the possession of property will come Conservative instincts, and
disinclination for rash and reckless schemes.... We trust much,
therefore, to the rural population becoming Proprietors, and to the
urban population becoming Capitalists."--_W.R. Greg_.


The methods of practising economy are very simple. Spend less than you
earn. That is the first rule. A portion should always be set apart for
the future. The person who spends more than he earns, is a fool. The
civil law regards the spendthrift as akin to the lunatic, and frequently
takes from him the management of his own affairs.

The next rule is to pay ready money, and never, on any account, to run
into debt. The person who runs into debt is apt to get cheated; and if
he runs into debt to any extent, he will himself be apt to get
dishonest. "Who pays what he owes, enriches himself."

The next is, never to anticipate uncertain profits by expending them
before they are secured. The profits may never come, and in that case
you will have taken upon yourself a load of debt which you may never get
rid of. It will sit upon your shoulders like the old man in Sinbad.

Another method of economy is, to keep a regular account of all that you
earn, and of all that you expend. An orderly man will know beforehand
what he requires, and will be provided with the necessary means for
obtaining it. Thus his domestic budget will be balanced; and his
expenditure kept within his income.

John Wesley regularly adopted this course. Although he possessed a small
income, he always kept his eyes upon the state of his affairs. A year
before his death, he wrote with a trembling hand, in his Journal of
Expenses; "For more than eighty-six years I have kept my accounts
exactly. I do not care to continue to do so any longer, having the
conviction that I economize all that I obtain, and give all that I
can,--that is to say, all that I have."[1]

[Footnote 1: Southey's _Life of Wesley_, vol. ii., p. 560.]

Besides these methods of economy, the eye of the master or the mistress
is always necessary to see that nothing is lost, that everything is put
to its proper use and kept in its proper place, and that all things are
done decently and in order. It does no dishonour to even the highest
individuals to take a personal interest in their own affairs. And with
persons of moderate means, the necessity for the eye of the master
overlooking everything, is absolutely necessary for the proper conduct
of business.

It is difficult to fix the precise limits of economy. Bacon says that if
a man would live well within his income, he ought not to expend more
than one-half, and save the rest. This is perhaps too exacting; and
Bacon himself did not follow his own advice. What proportion of one's
income should be expended on rent? That depends upon circumstances. In
the country about one-tenth; in London about one-sixth. It is at all
events better to save too much, than spend too much. One may remedy the
first defect, but not so easily the latter. Wherever there is a large
family, the more money that is put to one side and saved, the better.

Economy is necessary to the moderately rich, as well as to the
comparatively poor man. Without economy, a man cannot be generous. He
cannot take part in the charitable work of the world. If he spends all
that he earns, he can help nobody. He cannot properly educate his
children, nor put them in the way of starting fairly in the business of
life. Even the example of Bacon shows that the loftiest intelligence
cannot neglect thrift without peril. But thousands of witnesses daily
testify, that men even of the most moderate intelligence, can practise
the virtue with success.

Although Englishmen are a diligent, hard-working, and generally
self-reliant race, trusting to themselves and their own efforts for
their sustenance and advancement in the world, they are yet liable to
overlook and neglect some of the best practical methods of improving
their position, and securing their social well-being. They are not yet
sufficiently educated to be temperate, provident, and foreseeing. They
live for the present, and are too regardless of the coming time. Men who
are husbands and parents, generally think they do their duty if they
provide for the hour that is, neglectful of the hour that is to come.
Though industrious, they are improvident; though money-making, they are
spendthrift. They do not exercise forethought enough, and are defective
in the virtue of prudent economy.

Men of all classes are, as yet, too little influenced by these
considerations. They are apt to live beyond their incomes,--at all
events, to live up to them, The upper classes live too much for display;
they must keep up their "position in society;" they must have fine
houses, horses, and carriages; give good dinners, and drink rich wines,
their ladies must wear costly and gay dresses. Thus the march of
improvidence goes on over broken hearts, ruined hopes, and wasted
ambitions.

The vice descends in society,--the middle classes strive to ape the
patrician orders; they flourish crests, liveries, and hammercloths;
their daughters must learn "accomplishments"--see "society"--ride and
drive--frequent operas and theatres. Display is the rage, ambition
rivalling ambition; and thus the vicious folly rolls on like a tide. The
vice again descends. The working classes, too, live up to their
means--much smaller means, it is true; but even when they are able, they
are not sufficiently careful to provide against the evil day; and then
only the poorhouse offers its scanty aid to protect them against want.

To save money for avaricious purposes is altogether different from
saving it for economical purposes. The saving may be accomplished in the
same manner--by wasting nothing, and saving everything. But here the
comparison ends. The miser's only pleasure is in saving. The prudent
economist spends what he can afford for comfort and enjoyment, and saves
a surplus for some future time. The avaricious person makes gold his
idol: it is his molten calf, before which he constantly bows down;
whereas the thrifty person regards it as a useful instrument, and as a
means of promoting his own happiness and the happiness of those who are
dependent upon him. The miser is never satisfied. He amasses wealth that
he can never consume, but leaves it to be squandered by others, probably
by spendthrifts; whereas the economist aims at securing a fair share of
the world's wealth and comfort, without any thought of amassing a
fortune.

It is the duty of all persons to economize their means,--of the young as
well as of the old. The Duke of Sully mentions, in his Memoirs, that
nothing contributed more to his fortune than the prudent economy which
he practised, even in his youth, of always preserving some ready money
in hand for the purpose of meeting circumstances of emergency. Is a man
married? Then the duty of economy is still more binding. His wife and
children plead to him most eloquently. Are they, in the event of his
early death, to be left to buffet with the world unaided? The hand of
charity is cold, the gifts of charity are valueless, compared with the
gains of industry, and the honest savings of frugal labour, which carry
with them blessings and comforts, without inflicting any wound upon the
feelings of the helpless and bereaved. Let every man, therefore, who
can, endeavour to economize and to save; not to hoard, but to nurse his
little savings, for the sake of promoting the welfare and happiness of
himself while here, and of others when he has departed.

There is a dignity in the very effort to save with a worthy purpose,
even though the attempt should not be crowned with eventual success. It
produces a well-regulated mind; it gives prudence a triumph over
extravagance; it gives virtue the mastery over vice; it puts the
passions under control; it drives away care; it secures comfort. Saved
money, however little, will serve to dry up many a tear--will ward off
many sorrows and heartburnings, which otherwise might prey upon us.
Possessed of a little store of capital, a man walks with a lighter
step--his heart beats more cheerily. When interruption of work or
adversity happens, he can meet them; he can recline on his capital,
which will either break his fall, or prevent it altogether. By
prudential economy, we can realize the dignity of man; life will be a
blessing, and old age an honour. We can ultimately, under a kind
Providence, surrender life, conscious that we have been no burden upon
society, but rather, perhaps, an acquisition and ornament to it;
conscious, also, that as we have been independent, our children after
us, by following our example, and availing themselves of the means we
have left behind us, will walk in like manner through the world in
happiness and independence.

Every man's first duty is, to improve, to educate, and elevate
himself--helping forward his brethren at the same time by all reasonable
methods. Each has within himself the capability of free will and free
action to a large extent; and the fact is proved by the multitude of men
who have successfully battled with and overcome the adverse
circumstances of life in which they have been placed; and who have risen
from the lowest depths of poverty and social debasement, as if to prove
what energetic man, resolute of purpose, can do for his own elevation,
progress, and advancement in the world. Is it not a fact that the
greatness of humanity, the glory of communities, the power of nations,
are the result of trials and difficulties encountered and overcome?

Let a man resolve and determine that he will advance, and the first step
of advancement is already made. The first step is half the battle. In
the very fact of advancing himself, he is in the most effectual possible
way advancing others. He is giving them the most eloquent of all
lessons--that of example; which teaches far more emphatically than words
can teach. He is doing, what others are by imitation incited to do.
Beginning with himself, he is in the most emphatic manner teaching the
duty of self-reform and of self-improvement; and if the majority of men
acted as he did, how much wiser, how much happier, how much more
prosperous as a whole, would society become. For, society being made up
of units, will be happy and prosperous, or the reverse, exactly in the
same degree as the respective individuals who compose it.

Complaints about the inequality of conditions are as old as the world.
In the "Economy" of Xenophon, Socrates asks, "How is it that some men
live in abundance, and have something to spare, whilst others can
scarcely obtain the necessaries of life, and at the same time run into
debt?" "The reason is," replied Isomachus, "because the former occupy
themselves with their business, whilst the latter neglect it."

The difference between men consists for the most part in intelligence,
conduct, and energy. The best character never works by chance, but is
under the influence of virtue, prudence, and forethought.

There are, of course, many failures in the world. The man who looks to
others for help, instead of relying on himself, will fail. The man who
is undergoing the process of perpetual waste, will fail. The miser, the
scrub, the extravagant, the thriftless, will necessarily fail. Indeed,
most people fail because they do not deserve to succeed. They set about
their work in the wrong way, and no amount of experience seems to
improve them. There is not so much in luck as some people profess to
believe. Luck is only another word for good management in practical
affairs. Richelieu used to say that he would not continue to employ an
unlucky man,--in other words, a man wanting in practical qualities, and
unable to profit by experience; for failures in the past are very often
the auguries of failures in the future.

Some of the best and ablest of men are wanting in tact. They will
neither make allowance for circumstances, nor adapt themselves to
circumstances: they will insist on trying to drive their wedge the broad
end foremost. They raise walls only to run their own heads against. They
make such great preparations, and use such great precautions, that they
defeat their own object,--like the Dutchman mentioned by Washington
Irving, who, having to leap a ditch, went so far back to have a good run
at it, that when he came up he was completely winded, and had to sit
down on the wrong side to recover his breath.

In actual life, we want things done, not preparations for doing them;
and we naturally prefer the man who has definite aims and purposes, and
proceeds in the straightest and shortest way to accomplish his object,
to the one who describes the thing to be done, and spins fine phrases
about doing it. Without action, words are mere maundering.

The desire for success in the world, and even for the accumulation of
money, is not without its uses. It has doubtless been implanted in the
human heart for good rather than for evil purposes. Indeed the desire to
accumulate, forms one of the most powerful instruments for the
regeneration of society. It provides the basis for individual energy and
activity. It is the beginning of maritime and commercial enterprise. It
is the foundation of industry, as well as of independence. It impels men
to labour, to invent, and to excel.

No idle nor thriftless man ever became great. It is amongst those who
never lost a moment, that we find the men who have moved and advanced
the world,--by their learning, their science, or their inventions.
Labour of some sort is one of the conditions of existence. The thought
has come down to us from pagan times, that "Labour is the price which
the gods have set upon all that is excellent." The thought is also
worthy of Christian times.

Everything depends, as we shall afterwards find, upon the uses to which
accumulations of wealth are applied. On the tombstone of John Donough,
of New Orleans, the following maxims are engraved as the merchant's
guide to young men on their way through life:--

"Remember always that labour is one of the conditions of our existence.

"Time is gold; throw not one minute away, but place each one to
account.

"Do unto all men as you would be done by.

"Never put off till to-morrow what can be done to-day.

"Never bid another do what you can do yourself.

"Never covet what is not your own.

"Never think any matter so trifling as not to deserve notice.

"Never give out what does not come in.

"Do not spend, but produce.

"Let the greatest order regulate the actions of your life.

"Study in your course of life to do the greatest amount of good.

"Deprive yourself of nothing that is necessary to your comfort, but
live in honourable simplicity and frugality.

"Labour then to the last moment of your existence."

Most men have it in their power, by prudent arrangements, to defend
themselves against adversity, and to throw up a barrier against
destitution. They can do this by their own individual efforts, or by
acting on the principle of co-operation, which is capable of an almost
indefinite extension. People of the most humble condition, by combining
their means and associating together, are enabled in many ways to defend
themselves against the pressure of poverty, to promote their physical
well-being, and even to advance the progress of the nation.

A solitary individual may be able to do very little to advance and
improve society; but when he combines with his fellows for the purpose,
he can do a very great deal. Civilization itself is but the effect of
combining. Mr. Mill has said that "almost all the advantages which man
possesses over the inferior animals, arise from his power of acting in
combination with his fellows, and of accomplishing, by the united
efforts of numbers, what could not be accomplished by the detached
efforts of individuals."

The secret of social development is to be found in co-operation; and the
great question of improved economical and social life can only receive a
satisfactory solution through its means. To effect good on a large
scale, men must combine their efforts; and the best social system is
that in which the organization for the common good is rendered the most
complete in all respects.

The middle classes have largely employed the principle of association.
No class has risen so rapidly, or done more by their energy and industry
to advance the power and progress of England. And why? Because the most
active have always been the most ready to associate, to co-operate, and
to combine. They have combined when they were attacked, combined when
they had an abuse to destroy, or a great object to accomplish. They have
associated together to manufacture articles of commerce, to make canals,
to construct railways, to form gas companies, to institute insurance and
banking companies, and to do an immense amount of industrial work. By
combining their small capitals together, they have been able to
accumulate an enormous aggregate capital, and to execute the most
gigantic undertakings.

The middle classes have accomplished more by the principle of
co-operation than the classes who have so much greater need of it. All
the joint stock companies are the result of association. The railways,
the telegraphs, the banks, the mines, the manufactories, have for the
most part been established and are carried on by means of the savings of
the middle classes.

The working classes have only begun to employ the same principle. Yet
how much might they accomplish by its means! They might co-operate in
saving as well as in producing. They might, by putting their saved
earnings together, become, by combination, their own masters. Within a
few years past, many millions sterling have been expended in strikes for
wages. A hundred millions a year are thrown away upon drink and other
unnecessary articles. Here is an enormous capital. Men who expend or
waste such an amount can easily become capitalists. It requires only
will, energy, and self-denial. So much money spent on buildings, plant,
and steam-engines, would enable them to manufacture for themselves,
instead of for the benefit of individual capitalists. The steam-engine
is impartial in its services. It is no respecter of persons; it will
work for the benefit of the labourer as well as for the benefit of the
millionaire. It will work for those who make the best use of it, and who
have the greatest knowledge of its powers.

The greater number of workmen possess little capital save their labour;
and, as we have already seen, many of them uselessly and wastefully
spend most of their earnings, instead of saving them and becoming
capitalists. By combining in large numbers for the purposes of
economical working, they might easily become capitalists, and operate
upon a large scale. As society is now constituted, every man is not only
justified but bound in duty as a citizen, to accumulate his earnings by
all fair and honourable methods, with the view of securing a position of
ultimate competence and independence.

We do not say that men should save and hoard their gains for the mere
sake of saving and hoarding; this would be parsimony and avarice. But we
do say that all men ought to aim at accumulating a sufficiency--enough
to maintain them in comfort during the helpless years that are to
come--to maintain them in times of sickness and of sorrow, and in old
age, which, if it does come, ought to find them with a little store of
capital in hand, sufficient to secure them from dependence upon the
charity of others.

Workmen are for the most part disposed to associate; but the association
is not always of a healthy kind. It sometimes takes the form of Unions
against masters; and displays itself in the Strikes that are so common,
and usually so unfortunate. Workmen also strike against men of their own
class, for the purpose of excluding them from their special calling. One
of the principal objects of trades-unions is to keep up wages at the
expense of the lower paid and unassociated working people. They
endeavour to prevent poorer men learning their trade, and thus keep the
supply of labour below the demand.[1] This system may last for a time,
but it becomes ruinous in the end.

[Footnote 1: On the 31st January, 1875, a labourer in the employment of
Messrs. Vickers, Sheffield, who had not served an apprenticeship, was
put on to turn one of the lathes. This being contrary to the rules of
the union, the men in the shop struck work. It is a usual course for men
of the union to "strike" in this manner against persons of their own
condition, and to exercise a force not resting in law or natural right,
but merely on the will of a majority, and directly subversive of the
freedom of the individual.]

It is not the want of money that prevents skilled workmen from becoming
capitalists, and opening the door for the employment of labouring men
who are poorer and less skilled than themselves. The work-people threw
away half a million sterling during the Preston strike, after which they
went back to work at the old terms. The London building trades threw
away over three hundred thousand pounds during their strike; and even
had they obtained the terms for which they struck, it would have taken
six years to recoup them for their loss. The colliers in the Forest of
Dean went back to work at the old terms after eleven weeks' play, at the
loss of fifty thousand pounds. The iron-workers of Northumberland and
Durham, after spending a third of the year in idleness, and losing two
hundred thousand pounds in wages, went back to work at a reduction of
ten per cent. The colliers and iron-workers of South Wales, during the
recent strike or lock-out, were idle for four months, and, according to
Lord Aberdare, lost, in wages alone, not less than three millions
sterling!

Here, then, is abundance of money within the power of
working-men,--money which they might utilize, but do not. Think only of
a solitary million, out of the three millions sterling which they threw
away during the coal strike, being devoted to the starting of
collieries, or iron-mills, or manufactories, to be worked by
co-operative production for the benefit of the operatives themselves.
With frugal habits, says Mr. Greg, the well-conditioned workman might in
ten years easily have five hundred pounds in the bank; and, combining
his savings with twenty other men similarly disposed, they might have
ten thousand pounds for the purpose of starting any manufacture in which
they are adepts.[1]

[Footnote 1: "The annual expenditure of the working classes alone, on
drink and tobacco, is not less than £60,000,000. Every year, therefore,
the working classes have it in their power to become capitalists
(_simply by saving wasteful and pernicious expenditure_) to an extent
which would enable them to start at least 500 cotton mills, or coal
mines, or iron works, _on their own account_, or to purchase at least
500,000 acres, and so set up 50,000 families each with a nice little
estate of their own of ten acres, on fee simple. No one can dispute the
facts. No one can deny the inference."--_Quarterly Review,_ No. 263.]

That this is not an impracticable scheme, is capable of being easily
proved. The practice of co-operation has long been adopted by workpeople
throughout England. A large proportion of the fishery industry has been
conducted on that principle for hundreds of years. Fishermen join in
building, rigging, and manning a boat; the proceeds of the fish they
catch at sea is divided amongst them--so much to the boat, so much to
the fishermen. The company of oyster-dredgers of Whitstable "has existed
time out of mind,"[2] though it was only in 1793 that they were
incorporated by Act of Parliament. The tin-miners of Cornwall have also
acted on the same principle. They have mined, washed, and sold the tin,
dividing the proceeds among themselves in certain proportions,--most
probably from the time that the Phoenicians carried away the produce to
their ports in the Mediterranean.

[Footnote 2: Reports on the Paris Universal Exhibition, 1867, vol. vi.,
p. 252.]

In our own time, co-operation has been practised to a considerable
extent. In 1795, the Hull Anti-Mill Industrial Society was founded. The
reasons for its association are explained in the petition addressed to
the Mayor and Aldermen of Hull by the first members of the society. The
petition begins thus: "We, the poor inhabitants of the said town, have
lately experienced much trouble and sorrow in ourselves and families, on
the occasion of the exorbitant price of flour; and though the price is
much reduced at present, yet we judge it needful to take every
precaution to preserve ourselves from the invasions of covetous and
merciless men in future." They accordingly entered into a subscription
to build a mill, in order to supply themselves with flour. The
corporation granted their petition, and supported them by liberal
donations. The mill was built, and exists to this day. It now consists
of more than four thousand members, each holding a share of twenty-five
shillings. The members belong principally to the labouring classes. The
millers endeavoured by action at law to put down the society, but the
attempt was successfully resisted. The society manufactures flour, and
sells it to the members at market price, dividing the profits annually
amongst the shareholders, according to the quantity consumed in each
member's family. The society has proved eminently remunerative.

Many years passed before the example of the "poor inhabitants" of Hull
was followed. It was only in 1847 that the co-operators of Leeds
purchased a flour-mill, and in 1850 that those of Rochdale did the same;
since which time they have manufactured flour for the benefit of their
members. The corn-millers of Leeds attempted to undersell the Leeds
Industrial Society. They soon failed, and the price of flour was
permanently reduced. The Leeds mill does business amounting to more than
a hundred thousand pounds yearly; its capital amounts to twenty-two
thousand pounds; and it paid more than eight thousand pounds of profits
and bonuses to its three thousand six hundred members in 1866, besides
supplying them with flour of the best quality. The Rochdale District
Co-operative Corn-mill Society has also been eminently successful. It
supplies flour to consumers residing within a radius of about fifteen
miles round Rochdale[1]. It also supplies flour to sixty-two
co-operative societies, numbering over twelve thousand members. Its
business in 1866 amounted to two hundred and twenty-four thousand
pounds, and its profits to over eighteen thousand pounds.

[Footnote 1: Its history is given in the Reports above referred to, p.
269.]

The Rochdale Corn-mill grew out of the Rochdale Equitable Pioneers
Society, which formed an epoch in the history of industrial co-operative
institutions. The Equitable Pioneers Society was established in the year
1844, at a time when trade was in a very bad condition, and working
people generally were heartless and hopeless as to their future state.
Some twenty-eight or thirty men, mostly flannel weavers, met and formed
themselves into a society for the purpose of economizing their hard-won
earnings. It is pretty well known that working-men generally pay at
least ten per cent. more for the articles they consume, than they need
to do under a sounder system. Professor Fawcett estimates their loss at
nearer twenty per cent. than ten per cent. At all events, these
working-men wished to save this amount of profit, which before went into
the pockets of the distributers of the necessaries,--in other words,
into the pockets of the shopkeepers.

The weekly subscription was twopence each; and when about fifty-two
calls of twopence each had been made, they found that they were able to
buy a sack of oatmeal, which they distributed at cost-price amongst the
members of the society. The number of members grew, and the
subscriptions so increased, that the society was enabled to buy tea,
sugar, and other articles, and distribute them amongst the members at
cost-price. They superseded the shopkeepers, and became their own
tradesmen. They insisted from the first on payments in cash. No credit
was given.

The society grew. It established a store for the sale of food, firing,
clothes, and other necessaries. In a few years the members set on foot
the Co-operative Corn-mill. They increased the capital by the issue of
one-pound shares, and began to make and sell clothes and shoes. They
also sold drapery. But the principal trade consisted in the purchase and
sale of provisions--butchers' meat, groceries, flour, and such-like.
Notwithstanding the great distress during the period of the cotton
famine, the society continued to prosper. From the first, it set apart a
portion of its funds for educational purposes, and established a
news-room, and a library, which now contains over six thousand volumes.

The society continued to increase until it possessed eleven branches for
the sale of goods and stores in or near Rochdale, besides the original
office in Toad Lane. At the end of 1866, it had 6,246 members, and a
capital of £99,908. Its income for goods sold and cash received during
the year was £249,122; and the gross profit £31,931.

But this was not all. Two and a half per cent. was appropriated from the
net profits to support the news-rooms and library; and there are now
eleven news and reading rooms at different places in or near the town
where the society carries on its business; the sum devoted to this
object amounting to over seven hundred pounds per annum. The members
play at chess and draughts, and use the stereoscopic views, microscopes,
and telescopes placed in the libraries. No special arrangements have
been made to promote temperance; but the news-rooms and library exercise
a powerful and beneficial influence in promoting sobriety. It has been
said that the society has done more to remove drunkenness from Rochdale
than all that the advocates of temperance have been able to effect.

The example of the Rochdale Pioneers has exercised a powerful influence
on working-men throughout the northern counties of England. There is
scarcely a town or village but has a co-operative institution of one
kind or another. These societies have promoted habits of saving, of
thrift, and of temperance. They have given the people an interest in
money matters, and enabled them to lay out their earnings to the best
advantage. They have also given the working people some knowledge of
business; for the whole of their concerns are managed by committees
selected at the general meetings of the members.

One of the most flourishing co-operative societies is that established
at Over Darwen. The society has erected a row of handsome buildings in
the centre of the town. The shops for the sale of provisions, groceries,
clothing, and other necessaries, occupy the lower story. Over the shops
are the library, reading rooms, and class rooms, which are open to the
members and their families. The third story consists of a large public
hall, which is used for lectures, concerts, and dances. There are six
branches of the society established in different parts of the town. A
large amount of business is done, and the profits are very considerable.
These are divided amongst the members, in proportion to the purchases
made by them. The profits are for the most part re-invested in
joint-stock paper-mills, cotton-mills, and collieries, in the
neighbourhood of Darwen. One of the most praiseworthy features of the
society is the provision made for the free education of the members and
their families. Two and a half per cent. of the profits are appropriated
for the purpose. While inspecting the institution a few months ago, we
were informed that the Science classes were so efficiently conducted,
that one of the pupils had just obtained a Government Scholarship of
fifty pounds a year, for three years, including free instruction at the
School of Mines, Jermyn Street, London, with a free use of the
laboratories during that period. There are also two other co-operative
institutions in the same place; and we were informed that the working
people of Darwen are, for the most part, hard-working, sober, and
thrifty.

The example has also spread into Scotland and the south of England. At
Northampton, a co-operative society exists for the purpose of buying and
selling leather, and also for the manufacture of boots and shoes. At
Padiham and other places in Lancashire, co-operative cotton-mills have
been established. The Manchester and Salford Equitable Co-operative
Society "combine the securities and facilities of a bank with the
profits of a trade." But the business by which they mostly thrive, is by
the purchase and sale of food, provisions, groceries, draperies, and
other articles, with the exception of intoxicating liquors.

The sole secret of their success consists in "ready money." They give no
credit. Everything is done for cash; the profit of the trade being
divided amongst the members. Every business man knows that cash payment
is the soundest method of conducting business. The Rochdale Pioneers
having discovered the secret, have spread it amongst their class. In
their "advice to members of this and other societies," they say: "Look
well after money matters. Buy your goods as much as possible in the
first markets; or if you have the produce of your industry to sell,
contrive, if possible, to sell it in the last. Never depart from the
principle of buying and selling for ready money. Beware of long
reckonings." In short, the co-operative societies became tradesmen on a
large scale; and, besides the pureness of the food sold, their profit
consisted in the discount for cash payments, which was divided amongst
the members.

Land and Building Societies constitute another form of co-operation.
These are chiefly supported by the minor middle-class men, but also to a
considerable extent by the skilled and thrifty working-class men. By
their means portions of land are bought, and dwelling-houses are built.
By means of a building society, a person who desires to possess a house
enters the society as a member, and instead of paying his rent to the
landlord, pays his subscriptions and interest to a committee of his
friends; and in course of time, when his subscriptions are paid up, the
house is purchased, and conveyed to him by the society. The
building-society is thus a savings bank, where money accumulates for a
certain purpose. But even those who do not purchase a house, receive a
dividend and bonus on their shares, which sometimes amounts to a
considerable sum.

The accumulation of property has the effect which it always has upon
thrifty men; it makes them steady, sober, and diligent. It weans them
from revolutionary notions, and makes them conservative. When workmen,
by their industry and frugality, have secured their own independence,
they will cease to regard the sight of others' well-being as a wrong
inflicted on themselves; and it will no longer be possible to make
political capital out of their imaginary woes.

It has been said that Freehold Land Societies, which were established
for political objects, had the effect of weaning men from political
reform. They were first started in Birmingham, for the purpose of
enabling men to buy land, and divide it into forty-shilling freeholds,
so that the owners might become electors and vote against the corn-laws.
The corn-laws have been done away with; but the holders of freehold land
still exist, though many of them have ceased to be politicians. "Mr.
Arthur Ryland informs me," said Mr. Holyoake, in a recent paper on
Building Societies, "that in Birmingham, numbers of persons under the
influence of these societies have forsaken patriotism for profits. And I
know both co-operators and Chartists who were loud-mouthed for social
and political reform, who now care no more for it than a Whig
government; and decline to attend a public meeting on a fine night,
while they would crawl like the serpent in Eden, through a gutter in a
storm, after a good security. They have tasted land, and the gravel has
got into their souls."

"Yet to many others," he adds, "these societies have taught a healthy
frugality they never else would have known; and enabled many an
industrious son to take to his home his poor old father--who expected
and dreaded to die in the workhouse--and set him down to smoke his pipe
in the sunshine in the garden, of which the land and the house belonged
to his child."[1]

[Footnote 1: Paper read at York Meeting of the National Society for
Promoting Social Science, 26th Sept. 1864.]

The Leeds Permanent Building Society, which has furnished healthy
tenements for about two hundred families, sets forth the following
recommendations of the influence which it has exercised amongst the
working classes of that town: "It is truly cheering to hear the members
themselves, at occasional meetings tell how, from small savings hitherto
deemed too little for active application, they began to invest in the
society: then to build or buy; then to advance in life, and come to
competence, from extending their savings in this manner.... The
provident habits and knowledge thus induced are most beneficial to the
members. And the result is, that the careless become thoughtful, and, on
saving, become orderly, respectable, propertied, and in every way better
citizens, neighbours, and more worthy and comfortable. The employment of
money in this useful direction encourages trade, advances prices and
wages, comforts the working classes, and at the same time provides the
means of home enjoyments, without which such advances would be
comparatively useless, and certainly uncertain."[1]

[Footnote 1: Letter of Mr. John Holmes, in Reports of Paris Universal
Exhibition, 1867 vol. vi., p. 240.]

There are also exceptional towns and villages in Lancashire where large
sums of money have been saved by the operatives for buying or building
comfortable cottage dwellings. Last year Padiham saved about fifteen
thousand pounds for this purpose, although its population is only about
8,000. Burnley has also been very successful. The Building Society there
has 6,600 investors, who saved last year £160,000 or an average of
twenty-four pounds for each investor. The members consist principally of
mill operatives, miners, mechanics, engineers, carpenters, stonemasons,
and labourers. They also include women, both married and unmarried. Our
informant states that "great numbers of the working classes have
purchased houses in which to live. They have likewise bought houses as a
means of investment. The building society has assisted in hundreds of
these cases, by advancing money on mortgage,--such mortgages being
repaid by easy instalments."

Building Societies are, on the whole, among the most excellent methods
of illustrating the advantages of Thrift. They induce men to save money
for the purpose of buying their own homes; in which, so long as they
live, they possess the best of all securities.




CHAPTER VII.

ECONOMY IN LIFE ASSURANCE.


"Do not, for one repulse, forego the purpose
That you resolved to effect."--_Shakespeare_.

"We are helpers, fellow-creatures,
Of the right against the wrong."--_E. Barrett_.

"Life was not given us to be all used up in the pursuit of what we must
leave behind us when we die."--_Joseph May_.

"Le bonheur ou le malheur de la vielillesse n'est souvent que l'extrait
de notre vie passée." (The blessedness or misery of old age is often but
the extract of our past life.) _De Maistre_.


Two other methods of co-operative saving remain to be mentioned. The
first is by Life Assurance, which enables widows and children to be
provided for at the death of the assured; and the second is by Friendly
Societies, which enable working men to provide themselves with relief in
sickness, and their widows and orphans with a small sum at their death.
The first method is practised by the middle and upper classes; and the
second by the working classes.

It might possibly take a long time to save enough money to provide for
those who are dependent upon us; and there is always the temptation to
encroach upon the funds set apart for death, which--as most people
suppose--may be a far-distant event. So that saving bit by bit, from
week to week, cannot always be relied upon.

The person who joins an assurance society is in a different position.
His annual or quarterly saving becomes at once a portion of a general
fund, sufficient to realize the intention of the assured. At the moment
that he makes his first payment, his object is attained. Though he die
on the day after his premium has been paid, his widow and children will
receive the entire amount of his assurance.

This system, while it secures a provision to his survivors, at the same
time incites a man to the moral obligation of exorcising foresight and
prudence, since through its means these virtues may be practised, and
their ultimate reward secured. Not the least of the advantages attending
life assurance is the serenity of mind which attends the provident man
when lying on a bed of sickness, or when he is in prospect of death,--so
unlike that painful anxiety for the future welfare of a family, which
adds poignancy to bodily suffering, and retards or defeats the power of
medicine. The poet Burns, in writing to a friend a few days before his
death, said that he was "still the victim of affliction. Alas! Clark, I
begin to fear the worst. Burns' poor widow, and half a dozen of his dear
little ones helpless orphans;--there, I am weak as a woman's tear.
Enough of this,--_'tis half my disease_!"

Life assurance may be described as a joint-stock plan for securing
widows, and children from want. It is an arrangement by means of which a
large number of persons agree to lay by certain small sums called
"premiums," yearly, to accumulate at interest, as in a savings bank,
against the contingency of the assurer's death,--when the amount of the
sum subscribed for is forthwith handed over to his survivors. By this
means, persons possessed of but little capital, though enjoying regular
wages or salaries, however small, may at once form a fund for the
benefit of their family at death.

We often hear of men who have been diligent and useful members of
society, dying and leaving their wives and families in absolute poverty.
They have lived in respectable style, paid high rents for their houses,
dressed well, kept up good visiting acquaintance, were seen at most
places of amusement, and brought up their children with certain ideas of
social position and respectability; but death has stricken them down,
and what is the situation of their families? Has the father provided for
their future? From twenty to twenty-five pounds a year, paid into an
Assurance Society, would have secured their widows and orphans against
absolute want. Have they performed this duty? No--they have done nothing
of the kind; it turns out that the family have been living up to their
means, if not beyond them, and the issue is, that they are thrown
suddenly bankrupt upon the world.

Conduct such as this is not only thoughtless and improvident, but
heartless and cruel in the last degree. To bring a family into the
world, give them refined tastes, and accustom them to comforts, the loss
of which is misery, and then to leave the family to the workhouse, the
prison, or the street--to the alms of relatives, or to the charity of
the public,--is nothing short of a crime done against society, as well
as against the unfortunate individuals who are the immediate sufferers.

It will be admitted, that the number of men who can lay by a sufficient
store of capital for the benefit of their families, is, in these times
of intense competition, comparatively small. Perhaps the claims of an
increasing family absorb nearly all their gains, and they find that the
sum which they can put away in the bank is so small, that it is not put
away at all. They become reckless of ever attaining so apparently
hopeless an object as that of an accumulation of savings, for the
benefit of their families at death.

Take the case of a married man with a family. He has begun business, and
thinks that if his life were spared, he might in course of years be able
to lay by sufficient savings to provide for his wife and family at his
death. But life is most uncertain, and he knows that at any moment he
may be taken away,--leaving those he holds most dear comparatively
destitute. At thirty he determines to join a sound life office. He
insures for five hundred pounds, payable to his survivors at his death,
and pays from twelve to thirteen pounds yearly. From the moment on which
he pays that amount, the five hundred pounds are secured for his family,
although he died the very next day.

Now, if he had deposited this twelve or thirteen pounds yearly in a
bank, or employed it at interest, it would have taken about twenty years
before his savings would have amounted to five hundred pounds. But by
the simple and beautiful expedient of life assurance, these twenty-six
years of the best part of his life are, on this account at least,
secured against anxiety and care. The anticipation of future evil no
longer robs him of present enjoyment. By means of his annual fixed
payment--which decreases according to the profits of the society--he is
secure of leaving a fixed sum at his death for the benefit of his
family.

In this way, life assurance may be regarded in the light of a contract,
by which the inequalities of life are to a certain extent averaged and
compensated, so that those who die soon--or rather their
families--become sharers in the good fortune of those who live beyond
the average term of life. And even should the assurer himself live
beyond the period at which his savings would have accumulated to more
than the sum insured, he will not be disposed to repine, if he takes
into account his exemption from corroding solicitude during so many
years of his life.

The reasons which induce a man to insure his house and stock of goods
against the accident of fire, ought to be still more imperative in
inducing him to insure his life against the accident of disease and the
contingency of sudden death. What is worldly prudence in the one case,
is something more in the other; it has superadded to it the duty of
providing for the future maintenance of a possibly widowed wife, and
orphaned children; and no man can justly stand excused who neglects so
great and binding an obligation. Is it an obligation on the part of a
husband and father to provide daily bread for his wife and children
during his life? Then it is equally an obligation on his part to provide
means for their adequate support in event of his death. The duty is so
obvious, the means of performing it are so simple, and are now so easily
placed within the reach of all men,--the arrangement is so eminently
practical, rational, benevolent, and just,--it is, moreover, so
calculated to increase every wise and prudent man's sense of
self-respect, and to encourage him in the performance of all proper
social duties,--that we cannot conceive of any possible objection that
can be urged against it; and it is only to be regretted that the
practice is not far more general and customary than it is, amongst all
classes of the community.[1]

[Footnote 1: It may be mentioned that the total amount assured in
existing British offices, mostly by the middle classes, is about three
hundred and fifty millions sterling; and that the annual premiums
payable amount to not less than eleven millions sterling. And yet no
more than one person in twenty of the persons belonging to the classes
to whom Life Assurance is especially applicable, have yet availed
themselves of its benefits.]

The Friendly or Benefit Societies of the working classes are also
Co-operative Societies under another form. They cultivate the habit of
prudent self-reliance amongst the people, and are consequently worthy of
every encouragement. It is certainly a striking fact that some four
millions of working men should have organized themselves into voluntary
associations for the purpose of mutual support in time of sickness and
distress. These societies are the outgrowth in a great measure of the
English love of self-government and social independence,--in
illustration of which it maybe stated, that whereas in France only one
person in seventy-six is found belonging to a benefit society, and in
Belgium one in sixty-four, the proportion in England is found to be one
in nine. The English societies are said to have in hand funds amounting
to more than eleven millions sterling; and they distribute relief
amongst their members, provided by voluntary contributions out of their
weekly earnings, amounting to above two millions yearly.

Although the working classes of France and Belgium do not belong to
benefit societies to anything like the same extent, it must be stated,
in their justification, that they are amongst the most thrifty and
prudent people in the world. They invest their savings principally in
land and in the public funds. The French and Belgians have a positive
hunger for land. They save everything that they can for the purpose of
acquiring more. And with respect to their investments in the public
funds, it may be mentioned, as a well-known fact, that it was the French
peasantry who, by investing their savings in the National Defence Loan,
liberated French soil from the tread of their German conquerors.[1]

[Footnote 1: At the present time one individual out of every eight in
the population of France has a share in the National Debt, the average
amount held being 170 francs. The participants in the debt approach
closely to the number of freeholders, or rather distinct freeholdings,
which amount to 5,550,000, according to the last return. France
certainly furnishes a singular exception to those countries of Central
and Western Europe, where "the rich are getting more rich and the poor
ever more poor." In France wealth becomes more and more distributed
among the bulk of the population.]

English benefit societies, notwithstanding their great uses and
benefits, have numerous defects. There are faults in the details of
their organization and management, whilst many of them are financially
unsound. Like other institutions in their early stages, they have been
tentative and in a great measure empirical,--more especially as regards
their rates of contribution and allowances for sick relief. The rates
have in many cases been fixed too low, in proportion to the benefits
allowed; and hence the "box" is often declared to be closed, after the
money subscribed has been expended. The society then comes to an end,
and the older members have to go without relief for the rest of their
lives. But life assurance societies themselves have had to undergo the
same discipline of failure, and the operation of "winding up" has not
unfrequently thrown discredit upon these middle-class associations.

To quote the words of the Registrar of Friendly Societies, in a recent
report: "Though the information thus far obtained is not very
encouraging as to the general system of management; on the whole,
perhaps, the results of the investments of the poor are not worse than
those which noblemen, members of Parliament, merchants, professed
financiers, and speculators have contrived to attain in their management
of railways, joint-stock banks, and enterprises of all kinds."

The workmen's societies originated for the most part in a common want,
felt by persons of small means, unable to accumulate any considerable
store of savings to provide against destitution in the event of
disablement by disease or accident. At the beginning of life, persons
earning their bread by daily labour are able to save money with
difficulty. Unavoidable expenses absorb their limited means and press
heavily on their income. When unable to work, any little store they may
have accumulated is soon spent, and if they have a family to maintain,
there is then no choice before them but destitution, begging, or
recourse to the poor-rates. In their desire to avoid either of these
alternatives, they have contrived the expedient of the benefit society.
By combining and putting a large number of small contributions together,
they have found it practicable thus to provide a fund sufficiently large
to meet their ordinary requirements during sickness.

The means by which this is accomplished are very simple. Each member
contributes to a common fund at the rate of from fourpence to sixpence a
week, and out of this fund the stipulated allowance is paid. Most
benefit societies have also a Widows' and Orphans' Fund, raised in like
manner, out of which a sum is paid to the survivors of members at their
death. It will be obvious that such organizations, however faulty they
may be in detail, cannot fail to exercise a beneficial influence upon
society at large. The fact that one of such associations, the Manchester
Unity of Odd Fellows, numbers about half a million of members; possesses
a funded capital amounting to £3,706,366; and distributes in sick relief
and payments of sums at death above £300,000 a year, illustrates in a
striking light their beneficial action upon the classes for whom and by
whom they have been established. By their means, working men are enabled
to secure the results of economy at a comparatively small cost. For,
mutual assurance is economy in its most economical form; and merely
presents another illustration of that power of co-operation which is
working out such extraordinary results in all departments of society,
and is in fact but another name for Civilization.

Many persons object to Friendly Societies because they are conducted at
public-houses; because many of them are got up by the keepers of
public-houses in order to obtain custom from the members; and because,
in their fortnightly meetings to pay their subscriptions, they acquire
the pernicious habit of drinking, and thus waste quite as much as they
save. The Friendly Societies doubtless rely very much on the social
element. The public-house is everybody's house. The members can there
meet together, talk together, and drink together. It is extremely
probable that had they trusted solely to the sense of duty--the duty of
insuring against sickness--and merely required the members to pay their
weekly contributions to a collector, very few societies of the kind
would have remained in existence. In a large number of cases, there is
practically no choice between the society that meets at a public-house,
and none at all.

It so happens that the world cannot be conducted on superfine
principles. To most men, and especially to the men we are speaking of,
it is a rough, working world, conducted on common principles, such as
will wear. To some it may seem vulgar to associate beer, tobacco, or
feasting with the pure and simple duty of effecting an insurance against
disablement by sickness; but the world we live in is vulgar, and we must
take it as we find it, and try to make the best of it. It must be
admitted that the tendencies to pure good in man are very weak, and need
much helping. But the expedient, vulgar though it be, of attracting him
through his appetite for meat and drink to perform a duty to himself and
neighbours, is by no means confined to societies of working men. There
is scarcely a London charity or institution but has its annual dinner
for the purpose of attracting subscribers. Are we to condemn the
eighteenpenny annual dinner of the poor man, but excuse the guinea one
of the rich?

A vigorous effort was made by Mr. Akroyd of Halifax, in 1856, to
establish a Provident Sick Society and Penny Savings Bank for the
working men in the West Riding of Yorkshire. An organization was set on
foot with these objects; and though the Penny Bank proved a complete
success, the Provident Society proved a complete failure. Mr. Akroyd
thus explains the causes of the failure: "We found the ground
preoccupied," he says, "by Friendly Societies, especially by the Odd
Fellows, Druids, Foresters, etc.; and against their principles of
self-government, mutual check against fraud, and _brotherhood_, no new
and independent society can compete. Our rates were also of necessity
much higher than theirs, and this was perhaps one of the chief causes of
our failure."

Low rates of contribution have been the principal cause of the failure
of Friendly Societies.[1] It was of course natural that the members,
being persons of limited means, should endeavour to secure the objects
of their organization at the lowest cost. They therefore fixed their
rates as low as possible; and, as the results proved, they in most cases
fixed them _too_ low. So long as the societies consisted, for the most
part, of young, healthy men, and the average amount of sickness remained
low, the payments made seemed ample. The funds accumulated, and many
flattered themselves that their societies were in a prosperous state,
when they contained the sure elements of decay. For, as the members grew
older, their average liability to sickness was regularly increasing. The
effects of increased age upon the solvency of benefit clubs soon
becoming known, young men avoided the older societies, and preferred
setting up organizations of their own. The consequence was, that the old
men began to draw upon their reserves at the same time that the regular
contributions fell off; and when, as was frequently the case, a few
constantly ailing members kept pressing upon the society, the funds were
at length exhausted, "the box" was declared to be closed, and the
society was broken up. The real injustice was done to the younger men
who remained in the society. After paying their contributions for many
years, they found, when sickness at length fell upon them, that the
funds had been exhausted, by expenditure for superannuation and other
allowances, which were not provided for by the rules of the society.

[Footnote 1: The Registrar of Friendly Societies, in his report for
1859, states that from 1793 to 1858, the number of societies enrolled
and certified had been 28,550, of which 6,850 had ceased to exist. The
causes of failure in most cases were reported to be, inadequacy of the
rates of contribution, the granting of pensions as well as sick pay, and
no increase of young members. The dissolution of a society, however, is
frequently effected with a view of remodelling it, and starting afresh
under better regulations, and with rates of premium such as increased
knowledge has shown to be necessary for the risks which they have to
incur.]

Even the best of the Benefit Societies have been slow to learn the
essential importance of adequate rates of contribution, to enable them
to fulfil their obligations and ensure their continued usefulness as
well as solvency. The defect of most of them consists in their trying to
do too much with too little means. The benefits paid out are too high
for the rates of contribution paid in. Those who come first are served,
but those who come late too often find an empty box. Not only have the
rates of payment been generally fixed too low, but there has been little
or no discrimination in the selection of members. Men advanced in years
and of fragile health are often admitted on the same terms as the young
and the healthy, the only difference being in the rate of entry money.
Even young lodges, which start with inadequate rates, instead of growing
stronger, gradually grow weaker; and in the event of a few constantly
ailing members falling upon the funds, they soon become exhausted, and
the lodge becomes bankrupt and is broken up. Such has been the history
of thousands of Friendly Societies, doing good and serving a useful
purpose in their time, but short-lived, ephemeral, and to many of their
members disappointing, and even deceptive.

Attempts have been recently made--more especially by the officers of the
Manchester Unity of Odd Fellows--to improve the financial condition of
their society. Perhaps the best proof of the desire that exists on the
part of the leading minds in the Unity to bring the organization into a
state of financial soundness, is to be found in the fact that the Board
of Management have authorized the publication of the best of all data
for future guidance,--namely, the actual sickness experience of the
Order. An elaborate series of tables has accordingly been prepared and
published for their information by Mr. Ratcliffe, the corresponding
secretary, at an expense of about £3,500. In the preface to the last
edition it is stated that "this sum has not been abstracted from the
funds set apart for relief during sickness, for assurances at death, or
for providing for necessitous widows and orphans, but from the
management funds of the lodges--funds which, being generally raised by
direct levy on the members, are not therefore readily expended without
careful consideration on the part of those most interested in the
character and welfare of their cherished institution."

We believe that time and experience will enable the leaders of Friendly
Societies generally to improve them, and introduce new ameliorations.
The best institutions are things of slow growth, and are shaped by
experience, which includes failures as well as successes; and finally,
they require age to strengthen them and root them in habit. The rudest
society established by working men for mutual help in sickness,
independent of help from private charity or the poor-rates, is grounded
on a right spirit, and is deserving of every encouragement. It furnishes
a foundation on which to build up something better. It teaches
self-reliance, and thus cultivates amongst the humblest classes habits
of provident economy.

Friendly Societies began their operations before there was any science
of vital statistics to guide them; and if they have made mistakes in
mutual assurance, they have not stood alone. Looking at the difficulties
they have had to encounter, they are entitled to be judged charitably.
Good advice given them in a kindly spirit will not fail to produce good
results. The defects which are mixed up with them are to be regarded as
but the transient integument which will most probably fall away as the
flower ripens and the fruit matures.




CHAPTER VIII.

SAVINGS BANKS.


"I wish I could write all across the sky, in letters of gold, the one
word SAVINGS BANK."--_Rev. Win. Marsh_.

"The only true secret of assisting the poor is to make them agents in
bettering their own condition."--_Archbishop Sumner_.

"Qui à vingt ne sait, à trente ne peut, à quarante n'a,--jamais ne
saura, ne pourra, n'aura."--_French Proverb_.

"Go to the ant, thou sluggard; consider her ways, and be wise: which
having no guide, overseer, or ruler, provideth her meat in the summer,
and gathereth her food in the harvest."--_Proverbs_ vi. 6.


It is said that there is a skeleton in every household. The skeleton is
locked up--put away in a cupboard--- and rarely seen. Only the people
inside the house know of its existence. But the skeleton, nevertheless,
cannot long be concealed. It comes to light in some way or another. The
most common skeleton is Poverty. Poverty, says Douglas Jerrold, is the
great secret, kept at any pains by one-half the world from the other
half. When there is nothing laid by--nothing saved to relieve sickness
when it comes--nothing to alleviate the wants of old age,--this is the
skeleton hid away in many a cupboard.

In a country such as this, where business is often brought to a
standstill by over-trading and over-speculation, many masters, clerks,
and workpeople are thrown out of employment. They must wait until better
times come round. But in the meantime, how are they to live? If they
have accumulated no savings, and have nothing laid by, they are
comparatively destitute.

Even the Co-operative Cotton-mills, or Co-operative Banks, which are
nothing more than Joint-stock Companies, Limited,[1] may become
bankrupt. They may not be able, as was the case during the cotton
famine, to compete with large capitalists in the purchase of cotton, or
in the production of cotton twist. Co-operative companies established
for the purpose of manufacturing, are probably of too speculative a
character to afford much lasting benefit to the working classes; and it
seems that by far the safer course for them to pursue, in times such as
the present, is by means of simple, direct saving. There may be less
chance of gain, but there is less risk of loss. What is laid by is not
locked up and contingent for its productiveness upon times and trade,
but is steadily accumulating, and is always ready at hand for use when
the pinch of adversity occurs.

[Footnote 1: "The new cotton factories which have been called
co-operative, and which, under that name, have brought together large
numbers of shareholders of the wage classes, are all now in reality
common joint-stock companies, with limited liability. The so-called
co-operative shareholders in the leading establishments decided, as I am
informed, by large majorities, that the workers should only be paid
wages in the ordinary manner, and should not divide profits. The wages
being for piecework, it was held that the payment was in accordance with
communistic principle, 'each according to his capacity, each according
to his work.' The common spinner had had no share in the work of the
general direction, nor had he evinced any of the capacity of thrift or
foresight of the capitalist, and why should he share profits as if he
had? The wage class, in their capacity of shareholders, decided that it
was an unjust claim upon their profits, and kept them undivided to
themselves."--_Edwin Chadwick, C.B._]

Mr. Bright stated in the House of Commons, in 1860,[2] that the income
of the working classes was "understated at three hundred and twelve
millions a year." Looking at the increase of wages which has taken place
during the last fifteen years, their income must now amount to at least
four hundred millions.

[Footnote 2: Speech on the Representation of the People Bill.]

Surely, out of this large fund of earnings, the working classes might
easily save from thirty to forty millions yearly. At all events, they
might save such an amount as, if properly used and duly economized,
could not fail to establish large numbers of them in circumstances of
comfort and even of comparative wealth.

The instances which we have already cited of persons in the humbler
ranks of life having by prudential forethought accumulated a
considerable store of savings for the benefit of their families, and as
a stay for their old age, need not by any means be the comparatively
exceptional cases that they are now. What one well-regulated person is
able to do, others, influenced by similar self-reliant motives, and
practising like sobriety and frugality, might with equal ease and in one
way or another accomplish. A man who has more money about him than he
requires for current purposes, is tempted to spend it. To use the common
phrase, it is apt to "burn a hole in his pocket." He may be easily
entrapped into company; and where his home provides but small comfort,
the public-house, with its bright fire, is always ready to welcome him.

It often happens that workmen lose their employment in "bad times."
Mercantile concerns become bankrupt, clerks are paid off, and servants
are dismissed when their masters can no longer employ them. If the
disemployed people have been in the habit of regularly consuming all
their salaries and wages, without laying anything by, their case is
about the most pitiable that can be imagined. But if they have saved
something, at home or in the savings bank, they will be enabled to break
their fall. They will obtain some breathing-time, before they again fall
into employment. Suppose they have as much as ten pounds saved. It may
seem a very little sum, yet in distress it amounts to much. It may even
prove a man's passport to future independence.

With ten pounds a workman might remove from one district to another
where employment is more abundant. With ten pounds, he might emigrate to
Canada or the United States, where his labour might be in request.
Without this little store of savings, he might be rooted to his native
spot, like a limpet to the rock. If a married man with a family, his ten
pounds would save his home from wreckage, and his household from
destitution. His ten pounds would keep the wolf from the door until
better times came round. Ten pounds would keep many a servant-girl from
ruin, give her time to recruit her health, perhaps wasted by hard work,
and enable her to look about for a suitable place, instead of rushing
into the first that offered.

We do not value money for its own sake, and we should be the last to
encourage a miserly desire to hoard amongst any class; but we cannot
help recognizing in money the means of life, the means of comfort, the
means of maintaining an honest independence. We would therefore
recommend every young man and every young woman to begin life by
learning to save; to lay up for the future a certain portion of every
week's earnings, be it little or much; to avoid consuming every week or
every year the earnings of that week or year; and we counsel them to do
this, as they would avoid the horrors of dependence, destitution, or
beggary. We would have men and women of every class able to help
themselves--relying upon their own resources--upon their own savings;
for it is a true saying that "a penny in the purse is better than a
friend at court." The first penny saved is a step in the world. The fact
of its being saved and laid by, indicates self-denial, forethought,
prudence, wisdom. It may be the germ of future happiness. It may be the
beginning of independence.

Cobbett was accustomed to scoff at the "bubble" of Savings Banks,
alleging that it was an insult to people to tell them that they had
anything to save. Yet the extent to which savings banks _have_ been
used, even by the humblest classes, proves that he was as much mistaken
in this as he was in many of the views which he maintained. There are
thousands of persons who would probably never have thought of laying by
a penny, but for the facility of the savings bank: it would have seemed
so useless to try. The small hoard in the cupboard was too ready at
hand, and would have become dissipated before it accumulated to any
amount; but no sooner was a place of deposit provided, where sums as
small as a shilling could be put away, than people hastened to take
advantage of it.

The first savings bank was started by Miss Priscilla Wakefield, in the
parish of Tottenham, Middlesex, towards the close of last century,--her
object being mainly to stimulate the frugality of poor children. The
experiment proved so successful that in 1799 the Rev. Joseph Smith, of
Wendon, commenced a plan of receiving small sums from his parishioners
during summer, and returning them at Christmas, with the addition of
one-third as a stimulus to prudence and forethought. Miss Wakefield, in
her turn, followed Mr. Smith's example, and in 1804 extended the plan of
her charitable bank, so as to include adult labourers, female servants,
and others. A similar institution was formed at Bath, in 1808, by
several ladies of that city; and about the same time Mr. Whitbread
proposed to Parliament the formation of a national institution, "in the
nature of a bank, for the use and advantage of the labouring classes
alone;" but nothing came of his proposal.

It was not until the Rev. Henry Duncan, the minister of Ruthwell, a poor
parish in Dumfriesshire, took up the subject, that the savings-bank
system may be said to have become fairly inaugurated. The inhabitants of
that parish were mostly poor cottagers, whose average wages did not
amount to more than eight shillings a week. There were no manufactures
in the district, nor any means of subsistence for the population, except
what was derived from the land under cultivation; and the landowners
were for the most part non-resident. It seemed a very unlikely place in
which to establish a bank for savings, where the poor people were
already obliged to strain every nerve to earn a bare living, to provide
the means of educating their children (for, however small his income,
the Scottish peasant almost invariably contrives to save something
wherewith to send his children to school), and to pay their little
contributions to the friendly society of the parish. Nevertheless, the
minister resolved, as a help to his spiritual instructions, to try the
experiment.

Not many labouring men may apprehend the deep arguments of the religious
teacher, but the least intelligent can appreciate a bit of practical
advice that tells on the well-being of his household as well as on the
labourer's own daily comfort and self-respect. Dr. Duncan knew that,
even in the poorest family, there were odds and ends of income apt to be
frittered away in unnecessary expenditure. He saw some thrifty cottagers
using the expedient of a cow, or a pig, or a bit of garden-ground, as a
savings bank,--finding their return of interest in the shape of butter
and milk, winter's bacon, or garden produce; and it occurred to him that
there were other villagers, single men and young women, for whom some
analogous mode of storing away their summer's savings might be provided,
and a fair rate of interest returned upon their little investments.

Hence originated the parish savings bank of Ruthwell, the first
self-supporting institution of the kind established in this country.
That the minister was not wrong in his anticipations, was proved by the
fact that, in the course of four years, the funds of his savings bank
amounted to nearly a thousand pounds. And if poor villagers out of eight
shillings a week, and female labourers and servants out of much less,
could lay aside this sum,--what might not mechanics, artizans, miners,
and iron-workers accomplish, who earn from thirty to fifty shillings a
week all the year round?

The example set by Dr. Duncan was followed in many towns and districts
in England and Scotland. In every instance the model of the Ruthwell
parish bank was followed; and the self-sustaining principle was adopted.
The savings banks thus instituted, were not eleemosynary institutions,
nor dependent upon anybody's charity or patronage; but their success
rested entirely with the depositors themselves. They encouraged the
industrious classes to rely upon their own resources, to exercise
forethought and economy in the conduct of life, to cherish self-respect
and self-dependence, and to provide for their comfort and maintenance in
old age, by the careful use of the products of their industry, instead
of having to rely for aid upon the thankless dole of a begrudged
poor-rate.

The establishment of savings banks with these objects, at length began
to be recognized as a matter of national concern; and in 1817 an Act was
passed which served to increase their number and extend their
usefulness. Various measures have since been adopted with the object of
increasing their efficiency and security. But notwithstanding the great
good which these institutions have accomplished, it is still obvious
that the better-paid classes of workpeople avail themselves of them to
only a very limited extent. A very small portion of the four hundred
millions estimated to be annually earned by the working classes finds
its way to the savings bank, while at least twenty times the amount is
spent annually at the beershop and the public-house.

It is not the highly-paid class of working men and women who invest
money in the savings banks; but those who earn comparatively moderate
incomes. Thus the most numerous class of depositors in the Manchester
and Salford Savings Bank is that of domestic servants. After them rank
clerks, shopmen, porters, and miners. Only about a third part of the
deposits belong to the operatives, artizans, and mechanics. It is the
same in manufacturing districts generally. A few years since, it was
found that of the numerous female depositors at Dundee, only one was a
factory worker: the rest were for the most part servants.

There is another fact that is remarkable. The habit of saving does not
so much prevail in those counties where wages are the highest, as in
those counties where wages are the lowest. Previous to the era of Post
Office Savings Banks, the inhabitants of Wilts and Dorset--where wages
are about the lowest in England--deposited more money in the savings
banks, per head of the population, than they did in Lancashire and
Yorkshire, where wages are about the highest in England. Taking
Yorkshire itself, and dividing it into manufacturing and
agricultural,--the manufacturing inhabitants of the West Riding of York
invested about twenty-five shillings per head of the population in the
savings banks; whilst the agricultural population of the East Riding
invested about three times that amount.

Private soldiers are paid much less wages per week than the lowest-paid
workmen, and yet they put more money in the savings banks than workmen
who are paid from thirty to forty shillings a week. Soldiers are
generally supposed to be a particularly thoughtless class. Indeed, they
are sometimes held up to odium as reckless and dissolute; but the
Military Savings Bank Returns refute the vilification, and prove that
the British soldier is as sober, well-disciplined, and frugal, as we
already know him to be brave. Most people forget that the soldier must
be obedient, sober, and honest. If he is a drunkard, he is punished; if
he is dishonest, he is drummed out of the regiment.

Wonderful is the magic of Drill! Drill means discipline, training,
education. The first drill of every people is military. It has been the
first education of nations. The duty of obedience is thus taught on a
large scale,--submission to authority; united action under a common
head. These soldiers,--who are ready to march steadily against vollied
fire, against belching cannon, up fortress heights, or to beat their
heads against bristling bayonets, as they did at Badajos,--were once
tailors, shoemakers, mechanics, delvers, weavers, and ploughmen; with
mouths gaping, shoulders stooping, feet straggling, arms and hands like
great fins hanging by their sides; but now their gait is firm and
martial, their figures are erect, and they march along, to the sound of
music, with a tread that makes the earth shake. Such is the wonderful
power of drill.

Nations, as they become civilized, adopt other methods of discipline.
The drill becomes industrial. Conquest and destruction give place to
production in many forms. And what trophies Industry has won, what skill
has it exercised, what labours has it performed! Every industrial
process is performed by drilled bands of artizans. Go into Yorkshire and
Lancashire, and you will find armies of drilled labourers at work, where
the discipline is perfect, and the results, as regards the amount of
manufactured productions turned out of hand, are prodigious.

On efficient drilling and discipline, men's success as individuals, and
as societies entirely depends. The most self-dependent man is under
discipline,--and the more perfect the discipline, the more complete his
condition. A man must drill his desires, and keep them under
subjection,--he must obey the word of command, otherwise he is the sport
of passion and impulse. The religions man's life is full of discipline
and self-restraint. The man of business is entirely subject to system
and rule. The happiest home is that where the discipline is the most
perfect, and yet where it is the least felt. We at length become subject
to it as to a law of Nature, and while it binds us firmly, yet we feel
it not. The force of Habit is but the force of Drill.

One dare scarcely hint, in these days, at the necessity for compulsory
conscription; and yet, were the people at large compelled to pass
through the discipline of the army, the country would be stronger, the
people would be soberer, and thrift would become much more habitual than
it is at present.

Military savings banks were first suggested by Paymaster Fairfowl in
1816; and about ten years later the question was again raised by Colonel
Oglander, of the 26th Foot (Cameronians). The subject was brought under
the notice of the late Duke of Wellington, and negatived; the Duke
making the following memorandum on the subject: "There is nothing that I
know of to prevent a soldier, equally with others of His Majesty's
subjects, from investing his money in savings banks. If there be any
impediment, it should be taken away; but I doubt the expediency of going
further."

The idea, however, seems to have occurred to the Duke, that the proposal
to facilitate the saving of money by private soldiers might be turned to
account in the way of a reduction in the army expenditure, and he
characteristically added: "Has a soldier more pay than he requires? If
he has, it should be lowered, not to those now in the service, but to
those enlisted hereafter." No one, however, could allege that the pay of
the private soldier was excessive, and it was not likely that any
proposal to lower it would be entertained.

The subject of savings banks for the army was allowed to rest for a
time, but by the assistance of Sir James McGregor and Lord Howick a
scheme was at length approved and finally established in 1842. The
result has proved satisfactory in an eminent degree, and speaks well for
the character of the British soldier. It appears from a paper presented
to the House of Commons some years ago,--giving the details of the
savings effected by the respective corps,--that the men of the Royal
Artillery had saved over twenty-three thousand pounds, or an average of
sixteen pounds to each depositor. These savings were made out of a daily
pay of one and threepence and a penny for beer-money, or equal to about
nine and sixpence a week, subject to sundry deductions for extra
clothing. Again, the men of the Royal Engineers--mostly drawn from the
skilled mechanical class--had saved nearly twelve thousand pounds, or an
average of about twenty pounds for each depositor. The Twenty-sixth
regiment of the line (Cameronians), whose pay was a shilling a day and a
penny for beer, saved over four thousand pounds. Two hundred and fifty
men of the first battalion, or one-third of the corps, were depositors
in the savings bank, and their savings amounted to about seventeen
pounds per man.

But this is not all. Private soldiers, out of their small earnings, are
accustomed to remit considerable sums through the post office, to their
poor relations at home. In one year, twenty-two thousand pounds were
thus sent from Aldershot,--the average amount of each money order being
twenty-one shillings and fourpence. And if men with seven shillings and
seven-pence a week can do so much, what might not skilled workmen do,
whose earnings amount to from two to three pounds a week?

Soldiers serving abroad during arduous campaigns have proved themselves
to be equally thoughtful and provident. During the war in the Crimea,
the soldiers and seamen sent home through the money order office
seventy-one thousand pounds, and the army works corps thirty-five
thousand pounds. More than a year before the money order system was
introduced at Scutari, Miss Nightingale took charge of the soldiers'
savings. She found them most willing to abridge their own comforts or
indulgences, for the sake of others dear to them, as well as for their
own future well-being; and she devoted an afternoon in every week to
receiving and forwarding their savings to England. She remitted many
thousand pounds in this manner, and it was distributed by a friend in
London,--much of it to the remotest corners of Scotland and Ireland. And
it afforded some evidence that the seed fell in good places (as well as
of the punctuality of the post office), that of the whole number of
remittances, all but one were duly acknowledged.

Again, there is not a regiment returning from India but brings home with
it a store of savings. In the year 1860, after the Indian mutiny, more
than twenty thousand pounds were remitted on account of invalided men
sent back to England; besides which there were eight regiments which
brought home balances to their credits in the regimental banks amounting
to £40.499.[1] The highest was the Eighty-fourth, whose savings amounted
to £9,718. The Seventy-Eighth (Ross-shire Buffs), the heroes who
followed Havelock in his march on Lucknow, saved £6,480; and the gallant
Thirty-second, who held Lucknow under Inglis, saved £5,263. The
Eighty-sixth, the first battalion of the Tenth, and the Ninth Dragoons,
all brought home an amount of savings indicative of providence and
forethought, which reflected the highest honour upon them as men as well
as soldiers.[2]

[Footnote 1: The sum sent home by soldiers serving in India for the
benefit of friends and relatives are not included in these amounts, the
remittances being made direct by the paymasters of regiments, and not
through the savings banks.]

[Footnote 2: The amount of the Fund for Military Savings Banks on the
5th of January, 1876, was £338,350.]

And yet the private soldiers do not deposit all their savings in the
military savings banks,--especially when they can obtain access to an
ordinary savings bank. We are informed that many of the household troops
stationed in London deposit their spare money in the savings banks
rather than in the regimental banks; and when the question was on a
recent occasion asked as to the cause, the answer given was, "I would
not have my sergeant know that I was saving money." But in addition to
this, the private soldier would rather that his comrades did not know
that he was saving money; for the thriftless soldier, like the
thriftless workman, when he has spent everything of his own, is very apt
to set up a kind of right to borrow from the fund of his more thrifty
comrade.

The same feeling of suspicion frequently prevents workmen depositing
money in the ordinary savings bank. They do not like it to be known to
their employers that they are saving money, being under the impression
that it might lead to attempts to lower their wages. A working man in a
town in Yorkshire, who had determined to make a deposit in the savings
bank, of which his master was a director, went repeatedly to watch at
the door of the bank before he could ascertain that his master was
absent; and he only paid in his money, after several weeks' waiting,
when ne had assured himself of this fact.

The miners at Bilston, at least such of them as put money in the savings
bank, were accustomed to deposit it in other names than their own. Nor
were they without reason. For some of their employers were actually
opposed to the institution of savings banks,--fearing lest the workmen
might apply their savings to their maintenance during a turn-out; not
reflecting that they have the best guarantee of the steadiness of this
class of men, in their deposits at the savings bank. Mr. Baker,
Inspector of Factories, has said that "the supreme folly of a strike is
shown by the fact that there is seldom or never a rich workman at the
head of it."

A magistrate at Bilston, not connected with the employment of workmen,
has mentioned the following case. "I prevailed," he says, "upon a
workman to begin a deposit in the savings bank. He came most
unwillingly. His deposits were small, although I knew his gains to be
great. I encouraged him by expressing satisfaction at the course he was
taking. His deposits became greater; and at the end of five years he
drew out the fund he had accumulated, bought a piece of land, and has
built a house upon it. I think if I had not spoken to him, the whole
amount would have been spent in feasting or clubs, or contributions to
the trades unions. That man's eyes are now open--his social position is
raised--he sees and feels as we do, and will influence others to follow
his example."

From what we have said, it will be obvious that there can be no doubt as
to the ability of a large proportion of the better-paid classes of
working men to lay by a store of savings. When they set their minds upon
any object, they have no difficulty in finding the requisite money. A
single town in Lancashire contributed thirty thousand pounds to support
their fellow-workmen when on strike in an adjoining town. At a time when
there are no strikes, why should they not save as much money on their
own account, for their own permanent comfort? Many workmen already save
with this object; and what they do, all might do. We know of one large
mechanical establishment,--situated in an agricultural district, where
the temptations to useless expenditure are few,--in which nearly all the
men are habitual economists, and have saved sums varying from two
hundred to five hundred pounds each.

Many factory operatives, with their families, might easily lay by from
five to ten shillings a week, which in a few years would amount to
considerable sums. At Darwen, only a short time ago, an operative drew
his savings out of the bank to purchase a row of cottages, now become
his property. Many others, in the same place, and in the neighbouring
towns, are engaged in building cottages for themselves, some by means of
their contributions to building societies, and others by means of their
savings accumulated in the bank.

A respectably dressed working man, when making a payment one day at the
Bradford savings bank, which brought his account up to nearly eighty
pounds, informed the manager how it was that he had been induced to
become a depositor. He had been a drinker; but one day accidentally
finding his wife's savings bank deposit book, from which he learnt that
she had laid by about twenty pounds, he said to himself, "Well now, if
this can be done while I am spending, what might we do if both were
saving?" The man gave up his drinking, and became one of the most
respectable persons of his class. "I owe it all," he said, "to my wife
and the savings bank."

When well-paid workmen such as these are able to accumulate a sufficient
store of savings, they ought gradually to give up hard work, and remove
from the field of competition as old age comes upon them. They ought
also to give place to younger men; and prevent themselves being beaten
down into the lower-paid ranks of labour. After sixty a man's physical
powers fail him; and by that time he ought to have made provision for
his independent maintenance. Nor are the instances by any means
uncommon, of workmen laying by money with this object, and thereby
proving what the whole class might, to a greater or less extent,
accomplish in the same direction.

The extent to which Penny Banks have been used by the very poorest
classes, wherever started, affords a striking illustration how much may
be done by merely providing increased opportunities for the practice of
thrift. The first Penny Bank was started in Greenock, about thirty years
since, as an auxiliary to the savings bank. The object of the projector
(Mr. J.M. Scott) was to enable poor persons, whose savings amounted to
less than a shilling (the savings bank minimum) to deposit them in a
safe place. In one year about five thousand depositors placed £1,580
with the Greenock institution. The estimable Mr. Queckett, a curate in
the east end of London, next opened a Penny Bank, and the results were
very remarkable. In one year as many as 14,513 deposits were made in the
bank. The number of depositors was limited to 2,000; and the demand for
admission was so great that there were usually many waiting until
vacancies occurred.

"Some save for their rent," said Mr. Queckett, "others for clothes and
apprenticing their children; and various are the little objects to which
the savings are to be applied. Every repayment passes through my own
hands, which gives an opportunity of hearing of sickness, or sorrow, or
any other cause which compels the withdrawal of the little fund. It is,
besides, a feeder to the larger savings banks, to which many are turned
over when the weekly payments tendered exceed the usual sum. Many of
those who could at first scarcely advance beyond a penny a week, can now
deposit a silver coin of some kind."

Never was the moral influence of the parish clergyman more wisely
employed than in this case. Not many of those whom Mr. Queckett thus
laboured to serve were amongst the church-going class; but by helping
them to be frugal, and improving their physical condition, he was
enabled gradually to elevate their social tastes, and to awaken in them
a religious life to which the greater number of them had before been
strangers.

A powerful influence was next given to the movement by Mr. Charles W.
Sikes, cashier of the Huddersfield Banking Company, who advocated their
establishment in connection with the extensive organization of
mechanics' institutes. It appeared to him that to train working people
when young in habits of economy, was of more practical value to
themselves, and of greater importance to society, than to fill their
minds with the contents of many books. He pointed to the perverted use
of money by the working class as one of the greatest practical evils of
the time. "In many cases," he said, "the higher the workmen's wages, the
poorer are their families; and these are they who really form the
discontented and the dangerous classes. How _can_ such persons take any
interest in pure and elevating knowledge?"

To show the thriftlessness of the people, Mr. Sikes mentioned the
following instance. "An eminent employer in the West Riding," he said,
"whose mills for a quarter of a century have scarcely run short time for
a single week, has within a few days examined the rate of wages now paid
to his men, and compared it with that of a few years ago. He had the
pleasure of finding that improvements in machinery had led to
improvement in wages. His spinners and weavers are making about
twenty-seven shillings a week. In many instances some of their children
work at the same mill, and in a few instances their wives, and often the
family income reaches from a hundred to a hundred and fifty pounds per
annum. Visiting the homes of some of these men, he has seen with
feelings of disappointment the air of utter discomfort and squalor with
which many are pervaded. Increase of income has led only to increase of
improvidence. The savings bank and the building society are equally
neglected, although at the same mill there are some with no higher
wages, whose homes have every comfort, and who have quite a little
competency laid by. In Bradford, I believe, a munificent employer on one
occasion opened seven hundred accounts with the savings bank for his
operatives, paying in a small deposit for each. The result was not
encouraging. Rapidly was a small portion of the sums drawn out, and very
few remained as the nucleus of further deposits."[1]

[Footnote 1: From Mr. Sikes's excellent little handbook entitled "Good
Times, or the Savings Bank and the Fireside."]

Mr. Sikes suggested that each mechanics' institute should appoint a
preliminary savings bank committee, to attend once a week for the
purpose of receiving deposits from the members and others.

"If a committee at each institution," he said, "were to adopt this
course, taking an interest in their humble circumstances, and in a
sympathizing and kindly spirit, to suggest, invite, nay win them over,
not only by reading the lesson, but forming the habit of true economy
and self-reliance (the noblest lessons for which classes could be
formed), how cheering would be the results! Once established in better
habits, their feet firmly set in the path of self-reliance, how
generally would young men grow up with the practical conviction that to
their own advancing intelligence and virtues must they mainly look to
work out their own social welfare!"

This admirable advice was not lost. One institution after another
embraced the plan, and preliminary savings banks were, shortly
established in connection with the principal mechanics' institutes
throughout Yorkshire. Those established at Huddersfield, Halifax,
Bradford, Leeds, and York, were exceedingly successful. The Penny Banks
established at Halifax consisted of a central bank and seven subordinate
branches. The number of members, and the average amount of the sums
deposited with them, continued to increase from year to year. Fourteen
Penny Banks were established at Bradford; and after the depositors had
formed the habit of saving in the smaller banks, they transferred them
in bulk to the ordinary Savings Bank.

Thirty-six Penny Banks were established in and around Glasgow. The
committee, in their Report, stated they were calculated "to check that
reckless expenditure of little sums which so often leads to a confirmed
habit of wastefulness and improvidence;" and they urged the support of
the Penny Banks as the best means of extending the usefulness of the
savings banks. The Penny Bank established at the small country town of
Farnham is estimated to have contributed within a few years a hundred
and fifty regular depositors to the savings bank of the same place. The
fact that as large a proportion as two-thirds of the whole amount
deposited is drawn out within the year, shows that Penny Banks are
principally used as places of safe deposit for very small sums of money,
until they are wanted for some special object, such as rent, clothes,
furniture, the doctor's bill, and such-like purposes.

Thus the Penny Bank is emphatically the poor man's purse. The great mass
of the deposits are paid in sums not exceeding sixpence, and the average
of the whole does not exceed a shilling. The depositors consist of the
very humblest members of the working class, and by far the greatest
number of them have never before been accustomed to lay by any portion
of their earnings. The Rev. Mr. Clarke, of Derby, who took an active
interest in the extension of these useful institutions, has stated that
one-tenth of the whole amount received by the Derby Penny Bank was
deposited in copper money, and a large portion of the remainder in
threepenny and fourpenny pieces.

It is clear, therefore, that the Penny Bank reaches a class of persons
of very small means, whose ability to save is much less than that of the
highly-paid workman, and who, if the money were left in their pockets,
would in most cases spend it in the nearest public-house. Hence, when a
Penny Bank was established at Putney, and the deposits were added up at
the end of the first year, a brewer, who was on the committee, made the
remark, "Well, that represents thirty thousand pints of beer _not
drunk_."

At one of the Penny Banks in Yorkshire, an old man in receipt of parish
outdoor relief was found using the Penny Bank as a place of deposit for
his pennies until he had accumulated enough to buy a coat. Others save,
to buy an eight-day clock, or a musical instrument, or for a railway
trip.

But the principal supporters of the Penny Banks are boys, and this is
their most hopeful feature; for it is out of boys that men are made. At
Huddersfield many of the lads go in bands from the mills to the Penny
Banks; emulation as well as example urging them on. They save for
various purposes--one to buy a chest of tools, another a watch, a third
a grammar or a dictionary.

One evening a boy presented himself to draw £l 10. According to the
rules of the Penny Bank a week's notice must be given before any sum
exceeding 20s. can be withdrawn, and the cashier demurred to making the
payment. "Well," said the boy, "the reason's this--mother can't pay her
rent; I'm goin' to pay it, for, as long as I have owt, she shall hev'
it." In another case, a youth drew £20 to buy off his brother who had
enlisted. "Mother frets so," said the lad, "that, she'll break her heart
if he isn't bought off, and I cannot bear that."

Thus these institutions give help and strength in many ways, and,
besides enabling young people to keep out of debt and honestly to pay
their way, furnish them with the means of performing kindly and generous
acts in times of family trial and emergency. It is an admirable feature
of the Ragged Schools that almost every one of them has a Penny Bank
connected with it for the purpose of training the scholars in good
habits, which they most need; and it is a remarkable fact that in one
year not less than £8,880 were deposited, in 25,637 sums, by the
scholars connected with the Ragged School Union. And when, this can be
done by the poor boys of the ragged schools, what might not be
accomplished by the highly-paid operatives and mechanics of England?

But another capital feature in the working of Penny Banks, as regards
the cultivation of prudent habits among the people, is the circumstance
that the example of boys and girls depositing their spare weekly
pennies, has often the effect of drawing their parents after them. A boy
goes on for weeks paying his pence, and taking home his pass-book. The
book shows that he has a "leger folio" at the bank expressly devoted to
him--that his pennies are all duly entered, together with the respective
dates of their deposits--that these savings are not lying idle, but bear
interest at 2-1/2 per cent. per annum--and that he can have them
restored to him at any time,--if under 20s., without notice; and it
above 20s., then after a week's notice has been given.

The book is a little history in itself, and cannot fail to be
interesting to the boy's brothers and sisters, as well as to his
parents. They call him "good lad," and they see he is a well-conducted
lad. The father, if he be a sensible man, naturally bethinks him that,
if his boy can do so creditable a thing, worthy of praise, so might he
himself. Accordingly, on the next Saturday night, when the boy goes to
deposit his threepence at the Penny Bank, the father often sends his
shilling.

Thus a good beginning is often made, and a habit initiated, which, if
persevered in, very shortly exercises a most salutary influence on the
entire domestic condition of the family. The observant mother is quick
to observe the effects of this new practice upon the happiness of the
home, and in course of time, as the younger children grow up and earn
money, she encourages them to follow the elder boy's example. She
herself takes them by the hand, leads them to the Penny Bank, and
accustoms them to invest their savings there. Women have even more
influence in such matters than men, and where they do exercise it, the
beneficial effects are much more lasting.

One evening a strong, muscular mechanic appeared at the Bradford savings
bank in his working dress, bringing with him three children, one of them
in his arms. He placed on the counter their deposit books, which his
wife had previously been accustomed to present, together with ten
shillings, to be equally apportioned amongst the three. Pressing to his
bosom the child in his arms, the man said, "Poor things! they have lost
their mother since they were here last; but I must do the best I can for
them." And he continued the good lesson to his children which his wife
had begun, bringing them with him each time to see their little deposits
made.

There is an old English proverb which says, "He that would thrive must
first ask his wife;" but the wife must not only let her husband thrive,
but help him, otherwise she is not the "help meet" which is as needful
for the domestic comfort and satisfaction of the working man, as of
every other man who undertakes the responsibility of a family. Women
form the moral atmosphere in which we grow when children, and they have
a great deal to do with the life we lead when we become men. It is true
that the men may hold the reins; but it is generally the women who tell
them which way to drive. What Rousseau said is very near the truth--"Men
will always be what women make them."

Not long ago, Mr. Sikes encountered, in a second-class carriage, a
well-dressed workman travelling from Sheffield to Glasgow, during
holiday times, to see his mother. "I am glad," said Mr. Sikes, "to find
a workman travelling so great a distance, for a purpose like that."
"Yes," said the man, "and I am glad to say that I can afford to do it."
"And do many of the workmen employed in your workshop save money?" asked
Mr. Sikes. "No," said the other, "not more than about two in the
hundred. The spare earnings of the others go, not to the savings banks,
but to the drink-shops." "And when did you begin to save?" "When I was
no bigger than _that_," indicating the height of a little boy: "the
first money I saved was in a Penny Bank, and I have gone on saving ever
since."

Such being the influence of early practice and example, we are glad to
find that Economy is now being taught at public schools. The Rev. Mr.
Crallan, of the Sussex County Asylum, has long taught lessons of thrift
to poor boys and girls. He urges the establishment of Penny Banks in
connection with Savings Banks, in all elementary schools. He wisely
contends that simple lessons on money, its nature, its value, and its
uses, together with the various duties of giving, spending, and saving,
would have a vast influence on the rising generation.

The practice of teaching children provident habits has been adopted for
about eight years in the National Schools of Belgium. The School Board
of Ghent is convinced of the favourable influence that saving has upon
the moral and material well-being of the working classes, and believes
that the best means of causing the spirit of economy to penetrate their
habits is to teach it to the children under tuition, and to make them
practise it.

It is always very difficult to teach anything new to adults,--and
especially lessons of thrift to men who are thriftless. Their method of
living is fixed. Traditional and inveterate habits of expenditure exist
among them. With men, it is the drinking-shop; with women, it is dress.
They spend what they earn, and think nothing of to-morrow. When reduced
to a state of distress, they feel no shame in begging; for the feeling
of human dignity has not yet been sufficiently developed in them.

With children it is very different. They have no inveterate habits to
get rid of. They will, for the most part, do as they are taught. And
they can be taught economy, just as they can be taught arithmetic. They
can, at all events, be inspired by a clever teacher with habits of
economy and thrift. Every child has a few pence at times. The master may
induce them to save these for some worthy purpose. At Ghent, a savings
bank has been introduced in every school, and the children deposit their
pennies there. It is introduced into the paying schools as well as the
free schools; for habits of thrift are as useful to men and women of the
richer as of the poorer classes. The results of the lessons on Economy
have been highly satisfactory.[1] The children belonging to the schools
of Ghent have accumulated eighteen thousand pounds, which is deposited
in the State Savings Bank at three per cent. interest. This system is
spreading into Holland, France, and Italy. It has also, to a certain
extent, been adopted in this country. Thus Glasgow, Liverpool,
Birmingham, Great Ilford, and the London Orphan Asylum, all show
specimens of School Banks; and we trust that, before long, they will be
established in every school throughout the kingdom.

[Footnote 1: A pamphlet published at Ghent says of the paying schools:
"The spirit of economy is introduced there under the form of charity.
The young girls buy with their pocket money, firstly materials, say
cotton or linen, of which they afterwards make articles of dress during
the hours set aside for manual work: afterwards the shirts, stockings,
dresses, handkerchiefs, or aprons, are distributed to the poorer
children of the free schools. The distribution Becomes the object of a
little holiday: we know of nothing that can be more touching. The poor
children are assembled in the Collier school; our young ladies go were
also; one of them says a few words feelingly to her sisters in the
poorer classes; one of the girls of the free schools replies. Then the
pretty and useful things which have been made during the last year are
distributed. It is the donors themselves who present the fruits of their
labour to the poorest among the poor. The distribution is intermingled
with singing. Need we reiterate the blessings of this blessed economy?"]

It will be obvious, from what has been said, that the practice of
economy depends very much upon the facilities provided for the laying by
of small sums of money. Let a convenient savings bank be provided, and
deposits gradually flow into it. Let a military savings bank be
established, and private soldiers contrive to save something out of
their small pay. Let penny banks be opened, and crowds of depositors
immediately present themselves; even the boys of the ragged schools
being able to put into them considerable sums of money. It is the same
with school banks, as we have seen from the example of the
school-children of Ghent.

Now, fifteen years ago, this country was very insufficiently provided
with savings banks for the people. There were then many large towns and
villages altogether unprovided with them. Lancashire had only thirty
savings banks for upwards of two millions of people. The East Riding of
Yorkshire had only four savings banks. There were fifteen counties in
the United Kingdom which had not a single savings bank. There were only
about six hundred savings banks for about thirty millions of people.
These were open only for two or three hours in the week; some were open
for only four hours in the month. The workman who had money to save, had
to carry his spare shillings in his pocket for some time before he could
lay them by; and in the meantime he might be exposed to constant
temptations to spend them. To keep his shillings safe, he must have
acquired the _habit_ of saving, which it was the object of savings banks
to train and establish.

Dr. Guthrie, in his book on Ragged Schools, published in 1860, said:
"How are our manufacturing and handicraft youth situated? By
public-houses and spirit-shops they are surrounded with innumerable
temptations; while to many of them savings banks are hardly known by
name. Dissipation has her nets drawn across every street. In many of our
towns, sobriety has to run the gauntlet of half-a-dozen spirit-shops in
the space of a bow-shot. These are near at hand--open by day, and
blazing by night, both on Sabbath and Saturday. Drunkenness finds
immediate gratification; while economy has to travel a mile, it may be,
for her savings bank; and that opens its door to thrift but once or
twice a week."[1]

[Footnote 1: Seed-Time and Harvest of Ragged Schools, or a Third Plea,
with new editions of the First and Second Plea, p. 99.]

Many suggestions had been made by friends of the poorer classes, whether
it might not be possible to establish a more extended system of savings
banks throughout the country. As long ago as 1807, Mr. Whitbread
introduced a Bill into Parliament for the purpose of enabling small
deposits to be made at an office to be established in London; the money
to be remitted by the postmasters of the districts in which the deposits
were made. The Bill further contemplated the establishment of a National
Assurance Society, by means of which working people were to be enabled
to effect assurances to an extent not exceeding two hundred pounds, and
to secure annuities to an amount not exceeding twenty pounds. Mr.
Whitbread's bill was rejected, and nothing came of his suggestions.

The exertions of Sir Rowland Hill having given great vitality to the
Post Office system, and extended its usefulness as a public institution
in all directions, it was next suggested that the money-order offices
(which were established in 1838) might be applied for the purpose of
depositing as well as for transmitting money. Professor Hancock
published a pamphlet on the subject in 1852. In November, 1856, Mr. John
Bullar, the eminent counsel--whose attention had been directed to the
subject by the working of the Putney Penny Bank--suggested to the Post
Office authorities the employment of money-order offices as a means of
extending the savings-bank system; but his suggestion did not meet with
approval at the time, and nothing came of it. Similar suggestions were
made by other gentlemen--by Mr. Hume, by Mr. M'Corquodale, by Captain
Strong, by Mr. Ray Smee, and others.

But it was not until Mr. Sikes, of Huddersfield, took up the question,
that these various suggestions became embodied in facts. Suggestions are
always useful. They arouse thinking. The most valuable are never lost,
but at length work themselves into facts. Most inventions are the result
of original suggestions. Some one attempts to apply the idea. Failures
occur at first; but with greater knowledge, greater experience, and
greater determination, the suggestion at last succeeds.

Post Office Savings Banks owe their success, in the first place, to the
numerous suggestions made by Mr. Whitbread and others; next to Sir
Rowland Hill who by establishing the Branch Post Offices for the
transmission of money, made the suggestions practicable; next to Mr.
Sikes, who took up the question in 1850, pushed it, persevered with it,
and brought it under the notice of successive Chancellors of the
Exchequer; and lastly to Mr. Gladstone, who, having clearly foreseen the
immense benefits of Post Office Savings Banks, brought in a Bill and
carried it through Parliament in 1861.

The money-order department of the Post Office had suggested to Mr.
Sikes, as it had already done to other observers, that the organization
already existed for making Post Office Savings Banks practicable
throughout the kingdom. Wherever the local inspector found that as many
as five money-orders were required in a week, the practice was to make
that branch of the Post Office a money-order office. It was estimated
that such an office was established on an average within three miles of
every working man's door in the kingdom. The offices were open daily.
They received money from all comers, and gave vouchers for the amounts
transmitted through them. They held the money until it was drawn, and
paid it out on a proper voucher being presented. The Post Office was, in
fact, a bank for the transmission of money, holding it for periods of
from twenty-four hours to weeks and months. By enabling it to receive
more money from more depositors, and by increasing the time of holding
it, allowing the usual interest, it became to all intents and purposes a
National bank of deposit.

The results of the Post Office Savings Banks Act have proved entirely
satisfactory. The money-order offices have been largely extended. They
are now about four thousand in number; consequently the facilities for
saving have been nearly doubled since the banks were established. The
number in the London district is now about four hundred and sixty, so
that from any point in the thickly populated parts of the metropolis, a
Savings Bank may be found within a distance of a few hundred yards. The
number of the depositors at the end of 1873 amounted to more than a
million and a half; while the amount of deposits reached over twenty-one
millions sterling.[1] At the same time the amount deposited with the
original Savings Banks remained about the same.

[Footnote 1: The amount reached £23,157,469 at the end of 1874.]

Post Office Savings Banks possess several great advantages which ought
to be generally known. The banks are very widely diffused, and are open
from nine in the morning until six in the evening, and on Saturdays
until nine at night. Persons may make a deposit of a shilling, or of any
number of shillings, provided more than thirty pounds is not deposited
in any one year. The Post Office officers furnish the book in which the
several deposits are entered. The book also contains the regulations of
the Post Office Savings Banks. Interest is allowed at the rate of two
pounds ten shillings per cent, per annum.

Another most important point is, the Security. Government is responsible
for the full amount paid in; so that the money deposited with the Post
Office Savings Bank is as safe as if it were in the Bank of England. The
money saved may also be transferred from place to place, without
expense, and may be easily paid to the depositor when required, no
matter where it was originally deposited. All that is done, is done in
perfect secrecy between the depositor and the postmaster, who is
forbidden to disclose the names of the depositors.

We have frequently alluded to Mr. Charles William Sikes in connection
with Penny Banks and Post Office Savings Banks. His name must always
hold a distinguished place in connection with those valuable
institutions. He is the son of a private banker in Huddersfield. When at
school he was presented, as a prize, with a copy of Dr. Franklin's
Essays and Letters. He perused the book with avidity. It implanted in
his mind the germs of many useful thoughts, and exercised a powerful
influence in giving a practical character to his life. Huddersfield is a
busy manufacturing town. Although workmen were well paid for their
labour, there were many ups and downs in their business. When trade
became slack, and they had spent all that they had earned, numbers of
them were accustomed to apply for charity in the streets or by the
wayside. Young Sikes often wondered whether these people had ever heard
of Dr. Franklin, and of his method of avoiding beggary or bad times by
saving their money when trade was brisk and they were well off.

Early in 1833, Mr. Sikes entered the service of the Huddersfield Banking
Company. It was the second joint stock bank that had been established in
England. The prudence and success with which the Scotch banking
companies had been conducted induced the directors to select a Scotch
manager. One of the first resolutions the directors adopted, was to give
deposit receipts for sums of ten pounds and upwards, for the purpose of
encouraging the working classes in habits of providence and thrift. Mr.
Sikes, being somewhat of a favourite with the manager, often heard from
his lips most interesting accounts of the provident habits of the Scotch
peasantry, and was informed by him of the fact that one of the banks at
Perth paid not less than twenty thousand pounds a year as interest on
deposits varying from ten to two hundred pounds each.

In 1837, Mr. Sikes became one of the cashiers of the company. This
brought him into direct contact and intercourse with the very class
which, from the direction his mind was taking, he so much wished to
understand,--namely, the thrifty portion of the industrious classes. A
considerable number of them had sums lying at interest. As years rolled
on, Mr. Sikes often witnessed the depositor commencing with ten or
twenty pounds, then make permanent additions to his little store, until
at length the amount would reach one, two, or, in a few instances, even
three hundred pounds. Mr. Sikes would often imagine the marvellous
improvement that would be effected on the condition of the working
classes, if every one of them became influenced by the same frugality
and forethought, which induced these exceptional operatives to deposit
their savings at his bank.

About that time, trade was in a wretched condition. The handloom weavers
were almost entirely without employment. Privation and suffering
prevailed on every side, and these were often borne with silent and
noble heroism. Various remedies were proposed for the existing evils.
Socialism, chartism, and free trade, were the favourites. Theories of
the wildest and most impracticable character abounded, and yet even in
those dark days there were instances of men who had to some degree made
the future predominate over the present, who could fall back upon their
reserve in the Joint Stock or Savings Bank to tide them over into better
times. Believing in the beneficent results of free trade, Mr. Sikes was
equally convinced that national prosperity, as well as national
adversity, might be attended with great evils, unless the masses were
endowed with habits of providence and thrift, and prepared by previous
education for the "good time coming" so eloquently predicted by the
orators of the League.

Many discussions with working men, in his homeward evening walks,
convinced Mr. Sikes that there were social problems with which
legislation would be almost powerless to grapple, and of these the
thriftlessness of the masses of the people was one. An employer of five
hundred handloom weavers had told Mr. Sikes that in a previous period of
prosperity, when work was abundant and wages were very high, he could
not, had he begged on bended knee, have induced his men to save a single
penny, or to lay by anything for a rainy day. The fancy waistcoating
trade had uniformly had its cycles of alternate briskness and
depression; but experience, however stern its teachings, could not teach
unwilling learners. It was at this period that Mr. Sikes was reading the
late Archbishop Sumner's "Records of Creation," and met with the
following passage: "The only true secret of assisting the poor, is to
make them agents in bettering their own condition."

Simple as are the words, they shed light into Mr. Sikes's mind, and
became the keynote and the test to which he brought the various views
and theories which he had previously met with. Doles and charities,
though founded frequently on the most benevolent motives, were too often
deteriorating to their recipients. On the other hand, if self-reliance
and self-help--the columns of true majesty in man--could only be made
characteristics of the working classes generally, nothing could retard
their onward and upward progress. Mr. Sikes observed that until the
working classes had more of the money power in their hands, they would
still be periodically in poverty and distress. He saw that if provident
habits could only he generally pursued by them, the face of society
would immediately be transformed; and he resolved, in so far as lay in
his power, to give every aid to this good work.

In 1850, Savings Banks were only open a very few hours in each week. In
Huddersfield, where more than £400,000 a year was paid in wages, the
savings bank, after having been established over thirty years, had only
accumulated £74,332. In 1850, Mr. Sikes addressed an anonymous letter to
the editors of the _Leeds Mercury_, to which, by their request, he
afterwards attached his name. In that letter he recommended the
formation of Penny Savings Banks in connection with Mechanics' and
similar institutes. In simple words, but with many telling facts, he
showed how the young men and the young women of the working classes were
growing up deprived of almost every opportunity of forming habits of
thrift, and of becoming depositors in savings hanks.

The letter was received with general approbation. The committee of the
Yorkshire Union of Mechanics' Institutes gave their cordial sanction to
it; and Penny Banks were established in connection with nearly every
Mechanics' Institute in Yorkshire. Mr. Sikes personally conducted one at
Huddersfield; and down to the present time, it has received and repaid
about thirty thousand pounds. In fact, the working people of
Huddersfield, doubtless owing in a great measure to the practical
example of Mr. Sikes,--have become most provident and thrifty,--the
deposits in their savings bank having increased from seventy-four
thousand pounds in 1850, to three hundred and thirty thousand pounds in
1874.

In 1854, Mr. Sikes published his excellent pamphlet on "Good Times, or
the Savings Bank and the Fireside," to which we have already referred.
The success which it met with induced him to give his attention to the
subject of savings banks generally. He was surprised to find that they
were so utterly inadequate to meet the requirements of the country. He
sought an interview with Sir Cornewall Lewis, then Chancellor of the
Exchequer, and brought the subject under his consideration. The
Chancellor requested Mr. Sikes to embody his views in a letter, and in
the course of a few months there appeared a pamphlet addressed to Sir
Cornewall Lewis, entitled "Savings Banks Reforms." Mr. Sikes insisted on
the Government guarantee being given for deposits made in Savings Banks;
but this was refused.

Mr. Sikes next proceeded to ventilate the question of Post Office
Savings Banks. He was disappointed that no measure for the improvement
of Savings Banks had been adopted by Parliament. The day appeared very
distant when his cherished wish would be realized,--that the Savings
Bank should really become the Bank of the People. But the darkest hour
precedes the dawn. When he had almost given up the notion of improving
the existing Savings Banks, the idea suddenly struck him that in the
money-order office there was the very organization which might be made
the basis of a popular Savings Bank.

He communicated his plan in a letter to his friend Mr. Baines, then
member for Leeds. The plan was submitted to Sir Rowland Hill, who
approved of the suggestions, and considered the scheme "practicable so
far as the Post Office was concerned." The plan was then brought under
the notice of Mr. Gladstone, who afterwards carried the Bill through
Parliament for the establishment of Post Office Savings Banks throughout
the country.

To use the words of Mr. Sikes himself,--when predicting at the Social
Science Association the success of the Post Office Savings
Banks,--"Should the plan be carried out, it will soon be doing a
glorious work. Wherever a Bank is opened and deposits received,
self-reliance will to some extent be aroused, and, with many, a nobler
life will be begun. They will gradually discern how ruthless an enemy is
improvidence to working men; and how truly his friends are economy and
forethought. Under their guidance, household purchases could be made on
the most favourable terms--_for cash;_ any wished-for house taken at the
lowest rent _for punctual payment_; and the home enriched with comforts
until it is enjoyed and prized by all. From such firesides go forth
those inheriting the right spirit,--loving industry, loving thrift, and
loving home. Emulous of a good example, they in their day and generation
would nobly endeavour to lay by a portion of their income. Many a hard
winter and many a slack time would be comfortably got over by drawing on
the little fund, to be again replenished in better days. And if the plan
were adopted, remembering that it would virtually bring the Savings Bank
within less than an hour's walk of the fireside of every working man in
the United Kingdom, I trust that it is not taking too sanguine a view to
anticipate that it would render aid in ultimately winning over the rank
and file of the industrial classes of the kingdom to those habits of
forethought and self-denial which bring enduring reward to the
individual, and materially add to the safety of the State."

The working classes have not yet, however, taken full advantage of the
facilities for saving afforded them by the Post Office Savings Banks.
Take Birmingham for instance, where the artizans are among the best-paid
workmen of the town. In the list of depositors in the Post Office
Savings Banks, we find that the artizans rank after the domestic
servants, after the married and unmarried women, and after the miners.
They only constitute about one-tenth of the entire depositors, though it
is possible that they may deposit their savings in some other
investments.

Then take the returns for the entire United Kingdom. Out of every ten
thousand depositors in the Post Office Savings Banks, we find that the
domestic servants are again the first; next, the women, married and
single; next, persons of "no occupation" and "occupations not given;"
next, the artizans, and after them, the labourers, miners, tradesmen,
soldiers and sailors, clerks, milliners and dressmakers, professional
men, and public officials, in the order stated. We must, however, regard
the institution as still too young to have fully taken root. We believe
that the living generation must pass away before the full fruits of the
Post Office Savings Banks can be gathered in.

The inhabitants of Preston have exhibited a strong disposition to save
their earnings during the last few years,--more especially since the
conclusion of the last great strike. There is no town in England,
excepting perhaps Huddersfield, where the people have proved themselves
so provident and so thrifty. Fifty years ago, only one person in thirty
of the population of Preston deposited money in the Savings Bank; twenty
years ago, the depositors increased to one in eleven; and last year they
had increased to one in five. In 1834, the sum of a hundred and
sixty-five thousand pounds had been accumulated in the Savings Bank by
5,942 depositors; and in 1874, four hundred and seventy-two thousand
pounds had been accumulated by 14,792 depositors, out of a total
population of 85,428. Is there any other town or city that can show a
more satisfactory result of the teaching, the experience, and the
prosperity of the last twenty years?




CHAPTER IX.

LITTLE THINGS.


"The sober comfort, all the peace which springs
 From the large aggregate of little things;
 On these small cares of daughter, wife, or friend,
 The almost sacred joys of Home depend."--_Hannah More_.

"Know when to spend and when to spare,
 And when to buy, and thou shalt ne'er be bare."

"He that despiseth little things, shall perish by little and
little."--_Ecclesiasticus_.


Neglect of small things is the rock on which the great majority of the
human race have split. Human life consists of a succession of small
events, each of which is comparatively unimportant, and yet the
happiness and success of every man depends upon the manner in which
these small events are dealt with. Character is built up on little
things,--little things well and honourably transacted. The success of a
man in business depends on his attention to little things. The comfort
of a household is the result of small things well arranged and duly
provided for. Good government can only be accomplished in the same
way,--by well-regulated provisions for the doing of little things.

Accumulations of knowledge and experience of the most valuable kind are
the result of little bits of knowledge and experience carefully
treasured up. Those who learn nothing or accumulate nothing in life, are
set down as failures,--because they have neglected little things. They
may themselves consider that the world has gone against them; but in
fact they have been their own enemies. There has long been a popular
belief in "good luck;" but, like many other popular notions, it is
gradually giving way. The conviction is extending that diligence is the
mother of good luck; in other words, that a man's success in life will
be proportionate to his efforts, to his industry, to his attention to
small things. Your negligent, shiftless, loose fellows never meet with
luck; because the results of industry are denied to those who will not
use the proper efforts to secure them.

It is not luck, but labour, that makes men. Luck, says an American
writer, is ever waiting for something to turn up; Labour, with keen eye
and strong will, always turns up something. Luck lies in bed and wishes
the postman would bring him news of a legacy; Labour turns out at six,
and with busy pen or ringing hammer lays the foundation of a competence.
Luck whines; Labour whistles. Luck relies on chance; Labour on
character. Luck slips downwards to self-indulgence; Labour strides
upward, and aspires to independence.

There are many little things in the household, attention to which is
indispensable to health and happiness. Cleanliness consists in attention
to a number of apparent trifles--the scrubbing of a floor, the dusting
of a chair, the cleansing of a teacup,--but the general result of the
whole is an atmosphere of moral and physical well-being,--a condition
favourable to the highest growth of human character. The kind of air
which circulates in a house may seem a small matter,--for we cannot see
the air, and few people know anything about it. Yet if we do not provide
a regular supply of pure air within our houses, we shall inevitably
suffer for our neglect. A few specks of dirt may seem neither here nor
there, and a closed door or window would appear to make little
difference; but it may make the difference of a life destroyed by fever;
and therefore the little dirt and the little bad air are really very
serious matters. The whole of the household regulations are, taken by
themselves, trifles--but trifles tending to an important result.

A pin is a very little thing in an article of dress, but the way in
which it is put into the dress often reveals to you the character of the
wearer. A shrewd fellow was once looking out for a wife, and was on a
visit to a family of daughters with this object. The fair one, of whom
he was partially enamoured, one day entered the room in which he was
seated with her dress partially unpinned, and her hair untidy: he never
went back. You may say, such a fellow was "not worth a pin;" but he was
really a shrewd fellow, and afterwards made a good husband. He judged of
women as of men--by little things; and he was right.

A druggist advertised for an assistant, and he had applications from a
score of young man. He invited them all to come to his shop at the same
time, and set them each to make up a pennyworth of salts into a packet.
He selected the one that did this little thing in the neatest and most
expert manner. He inferred their general practical ability from their
performance of this smallest bit of business.

Neglect of little things has ruined many fortunes and marred the best of
enterprises. The ship which bore home the merchant's treasure was lost
because it was allowed to leave the port from which it sailed with a
very little hole in the bottom. For want of a nail the shoe of the
aide-de-camp's horse was lost; for want of the shoe, the horse was lost;
for want of the horse, the aide-de-camp himself was lost, for the enemy
took him and killed him; and for want of the aide-de camp's
intelligence, the army of his general was lost: and all because a little
nail had not been properly fixed in a horse's shoe!

"It will do!" is the common phrase of those who neglect little things.
"It will do!" has blighted many a character, blasted many a fortune,
sunk many a ship, burnt down many a house, and irretrievably ruined
thousands of hopeful projects of human good. It always means stopping
short of the right thing. It is a makeshift. It is a failure and defeat.
Not what "will do," but what is the best possible thing to do,--is the
point to be aimed at! Let a man once adopt the maxim of "It will do,"
and he is given over to the enemy,--he is on the side of incompetency
and defeat,--and we give him up as a hopeless subject!

M. Say, the French political economist, has related the following
illustration of the neglect of little things. Once, at a farm in the
country, there was a gate enclosing the cattle and poultry, which was
constantly swinging open for want of a proper latch. The expenditure of
a penny or two, and a few minutes' time, would have made all right. It
was on the swing every time a person went out, and not being in a state
to shut readily, many of the poultry were from time to time lost. One
day a fine young porker made his escape, and the whole family, with the
gardener, cook, and milkmaid, turned out in quest of the fugitive. The
gardener was the first to discover the pig, and in leaping a ditch to
cut off his escape, got a sprain that kept him to his bed for a
fortnight. The cook, on her return to the farm-house, found the linen
burnt that she had hung up before the fire to dry; and the milkmaid,
having forgotten in her haste to tie up the cattle in the cow-house, one
of the loose cows had broken the leg of a colt that happened to be kept
in the same shed. The linen burnt and the gardener's work lost were
worth full five pounds, and the colt worth nearly double that money: so
that here was a loss in a few minutes of a large sum, purely for want of
a little latch which might have been supplied for a few halfpence. Life
is full of illustrations of a similar kind. When small things are
habitually neglected, ruin is not far off. It is the hand of the
diligent that maketh rich; and the diligent man or woman is attentive to
small things as well as great. The things may appear very little and
insignificant, yet attention to them is as necessary as to matters of
greater moment.

Take, for instance, the humblest of coins--a penny. What is the use of
that little piece of copper--a solitary penny? What can it buy? Of what
use is it? It is half the price of a glass of beer. It is the price of a
box of matches. It is only fit for giving to a beggar. And yet how much
of human happiness depends upon the spending of the penny well.

A man may work hard, and earn high wages; but if he allows the pennies,
which are the result of hard work, to slip out of his fingers--some
going to the beershop, some this way, and some that,--he will find that
his life of hard work is little raised above a life of animal drudgery.
On the other hand, if he take care of the pennies--putting some weekly
into a benefit society or an insurance fund, others into a savings bank,
and confides the rest to his wife to be carefully laid out, with a view
to the comfortable maintenance and culture of his family,--he will soon
find that his attention to small matters will abundantly repay him, in
increasing means, in comfort at home, and in a mind comparatively free
from fears as to the future.

All savings are made up of little things. "Many a little makes a
mickle." Many a penny makes a pound. A penny saved is the seed of pounds
saved. And pounds saved mean comfort, plenty, wealth, and independence.
But the penny must be earned honestly. It is said that a penny earned
honestly is better than a shilling given. A Scotch proverb says, "The
gear that is gifted is never sae sweet as the gear that is won." What
though the penny be black? "The smith and his penny are both black." But
the penny earned by the smith is an honest one.

If a man does not know how to save his pennies or his pounds, his nose
will always be kept to the grindstone. Want may come upon him any day,
"like an armed man." Careful saving acts like magic: once begun, it
grows into habit. It gives a man a feeling of satisfaction, of strength,
of security. The pennies he has put aside in his savings box, or in the
savings bank, give him an assurance of comfort in sickness, or of rest
in old age. The man who saves has something to weather-fend him against
want; while the man who saves not has nothing between him and bitter,
biting poverty.

A man may be disposed to save money, and lay it by for sickness or for
other purposes; but he cannot do this unless his wife lets him, or helps
him. A prudent, frugal, thrifty woman is a crown of glory to her
husband. She helps him in all his good resolutions; she may, by quiet
and gentle encouragement, bring out his better qualities; and by her
example she may implant in him noble principles, which are the seeds of
the highest practical virtues.

The Rev. Mr. Owen, formerly of Bilston,--a good friend and adviser of
working people,--used to tell a story of a man who was not an economist,
but was enabled to become so by the example of his wife. The man was a
calico-printer at Manchester, and he was persuaded by his wife, on their
wedding-day, to allow her two half-pints of ale a day, as her share. He
rather winced at the bargain, for, though a drinker himself, he would
have preferred a perfectly sober wife. They both worked hard; and he,
poor man, was seldom out of the public-house as soon as the factory was
closed.

She had her daily pint, and he, perhaps, had his two or three quarts,
and neither interfered with the other? except that, at odd times, she
succeeded, by dint of one little gentle artifice or another, to win him
home an hour or two earlier at night; and now and then to spend an
entire evening in his own house. They had been married a year, and on
the morning of their wedding anniversary, the husband looked askance at
her neat and comely person, with some shade of remorse, as he said,
"Mary, we've had no holiday since we were wed; and, only that I have not
a penny in the world, we'd take a jaunt down to the village, to see thee
mother."

"Would'st like to go, John? "said she, softly,between a smile and a
tear, so glad to hear him speak so kindly,--so like old times. "If
thee'd like to go, John, I'll stand treat."

"Thou stand treat!" said he, with half a sneer: "Has't got a fortun',
wench?"

"Nay," said she, "but I've gotten the pint o' ale."

"Gotten what?" said he.

"The pint o' ale!" said she.

John still didn't understand her, till the faithful creature reached
down an old stocking from under a loose brick up the chimney, and
counted out her daily pint of ale in the shape of three hundred and
sixty-five threepences, _i.e.,_ £4 11_s._ 3_d._, and put them into his
hand, exclaiming, "Thou shalt have thee holiday, John!"

John was ashamed, astonished, conscience-stricken, charmed, and wouldn't
touch it. "Hasn't thee had thy share? Then I'll ha' no more! "he said.
He kept his word. They kept their wedding-day with mother,--and the
wife's little capital was the nucleus of a series of frugal investments,
that ultimately swelled out into a shop, a factory, warehouses, a
country seat, carriage, and, perhaps, a Liverpool Mayor.

In the same way, a workman of even the humblest sort, whose prosperity
and regularity of conduct show to his fellow-workmen what industry,
temperance, manly tenderness, and superiority to low and sensual
temptation can effect, in endearing a home which is bright even amidst
the gloom of poverty--such a man does good as well as the most eloquent
writer that ever wrote. If there were a few patriarchs of the people
such as this, their beneficial influence would soon be sensibly felt by
society at large. A life well spent is worth any number of speeches. For
example is a language far more eloquent than words: it is instruction in
action--wisdom at work.

A man's daily life is the best test of his moral and social state. Take
two men, for instance, both working at the same trade and earning the
same money; yet how different they may be as respects their actual
condition. The one looks a free man; the other a slave. The one lives in
a snug cottage; the other in a mud hovel. The one has always a decent
coat to his back; the other is in rags. The children of the one are
clean, well dressed, and at school; the children of the other are dirty,
filthy, and often in the gutter. The one possesses the ordinary comforts
of life, as well as many of its pleasures and conveniences--perhaps a
well-chosen library; the other has few of the comforts of life,
certainly no pleasures, enjoyments, nor books. And yet these two men
earn the same wages. What is the cause of the difference between them?

It is in this. The one man is intelligent and prudent; the other is the
reverse. The one denies himself for the benefit of his wife, his family,
and his home; the other denies himself nothing, but lives under the
tyranny of evil habits. The one is a sober man, and takes pleasure in
making his home attractive and his family comfortable; the other cares
nothing for his home and family, but spends the greater part of his
earnings in the gin-shop or the public-house. The one man looks up; the
other looks down. The standard of enjoyment of the one is high; and of
the other low. The one man likes books, which instruct and elevate his
mind; the other likes drink, which tends to lower and brutalize him. The
one saves his money; the other wastes it.

"I say, mate," said one workman to another, as they went home one
evening from their work, "will you tell me how it is that you contrive
to get on? how it is that you manage to feed and clothe your family as
you do, and put money in the Penny Bank besides; whilst I, who have as
good wages as you, and fewer children, can barely make the ends meet?"

"Well, I will tell you; it only consists in this--in _taking care of the
pennies!_"

"What! Is that all, Ransom?"

"Yes, and a good 'all' too. Not one in fifty knows the secret. For
instance, Jack, _you_ don't."

"How! I? Let's see how you make that out."

"Now you have asked my secret, I'll tell you all about it. But you must
not be offended if I speak plain. First, I pay nothing for my drink."

"Nothing? Then you don't pay your shot, but sponge upon your
neighbours."

"Never! I drink water, which costs nothing. Drunken days have all their
to-morrows, as the old proverb says. I spare myself sore heads and shaky
hands, and save my pennies. Drinking water neither makes a man sick nor
in debt, nor his wife a widow. And that, let me tell you, makes a
considerable difference in our out-go. It may amount to about
half-a-crown a week, or seven pounds a year. That seven pounds will
clothe myself and children, while you are out at elbows and your
children go barefoot."

"Come, come, that's going too far. I don't drink at that rate. I may
take an odd half-pint now and then; but half-a-crown a week! Pooh!
pooh!"

"Well, then, how much did you spend on drink last Saturday night? Out
with it."

"Let me see: I had a pint with Jones; I think I had another with Davis,
who is just going to Australia; and then I went to the lodge."

"Well, how many glasses had you there?"

"How can I tell? I forget. But it's all stuff and nonsense, Bill!"

"Oh, you can't tell: you don't know what you spent? I believe you. But
that's the way your pennies go, my lad."

"And that's all your secret?"

"Yes; take care of the penny--that's all. Because I save, I have, when
you want. It's very simple, isn't it?"

"Simple, oh yes; but there's nothing in it."

"Yes! there's this in it,--that it has made you ask me the question, how
I manage to keep my family so comfortably, and put money in the Penny
Bank, while you, with the same wages, can barely make the ends meet.
Money is independence, and money is made by putting pennies together.
Besides, I work so hard for mine,--and so do you,--that I can't find it
in my heart to waste a penny on drink, when I can put it beside a few
other hard-earned pennies in the bank. It's something for a sore foot or
a rainy day. There's that in it, Jack; and there's comfort also in the
thought that, whatever may happen to me, I needn't beg nor go to the
workhouse. The saving of the penny makes me feel a free man. The man
always in debt, or without a penny beforehand, is little better than a
slave."

"But if we had our rights, the poor would not be so hardly dealt with as
they now are."

"Why, Jack, if you had your rights to-morrow, would they put your money
back into your pocket after you had spent it?--would your rights give
your children shoes and stockings when you had chosen to waste on beer
what would have bought them? Would your rights make you or your wife,
thriftier, or your hearthstone cleaner? Would rights wash your
children's faces, and mend the holes in your clothes? No, no, friend!
Give us our rights by all means, but _rights are not habits_, and it's
habits we want--good habits. With these we can be free men and
independent men _now_, if we but determine to be so. Good night, Jack,
and mind my secret,--it's nothing but _taking care of the pennies_, and
the pounds will take care of themselves."

"Good-night!" And Jack turned off at the lane-end towards his humble and
dirty cottage in Main's Court. I might introduce you to his home,--but
"home" it could scarcely be called. It was full of squalor and
untidiness, confusion and dirty children, where a slattern-looking woman
was scolding. Ransom's cottage, On the contrary, _was_ a home. It was
snug, trig, and neat; the hearthstone was fresh sanded; the wife, though
her hands were full of work, was clean and tidy; and her husband, his
day's work over, could sit down with his children about him, in peace
and comfort.

The _chief secret_ was now revealed. Ransom's secret, about the penny,
was a very good one, so far as it went. But he had not really told the
whole truth. He could not venture to tell his less fortunate comrade
that the root of all domestic prosperity, the mainstay of all domestic
comfort, is _the wife_; and Ransom's wife was all that a working man
could desire. There can be no thrift, nor economy, nor comfort at home,
unless the wife helps;--and a working man's wife, more than any other
man's; for she is wife, Housekeeper, nurse, and servant, all in one. If
she be thriftless, putting money into her hands is like pouring water
through a sieve. Let her be frugal, and she will make her home a place
of comfort, and she will also make her husband's life happy,--if she do
not lay the foundation of his prosperity and fortune.

One would scarcely expect that for a penny a day it would be possible to
obtain anything valuable. And yet it may be easily shown how much a
penny a day, carefully expended, might do towards securing a man's
independence, and providing his wife and family against the future
pressure of poverty and want.

Take up a prospectus and tables of a Provident Society, intended for the
use of those classes who have a penny a day to spend,--that is, nearly
all the working classes of the country. It is not necessary to specify
any particular society, because the best all proceed upon the same
data,--the results of extensive observations and experience of health
and sickness;--and their tables of rates, certified by public actuaries,
are very nearly the same. Now, looking at the tables of these Life and
Sickness Assurance Societies, let us see what a penny a day can do.

1. For _a penny a day_, a man or woman of twenty-six years of age may
secure the sum of ten shillings a week payable during the time of
sickness, for the whole of life.

2. For _a penny a day_ (payments ceasing at sixty years of age), a man
or woman of thirty-one years of age may secure the sum of £50 payable at
death, whenever that event may happen, even though it should be during
the week or the month after the assurance has been effected.

3. For _a penny a day_, a young man or woman of fifteen may secure a sum
of £100, the payment of the penny a day continuing during the whole of
life, but the £100 being payable whenever death may occur.

4. For _a penny a day_, a young man or woman of twenty may secure an
annuity of £26 per annum, or of 10_s_. per week for the whole of life,
after reaching the age of sixty-five.

5. For _a penny a day_,--the payment commencing from the birth of any
child,--a parent may secure the sum of £20, payable on such child
reaching the age of fourteen years.

6. For _a penny a day_, continued until the child readies the age of
twenty-one years, the sum of £45 may be secured, to enable him or her to
begin business, or start housekeeping.

7. For _a penny a day_, a young man or woman of twenty-four may secure
the sum of £100, payable on reaching the age of sixty, with the right of
withdrawing four-fifths of the amount paid in, at any time; the whole of
the payments being paid back in event of death occurring before the age
of sixty.

Such is the power of _a penny a day!_ Who would have thought it? Yet it
is true, as any one can prove by looking at the tables of the best
assurance offices. Put the penny a day in the bank, and it accumulates
slowly. Even there, however, it is very useful. But with the assurance
office it immediately assumes a vast power. A penny a day paid in by the
man of thirty-one, is worth £60 to his wife and family, in the event of
his dying next month or next year! It is the combining of small savings
for purposes of mutual assurance, by a large number of persons, that
gives to the penny its enormous power.

The effecting of a life assurance by a working man, for the benefit of
his wife and children, is an eminently unselfish act. It is a moral as
well as a religious transaction. It is "providing for those of his own
household." It is taking the right step towards securing the
independence of his family, after he, the bread-winner, has been called
away. This right investment of _the pennies_ is the best proof of
practical virtue, and of the honest forethought and integrity of a true
man.

The late Joseph Baxendale was the constant friend of the working people
who co-operated with him in the labours of his life. He was a man of
strong common sense, and might have been styled the Franklin of
Business. He was full of proverbial wisdom, and also full of practical
help. He was constantly urging his servants to lay by something for a
rainy day, or for their support in old age. He also used to pension off
his old servants after they had ceased to be able to work.

He posted up Texts along his warehouses, so that those who ran might
read. "Never despair," "Nothing without labour," "He who spends all he
gets, is on the way to beggary," "Time lost cannot be regained," "Let
industry, temperance, and economy be the habits of your lives." These
texts were printed in large type, so that every passer-by might read
them; while many were able to lay them to heart, and to practise the
advices which they enjoined.

On other occasions Mr. Baxendale would distribute amongst his
workpeople, or desire to be set up in his warehouses and places of
business, longer and more general maxims. He would desire these printed
documents to be put up in the offices of the clerks, or in places where
men are disposed to linger, or to take their meals, or to assemble
preparatory to work. They were always full of valuable advice. We copy
one of them, on the Importance of Punctuality:--

"Method is the hinge of business; and there is no method without
Punctuality. Punctuality is important, because it subserves the Peace
and Good Temper of a family. The want of it not only infringes on
necessary Duty, but sometimes excludes this duty. The calmness of mind
which it produces is another advantage of Punctuality. A disorderly man
is always in a hurry. He has no time to speak to you, because he is
going elsewhere; and when he gets there, he is too late for his
business, or he must hurry away to another before he can finish it.
Punctuality gives weight to character. 'Such a man has made an
appointment; then I know he will keep it.' And this generates
Punctuality in you; for, like other virtues, it propagates itself.
Servants and children must be punctual, when their Leader is so.
Appointments, indeed, become debts. I owe you Punctuality, if I have
made an appointment with you, and have no right to throw away your time,
if I do my own."

Some may inquire, "Who was Joseph Baxendale?" He was, in fact, Pickford
and Co., the name of a firm known all over England, as well as
throughout the Continent. Mr. Baxendale was the son of a physician at
Lancaster. He received a good education, went into the cotton trade, and
came up to London to represent the firm with which he was connected. A
period of commercial pressure having occurred, he desired to leave the
cotton trade and to enter upon some other business. Mr. Pickford had
already begun the business of a Carrier, but he was hampered by want of
money. Mr. Baxendale helped him with capital, and for a time remained a
sleeping partner; but finding that the business made no progress,
principally for want of management, he eventually determined to take the
active part in working and managing the concern.

He threw his whole energies into the firm of Pickford and Co. He
reorganized the agencies, and extended them throughout the kingdom. He
put flying vans upon the road, equal to our express trains; and slow
vans, equal to our goods trains. He utilized the canals to a large
extent, putting on flying boats between all the larger towns. Indeed the
roads of the country were then so bad, that in certain seasons it was
almost impossible to convey merchandize from one part of the country to
another.

The carrying on of such an important and extensive business required
much capital, great energy, and first-rate business management. The
horses necessary to carry on the traffic were increased from about
fifty, which they were in the time of Pickford, to more than a thousand;
for relays of horses were necessary at all the stopping-places on the
line of traffic, between London and Manchester, between London and
Exeter, and between London and Edinburgh. A ship-building yard was
established, where all the boats, flying and slow, required to carry on
the business, were constructed at Mr. Baxendale's expense.

The carrying business required a great deal of personal supervision.
Only a man of determined spirit and indomitable energy could have done
it. He had a flying boat in which he rapidly passed along the canals,
seeing that the men were at their posts, that the agents were at work,
and the traffic duly provided for. He did this by night as well as by
day. At other times, he would fly along the roads in his special
travelling carriage,--always paying the highest prices to the
innkeepers, in order that he might secure the best horses, and avoid
delay and loss of time. He would overtake his vans, and see that his men
were sober, and that they were well forward at the stations along the
road; that their blunderbusses were loaded (for highway robbery was then
one of the risks of travelling by road), that the agents were doing
their duty, and that everything was in proper order.

Besides overtaking the vans, he would sometimes travel by a by-road--for
he knew nearly every road in the country--push on, and then double back
upon his drivers, who never knew whether he was before or behind them;
and thus general vigilance became the rule of all. By these and various
other means the business of the concern was admirably done, and the
carrying trade of the country was brought to as high a state of
perfection as was compatible with the then state of the roads and
canals.

When all this had been accomplished, the disturbing influence of
railways began. "I see mischief in these confounded iron roads," said
the Duke of Bridgewater. But the time for railways had arrived, and they
could not be postponed. The first railroads were used for the conveyance
of coals from the pits to the seaside, where they were shipped for
London. Then it was proposed that they should be laid for the conveyance
of goods from town to town; and the largest traffic being in Lancashire,
one of the first railways was constructed between Liverpool and
Manchester, from which towns they were afterwards constructed in all
directions throughout the country.

Had Mr. Baxendale resisted the new means of conveyance, he would, before
long, have been driven off the road. But he clearly foresaw the ultimate
triumph of the railway system; and he went with it, instead of against
it. He relieved the Liverpool and Manchester Company of a great deal of
trouble, by undertaking to manage their goods' traffic and by collecting
and delivering it at both towns. Then, when the railways from Warrington
to Birmingham and from Birmingham to London were projected, he gave
evidence before the committees of Parliament, in proof of the estimated
traffic. And when the lines were made, he transferred the goods from his
carrying vans to the railway. He thus became a great railway carrier,
collecting and delivering goods in all the cities and towns served by
the railways which had by that time become established.

He also became a large shareholder in railways. His status in the
South-Eastern line was so great, that he was invited to become chairman
of the company. He was instrumental, in conjunction with the late Sir
William Cubitt, in pushing on the line to Dover. But the Dover Harbour
Board being found too stingy in giving accommodation to the traffic, and
too grasping in their charges for harbour dues, Mr. Baxendale at once
proceeded, on his own responsibility, to purchase Folkestone Harbour as
the port of the South-Eastern Company. He next proceeded to get up the
Boulogne and Amiens Railway, which was for the most part constructed
with English capital; and the direct line from London to Paris was thus
completed.

His arduous labours in connection with his own business, as well as with
railway extension, having thrown him into ill-health, he went abroad for
repose. While absent, a faction was got up in Liverpool for the purpose
of appointing another chairman in his stead; and though he was unseated
by a trick, he himself accepted his dismissal with pleasure. His sons
were now able to help him in the conduct of his business, though he
continued to the close of his life to take an interest in everything
that was going on. He was never weary of well-doing; he never rested in
giving his good advice, the results of his large experience, to the
assistants, clerks, and working men employed in his various offices. We
conclude our brief notice of his life by giving another of his
"Run-and-Read Sermons," which he distributed plentifully among his
_employés_, and had affixed in various portions of his warehouses. It
was entitled "Good Maxims and Advice."

"An old servant of the concern observed, a short time ago, that he began
life in the employ of Pickford, upon low wages, and that by frugality
and industry he had gained a competency. His maxim was, never to spend
more than ninepence out of every shilling. Although this may appear a
trifle, recollect that it is five shillings in twenty, ten pounds in
forty.

"Suppose a young man to pursue this system: Let him obtain the first
twenty pounds, add each year ten pounds, he will at the end of six years
be possessed of upwards of one hundred pounds. If in early life the
opportunity is suffered to pass, it rarely happens that one can save
money when more advanced in years.

"The concern in which we are engaged has been defrauded by those who
have for thirty years received salaries, the savings from which, had
they followed the plan that is recommended, would have placed them in
situations of comparative affluence; and we should now have seen them
respectable members of society.

"Upon industry and frugality our well-doing depends. It is not great
talents, but steady application, that is required. There are none of us
that may not obtain stations of respectability. 'God helps them that
help themselves.' 'He that follows pleasure instead of business will
shortly have no business to follow.'

"I frequently complain of what may be called trifles, but from these
arising frequently, we are at length lost. Let each attend to his
respective duties; keep the appointed hours; and never defer till
to-morrow what may be done to-day.

"If business is more pressing than usual, give additional time, that
your own accounts may not fall into confusion, and that you may not be
the means of causing delay and trouble to others. It often happens that
the negligence of individuals throws additional labour upon those who
are anxious for regularity.

"Hiding or screening the faults or errors of others, is a system that
has prevailed and caused much loss and injury,--frequently to the
offending party, always to the employer.

"Late occurrences lead me to draw your attention to this subject: it is
important in every sense, both as regards your public and private
stations. There is nothing more worthy of a man than truth: nothing
makes him feel himself so despicable as a lie. Recollect that men act
lies without speaking them, and that all false appearances are lies.
"He, therefore, who, seeing his employer injured, neglects to make it
known, is equally guilty--with this addition, that he is practising a
lie. Want of punctuality is a lie.

"Speak and act openly on all occasions. Errors will be fewer, and labour
will be decreased.

"It seldom happens that we can do any important services, but small
services are always in use. Take, therefore, every opportunity of
assisting each other,--you are then most effectually serving your
employers, as well as keeping up a spirit of cordiality and goodwill
amongst yourselves.

"A good Christian must be a good servant. Whatever your lot in life may
be above all things remember that 'The fear of God is the beginning of
wisdom.'"




CHAPTER X.

MASTERS AND MEN.


"The sweat of industry would dry, and die,
But for the end it workrt to." _Shakspeare_.

"Man is a shop of rules, a well-trussed pack,
Whose every parcel underwrites a law,"--_George Herbert_.

"Care preserves what Industry gains. He who attends to his business
diligently but _not_ carefully, throws away with one hand what he
gathers with the other."--_Colton_.

"The acquisition of property, the accumulation of capital, is already in
the power of the better-paid working class; and legislation has but few
further facilities to give, or obstacles to remove. Their savings are
now so large that only soberer habits and rounder sense are needed to
make them independent capitalists in less than half a lifetime."--_W.R.
Greg_.


Employers can do a great deal towards promoting habits of thrift,
prudence, and sobriety amongst their workpeople. Though the working man
does not like to be patronized, he has no objections to be helped. We
have already seen that individuals can do much; they can cultivate
habits of economy, and lay by a certain portion of their earnings for
help in time of need. But they want encouragement and assistance. They
want sympathy; they want help.

If masters fully understood the immense amount of influence which they
possess, they would extend their sympathy and confidence to their
workmen,--which Would cost them so very little, and profit them so very
much. We know of no instance where an employer has displayed a concern
for the social well-being and improvement of his workmen, in which he
has not been repaid by their increased respect and zeal on his behalf.
He may, for instance, arrange that wages shall not be paid so as to
drive them into the market late on Saturday nights, when they are often
under the necessity of making their weekly purchases at a great
disadvantage. Of course, workmen who possess a little store of savings,
might make their purchases at greater advantage at any other time. The
employer might also avoid paying wages in public-houses, and thus keep
his workmen out of the way of incurring an expenditure upon drink, that
might prove so hurtful.

But masters can do more than this. They can actively aid their workmen
in the formation of prudent habits, by establishing savings banks for
men and women, and penny banks for boys and girls; by encouraging the
formation of provident clubs and building societies, of provision and
clothing clubs, and in many other ways. They might also distribute among
them, without any officious interference, good counsel as to the manner
in which they might make the best use of their wages. Many large
employers have already accomplished much practical good, by encouraging
the formation of provident institutions,--in which they have never
failed to secure the respect, and generally the co-operation, of their
workmen.

At the same time there is much want of sympathy between masters and men.
In fact, want of sympathy pervades all classes--the poorer, the working,
the middle, and the upper classes. There are many social gaps between
them, which cannot yet be crossed, which cannot yet be united. "If I
were to be asked," said Judge Talfourd, on whom Death was at the moment
laying his hand, "what is the great want of English society--to mingle
class with class--I would say, in one word, the want is _the want of
sympathy_." A great truth, but not yet appreciated. It is the old truth,
on which Christianity is based, of "Love one another"--simple saying,
but containing within it a gospel sufficient to renovate the world. But
where men are so split and divided into classes, and are so far removed
that they can scarcely be said to know one another, they cannot have a
due social regard and consideration, much less a genuine sympathy and
affection, for each other?

Charity cannot remedy the evil. Giving money, blankets, coals, and
such-like, to the poor--where the spirit of sympathy is wanting,--does
not amount to much. The charity of most of the Lord and Lady Bountifuls
begins with money, and ends there. The fellow-feeling is absent. The
poor are not dealt with as if they belonged to the same common family of
man, or as if the same human heart beat in their breasts.

Masters and servants live in the same unsympathetic state. "Each for
himself" is their motto. "I don't care who sinks, so that I swim." A man
at an inn was roused from his slumber; "There is a fire at the bottom of
the street," said the waiter. "Don't disturb _me_" said the traveller,
"until the next house is burning." An employer said to his hands, "You
try to get all you can out of me; and I try to get all I can out of
you." But this will never do. The man who has any sympathy in him cannot
allow such considerations to overrule his better nature. He must see the
brighter side of humanity ever turned towards him. "Always to think the
worst," said Lord Bolingbroke, "I have ever found the mark of a mean
spirit and a base soul."

On the other hand, the operative class consider their interests to be
quite distinct from those of the master class. They want to get as much
for their labour as possible. They want labour to be dear that they may
secure high wages. Thus, there being no mutual sympathy nor friendly
feeling between the two classes,--but only money
considerations,--collisions are frequent, and strikes occur. Both
classes--backed by their fellows determined to "fight it out," and hence
we have such destructive strikes as those of Preston, Newcastle, London,
and South Wales.

The great end of both is gain, worldly gain, which sometimes involves a
terrible final loss. A general suspicion of each other spreads, and
society becomes cankered to the core. The remedy is only to be found in
the cherishment of a larger Christian sympathy and more genuine
benevolence. Thus only can the breath of society be sweetened and
purified. Money gifts avail nothing, as between rich and poor. Unless
there is a soul of goodness, and a real human fellowship between them,
the mischief and the curse which the excellent Judge Talfourd lamented
with his dying breath will never be overcome.

Some allege that this want of sympathy arises, for the most part, from
the evils of Competition. It is "heartless," "selfish," "mischievous,"
"ruinous," and so on. It is said to produce misery and poverty to the
million. It is charged with lowering prices, or almost in the same
breath with raising them. Competition has a broad back, and can bear any
amount of burdens.

And yet there is something to be said for competition, as well as
against it. It is a struggle,--that must be admitted. All life is a
struggle. Amongst workmen, competition is a struggle to advance towards
higher wages. Amongst masters, to make the highest profits. Amongst
writers, preachers, and politicians, it is a straggle to succeed,--to
gain glory, reputation, or income. Like everything human, it has a
mixture of evil in it. If one man prospers more than others, or if some
classes of men prosper more than others, they leave other classes of men
behind them. Not that they leave those others worse, but that they
themselves advance.

Put a stop to competition, and you merely check the progress of
individuals and of classes. You preserve a dead uniform level. You
stereotype society, and its several orders and conditions. The motive
for emulation is taken away, and Caste, with all its mischiefs, is
perpetuated. Stop competition, and you stop the struggle of
individualism. You also stop the advancement of individualism, and
through that of society at large.

Under competition, the lazy man is put under the necessity of exerting
himself; and if he will not exert himself, he must fall behind. If he do
not work, neither shall he eat. My lazy friend, you must not look to me
to do my share of the world's work, and yours too! You must do your own
fair share of work, save your own money, and not look to me and to
others to keep you out of the poor-house. There is enough for all; but
do your own share of work you must.

Success grows out of struggles to overcome difficulties. If there were
no difficulties, there would be no success. If there were nothing to
struggle or compete for, there would be nothing achieved. It is well,
therefore, that men should be under the necessity of exerting
themselves. In this necessity for exertion, we find the chief source of
human advancement--the advancement of individuals as of nations. It has
led to most of the splendid mechanical inventions and improvements of
the age. It has stimulated the shipbuilder, the merchant, the
manufacturer, the machinist, the tradesman, the skilled workman. In all
departments of productive industry, it has been the moving power. Is has
developed the resources of this and of other countries,--the resources
of the soil, and the character and qualities of the men who dwell upon
it. It seems to be absolutely necessary for the purpose of stimulating
the growth and culture of every individual. It is deeply rooted in man,
leading him ever to seek after, and endeavour to realize, something
better and higher than he has yet attained.

Of course, man is much more than a competing being. That is only one of
his characteristics, and not the highest or noblest. He has
sensibilities, sympathies, and aspirations, which should induce him to
unite and cooperate with others in works for the common good. With
unfettered individualism, there may, and there ought to be, beneficent
cooperation for the general happiness. Men may unite to labour, to
produce, and to share with each other the fruits of their corporate
industry. But under any circumstances, there will be the instinct of
competition, the opportunities for competition, and, though mixed with
necessary evil, there will be the ultimate advantages of competition.

One of the results of industry and thrift is the accumulation of
Capital. Capital represents the self-denial, the providence, and the
enterprise of the past. The most successful accumulators of capital have
in all times risen from the ranks of labour itself; they are working men
who have shot ahead of their fellows, and who now give employment
instead of receiving it. These persons,--who are not the less working
men because they have ceased to be manual labourers,--by creating and
extending the sphere of productive industry, must be regarded as amongst
the most effective benefactors of the people, as they unquestionably are
among the principal sources of the power and wealth of any nation.
Without the capital accumulated by their thrift during many generations,
the lot of the artizan would be most precarious.

There is not a mechanic but has the use of the money of the master who
employs him. When the unskilled labourer lays down his spade, he leaves
idle a capital worth eighteen-pence; but when a skilled artizan or
mechanic leaves his mill or his workshop, he leaves idle a capital of
from a hundred to two hundred pounds per man. Nor does the skilled
workman run any risk whatever as regards the sums invested, though he
virtually shares the profits in the shape of the wages paid for his
labour. The profit which remains is the master's return for his
management and his risks. It is well known, however, that the risks are
not always covered, as the _Gazette_ in bad times abundantly
demonstrates.

The workman in good employment is not liable to losses by bad debts; he
has no obsolete machinery from time to time left useless on his hands;
and he has no anxiety about finding a market for his goods, nor fears
respecting fluctuations in the price of the raw material. These are
important advantages in his favour, which he does not usually take into
account. It is true he suffers if trade is bad, but he earns high wages
if it be good: he can then save money if he chooses to do so. He may be
said to participate in the adversity or prosperity of his firm, but
without incurring any of the liabilities of partnership.

Mr. Carlyle has given a curious account of the great English
manufacturer. "Plugson, of St. Dolly Undershot, buccaneer-like, says to
his men, 'Noble spinners, this is the hundred thousand we have gained,
wherein I mean to dwell and plant my vineyards. The hundred thousand is
mine, the three-and-sixpence daily was yours. Adieu, noble spinners!
drink my health with this groat each, which I give you over and above!'"

This account of the manufacturing buccaneer is a picture drawn by a man
of genius from his imagination. There are probably many readers who
believe the picture to be drawn from fact. There may, of course, be
masters who are buccaneers; but there are also masters who are not
buccaneers. There are dishonest manufacturers, as there are dishonest
literary men, dishonest publicans, dishonest tradesmen. But we must
believe that in all occupations honesty is the rule, and dishonesty the
exception. At all events, it is better that we should know what the
manufacturers really are,--from fact rather than from fiction.

Let us first take a large manufacturing firm, or rather series of firms,
well known in South Lancashire. We mean the cotton-spinning mills of the
Messrs. Ashworth at Egerton and New Eagley. They have been in existence
for more than seventy years. They have been repeatedly enlarged, and
increasing numbers of workpeople have been employed at the uniform wages
paid throughout the district. Workmen earn from seventeen shillings to
two pounds a week. Women-weavers can earn as much as twenty-one
shillings a week. Where the parents have children, the united earnings
of families amount to as much as from £150 to £200 a year.

Then, as to what the Ashworths have done for the benefit of their
workpeople. Schooling, by means of mutual instruction classes, was in
operation from the first; but about the year 1825, when the works were
greatly enlarged, and the population was considerably increased, a day
school was opened for children, which was used as an evening school for
young men, as well as for a Sunday-school. The continued extension of
the works led to an enlargement of the school accommodation; and while
this was being provided, arrangements were made for a news-room,
library, and for the performance of divine worship on Sundays. A
cricket-ground was also provided for the use of young people.

Misgivings were not unfrequently expressed that the zeal and expenditure
incurred by the Messrs. Ashworth might one day be turned against them,
to their annoyance and pecuniary loss. The prediction was realized in
only a single instance. A young man of considerable talent, who when a
child had been removed to the factory from a neighbouring workhouse,
made very rapid progress at school, especially in arithmetic; and when a
strike of the workpeople occurred in 1830, one of the great strike
years, he became very officious as a leader. The strike was defeated by
the employment of new hands, and it was attributed to the influence of
this young man that the employed were brutally assailed by an infuriated
mob, and that the windows of the schoolroom were smashed, and other
works of destruction committed.

The employers, nevertheless, pursued their original design. They
repaired the school-house, and endeavoured to increase the efficacy of
the teaching. They believed that nothing was better calculated to remove
ignorant infatuation than increased schooling. In a great many
instances, the heads of the families had previously been engaged as
hand-loom weavers, or in some pastoral pursuit; and it became evident
that in course of time the exercise of their minds in the details of a
new pursuit awakened their intelligence, and their general demeanour
indicated marks of a higher cultivation.

The New Eagley Mills being situated in a narrow valley, several miles
from Bolton, and the property being in the possession of the owners,
they forbade the opening of any tavern or beerhouse on the estate; so
that the district became distinguished for the order and sobriety of the
inhabitants. A man of intemperate habits has little chance of remaining
in the Ashworth villages. He is expelled, not by the employers, but by
the men themselves. He must conform to the sober habits of the place, or
decamp to some larger town, where his vices may be hidden in the crowd.
Many of the parents have expressed how much gratification they have
felt, that by reason of the isolated situation they enjoyed as a
community, they had become so completely separated from the corrupt
influences of music saloons and drink-shops.

The masters have added to their other obligations to the workpeople, the
erection of comfortable cottages for their accommodation. They are built
of stone, and are two-storied; some have two upper bedrooms, and others
have three. On the ground floor there is a sitting-room, a living-room,
and a scullery, with a walled courtyard enclosing the whole premises.
The proprietor pays the poor-rates and other local charges, and the
rentals of the houses vary from 2_s_. 4_d_. to 4_s_. 3_d_. a week.

The regularity of their employment, accompanied with the payment of
wages on Friday night, doubtless promoted their local attachment to the
place. Many of the descendants of the first comers remain on the spot;
their social relations have been promoted; intermarriages have been
frequent; and during the whole period there has not been a single
prosecution for theft. The working people have also thriven as well as
their masters. Great numbers of them are known to possess reserved funds
in savings banks and other depositories for savings; and there are
others of them who have invested their money in cottage buildings, and
in various other ways.

But have not the men risen above their lot of labouring spinners? They
have. Such of them as possessed skill, ability, and the faculty of
organization, have been promoted from the ranks of labourers, and have
become mill managers. "About _thirty_ of these," says Mr. Henry
Ashworth, "have been reckoned on the spur of the moment, and _ten_ of
them have become business partners or proprietors of mills.... Many
manufacturers," adds Mr. Ashworth, "are to be found who have done a
great deal to ameliorate the condition of those they have employed; and
no one will doubt that they have been prompted, not by hopes of gain,
but by emotions of goodwill."[1]

[Footnote 1: The greater part of the above information is contained in
the statement by Mr. Henry Ashworth, in the Reports on the Paris
Universal Exhibition, 1867, vol. vi., pp. 161-163.]

Manufacturers such as these do not, like Plugson of St. Dolly Undershot,
gather up their fortunes and run away, leaving a groat each to their
workpeople to drink their healths. They remain with them from generation
to generation. The best and the noblest amongst them--the Ashworths of
Turton, the Strutts of Derby, the Marshalls of Leeds, the Akroyds of
Halifax, the Brooks of Huddersfield, and many others,--have continued to
superintend their works for several generations. The Strutts were the
partners of Arkwright, who was almost the beginner of English
manufacture. In fact, it is only since Arkwright took out his patent for
the spinning machine, and Watt took out his patent for the steam engine,
that England has become a manufacturing country.

Where would England have been now, but for the energy, enterprise, and
public spirit of our manufacturers? Could agriculture have supported the
continuous increase of population? Is it not more probable that this
country would have become overrun by beggars,--or that property would
have been assailed and the constitution upset, as was the case in
France,--but for the extensive and remunerative employment afforded to
the labouring classes in the manufacturing districts? The steam engine
has indeed proved the safety-valve of England. It enabled the kingdom to
hold its ground firmly during the continental wars; and but for it, and
the industries which it has established, England would probably by this
time have sunk to the condition of a third or fourth-rate power.

It is true, the great manufacturers have become wealthy. But it would
certainly have been singular if, with their industry, energy, and powers
of organization, they had become poor! Men of the stamp of the Strutts,
Ashworths, Marshalls, and others, do not work for wealth merely, though
wealth comes to them. They have not become great because they were rich,
but they have become rich because they were great. Accumulations of
wealth are the result of exceptional industry, organization, and thrift,
rather than of exceptional gain. Adam Smith has said: "It seldom happens
that great fortunes are made by any one regularly-established and
well-known branch of business, but in consequence of a long life of
industry, frugality, and attention."

But it is not always so. For instance, Mr. Lister, of Bradford, after
inventing the combing machine,--or at least combining the inventions of
others into a complete combing machine of his own,--proceeded to invent
a machine for using up silk waste (then cast away as useless), spinning
it into silk of the finest kind, and by means of the power-loom to weave
it into velvet of the best quality. The attempt had never before been
made by any inventor; and it seemed to be of insuperable difficulty. Mr.
Lister had already made a fortune by the success of his combing machine,
such as to enable him to retire from business, and live in comfort for
the rest of his life. But, urged by the irrepressible spirit of the
inventor, he went onward with his silk machine. As he himself said, at a
recent meeting at Bradford,[1]--"They might judge how hard he had worked
to conquer the difficulties which beset him, when he told them that for
twenty years he had never been in bed at half-past five in the morning;
in fact, he did not think there was a man in England who had worked
harder than he had." The most remarkable thing was, that he threw away
an immense fortune before there was any probability of his succeeding.
"He had almost brought himself to ruin, for he was £360,000 out of
pocket before he even made a shilling by his machine; indeed, he wrote
off a quarter of a million as entirely lost, before he began to make up
his books again. Since then, his patent for the manufacture of silk had
turned out one of the most successful of the day."

[Footnote 1: The meeting was held to receive the transfer of Mr.
Lister's fine Park at Manningham, which he had presented to the
Corporation of Bradford, "to be a People's Park for ever."]

In the Park presented by Mr. Lister to the people of Bradford, a statue
was recently erected by public subscription. It was unveiled by the
Right Hon. W.E. Forster, who, in closing his speech, observed: "I doubt,
after all, whether we are come here to do honour to Mr. Lister, so much
as to do honour to ourselves. We wish to do honour to those working
faculties which have made our country of England a practical, and
therefore a great and prosperous, and a powerful country. It is this
untiring, unresting industry which Mr. Lister possesses, this practical
understanding, this determination to carry out any object which he is
convinced ought to be carried out, and his determination to fear no
opposition and to care for no obstacle--it is these practical faculties
that have made England what she is. What is it especially that we are
honouring? It is the pluck which this man has shown; it is the feeling
that, having to do with the worsted trade, he said to himself, 'Here is
something which ought to be done; I will not rest until I have found out
how it can be done; and having found out how it can be done, where is
the man who shall stop my doing it?' Now it was upon that principle that
he fought his long struggle; and so when we read the story of his
struggles, ever since 1842, in those two great inventions, we raise this
statue to the man who has successfully fought the battle, and hope that
our sons and the sons of all, rich and poor together, will come in
after-days to admire it, not merely because it gives them the form and
features of a rich and successful man, but because it gives them the
form and features of a man who was endowed with industry, with
intellect, with energy, with courage, with perseverance,--who spared
himself no pains in first ascertaining the conditions of the problems he
had to solve,--and then whose heart never fainted, whose will never
relaxed, in determining to carry out those conditions."

Great men are wise savers and wise spenders. Montesquieu has said of
Alexander: "He found the first means of his prosperity and power in the
greatness of his genius; the second, in his frugality and private
economy; and the third, in his immense liberality to accomplish great
objects. He spent but little on himself; but for public purposes his
hand was always open." It was also said of the first Napoleon, that he
was economical like Charlemagne, because he was great like Charlemagne.
Napoleon was by no means a spendthrift, except in war; but he spent
largely in accomplishing great public undertakings. In cases such as
these, economy and generosity are well combined. And so it is in the
cases of all men possessed of energy, industry, and great powers of
organization.

It may seem out of keeping to compare great producers with great
commanders. Yet the manufacturer often requires as much courage, as much
genius, as much organizing power, as the warrior. The one considers how
he shall keep his operatives in working order; the other how he shall
keep his soldiers in fighting order. Both must be men of enterprize, of
boldness, of keen observation, and close attention to details. And the
manufacturer, from his position, needs to be the most benevolent man of
the two. Viewed in this light, we regard Sir Titus Salt not only as a
Captain of Industry, but as a Field-Marshal of Industry. He has been
called the Prince of Manufacturers.

Titus Salt is a son of a Yorkshire wool-stapler. In the early part of
his life he was a farmer near Bradford, and his inclination for
agricultural pursuits was such, that it was thought he would continue to
pursue this vocation. Being, however, a partner with his father in the
wool business, and observing that manufactures were rapidly extending in
the neighbourhood, he withdrew from the partnership, and commenced
business at Bradford as a wool-spinner. He was one of the first to
observe the uses of Alpaca wool. Large quantities of that material were
stored at Liverpool,--imported from the Brazils. But the wool found no
purchasers, until at length Mr. Salt bought a quantity, and spun it into
an entirely new fabric. He then proceeded to buy up all the Alpaca that
was to be found at Liverpool; made arrangements for purchasing all that
came into the market; went on spinning Alpaca; and eventually
established the manufacture. This was the foundation of Mr. Salt's
fortune.

At length, after about twenty years' labour as a manufacturer, Mr. Salt
thought of retiring from business, and again betaking himself to his
favourite agricultural pursuits. He intended to retire on his fiftieth
birthday, but before that time had arrived (having five sons to provide
for) he reversed his decision, and resolved to continue in business a
little longer, and to remain at the head of the firm. Having come to
this determination, he made up his mind to leave Bradford. The borough
was already overcrowded, and he did not like to be a party to increasing
the population. He looked about for a site suitable for a manufacturing
establishment, and at length fixed upon a large piece of ground in the
beautiful valley of the Aire. An extension of the Leeds and Bradford
Railway was in front, and the Leeds and Liverpool Canal behind it, so
that there was every convenience for bringing up the raw materials, and
of sending away the manufactured goods. On that spot Saltaire was
erected--a noble monument of private enterprise, liberality, and wisdom.

It is not necessary to describe Saltaire. The buildings connected with
the new works cover six and a half acres. The principal room is five
hundred and fifty feet long. The weaving shed covers two acres. The
combing shed occupies one acre. Everything is large, roomy, and
substantial. The cost of constructing the factory, and the dwellings for
the workpeople, amounted to more than a hundred and forty thousand
pounds.

On the opening day, Mr. Salt dined three thousand five hundred persons
in the combing shed. At the dinner, he said: "I cannot look around me,
and see this vast assemblage of friends and workpeople, without being
moved. I feel greatly honoured by the presence of the nobleman at my
side. I am especially delighted at the presence of my workpeople.... I
hope to draw around me a population that will enjoy the beauties of this
neighbourhood,--a population of well-paid, contented, happy operatives.
I have given instructions to my architects that nothing is to be spared
to render the dwellings of the operatives a pattern to the country; and
if my life is spared by Divine Providence, I hope to see satisfaction,
contentment, and happiness around me."

This promise has been amply fulfilled. Mr. Salt has been influenced
throughout by his sense of duty and responsibility. When he was applied
to by the French Government for information as to his factory, he
replied: "What has been attempted at Saltaire arose from my own private
feeling and judgment, without the most remote idea that it would be made
the subject of public interest and inquiry." With respect to the factory
itself, little need be said. The object of its construction is to save
time in the process of production. Not a minute is lost in pushing the
material from one department to another. Every horse-power of steam is
made to do its utmost, every moment of time is economized, and the
productive capabilities of the factory are thus greatly increased.

We prefer to speak of the immense improvement which Mr. Salt, or rather
Sir Titus Salt, has effected in the physical and moral condition of his
workpeople. The plan of the works shows that Saltaire has been provided
with a church, a Wesleyan chapel, and a Literary and Philosophical
Institution. Large schools have been provided for boys, girls, and
infants, with abundance of play-ground. For young men as well as old,
there is a cricket-ground, bowling-green, and croquet-lawn, surrounded
by pleasure-grounds. There is also a large dining-hall, baths and
washhouses, a dispensary, and almshouses for pensioners.

About three thousand persons are employed in the works; and seven
hundred and fifty-six houses have been erected for their accommodation.
The rents run from two and fourpence to seven and sixpence a week,
according to the accommodation. Some of the houses are used as
boarding-houses. The rents include rates and water supply, and gas is
sold at a low price. The cottages are built of stone, lined with
brickwork. They contain a parlour or long room, a kitchen or scullery, a
pantry and cellar, and three bedrooms. Each house has a separate yard,
with the usual offices. The workpeople are well able to pay the rents.
Single workmen earn from twenty-four to thirty-five shillings a week. A
family, consisting of a father and six children, earn four pounds four
shillings a week, or equal to a united income of over two hundred and
twenty pounds a year.

The comfortable houses provided for the workpeople have awakened in them
that home feeling which has led them to decorate their dwellings neatly
and tastefully,--a sure sign of social happiness. Every visitor among
the poor knows how such things combine to prevent vice and disease, to
elevate the moral tone of working people, and to develope their
intellectual powers. A man in a dirty house, says Mr. Rhind, the medical
attendant at Saltaire, is like a beggar in miserable clothing. He soon
ceases to have self-respect, and when that is gone there is but little
hope.

Great attention is paid in Saltaire to education, even of the higher
sort. There are day schools, night schools, mutual improvement classes,
lectures, and discussions. Music--one of the most humanizing of
pleasures--is one of the most favourite studies. "In almost every house
in the town some form of musical instrument is found; and indeed, the
choral and glee societies, together with the bands, have become
household names." There is one full brass band for men, and another
drum-and-fife band for boys; and concerts, vocal and instrumental, are
regularly given by the workpeople in the dining-hall. The bands have
instructors provided by the firm.

Besides taking part in the musical performances, a large number of the
skilled workmen devote their leisure hours to various scientific
amusements,--such as natural history, taxidermy, the making of
philosophical instruments, such as air-pumps, models of working
machinery, steam-engines, and articles of domestic comfort,--while some
have even manufactured organs and other musical instruments.

There is no drinking-house in Saltaire, so that the vices and diseases
associated with drunkenness are excluded from the locality. The diseases
peculiar to poverty are also unknown in Saltaire. Everything is attended
to--drainage, cleansing, and ventilation. There are baths of all
kinds--plunge baths, warm baths, Turkish baths, and douche baths; and
the wash-house, to enable the women to wash their clothes away from
their cottages, is a great accommodation,--inasmuch as indoor washing is
most pernicious, and a fruitful source of disease, especially to the
young.

The workpeople are also thrifty. They invest their savings in the Penny
Bank and Saving's Bank; whilst others invest in various building
societies, gas companies, and other lucrative undertakings. In fact,
they seem to be among the most favoured of human beings. With every
convenience and necessity, as well as every proper pleasure provided for
them,--with comfortable homes, and every inducement to stay at
home,--with fishing clubs, boating clubs, and cricket clubs,--with
schoolrooms, literary institutions, lecture-hall, museum, and
class-rooms, established in their midst; and to crown all, with a
beautiful temple for the worship of God,--there is no wonder that
Saltaire has obtained a name, and that Sir Titus Salt has established a
reputation among his fellow-men.

There are large numbers of employers who treat their workpeople quite as
generously, though not in such a princely manner, as Sir Titus Salt.
They pay the uniform rate of wages; help and encourage the employed to
economize their surplus earnings; establish Savings Banks and Penny
Banks for their use; assist them in the formation of co-operative
associations for the purchase of pure food at a cheaper rate; build
healthy cottages for their accommodation; erect schools for the
education of their children; and assist them in every method that is
calculated to promote their moral and, social improvement.

Mr. Edward Akroyd, formerly M.P. for Halifax, is another manufacturer
who has exercised great influence throughout Yorkshire, by his
encouragement of habits of thrift amongst working people. In his own
district, at Copley and Haley Hill, near Halifax, he has built numerous
excellent cottages for his workmen, and encouraged them to build their
own houses by investing their spare earnings in building clubs. He has
established co-operative clubs, to enable the men to purchase food and
clothing at cost price. He has built excellent schools at his own
expense, and provided them with a paid staff of teachers. He has built
and endowed the very fine church of "All Souls" (Sir Gilbert Scott,
architect), to which a large district, inclusive of the works, has been
assigned. He has provided for his workpeople, both at Haley Hill and
Copley, a Literary and Scientific Society, a Mutual Improvement Society,
a Working Men's Library (to which he has presented more than five
thousand books), a Working Men's Club and Newsroom, a Choral Society,
supplied with an excellent library of music; a Recreation Club, provided
with a bowling green; and a cricket ground, with quoits, and gymnastic
apparatus, Mr. Akroyd has also allotted a large field to his workmen,
dividing it into small gardens varying from a hundred to two hundred and
forty square yards each. The small rent charged for each plot is
distributed in prizes given at an annual flower-show held in his
grounds, for the best growers of flowers, plants, and vegetables. Hence
the Haley Hill Horticultural and Floral Society, one of the most
thriving institutions of the kind in the neighbourhood. In short, Mr.
Akroyd has done everything that a wise and conscientious master could
have done, for the purpose of promoting the moral and spiritual welfare
of the four thousand persons employed in his manufactories, who have
been virtually committed to his charge.

But although Mr. Akroyd has done so much as a master for the men and
women employed by him, he has perhaps done still more as a public
benefactor by establishing the Yorkshire Penny Bank for Savings. As
early as the year 1852, Mr. Akroyd instituted a Savings Bank to enable
his workpeople to deposit sums of from one penny upwards. The system was
found to work so well, and to have such a beneficial effect in making
people provident, that he conceived the idea of extending its operations
throughout the West Riding of Yorkshire. Having obtained the
co-operation of several influential gentlemen, the scheme was started in
1856, and an Act of Parliament was obtained for constituting the
Yorkshire Penny Savings Bank as it now exists.

Mr. Akroyd has recently furnished an Introduction to the narrative of
the Yorkshire Penny Bank, from which we extract the following passage:--

"The way by which thoughts, or chance suggestions, enter into the minds
of men, is sometimes passing strange! They may be the offspring of
wayward fancy; or they may be the whisperings from a higher source. To
the latter cause I am willing to attribute the idea which flashed across
my mind during the present year to give to the public something beyond
the bare outline of the scheme, in which, for years, many of them have
taken a warm personal interest.

"It occurred in this wise. When in town, I occasionally attended, during
Lent, the services at Whitehall Chapel, for the sake of hearing a Lenten
sermon preached by one of Her Majesty's chaplains. One remarkable sermon
of the series was delivered by the Rev. Charles Kingsley, on the 12th of
March, on behalf of the Supplemental Ladies' Association of the London
Society of Parochial Mission Women. In the sketch which the preacher
gave of this excellent institution, he referred to a book entitled 'East
and West,' in which the benefits derived by the London poor from the
association are clearly set forth; but he dwelt chiefly on the wide
separation which divides rich from poor, class from class, in London;
and on the dangers which threaten Society from this cause, as was
recently exemplified in France. Such was the impression made upon me by
the sermon, that, before many days had elapsed, I had purchased 'East
and West,' and given the book a careful perusal.

"From previous observation I had been struck with the sad contrast
between the luxurious lives of those who reside at the West End of
London, and the struggle for a hard, wretched existence which the
crowded poor at the East, or in close purlieus elsewhere, are obliged to
maintain until death closes the scene. How to bridge over the wide chasm
intervening between the extremes of high and low in society, without
injury to self-respect on either side, was the puzzling question, the
problem to be solved. Yet, from the admirable introduction to this most
useful little work, by the Countess Spencer, it appeared that a lady of
high rank, and her noble-minded associates, had in some measure solved
the problem, and bridged over the chasm.

"Hence I was led to reflect how much easier it is to discharge our duty
to our neighbours, and to fulfil the leading object of the Parochial
Mission Women Association, to 'help the poor to help themselves,' in
provincial towns and in the country, where we are personally acquainted
with each other, than in London, where we do not know our next-door
neighbour. _To help the poor to help themselves_ is the cardinal
principle of the Yorkshire Penny Bank."[1]

[Footnote 1 e Yorkshire Penny Bank, a Narrative; with an Introduction by
Edward Akroyd, M.P.]

The business of the bank commenced on the 1st of May, 1859. At the end
of the year, when the bank had been in operation seven months,
twenty-four branches had been opened. It went on increasing in the
number of branches and depositors, and in the amounts deposited. In
1874, about two hundred and fifty branches had been established, and the
amount of investments in the names of trustees had reached nearly four
hundred thousand pounds.

The Yorkshire Penny Bank does not interfere with the Post Office Savings
Bank. It has a special function, that of teaching the young of either
sex _the habit of saving_. It is also convenient to the adult worker as
a convenient receptacle for his savings. Many have been induced to save,
in consequence of the banks having been brought almost to their very
doors. One of the most remarkable facts connected with the history of
Penny Banks is the sympathetic influence of juvenile thrift upon
paternal recklessness and intemperance. The fact is well worthy the
consideration of Temperance advocates, who would probably effect much
greater practical good by enabling working people to save their money in
the Penny Banks, than by any speech-making agency. Take, for instance,
the following illustrations from Mr. Akroyd's narrative:--

An actuary says: "All the juvenile depositors seem inclined to take care
of their pence by depositing them in the bank; and the grown-up people
have become of the same turn of mind,--rather than carry their loose
money to the public-house, or spend it foolishly. Some factory
operatives have saved sufficient to buy stock and commence farming."

Another actuary says: "A drunken father being shamed out of his
drunkenness by the deposits of his children, now deposits half-a-crown a
week in the bank. A notoriously bad man, a collier, became a regular
depositor himself, as well as depositing money in the name of his child;
all his spare money having previously been spent in drink. From the date
of his beginning to save, a perceptible improvement took place in his
conduct and character. In another case, two boys prevailed upon their
father, also a collier, to allow them to deposit a shilling a week,
until they had saved sufficient to buy themselves each a suit of new
clothes. Before then, all their father's earnings, as well as their own,
had been spent in drink."

An actuary of another branch says he has seen fathers and mothers, who
have been drunkards, send their children with money to the bank, He
says: "My heart was made to rejoice when I saw a boy, who never had a
suit of new clothes in his life, draw out his money, and in less than
two hours return well clad, to take his place in the school to practise
singing for Good Friday. At the meeting of the Band of Hope on Good
Friday, he asked the parents and children to signify by holding up their
hands whether or not the bank had been beneficial to them; when many
hands were instantly raised,--one poor mother exclaiming, 'I will put up
both my hands for my two bairns!'"

"A miner, the father of a family, reclaimed from drunkenness, saved his
money in the bank until, with the aid of a loan from a building society,
he built two houses at a cost of four hundred pounds. The bank has been
to many people what the hive is to the bee--a kind of repository; and
when the wintry days of sickness or adversity befall them, they have
then the bank to flee to for succour."

A missionary says: "I met a man and his wife about two years ago--both
drunk. I got them to sign the pledge, and since then to invest their
money in our bank. The pawnbroker had got the greater part of their
goods; but I am happy to say that they have got all the articles out of
pawn, and can bring a little money almost every week to the bank; and
when putting in the money, the man says that it is better than taking it
to the public-house. Their home is now a very comfortable one."

A drunkard one night came to the bank, and flinging down a shilling for
a start, said, "There! that is the price of six pints of beer; but I
promise the landlords that they shan't have as much of my money as they
have had." This man has become sober; and continues a regular depositor.

In another bank, a man who had been a reckless and desperate fellow was
induced by his wife to deposit a few coppers in the bank. He did so, and
his weekly deposits increased; while at the same time his visits to the
public-house decreased. In the course of a short time he had a
respectable balance to his credit; and this induced him to take a share
in a building society, and then a second share. After continuing to pay
upon these shares for some time, he purchased a piece of land, upon
which he built two houses. One of these he occupies himself, and the
other he lets. Besides this, he is now a respectable tradesman, having
two or three journeymen and an apprentice working for him. He is sober
and steady, and much respected by his friends and neighbours.

Many other cases of the same kind might be mentioned. In one case a boy
saved sufficient money to buy a suit of clothes for his father, who had
spent all his earnings in drink, and reduced himself and his family to
poverty; in other cases, sons and daughters maintain their infirm
parents without resorting to the parochial Board for assistance. Some
save for one thing; some for another. Some save to emigrate; some to buy
clothes; some to buy a watch; but in all cases frugality is trained,
until saving becomes habitual.

One of the Yorkshire actuaries of the Penny Bank tells the following
anecdote as conveying a lesson of perseverance and encouragement to
branch managers. "Mr. Smith was one of our first managers, but after
attending two or three times he left us, saying it was 'childish work.'
My answer was, 'It is with children we have to do.' A short time after,
I met him, and in the course of conversation I observed that I sometimes
got _down in the mouth_, and did not know whether we were doing any
good, and felt disposed to give up the bank; on which he warmly replied,
'For God's sake, you must not let such an idea get into your head; you
little know the good you are doing; we have not a man about our place
but either himself or some members of his family are depositors.'" The
actuary adds, "If Colonel Akroyd ever despairs, I give him the above
answer."

Savings banks have thus been the means of doing an immense amount of
good. They have brought peace, happiness, and comfort into many
thousands of families. The example of Mr. Akroyd should be largely
imitated, and there ought not to be a county in the kingdom without its
organized system of Penny Banks.




CHAPTER XI.

THE CROSSLEYS--MASTERS AND MEN (CONTINUED).


"The sense to enjoy riches, with the art
 T' enjoy them, and the virtue to impart."--_Pope_.

"My ventures are not in one bottom trusted,
 Nor to one place; nor is my whole estate
 Upon the fortune o' this present year."--_Shakespeare_.

"The roughest road often leads to the smoothest fortune."--_Franklin_.

"Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above rubies. The
heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no
need of spoil.... She seeketh wool and flax, and worketh willingly with
her hands.... She layeth her hands to the spindle, and her hands hold
the distaff. She stretcheth out her hand to the poor; yea, she reacheth
forth her hands to the needy.... Strength and honour are her clothing;
and she shall rejoice in time to come.... Her children arise up, and
call her blessed; her husband also, and he praiseth her."--_Proverbs of
Solomon_.


There are several large employers who have endeavoured to combine the
principle of co-operation with the business of manufacturing; and to
furnish to the men who have contributed to their past prosperity the
opportunity of sharing in their future profits. The object of these
masters has been to obviate the antagonism between capital and labour,
and to spread the spirit of contentment among the operatives. Workmen
who have saved their earnings, and stored them in savings banks, are in
this manner enabled to become partners in the concerns in which they
have formerly employed their labour.

The two principal manufacturing concerns of Halifax, those of James
Akroyd and Son, and John Crossley and Sons, have thus become converted
into joint stock companies. They have been so converted with the primary
design of receiving the co-operation of the managers, workmen, and
others associated with them; and with that view the directors have in
all cases given them the priority in the allotment of the shares.

We have already referred to the philanthropic work accomplished by
Edward Akroyd in the county of York. We have now to refer to the
Crossley firm, whose carpets are known throughout the world. We refer to
them with the greater pleasure, as their history contains a story which
may possibly add to the interest of this book,--which, however useful,
some readers may consider to be rather dull to read.

The founder of this firm was John Crossley. He belonged to an old
Yorkshire family. His grandfather, who lived at King's Cross, near
Halifax, was born of respectable parents, and had a good education, yet
he was by no means fond of business. In fact, he spent the greater part
of his time in hunting and shooting. His wife was, however, of a very
different character. She was industrious, energetic, and an excellent
household manager. She not only maintained herself, but her husband and
her family. She did this by means of a boarding school which she
kept,--one of the best in the neighbourhood of Halifax.

One of her sons, the father of John Crossley, was brought up to
carpet-weaving. He learnt his business with Mr. Webster, of Clay-pits,
one of whose daughters he afterwards married. John Crossley himself also
became a carpet-weaver with his uncle; and when his apprenticeship was
finished, he went to weave for Mr. Currer, a large carpet manufacturer
at Luddenden Foot. While working at this factory, his master built a
large fine house to live in. He thought he had money enough saved for
the purpose, but circumstances proved that he had not. Mr. Currer told
his foreman that he had kept an account of its cost until he had spent
£4,000, and then he became so disgusted that he burnt the memorandum
book, although the house was not nearly finished. He said "he had done
all that to please a woman,"--meaning his wife. Although Mr. Currer was
an excellent man of business, his wife was too fond of show, and the
large fine house in which she was to live proved her husband's ruin. He
died shortly after it was finished, and then the whole of his
establishment was broken up.

After leaving Mr. Currer, John Crossley removed to Halifax to take the
management of Mr. Job Lees' carpet manufactory in Lower George Yard,
Halifax. He began to look out for a wife, and the history of his
courtship is curious as well as interesting. The Crossleys seem to have
had the good fortune to fall in with excellent wives; and the prosperity
of the family is quite as much due to the Crossley women as to the
Crossley men.

Martha Crossley, the future wife of John Crossley, was born at Folly
Hall, near the Ambler Thorn Bar. Her great-grandfather, Thomas Turner,
was a farmer. He lived at the Upper Scout Hall, Shibden, and the
farm-house which he occupied, at the head of the Shibden Valley, is
still in existence. The eldest son was brought up to his father's
business. The youngest son, Abraham, was brought up to farming, weaving,
and combing. He married, and had three children--Abraham, Thomas, and
Martha. Abraham, the eldest, was father of Mrs. John Crossley, _née_
Turner.

Abraham was also brought up to farming and manufacturing; but it must be
remembered that manufacturing was in those days conducted on a very much
smaller scale than it is now. He afterwards went into partnership with
his brother Thomas, to make worsted goods, but after his marriage the
partnership was dissolved. He then became the proprietor of the Scout
Farm, and there brought up his family.

Although Abraham Turner was a landed proprietor, he did not think it
beneath him to allow his daughter Martha to go out to service. When
about fifteen years old she went as a servant to Miss Oldfield at
Warley. In that service, in her own person, she did the work of
kitchenmaid, housemaid, and cook, and in addition to that, she milked
four or five cows night and morning. She remained about ten years with
Miss Oldfield. Her wages were at first fifteen-pence a week; after two
years, they were increased to eighteen-pence; and after nine years'
service, they were increased to six guineas a year. Yet during that time
Martha Turner saved thirty pounds by sheer thrift.

John Crossley, the founder of the Crossley firm, and the husband of
Martha Turner, was originally a carpet-weaver. One night, when working
at the loom, he was taking his "drinking," and on laying down his black
bottle it fell and broke. In trying to catch the bottle, he cut his arm
so severely that it was thought he would have bled to death. He could
not work at the loom any longer, and he was going about with his arm in
a sling, when his employer, Mr. Currer, said to him, "John, do you think
you could tie up a loom, as you cannot now weave?" John replied that he
thought he could. He tried, and proved so expert that his master would
not allow him to go back to the loom. John Crossley used to regard the
accident to his arm as the turning-point in his life.

In the meantime he was going on with the business of courtship, though
it was very much against the wish of the proud farmer--the father of
Martha Turner. He declared that he would never allow his daughter to
marry a weaver, or even a foreman of weavers. Perhaps the story of their
courtship is best told in Martha's own words.

"When I went to the gate one evening, there was a young man standing
there, who asked me if I wanted a sweetheart. I answered, 'Not I, marry!
I want no sweethearts.' I then went into the house, and left him. I saw
the same young man frequently about, but did not speak to him for years
after. His name was John Crossley. When my mistress ascertained his
object, she did all she could to set me against him. She told me that
when she was a girl, she had gone to a boarding-school kept by a Mrs.
Crossley,--that her husband's name was Tom Crossley, the grandfather of
this very man that was courting me,--and that a wilder, idler scapegrace
she never knew. She always said, when she saw him coming, 'There's young
Crossley come again.'

"One day I received a love-letter from him, which I could now repeat
word for word. I had several other suitors, but none were so persevering
as John Crossley. He pressed me very much to have him. At last he sent
me a letter to say that a house was vacant in Lower George Yard, close
to the works he was managing, and that it was a great chance to meet
with one so convenient. I told him that I was going home to spend the
5th of November, and would pass that way and look at the house, which I
did. When I got home I asked my parents for their consent. They did not
object much to it at the time; but I had not been at Miss Oldfield's
more than a day or two, before they sent over my sister Grace to say
that they would not give their consent to the match, and that if I
insisted on being married to John Crossley, they would never look me in
the face again.

"So soon as my sister was gone, I retired in a most distressed state of
feeling to my bedroom, and opened my book that was the preparation for
the sacrament, and the first place at which I opened I read these words:
'When thy father and thy mother forsake thee, then the Lord will take
thee up.' This comforted me very much. I felt that the Lord was with me
in this matter, and I could no longer doubt which was the path of
duty.... I decided to accept John Crossley's offer, and we were married
on the 28th day of January, 1800."

Mr. Crossley never did a better day's work than in marrying his
excellent and noble wife. From that day forward she was his helper, his
co-worker, his consoler. She assisted her husband in all his struggles,
and in a certain sense she was the backbone of the Crossley family.

After the death of Mr. Job Lees, whose carpet manufactory he had
managed, Mr. Crossley entered into partnership with two other persons,
to take the plant and carry on the business. Some difference having
occurred with the partners, he left the firm, and took a lease of Dean
Clough Mill, where he entered into another partnership with his brother
Thomas, and James Travers. There they carried on the business of worsted
spinning. At the same time, John Crossley continued to spin and dye the
yarns and to manage the looms of the firm which he had left. In fact,
the dyeing and spinning for the old firm formed a considerable part of
the business of the new one. Then came a crisis. The old firm took away
their work: they sent the wool to be spun and the yarn to be dyed
elsewhere. This was a great blow; but eventually it was got over by
extra diligence, energy, and thrift,--Mrs. Crossley herself taking a
full share in the labours and responsibility of her husband.

"In addition to the carpet making," she says in the Manuscript Memoir of
her life, "we carried on the manufacture of shalloons and plainbacks,
the whole of which I managed myself, so far as putting out the warps and
weft, and taking in from the weavers. We had at one time as many as a
hundred and sixty hand weavers on these goods. We sold the principal
part of them in London. We had also about four looms making brace webs
and body belts. The produce of these looms I sold principally to the
Irish, who made them up into braces and hawked them about the country. I
also made and stitched, with assistance, all the carpets that we sold
retail. I used to get up to work by four o'clock in the morning, and
being very diligent, I have usually earned two shillings before
breakfast, by the time that my neighbours were coming downstairs."

The partnership of Crossley, Travers, and Crossley, lasted for twenty
years. When the term had expired, the partners shared their savings;
they amounted to £4,200, or fourteen hundred pounds to each. This was
not a very large sum to make during twenty years' hard work; but Dean
Clough Mill was then but a small concern, and each partner did his own
share of handiwork in spinning, dyeing, and weaving. Mrs. Crossley says
that "the fourteen hundred pounds came in very useful." In fact, it was
only a beginning. John Crossley eventually bought the Dean Clough Mills
out and out. He had a family of eight children to provide for; and he
put his sons for the most part into his business. They followed the
example of their parents, and became thrifty, useful, and honourable
men.

John Crossley, the founder of the firm, has observed, that in the course
of his life he was a keen observer of men and things. He says he noticed
many of the failures of his neighbours in bringing up their children.
Some fathers were so strict with their children, keeping them so
constantly at home, and letting them see so little of the world in which
they lived, that when the fathers died and the children were removed
from all restraint, they came forth into the world like calves, and
found everything entirely different from what they expected. Such
unguided young persons, Mr. Crossley found, soon became wild, lost, and
ruined. Then he observed the opposite extreme,--where the fathers
indulged their children so much, that they became quite unfitted to
endure the hardships of the world,--and, like a vessel that is sent to
sea without a helm, they soon became stranded on the shores of life.

Hence Mr. Crossley endeavoured to steer clear of both extremes, and to
give to his sons as much knowledge and experience of life as possible.
When at home, he always had one of his sons near him; or when he went
from home, he always took one of them with him. Thus they gained a great
deal of practical knowledge of life, and knew something of the good and
evil in the world; and as they grew older, they were all the better able
to turn their own lives to the best account.

It is not necessary to follow the history of the Crossley family
further. John Crossley died in 1837, after which the firm was conducted
by John, Joseph, and Sir Francis Crossley, Bart. The latter represented
the West Riding of the county of York at the time of his death, a few
years ago. In 1857 he purchased a splendid piece of ground, which he
presented to the Corporation of Halifax, to be used as a People's Park
for ever. In the speech which he made on the occasion of presenting it,
he said, amongst other things, that he had often discussed with his
friend the Mayor the philosophy of money. "I recollect very well," he
said, "once entering into the question with him, when I was twenty years
younger than I am now, and saying that I saw a great deal of emptiness
about this money-getting; that many were striving for that which they
thought would make them happy, but that it was like a bubble upon the
water--no sooner caught than burst.... Had I," he afterwards said, "been
of noble birth, or traced my origin (like some in this room) to those
who came in with William the Conqueror, however true it might be, it
would not have been good, it would even be boastful to have done so.[1]
But since I am of humble birth, perhaps it will be allowed me to say a
little of those who ought to share the honour which is heaped upon me.
My mother was the daughter of a farmer who lived upon his own estate,
and although it was not large, it had been in the family for many
generations. Her father made the same mistake that Jacob made,--Jacob
made too much of Joseph, and her father made too much of Mary. My mother
was seventeen, and quick in disposition. She said that right was not
done to her at home, and she was determined to make her own way in the
world, whatever the consequences might be. She went out to service,
contrary to the wish of her father. I am honoured to-day with the
presence of one who has descended from the family who engaged her as
servant: I mean Mr. Oldfield, of Stock Lane, vice-chairman of the
Halifax Board of Guardians. In that service, in her own person, she did
the work of kitchenmaid, of housemaid, and of cook; and in addition to
that she regularly milked six cows every night and morning. Besides
which, she kept the house, which was as clean as a little palace. But
this was not enough to employ her willing hands. Her mistress took in
wool or tops to spin, and she could do what scarcely any in Warley could
have done,--she spun that wool to thirty-six hanks in the pound, and
thus earned many a guinea for her mistress, besides doing all her other
work."[2]

[Footnote 1: Those who "came in with William the Conqueror" are not the
oldest but the youngest of British families. They are the most recent
occupiers of British soil. The Angles and Saxons, whose lands the
Normans divided amongst themselves, occupied Britain many hundred years
before the arrival of the Conqueror. In the remote dales of Yorkshire
and Lancashire, the ancient race still exists. And thus the Crossley
family may have a much longer pedigree, could they but trace it, than
any of those who "came in with William the Conqueror." The latter are
able to trace their origin because their numbers are so small, their
possessions so large, and their introduction as English proprietors
comparatively so recent.]

[Footnote 2: In these snobbish days, when rich people are so often
ashamed of their fathers and grandfathers, and vainly endeavour to make
out their ancient 'nobility,' it was honest and manly on the part of Sir
Francis Crossley thus publicly to relate these facts; and to share with
his mother the honour of conferring his splendid present of the People's
Park on the townsmen of Halifax.]

Sir Francis went on to relate the history of his father (as given above
from his own manuscript), until the time when he took the Dean Clough
Mill. "My mother," he says, "went thither with her usual energy. As she
was going down the yard at four o'clock in the morning, she made this
vow: 'If the Lord does bless us at this place, the poor shall taste of
it.' It is to this vow, given with so much faithfulness, and kept with
so much fidelity, that I attribute the great success which my father had
in business. My mother was always looking how she could best keep this
vow. In the days that are gone by, when it was a dreary thing to give
employment to a large number of people, the advice that she gave to her
sons was, 'Do not sell your goods for less than they cost, for it would
ruin you without permanently benefiting any one; but if you can go on
giving employment during the winter, do so, for it is a bad thing for a
working man to go home and hear his children cry for bread, when he has
none to give them.'"

And now with respect to the manner in which Sir Francis Crossley
fulfilled the vow of his mother. "On the 10th of September, 1855," he
said, "I left Quebec early in the morning, for the White Mountains in
the United States. I remember passing through some of the most glorious
scenery I had ever seen. On reaching the hotel at the White Mountains, I
went out alone for an evening walk. It was a beautiful spot. The sun was
just declining behind Mount Washington, amidst all the glorious drapery
of an American sunset. I felt as if I was walking with God. 'What,' said
I, 'shall I render for all His benefits to me? Lord, what wilt Thou have
me to do?' The answer came immediately. It was this: 'It is true thou
canst not bring the many thousands thou has left behind thee in thy
native country, to see this beautiful scenery, but thou canst take such
scenery to them. It is possible so to arrange art and nature that they
shall be within the reach of every working man in Halifax; that he shall
go and take his evening walk there, after his day's toil has been done.'
Well, that seemed to me a glorious thought! I walked home, and my prayer
that night was, that in the morning I might feel that my thought was
justified, and that I might be spared to put it in execution. I slept
soundly that night, and when I awoke my impression was confirmed. On the
10th of September, when I left Quebec for the White Mountains, I had no
more idea of making a park than any one here has of building a city. On
the day I reached home, I felt as convinced that I should carry out my
thought, as I was of my own existence. And from that day to this I have
never flinched from the undertaking, whatever difficulties might arise.
It is a happy day for me that I have been permitted to see the result,
in the People's Park that has been opened to-day."

The Park was opened in August, 1857.[1] Three years later, a fine statue
of Sir Francis Crossley (by Mr. Joseph Durham) was placed in the Park,
so that all comers, while beholding the princely gift, might also see
the form and features of the giver. The cost of the statue was defrayed
by public subscription, in which persons of all political parties
joined. The preparation of the statue was delayed by the revolution in
Italy, which placed Victor Emanuel on the Italian throne. While the
quarrymen at Carrara were digging out the block of marble of which the
figure was to be sculptured, they were roused by shouts of "Liberty,"
coupled with the name of Garibaldi, and they left their work to join the
banner of that victorious leader. In front of the statue is the
following inscription: "This statue of Frank Crossley, Esq., M.P. for
the West Riding of the county of York, donor of the People's Park, was
erected August 14, 1860, by the inhabitants of Halifax, his native town,
as a tribute of gratitude and respect to one whose public benefactions
and private virtues deserve to be remembered."

[Footnote 1: The Park is situated in the centre of the borough of
Halifax, and covers twelve acres and a half of ground. It cost Sir
Francis Crossley £35,000, who also gave to the Corporation £6,300 to be
invested for its maintenance.]

But the vow of Martha Crossley was not yet entirely fulfilled: "If the
Lord does bless us at this place, the poor shall taste of it." That was
what she promised on her husband's entering into possession of Dean
Clough Mills; and her sons have nobly fulfilled her promise. In 1864,
the extensive business of John Crossley and Sons, with all its mills,
machinery, plant, warehouses and stock-in-trade--at Halifax,
Kidderminster, Manchester, and London,--was converted into a joint-stock
company. The company was formed with the primary design of receiving the
co-operation of all parties associated with the business, and with the
object of securing a spirit of harmony and the material well-being and
profit of the workpeople, clerks, managers, and others interested in the
concern. In order to enable the workpeople to join in the business, a
large sum of money was lent to them for the purpose of taking up
returned shares in the company; and the workpeople took them up to a
large extent. A preference was always given to the managers and
operatives; and the amount of shares applied for by them was invariably
allotted in full.

The results of this system have proved entirely satisfactory; the
directors reporting that "the active energies of all parties necessary
to ensure success have been fully enlisted. They claim originality, in
their method of securing the direct interest of the _employés_, and they
rejoice in being able to report that the system has more than realized
their highest expectations."[1] At the present time, the _employés_ hold
shares in the company, of the value of about thirty thousand pounds; and
the deposit bank, founded for the use of the workpeople exclusively,
contains money-savings amounting to more than sixteen thousand pounds!
And thus the vow of Martha Crossley, that the poor should taste of the
prosperity of John Crossley and Sons, has been amply and nobly
fulfilled!

[Footnote 1: Reports of the Paris Universal Exhibition, 1867, vol. vi.,
pp. 119--141.]

One of the most promising of co-operative undertakings established by
employers for the benefit of their workpeople, was that of the Messrs.
Briggs and Son, of Whitwood collieries, near Wakefield. The collieries
were converted into a limited company in 1865. The working colliers were
made partners in the prosperity of the concern to this extent,--that
whenever the divisible profits accruing from the business in any year,
after making allowance for depreciation, exceeded ten per cent, on the
capital embarked, all those employed by the company were to receive
one-half of such excess profit as a bonus, to be distributed amongst
them in proportion to their respective earnings during the year. The
object of the owners was to put an end to strikes, which had sometimes
placed them in peril of their lives, and also to enable them to live on
better terms with their workpeople. The colliers were invited to become
shareholders, and thus to take a personal interest in the prosperity of
the concern.

The project was received with great favour by the friends of
co-operation. Mr. John Stuart Mill, in his Principles of Political
Economy, announced that "the Messrs. Briggs had taken the _first step_;
and that it was highly honourable on the part of those employers of
labour to have initiated a system so full of benefit both to the
operatives employed and to the general interests of social improvement."
Mr. Hughes, M.P., after visiting the collieries, expressed his surprise
at the great success achieved in the first year of working the
collieries as a partnership of industry. "I believe," he said to the
owners, "that in taking this step you have done a great work for
England, and one which will be gratefully recognized before long by the
country." The promoters also claimed a reward from the Paris Universal
Exhibition, for having been "the first large employers in England who
have allowed all their workpeople, whether co-shareholders with them or
not, to participate in all divisible profits beyond a fixed percentage
on the paid-up capital of the company."

Only a few years have passed, and already this promising partnership of
industry has come to an end. It has not been brought to an end by the
masters, but by the men. The masters were satisfied with the profits
made during the recent high prices of coal; but the men were not
satisfied with the wages. Had they been as free as the Welsh colliers,
they would have insisted on being paid as highly; but it would have
been, as it was in Wales, ruinous to the masters. The system of
industrial partnership had at length to be abandoned, and the men now
work for wages instead of for part-profits. The truth is, the colliers
were not sufficiently educated to appreciate the advantages of the
industrial scheme. Though some of the Whitwood workmen have been
stimulated by thrift, to build and furnish houses of their own, the
greater number of them, during the recent flush of prosperity,
squandered their wages on frivolity, extravagance, and intemperance.

The attempt was also made by several firms engaged in the iron trade, to
embody the principle of co-operation in their respective concerns.
Amongst these were the firms of Greening and Co., Manchester, and Fox,
Head, and Co., Middlesborough.

The experiments were to a certain extent brought to an end by the greed
or laziness of the colliers, who have for a time destroyed the
prosperity of the iron trade. Messrs. Greening and Co. started with
great enthusiasm; and the results were very successful as regards the
workpeople. Nothing could have been better than the spirit of goodwill,
and even devotion, which was displayed by many of them. But, unhappily,
contracts were taken by the management, which resulted in a series of
losses; and the scheme ended in liquidation. Mr. Greening states that
"the Distribution Societies have as yet been much more successful than
the Production Societies;" but he hopes "to see the latter crown the
edifice by making workers everywhere no longer servants, but co-partners
with capital."

The firm of Fox, Head, and Co. also admitted their workmen to a
partnership of profits. They had for some time been much annoyed by
strikes. Their works had stood idle for about a fourth of the whole time
that had elapsed since their commencement. The system of co-operation
was adopted in 1866, at the close of a long strike. One of the
conditions of the scheme was that Fox, Head, and Co. should not be
members of any association of employers, and that the workmen should not
be members of any trades union. The original intention was to pay the
workmen a bonus according to profits. They eventually adopted the
practice of the Messrs. Briggs and Co., which was, to divide the profits
over ten per cent. into two parts: the one to belong to the capitalists
as their profit, and the other to be divided amongst all those who had
received wages or salaries during the year, in proportion to the amount
received by them. An opportunity was also afforded to the workmen of
depositing their savings with the firm; but as there was only one
instance, during three years, of a workman applying to invest his
savings, this clause was withdrawn.

In consequence of the depressed state of the iron trade, there were no
profits to be divided during the first two years. The men were, however,
paid the current rate of wages, and were saved the expenses of Union
levies. The co-operative store, which had been founded by the workmen,
was in a very prosperous condition. In the third year of the
co-operative scheme, a bonus of two and a half per cent, was divided
between the employers and the employed. The workmen also received an
advance of five per cent. in wages. In the fourth year the wages of the
workmen were further increased ten per cent., and this took the cream
off the bowl. However, a bonus of four per cent. was paid on the wages
and salaries received by the _employés_ during that year. At the meeting
held to communicate the result of the year's business, Mr. Head said:--

"There may be some who think the tendency of our policy has been too
sentimental. I don't believe in doing business on sentimental
principles. But I contend that mere money-making is not the sole end of
existence. We have been associated with many of you for several years,
and we cannot help feeling a considerable interest in you. After all,
life is not so very long. Another twenty or thirty years will see us all
under ground, and there will be other employers and other workmen
carrying on business at Newport Rolling Mills. It would indeed be
strange if we did not take some interest in those with whom we are so
much associated. And so, without in the least relaxing discipline, or
sacrificing any true principle of business, we hold it to be our duty as
employers, as well as your duties as _employés_, to consider each
other's interests, and to do all that each of us can in the way of true
and hearty co-operation."

The coal famine began to tell upon the iron-workers. The furnaces were
often laid off for want of coal. The principal causes of the bad supply
of coal arose from shorter hours of labour, and higher wages for less
work. Yet a bonus of three and a quarter per cent, was allowed on the
wages and salaries received by the _employés_ during the year 1871. The
co-operative stores continued to be very productive, and many of the
members saved considerable sums of money. In the next year, a bonus of
three and a half per cent, was divided. But difficulties were in store.
The coal famine continued. The employers of labour held meetings to
resist the successive advances of wages, and to counteract the
operations of the trades unions.

Mr. Head strongly urged the men to hold together: "Cease to be deluded,"
he said, "by these trades unions. Save all you can, and with your
savings provide against the day of sickness--a day which is sure to come
sooner or later. Provide for old age; read good books,--you have every
chance now, with a free library in the town. Give credit to others for
wishing to be straightforward and honest as well as yourselves; and in
every way I would ask you to act as reasonable, straightforward,
sensible English workmen ought to do. Show that you can appreciate being
well used, that you can appreciate those who put themselves to trouble
that they may do you good; and beware lest, by want of sympathy, you
drive the best of the employers out of the business, and retain those
alone who are despotic and tyrannical. Cease to follow those who are
actuated by self-interest, or by blind impulse; who do not care a bit if
they get you into trouble, provided only they serve their own selfish
ends. Such men are but blind leaders of the blind, and if you follow
them you will eventually find yourselves deserted, and lying hopelessly
and helplessly in the last ditch."

It was of no use. The men's wages went up twenty per cent.; and there
was an end of the bonuses. The coal famine continued. The masters,
instead of making profits, made immense losses. The price of iron went
down. The mills stood idle for two months. The result was, that when the
masters next met the workmen in public meeting, Mr. Waterhouse, the
auditor, reported that "while the gross earnings of the year have
exceeded the expenditure on materials, wages, and trade charges, they
have been insufficient to cover the full amounts to be provided under
the co-operative scheme for interest on capital, depreciation, and the
reserve for bad debts; and that consequently it was his duty to declare
that no amount was at present payable as bonus either to employers or
employed." No further report was issued in 1875, excepting an
announcement that there was no dividend, and that the firm did not
intend to continue the co-operative scheme any longer. During the time
that it lasted, the _employés_ had received about eight thousand pounds
in bonuses.

Since then, Sir Joseph Whitworth has announced his intention of giving
his workmen a bonus upon his profits; but the principle of the division
has not yet been announced. On hearing of his intention, Mr. Carlyle
wrote the following letter to Sir Joseph:--

"Would to heaven that all the captains of industry in England had a soul
in them such as yours. The look of England is to me at this moment
abundantly ominous, the question of capital and labour growing ever more
anarchic, insoluble altogether by the notions hitherto applied to
it--pretty sure to issue in petroleum one day, unless some other gospel
than that of the 'Dismal Science' come to illuminate it. Two things are
pretty sure to me. The first is that capital and labour never can or
will agree together till they both first of all decide on doing their
work faithfully throughout, and like men of conscience and honour, whose
highest aim is to behave like faithful citizens of this universe, and
obey the eternal commandments of Almighty God, who made them. The second
thing is, that a sadder object than even that of the coal strike, or any
other conceivable strike, is the fact that--loosely speaking--we may say
all England has decided that the profitablest way is to do its work ill,
slurily, swiftly, and mendaciously. What a contrast between now and say
only a hundred years ago! At the latter date all England awoke to its
work--to an invocation to the Eternal Maker to bless them in their day's
labour, and help them to do it well. Now, all England--shopkeepers,
workmen, all manner of competing labourers--awaken as with an unspoken
but heartfelt prayer to Beelzebub,--'Oh, help us, thou great Lord of
Shoddy, Adulteration, and Malfeasance, to do our work with the maximum
of sluriness, swiftness, profit, and mendacity, for the devil's sake.
Amen.'"

Fortunately, there is not a great deal of truth in this letter, nor in
the "heartfelt prayer" to Shoddy. The Right Hon. Mr. Forster ought to
know something of labour and capital, and at a recent meeting of the
Cobden Club he stated that "they were often told that they had a war
within their borders between labour and capital; but as an employer of
labour ever since he came to manhood, he would only say that he never
knew a time in which employer and employed were on better terms."

The late Sir Francis Crossley observed that there was a good deal of
unreasonable feeling abroad. It was held by some that it was wrong for
working men to sell their labour at the best price; but it must be
remembered that their labour was the only thing they had to sell; and
the best thing to do was to leave those matters to take their natural
course. It was a great mistake, on the part of employers, to suppose
that the lowest-priced labour was always the cheapest. If there was not
so much desire to run down the price of labour, and the masters showed a
more conciliatory spirit, there would be fewer strikes and outrages.

"What a contrast between now and say only a hundred years ago!"
Certainly there is a very great contrast. England was not a
manufacturing country a hundred years ago. We imported nearly
everything, except corn, wool, and flax. We imported the greatest part
of our iron from Spain, Sweden, Germany, and Russia. We imported our
pottery from Holland, our hats from Flanders, our silk from France, our
cloth and carpets from Belgium. Our cotton manufactures, our woollen and
flax manufactures, our machine manufactures, could scarcely be said to
exist. Coal could scarcely be had, for the coal-pits could not be kept
clear of water.

A hundred years ago, we could not build a steam-engine; we could
scarcely build a bridge. Look at the churches built a hundred years ago,
and behold the condition of our architecture. A hundred years ago, we
had fallen to almost the lowest condition as a nation. We had not a
harbour; we had not a dock. The most extensive system of robbery
prevailed on the River Thames. The roads, such as they were, swarmed
with highwaymen; and black-mail was levied by the Highlanders upon the
Lowland farmers, down to the middle of last century.

A hundred years ago, our ships were rotten; they were manned by
prisoners taken from the hulks, or by working men pressed in the streets
in open day. When James Watt was learning his trade of an instrument
maker in London, a hundred years ago, he durst scarcely walk abroad lest
he should be seized and sent to India or the American plantations. Less
than a hundred years ago, the colliers and salters of Scotland were
slaves. It is not forty years since women and children worked in
coalpits. Surely we are not to go down upon our knees and pray for a
restoration of the horrible things that existed a hundred years ago.

A hundred years ago, Ireland was treated like a conquered country; and
hangings and shootings of rebels were frequent. The fleet at the Nore
mutinied; and the mutiny was put down by bloodshed and executions. Towns
and cities swarmed with ruffians; and brutal sports and brutal language
existed to a frightful degree. Criminals were hanged, five or six
together, at Tyburn. Gibbets existed at all the cross-roads throughout
the country. The people were grossly ignorant, and altogether neglected.
Scepticism and irreligion prevailed, until Wesley and Whitfield sprang
up to protest against formalism and atheism. They were pelted with
rotten eggs, sticks, and stones. A Methodist preacher was whipped out of
Gloucester.

A hundred years ago, literature was at a very low ebb. The press was in
a miserable state. William Whitehead was Poet Laureate! Who knows of him
now? Gibbon had not written his "Decline and Fall." _Junius_ was the
popular writer. Political corruption was scarified in his letters. The
upper classes were coarse, drunken, and ill-mannered. Bribery and
corruption on the grossest scale were the principal means for getting
into Parliament. Mr. Dowdeswell, M.P. for Worcestershire, said to the
Commons, "You have turned out a member for impiety and obscenity. What
halfdozen members of this House ever meet over a convivial bottle, that
their discourse is entirely free from obscenity, impiety, or abuse of
Government?"

Though drunkenness is bad enough now, it was infinitely worse a hundred
years ago. The publican's signboards announced, "You may here get drunk
for a penny, dead-drunk for twopence, and have clean straw for nothing."
Drunkenness was considered a manly vice. To drink deep was the fashion
of the day. Six-bottle men were common. Even drunken clergymen were not
unknown.

What were the popular amusements of the people a hundred years ago? They
consisted principally of man-fighting, dog-fighting, cock-fighting, bull
baiting, badger-drawing, the pillory, public whipping, and public
executions. Mr. Wyndham vindicated the ruffianism of the Ring in his
place in Parliament, and held it up as a school in which Englishmen
learnt pluck and "the manly art of self-defence." Bull-baiting was
perhaps more brutal than prize-fighting, though Wyndham defended it as
"calculated to stimulate the noble courage of Englishmen." The bull was
secured to a stake in the market-place or the bull-ring (the name still
survives in many towns), and there the animal was baited by the rabble
dogs of the neighbourhood. One can scarcely imagine the savageness of
the sport--the animal mutilations, the imprecations of ruffians worse
than brutes, the ferociousness and drunkenness, the blasphemy and
unspeakable horrors of the exhibition. The public mind of this day
absolutely revolts at such brutality. Yet, less than a hundred years
ago--on the 24th of May, 1802,--a Bill for the abolition of bull-baiting
was lost in the House of Commons by sixty-four to fifty-one,--Mr.
Wyndham contending that horse-racing and hunting were more cruel than
bull-baiting or prize-fighting!

The pillory was one of our time-honoured institutions fifty years ago,
and men and women used to be placed there for offences, such as a wise
legislature would have endeavoured to conceal from public consideration.
The horrid scenes which then took place, when men, women, and children
collected in crowds to pelt the offenders with missiles, were so
disgusting, that they cannot be described. Not more seemly were the
public whippings then administered to women in common with the coarsest
male offenders. The public abominations and obscenities of the "good old
times" would almost have disgraced the days of Nero.

But bull-baiting, cock-fighting, and other ferocious amusements, have
now departed. Even the village stocks have rotted out. Drunkenness has
become disreputable. The "good old times" have departed, we hope never
to return. The labourer has now other resources beside the public-house.
There are exhibitions and people's parks, steamboats and railways,
reading-rooms and coffee-rooms, museums, gardens, and cheap concerts. In
place of the disgusting old amusements, there has come a healthier,
sounder life, greater enlightenment, more general sobriety, and a
humaner spirit. We have in a hundred years outgrown many of our savage
tendencies. We are not less brave as a people, though less brutal. We
are quite as manly, though much less gross. Manners are more refined,
yet as a people we have not lost our pluck, energy, and endurance. We
respect ourselves more, and as a nation we have become more respected.
We now think with shame of the manners of a hundred years ago.

The achievements of which England has most reason to be proud, have been
accomplished during the last hundred years. English slaves have been
emancipated, both at home and abroad. Impressment has been done away
with. Parliamentary representation has been conferred upon all classes
of the people. The Corn Laws have been abolished. Free trade has been
established. Our ports are now open to the whole world.

And then, see what our inventors have accomplished! James Watt invented
the steam-engine, which in a few years created a large number of new
industries, and gave employment to immense numbers of people. Henry Cort
invented the puddling-process, and enabled England to rely upon its own
stores of iron, instead of depending upon foreign and perhaps hostile
countries. All the docks and harbours round the English coast have been
formed during the present century. The steamboat, the railway, and the
telegraph have only been invented and applied during the last fifty
years.

With respect to the charge made against the English workman as to the
"sluriness, swiftness, and mendacity" of his work, it is simply
impossible that this should be so. Our ports are free and open to the
world; and if Frenchmen, Germans, Belgians, or Americans could execute
better work than Englishmen, we should not only cease to export, but
also lose our home trade. The foreigner is now free to undersell us, if
he can, in our own markets.

It was in the perfect confidence that Englishmen were the best and most
honest workers in the world, that free trade was established. Should we
ever become a shoddy manufacturing people, free trade will probably be
abolished; and we shall then impose prohibitory duties upon foreign
manufactures. But is it not the fact that every year sees an increase in
the exports of English goods,--that English workmanship is not
considered the worst, but the best, in the general markets of the
world,--and that numerous foreign makers place an English mark upon
their productions in order to ensure their sale?

It is by means of English workmen and English tools and machines that
continental manufactories themselves have been established; and yet,
notwithstanding their cheaper labour, we should command the foreign
market, but for the prohibitory duties which foreigners impose upon
English manufactures. Mr. Brassey, in his book on _Work and Wages_,
says, "It may be affirmed that as practical mechanics the English are
unsurpassed. The presence of the English engineer, the solitary
representative, among a crew of foreigners, of the mechanical genius of
his country, is a familiar recollection to all who have travelled much
in the steamers of the Mediterranean. Consul Lever says that in the vast
establishment of the Austrian Lloyds at Trieste, a number of English
mechanical engineers are employed, not only in the workshops, but as
navigating engineers in the company's fleet. Although there is no
difficulty in substituting for these men Germans or Swiss, at lower
rates of payment, the uniform accuracy of the English, their
intelligence, their consummate mastery of all the details of their art,
and their resources in every case of difficulty, have entirely
established their superiority."[1]

[Footnote 1: _Work and Wages_, p. 114.]

The English are also the best miners, the best tool-makers, the best
instrument-makers, the best "navvies," the best ship-builders, the best
spinners and weavers. Mr. Brassey says that during the construction of
the Paris and Rouen Railway, the Frenchman, Irishman, and Englishman
were employed side by side. In the same quarry at Bounierés, the
Frenchman received three francs, the Irishman four, and the Englishman
six; and the last was found to be the most advantageous workman of the
three. The superiority of the English workman over persons of other
nations was equally remarkable whenever there was an opportunity of
employing him side by side with them.

There is no doubt about the "swiftness" of English Workmanship. But this
is one of the merits of English mechanism. M. Jules Simon observes that
heretofore the manual labourer has been an intelligent force, but by
means of machinery he is converted into an intelligent director of
force. It is by the speed of the English machinery, and the intelligent
quickness of the workmen, that his master makes a profit, and himself
such high wages as compared with continental workmen. In France, one
person is employed to mind fourteen spindles; in Russia, one to
twenty-eight; in Prussia, one to thirty-seven; and in Great Britain, one
to seventy-four spindles. It is by means of the swiftness of our
machinery that we are enabled to bring cotton from India, manufacture it
in Manchester, return the manufactured article to the place from which
it was taken, and sell it at a lower price than the native-made calico.


Mr. Chadwick mentions the following case. "A lady, the wife of an
eminent cotton manufacturer, went to him one day rejoicing, with a fine
piece of muslin, as the produce of India, which she had bought in
London, and showing it to him, said, if he produced a fabric like that,
he would really be doing something meritorious in textile art. He
examined it, and found that it was the produce of his own looms, near
Manchester, made for the Indian market exclusively, bought there, and
re-sold in England as rare Indian manufacture!"[1]

[Footnote 1: _Address on Economy and Free Trade_. By Edwin Chadwick,
C.B., at the Association for the Promotion of Social Science at York,
1861.]

An annual report is furnished to the Government, by our foreign consuls,
with reference to the character and condition of the working classes in
most parts of the civilized world. Mr. Walter, M.P., in a recent address
to an assembly of workmen, referred to one of these reports. He said,
"There is one remark, in particular, that occurs with lamentable
frequency throughout the report,--that, with few exceptions, the foreign
workman does not appear 'to take pride in his work,' nor (to use a
significant expression) to 'put his character into it.' A remarkable
instance of this is mentioned of a country which generally constitutes
an honourable exception to this unhappy rule. Switzerland is a country
famous for its education and its watches; yet the following passage from
the report will show that neither knowledge nor skill will suffice
without the exercise of that higher quality on which I have been
dwelling. 'As a rule,' it says, 'Swiss workmen are competent in their
several trades, and take an interest in their work; for, thanks to their
superior education, they fully appreciate the pecuniary advantages to
their masters, and indirectly to themselves, of adhering strictly to
this course. A striking instance of the impolicy of acting otherwise has
lately happened at St. Imier, in the Bernese Jura, and produced a deep
impression. In this district, for some years past, a great falling off
in the quality of the watches manufactured has taken place, owing to the
inhabitants finding it much more profitable to increase the production
at the cost of the workmanship than to abide by the old rules of the
trade. They prospered beyond all expectation for a considerable time,
but finally their watches got such a bad name that they became
unsaleable, and the result is a general bankruptcy of nearly all the
watchmakers of this particular district."

One thing, however, remains to be said of foreign workmen generally.
Although they do not work so hard as the English, they take much better
care of their earnings. They are exceedingly frugal and economical.
Frenchmen are much soberer than Englishmen, and much better mannered.
They are, on the whole, greatly more provident than English workmen. Mr.
Brassey states that when the Paris and Rouen Railway works were
commenced, the contractors endeavoured to introduce a system by which
the workmen were to be paid once a fortnight; but very soon after the
operations had begun, the Frenchmen requested that the pay might take
place only once a month.

Mr. Reid, managing director of the line, told the House of Commons
Committee on Railway Labourers, that a French labourer is a much more
independent person than an Englishman, and much more respectable. He
stated, in support of his opinion, this remarkable circumstance, that
whereas a French labourer desired to be paid only once a month, the
English labourer desired to be paid every Saturday night,--and by the
following Wednesday he wanted something on account of the week's work.
"Nothing could be a greater test," said Mr. Reid, "of the respectability
of a working man than being able to go without his pay for a month."[1]

[Footnote 1: Thomas Brassey, M.P., _On Work and Wages_.]

Although the French workman has nothing like the same facilities for
saving as the English, the _Journal des Débats_ alleges that he saves
ten times as much as his rival. There are only about a thousand savings
banks and branches established in France, and yet two millions of
persons belonging to the lower ranks last year had invested in them
about twenty-eight millions sterling. But the Frenchman of the city
prefers investing in Government Rentes; and the Frenchman of the country
prefers investing in land. All, however, are thrifty, saving, and
frugal; because they are educated in economy from their earliest years.





CHAPTER XII

LIVING BEYOND THE MEANS.


"By no means run in debt: take thine own measure.
Who cannot live on twenty pounds a year,
Cannot on forty: he's a man of pleasure,
A kind of thing that's for itself too dear."--_George Herbert_.

"But what will Mrs. Grundy say?"--_Old Play._

"YES and No are, for good or evil, the Giants of Life."--_Jerrold_.

"A hundred years of vexation will not pay a farthing of debt."--_From
the French_.

"Respectability is all very well for folks who can have it for ready
money: but to be obliged to run into debt for it--it's enough to break
the heart of an angel."--_Jerrold._


Extravagance is the pervading sin of modern society. It is not confined
to the rich and moneyed classes, but extends also to the middle and
working classes.

There never was such a burning desire to be rich, or to _seem_ to be
rich. People are no longer satisfied with the earnings of honest
industry; but they must aim at becoming suddenly rich,--by speculation,
gambling, betting, swindling, or cheating.

General extravagance is to be seen everywhere. It is especially the
characteristic of town life. You see it in the streets, in the parks, in
the churches. The extravagance of dress is only one of its signs. There
is a general prodigality in social display. People live in a style
beyond their means; and the results are observed in commercial failures,
in lists of bankrupts, and in criminal courts, where business men are so
often convicted of dishonesty and fraud.

Appearances must be kept up. Men must _seem_ to be rich. Hypocrites can
easily impose upon those who are willing to be convinced. People must
now live in a certain style, inhabit handsome houses, give good dinners,
drink fine wines, and have a handsome equipage. Perhaps they are only
able to accomplish this by overreaching or by dishonesty. Everybody
wondered at the generosity and style of Redpath and Robson; but there
are hundreds, if not thousands, of Redpaths and Robsons now.

There is another class of people, not fraudulent, but extravagant;
though perhaps on the brink of becoming fraudulent. They live up to
their means, and often beyond them. They desire to be considered
"respectable people." They live according to the pernicious adage, "One
must do as others do." They do not consider whether they can afford to
live up to or beyond their means; but they think it necessary to secure
the "respect" of others. In doing so, they usually sacrifice their own
self-respect. They regard their dress, their establishments, their
manner of living, and their observance of fashion, as the sole tests of
respectability and rank. They make an appearance in the eyes of the
world; though it may be entirely hypocritical and false.

But they must not _seem_ poor! They must hide their poverty by every
effort. They spend their money before it is earned,--run into debt at
the grocer's, the baker's, the milliner's, and the butcher's. They must
entertain their fashionable "friends," at the expense of the
shopkeepers. And yet, when misfortunes overtake them, and when their
debts have become overwhelming, what becomes of the "friends"? They fly
away, and shun the man who is up to his ears in debt!

Yet poverty is more than half disarmed by those who have the moral
courage to say. "I can't afford it." Fair-weather friends are of no use
whatever, except as an indication of the depth of snobbery to which
human beings can descend. What is "a visiting connection"? It is not at
all calculated to elevate one in social, or even in business life.
Success mainly depends upon character, and the general esteem in which a
person is held. And if the attempt is made to snatch the reward of
success before it is earned, the half-formed footing may at once give
way, and the aspirant will fall, unlamented, into the open-mouthed
dragon of debt.

"Mrs. Grundy," in the play, is but an impersonation of the
conventionalism of the world. Custom, habit, fashion, use and wont, are
all represented in her. She may be a very vulgar and commonplace person,
but her power is nevertheless prodigious. We copy and imitate her in all
things. We are pinned to her apron-string. We are obedient at her
bidding. We are indolent and complaisant, and fear to provoke her
ill-word. "What will Mrs. Grundy say?" quells many a noble impulse,
hinders many a self-denying act.

There seems to be a general, though unconscious conspiracy existing,
against each other's individuality and manhood. We discourage
self-reliance, and demand conformity. Each must see with others' eyes,
and think through others' minds. We are idolaters of customs and
observances, looking behind, not forwards and upwards. Pinned down and
held back by ignorance and weakness, we are afraid of standing alone, or
of thinking and acting for ourselves. Conventionalism rules all. We fear
stepping out into the free air of independent thought and action. We
refuse to plant ourselves upon our instincts, and to vindicate our
spiritual freedom. We are content to bear others' fruit, not our own.

In private affairs, the same spirit is alike deleterious. We live as
society directs, each according to the standard of our class. We have a
superstitious reverence for custom. We dress, and eat, and live, in
conformity with the Grundy law. So long as we do this, we are
"respectable," according to class notions. Thus many rush open-eyed upon
misery, for no better excuse than a foolish fear of "the world." They
are afraid of "what others will say of them;" and, in nine cases out of
ten, those who might probably raise the voice of censure, are not the
wise or the far-seeing, but much oftener the foolish, the vain, and the
short-sighted.

Sir William Temple has said, that "a restlessness in men's minds to be
something that they are not, and to have something that they have not,
is the root of all immorality." The statement is strictly correct. It
has been attested by universal experience.

Keeping up appearances is one of the greatest social evils of the age.
There is a general effort, more particularly amongst the middle and
upper classes, at seeming to be something that they are not. They put on
appearances, live a life of sham, and endeavour to look something
superior to what they really are.

"Respectability" is one of the chief aims. Respectability, regarded in
its true sense, is a desirable thing. To be respected, on right grounds,
is an object which every man and woman is justified in obtaining. But
modern respectability consists of external appearances. It means wearing
fine clothes, dwelling in fine houses, and living in fine style. It
looks to the outside,--to sound, show, externals. It listens to the
chink of gold in the pocket. Moral worth or goodness forms no part of
modern respectability. A man in these days may be perfectly
"respectable," and yet altogether despicable.

This false and demoralizing habit arises from the overweening estimate
which is formed of two things, well enough in their place,--rank and
wealth. Everybody struggles to rise into some superior class. The spirit
of caste is found as keenly at work among the humblest as among the
highest ranks. At Birmingham, there was a club of workmen with tails to
their coats, and another without tails: the one looked down upon the
other. Cobbett, so felicitous in his nicknames, called his political
opponent, Mr. Sadler, "a linendraper." But the linendraper also has
plenty of people beneath him. The linendraper looks down on the
huckster, the huckster on the mechanic, and the mechanic on the day
labourer. The flunkey who exhibits his calves behind a baron, holds his
head considerably higher than the flunkey who serves a brewer.

It matters not at what class you begin, or however low in the social
scale, you will find that every man has somebody beneath him. Among the
middling ranks, this sort of exclusiveness is very marked. Each circle
would think it a degradation to mix on familiar terms with the members
of the circle beneath it. In small towns and villages, you will find
distinct coteries holding aloof from each other, perhaps despising each
other, and very often pelting each other with hard words. The cathedral
towns, generally, have at least six of such distinct classes, ranking
one beneath the other.

And while each has his or her own exclusive circle, which all of
supposed inferior rank are precluded from entering, they are at the same
time struggling to pass over the line of social demarcation which has
been drawn by those above them. They are eager to overleap it, and thus
gain admission into a circle still more exclusive than their own.

There is also a desperate scramble for front places, and many are the
mean shifts employed to gain them. We must possess the homage of
society! And for this purpose we must be rich, or at least _seem_ to be
so. Hence the struggles after style--the efforts made to put on the
appearances of wealth--the dash, the glitter, and the show of middle and
upper class life;--and hence, too, the motley train of palled and
vitiated tastes--of shrunken hearts and stunted intellects--of folly,
frivolity, and madness.

One of the most demoralizing practices of modern refinement is the
"large party" system. People cram their houses with respectable mobs;
thus conforming to a ridiculous custom. Rousseau, with all his
aberrations of mind, said, "I had rather have my house too small for a
day, than too large for a twelvemonth." Fashion exactly reverses the
maxim; and domestic mischief is often begun with a large dwelling and
suitable accommodations. The misfortune consists in this,--that we never
look below our level for an example, but always above it.

It is not so much, however, in the mere appearances kept up, as in the
means taken to keep them up, that the fruitful cause of immorality is to
be found. A man having assumed a class status, runs all risks to keep it
up. It is thought to be a descent in the world, to abridge oneself of a
superfluity. The seeming-rich man, who drives his close carriage and
drinks champagne, will not tolerate a descent to a gig and plain beer;
and the respectable man, who keeps his gig, would think it a degradation
to have to travel afoot or in a 'bus, between his country house and his
town office. They will descend to immorality rather than descend in
apparent rank; they will yield to dishonesty rather than yield up the
mock applause and hollow respect of that big fool, "the world."

Everybody can call to mind hundreds of cases of men--"respectable
men"--who, from one extravagance have gone on to another--wantonly
squandering wealth which was not theirs--in order to keep up a worldly
reputation, and cut a figure before their admiring fellows;--all ending
in a sudden smash, a frightful downfall, an utter bankruptcy--to the
ruin, perhaps, of thousands. They have finished up with paying a
respectable dividend of sixpence in the pound! Indeed it is not too much
to say, that five-sixths of the fraud and swindling that disgrace
commercial transactions, have had their origin in the diseased morality
of "keeping up appearances."

To be "respectable," in the false sense of the word,--what is not
sacrificed? Peace, honesty, truth, virtue,--all to keep up appearances.
We must cheat, and scrub, and deceive, and defraud, that "the world" may
not see behind our mask! We must torment and enslave ourselves, because
we must extort "the world's" applause, or at least obtain "the world's"
good opinion!

How often is suicide traceable to this false sentiment! Vain men will
give up their lives, rather than their class notions of respectability.
They will cut the thread of existence, rather than cut fashionable life.
Very few suicides are committed from real want. "We never hear," says
Joel Barlow, "of a man committing suicide for want of a loaf of bread,
but it is often done for want of a coach."

Of this mean and miserable spirit of class and caste, women are the
especial victims. They are generally brought up with false notions of
life, and are taught to estimate men and things rather by their external
appearances than by their intrinsic worth. Their education is conducted
mainly with the view of pleasing and attracting the admiration of
others, rather than of improving and developing their qualities of mind
and heart. They are imbued with notions of exclusiveness, fashion, and
gentility. A respectable position in society is held up to them as the
mark to be aimed at. To be criminal or vicious is virtually represented
to them as far less horrible than to be "vulgar." Immured within the
bastile of exclusivism, woman is held captive to all the paltry shifts
and expediencies of convention, fashion, gentility, and so forth. The
genuine benevolence of her nature is perverted; her heart becomes
contracted; and the very highest sources of happiness--those which
consist in a kindly sympathy with humanity in all ranks of life--are as
a well shut up and a fountain sealed.

Is it not a fact, that in what is called "fashionable society," a fine
outside appearance is regarded almost in the light of a virtue?--that to
be rich, or to have the appearance of riches, is esteemed as a merit of
a high order;--whereas, to be poor, or to seem so, ranks as something
like an unpardonable offence? Nay, such is the heartlessness of this
class spirit, that a young woman, belonging to the better class, who, by
misfortune or family reverses, has been thrown upon her own resources,
and who endeavours, by her own honest hands, to earn her honest bread,
immediately loses caste, and is virtually expelled from "respectable"
society. The resolution to be independent--the most invigorating
resolution which can take possession of the human mind--is scouted in
such circles as a degrading thing; and those who have been brought up
within the influence of fashion, will submit to the most severe
privations, rather than submit to the loss of their class and caste
respectability!

Thus brought up, it is no wonder that woman has been the co-partner with
man in upholding the general extravagance of the age. There never was
such a rage for dress and finery amongst English women as there is now.
It rivals the corrupt and debauched age of Louis XV. of France. A
delirium of fashion exists. Women are ranked by what they wear, not by
what they are. Extravagance of dress, and almost indecency of dress, has
taken the place of simple womanly beauty. Wordsworth once described the
"perfect woman nobly planned." Where will you find the perfect woman
now? Not in the parti-coloured, over-dressed creature--the thing of
shreds and patches--with false hair, false colour, false eyebrows,
false everything. "Some of nature's journeymen have made them, and not
made them well, they imitate humanity so abominably."

The evil does not stop with the moneyed classes. It descends to those
who have nothing but their salary to live upon. It descends to the wives
of clerks and shopmen. They, too, dress for respectability. They live
beyond their means. They must live in gimcrack suburban villas, and
"give parties." They must see what is going on at the theatres. Every
farthing is spent so soon as earned,--sometimes before. The husband does
not insure his life, and the wife runs into debt. If the man died
to-morrow, he would leave his wife and children paupers. The money he
ought to have saved during his life of toil, is spent on
"respectability;" and if he leaves a few pounds behind him, they are
usually spent in giving the thriftless husband a respectable funeral.

"Is that dress paid for?" asked a husband. "No." "Then you are allowing
yourself to be clothed at another man's expense!" No woman is justified
in running into debt for a dress, without her husband's knowledge and
consent. If she do so, she is clothing herself at the expense of the
draper. This is one of the things that worry a man who is trying to keep
his head above water; and it is often sufficient to turn his heart
against his wife and her extravagances. It is in this way that incomes
are muddled away, and that life is rendered the scene of bitterness and
discontent. This is especially the case when both husband and wife are
alike spendthrifts.

By running into debt yourself, or by your allowing your wife to run into
debt, you give another person power over your liberty. You cannot
venture to look your creditor in the face. A double knock at the door
frightens you: the postman may be delivering a lawyer's letter demanding
the amount you owe. You are unable to pay it, and make a sneaking
excuse. You invent some pretence for not paying. At length you are
driven to downright lying. For "lying rides on debt's back."

What madness it is to run in debt for superfluities! We buy fine
articles--finer than we can pay for. We are offered six months'--twelve
months' credit! It is the shopkeeper's temptation; and we fall before
it. We are too spiritless to live upon our own earnings; but must
meanwhile live upon others'. The Romans regarded their servants as their
enemies. One might almost regard modern shopkeepers in the same light.
By giving credit, by pressing women to buy fine clothes, they place the
strongest temptation before them. They inveigle the wives of men who are
disposed to be honest into debt, and afterwards send in untruthful
bills. They charge heavier prices, and their customers pay
them,--sometimes doubly pay them; for it is impossible to keep a proper
check upon long-due accounts.

Professor Newman's advice is worthy of being followed. "Heartily do I
wish," he says, "that shop debts were pronounced after a certain day
irrecoverable at law. The effect would be that no one would be able to
ask credit at a shop except where he was well known, and for trifling
sums. All prices would sink to the scale of cash prices. The
dishonourable system of fashionable debtors, who always pay too late, if
at all, and cast their deficiencies on other customers in the form of
increased charges, would be at once annihilated. Shopkeepers would be
rid of a great deal of care, which ruins the happiness of thousands."[1]

[Footnote 1: _Lectures on Political Economy_, p. 255.]

A perfect knowledge of human nature is in the prayer, "Lead us not into
temptation." No man and no woman ever resists temptation after it has
begun to be temptation. It is in the outworks of the habits that the
defence must lie. The woman who hesitates to incur a debt which she
ought not to incur, is lost. The clerk or apprentice who gloats over his
master's gold, sooner or later appropriates it. He does so when he has
got over the habitual feeling which made any approach to it an
impossibility. Thus the habits which insinuate themselves into the
thousand inconsiderable acts of life, constitute a very large part of
man's moral conduct.

This running into debt is a great cause of dishonesty. It does not
matter what the debt is, whether it be for bets unsettled, for losses by
cards, for milliners' or drapers' bills unpaid. Men who have been well
educated, well trained, and put in the way of earning money honestly,
are often run away with by extravagances, by keeping up appearances, by
betting, by speculation and gambling, and by the society of the
dissolute of both sexes.

The writer of this book has had considerable experience of the manner in
which young men have been led from the way of well-doing into that of
vice and criminality. On one occasion his name was forged by a clerk, to
enable him to obtain a sum of money to pay the debts incurred by him at
a public-house. The criminal was originally a young man of good
education, of reasonable ability, well-connected, and married to a
respectable young lady. But all his relatives and friends were
forgotten--wife and child and all--in his love for drink and
card-playing. He was condemned, and sentenced to several years'
imprisonment.

In another case the defaulter was the son of a dissenting minister. He
stole some valuable documents, which he converted into money. He
escaped, and was tracked. He had given out that he was going to
Australia, by Southampton. The Peninsular and Oriental steamer was
searched, but no person answering to his description was discovered.
Some time passed, when one of the Bank of England notes which he had
carried away with him, was returned to the Bank from Dublin. A detective
was put upon his track; he was found in the lowest company, brought back
to London, tried, and sentenced to twelve months' imprisonment.

In another case, the criminal occupied a high position in a railway
company,--so high that he was promoted from it to be Manager of the
Royal Swedish Railway. He was one of the too numerous persons who are
engaged in keeping up appearances, irrespective of honesty, morality, or
virtue. He got deeply into debt, as most of such people do; and then he
became dishonest. He became the associate of professional thieves. He
abstracted a key from the office of which he was in charge, and handed
it to a well-known thief. This was the key of the strong box in which
gold and silver were conveyed by railway from London to Paris. A cast of
the key was taken in wax, and it was copied in iron. It was by means of
this key that "The Great Gold Robbery" was effected. After some time the
thieves were apprehended, and the person who had stolen the key--the
keeper-up of appearances, then Manager of the Royal Swedish Railway--was
apprehended, convicted, and sentenced by Baron Martin to Transportation
for Life.

The Rev. John Davis, the late Chaplain of Newgate, published the
following among other accounts of the causes of crime among the
convicted young men who came under his notice:--

"I knew a youth, the child of an officer in the navy, who had served his
country with distinction, but whose premature death rendered his widow
thankful To receive an official appointment for her delicate boy in a
Government office. His income from the office was given faithfully to
his mother; and it was a pleasure and a pride to him to gladden her
heart by the thought that he was helping her. She had other
children--two little girls, just rising from the cradle to womanhood.
Her scanty pension and his salary made every one happy. But over this
youth came a love of dress. He had not strength of mind to see how much
more truly beautiful a pure mind is, than a finely decorated exterior.
He took pleasure in helping his mother and sisters, but did not take
greater pleasure in thinking that to do this kindness to them he must be
contented for a time to dress a little worse than his fellow-clerks; his
clothes might appear a little worn, but they were like the spot on the
dress of a soldier arising from the discharge of duty; they were no
marks of undue carelessness; necessity had wrought them; and while they
indicated necessity, they marked also the path of honour, and without
such spots duty must have been neglected. But this youth did not think
of such great thoughts as these. He felt ashamed at his threadbare but
clean coat. The smart, new-shining dress of other clerks mortified
him.... He wanted to appear finer. In an evil hour he ordered a suit of
clothes from a fashionable tailor. His situation and connections
procured him a short credit. But tradesmen must be paid, and he was
again and again importuned to defray his debt. To relieve himself of his
creditor he stole a letter containing a £10 note. His tailor was paid,
but the injured party knew the number of the note. It was traced to the
tailor, by him to the thief, with the means and opportunity of stealing
it, and in a few days he was transported. His handsome dress was
exchanged for the dress of a convict. Better by far would it have been
for him to have worn his poorer garb, with the marks of honest labour
upon it. He formed only another example of the intense folly of love of
dress, which, exists quite as much amongst foolish young men as amongst
foolish young women."

When Sir Charles Napier left India, he issued an order to the Army, in
which he reproved the officers for contracting debts without the
prospect of paying them. The Commander-in-Chief found that he was
subject to constant complaints against officers for non-payment of
debts; and in some cases he found that the ruin of deserving and
industrious tradesmen had been consequent on that cause. This growing
vice he severely reprimanded, as being derogatory to the character of
the gentleman, as a degrading thing, as entitling those who practised it
to "group with the infamous, with those who are cheats, and whose
society is contamination." He strongly urged them to stick to their
duties, to reprobate extravagance and expense of all sorts, and to
practise rigid economy; for "to drink unpaid-for champagne and
unpaid-for beer, and to ride unpaid-for horses, is to be a cheat and not
a gentleman."

The extravagance of these young "gentlemen" in India is, in too many
respects, but a counterpart of the extravagance of our young "gentlemen"
at home. The revelations of extravagances at Oxford and Cambridge point
to the school in which they have learnt their manners. Many worthy
parents have been ruined by the sons whom they had sent thither to be
made scholars of; but who have learnt only to be "gentlemen" in the
popular acceptation of the word. To be a "gentleman" nowadays, is to be
a gambler, a horse-racer, a card-player, a dancer, a hunter, a
_roué_,--or all combined. The "gentleman" lives fast, spends fast,
drinks fast, dies fast. The old style of gentleman has degenerated into
a "gent" and a "fast" man. "Gentleman" has become disreputable; and when
it is now employed, it oftener signifies an idle spendthrift, than an
accomplished, virtuous, laborious man.

Young men are growing quite shameless about being in debt; and the
immorality extends throughout society. Tastes are becoming more
extravagant and luxurious, without the corresponding increase of means
to enable them to be gratified. But they are gratified, nevertheless;
and debts are incurred, which afterwards weigh like a millstone round
the neck. Extravagant habits, once formed and fostered, are very
difficult to give up. The existing recklessness of running into debt
without the prospect, often without even the intention, of paying the
debt, saps the public morals, and spreads misery throughout the middle
and upper classes of society. The tone of morality has sunk, and it will
be long before it is fairly recovered again.

In the mean time, those who can, ought to set their faces against all
expenditure where there are not sufficient means to justify it. The
safest plan is, to run up no bills, and never to get into debt; and the
next is, if one does get into debt, to get out of it again as quickly as
possible. A man in debt is not his own master: he is at the mercy of the
tradesmen he employs. He is the butt of lawyers, the byword of
creditors, the scandal of neighbours; he is a slave in his own house;
his moral character becomes degraded and defiled; and even his own
household and family regard him with pity akin to contempt.

Montaigne said, "I always feel a pleasure in paying my debts, because I
discharge my shoulders of a wearisome load and of an image of slavery."
Johnson might well call Economy the mother of Liberty. No man can be
free who is in debt. The inevitable effect of debt is not only to injure
personal independence, but, in the long run, to inflict moral
degradation. The debtor is exposed to constant humiliations. Men of
honourable principles must be disgusted by borrowing money from persons
to whom they cannot pay it back;--disgusted with drinking wine, wearing
clothes, and keeping up appearances, with other people's money. The Earl
of Dorset, like many other young nobles, became involved in debt, and
borrowed money upon his property. He was cured of his prodigality by the
impertinence of a city alderman, who haunted his antechamber for the
purpose of dunning him for his debt. From that day the Earl determined
to economize, to keep entirely out of everybody's debt,--and he kept his
word.

Let every man have the fortitude to look his affairs in the face,--to
keep an account of his items of income and debts, no matter how long or
black the list may be. He must know how he stands from day to day, to be
able to look the world fairly in the face. Let him also inform his wife,
if he has one, how he stands with the world. If his wife be a prudent
woman, she will help him to economize his expenditure, and enable him to
live honourably and honestly. No good wife will ever consent to wear
clothes and give dinners that belong not to her, but to her shopkeeper.

The knowledge of arithmetic is absolutely necessary to those who would
live within their means. Women are especially ignorant of arithmetic;
they are scarcely taught the simplest elements, for female teachers
think the information useless. They prefer to teach languages, music,
deportment, the use of the globes. All these may be important, but the
first four rules of arithmetic are better than all. How can they compare
their expenditure with their receipts, without the knowledge of addition
and subtraction? How can they know precisely what to spend in rent, or
clothing, or food, or for service, unless they know the value of
figures? How can they check the accounts of their tradesmen or their
servants? This want of knowledge of arithmetic is the cause, not only of
great waste, but of great misery. Many a family of good position has
fallen into destitution merely because of their ignorance of this branch
of knowledge.

Young people often rush into marriage without reflection. A young man
meets a pretty face in a ball-room, likes it, dances with it, flirts
with it, and goes home to dream about it. At length he falls in love
with it, courts it, marries it, and then he takes the pretty face home,
and begins to know something more about it. All has as yet been "very
jolly." The face has hitherto been charming, graceful, artless, and
beautiful. It has now to enter upon another sphere of life. It has to be
seen much closer; it has to be seen daily; and it has to begin
housekeeping.

Most newly married people require some time to settle quietly down
together. Even those whose married life has been the happiest, arrive at
peace and repose through a period of little struggles and bewilderments.
The husband does not all at once find his place, nor the wife hers. One
of the very happiest women we know has told us, that the first year of
her married life was the most uncomfortable of all. She had so much to
learn--was so fearful of doing wrong--and had not yet found her proper
position. But, feeling their way, kind and loving natures will have no
difficulty in at last settling down comfortably and peacefully together.

It was not so with the supposed young man and his pretty "face." Both
entered upon their new life without thinking; or perhaps with
exaggerated expectations of its unalloyed happiness. They could not make
allowances for lovers subsiding into husband and wife; nor were they
prepared for the little ruffles and frettings of individual temper; and
both felt disappointed. There was a relaxation of the little attentions
which are so novel and charming to lovers. Then the pretty face, when
neglected, found relief in tears.

There is nothing of which men tire sooner, especially when the tears are
about trifles. Tears do not in such cases cause sympathy, but breed
repulsion. They occasion sourness, both on the one side and the other.
Tears are dangerous weapons to play with. Were women to try kindness and
cheerfulness instead, how infinitely happier would they be. Many are the
lives that are made miserable by an indulgence in fretting and carking,
until the character is indelibly stamped, and the rational enjoyment of
life becomes next to a moral impossibility.

Mental qualities are certainly admirable gifts in domestic life. But
though they may dazzle and delight, they will not excite love and
affection to anything like the same extent as a warm and happy heart.
They do not wear half so well, and do not please half so much. And yet
how little pains are taken to cultivate the beautiful quality of good
temper and happy disposition! And how often is life, which otherwise
might have been blessed, embittered and soured by the encouragement of
peevish and fretful habits, so totally destructive of everything like
social and domestic comfort! How often have we seen both men and women
set themselves round about as if with bristles, so that no one dared to
approach them without the fear of being pricked. For want of a little
occasional command over one's temper, an amount of misery is occasioned
in society which is positively frightful. Thus is enjoyment turned into
bitterness, and life becomes like a journey barefooted, amongst
prickles, and thorns, and briars.

In the instance we have cited, the pretty face soon became forgotten.
But as the young man had merely bargained for the "face"--as it was that
to which he had paid his attentions--that which he had vowed to love,
honour, and protect.--when it ceased to be pretty, he began to find out
that he had made a mistake. And if the home be not made attractive,--if
the newly married man finds that it is only an indifferent
boarding-house,--he will gradually absent himself from it. He will stay
out in the evenings, and console himself with cigars, cards, politics,
the theatre, the drinking club; and the poor pretty face will then
become more and more disconsolate, hopeless, and miserable.

Perhaps children grow up; but neither husband nor wife know much about
training them, or keeping them healthy. They are regarded as toys when
babies, dolls when boys and girls, drudges when young men and women.
There is scarcely a quiet, happy, hearty hour spent during the life of
such a luckless couple. Where there is no comfort at home, there is only
a succession of petty miseries to endure. Where there is no
cheerfulness,--no disposition to accommodate, to oblige, to sympathize
with one another,--affection gradually subsides on both sides.

It is said, that "When poverty comes in at the door, loves flies out at
the window." But it is not from poor men's houses only that love flies.
It flies quite as often from the homes of the rich, where there is a
want of loving and cheerful hearts. This little home might have been
snug enough; with no appearance of want about it; rooms well furnished;
cleanliness pervading it; the table well supplied; the fire burning
bright; and yet without cheerfulness. There wanted the happy faces,
radiant with contentment and good humour. Physical comfort, after all,
forms but a small part of the blessings of a happy home. As in all other
concerns of life, it is the moral state which determines the weal or woe
of the human condition.

Most young men think very little of what has to follow courtship and
marriage. They think little of the seriousness of the step. They forget
that when the pledge has once been given, there is no turning back, The
knot cannot be untied. If a thoughtless mistake has been made, the
inevitable results will nevertheless follow. The maxim is current, that
"marriage is a lottery." It may be so if we abjure the teachings of
prudence--if we refuse to examine, inquire, and think--if we are content
to choose a husband or a wife, with less reflection than we bestow upon
the hiring of a servant, whom we can discharge any day--if we merely
regard attractions of face, of form, or of purse, and give way to
temporary impulse or to greedy avarice--then, in such cases, marriage
does resemble a lottery, in which you _may_ draw a prize, though there
are a hundred chances to one that you will only draw a blank.

But we deny that marriage has any necessary resemblance to a lottery.
When girls are taught wisely how to love, and what qualities to esteem
in a companion for life, instead of being left to gather their stock of
information on the subject from the fictitious and generally false
personations given to them in novels; and when young men accustom
themselves to think of the virtues, graces, and solid acquirements
requisite in a wife, with whom they are to spend their days, and on
whose temper and good sense the whole happiness of their home is to
depend, then it will be found that there is very little of the "lottery
" in marriage; and that, like any concern of business or of life, the
man or woman who judges and acts wisely, with proper foresight and
discrimination, will reap the almost certain consequences in a happy and
prosperous future. True, mistakes may be made, and will be made, as in
all things human; but nothing like the grievous mistake of those who
stake their happiness in the venture of a lottery.

Another great point is, to be able to say No on proper occasions. When
enticements allure, or temptations assail, say No at once, resolutely
and determinedly. "No; I can't" afford it." Many have not the moral
courage to adopt this course. They consider only their selfish
gratification. They are unable to practise self-denial. They yield, give
way, and "enjoy themselves." The end is often defalcation, fraud, and
ruin. What is the verdict of society in such cases? "The man has been
living beyond his means." Of those who may have been entertained by him,
not one of them will thank him, not one of them will pity him, not one
of them will help him.

Every one has heard of the man who couldn't say No. He was everybody's
friend but his own. His worst enemy was himself. He ran rapidly through
his means, and then called upon his friends for bonds, bails, and
"promises to pay." After spending his last guinea, he died in the odour
of harmless stupidity and folly.

His course in life seemed to be directed by the maxim of doing for
everybody what everybody asked him to do. Whether it was that his heart
beat responsive to every other heart, or that he did not like to give
offence, could never be ascertained; but certain it is, that he was
rarely asked to sign a requisition, to promise a vote, to lend money, or
to endorse a bill, that he did not comply. He couldn't say "No;" and
there were many who knew him well, who said he had not the moral courage
to do so.

His father left him a snug little fortune, and he was at once beset by
persons wanting a share of it. Now was the time to say "No," if he
could; but he couldn't. His habit of yielding had been formed; he did
not like to be bored; could not bear to refuse; could not stand
importunity; and almost invariably yielded to the demands made upon his
purse. While his money lasted, he had no end of friends. He was a
universal referee--everybody's bondsman. "Just sign me this little bit
of paper," was a request often made to him by particular friends, "What
is it?" he would mildly ask; for, with all his simplicity, he prided
himself upon his caution! Yet he never refused. Three months after, a
bill for a rather heavy amount would fall due, and who should be called
upon to make it good but everybody's friend--the man who couldn't say
"No."

At last a maltster, for whom he was bondsman--a person with whom he had
only a nodding acquaintance--suddenly came to a stand in his business,
ruined by heavy speculations in funds and shares; when the man who
couldn't say "No" was called upon to make good the heavy duties due to
the Crown. It was a heavy stroke, and made him a poor man. But he never
grew wise. He was a post against which every needy fellow came and
rubbed himself; a tap, from which every thirsty soul could drink; a
flitch, at which every hungry dog had a pull; an ass, on which every
needy rogue must have his ride; a mill, that ground everybody's corn but
his own; in short, a "good-hearted fellow," who couldn't for the life of
him say "No."

It is of great importance to a man's peace and well-being that he should
be able to say "No" at the right time. Many are ruined because they
cannot or will not say it. Vice often gains a footing within us, because
we will not summon up the courage to say "No." We offer ourselves too
often as willing sacrifices to the fashion of the world, because we have
not the honesty to pronounce the little word. The duellist dares not say
"No," for he would be "cut." The beauty hesitates to say it, when a rich
blockhead offers her his hand, because she has set her ambition on an
"establishment." The courtier will not say it, for he must smile and
promise to all.

When pleasure tempts with its seductions, have the courage to say "No"
at once. The little monitor within will approve the decision; and virtue
will become stronger by the act. When dissipation invites, and offers
its secret pleasures, boldly say "No." If you do not, if you acquiesce
and succumb, virtue will have gone from you, and your self-reliance will
have received a fatal shock. The first time may require an effort; but
strength will grow with use. It is the only way of meeting temptations
to idleness, to self-indulgence, to folly, to bad custom, to meet it at
once with an indignant "No." There is, indeed, great virtue in a "No,"
when pronounced at the right time.

A man may live beyond his means until he has nothing left. He may die in
debt, and yet "society" does not quit its hold of him until he is laid
in his grave. He must be buried as "society" is buried. He must have a
fashionable funeral. He must, to the last, bear witness to the power of
Mrs. Grundy. It is to please her, that the funeral cloaks, hatbands,
scarves, mourning coaches, gilded hearses, and processions of mutes are
hired. And yet, how worthless and extravagant is the mummery of the
undertaker's grief; and the feigned woe of the mutes, saulies, and plume
bearers, who are paid for their day's parade!

It is not so much among the wealthy upper classes that the mischiefs of
this useless and expensive mummery are felt, as amongst the middle and
working classes. An expensive funeral is held to be "respectable."
Middle-class people, who are struggling for front places in society,
make an effort to rise into the region of mutes and nodding plumes; and,
like their "betters," they are victimised by the undertakers. These fix
the fashion for the rest; "we must do as Others do;" and most people
submit to pay the tax. They array themselves, friends, and servants, in
mourning; and a respectable funeral is thus purchased.

The expenditure falls heavily upon a family, at a time when they are the
least able to bear it. The bread-winner has been taken away, and
everything is left to the undertaker. How is a wretched widow in the
midst of her agony, or how are orphan children, deprived of the
protecting hand of a parent, to higgle with a tradesman about the
cheapening of mourning suits, black gloves, weepers, and the other
miserable "trappings of woe"? It is at such a moment, when in thousands
of cases every pound and every shilling is of consequence to the
survivors, that the little ready money they can scrape together is
lavished, without question, upon a vulgar and extravagant piece of
pageantry. Would not the means which have been thus foolishly expended
in paying an empty honour to the dead, be much better applied in being
used for the comfort and maintenance of the living?

The same evil propagates itself downwards in society. The working
classes suffer equally with the middle classes, in proportion to their
means. The average cost of a tradesman's funeral in England is about
fifty pounds; of a mechanic, or labourer, it ranges from five pounds to
ten pounds. In Scotland funeral expenses are considerably lower. The
desire to secure respectable interment for departed relatives, is a
strong and widely-diffused feeling among the labouring population; and
it does them honour. They will subscribe for this purpose, when they
will for no other. The largest of the working-men's clubs are burial
clubs. Ten pounds are usually allowed for the funeral of a husband, and
five pounds for the funeral of a wife. As much as fifteen, twenty,
thirty, and even forty pounds, are occasionally expended on a mechanic's
funeral, in cases where the deceased has been a member of several clubs,
on which occasions the undertakers meet and "settle" between them their
several shares in the performance of the funeral. It is not unusual to
insure a child's life in four or five of these burial clubs; and we have
heard of a case where one man had insured payments in no fewer than
nineteen different burial clubs in Manchester!

When the working-man, in whose family a death has occurred, does not
happen to be a member of a burial club, he is still governed by their
example, and has to tax himself seriously to comply with the usages of
society, and give to his wife or child a respectable funeral. Where it
is the father of the family himself who has died, the case is still
harder. Perhaps all the savings of his life are spent in providing
mourning for his wife and children at his death. Such an expense, at
such a time, is ruinous, and altogether unjustifiable.

Does putting on garments of a certain colour constitute true mourning?
Is it not the heart and the affections that mourn, rather than the
outside raiment? Bingham, in speaking of the primitive Christians, says
that "they did not condemn the notion of going into a mourning habit for
the dead, nor yet much approve of it, but left it to all men's liberty
as an indifferent thing, rather commending those that either omitted it
wholly, or in short laid it aside again, as acting more according to the
bravery and philosophy of a Christian."

John Wesley directed, in his will, that six poor men should have twenty
shillings each for carrying his body to the grave,--"For," said he, "I
particularly desire that there may be no hearse, no coach, no
escutcheon, no pomp, except the tears of those that loved me, and are
following me to Abraham's bosom. I solemnly adjure my executors, in the
name of God, punctually to observe this."

It will be very difficult to alter the mourning customs of our time. We
may anxiously desire to do so, but the usual question will occur--"What
will people say?" "What will the world say?" We involuntarily shrink
back, and play the coward like our neighbours. Still, common sense,
repeatedly expressed, will have its influence; and, in course of time,
it cannot fail to modify the fashions of society The last act of Queen
Adelaide, by which she dispensed with the hired mummery of undertakers'
grief,--and the equally characteristic request of Sir Robert Peel on his
deathbed, that no ceremony, nor pomp, should attend his last
obsequies,--cannot fail to have their due effect upon the fashionable
world; and through them, the middle classes, who are so disposed to
imitate them in all things, will in course of time benefit by their
example. There is also, we believe, a growing disposition on the part of
the people at large to avoid the unmeaning displays we refer to; and it
only needs the repeated and decided expression of public opinion, to
secure a large measure of beneficial reform in this direction.

Societies have already been established in the United States, the
members of which undertake to disuse mourning themselves, and to
discountenance the use of it by others. It is only, perhaps, by
association and the power of numbers that this reform is to be
accomplished; for individuals here and there could scarcely be expected
to make way against the deeply-rooted prejudices of the community at
large.




CHAPTER XIII.

GREAT DEBTORS.


"What would life be without arithmetic, but a scene of horrors? You are
going to Boulogne, the city of debts, peopled by men who never
understood arithmetic."--_Sydney Smith._

"Quand on doit et qu'on ne paye pas, c'est comme si on ne devait
pas."--_Araene Houssaye._

"Of what a hideous progeny is debt the father! What lies, what meanness,
what invasions on self-respect, what cares, what double-dealing! How in
due season it will carve the frank, open face into wrinkles: how like a
knife, it will stab the houeat heart."--_Douglas Jerrold_.

"The human species, according to the best theory I can form of it, is
composed of two distinct races, _the men who borrow and the men who
lend_. To these two original diversities may be reduced all those
impertinent classifications of Gothic and Celtic tribes, white men,
black men, red men, and such-like."--_Charles Lamb_.


People do not know what troubles they are brewing for themselves when
they run into debt. It does not matter for what the debt is incurred. It
hangs like a millstone round a man's neck until he is relieved of it. It
presses like a nightmare upon him. It hinders the well-being of his
family. It destroys the happiness of his household.

Even those who are in the regular receipt of large incomes, feel
crippled, often for years, by the incubus of debt. Weighed down by this,
what can a man do to save--to economise with a view to the future of his
wife and children? A man in debt is disabled from insuring his life,
from insuring his house and goods, from putting money in the bank, from
buying a house or a freehold. All his surplus gains must go towards the
payment of his debt.

Even men of enormous property, great lords with vast landed estates,
often feel themselves oppressed and made miserable by loads of debt.
They or their forefathers having contracted extravagant habits--a taste
for gambling, horseracing, or expensive living,--borrow money on their
estates, and the burden of debt remains. Not, perhaps, in the case of
strictly entailed estates--for the aristocracy have contrived so that
their debts shall be wiped out at their death, and they can thus gratify
their spendthrift tastes at the expense of the public--the estates going
comparatively unburdened to the entailed heir. But comparatively few are
in the position of the privileged classes. In the case of the majority,
the debts are inherited with the estates, and often the debts are more
than the estates are worth. Thus it happens that a large part of the
lands of England are at this moment the property of mortgagees and
money-lenders.

The greatest men have been in debt. It has even been alleged that
greatness and debt have a certain relation to each other. Great men have
great debts; they are trusted. So have great nations; they are
respectable, and have credit. Spiritless men have no debts, neither have
spiritless nations; nobody will trust them. Men as well as nations in
debt secure a widely extended interest. Their names are written in many
books; and many are the conjectures formed as to whether they will
pay--or not. The man who has no debts slips through the world
comparatively unnoticed; while he who is in everybody's books has all
eyes fixed upon him. His health is enquired after with interest; and if
he goes into foreign countries, his return is anxiously looked for.

The creditor is usually depicted as a severe man, with a hard visage;
while the debtor is an open-handed generous man, ready to help and
entertain everybody. He is the object of general sympathy. When
Goldsmith was dunned for his milk-score and arrested for the rent of his
apartments, who would think of pitying the milk-woman or the landlady?
It is the man in debt who is the prominent feature of the piece, and all
our sympathy is reserved for him. "What were you," asked Pantagruel of
Panurge, "without your debts? God preserve me from ever being without
them! Do you think there is anything divine in lending or in crediting
others? No! To owe is the true heroic virtue!"

Yet, whatever may be said in praise of Debt, it has unquestionably a
very seedy side. The man in debt is driven to resort to many sorry
expedients to live. He is the victim of duns and sheriff's officers. Few
can treat them with the indifference that Sheridan did, who put them
into livery to wait upon his guests. The debtor starts and grows pale at
every knock at his door. His friends grow cool, and his relatives shun
him. He is ashamed to go abroad, and has no comfort at home. He becomes
crabbed, morose, and querulous, losing all pleasure in life. He wants
the passport to enjoyment and respect--money; he has only his debts, and
these make him suspected, despised, and snubbed. He lives in the slough
of despond. He feels degraded in others' eyes as well as in his own. He
must submit to impertinent demands, which he can only put off by sham
excuses. He has ceased to be his own master, and has lost the
independent bearing of a man. He seeks to excite pity, and pleads for
time. A sharp attorney pounces on him, and suddenly he feels himself in
the vulture's gripe. He tries a friend or a relative, but all that he
obtains is a civil leer, and a cool repulse. He tries a money-lender;
and, if he succeeds, he is only out of the frying-pan into the fire. It
is easy to see what the end will be,--a life of mean shifts and
expedients, perhaps ending in the gaol or the workhouse.

Can a man keep out of debt? Is there a possibility of avoiding the moral
degradation which accompanies it? Could not debt be dispensed with
altogether, and man's independence preserved secure? There is only one
way of doing this; by "living within the means." Unhappily, this is too
little the practice in modern times. We incur debt, trusting to the
future for the opportunity of defraying it. We cannot resist the
temptation to spend money. One will have fine furniture and live in a
high-rented house; another will have wines and a box at the opera; a
third must give dinners and music-parties:--all good things in their
way, but not to be indulged in if they cannot be paid for. Is it not a
shabby thing to pretend to give dinners, if the real parties who provide
them are the butcher, the poulterer, and the wine-merchant, whom you are
in debt to, and cannot pay?

A man has no business to live in a style which his income cannot
support, or to mortgage his earnings of next week or of next year, in
order to live luxuriously to-day. The whole system of Debt, by means of
which we forestall and anticipate the future, is wrong. They are almost
as much to blame who give credit, and encourage customers to take
credit, as those are who incur debts. A man knows what his actual
position is, if he pays his way as he goes. He can keep within his
means, and so apportion his expenditure as to reserve a fund of savings
against a time of need. He is always balanced up; and if he buys nothing
but what he pays for in cash, he cannot fail to be on the credit side of
his household accounts at the year's end.

But once let him commence the practice of running up bills--one at the
tailor's, another at the dressmaker's and milliner's, another at the
butcher's, another at the grocer's, and so on,--and he never knows how
he stands. He is deceived into debt; the road is made smooth and
pleasant for him; things flow into the house, for which he does not seem
to pay. But they are all set down against him; and at the year's end,
when the bills come in, he is ready to lift up his hands in dismay. Then
he finds that the sweet of the honey will not repay for the smart of the
sting.

It is the same as respects the poorer classes. Not many years since,
Parliament passed a law facilitating the establishment of Small Loan
Societies, for the purpose of helping small tradesmen and poor people
generally to raise money on an emergency. The law was at once pounced
upon by the numerous race of Graballs, as a means of putting money in
their purse. They gave the working classes facilities for running into
debt, and for mortgaging their future industry. A few men, desirous of
making money, would form themselves into a Loan Club, and offer sums of
money ostensibly at five per cent, interest, repayable in weekly
instalments. The labouring people eagerly availed themselves of the
facility for getting into debt. One wanted money for a "spree," another
wanted money for a suit of clothes, a third for an eight-day clock, and
so on; and instead of saving the money beforehand, they preferred
getting the money from the Club, keeping themselves in difficulties and
poverty until the debt was paid off. Such a practice is worse than
living from hand to mouth: it is living upon one's own vitals.

It is easy to understand how the partners in the Loan Club made money.
Suppose that they advanced ten pounds for three months at five per cent.
It is repayable in weekly instalments at ten shillings a week,--the
repayments commencing the very first week after the advance has been
made. But though ten shillings are repaid weekly until the debt is wiped
off, interest at five per cent, is charged upon the whole amount until
the last instalment is paid off. So that, though the nominal interest is
five per cent., it goes on increasing until, during the last week, it
reaches the enormous rate of one hundred per cent.! This is what is
called "eating the calf in the cow's belly."

Men of genius are equally facile in running into debt. Genius has no
necessary connection with prudence or self-restraint, nor does it
exercise any influence over the common rules of arithmetic, which are
rigid and inflexible. Men of genius are often superior to what Bacon
calls "the wisdom of business." Yet Bacon himself did not follow his own
advice, but was ruined by his improvidence. He was in straits and
difficulties when a youth, and in still greater straits and difficulties
when a man. His life was splendid; but his excessive expenditure
involved him in debts which created a perpetual craving for money. One
day, in passing out to his antechambers, where his followers waited for
his appearance, he said, "Be seated, my masters; your rise has been my
fall." To supply his wants, Bacon took bribes, and was thereupon beset
by his enemies, convicted, degraded, and ruined.

Even men with a special genius for finance on a grand scale, may
completely break down in the management of their own private affairs.
Pitt managed the national finances during a period of unexampled
difficulty, yet was himself always plunged in debt. Lord Carrington, the
ex-banker, once or twice, at Mr. Pitt's request, examined his household
accounts, and found the quantity of butcher's meat charged in the bills
was one hundredweight a week. The charge for servants' wages, board
wages, living, and household bills, exceeded £2,300 a year. At Pitt's
death, the nation voted £40,000 to satisfy the demands of his creditors;
yet his income had never been less than £6,000 a year; and at one time,
with the Wardenship of the Cinque Ports, it was nearly £4,000 a year
more. Macaulay truly says that "the character of Pitt would have stood
higher if, with the disinterestedness of Pericles and De Witt, he had
united their dignified frugality."

But Pitt by no means stood alone. Lord Melville was as unthrifty in the
management of his own affairs, as he was of the money of the public. Fox
was an enormous ower, his financial maxim being that a man need never
want money if he was willing to pay enough for it. Fox called the outer
room at Almack's, where he borrowed on occasions from Jew lenders at
exorbitant premiums, his "Jerusalem Chamber." Passion for play was his
great vice, and at a very early age it involved him in debt to an
enormous amount. It is stated by Gibbon that on one occasion Fox sat
playing at hazard for twenty hours in succession, losing £11,000. But
deep play was the vice of high life in those days, and cheating was not
unknown. Selwyn, alluding to Fox's losses at play, called him Charles
the Martyr.

Sheridan was the hero of debt. He lived on it. Though he received large
sums of money in one way or another, no one knew what became of it, for
he paid nobody. It seemed to melt away in his hands like snow in summer.
He spent his first wife's fortune of £1,600 in a six weeks' jaunt to
Bath. Necessity drove him to literature, and perhaps to the stimulus of
poverty we owe "The Rivals," and the dramas which succeeded it. With his
second wife he obtained a fortune of £5,000, and with £15,000 which he
realized by the sale of Drury Lane shares, he bought an estate in
Surrey, from which he was driven by debt and duns. The remainder of his
life was a series of shifts, sometimes brilliant, but oftener degrading,
to raise money and evade creditors. Taylor, of the Opera-house, used to
say that if he took off his hat to Sheridan in the street, it would cost
him fifty pounds; but if he stopped to speak to him, it would cost a
hundred.

One of Sheridan's creditors came for his money on horseback." That is a
nice mare," said Sheridan. "Do you think so?" "Yes, indeed;--how does
she trot?" The creditor, flattered, told him he should see, and
immediately put the mare at full trotting pace, on which Sheridan took
the opportunity of trotting round the nearest corner. His duns would
come in numbers each morning, to catch him before he went out. They were
shown into the rooms on each side of the entrance hall. When Sheridan
had breakfasted, he would come down, and ask, "Are those doors all shut,
John?" and on being assured that they were, he marched out deliberately
between them.

He was in debt all round--to his milkman, his grocer, his baker, and his
butcher. Sometimes Mrs. Sheridan would be kept waiting for an hour or
more while the servants were beating up the neighbourhood for coffee,
butter, eggs, and rolls. While Sheridan was Paymaster of the Navy, a
butcher one day brought a leg of mutton to the kitchen. The cook took it
and clapped it in the pot to boil, and went upstairs for the money; but
not returning, the butcher coolly removed the pot lid, took out the
mutton, and walked away with it in his tray.[1] Yet, while living in
these straits, Sheridan, when invited with his son into the country,
usually went in two chaises and four--he in one, and his son Tom
following in the other.

[Footnote 1: Haydon--_Autobiography_, vol. ii., p. 104.]

The end of all was very sad. For some weeks before his death he was
nearly destitute of the means of subsistence. His noble and royal
friends had entirely deserted him. Executions for debt were in his
house, and he passed his last days in the custody of sheriffs' officers,
who abstained from conveying him to prison merely because they were
assured that to remove him would cause his immediate death.[2]

[Footnote 2: _Memoirs of the Life of Sir S. Romilly,_ vol. iii., p.
262.]

The Cardinal de Retz sold off everything to pay his debts, but he did
not recover his liberty. He described the perpetual anguish of the
debtor. He even preferred confinement in the Castle of Vincennes, to
being exposed to the annoyances of his creditors. Mirabeau's life was
one of perpetual debt; for he was a dreadful spendthrift. The only mode
by which his father could keep him out of scrapes, was by obtaining a
_lettre de cachet,_ and having him-safely imprisoned. Though Mirabeau
wielded the powers of the State, when he died he was so poor, or had
been so extravagant, that he was still indebted to the tailor for his
wedding suit.

Lamartine ran through half-a-dozen fortunes, and at the end of his life
was "sending round the hat." Lamartine boldly proclaimed that he hated
arithmetic, "that negative of every noble thought." He was accordingly
driven to very shabby shifts to live. The _Cours de Litterature_ alone
brought him in 200,000 francs a year, yet 'the money ran through his
hands like quicksilver. His debts are said to have amounted to three
millions of francs; yet his style of living remained unchanged. One of
his enthusiastic admirers, having stinted himself in subscribing towards
the repurchase of the Lamartine estates, went into a fishmonger's one
day to purchase a piece of turbot. It was too dear for his means. A
distinguished-looking personage entered, paused for a moment before the
turbot, and without questioning the price, ordered the fish to be sent
to his house. It was M. de Lamartine.

Webster, the American statesman, was afflicted with impecuniosity,
arising from his carelessness about money matters, as well as from his
extravagance. If we are to believe Theodore Parker, Webster, like Bacon,
took bribes. "He contracted debts and did not settle, borrowed and
yielded not again. Private money sometimes clove to his hands.... A
senator of the United States, he was pensioned by the manufacturers of
Boston. His later speeches smell of bribes." Monroe and Jefferson were
always in want of money, and often in debt; though they were both honest
men.

The life which public men lead nowadays, is often an incentive to
excessive expenditure. They may be men of moderate means; they may even
be poor; but not many of them moving in general society have the moral
courage to _seem_ to be so. To maintain their social position, they
think it necessary to live as others do. They are thus drawn into the
vortex of debt, and into all the troubles, annoyances, shabby shifts,
and dishonesties, which debt involves.

Men of science are for the most part exempt from the necessity of
shining in society; and hence they furnish but a small number of
instances of illustrious debtors. Many of them have been poor, but they
have usually lived within their means. Kepler's life was indeed a
struggle with poverty and debt; arising principally from the
circumstance of his salary, as principal mathematician to the Emperor of
Germany, having been always in arrear. This drove him to casting
nativities in order to earn a living. "I pass my time," he once wrote,
"in begging at the doors of crown treasurers." At his death he left only
twenty-two crowns, the dress he wore, two shirts, a few books, and many
manuscripts. Leibnitz left behind him a large amount of debt; but this
may have been caused by the fact that he was a politician as well as a
philosopher, and had frequent occasion to visit foreign courts, and to
mix on equal terms with the society of the great.

Spinoza was poor in means; yet inasmuch as what he earned by polishing
glasses for the opticians was enough to supply his wants, he incurred no
debts. He refused a professorship, and refused a pension, preferring to
live and die independent. Dalton had a philosophical disregard for
money. When his fellow-townsmen at Manchester once proposed to provide
him with an independence, that he might devote the rest of his life to
scientific investigation, he declined the offer, saying that "teaching
was a kind of recreation to him, and that if richer he would probably
not spend more time in his investigations than he was accustomed to do."
Faraday's was another instance of moderate means and noble independence.
Lagrange was accustomed to attribute his fame and happiness to the
poverty of his father, the astronomer royal of Turin. "Had I been rich,"
he said, "probably I should not have become a mathematician."

The greatest debtor connected with science was John Hunter, who expended
all his available means--and they were wholly earned by himself--in
accumulating the splendid collection now known as the Hunterian Museum.
All that he could collect in fees went to purchase new objects for
preparation and dissection, or upon carpenters' and bricklayers' work
for the erection of his gallery. Though his family were left in
straitened circumstances at his death, the sale of the collection to the
nation for £15,000 enabled all his debts to be paid, and at the same
time left an enduring monument to his fame.

Great artists have nearly all struggled into celebrity through poverty,
and some have never entirely emerged from it. This, however, has been
mainly because of their improvidence. Jan Steen was always in distress,
arising principally from the habit he had acquired of drinking his own
beer; for he was first a brewer, and afterwards a tavern-keeper. He
drank and painted alternately, sometimes transferring the drinking
scenes of which he had been a witness to the canvas, even while himself
in a state of intoxication. He died in debt, after which his pictures
rose in value, until now they are worth their weight in gold.

Notwithstanding the large income of Vandyck, his style of living was so
splendid and costly as to involve him in heavy debt. To repair his
fortunes, he studied alchemy for a time, in the hope of discovering the
philosopher's stone. But towards the end of his life he was enabled to
retrieve his position, and to leave a comfortable competency to his
widow. Rembrandt, on the other hand, involved himself in debt through
his love of art. He was an insatiable collector of drawings, armour, and
articles of _vertu_, and thus became involved in such difficulties that
he was declared a bankrupt. His property remained under legal control
for thirteen years, until his death.

The great Italian artists were for the most part temperate and moderate
men, and lived within their means. Haydon, in his Autobiography, says,
"Rafaelle, Michael Angelo, Zeuxis, Apelles, Rubens, Reynolds, Titian,
were rich and happy. Why? Because with their genius they combined
practical prudence." Haydon himself was an instance of the contrary
practice. His life was a prolonged struggle with difficulty and debt. He
was no sooner free from one obligation, than he was involved in another.
His "Mock Election" was painted in the King's Bench prison, while he lay
there for debt. There is a strange entry in his Journal: "I borrowed £10
to-day of my butterman, Webb, an old pupil of mine, recommended to me by
Sir George Beaumont twenty-four years ago, but who wisely, after drawing
hands, set up _a butter shop_, and was enabled to send his old master
£10 in his necessity." Haydon's Autobiography is full of his contests
with lawyers and sheriffs' officers. Creditors dogged and dunned him at
every step. "Lazarus's head," he writes, "was painted just after an
arrest; Eucles was finished from a man in possession; the beautiful face
in Xenophon in the afternoon, after a morning spent in begging mercy of
lawyers; and Cassandra's head was finished in agony not to be described,
and her hand completed after a broker's man in possession, in an
execution put in for taxes."[1]

[Footnote 1: Haydon--_Autobiography_, vol. ii., p. 400.]

Cowper used to say that he never knew a poet who was not thriftless; and
he included himself. Notwithstanding his quiet, retired life, he was
constantly outrunning the constable. "By the help of good management,"
he once wrote, "and a clear notion of economical matters, I contrived in
three months to spend the income of a twelvemonth." But though the
number of thriftless poets may be great, it must not be forgotten that
Shakespeare, who stands at the head of the list, was a prudent man. He
economized his means, and left his family in comfort. His contemporaries
were, however, for the most part indebted men. Ben Jonson was often
embarrassed, and always poor, borrowing twenty shillings at a time from
Henslowe; though he rarely denied himself another jolly night at the
"Mermaid." Massinger was often so reduced in circumstances as not to be
able to pay his score at the same tavern.

Greene, Peele, and Marlowe lived lives of dissipation, and died in
poverty. Marlowe was killed in a drunken brawl. When Greene was on his
deathbed, dying of the disease which his excesses had caused, he was
haunted by the debt of ten pounds which he owed to the shoemaker who had
lodged him. He then warned his friend Peele to amend his ways; but
Peele, like him, died in distress and debt, one of the last letters he
wrote being an imploring letter to Burleigh asking for relief,--"Long
sickness," said he, "having so enfeebled me as maketh bashfulness almost
impudency." Spenser died forsaken, and in want. Ben Jonson says of him
that "he died for lack of bread in King Street, and refused twenty broad
pieces sent to him by my lord of Essex," adding, "he was sorrie he had
no time to spend them."

Of later poets and literary men, Milton died in obscurity, though not in
debt. Lovelace died in a cellar. Butler, the author of "Hudibras," died
of starvation in Rose Alley, the same place in which Dryden was beaten
by hired ruffians. Otway was hunted by bailiffs to his last hiding-place
on Tower Hill. His last act was to beg a shilling of a gentleman, who
gave him a guinea; and buying a loaf to appease his hunger, he choked at
the first mouthful. Wycherley lay seven years in gaol for debt, but
lived to die in his bed at nearly eighty. Fielding's extravagance and
dissipation in early life involved him in difficulties which he never
entirely shook off, and his death was embittered by the poverty in which
he left his widow and child in a foreign land.

Savage had a pension of fifty pounds a year, which he usually spent in a
few days. It was then fashionable to wear scarlet cloaks trimmed with
gold lace; and Johnson one day met him, just after he had got his
pension, with one of these cloaks upon his back, while, at the same
time, his naked toes were sticking through his shoes. After living a
life of recklessness and dissipation, he died in prison, where he had
lain six months for debt. In concluding his "Life of Savage," Johnson
says: "This relation will not be wholly without its use, if those who,
in confidence of superior capacities or attainments, disregard the
common maxims of life, shall be reminded that nothing will supply the
want of prudence, and that negligence and irregularity, long continued,
will make knowledge useless, wit ridiculous, and genius contemptible."

Sterne died poor, if he did not die insolvent. At his death, a
subscription was got up for the support of his wife and daughter.
Churchill was imprisoned for debt, occasioned by his dissoluteness and
extravagance,--Cowper characterizing him as "spendthrift alike of money
and of wit." Chatterton, reduced to a state of starvation and despair,
poisoned himself in his eighteenth year. Sir Richard Steele was rarely
out of debt. In many respects he resembled Sheridan in temperament and
character. He was full of speculation, and was always on the point of
some grand stroke of luck, which was to make his fortune. He was
perpetually haunted by duns and bailiffs; yet he did not stint himself
of luxuries so long as he obtained credit. When appointed to the office
of Commissioner of Stamps, with a moderate income, he set up a carriage
with two and sometimes four horses; and he maintained two houses, one in
London, the other at Hampton. His means being altogether inadequate to
this style of living, he soon became drowned in greater debt than
before. He was repeatedly impounded by lawyers, and locked up in
sponging-houses. Executions were put into his houses; his furniture was
sold off; his wife wanted the commonest necessaries of life; and still
the pleasure-loving Steele maintained his equanimity and good temper.
Something great was always on the point of turning up in his favour. One
of his grandest schemes was that for bringing fish alive to the London
market; "and then," said he to his wife, "you will be better provided
for than any lady in England." But the good turn never came to Sir
Richard; and he died out at elbows on his wife's little property in
Wales.

Goldsmith was another of the happy-go-lucky debtors. He swam in debt. He
was no sooner out of it, than he was plunged into it again, deeper than
before. The first money he earned as a tutor--it was all the money he
had--was spent in buying a horse. His relations raised £50, and sent him
to the Temple to study law, but he got no farther than Dublin, where he
spent or gambled away all the money. Then he went to Edinburgh to study
medicine, and was forced to fly from it, having become surety for a
friend. He started on the tour of Europe without any money in his
pocket--with nothing but his flute; and he begged and played, until he
came back to England, as poor as he went. He himself used afterwards to
say that there was hardly a kingdom in Europe in which he was not a
debtor.[1]

[Footnote 1: FORSTER--_Life of Goldsmith_, ed. 1863, p. 41.]

Even when Goldsmith began to earn money freely, he was still in debt. He
gave away with one hand what he earned with the other. He was dunned for
his milk-score, arrested for rent, threatened by lawyers, but never
learnt the wisdom of economy. In the same month in which the second
edition of his "Vicar of Wakefield" was published, his bill of fifteen
guineas, drawn on Newbery, was returned dishonoured. When he was
figuring at Boswell's dinner in Old Bond Street in the "ratteen suit
lined with satin, and bloom-coloured silk breeches," the clothes
belonged to his tailor, and remained unpaid till his death.

Prosperity increased his difficulties rather than diminished them; the
more money he had, the more thoughtless and lavish was his expenditure.
He could refuse no indulgence, either to himself or others. He would
borrow a guinea and give it to a beggar. He would give the clothes off
his back, and the blankets off his bed. He could refuse nobody. To meet
his thoughtless expenditure, he raised money by promising to write books
which he never began. He was perpetually discounting to-morrow, and
mortgaging an estate already overburthened. Thus he died, as he had
begun, poor, embarrassed, and in debt. At his death he owed over two
thousand pounds: "Was ever poet," says Johnson, "so trusted before?"

The case of Goldsmith and others has been cited as instances of the
harsh treatment of genius by the world, and in proof of the social
disabilities of literary men and artists. It has been held that society
should be more indulgent to its men of genius, and that Government
should do something more for them than it now does. But nothing that
society or Government could do for men of genius would be likely to
prove of any service to them, unless they will do what other and less
gifted men do,--exhibit self-respect and practise ordinary economy. We
may pity poor Goldsmith, but we cannot fail to see that he was
throughout his own enemy. His gains were large, amounting to about
£8,000 in fourteen years; representing a much larger sum of money at the
present day. For his "History of the Earth and Animated Nature" he
received £850,--and the book was, at best, but a clever compilation.
Johnson said of him that "if he can tell a horse from a cow, that is the
extent of his knowledge of zoology." The representation of his
"Good-natured Man" produced him £500. And so on with his other works. He
was as successful as Johnson was; but then he had not Johnson's
sobriety, self-restraint, and self-respect.

Yet Goldsmith, in his thoughtful moments, knew the right path, though he
had not the courage to pursue it. In a letter to his brother Henry
respecting the career of his son, Goldsmith wrote: "Teach, my dear sir,
to your son, thrift and economy. Let his poor wandering uncle's example
be placed before his eyes. I had learned from books to be disinterested
and generous before I was taught from experience the necessity of being
prudent. I had contracted the habits and notions of a philosopher, while
I was exposing myself to the insidious approaches of cunning; and often
by being, even with my narrow finances, charitable to excess, I forgot
the rules of justice, and placed myself in the very situation of the
wretch who thanked me for my bounty."

Byron had scarcely reached manhood when he became involved in debt.
Writing to Mr. Becher, in his twentieth year, he said, "_Entre nous_, I
am cursedly dipped; my debts, everything inclusive, will be nine or ten
thousand before I am twenty-one." On his coming of age, the festivities
at Newstead were celebrated by means supplied by money-lenders at
enormously usurious rates of interest. His difficulties did not
diminish, but only increased with time. It is said that his mother's
death was occasioned by a fit of rage, brought on by reading the
upholsterer's bills.[1] When the first canto of "Childe Harold" was
published, Byron presented the copyright to Mr. Dallas, declaring that
he would never receive money for his writings,--a resolution which he
afterwards wisely abandoned. But his earnings by literature at that time
could not have lightened the heavy load of debt under which he
staggered. Newstead was sold, and still the load accumulated. Then he
married, probably in the expectation that his wife's fortune would
release him; but her money was locked up, and the step, instead of
relieving him, brought only an accession of misery. Every one knows the
sad result of the union; which was aggravated by the increasing assaults
of duns and sheriffs' officers.

[Footnote 1: MOORE--_Life of Byron_, ed. 1860. p. 127.]

Byron was almost driven to sell the copyright of his books, but he was
prevented from doing so by his publisher, who pressed upon him a sum of
money to meet his temporary wants. During the first year of his
marriage, his house was nine times in the possession of bailiffs, his
door was almost daily beset by duns, and he was only saved from gaol by
the privileges of his rank. All this, to a sensitive nature such as his,
must have been gall and bitterness; while his wife's separation from
him, which shortly followed, could not fail to push him almost to the
point of frenzy. Although he had declined to receive money for his first
poems, Byron altered his views, and even learnt to drive a pretty hard
bargain with his publisher.[1] But Moore does not, in his biography of
the poet, inform us whether he ever got rid, except by death, of his
grievous turmoil of debt.

[Footnote 1: "You offer 1,500 guineas for the new Canto [the fourth of
'Childe Harold']: I won't take it. I ask two thousand five hundred
guineas for it, which you will either give or not as you think
proper.... If Mr. Eustace was to have two thousand for a poem on
Education; if Mr. Moore is to have three thousand for Lalla; if Mr.
Campbell is to have three thousand for his prose or poetry.--I don't
mean to disparage these gentlemen or their labours.--but I ask the
aforesaid price for mine."--_Lord Byron to Mr. Murray_, Sept. 4th,
1817.]

There is the greatest difference in the manner in which men bear the
burden of debt. Some feel it to be no burden at all; others bear it very
lightly; whilst others look upon creditors in the light of persecutors,
and themselves in the light of martyrs. But where the moral sense is a
little more keen,--where men use the goods of others, without rendering
the due equivalent of money--where they wear unpaid clothes, eat unpaid
meat, drink unpaid wines, and entertain guests at the expense of the
butcher, grocer, wine-merchant, and greengrocer,--they must necessarily
feel that their conduct is of the essence, not only of shabbiness, but
of dishonesty, and the burden must then bear very heavily indeed.

Of light-hearted debtors, the proportion is considerable. Thus
Theophilus Cibber, when drowned in debt, begged the loan of a guinea,
and spent it on a dish of ortolans. Thus Foote when his mother wrote to
him--"Dear Sam, I am in prison for debt--come and help your loving
mother,"--replied, "Dear Mother, so am I, which prevents his duty being
paid to his loving mother by her affectionate son." Steele and Sheridan
both bore the load lightly. When entertaining company, they put the
bailiffs who were in possession in livery, and made them wait at table,
passing them off as servants. Nothing disturbed Steele's equanimity; and
when driven from London by debt, he carried his generosity into the
country, giving prizes to the lads and lasses assembled at rural games
and country dances. Sheridan also made very light of his debts, and had
many a good joke over them. Some one asked him how it was that the O'
was not prefixed to his name, when he replied that he was sure no family
had a better right to it, "for in truth, we _owe_ everybody." And when a
creditor once apologized for the soiled and tattered state of a bill,
which had been much worn by being so often presented, Sheridan advised
him "as a friend, to take it home and write it _upon parchment_."

Very different was it in the case of poor Burns, who was almost driven
distracted because he owed a debt of £7 4_s_. for a volunteer's uniform,
which he could not pay. He sent to his friend Thomson, the publisher of
his songs, imploring the loan of £5, promising full value in
"song-genius."[1] His last poem was a "love song," in part payment of
the loan, which he composed only a few days before his death.

[Footnote 1: "After all my boasted independence," he said, "curst
necessity compels me to implore you for five pounds. A cruel scoundrel
of a haberdasher, to whom I owe an account, taking it into his head that
I am dying, has commenced a process, and will infallibly put me in jail.
Do, for God's sake, send me that sum, and by return of post. Forgive me
this earnestness; but the horrors of a jail have made me half
distracted. I do not ask all this gratuitously: for upon returning
health I promise and engage to furnish you with five pounds' worth of
the neatest song-genius you have seen."--_Burns to Thomson_. 12th July,
1796. Burns died on the 21st of the same month.]

Sydney Smith had a severe struggle with poverty in the early part of his
life. He had a poor living, a wide parish, and a large family. His
daughter says that his debts occasioned him many sleepless nights, and
that she has seen him in an evening, when bill after bill has poured in
(carefully examining them, and gradually paying them off), quite
overcome by the feeling of the debt hanging over him, cover his face
with his hands, and exclaim, "Ah! I see I shall end my old age in a
gaol."[1] But he bore up bravely under the burden, labouring onward with
a cheerful heart, eking out his slender means by writing articles for
the _Edinburgh_, until at length promotion reached him, and he reaped
the reward of his perseverance, his industry, and his independence.

[Footnote 1: LADY HOLLAND--_Memoir of the Rev. Sydney Smith_, vol. i, p.
206.]

De Foe's life was a long battle with difficulty and debt. He was
constantly involved in broils, mostly of his own stirring up. He was a
fierce pamphleteer from his youth up; and was never for a moment at
rest, He was by turns a soldier with the Duke of Monmouth, a pantile
maker, a projector, a poet, a political agent, a novelist, an essayist,
a historian. He was familiar with the pillory, and spent much of his
time in gaol. When reproached by one of his adversaries with
mercenariness, he piteously declared how he had, "in the pursuit of
peace, brought himself into innumerable broils;" how he had been "sued
for other men's debts, and stripped naked by public opinion, of what
should have enabled him to pay his own;" how, "with a numerous family,
and with no helps but his own industry, he had forced his way, with
undiscouraged diligence, through a sea of debt and misfortune," and "in
gaols, in retreats, and in all manner of extremities, supported himself
without the assistance of friends and relations." Surely, there never
was such a life of struggle and of difficulty as that of the
indefatigable De Foe. Yet all his literary labours, and they were
enormous, did not suffice to keep him clear of debt, for it is believed
that he died insolvent.[2]

[Footnote 2: George Chalmers--_Life of De Foe,_ p. 92.]

Southey was, in his own line, almost as laborious a writer as De Foe;
though his was the closet life of the student, and not the aggressive
life of the polemic. Though he knew debt, it never became his master;
and from an early period in his career, he determined not to contract a
debt that he was not able to discharge. He was not only enabled to do
this, but to help his friends liberally--maintaining for a time the
families of his brothers-in-law, Coleridge and Lovell--by simply not
allowing himself any indulgences beyond his actual means, though these
were often very straitened. The burthen he carried would have borne down
a man less brave and resolute; but he worked, and studied, and wrote,
and earned money enough for all his own wants, as well as the wants of
those who had become dependent upon him. He held on his noble way
without a murmur or complaint. He not only liberally helped his
relatives, but his old schoolfellows, in distress. He took Coleridge's
wife and family to live with him, at a time when Coleridge had abandoned
himself to opium-drinking. To meet the numerous claims upon him, Southey
merely imposed upon himself so much extra labour. He was always ready
with good advice to young men who sought his help. Thus he encouraged
Kirke White, Herbert Knowles, and Dusantoy, all of whom died young and
full of promise. He not only helped them with advice and encouragement,
but with money; and his timely assistance rescued the sister of
Chatterton from absolute want. And thus he worked on nobly and
unselfishly to the last--finding happiness and joy in the pursuit of
letters--"not so learned as poor, not so poor as proud, not so proud as
happy." These were his own words.

The most touching story in Sir Walter Scott's life, is the manner in
which he conducted himself after the failure of the publishing house of
Constable and Co., with which he had become deeply involved. He had
built Abbotsford, become a laird, was sheriff of his county, and thought
himself a rich man; when suddenly the Constable firm broke down, and he
found himself indebted to the world more than a hundred thousand pounds.
"It is very hard," he said, when the untoward news reached him, "thus to
lose all the labour of a lifetime, and to be made a poor man at last.
But if God grant me health and strength for a few years longer, I have
no doubt that I shall redeem it all." Everybody thought him a ruined
man, and he almost felt himself to be so. But his courage never gave
way. When his creditors proposed to him a composition, his sense of
honour forbade his listening to them. "No, gentlemen," he replied; "Time
and I against any two." Though the debts had been contracted by others,
he had made himself legally responsible for them; and, strong in his
principle of integrity, he determined, if he could, to pay them off to
the last farthing. And he set himself to do it: but it cost him his
life.

He parted with his town house and furniture, delivered over his personal
effects to be held in trust for his creditors, and bound himself to
discharge a certain amount of his liabilities annually. This he did by
undertaking new literary works, some of them of great magnitude, the
execution of which, though they enabled him to discharge a large portion
of his debt, added but little to his reputation. One of his first tasks
was his "Life of Napoleon Buonaparte," in nine volumes, which he wrote,
in the midst of pain, sorrow, and ruin, in about thirteen
months,--receiving for it about fourteen thousand pounds. Even though
struck by paralysis, he went on writing until in about four years he had
discharged about two-thirds of the debt for which he was
responsible,--an achievement probably unparalleled in the history of
letters.

The sacrifices and efforts which he made during the last few years of
his life, even while paralyzed and scarcely able to hold his pen,
exhibit Scott in a truly heroic light. He bore up with unconquerable
spirit to the last. When his doctor expostulated with him against his
excessive brain-work, he replied, "If I were to be idle, I should go
mad: in comparison to this, death is no risk to shrink from." Shortly
before his last fatal attack, when sitting dozing in his chair on the
grass in front of the house at Abbotsford, he suddenly roused himself,
threw off the plaids which covered him, and exclaimed, "This is sad
idleness. Take me to my own room, and fetch the keys of my desk." They
wheeled him into his study, and put pens and paper before him. But he
could not grasp the pen; he could not write; and the tears rolled down
his cheeks. His spirit was not conquered, but his bodily powers were
exhausted and shattered; and when at length he died, he fell
asleep--like a child.

Scott felt, what every sensitive nature must feel, that poverty is a
much lighter burden to bear than debt. There is nothing ignominious
about poverty. It may even serve as a healthy stimulus to great spirits.
"Under gold mountains and thrones," said Jean Paul, "lie buried many
spiritual giants." Richter even held that poverty was to be welcomed, so
that it came not too late in life. And doubtless Scott's burden was all
the heavier to bear, because it came upon him in his declining years.

Shakespeare was originally a poor man: "It is a question," says Carlyle,
"whether, had not want, discomfort, and distress warrants been busy at
Stratford-on-Avon, Shakespeare had not lived killing calves or combing
wool! "To Milton's and Dryden's narrow means we probably owe the best
part of their works.

Johnson was a very poor man, and a very brave one. He never knew what
wealth was. His mind was always greater than his fortune; and it is the
mind that makes the man rich or poor, happy or miserable. Johnson's
gruff and bluff exterior covered a manly and noble nature. He had early
known poverty and debt, and wished himself clear of both. When at
college, his feet appeared through his shoes, but he was too poor to buy
new ones. His head was full of learning, but his pockets were empty. How
he struggled through distress and difficulty during his first years in
London the reader can learn from his "Life." He bedded and boarded for
fourpence-halfpenny a day, and when too poor to pay for a bed, he
wandered with Savage whole nights in the streets.[1] He struggled on
manfully, never whining at his lot, but trying to make the best of it.

[Footnote 1: "He said a man might live in a garret at eighteen-pence a
week; few people would inquire where he lodged; and if they did, it was
easy to say, 'Sir, I am to be found at such a place.' By spending
threepence in a coffee house, he might be for some hours every day in
very good company; he might dine for sixpence, breakfast on bread and
milk for a penny, and do without supper. On _clean-shirt day_ he went
abroad and paid visits." BOSWELL--_Life of Johnson_.]

These early sorrows and struggles of Johnson left their scars upon his
nature; but they also enlarged and enriched his experience, as well as
widened his range of human sympathy. Even when in his greatest distress
he had room in his heart for others whose necessities were greater than
his own; and he was never wanting in his help to those who needed it, or
were poorer than himself.

From his sad experience, no one could speak with greater authority on
the subject of debt than Johnson. "Do not accustom yourself," he wrote
to Boswell, "to consider debt only an inconvenience; you will find it a
calamity. Let it be your first care not to be in any man's debt.
Whatever you have, spend less. Frugality is not only the basis of quiet,
but of beneficence." To Simpson, the barrister, he wrote, "Small debts
are like small shot; they are rattling on every side, and can scarcely
be escaped without a wound: great debts are like cannon, of loud noise,
but little danger. You must therefore be enabled to discharge petty
debts, that you may have leisure, with security to struggle with the
rest." "Sir," said he to the patient and receptive Boswell, "get as much
peace of mind as you can, and keep within your income, and you won't go
far wrong."

Men who live by their wits, their talents, or their genius, have,
somehow or other, acquired the character of being improvident. Charles
Nodier, writing about a distinguished genius, said of him--"In the life
of intelligence and art, he was an angel; in the common practical life
of every day, he was a child." The same might be said of many great
writers and artists. The greatest of them have been so devoted--heart
and soul--to their special work, that they have not cared to think how
the efforts of their genius might be converted into pounds, shillings,
and pence. Had they placed the money consideration first, probably the
world would not have inherited the products of their genius. Milton
would not have laboured for so many years at his "Paradise Lost," merely
for the sake of the five pounds for which he sold the first edition to
the publisher. Nor would Schiller have gone on toiling for twenty years
up to the topmost pinnacles of thought, merely for the sake of the bare
means of living which he earned by his work.

At the same time, men of genius should not disregard the common rules of
arithmetic. If they spend more than they earn, they will run into debt.
Nor will complaining of the harshness of the world keep them out of it.
They have to stand or fall on their merits as men, and if they are not
provident they will suffer the same consequences as others. Thackeray,
in painting the character of Captain Shandon, in his "Pendennis," gave
considerable offence to the literary profession; yet he only spoke the
truth. "If a lawyer," said he, "or a soldier, or a parson, outruns his
income, and does not pay his bills, he must go to gaol; and an author
must go too."

Literary men are not neglected because they are literary men. But they
have no right to expect that society will overlook their social offences
because they are literary men. It is necessary for the world's sake, as
well as for their own sake, that literary men and artists should take
care to "provide against the evil day" like other people. "Imagination
and art," says Madame de Staël, "have need to look after their own
comfort and happiness in this world." The world ought to help them
generously; all good men ought to help them; but what is better than
all, they ought to help themselves.




CHAPTER XIV.

RICHES AND CHARITY.


 "Who--who--who's here
 I, Robert of Doncaster.
 That I spent, that I had;
 That I gave, that I have;
 That I left, that I lost."
        _Epitaph_, A.D. 1579.

"If thou art rich, thou art poor;
For, like an ass, whose back with ingots bows
Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey
And death unloads thee."--_Shakespeare_.

"II est bon d'être charitable,
 Mais envers qui? C'est là le point."--_La Fontaine_.

"There are many idlers to whom a penny begged is sweeter than a shilling
earned."--_Douglas Jerrold_.

"He stole a pig, and in God's name gave the trotters to the
poor."--_From the Spanish._


Man must be thrifty in order to be generous. Thrift does not end with
itself, but extends its benefits to others. It founds hospitals, endows
charities, establishes colleges, and extends educational influences.
Benevolence springs from the best qualities of the mind and heart. Its
divine spirit elevates the benefactors of the world--the Howards,
Clarksons, and Naviers--to the highest pedestals of moral genius and of
national worship.

The same feeling pervades our common humanity. The poorest man, the
daily worker, the obscurest individual, shares the gift and the blessing
of doing good--a blessing that imparts no less delight to him who gives
than to him who receives.

"Man is dear to man; the poorest poor
Long for some moments, in a weary life,
When they can know and feel that they have been
Themselves the fathers and the dealers-out
Of some small blessings; have been kind to such
As needed kindness, for this single cause,
That we have all of us one human heart."

The duty of helping the helpless is one that speaks trumpet-tongued; but
especially to those who profess love to God and goodwill to men. It is a
duty that belongs to men as individuals, and as members of the social
body. As individuals, because we are enjoined to help the widow and the
fatherless in their affliction; and as members of the social body,
because society claims of every man that he shall be a helper in the
cause of progress and of social well-being.

It is not necessary that men should be rich, to be helpful to others.
John Pounds was not a rich man; yet by his influence Ragged Schools were
established. He was temperate, and saved enough from his earnings to buy
food for his pupils. He attracted them by his kindness, sometimes by a
"hot potato;" he taught them, and sent them out into the world,
fortified by his good example, to work in it, and do their duty towards
it. Nor was Robert Raikes, the founder of Sunday and other schools, a
rich man; neither was Thomas Wright, the prison philanthropist. Nor were
St. Vincent de Paul and Father Mathew--the promoters of education and
temperance. Nor were the great men of science--Newton, Watt, and
Faraday; nor the great missionaries--Xavier, Martyn, Carey, and
Livingstone.

A fine instance of gentleness and generosity is recorded in Walton's
memoir of Dr. Donne. When the latter, long straitened in his means, had
entered upon the Deanery of St. Paul's, and was thereby provided with an
income more than sufficient for all his wants, he felt that those means
had been entrusted to him, for good uses, and to employ for human help
and to the glory of the Giver thereof. At the foot of a private account,
"to which God and His angels only were witnesses with him," Dr. Donne
computed first his revenue, then what was given to the poor and other
pious uses, and lastly, what rested for him and his; and having done
that, he then blessed each year's poor remainder with a thankful prayer.


Dr. Donne did most of his good in secret, letting not his right hand
know what his left hand did. He redeemed many poor from prison; helped
many a poor scholar; and employed a trusty servant or a discreet friend
to distribute his bounty where it was most needed. A friend whom he had
known in days of affluence, having by a too liberal heart and
carelessness become decayed in his estate and reduced to poverty, Donne
sent him a hundred pounds. But the decayed gentleman returned it with
thanks, saying that he wanted it not;--for, says Walton, in narrating
the event, "as there be some spirits so generous as to labour to conceal
and endure a sad poverty, rather than expose themselves to those blushes
that attend the confession of it, so there be others to whom nature and
grace have afforded such sweet and compassionate souls as to pity and
prevent the distresses of mankind; which I have mentioned because of Dr.
Donne's reply, whose answer was, 'I know you want not what will sustain
nature, for a little will do that; but my desire is that you, who in the
days of your plenty have cheered and raised the hearts of so many of
your dejected friends, would now receive this from me, and use it as a
cordial for the cheering of your own;'"--and upon these terms it was
received.

The truth is, that we very much exaggerate the power of riches. Immense
subscriptions are got up for the purpose of reforming men from their
sinful courses, and turning them from evil to good. And yet
subscriptions will not do it. It is character that can do the work;
money never can. Great changes in society can never be effected through
riches. To turn men from intemperance, improvidence, and irreligion, and
to induce them to seek their happiness in the pursuit of proper and
noble objects, requires earnest purpose, honest self-devotion, and hard
work. Money may help in many respects; but money by itself can do
nothing. The apostle Paul planted the knowledge of the Christian
religion over half the Roman empire; yet he supported himself by
tent-making, and not by collecting subscriptions. Men of anxious,
earnest, honest hearts, are far more wanted than rich men--willing to
give money in charity.

Nothing is so much over-estimated as the power of money. All the people
who are looking out for front seats in "society," think it the one thing
needful. They may be purse-liberal, but they are also purse-proud. The
hypocritical professions of some people, with a view to elicit the good
opinion of others, in the teeth of their daily life and practice, is
nothing short of disgusting. "Oh, Geordie, jingling Geordie," said King
James, in the novel, "it was grand to hear Baby Charles laying down the
guilt of dissimulation, and Steenie lecturing on the turpitude of
incontinence!"

Some people have an idolatrous worship of money. The Israelites had
their golden Calf; the Greeks had their golden Jupiter. Old Bounderby
valued the man who was worth a "hundred thousand pounds." Others do the
same. The lowest human nature loves money, possessions, value. "What is
he worth?" "What is his income?" are the usual questions. If you say,
"There is a thoroughly good, benevolent, virtuous man!" nobody will
notice him. But if you say, "There is a man worth a million of money,"
he will be stared at till out of sight. A crowd of people used to
collect at Hyde Park Corner to see a rich man pass. "Here comes old
Crockie!" and the crowd would separate to allow him to pass, amidst
whispers of admiration. It was old Crockford, who made a large fortune
by keeping a gambling-house.

"The very sound of millions," says Mrs. Gore,[1] "tickles the ear of an
Englishman! He loves it so much, indeed, that it all but reconciles him
to the National Debt; and when applied to private proprietorship, it
secures deference for lowness of mind, birth, habits, and pursuits....
Ambition and money-love, if they tend to ennoble a country, reduce to
insignificance the human particles of which the nation is composed. In
their pursuit of riches, the English are gradually losing sight of
higher characteristics; ... our pursuit of railway bubbles and every
other frantic speculation of the hour, affords sufficient evidence of
the craving after capital superseding every better aspiration, whether
for this world or the next."

[Footnote 1: Introduction to "Men of Capital."]

The love of gold threatens to drive everything before it. The pursuit of
money has become the settled custom of the country. Many are so absorbed
by it, that every other kind of well-being is either lost sight of, or
altogether undervalued. And then the lovers of money think to recover
their moral tone by bestowing charity! Mountains of gold weigh heavily
upon the heart and soul. The man who can withstand the weight of riches,
and still be diligent, industrious, and strong in mind and heart, must
be made of strong stuff. For, people who are rich, are almost invariably
disposed to be idle, luxurious, and self-indulgent.

"If money," said the Rev. Mr. Griffiths, Rector of Merthyr, "did not
make men forget men, one-half of the evil that is in the world would
never occur. If masters drew nearer to the men, and men were permitted
to draw nearer their masters, we should not be passing through this
fiery ordeal. Let them do something to win the men out of the
public-houses; let them spare more of their enormous gains to build
places of amusement and recreation for the people; let them provide
better houses to live in, better conveniences for decency, better
streets; and if all these things are done we shall have neither
lock-outs nor strikes. We hear with pomp and triumph of the millions and
millions that have been dug out of this old Welsh land of ours, but we
hear nothing--and we see, indeed, less--of the public buildings, the
people's parks, the public libraries and public institutions, and other
civilizing agencies. Fifteen months ago, when we were in the highest
tide of prosperity, I said all this, and no notice was taken of it. Why
should any notice be taken of a preaching parson or a Christian minister
of any kind, when sovereigns fly about like snowflakes in winter, or may
be gathered like blackberries in summer?"[1]

[Footnote 1: Sermon preached at Merthyr during the South Wales strike.]

Men go on toiling and moiling, eager to be richer; desperately
struggling, as if against poverty, at the same time that they are
surrounded with abundance. They scrape and scrape, add shilling to
shilling, and sometimes do shabby things in order to make a little more
profit; though they may have accumulated far more than they can actually
enjoy. And still they go on, worrying themselves incessantly in the
endeavour to grasp at an additional increase of superfluity. Perhaps
such men have not enjoyed the advantages of education in early life.
They have no literary pleasures to fall back upon; they have no taste
for books; sometimes they can scarcely write their own names. They have
nothing to think of but money,--and of what will make money. They have
no faith, but in riches! They keep their children under restriction and
bring them up with a servile education.

At length, an accumulation of money comes into the children's hands.
They have before been restricted in their expenditure; now they become
lavish. They have been educated in no better tastes. They spend
extravagantly. They will not be drudges in business as their father was.
They will be "gentlemen," and spend their money "like gentlemen." And
very soon the money takes wings and flies away. Many are the instances
in which families have been raised to wealth in the first generation,
launched into ruinous expense in the second, and disappeared in the
third,--being again reduced to poverty. Hence the Lancashire proverb,
"Twice clogs, once boots." The first man wore clogs, and accumulated a
"a power o' money;" his rich son spent it; and the third generation took
up the clogs again. A candidate for parliamentary honours, when speaking
from the hustings, was asked if he had plenty brass. "Plenty brass?"
said he; "ay, I've lots o' brass!--I stink o' brass!"

The same social transformations are known in Scotland. The proverb there
is, "The grandsire digs, the father bigs, the son thigs,"[1]--that is,
the grandfather worked hard and made a fortune, the father built a fine
house, and the son, "an unthrifty son of Linne," when land and goods
were gone and spent, took to thieving. Merchants are sometimes princes
to-day and beggars to-morrow; and so long as the genius for speculation
is exercised by a mercantile family, the talent which gave them landed
property may eventually deprive them of it.

[Footnote 1: _Dublin University Magazine_.]

To be happy in old age--at a time when men should leave for ever the
toil, anxiety, and worry of money-making--they must, during youth and
middle life, have kept their minds healthily active. They must
familiarize themselves with knowledge, and take an interest in all that
has been done, and is doing, to make the world wiser and better from age
to age. There is enough leisure in most men's lives to enable them to
interest themselves in biography and history. They may also acquire
considerable knowledge of science, or of some ennobling pursuit
different from that by which money is made. Mere amusement will not do.
No man can grow happy upon amusement. The mere man of pleasure is a
miserable creature,--especially in old age. The mere drudge in business
is little better. Whereas the study of literature, philosophy, and
science is full of tranquil pleasure, down to the end of life. If the
rich old man has no enjoyment apart from money-making, his old age
becomes miserable. He goes on grinding and grinding in the same rut,
perhaps growing richer and richer. What matters it? He cannot eat his
gold. He cannot spend it. His money, instead of being beneficial to him,
becomes a curse. He is the slave of avarice, the meanest of sins. He is
spoken of as a despicable creature. He becomes base, even in his own
estimation.

What a miserable end was that of the rich man who, when dying, found no
comfort save in plunging his hands into a pile of new sovereigns, which
had been brought to him from the bank. As the world faded from him, he
still clutched them; handled and fondled them one by one,--and then he
passed away,--his last effort being to finger his gold! Elwes the miser
died shrieking, "I will keep my money!--nobody shall deprive me of my
property!" A ghastly and humiliating spectacle!

Rich men are more punished for their excess of economy, than poor men
are for their want of it. They become miserly, think themselves daily
growing poorer, and die the deaths of beggars. We have known several
instances. One of the richest merchants in London, after living for some
time in penury, went down into the country, to the parish where he was
born, and applied to the overseers for poor's relief. Though possessing
millions, he was horror-struck by the fear of becoming poor. Relief was
granted him, and he positively died the death of a pauper. One of the
richest merchants in the North died in the receipt of poor's relief. Of
course, all that the parish authorities had doled out to these poor-rich
men was duly repaid by their executors.

And what did these rich persons leave behind them? Only the reputation
that they had died rich men. But riches do not constitute any claim to
distinction. It is only the vulgar who admire riches as riches. Money is
a drug in the market. Some of the most wealthy men living are mere
nobodies. Many of them are comparatively ignorant. They are of no moral
or social account. A short time since, a list was published of two
hundred and twenty-four English millionaires. Some were known as screws;
some were "smart men" in regard to speculations; some were large
navvies, coal-miners, and manufacturers; some were almost unknown beyond
their own local circle; some were very poor creatures; very few were men
of distinction. All that one could say of them was, that they died rich
men.

"All the rich and all the covetous men in the world," said Jeremy
Taylor, "will perceive, and all the world will perceive for them, that
it is but an ill recompense for all their cares, that by this time all
that shall be left will be this, that the neighbours shall say, _He died
a rich man:_ and yet his wealth will not profit him in the grave, but
hugely swell the sad accounts of his doomsday."

"One of the chief causes," says Mrs. Gore, "which render the pursuit of
wealth a bitterer as well as more pardonable struggle in England than on
the Continent, is the unequal and capricious distribution of family
property.... Country gentlemen and professional men,--nay, men without
the pretension of being gentlemen,--are scarcely less smitten with the
mania of creating 'an eldest son' to the exclusion and degradation of
their younger children; and by the individuals thus defrauded by their
nearest and dearest, is the idolatry of Mammon pursued without the least
regard to self-respect, or the rights of their fellow-creatures.
Injured, they injure in their turn. Their days are devoted to a campaign
for the recovery of their birthright. Interested marriages, shabby
bargains, and political jobbery, may be traced to the vile system of
things which converts the elder son into a Dives, and makes a Lazarus of
his brother."

But democrats have quite as great a love for riches as aristocrats; and
many austere republicans are eager to be millionaires. Forms of
government do not influence the desire for wealth. The elder Cato was a
usurer. One of his means of making money was by buying young half-fed
slaves at a low price; then, by fattening them up, and training them to
work, he sold them at an enhanced price. Brutus, when in the Isle of
Cyprus, lent his money at forty-eight per cent. interest,[1] and no one
thought the worse of him for his Usury. Washington, the hero of American
freedom, bequeathed his slaves to his wife. It did not occur to him to
give them their liberty. Municipal jobbery is not unknown in New York;
and its influential citizens are said to be steeped to the lips in
political corruption. Mr. Mills says, that the people of the
North-Eastern States have apparently got rid of all social injustices
and inequalities; that the proportion of population to capital and land
is such as to ensure abundance for every able-bodied man; that they
enjoy the six points of the Charter, and need never complain of poverty.
Yet "all that these advantages have done for them is, that the life of
the whole of our sex is devoted to dollar-hunting; and of the other, to
breeding dollar-hunters. This," Mr. Mill adds, "is not a kind of social
perfection which philanthropists to come will feel any very eager desire
to assist in realizing."[2]

[Footnote 1: Cicero's Letters]

[Footnote 2: _Principles of Political Economy_, Book iv., ch. vi.]

Saladin the Great conquered Syria, Arabia, Persia, and Mesopotamia. He
was the greatest warrior and conqueror of his time. His power and wealth
were enormous. Yet he was fully persuaded of the utter hollowness of
riches. He ordered, by his will, that considerable sums should be
distributed to Mussulmans, Jews, and Christians, in order that the
priests of the three religions might implore for him the mercy of God.
He commanded that the shirt or tunic which he wore at the time of his
death should be carried on the end of a spear throughout the whole camp
and at the head of his army, and that the soldier who bore it should
pause at intervals and say aloud, "Behold all that remains of the
Emperor Saladin!--of all the states he had conquered; of all the
provinces he had subdued; of the boundless treasures he had amassed; of
the countless wealth he possessed, he retained, in dying, nothing but
this shroud!"

Don Jose de Salamanca, the great railway contractor of Spain, was, in
the early part of his life, a student at the University of Granada. He
there wore, as he himself says, the oldest and most worn of cassocks. He
was a diligent student; and after leaving college he became a member of
the Spanish press. From thence he was translated to the Cabinet of Queen
Christina, of which he became Finance Minister. This brought out his
commercial capacities, and induced him to enter on commercial
speculations. He constructed railways in Spain and Italy, and took the
principal share in establishing several steam-shipping companies. But
while pursuing commerce, he did not forget literature. Once a week he
kept an open table, to which the foremost men in literature and the
press were invited. They returned his hospitality by inviting him to a
dinner on the most economic scale. Busts of Shakespeare, Cervantes,
Dante, Schiller, and other literary men, adorned the room.

In returning thanks for his health, Salamanca referred to his university
experience, and to his labours in connection with the press. "Then," he
went on to say, "the love of gold took possession of my soul, and it was
at Madrid that I found the object of my adoration; but not, alas!
without the loss of my juvenile illusions. Believe me, gentlemen, the
man who can satisfy all his wishes has no more enjoyment. Keep to the
course you have entered on, I advise you. Rothschild's celebrity will
expire on the day of his death. Immortality can be earned, not bought.
Here are before us the effigies of men who have gloriously cultivated
liberal arts; their busts I have met with in every part of Europe; but
nowhere have I found a statue erected to the honour of a man who has
devoted his life to making money."

Riches and happiness have no necessary connection with each other. In
some cases it might be said that happiness is in the inverse proportion
to riches. The happiest part of most men's lives is while they are
battling with poverty, and gradually raising themselves above it. It is
then that they deny themselves for the sake of others,--that they save
from their earnings to secure a future independence,--that they
cultivate their minds while labouring for their daily bread,--that they
endeavour to render themselves wiser and better--happier in their homes
and more useful to society at large. William Chambers, the Edinburgh
publisher, speaking of the labours of his early years, says, "I look
back to those times with great pleasure, and I am almost sorry that I
have not to go through the same experience again; for I reaped more
pleasure when I had not a sixpence in my pocket, studying in a garret in
Edinburgh, than I now find when sitting amidst all the elegancies and
comforts of a parlour."

There are compensations in every condition of life. The difference in
the lot of the rich and the poor is not so great as is generally
imagined. The rich man has often to pay a heavy price for his
privileges. He is anxious about his possessions. He may be the victim of
extortion. He is apt to be cheated. He is the mark for every man's
shaft. He is surrounded by a host of clients, till his purse bleeds at
every pore. As they say in Yorkshire when people become rich, the money
soon "broddles through." Or, if engaged in speculation, the rich man's
wealth may fly away at any moment. He may try again, and then wear his
heart out in speculating on the "chances of the market." _Insomnia_ is a
rich man's disease. The thought of his winnings and losings keeps him
sleepless. He is awake by day, and awake by night. "Riches on the brain"
is full of restlessness and agony.

The rich man over-eats or over-drinks; and he has gout. Imagine a man
with a vice fitted to his toe. Let the vice descend upon the joint, and
be firmly screwed down. Screw it again. He is in agony. Then suddenly
turn the screw tighter--down, down! That is gout! Gout--of which
Sydenham has said, that "unlike any other disease, it kills more rich
men than poor, more wise than simple. Great kings, emperors, generals,
admirals, and philosophers, have died of gout. Hereby nature shows her
impartiality, since those whom she favours in one way, she afflicts in
another Or, the rich man may become satiated with food, and lose his
appetite; while the poor man relishes and digests anything. A beggar
asked alms of a rich man "because he was hungry." "Hungry?" said the
millionaire; "how I envy you!" Abernethy's prescription to the rich man
was, "Live upon a shilling a day, and earn it!" When the Duke of York
consulted him about his health, Abernethy's answer was, "Cut off the
supplies, and the enemy will soon leave the citadel." The labourer who
feels little and thinks less, has the digestion of an ostrich; while the
non-worker is never allowed to forget that he has a stomach, and is
obliged to watch every mouthful that he eats. Industry and indigestion
are two things seldom found united.

Many people envy the possessions of the rich, but will not pass through
the risks, the fatigues, or the dangers of acquiring them. It is related
of the Duke of Dantzic that an old comrade, whom he had not seen for
many years, called upon him at his hotel in Paris, and seemed amazed at
the luxury of his apartments, the richness of his furniture, and the
magnificence of his gardens. The Duke, supposing that he saw in his old
comrade's face a feeling of jealousy, said to him bluntly, "You may have
all that you see before you, on one condition." "What is that?" said his
friend. "It is that you will place yourself twenty paces off, and let me
fire at you with a musket a hundred times." "I will certainly not accept
your offer at that price." "Well," replied the Marshal, "to gain all
that you see before you, I have faced more than a thousand gunshots,
fired at not move than ten paces off."

The Duke of Marlborough often faced death. He became rich, and left a
million and a half to his descendants to squander. The Duke was a
penurious man. He is said to have scolded his servant for lighting four
candles in his tent, when Prince Eugene called upon him to hold a
conference before the battle of Blenheim. Swift said of the Duke, "I
dare hold a wager that in all his compaigns he was never known to lose
his baggage." But this merely showed his consummate generalship. When
ill and feeble at Bath, he is said to have walked home from the rooms to
his lodgings, to save sixpence. And yet this may be excused, for he may
have walked home for exercise. He is certainly known to have given a
thousand pounds to a young and deserving soldier who wished to purchase
a commission. When Bolingbroke was reminded of one of the weaknesses of
Marlborough, he observed, "He was so great a man, that I forgot that he
had that defect."

It is no disgrace to be poor. The praise of honest poverty has often
been sung. When a man will not stoop to do wrong, when he will not sell
himself for money, when he will not do a dishonest act, then his poverty
is most honourable. But the man is not poor who can pay his way, and
save something besides. He who pays cash for all that he purchases, is
not poor but well off. He is in a happier condition than the idle
gentleman who runs into debt, and is clothed, shod, and fed at the
expense of his tailor, shoemaker, and butcher. Montesquieu says, that a
man is not poor because he has nothing, but he is poor when he will not
or cannot work. The man who is able and willing to work, is better off
than the man who possesses a thousand crowns without the necessity for
working.

Nothing sharpens a man's wits like poverty. Hence many of the greatest
men have originally been poor men. Poverty often purifies and braces a
man's morals. To spirited people, difficult tasks are usually the most
delightful ones. If we may rely upon the testimony of history, men are
brave, truthful, and magnanimous, not in proportion to their wealth, but
in proportion to their smallness of means. And the best are often the
poorest,--always supposing that they have sufficient to meet their
temporal wants. A divine has said that God has created poverty, but He
has not created misery. And there is certainly a great difference
between the two. While honest poverty is honourable, misery is
humiliating; inasmuch as the latter is for the most part the result of
misconduct, and often of idleness and drunkenness. Poverty is no
disgrace to him who can put up with it; but he who finds the beggar's
staff once get warm in his hand, never does any good, but a great amount
of evil.

The poor are often the happiest of people--far more so than the rich;
but though they may be envied, no one will be found willing to take
their place. Moore has told the story of the over-fed, over-satisfied
eastern despot, who sent a messenger to travel through the world, in
order to find out the happiest man. When discovered, the messenger was
immediately to seize him, take his shirt off his back, and bring it to
the Caliph. The messenger found the happiest man in an Irishman,--happy,
dancing, and flourishing his shillelagh. But when the ambassador
proceeded to seize him, and undress him, he found that the Irishman had
got no shirt to his back!

The portion of Agur is unquestionably the best: "Remove far from me
vanity and lies; give me neither poverty nor riches; feed me with food
convenient for me." The unequal distribution of the disposition to be
happy, is of far greater importance than the unequal distribution of
wealth. The disposition to be content and satisfied, said David Hume, is
at least equal to an income of a thousand a year. Montaigne has observed
that Fortune confers but little. Human good or ill does not depend upon
it. It is but the seed of good, which the soul, infinitely stronger than
wealth, changes and applies as it pleases, and is thus the only cause of
a happy or unhappy disposition.

England is celebrated for its charities. M. Guizot declares that there
is nothing in this land that so fills the mind of the stranger with
amazement at our resources, and admiration at our use of them, as the
noble free-gift monuments raised on every side for the relief of
multiform suffering. The home philanthropist, who looks a little deeper
than the foreign visitor, may be disposed to take another view of the
effects of money-giving. That charity produces unmixed good, is very
much questioned. Charity, like man, is sometimes blind, and frequently
misguided. Unless money is wisely distributed, it will frequently do
more harm than good. If charity could help or elevate the poor, London
would now be the happiest city in the world; for about three millions of
money are spent on charity, and about one in every three of the London
population are relieved by charitable institutions.

It is very easy to raise money for charity. Subscription lists
constantly attest the fact. A rich man is asked by some influential
person for money. It is very easy to give it. It saves time to give it.
It is considered a religious duty to give it. Yet to give money
unthinkingly, to give it without considering how it is to be
used,--instead of being for the good of our fellow-creatures,--may often
prove the greatest injury we could inflict upon them. True benevolence
does not consist in giving money. Nor can charitable donations, given
indiscriminately to the poor, have any other effect than to sap the
foundations of self-respect, and break down the very outworks of virtue
itself. There are many forms of benevolence which create the very evils
they are intended to cure, and encourage the poorer classes in the habit
of dependence upon the charity of others,--to the neglect of those far
healthier means of social well-being which lie within their own reach.

One would think that three million a year were sufficient to relieve all
the actual distress that exists in London. Yet the distress,
notwithstanding all the money spent upon it, goes on increasing. May not
the money spent in charity, create the distress it relieves,--besides
creating other distress which it fails to relieve? Uneducated and idle
people will not exert themselves for a living, when they have the hope
of obtaining the living without exertion. Who will be frugal and
provident, when charity offers all that frugality and providence can
confer? Does not the gift of the advantages, comforts, and rewards of
industry, without the necessity of labouring for them, tend to sap the
very foundations of energy and self-reliance? Is not the circumstance
that poverty is the only requisite qualification on the part of the
applicant for charity, calculated to tempt the people to
self-indulgence, to dissipation, and to those courses of life which keep
them poor?

Men who will not struggle and exert themselves, are those who are helped
first. The worst sort of persons are made comfortable: whilst the
hard-working, self-supporting man, who disdains to throw himself upon
charity, is compelled to pay rates for the maintenance of the idle.
Charity stretches forth its hand to the rottenest parts of society; it
rarely seeks out, or helps, the struggling and the honest. As Carlyle
has said, "O my astonishing benevolent friends! that never think of
meddling with the material while it continues sound; that stress and
strain it with new rates and assessments, till even it has given way and
declared itself rotten; whereupon you greedily snatch at it, and say,
'Now let us try to do some good upon it!'"

The charity which merely consists in giving, is an idle
indulgence--often an idle vice. The mere giving of money will never do
the work of philanthropy. As a recent writer has said, "The crimes of
the virtuous, the blasphemies of the pious, and the follies of the wise,
would scarcely fill a larger volume than the cruelties of the humane. In
this world a large part of the occupation of the wise has been to
neutralize the efforts of the good."

"Public charities," said the late Lord Lytton, "are too often merely a
bonus to public indolence and vice. What a dark lesson of the fallacy of
human wisdom does this knowledge strike into the heart! What a waste of
the materials of kindly sympathies! What a perversion individual
mistakes can cause, even in the virtues of a nation! Charity is a
feeling dear to the pride of the human heart--it is an aristocratic
emotion! Mahomet testified his deep knowledge of his kind when he
allowed the vice hardest to control,--sexual licentiousness; and
encouraged the virtue easiest to practise,--charity."[1]

[Footnote 1: LORD LYTTON--_England and the English_, p. 124.]

There are clergymen in London who say that charity acts against the
extension of religion amongst the people. The Rev. Mr. Stone says, "He
is an unwelcome visitor to the poor who brings the Bible in one hand,
without a loaf, a blanket, or a shilling in the other. And no wonder. By
the prevailing system of charitable relief they have been _nursed_ in
this carnal spirit; they have been justified in those selfish
expectations. Instead of being allowed to learn the great and salutary
lesson of providence, that there is a necessary connection between their
conduct and their condition, they have, by this artificial system, been
taught that indigence is _of itself_ sufficient to constitute a claim to
relief. They have been thus encouraged in improvidence, immorality,
fraud, and hypocrisy."

The truest philanthropists are those who endeavour to prevent misery,
dependence, and destitution; and especially those who diligently help
the poor to help themselves. This is the great advantage of the
"Parochial Mission-Women Association."[1] They bring themselves into
close communication with the people in the several parishes of London,
and endeavour to assist them in many ways. But they avoid giving
indiscriminate alms. Their objects are "to help the poor to help
themselves, and to raise them by making them feel that they _can_ help
themselves." There is abundant room for philanthropy amongst all
classes; and it is most gratifying to find ladies of high distinction
taking part in this noble work.

[Footnote 1: See _East and West_, edited by the Countess Spencer.]

There are numerous other societies established of late years, which
afford gratifying instances of the higher and more rational, as well as
really more Christian, forms of charity. The societies for improving the
dwellings of the industrial classes,--for building baths and
washhouses,--for establishing workmen's, seamen's, and servants'
homes,--for cultivating habits of providence and frugality amongst the
working-classes,--and for extending the advantages of knowledge amongst
the people,--are important agencies of this kind. These, instead of
sapping the foundations of self-reliance, are really and truly helping
the people to help themselves, and are deserving of every approbation
and encouragement. They tend to elevate the condition of the mass; they
are embodiments of philanthropy in its highest form; and are calculated
to bear good fruit through all time.

Rich men, with the prospect of death before them, are often very much
concerned about their money affairs. If unmarried and without
successors, they find a considerable difficulty in knowing what to do
with the pile of gold they have gathered together during their lifetime.
They must make a will, and leave it to somebody. In olden times, rich
people left money to pay for masses for their souls. Perhaps many do so
still. Some founded almshouses; others hospitals. Money was left for the
purpose of distributing doles to poor persons, or to persons of the same
name and trade as the deceased.

"These doles," said the wife of a clergyman in the neighbourhood of
London, "are doing an infinite deal of mischief: they are rapidly
pauperising the parish." Not long since, the town of Bedford was
corrupted and demoralized by the doles and benefactions which rich men
had left to the poorer classes. Give a man money without working for it,
and he will soon claim it as a right. It practically forbids him to
exercise forethought, or to provide against the vicissitudes of trade,
or the accidents of life. It not only breaks down the bulwarks of
independence, but the outposts of virtue itself.

Large sums of money are left by rich men to found "Charities." They wish
to do good, but in many cases they do much moral injury. Their
"Charities" are anything but charitable. They destroy the self-respect
of the working-classes, and also of the classes above them. "We can get
this charity for nothing. We can get medical assistance for nothing. We
can get our children educated for nothing. Why should we work? Why
should we save?" Such is the idea which charity, so-called, inculcates.
The "Charitable Institution" becomes a genteel poor-house; and the
lesson is extensively taught that we can do better by begging than by
working.

The bequeathment of Stephen Girard, the wealthy American merchant, was
of a different character. Girard was a native of Bordeaux. An orphan at
an early age, he was put on board a ship as a cabin boy. He made his
first voyage to North America when about ten or twelve years old. He had
little education, and only a limited acquaintance with reading and
writing. He worked hard. He gradually improved in means so that he was
able to set up a store. Whilst living in Water Street, New York, he fell
in love with Polly Luna, the daughter of a caulker. The father forbade
the marriage. But Girard persevered, and at length he won and married
Polly Lum. It proved a most unfortunate marriage. His wife had no
sympathy with him; and he became cross, snappish, morose. He took to sea
again; and at forty he commanded his own sloop, and was engaged in the
coasting trade between New York, Philadelphia, and New Orleans.

Then he settled in Philadelphia, and became a merchant. He devoted his
whole soul to his business; for he had determined to become rich. He
practised the most rigid economy. He performed any work by which money
could be made. He shut his heart against the blandishments of life. The
desire for wealth seems to have possessed his soul. His life was one of
unceasing labour. Remember, that Girard was unhappy at home. His nature
might have been softened, had he been blessed with a happy wife. He led
ten miserable years with her; and then she became insane. She lay for
about twenty years in the Pennsylvania hospital, and died there.

Yet there was something more than hardness and harshness in Girard.
There was a deep under-current of humanity in him. When the yellow fever
broke out in Philadelphia, in 1793, his better nature showed itself. The
people were smitten to death by thousands. Nurses could not be found to
attend the patients in the hospital. It was regarded as certain death to
nurse the sick.

"Wealth had no power to bribe, nor beauty to charm, the oppressor;
But all perished alike beneath the scourge of his anger;
Only, alas I the poor, who had neither friends nor attendants,
Crept away to die in the almshouse, home of the homeless."

It was at this time, when many were stricken with fever, that Girard
abandoned his business, and offered his services as superintendent of
the public hospital. He had Peter Helm for his associate. Girard's
business faculty immediately displayed itself. His powers of
organization were immense, and the results of his work were soon
observed. Order began to reign where everything had before been in
confusion. Dirt was conquered by cleanliness. Where there had been
wastefulness, there was now thriftiness. Where there had been neglect,
there was unremitting attention. Girard saw that every case was properly
attended to. He himself attended to the patients afflicted by the
loathsome disease, ministered to the dying, and performed the last kind
offices for the dead. At last the plague was stayed; and Girard and Helm
returned to their ordinary occupations.

The visitors of the poor in Philadelphia placed the following minute on
their books: "Stephen Girard and Peter Helm, members of the committee,
commiserating the calamitous state to which the sick may probably be
reduced for want of suitable persons to superintend the hospital,
voluntarily offered their services for that benevolent employment, and
excited a surprise and satisfaction that can be better conceived than
expressed."

The results of Stephen Girard's industry and economy may be seen in
Philadelphia--in the beautiful dwelling houses, row after row,--but more
than all, in the magnificent marble edifice of Girard College. He left
the greater part of his fortune for public purposes,--principally to
erect and maintain a public library and a large orphanage. It might have
been in regard to his own desolate condition, when cast an orphan
amongst strangers and foreigners, that he devised his splendid charity
for poor, forlorn, and fatherless children. One of the rooms in the
college is singularly furnished. "Girard had directed that a suitable
room was to be set apart for the preservation of his books and papers;
but from excess of pious care, or dread of the next-of kin, all the
plain homely man's effects were shovelled into this room. Here are his
boxes and his bookcase, his gig and his gaiters, his pictures and his
pottery; and in a bookcase, hanging with careless grace, are his
braces--old homely knitted braces, telling their tale of simplicity and
carefulness."[1]

[Footnote 1: _Gentleman's Magazine_, April. 1875. George Dawson on
"Niagara and Elsewhere."]

One of the finest hospitals in London is that founded by Thomas Guy, the
bookseller. He is said to have been a miser. At all events he must have
been a thrifty and saving man. No foundation such as that of Guy's can
be accomplished without thrift. Men who accomplish such things must deny
themselves for the benefit of others. Thomas Guy appears early to have
projected schemes of benevolence. He first built and endowed almshouses
at Tamworth for fourteen poor men and women, with pensions for each
occupant; and with a thoughtfulness becoming his vocation, he furnished
them with a library. He had himself been educated at Tamworth, where he
had doubtless seen hungry and homeless persons suffering from cleanness
of teeth and the winter's rage; and the almshouses were his contribution
for their relief. He was a bookseller in London at that time. Guy
prospered, not so much by bookselling, as by buying and selling South
Sea Stock. When the bubble burst, he did not hold a share: but he had
realized a profit of several hundred thousand pounds. This sum he
principally employed in building and endowing the hospital which bears
his name. The building was roofed in before his death, in 1724.

Scotch benefactors for the most part leave their savings for the purpose
of founding hospitals for educational purposes. There was first the
Heriot's Hospital, founded in Edinburgh by George Heriot, the goldsmith
of James I., for maintaining and educating a hundred and eighty boys.
But the property of the hospital having increased in value--the New Town
of Edinburgh being for the most part built on George Heriot's land--the
operations of the charity have been greatly extended; as many as four
thousand boys and girls being now educated free of expense, in different
parts of the city. There are also the George Watson's Hospital, the John
Watson's Hospital, the Orphan Hospital, two Maiden Hospitals, the
Cauven's Hospital, the Donaldson's Hospital, the Stewart's Hospital, and
the splendid Fettes College (recently opened),--all founded by Scottish
benefactors for the ordinary education of boys and girls, and also for
their higher education. Edinburgh may well be called the City of
Educational Endowments. There is also the Madras College, at St.
Andrews, founded by the late Andrew Bell, D.D.; the Dollar Institution,
founded by John Macrat; and the Dick Bequest, for elevating the
character and position of the parochial schools and schoolmasters, in
the counties of Aberdeen, Banff, and Moray. The effects of this last
bequest have been most salutary. It has raised the character of the
education given in the public schools, and the results have been
frequently observed at Cambridge, where men from the northern counties
have taken high honours in all departments of learning.

English benefactors have recently been following in the same direction.
The Owen's College at Manchester; the Brown Library and Museum at
Liverpool; the Whitworth Benefaction, by which thirty scholarships of
the annual value of £100 each have been founded for the promotion of
technical instruction; and the Scientific College at Birmingham, founded
by Sir Josiah Mason, for the purpose of educating the rising generation
in "sound, extensive, and practical scientific knowledge,"--form a
series of excellent institutions which will, we hope, be followed by
many similar benefactions. A man need not moulder with the green grass
over his grave, before his means are applied to noble purposes. He can
make his benefactions while living, and assist at the outset in carrying
out his liberal intentions.

Among the great benefactors of London, the name of Mr. Peabody, the
American banker, cannot be forgotten. It would take a volume to discuss
his merits, though we must dismiss him in a paragraph. He was one of the
first to see, or at all events to make amends for, the houseless
condition of the working classes of London. In the formation of railways
under and above ground, in opening out and widening new streets, in
erecting new public buildings,--the dwellings of the poor were
destroyed, and their occupants swarmed away, no one knew whither.
Perhaps they crowded closer together, and bred disease in many forms.
Societies and companies were formed to remedy the evil to a certain
extent. Sir Sydney Waterlow was one of the first to lead the way, and he
was followed by others. But it was not until Mr. Peabody had left his
splendid benefaction to the poor of London, that any steps could be
taken to deal with the evil on a large and comprehensive scale. His
trustees have already erected ranges of workmen's dwellings in many
parts of the metropolis,--which will from time to time be extended to
other parts. The Peabody dwellings furnish an example of what working
men's dwellings ought to be. They are clean, tidy, and comfortable
homes. They have diminished drunkenness; they have promoted morality.
Mr. Peabody intended that his bounty should "directly ameliorate the
condition and augment the comforts of the poor," and he hoped that the
results would "be appreciated, not only by the present, but by future
generations of the people of London." From all that the trustees have
done, it is clear that they are faithfully and nobly carrying out his
intentions.

All these benefactors of the poor were originally men of moderate means.
Some of them were at one time poor men. Sir Joseph Whitworth was a
journeyman engineer with Mr. Clement, in Southwark, the inventor of the
planing machine. Sir Josiah Mason was by turns a costermonger,
journeyman baker, shoemaker, carpet weaver, jeweller, split-steel ring
maker (here he made his first thousand pounds), steel-pen maker,
copper-smelter, and electro-plater, in which last trade he made his
fortune. Mr, Peabody worked his way up by small degrees, from a clerk in
America to a banker in London. Their benefactions have been the result
of self-denial, industry, sobriety, and thrift.

Benevolence throws out blossoms which do not always ripen into fruit. It
is easy enough to project a benevolent undertaking, but more difficult
to carry it out. The author was once induced to take an interest in a
proposed Navvy's Home; but cold water was thrown upon the project, and
it failed. The navvy workmen, who have made the railways and docks of
England, are a hard-working but a rather thriftless set. They are
good-hearted fellows, but sometimes drunken. In carrying out their
operations, they often run great dangers. They are sometimes so
seriously injured by wounds and fractures as to be disabled for life.
For instance, in carrying out the works of the Manchester, Sheffield,
and Lincolnshire Railway, there were twenty-two cases of compound
fractures seventy-four simple fractures, besides burns from blasts,
severe contusions, lacerations, and dislocations. One man lost both his
eyes by a blast, another had his arm broken by a blast. Many lost their
fingers, feet, legs, and arms; which disabled them for further work.
Knowing the perils to which railway labourers were exposed, it occurred
to a late eminent contractor to adopt some method for helping and
comforting them in their declining years. The subject was brought under
the author's notice by his friend the late Mr. Eborall, in the following
words: "I have just been visiting a large contractor--a man of great
wealth; and he requests your assistance in establishing a 'Navvy's
Home.' You know that many of the contractors and engineers, who have
been engaged in the construction of railways, are men who have
accumulated immense fortunes: the savings of some of them amount to
millions. Well, my friend the contractor not long since found a
miserable, worn-out old man in a ditch by the roadside. 'What,' said he,
'is that you?' naming the man in the ditch by his name. 'Ay,' replied
the man, ''deed it is!' 'What are you doing there?' 'I have come here to
die. I can work no more.' 'Why don't you go to the workhouse? they will
attend to your wants there.' 'No! no workhouse for me! If I am to die, I
will die in the open air.' The contractor recognized in the man one of
his former navvies. He had worked for him and for other contractors many
years; and while they had been making their fortunes, the navvy who had
worked for them had fallen so low as to be found dying in a ditch. The
contractor was much affected. He thought of the numerous other navvies
who must be wanting similar help. Shortly after, he took ill, and during
his illness, thinking of what he might do for the navvies, the idea
occurred to him of founding a 'Navvy's Home;' and he has desired me to
ask you to assist him in bringing out the institution."

It seemed to the author an admirable project, and he consented to do all
that he could for it. But when the persons who were the most likely to
contribute to such an institution were applied to, they threw such
floods of cold water upon it,[1] that it became evident, in the face of
their opposition, that "The Navvy's Home" could not be established. Of
course, excuses were abundant. "Navvies were the most extravagant
workmen. They threw away everything that they earned. They spent their
money on beer, whisky, tally-women, and champagne. If they died in
ditches, it was their own fault. They might have established themselves
in comfort, if they wished to do so. Why should other people provide for
them in old age, more than for any other class of labourers? There was
the workhouse: let them go there." And so on. It is easy to find a stick
to beat a sick dog. As for the original projector, he recovered his
health, he forgot to subscribe for "The Navvy's Home," and the scheme
fell to the ground.

"The devil was sick, the devil a saint would be:
The devil grew well, the devil a saint was he.'

[Footnote 1: With one admirable exception. A noble-hearted man, still
living volunteered a very large subscription towards the establishment
of "the Navvy's Home."]




CHAPTER XV.

HEALTHY HOMES.


"The best security for civilization is the dwelling. "--_B. Disraeli_.

"Cleanliness is the elegance of the poor."--_English Proverb_.

"Sanitas sanitatum, et omnia sanitas."--_Julius Menochius_.

"Virtue never dwelt long with filth and nastiness."--_Count Rumford_.

"More servants wait on Man
Than he'll take notice of: in every path
He treads down that which doth befriend him
When sickness makes him pale and wan."--_George Herbert_.


Health is said to be wealth. Indeed, all wealth is valueless without
health. Every man who lives by labour, whether of mind or body, regards
health as one of the most valuable of possessions. Without it, life
would be unenjoyable. The human system has been so framed as to render
enjoyment one of the principal ends of physical life. The whole
arrangement, structure, and functions of the human system are
beautifully adapted for that purpose.

The exercise of every sense is pleasurable,--the exercise of sight,
hearing, taste, touch, and muscular effort. What can be more
pleasurable, for instance, than the feeling of entire health,--health,
which is the sum-total of the functions of life, duly performed?
"Enjoyment," says Dr. Southwood Smith, "is not only the end of life, but
it is the only condition of life which is compatible with a protracted
term of existence. The happier a human being is, the longer he lives;
the more he suffers, the sooner he dies. To add to enjoyment, is to
lengthen life; to inflict pain, is to shorten its duration."

Happiness is the rule of healthy existence; pain and misery are its
exceptional conditions. Nor is pain altogether an evil; it is rather a
salutary warning. It tells us that we have transgressed some rule,
violated some law, disobeyed some physical obligation. It is a monitor
which warns us to amend our state of living. It virtually says,--Return
to nature, observe her laws, and be restored to happiness. Thus,
paradoxical though it may seem, pain is one of the conditions of the
physical well-being of man; as death, according to Dr. Thomas Brown, is
one of the conditions of the enjoyment of life.

To enjoy physical happiness, therefore, the natural laws must be
complied with. To discover and observe these laws, man has been endowed
with the gift of reason. Does he fail to exercise this gift,--does he
neglect to comply with the law of his being,--then pain and disease are
the necessary consequence.

Man violates the laws of nature in his own person, and he suffers
accordingly. He is idle and overfeeds himself: he is punished by gout,
indigestion, or apoplexy. He drinks too much: he becomes bloated,
trembling, and weak; his appetite falls off, his strength declines, his
constitution decays; and he falls a victim to the numerous diseases
which haunt the steps of the drunkard.

Society suffers in the same way. It leaves districts undrained, and
streets uncleaned. Masses of the population are allowed to live crowded
together in unwholesome dens, half poisoned by the mephitic air of the
neighbourhood. Then a fever breaks out,--or a cholera, or a plague.
Disease spreads from the miserable abodes of the poor into the
comfortable homes of the rich, carrying death and devastation before it.
The misery and suffering incurred in such cases, are nothing less than
wilful, inasmuch as the knowledge necessary to avert them is within the
reach of all.

Wherever any number of persons live together, the atmosphere becomes
poisoned, unless means be provided for its constant change and
renovation. If there be not sufficient ventilation, the air becomes
charged with carbonic acid, principally the product of respiration.
Whatever the body discharges, becomes poison to the body if introduced
again through the lungs. Hence the immense importance of pure air. A
deficiency of food may be considerably less injurious than a deficiency
of pure air. Every person above fourteen years of age requires about six
hundred cubic feet of shut-up space to breathe in during the twenty-four
hours.[1] If he sleeps in a room of smaller dimensions, he will suffer
more or less, and gradually approach the condition of being smothered.

[Footnote 1: Where six hundred cubic feet of space is allowed, the air
requires to be changed, by ventilation, five times in the hour, in order
to keep it pure. The best amount of space to be allowed for a healthy
adult is about eight hundred cubic feet. The air which is breathed
becomes so rapidly impure, that a constant supply of fresh air must be
kept up to make the air of the shut-up space fit for breathing. The
following are some amounts of space per head which are met with in
practice:--

Artizan rooms                200 cubic feet.
Metropolitan Lodging
Houses                       240   "
Poor Law Board Dormitories   300   "
Barrack Regulation           60    "
The best Hospitals         1,500 to 2,000
                               cubic feet.]

Shut up a mouse in a glass receiver, and it will gradually die by
rebreathing its own breath. Shut up a man in a confined space, and he
will die in the same way. The English soldiers expired in the Black Hole
of Calcutta because they wanted pure air. Thus about half the children
born in some manufacturing towns die, before they are five years old,
principally because they want pure air. Humboldt tells of a sailor who
was dying of fever in the close hold of a ship. His comrades brought him
out of his hold to die in the open air. Instead of dying, he revived,
and eventually got well. He was cured by the pure air.

The most common result of breathing impure air, amongst adults, is
fever. The heaviest municipal tax, said Dr. Southwood Smith, is the
_fever tax_. It is estimated that in Liverpool some seven thousand
persons are yearly attacked by fever, of whom about five hundred die.
Fever usually attacks persons of between twenty and thirty, or those who
generally have small families depending on them for support. Hence
deaths from fever, by causing widowhood and orphanage, impose a very
heavy tax upon the inhabitants of all the large manufacturing towns. Dr.
Playfair, after carefully considering the question, is of opinion that
the total pecuniary loss inflicted on the county of Lancashire from
_preventible_ disease, sickness, and death, amounts to not less than
five millions sterling annually. But this is only the physical and
pecuniary loss. The moral loss is infinitely greater.

Where are now the "happy humble swains" and the "gentle shepherds" of
the old English poets? At the present time, they are nowhere to be
found. The modern Strephon and Phyllis are a very humble pair, living in
a clay-floored cottage, and maintaining a family on from twelve to
fifteen shillings a week. And so far from Strephon spending his time in
sitting by a purling stream playing "roundelays" upon a pipe,--poor
fellow! he can scarcely afford to smoke one, his hours of labour are so
long, and his wages are so small. As for Daphnis, he is a lout, and can
neither read nor write; nor is his Chloe any better.

Phineas Fletcher thus sang of "The Shepherd's Home:"--

"Thrice, oh, thrice happie shepherd's life and state!
  When courts are happinesse, unhappie pawns!

His cottage low, and safely humble gate.
Shuts out proud Fortune, with her scorns and fawns:
No feared treason breaks his quiet sleep:
Singing all day, his flocks he learns to keep:
Himself as innocent as are his simple sheep.

His certain life, that never can deceive him,
Is full of thousand sweets and rich content:
The smooth-leaved beeches in the field receive him
With coolest shades, till noontide's rage is spent:
His life is neither tost in boist'rous seas
Of troublous world, nor lost in slothful ease;
Pleased and full blest he lives, when he his God can please.'

Where, oh where, has this gentle shepherd gone? Have spinning-jennies
swallowed him up? Alas! as was observed of Mrs. Harris, "there's no such
a person." Did he _ever_ exist? We have a strong suspicion that he never
did, save in the imaginations of poets.

Before the age of railroads and sanitary reformers, the pastoral life of
the Arcadians was a beautiful myth, The Blue Book men have exploded it
for ever. The agricultural labourers have not decent houses,--only
miserable huts, to live in. They have but few provisions for cleanliness
or decency. Two rooms for sleeping and living in, are all that the
largest family can afford. Sometimes they have only one. The day-room,
in addition to the family, contains the cooking utensils, the washing
apparatus, agricultural implements, and dirty clothes. In the sleeping
apartment, the parents and their children, boys and girls, are
indiscriminately mixed, and frequently a lodger sleeps in the same and
only room, which has generally no window,--the openings in the
half-thatched roof admitting light, and exposing the family to every
vicissitude of the weather. The husband, having no comfort at home,
seeks it in the beershop. The children grow up without decency or
self-restraint. As for the half-hearted wives and daughters, their lot
is very miserable.

It is not often that village affairs are made the subject of discussion
in newspapers, for the power of the press has not yet reached remote
country places. But we do hear occasionally of whole villages being
pulled down and razed, in order to prevent them "becoming nests of
beggars' brats." A member of Parliament did not hesitate to confess
before a Parliamentary Committee, that he "had pulled down between
twenty-six and thirty cottages, which, had they been left standing,
would have been inhabited by young married couples." And what becomes of
the dispossessed? They crowd together in the cottages which are left
standing, if their owners will allow it; or they crowd into the
workhouses; or, more generally, they crowd into the towns, where there
is at least some hope of employment for themselves and their children.

Our manufacturing towns are not at all what they ought to be; not
sufficiently pure, wholesome, or well-regulated. But the rural labourers
regard even the misery of towns as preferable to the worse misery of the
rural districts; and year by year they crowd into the seats of
manufacturing industry in search of homes and employment. This speaks
volumes as to the actual state of our "boasted peasantry, their
country's pride."

The intellectual condition of the country labourers seems to be on a par
with their physical state. Those in the western counties are as little
civilized as the poor people in the east of London. A report of the
Diocesan Board of the county of Hereford states that "a great deal of
the superstition of past ages lingers in our parishes. The observation
of lucky and unlucky days and seasons is by no means unusual; the phases
of the moon are regarded with great respect,--in one, medicine may be
taken, in another it is advisable to kill a pig; over the doors of many
houses may be found twigs placed crosswise, and never suffered to lose
their cruciform position; and the horseshoe preserves its old station on
many a stable-door. Charms are devoutly believed in; a ring made from a
shilling, offered at the communion, is an undoubted cure for fits; hair
plucked from the crop on an ass's shoulder, and woven into a chain, to
be put round a child's neck, is powerful for the same purpose; and the
hand of a corpse applied to the neck is believed to disperse a wen. The
'evil eye,' so long dreaded in uneducated countries, has its terrors
among us; and if a person of ill life be suddenly called away, there are
generally some who hear his 'tokens,' or see his ghost. There exists,
besides, the custom of communicating deaths to hives of bees, in the
belief that they invariably abandon their owners if the intelligence be
withheld."

Sydney Smith has said, with more truth than elegance, that in the
infancy of all nations, even the most civilized, men lived the life of
pigs; and if sanitary reporters had existed in times past as they do
now, we should doubtless have received an account of the actual
existence and domestic accommodation of the old English "swains" and
"shepherds," very different from that given by Phineas Fletcher. Even
the mechanics of this day are more comfortably lodged than the great
landed gentry of the Saxon and Norman periods: and if the truth could be
got at, it would be found that, bad as is the state of our agricultural
labourers now, the condition of their forefathers was no better.

The first method of raising a man above the life of an animal is to
provide him with a healthy home. The Home is after all the best school
for the world. Children grow up into men and women there; they imbibe
their best and their worst morality there; and their morals and
intelligence are in a great measure well or ill trained there. Men can
only be really and truly humanized and civilized through the institution
of the Home. There is domestic purity and moral life in the good home;
and individual defilement and moral death in the bad one. The
schoolmaster has really very little to do with the formation of the
characters of children. These are formed in the home, by the father and
mother,--by brothers, sisters, and companions. It does not matter how
complete may be the education given in schools. It may include the whole
range of knowledge: yet if the scholar is under the necessity of daily
returning to a home which is indecent, vicious, and miserable, all this
learning will prove of comparatively little value. Character and
disposition are the result of home training; and if these are, through
bad physical and moral conditions, deteriorated and destroyed, the
intellectual culture acquired in the school may prove an instrumentality
for evil rather than for good.

The home should not be considered merely as an eating and sleeping
place; but as a place where self-respect may be preserved, and comfort
secured, and domestic pleasures enjoyed. Three-fourths of the petty
vices which degrade society, and swell into crimes which disgrace it,
would shrink before the influence of self-respect. To be a place of
happiness, exercising beneficial influences upon its members,--and
especially upon the children growing up within it,--the home must be
pervaded by the spirit of comfort, cleanliness, affection, and
intelligence. And in order to secure this, the presence of a
well-ordered, industrious, and educated woman is indispensable. So much
depends upon the woman, that we might almost pronounce the happiness or
unhappiness of the home to be woman's work. No nation can advance except
through the improvement of the nation's homes; and these can only be
improved through the instrumentality of women. They must _know_ how to
make homes comfortable; and before they can know, they must have been
taught.

Women must, therefore, have sufficient training to fit them for their
duties in real life. Their education should be conducted throughout,
with a view to their future position as wives, mothers, and housewives.
But amongst all classes, even the highest, the education of girls is
rarely conducted with this object. Amongst the working people, the girls
are sent out to work; amongst the higher classes, they are sent out to
learn a few flashy accomplishments; and men are left to pick from them,
very often with little judgment, the future wives and mothers of
England.

Men themselves attach little or no importance to the intelligence or
industrial skill of women; and they only discover their value when they
find their homes stupid and cheerless. Men are caught by the glance of a
bright eye, by a pair of cherry cheeks, by a handsome figure; and when
they "fall in love," as the phrase goes, they never bethink them of
whether the "loved one" can mend a shirt or cook a pudding. And yet the
most sentimental of husbands must come down from his "ecstatics" so soon
as the knot is tied; and then he soon enough finds out that the clever
hands of a woman are worth far more than her bright glances; and if the
shirt and pudding qualifications be absent, then woe to the unhappy man,
and woe also to the unhappy woman! If the substantial element of
physical comfort be absent from the home, it soon becomes hateful; the
wife, notwithstanding all her good looks, is neglected; and the
public-house separates those whom the law and the Church have joined
together.

Men are really desperately ignorant respecting the home department. If
they thought for a moment of its importance, they would not be so ready
to rush into premature housekeeping. Ignorant men select equally
ignorant women for their wives; and these introduce into the world
families of children, whom they are utterly incompetent to train as
rational or domestic beings. The home is no home, but a mere lodging,
and often a very comfortless one.

We speak not merely of the poorest labourers, but of the best-paid
workmen in the large manufacturing towns. Men earning from two to three
pounds a week,--or more than the average pay of curates and bankers'
clerks,--though spending considerable amounts on beer, will often grudge
so small a part of their income as half-a-crown a week to provide decent
homes for themselves and their children. What is the consequence? They
degrade themselves and their families. They crowd together, in foul
neighbourhoods, into dwellings possessing no element of health or
decency; where even the small rental which they pay is in excess of the
accommodation they receive. The results are inevitable,--loss of
self-respect, degradation of intelligence, failure of physical health,
and premature death. Even the highest-minded philosopher, placed in such
a situation, would gradually gravitate towards brutality.

But the amount thus saved, or rather not expended on house-rent, is not
economy; it is reckless waste. The sickness caused by the bad dwelling
involves frequent interruptions of work, and drains upon the Savings
Bank or the Benefit Society; and a final and rapid descent to the
poor-rates. Though the loss to the middle and upper classes is great,
the loss is not for a moment to be compared with that which falls upon
the working classes themselves, through their neglect in providing
wholesome and comfortable dwellings for their families. It is, perhaps,
not saying too much to aver, that one-half the money expended by benefit
societies in large towns, may be set down as pecuniary loss arising from
bad and unhealthy homes.

But there is a worse consequence still. The low tone of physical health
thereby produced is one of the chief causes of drunkenness. Mr. Chadwick
once remonstrated with an apparently sensible workman on the expenditure
of half his income on whisky. His reply was, "Do you, sir, come and live
here, and you will drink whisky too." Mr. Leigh says, "I would not be
understood that habits of intoxication are _wholly_ due to a defective
sanitary condition; but no person can have the experience I have had
without coming to the conclusion that _unhealthy_ and unhappy
homes,--loss of _vital_ and consequently of _industrial_ energy, and a
consciousness of inability to control external circumstances,--induce
thousands to escape from miserable depression in the temporary
excitement of noxious drugs and intoxicating liquors. They are like the
seamen who struggle for awhile against the evils by which they are
surrounded, but at last, seeing no hope, stupefy themselves with drink,
and perish."

It may be said, in excuse, that working people must necessarily occupy
such houses as are to be had, and pay the rental asked for them, bad and
unwholesome though they be. But there is such a thing as supply and
demand; and the dwellings now supplied are really those which are most
in demand, because of their lowness of rental. Were the working classes
to shun unwholesome districts, and low-priced dwellings, and rent only
such tenements as were calculated to fulfil the requirements of a
wholesome and cleanly home, the owners of property would be compelled to
improve the character of their houses, and raise them to the required
standard of comfort and accommodation. The real remedy must lie with the
working classes themselves. Let them determine to raise their standard
of rental, and the reform is in a great measure accomplished.

We have already shown how masters have done a great deal for the better
accommodation of their work-people--how the benefactors of the poor,
such as Mr. Peabody and Lady Burdett Coutts, have promoted the building
of healthy homes. Yet the result must depend upon the individual action
of the working classes themselves. When they have the choice of living
in a dwelling situated in a healthy locality, and of another situated in
an unhealthy locality, they ought to choose the former. But very often
they do not. There is perhaps a difference of sixpence a week in the
rental, and, not knowing the advantages of health, they take the
unhealthy dwelling because it is the cheapest. But the money that sickly
people have to pay for physic, doctors' bills, and loss of wages, far
more than exceeds the amount saved by cheaper rental,--not to speak of
the loss of comfort, the want of cleanliness, and the depression of
spirits, which is inevitable where foul air is breathed.

To build a wholesome dwelling costs little more than to build an
unwholesome one. What is wanted on the part of the builder is, a
knowledge of sanitary conditions, and a willingness to provide the
proper accommodation. The space of ground covered by the dwelling is the
same in both cases; the quantity of bricks and mortar need be no
greater; and pure air is of the same price as foul air. Light costs
nothing.

A healthy home, presided over by a thrifty, cleanly woman, may be the
abode of comfort, of virtue, and of happiness. It may be the scene of
every ennobling relation in family life. It may be endeared to a man by
many delightful memories, by the affectionate voices of his wife, his
children, and his neighbours. Such a Home will be regarded, not as a
mere nest of common instinct, but as a training-ground for young
immortals, a sanctuary for the heart, a refuge from storms, a sweet
resting-place after labour, a consolation in sorrow, a pride in success,
and a joy at all times.

Much has been done to spread the doctrines of Sanitary Science. There is
no mystery attached to it, otherwise we should have had professors
teaching it in colleges (as we have now), and graduates practising it
amongst the people. It is only of recent years that it has received
general recognition; and we owe it, not to the medical faculty, but to a
barrister, that it has become embodied in many important Acts of
Parliament.

Edwin Chadwick has not yet received ordinary justice from his
contemporaries. Though he has been one of the most indefatigable and
successful workers of the age, and has greatly influenced the
legislation of his time, he is probably less known than many a
fourth-rate parliamentary talker.

Mr. Chadwick belongs to a Lancashire family, and was born near
Manchester. He received his education chiefly in London. Having chosen
the law for his profession, he was enrolled a student of the Inner
Temple in his twenty-sixth year. There he "ate his way" to the Bar;
maintaining himself by reporting and writing for the daily press. He was
not a man of an extraordinary amount of learning. But he was a sagacious
and persevering man. He was ready to confront any amount of labour in
prosecuting an object, no matter how remote its attainment might at
first sight appear to be.

At an early period in his career, Edwin Chadwick became possessed by an
idea. It is a great thing to be thoroughly possessed by an idea,
provided its aim and end be beneficent. It gives a colour and bias to
the whole of a man's life. The idea was not a new one; but being taken
up by an earnest, energetic, and hard-working man, there was some hope
for the practical working out of his idea in the actual life of
humanity. It was neither more nor less than the Sanitary Idea,--the germ
of the sanitary movement.

We must now briefly state how he worked his way to its practical
realization. It appears that Mr. Morgan, the Government actuary, had
stated before a parliamentary committee, that though the circumstances
of the middle classes had improved, their "expectation of life" had not
lengthened. This being diametrically opposed to our student's idea, he
endeavoured to demonstrate the fallacy of the actuary's opinion. He read
up and sifted numerous statistical documents,--Blue Books, life-tables,
and population-tables. He bored his way through the cumbrous pile, and
brought an accumulation of facts from the most unlooked-for quarters,
for the purpose of illustrating his idea, and elucidating his
master-thought.

The result was published in the _Westminster Review_ for April, 1828.
Mr. Chadwick demonstrated, by an immense array of facts and arguments,
that the circumstances which surround human beings _must_ have an
influence upon their health; that health _must_ improve with an
improvement of these circumstances; that many of the diseases and
conditions unfavourable to human life were under man's control, and
capable of being removed; that the practice of vaccination, the
diminution of hard drinking amongst the middle and upper classes, the
increase of habits of cleanliness, the improvements in medical science,
and the better construction of streets and houses, _must_, according to
all medical and popular experience, have contributed, _à priori_, to
lengthen life; and these he proved by a citation of facts from numerous
authentic sources. In short, Mr. Morgan was wrong. The "expectancy of
life," as is now universally admitted, has improved and is rapidly
improving amongst the better classes; but it was never thoroughly
demonstrated until Edwin Chadwick undertook the discussion of the
question.

Another article, which Mr. Chadwick published in the _London Review_, in
1829, on "Preventive Police," was read by Jeremy Bentham, then in his
eighty-second year, who so much admired it, that he craved an
introduction to the writer. The consequence was the formation of a
friendship that lasted without interruption until the death of the
philosopher in 1832. Mr. Bentham wished to engage the whole of his young
friend's time in assisting him with the preparation of his
Administrative Code, and he offered to place him in independent
circumstances if he would devote himself exclusively to the advancement
of his views. The offer was, however, declined.

Mr. Chadwick completed his law studies, and was called to the bar in
November, 1830. He was preparing to enter upon the practice of common
law, occasionally contributing articles to the _Westminster_, when he
was, in 1832, appointed a commissioner, in conjunction with Dr.
Southwood Smith and Mr. Tooke, to investigate the question of Factory
Labour, which Lord Ashley and Mr. Sadler were at that time strongly
pressing upon public attention. The sanitary idea again found
opportunity for expression in the report of the commission, which
referred to "defective drainage, ventilation, water supply, and the
like, as causes of disease,--acting, concurrently with excessive toil,
to depress the health and shorten the lives of the factory population."

In the same year (1832) an important Commission of Inquiry was appointed
by Lord Grey's Government, in reference to the operation of the Poor
Laws in England and Wales. Mr. Chadwick was appointed one of the
assistant commissioners, for the purpose of taking evidence on the
subject; and the districts of London and Berkshire were allotted to him.
His report, published in the following year, was a model of what a
report should be. It was full of information, admirably classified and
arranged, and was so racy,--by virtue of the facts brought to light, and
the care taken to preserve the very words of the witnesses as they were
spoken,--that the report may be read with interest by the most
inveterate enemy of blue-books.

Mr. Chadwick showed himself so thoroughly a master of the subject,--his
suggestions were so full of practical value,--that he was, shortly after
the publication of the report, advanced from the post of assistant
commissioner to that of chief commissioner: and he largely shared, with
Mr. Senior, in the labours and honours of the commissioners' report
submitted to the House of Commons in 1834, and also in the famous
Poor-Law Amendment Act passed in the same year, in which the
recommendations of the commissioners were substantially adopted and
formalized.

One may venture to say now, without fear of contradiction, that that law
was one of the most valuable that has been placed on the statute-book in
modern times. And yet no law proved more unpopular than this was, for
years after it had been enacted. But Mr. Chadwick never ceased to have
perfect faith in the soundness of the principles on which it was based,
and he was indefatigable in defending and establishing it. It has been
well said, that "to become popular is an easy thing; but to do unpopular
justice,--that requires a Man." And Edwin Chadwick is the man who has
never failed in courage to do the right thing, even though it should
prove to be the unpopular thing.

Whilst burrowing amidst the voluminous evidence on the Poor Laws, Mr.
Chadwick never lost sight of his sanitary idea. All his reports were
strongly imbued with it. One-fourth of the then existing pauperism was
traced by him to the preventible causes of disease. His minute
investigations into the condition of the labouring population and of the
poorer classes generally, gave him a thorough acquaintance with the
physical evils that were preying upon the community, carrying them off
by fevers, consumption, and cholera; and the sanitary idea took still
firmer possession of his mind.

One day, in 1838, while engaged in his official vocation of Secretary to
the Poor-Law Commission, an officer of the Whitechapel Union hastily
entered the Board-room of the Poor-Law Commission, and, with a troubled
countenance, informed the secretary that a terrible fever had broken out
round a stagnant pool in Whitechapel; that the people were dying by
scores; and that the extreme malignity of the cases gave reason to
apprehend that the disease was allied to Asiatic cholera. On hearing
this, the Board, at Mr. Chadwick's instance, immediately appointed Drs.
Arnott, Kay, and Southwood Smith to investigate the causes of this
alarming mortality, and to report generally upon the sanitary condition
of London. This inquiry at length ripened into the sanitary inquiry.

In the meantime, Mr. Chadwick had been engaged as a member of the
Commission, to inquire as to the best means of establishing an efficient
constabulary force in England and Wales. The evidence was embodied in a
report, as interesting as a novel of Dickens, which afforded a curious
insight into the modes of living, the customs and habits, of the lowest
classes of the population. When this question had been dismissed, Mr.
Chadwick proceeded to devote himself almost exclusively to the great
work of his life,--the Sanitary Movement.

The Bishop of London, in 1839, moved in the Lords, that the inquiry
which had been made at Mr. Chadwick's instance by Drs. Southwood Smith,
Arnott, and Kay, into the sanitary state of the metropolis, should be
extended to the whole population, city, rural, and manufacturing, of
England and Wales. Some residents in Edinburgh also petitioned that
Scotland might be included; and accordingly, in August, 1839, Lord John
Russell addressed a letter to the Poor-Law Board, authorizing them by
royal command to extend to the whole of Great Britain the inquiry into
preventible disease, which had already been begun with regard to the
metropolis. The onerous task of setting on foot and superintending the
inquiry throughout,--of sifting the evidence, and classifying and
condensing it for the purposes of publication,--devolved upon Mr.
Chadwick.

The first Report on the Health of Towns was ready for publication in
1842. It _ought_ to have appeared as the Official Report of the Poor-Law
Board; but as the commissioners (some of whom were at variance with Mr.
Chadwick with respect to the New Poor-Law) refused to assume the
responsibility of a document that contained much that must necessarily
offend many influential public bodies, Mr. Chadwick took the
responsibility upon himself, and it was published as _his_
report,--which indeed it was,--and accepted from him as such by the
commissioners.

The amount of dry, hard work encountered by Mr. Chadwick in the
preparation of this and his other reports can scarcely be estimated,
except by those who know anything of the labour involved in extracting
from masses of evidence, written and printed, sent in from all parts of
the empire, only the most striking results bearing upon the question in
hand, and such as are deemed worthy of publication. The mountains of
paper which Mr. Chadwick has thus bored through in his lifetime must
have been immense; and could they now be presented before him in one
pile, they would appal even _his_ stout heart!

The sensation excited throughout the country by the publication of Mr.
Chadwick's Sanitary Report was immense. Such a revelation of the horrors
lying concealed beneath the fair surface of our modern civilization, had
never before been published. But Mr. Chadwick had no idea of merely
creating a sensation. He had an object in view, which he persistently
pursued. The report was nothing, unless its recommendations were
speedily carried into effect. A sanitary party was formed; and the
ministers for the time being, aided by members of both sides in
politics, became its influential leaders.

A Sanitary Commission was appointed in 1844, to consider the whole
question in its practical bearings. The Commission published two
reports, with a view to legislation, but the Free-Trade struggle
interfered, and little was done for several years. Meanwhile our
sanitary reformer was occupied as a Commissioner in inquiring into the
condition of the metropolis. The Commission published three reports, in
which the defective drainage, sewage, and water-supply of London were
discussed in detail; and these have recently been followed by important
acts of legislation.

The sanitary idea at length had its triumph in the enactment of the
Public Health Act of 1848, and the appointment of a General Board of
Health (of which Mr. Chadwick was a member) to superintend its
administration. Numerous supplemental measures have since been enacted,
with the view of carrying into practical effect the sanitary principles
adopted by the Board. Reports continued to be published, from time to
time, full of valuable information: for instance, in reference to the
application of Sewage water to agricultural purposes; on Epidemic
Cholera; on Quarantine; on Drainage; on Public Lodging-houses; and the
like. The sanitary movement, in short, became a "great fact;" and that
it is so, we have mainly to thank Edwin Chadwick--the missionary of the
Sanitary idea. It is true he was eventually dismissed from his position
of influence at the Board of Health,--partly through spleen, but chiefly
because of his own unaccommodating nature,--unaccommodating especially
to petty local authorities and individual interests opposed to the
public good. But with all thinking and impartial men, his character
stands as high as it ever did. At all events, his _works_ remain.

We do not know a more striking instance than that presented by this
gentleman's career, of the large amount of good which a man strongly
possessed by a beneficent idea can accomplish, provided he have only the
force of purpose and perseverance to follow it up. Though Mr. Chadwick
has not been an actual legislator, he has nevertheless been the mover of
more wise measures than any legislator of our time. He created a public
opinion in favour of sanitary reform. He has also impressed the minds of
benevolent individuals with the necessity for providing improved
dwellings for the people; and has thus been the indirect means of
establishing the Peabody Dwellings, the Baroness Coutts' Dwellings, and
the various Societies for erecting improved dwellings for the industrial
classes.

Edwin Chadwick has thus proved himself to be one of the most useful and
practical of public benefactors. He deserves to be ranked with Clarkson
or Howard. His labours have been equally salutary; some will say that
they have been much more so in their results.

Sanitary science may be summed up in the one word--Cleanliness. Pure
water and pure air are its essentials. Wherever there is impurity, it
must be washed away and got rid of. Thus sanitary science is one of the
simplest and most intelligible of all the branches of human knowledge.
Perhaps it is because of this, that, like most common things, it has
continued to receive so little attention. Many still think that it
requires no science at all to ventilate a chamber, to clean out a drain,
and to keep house and person free from uncleanness.

Sanitary science may be regarded as an unsavoury subject. It deals with
dirt and its expulsion--from the skin, from the house, from the street,
from the city. It is comprised in the words--wherever there is dirt, get
rid of it instantly; and with cleanliness let there be a copious supply
of pure water and of pure air for the purposes of human health.

Take, for instance, an unhealthy street, or block of streets, in a large
town. There you find typhus fever constantly present. Cleanse and sewer
the street; supply it with pure air and pure water, and fever is
forthwith banished. Is not this a much more satisfactory result than the
application of drugs? Fifty thousand persons, says Mr. Lee, annually
fall victims to typhus fever in Great Britain, originated by causes
which are preventible. The result is the same as if these fifty thousand
persons were annually taken out of their wretched dwellings, and put to
death! We are shocked by the news of a murder--by the loss of a single
life by physical causes! And yet we hear, almost without a shudder, the
reiterated statement of the loss of tens of thousands of lives yearly
from physical causes in daily operation. The annual slaughter from
preventible causes of typhus fever is double the amount of what was
suffered by the allied armies at the battle of Waterloo! By neglect of
the ascertained conditions of healthful living, the great mass of the
people lose nearly half the natural period of their lives. "Typhus,"
says a medical officer, "is a curse which man inflicts upon himself by
the neglect of sanitary arrangements."

Mr. Chadwick affirmed that in the cellars of Liverpool, Manchester, and
Leeds, he had seen amongst the operatives more vice, misery, and
degradation than those which, when detailed by Howard, had excited the
sympathy of the world. The Irish poor sink into the unhealthy closes,
lanes, and back streets of large towns; and so frequent are the attacks
of typhus among them, that in some parts of the country the disease is
known as "the Irish fever." It is not merely the loss of life that is so
frightful; there is also the moral death that is still more appalling in
these unhealthy localities. Vice and crime consort with foul living. In
these places, demoralization is the normal state. There is an absence of
cleanliness, of decency, of decorum; the language used is polluting, and
scenes of profligacy are of almost hourly occurrence,--all tending to
foster idleness, drunkenness, and vicious abandonment. Imagine such a
moral atmosphere for women and children!

The connection is close and intimate between physical and moral health,
between domestic well-being and public happiness. The destructive
influence of an unwholesome dwelling propagates a moral typhus worse
than the plague itself. Where the body is enfeebled by the depressing
influences of vitiated air and bodily defilement, the mind, almost of
necessity, takes the same low, unhealthy tone. Self-respect is lost; a
stupid, inert, languid feeling overpowers the system; the character
becomes depraved; and too often--eager to snatch even a momentary
enjoyment, to feel the blood bounding in the veins,--the miserable
victim flies to the demon of strong drink for relief; hence misery,
infamy, shame, crime, and wretchedness.

This neglect of the conditions of daily health is a frightfully costly
thing. It costs the rich a great deal of money in the shape of
poor-rates, for the support of widows made husbandless, and children
made fatherless, by typhus. It costs them also a great deal in disease;
for the fever often spreads from the dwellings of the poor into the
homes of the rich, and carries away father, mother, or children. It
costs a great deal in subscriptions to maintain dispensaries,
infirmaries, houses of recovery, and asylums for the destitute. It costs
the poor still more; it costs them their health, which is their only
capital. In this is invested their all: if they lose it, their docket is
struck, and they are bankrupt. How frightful is the neglect, whether it
be on the part of society or of individuals, which robs the poor man of
his health, and makes his life a daily death!

Why, then, is not sanitary science universally adopted and enforced? We
fear it is mainly through indifference and laziness. The local
authorities--municipalities and boards of guardians--are so many Mrs.
Maclartys in their way. Like that dirty matron, they "canna be fashed."
To remove the materials of disease requires industry, constant
attention, and--what is far more serious--increased rates. The foul
interests hold their ground, and bid defiance to the attacks made upon
them. Things did very well, they say, in "the good old times,"--why
should they not do so now? When typhus or cholera breaks out, they tell
us that Nobody is to blame.

That terrible Nobody! How much he has to answer for. More mischief is
done by Nobody than by all the world besides. Nobody adulterates our
food. Nobody poisons us with bad drink. Nobody supplies us with foul
water. Nobody spreads fever in blind alleys and unswept lanes. Nobody
leaves towns undrained. Nobody fills gaols, penitentiaries, and convict
stations. Nobody makes poachers, thieves, and drunkards.

Nobody has a theory too--a dreadful theory. It is embodied in two
words--_Laissez faire_--Let alone. When people are poisoned by plaster
of Paris mixed with flour, "Let alone" is the remedy. When _Cocculus
indicus_ is used instead of hops, and men die prematurely, it is easy to
say, "Nobody did it." Let those who can, find out when they are cheated:
_Caveat emptor_. When people live in foul dwellings, let them alone. Let
wretchedness do its work; do not interfere with death.

"It matters nothing to me," said a rich man who heard of a poor woman
and her sick child being driven forth from a town for begging. The
workhouse authorities would have nothing to do with her, and sent her
away. But the poor woman went and sat down with her child at the rich
man's door; the child died there; the contagion of typhus was wafted
into the gilded saloon and the luxurious bed-chamber and the rich man's
child fell a victim to the disease.

But Nobody has considerably less power in society than he once had: and
our hope is, that he may ultimately follow in the wake of Old Bogie, and
disappear altogether. Wherever there is suffering and social depression,
we may depend upon it that Somebody is to blame. The responsibility
rests somewhere; and if we allow it to remain, it rests with us. We may
not be able to cope with the evil as individuals, single-handed; but it
becomes us to unite, and bring to bear upon the evil the joint moral
power of society in the form of a law. A Law is but the expression of a
combined will; and it does that for society, which society, in its
individual and separate action, cannot so well or efficiently do for
itself. Laws may do too much; they may meddle with things which ought to
be "let alone;" but the abuse of a thing is no proper argument against
its use, in cases where its employment is urgently called for.

Mere improvement of towns, however,--as respects drainage, sewerage,
paving, water supply, and abolition of cellar dwellings,--will effect
comparatively little, unless we can succeed in carrying the improvement
further,--namely, into the Homes of the people themselves. A
well-devised system of sanitary measures may ensure external
cleanliness,--may provide that the soil on which the streets of houses
are built shall be relieved of all superfluous moisture, and that all
animal and vegetable refuse shall be promptly removed,--so that the air
circulating through the streets, and floating from them into the houses
of the inhabitants, shall not be laden with poisonous miasmata, the
source of disease, suffering, and untimely death. Cellar dwellings may
be prohibited, and certain regulations as to the buildings hereafter to
be erected may also be enforced. But here municipal or parochial
authority stops: it can go no further; it cannot penetrate into the
Home, and it is not necessary that it should do so.

The individual efforts of the community themselves are therefore needed;
and any legislative enactments which dispensed with these would probably
be an evil. The Government does not build the houses in which the people
dwell. These are provided by employers and by capitalists, small and
large. It is necessary, therefore, to enlist these interests in the
cause of sanitary improvement, in order to ensure success.

Individual capitalists have already done much to provide wholesome
houses for their working people, and have found their account in so
doing, by their increased health, as well as in their moral improvement
in all ways. Capitalists imbued with a benevolent and philanthropic
spirit can thus spread blessings far and wide. And were a few
enterprising builders in every town to take up this question
practically, and provide a class of houses for workpeople, with suitable
accommodation; provided with arrangements for ventilation, cleanliness,
and separation of the sexes, such as health and comfort require; they
would really be conferring an amount of benefit on the community at
large, and, at the same time, we believe, upon themselves, which it
would not be easy to overestimate.

But there also needs the active co-operation of the dwellers in poor
men's homes themselves. They, too, must join cordially in the sanitary
movement; otherwise comparatively little good can be effected. You may
provide an efficient water supply, yet, if the housewife will not use
the water as it ought to be used,--if she be lazy and dirty,--the house
will be foul and comfortless still. You may provide for ventilation,
yet, if offensive matters be not removed, and doors and windows are kept
closed, the pure outer air will be excluded, and the house will still
smell fusty and unwholesome. In any case, there must be a cleanly woman
to superintend the affairs of the house; and she cannot be made so by
Act of Parliament! The Sanitary Commissioners cannot, by any
"Notification," convert the slatternly shrew into a tidy housewife, nor
the disorderly drunkard into an industrious, home-loving husband. There
must, therefore, be individual effort on the part of the housewife in
every working man's Home. As a recent writer on Home Reform observes,--

"We must begin by insisting that, however much of the physical and moral
evils of the working classes may be justly attributable to their
dwellings, it is too often the case that more ought, in truth, to be
attributed to themselves. For, surely, the inmate depends less on the
house, than the house on the inmate; as mind has more power over matter
than matter over mind. Let a dwelling be ever so poor and incommodious,
yet a family with decent and cleanly habits will contrive to make the
best of it, and will take care that there shall be nothing offensive in
it which they have power to remove. Whereas a model house, fitted up
with every convenience and comfort which modern science can supply,
will, if occupied by persons of intemperate and uncleanly habits,
speedily become a disgrace and a nuisance. A sober, industrious, and
cleanly couple will impart an air of decency and respectability to the
poorest dwelling; while the spendthrift, the drunkard, or the gambler
will convert a palace into a scene of discomfort and disgust. Since,
therefore, so much depends on the character and conduct of the parties
themselves, it is right that they should feel their responsibility in
this matter, and that they should know and attend to the various points
connected with the improvement of their own Homes."

While this important truth should be kept steadily in view, every
possible exertion ought, at the same time, to be made to provide a
greater abundance of comfortable, decent, and comely dwellings for the
working classes; for it is to be lamented that, in many districts, they
are, as it were, forced by the necessities of their condition to
gravitate into localities, and to inhabit dwellings where decency is
rendered almost impossible, where life becomes a slow dying, and where
the influences operating on the entire human energies, physical and
moral, are of the most deleterious character.

Homes are the manufactories of men, and as the Homes are, so will the
men be. Mind will be degraded by the physical influences around
it,--decency will be destroyed by constant contact with impurity and
defilement,--and coarseness of manners, habits, and tastes, will become
inevitable. You cannot rear a kindly nature, sensitive against evil,
careful of proprieties, and desirous of moral and intellectual
improvement, amidst the darkness, dampness, disorder, and discomfort
which unhappily characterize so large a portion of the dwellings of the
poor in our large towns; and until we can, by some means or other,
improve their domestic accommodation, their low moral and social
condition must be regarded as inevitable.

We want not only a better class of dwellings, but we require the people
to be so educated as to appreciate them. An Irish landlord took his
tenantry out of their mud huts, and removed them into comfortable
dwellings which he had built for their accommodation. When he returned
to his estate, he was greatly disappointed. The houses were as untidy
and uncomfortable as before. The pig was still under the bed, and the
hens over it. The concrete floor was as dirty as the mud one had been.
The panes of the windows were broken, and the garden was full of weeds.
The landlord wrote to a friend in despair. The friend replied, "You have
begun at the wrong end. You ought to have taught them the value of
cleanliness, thriftiness, and comfort." To begin at the beginning,
therefore, we must teach the people the necessity of cleanliness, its
virtues and its wholesomeness; for which purpose it is requisite that
they should be intelligent, capable of understanding ideas conveyed in
words, able to discern, able to read, able to think. In short, the
people, as children, must first have been to school, and properly taught
there; whereas we have allowed the majority of the working people to
grow up untaught, nearly half of them unable to read and write; and then
we expect them to display the virtues, prudence, judgment, and
forethought of well-educated beings!

It is of the first importance to teach people cleanly habits. This can
be done without teaching them either reading or writing. Cleanliness is
more than wholesomeness. It furnishes an atmosphere of self-respect, and
influences the moral condition of the entire household. It is the best
exponent of the spirit of Thrift. It is to the economy of the household,
what hygiene is to the human body. It should preside at every detail of
domestic service. It indicates comfort and well-being. It is among the
distinctive attributes of civilisation, and marks the progress of
nations.

Dr. Paley was accustomed to direct the particular attention of
travellers in foreign countries to the condition of the people as
respects cleanliness, and the local provisions for the prevention of
pollution. He was of opinion that a greater insight might thus be
obtained into their habits of decency, self-respect, and industry, and
into their moral and social condition generally, than from facts of any
other description. People are cleanly in proportion as they are decent,
industrious, and self-respecting. Unclean people are uncivilized. The
dirty classes of great towns are invariably the "dangerous classes" of
those towns. And if we would civilize the classes yet uncivilized, we
must banish dirt from amongst them.

Yet dirt forms no part of our nature. It is a parasite, feeding upon
human life, and destroying it. It is hideous and disgusting. There can
be no beauty where it is. The prettiest woman is made repulsive by it.
Children are made fretful, impatient, and bad-tempered by it. Men are
degraded and made reckless by it. There is little modesty where dirt
is,--for dirty is indecency. There can be little purity of mind where
the person is impure; for the body is the temple of the soul, and must
be cleansed and purified to be worthy of the shrine within. Dirt has an
affinity with self-indulgence and drunkenness. The sanitary inquirers
have clearly made out that the dirty classes are the drunken classes;
and that they are prone to seek, in the stupefaction of beer, gin, and
opium, a refuge from the miserable depression caused by the foul
conditions in which they live.

We need scarcely refer to the moral as well as the physical beauty of
cleanliness--cleanliness which indicates self-respect, and is the root
of many fine virtues--and especially of purity, delicacy, and decency.
We might even go farther, and say that purity of thought and feeling
result from habitual purity of body. For the mind and heart of man are,
to a very great extent, influenced by external conditions and
circumstances; and habit and custom, as regards outward things, stamp
themselves deeply on the whole character,--alike upon the moral feelings
and the intellectual powers.

Moses was the most practical of sanitary reformers. Among the eastern
nations generally, cleanliness is a part of religion. They esteem it not
only as next to godliness, but as a part of godliness itself. They
connect the idea of internal sanctity with that of external
purification. They feel that it would be an insult to the Maker they
worship to come into His presence covered with impurity. Hence the
Mahommedans devote almost as much care to the erection of baths, as to
that of mosques; and alongside the place of worship is usually found the
place of cleansing, so that the faithful may have the ready means of
purification previous to their act of worship.

"What worship," says a great writer, "is there not in mere washing!
perhaps one of the most moral things a man, in common cases, has it in
his power to do. Strip thyself, go into the bath, or were it into the
limpid pool of a running brook, and there wash and be clean; thou wilt
step out again a purer and a better man. This consciousness of perfect
outer pureness--that to thy skin there now adheres no foreign speck of
imperfection--how it radiates on thee, with cunning symbolic influences
to thy very soul! thou hast an increased tendency towards all good
things whatsoever. The oldest eastern sages, with joy and holy
gratitude, had felt it to be so, and that it was the Maker's gift and
will."

The common well-being of men, women, and children depends upon attention
to what at first sight may appear comparatively trivial matters. And
unless these small matters be attended to, comfort in person, mind, and
feeling is absolutely impossible. The physical satisfaction of a child,
for example, depends upon attention to its feeding, clothing, and
washing. These are the commonest of common things, and yet they are of
the most essential importance. If the child is not properly fed and
clothed, it will grow up feeble and ill-conditioned. And as the child
is, so will the man be.

Grown people cannot be comfortable without regular attention to these
common matters. Every one needs, and ought to have, comfort at home; and
comfort is the united product of cleanliness, thrift, regularity,
industry,--in short, a continuous performance of duties, each in itself
apparently trivial. The cooking of a potato, the baking of a loaf, the
mending of a shirt, the darning of a pair of stockings, the making of a
bed, the scrubbing of a floor, the washing and dressing of a baby, are
all matters of no great moment; but a woman ought to know how to do
these, before the management of a household, however poor, is entrusted
to her.

"Why," asked Lord Ashburton in a lecture to the students of the Wolvesey
training-schools, "why was one mother of a family a better economist
than another? Why could one live in abundance where another starved?
Why, in similar dwellings, were the children of one parent healthy, of
another puny and ailing? Why could this labourer do with ease a task
that would kill his fellow? It was not luck nor chance that decided
those differences; it was the patient observation of nature that
suggested to some gifted minds rules for their guidance which had
escaped the heedlessness of others."

It is not so much, however, the patient observation of nature, as good
training in the home and in the school, that enables some women to
accomplish so much more than others, in the development of human beings,
and the promotion of human comfort. And to do this efficiently, women as
well as men require to be instructed as to the nature of the objects
upon which they work.

Take one branch of science as an illustration--the physiological. In
this science we hold that every woman should receive some instruction.
And why? Because, if the laws of physiology were understood by women,
children would grow up into better, healthier, happier, and probably
wiser, men and women. Children are subject to certain physiological
laws, the observance of which is necessary for their health and comfort.
Is it not reasonable, therefore, to expect that women should know
something of those laws, and of their operation? If they are ignorant of
them they will be liable to commit all sorts of blunders, productive of
suffering, disease, and death. To what are we to attribute the frightful
mortality of children in most of our large towns--where one-half of all
that are born perish before they reach their fifth year? If women, as
well as men, knew something of the laws of healthy living, about the
nature of the atmosphere, how its free action upon the blood is
necessary to health--of the laws of ventilation, cleanliness, and
nutrition,--we cannot but think that the moral, not less than the
physical condition of the human beings committed to their charge, would
be greatly improved and promoted.

Were anything like a proper attention given to common things, there
would not be such an amount of discomfort, disease, and mortality
amongst the young. But we accustom people to act as if there were no
such provisions as natural laws. If we violate them, we do not escape
the consequences because we have been ignorant of their mode of
operation. We have been provided with intelligence that we might _know_
them; and if society keep its members blind and ignorant, the evil
consequences are inevitably reaped. Thus tens of thousands perish for
lack of knowledge of even the smallest, and yet most necessary
conditions of right living.

Women have also need to be taught the important art of domestic economy.
If they do not earn the family income, at least they have to spend the
money earned; and their instruction ought to have a view to the spending
of that money wisely. For this purpose, a knowledge of arithmetic is
absolutely necessary. Some may say, "What use can a woman have for
arithmetic?" But when men marry, they soon find this out. If the woman
who has a household to manage be innocent of addition and
multiplication; and if she fail to keep a record of her income or
expenditure, she will, before long, find herself in great trouble. She
will find that she cannot make the ends meet, and then run into debt. If
she spend too much on dress, she will have too little for food or
education. She will commit extravagances in one direction or another,
and thus subject her household to great discomfort. She may also bring
her husband into trouble through the debts she has contracted, and make
a beginning of his misfortunes and sometimes of his ruin.

Much might be said in favour of household management, and especially in
favour of improved cookery. Ill-cooked meals is a source of discomfort
in many families. Bad cooking is waste,--waste of money and loss of
comfort. Whom God has joined in matrimony, ill-cooked joints and
ill-boiled potatoes have very often put asunder. Among the "common
things" which educators should teach the rising generation, this ought
certainly not to be overlooked. It is the commonest and yet most
neglected of the branches of female education.

The greater part of human labour is occupied in the direct production of
the materials for human food. The farming classes and their labourers
devote themselves to the planting, rearing, and reaping of oats and
other cereals; and the grazing farmer to the production of cattle and
sheep, for the maintenance of the population at large. All these
articles--corn, beef, mutton, and such-like--are handed over to the
female half of the human species to be converted into food, for the
sustenance of themselves, their husbands, and their families. How do
they use their power? Can they cook? Have they been taught to cook? Is
it not a fact that, in this country, cooking is one of the lost or
undiscovered arts?

Thousands of artizans and labourers are deprived of half the actual
nutriment of their food, and continue half-starved, because their wives
are utterly ignorant of the art of cooking. They are yet in entire
darkness as to the economizing of food, and the means of rendering it
palatable and digestible.

Even the middle classes are badly served in this respect. "If we could
see," says a public writer, "by the help of an Asmodeus, what is going
on at the dinner hour of the humbler of the middle class,--what a
spectacle of discomfort, waste, ill-temper, and consequent ill-conduct
it would be! The man quarrels with his wife because there is nothing he
can eat, and he generally makes up in drink for the deficiencies in the
article of food. There is thus not only the direct waste of food and
detriment to health, but the further consequent waste of the use of
spirits, with its injury to the habits and the health."

On the other hand, people who eat well, drink moderately; the
satisfaction of the appetite dispensing with the necessity for resorting
to stimulants. Good humour too, and good health, follow a good meal; and
by a good meal we mean anything, however simple, well dressed in its
way. A rich man may live very expensively and very ill; and a poor man
may live frugally and very well, if it be his good fortune to have a
good cook in his wife or in his servant.

The most worthless unit in a family is an ill-managing wife, or an
indolent woman of any sort. The fair sex are sometimes very acute in
what concerns themselves. They keep a tight hand over their dressmakers
and milliners. They can tell to a thread when a flounce is too narrow or
a tuck too deep. But if their knowledge only extends to their own dress,
they are not help-meets, but incumbrances. If they know nothing of their
kitchen, and are at the mercy of the cook, their table will soon become
intolerable. Bad soup, soft and flabby fish, meat burnt outside and raw
within. The husband will soon fly from the Barmecide feast, and take
refuge in his club, where he will not only find food that he can digest,
but at the same time fly from the domestic discord that usually
accompanies ill-cooked victuals at home.

Mr. Smee says that "diseases of the digestive organs greatly exceed in
England the relative number found in other countries." The reason is,
that in no other country do men eat so much ill-cooked food. The least
observant of travellers must have been struck with admiration at the
readiness with which a dinner of eight or ten dishes of various eatables
makes its appearance in foreign inns; particularly when he remembers the
perpetual mutton chop and mashed potatoes of the English road. The
author remembers arriving at a roadside inn, in a remote part of
Dauphiny, immediately under the foot of the Pic du Midi. On looking at
the clay floor, and the worn state of the furniture, he remarked to his
friend, "Surely we can get no dinner here." "Wait till you see," was his
answer. In about half-an-hour, the table (though propped up) was spread
with a clean table-cloth; and successive dishes of soup, fowl,
"ros-bif," pomme-de-terre frite, French beans, with wholesome bread and
butter, made their appearance. In the principal inns of most provincial
towns in England, it would not have been possible to obtain such a
dinner.

Great would be the gain to the community if cookery were made an
ordinary branch of female education. To the poor, the gain would be
incalculable. "Among the prizes which the Bountifuls of both sexes are
fond of bestowing in the country, we should like to see some offered for
the best boiled potato, the best grilled mutton chop, and the best
seasoned hotch-potch, soup, or broth. In writing of a well-boiled
potato, we are aware that we shall incur the contempt of many for
attaching importance to a thing they suppose to be so common. But the
fact is, that their contempt arises, as is often the origin of contempt,
from their ignorance--there being not one person in a hundred who has
ever seen and tasted that great rarity--a well-boiled potato."[1]

[Footnote 1: _Examiner_.]

In short, we want common sense in cookery, as in most other things. Food
should be used, and not abused. Much of it is now absolutely wasted,
wasted for want of a little art in cooking it. Food is not only wasted
by bad cooking; but much of it is thrown away which French women would
convert into something savoury and digestible. Health, morals, and
family enjoyments, are all connected with the question of cookery. Above
all, it is the handmaid of Thrift. It makes the most and the best of the
bounties of God. It wastes nothing, but turns everything to account.
Every Englishwoman, whether gentle or simple, ought to be accomplished
in an art which confers so much comfort, health, and wealth upon the
members of her household.

"It appears to me," said Mrs. Margaretta Grey, "that with an increase of
wealth unequally distributed, and a pressure of population, there has
sprung up amongst us a spurious refinement, that cramps the energy and
circumscribes the usefulness of women in the upper class of society. A
lady, to be such, must be a lady, and nothing else.... Ladies dismissed
from the dairy, the confectionery, the store-room, the still-room, the
poultry-yard, the kitchen-garden, and the orchard" [she might have
added, the spinning-wheel], "have hardly yet found for themselves a
sphere equally useful and important in the pursuits of trade and art, to
which to apply their too abundant leisure.

"When, at any time, has society presented, on the one hand, so large an
array of respectably educated individuals, embarrassed for want of a
proper calling, and, on the other, so ponderous a multitude of
untrained, neglected poor, who cannot, without help, rise out of their
misery and degradation? What an obstruction to usefulness and all
eminence of character is that of being too rich, or too genteelly
connected, to work at anything!"[1]

[Footnote 1: _Memoir of John Grey, of Dalston_. p. 290.]

Many intelligent, high-minded ladies, who have felt disgusted at the
idleness to which "society" condemns them, have of late years undertaken
the work of visiting the poor and of nursing--a noble work. But there is
another school of usefulness which stands open to them. Let them study
the art of common cookery, and diffuse the knowledge of it amongst the
people. They will thus do an immense amount of good; and bring down the
blessings of many a half-hungered husband upon their benevolent heads.
Women of the poorer classes require much help from those who are better
educated, or who have been placed in better circumstances than
themselves. The greater number of them marry young, and suddenly enter
upon a life for which they have not received the slightest preparation.
They know nothing of cookery, of sewing or clothes mending, or of
economical ways of spending their husbands' money. Hence slatternly and
untidy habits, and uncomfortable homes, from which the husband is often
glad to seek refuge in the nearest public-house. The following story,
told by Joseph Corbett, a Birmingham operative, before a Parliamentary
Committee, holds true of many working people in the manufacturing
districts.

"My mother," he said, "worked in a manufactory from a very early age.
She was clever and industrious, and, moreover, she had the reputation of
being virtuous. She was regarded as an excellent match for a working
man. She was married early. She became the mother of eleven children: I
am the eldest. To the best of her ability she performed the important
duties of a wife and mother. But she was lamentably deficient in
domestic knowledge. In that most important of all human instruction--how
to make the home and the fireside to possess a charm for her husband and
children--she had never received one single lesson. She had children
apace. As she recovered from her lying-in, so she went to work, the babe
being brought to her at stated times to receive nourishment. As the
family increased, so everything like comfort disappeared altogether. The
power to make home cheerful and comfortable was never given to her. She
knew not the value of cherishing in my father's mind a love of domestic
objects. Not one moment's happiness did I ever see under my father's
roof. All this dismal state of things I can distinctly trace to the
entire and perfect absence of all training and instruction to my mother.
He became intemperate; and his intemperance made her necessitous. She
made many efforts to abstain from shop-work; but her pecuniary
necessities forced her back into the shop. The family was large; and
every moment was required at home. I have known her, after the close of
a hard day's work, sit up nearly all night for several nights together
washing and mending clothes. My father could have no comfort there.
These domestic obligations, which in a well-regulated house (even in
that of a working man, where there are prudence and good management)
would be done so as not to annoy the husband, were to my father a sort
of annoyance; and he, from an ignorant and mistaken notion, sought
comfort in an alehouse. My mother's ignorance of household duties; my
father's consequent irritability and intemperance; the frightful
poverty; the constant quarrelling; the pernicious example to my brothers
and sisters; the bad effect upon the future conduct of my brothers,--one
and all of us being forced out to work so young that our feeble earnings
would produce only 1_s_. a week,--cold and hunger, and the innumerable
sufferings of my childhood, crowd upon my mind and overpower me. They
keep alive a deep anxiety for the emancipation of thousands of families
in this great town (Birmingham) and neighbourhood, who are in a similar
state of horrible misery. My own experience tells me that the
instruction of the females in the work of a house, in teaching them to
produce cheerfulness and comfort at the fireside, would prevent a great
amount of misery and crime. There would be fewer drunken husbands and
disobedient children. As a working man, within my own observation,
female education is disgracefully neglected. I attach more importance to
it than to anything else; for woman imparts the first impressions to the
young susceptible mind; she models the child from which is formed the
future man."




CHAPTER XVI.

THE ART OF LIVING.


"Deem no man, in any age,
Gentle for his lineage.
Though he be not highly born,
He is gentle if he doth
What 'longeth to a gentleman."--_Chaucer_.

"Every one is the son of his own work."--_Cervantes_.

"Serve a noble disposition, though poor; the time comes that he will
repay thee."--_George Herbert_.

"Although men are accused for not knowing their own weakness, yet
perhaps as few know their own strength. It is in men as in soils, where
sometimes there is a vein of gold, which the owner knows not
of."--_Swift_.

"Let not what I cannot have
My cheer of mind destroy."--_Cibber_.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Art of Living deserves a place among the Fine Arts. Like Literature,
it may be ranked with the Humanities. It is the art of turning the means
of living to the best account,--of making the best of everything. It is
the art of extracting from life its highest enjoyment, and, through it,
of reaching its highest results.

To live happily, the exercise of no small degree of art is required.
Like poetry and painting, the art of living comes chiefly by nature; but
all can cultivate and develop it. It can be fostered by parents and
teachers, and perfected by self-culture. Without intelligence, it cannot
exist.

Happiness is not, like a large and beautiful gem, so uncommon and rare,
that all search for it is vain, all efforts to obtain it hopeless; but
it consists of a series of smaller and commoner gems, grouped and set
together, forming a pleasing and graceful whole. Happiness consists in
the enjoyment of little pleasures scattered along the common path of
life, which, in the eager search for some great and exciting joy, we are
apt to overlook. It finds delight in the performance of common duties,
faithfully and honourably fulfilled.

The art of living is abundantly exemplified in actual life. Take two men
of equal means,--one of whom knows the art of living, and the other not.
The one has the seeing-eye and the intelligent mind. Nature is ever new
to him, and full of beauty. He can live in the present, rehearse the
past, or anticipate the glory of the future. With him, life has a deep
meaning, and requires the performance of duties which are satisfactory
to his conscience, and are therefore pleasurable. He improves himself,
acts upon his age, helps to elevate the depressed classes, and is active
in every good work. His hand is never tired, his mind is never weary. He
goes through life joyfully, helping others to its enjoyment.
Intelligence, ever expanding, gives him every day fresh insight into men
and things. He lays down his life full of honour and blessing, and his
greatest monument is the good deeds he has done, and the beneficent
example he has set before his fellow-creatures.

The other has comparatively little pleasure in life. He has scarcely
reached manhood, ere he has exhausted its enjoyments. Money has done
everything that it could for him. Yet he feels life to be vacant and
cheerless. Travelling does him no good; for, for him history has no
meaning. He is only alive to the impositions of innkeepers and couriers,
and the disagreeableness of travelling for days amidst great mountains,
among peasants and sheep, cramped up in a carriage. Picture galleries he
feels to be a bore, and he looks into them because other people do.
These "pleasures" soon tire him, and he becomes _blasé_. When he grows
old, and has run the round of fashionable dissipations, and there is
nothing left which he can relish, life becomes a masquerade, in which he
recognizes only knaves, hypocrites, and flatterers. Though he does not
enjoy life, yet he is terrified to leave it. Then the curtain falls.
With all his wealth, life has been to him a failure, for he has not
known the Art of Living, without which life cannot be enjoyed.

It is not wealth that gives the true zest to life,--but reflection,
appreciation, taste, culture. Above all, the seeing eye and the feeling
heart are indispensable. With these, the humblest lot may be made blest.
Labour and toil may be associated with the highest thoughts and the
purest tastes. The lot of labour may thus become elevated and ennobled.
Montaigne observes that "all moral philosophy is as applicable to a
vulgar and private life as to the most splendid. Every man carries the
entire form of the human condition within him."

Even in material comfort, good taste is a real economist, as well as an
enhancer of joy. Scarcely have you passed the doorstep of your friend's
house, when you can detect whether taste presides within it or not.
There is an air of neatness, order, arrangement, grace, and refinement,
that gives a thrill of pleasure, though you cannot define it, or explain
how it is. There is a flower in the window, or a picture against the
wall, that marks the home of taste. A bird sings at the window-sill;
books lie about; and the furniture, though common, is tidy, suitable,
and, it may be, even elegant.

The art of living extends to all the economies of the household. It
selects wholesome food, and serves it with taste. There is no profusion;
the fare may be very humble, but it has a savour about it; everything is
so clean and neat, the water so sparkles in the glass, that you do not
desire richer viands, or a more exciting beverage. Look into another
house, and you will see profusion enough, without either taste or order.
The expenditure is larger, and yet you do not feel "at home" there. The
atmosphere seems to be full of discomfort. Books, hats, shawls, and
stockings in course of repair, are strewn about. Two or three chairs are
loaded with goods. The rooms are hugger-mugger. No matter how much money
is spent, it does not mend matters. Taste is wanting, for the manager of
the household has not yet learnt the Art of Living.

You see the same contrast in cottage life. The lot of poverty is
sweetened by taste. It selects the healthiest, openest neighbourhood,
where the air is pure and the streets are clean. You see, at a glance,
by the sanded doorstep, and the window-panes without a speck,--perhaps
blooming roses or geraniums shining through them,--that the tenant
within, however poor, knows the art of making the best of his lot. How
different from the foul cottage-dwellings you see elsewhere; with the
dirty children playing in the gutters; the slattern-like women lounging
by the door-cheek; and the air of sullen poverty that seems to pervade
the place. And yet the weekly income in the former home may be no
greater, perhaps even less, than in that of the other.

How is it, that of two men, working in the same field or in the same
shop, one is merry as a lark,--always cheerful, well-clad, and as clean
as his work will allow him to be,--comes out on Sunday mornings in his
best suit, to go to church with his family,--is never without a penny in
his purse, and has something besides in the savings bank,--is a reader
of books and a subscriber to a newspaper, besides taking in some
literary journal for family reading; whilst the other man, with equal or
even superior weekly wages, comes to work in the mornings sour and
sad,--is always full of grumbling,--is badly clad and badly shod,--is
never seen out of his house on Sundays till about midday, when he
appears in his shirt-sleeves, his face unwashed, his hair unkempt, his
eyes bleared and bloodshot,--his children left to run about the gutters,
with no one apparently to care for them,--is always at his last coin,
except on Saturday night, and then he has a long score of borrowings to
repay,--belongs to no club, has nothing saved, but lives literally from
hand to mouth,--reads none, thinks none, but only toils, eats, drinks,
and sleeps;--why is it that there is so remarkable a difference between
these two men?

Simply for this reason,--that the one has the intelligence and the art
to extract joy and happiness from life,--to be happy himself, and to
make those about him happy; whereas the other has not cultivated his
intelligence, and knows nothing whatever of the art of either making
himself or his family happy. With the one, life is a scene of loving,
helping, and sympathizing,--of carefulness, forethought, and
calculation--of reflection, action, and duty;--with the other, it is
only a rough scramble for meat and drink; duty is not thought of,
reflection is banished, prudent forethought is never for a moment
entertained.

But look to the result; the former is respected by his fellow-workmen
and beloved by his family,--he is an example of well-being and
well-doing to all who are within reach of his influence; whereas the
other is as unreflective and miserable, as nature will allow him to
be,--he is shunned by good men,--his family are afraid at the sound of
his footsteps, his wife perhaps trembling at his approach,--he dies
without leaving any regrets behind him, except, it may be, on the part
of his family, who are left to be maintained by the charity of the
public, or by the pittance doled out by the overseers.

For these reasons, it is worth every man's while to study the important
Art of living happily. Even the poorest man may by this means extract an
increased amount of joy and blessing from life. The world need not be "a
vale of tears," unless we ourselves will it to be so. We have the
command, to a great extent, over our own lot. At all events, our mind is
our own possession; we can cherish happy thoughts there; we can regulate
and control our tempers and dispositions to a considerable extent; we
can educate ourselves, and bring out the better part of our nature,
which in most men is allowed to sleep a deep sleep; we can read good
books, cherish pure thoughts, and lead lives of peace, temperance, and
virtue, so as to secure the respect of good men, and transmit the
blessing of a faithful example to our successors.

The Art of Living is best exhibited in the Home. The first condition of
a happy home, where good influences prevail over bad ones, is Comfort.
Where there are carking cares, querulousness, untidiness, slovenliness,
and dirt, there can be little comfort either for man or woman. The
husband who has been working all day, expects to have something as a
compensation for his toil. The least that his wife can do for him, is to
make his house snug, clean, and tidy, against his home-coming at eve.
That is the truest economy--the best housekeeping--the worthiest
domestic management--which makes the home so pleasant and agreeable,
that a man feels when approaching it, that he is about to enter a
sanctuary; and that, when there, there is no alehouse attraction that
can draw him away from it.

Some say that we worship Comfort too much. The word is essentially
English, and is said to be untranslateable, in its full meaning, into
any foreign language. It is intimately connected with the Fireside. In
warmer climes, people contrive to live out of doors. They sun themselves
in the streets. Half their life is in public. The genial air woos them
forth, and keeps them abroad. They enter their houses merely to eat and
sleep. They can scarcely be said to _live_ there.

How different is it with us! The raw air without, during so many months
of the year, drives us within doors. Hence we cultivate all manner of
home pleasures. Hence the host of delightful associations which rise up
in the mind at the mention of the word Home. Hence our household god,
Comfort.

We are not satisfied merely with a home. It must be comfortable. The
most wretched, indeed, are those who have no homes--the homeless! But
not less wretched are those whose homes are without comfort--those of
whom Charles Lamb once said, "The homes of the very poor are no homes."
It is Comfort, then, that is the soul of the home--its essential
principle--its vital element.

Comfort does not mean merely warmth, good furniture, good eating and
drinking. It means something higher than this. It means cleanliness,
pure air, order, frugality,--in a word, house-thrift and domestic
government. Comfort is the soil in which the human being grows,--not
only physically, but morally. Comfort lies, indeed, at the root of many
virtues.

Wealth is not necessary for comfort. Luxury requires wealth, but not
comfort. A poor man's home, moderately supplied with the necessaries of
life, presided over by a cleanly, frugal housewife, may contain all the
elements of comfortable living. Comfortlessness is for the most part
caused, not so much by the absence of sufficient means, as by the
absence of the requisite knowledge of domestic management.

Comfort, it must be admitted, is in a great measure _relative_. What is
comfort to one man, would be misery to another. Even the commonest
mechanic of this day would consider it miserable to live after the style
of the nobles a few centuries ago; to sleep on straw beds, and live in
rooms littered with rushes. William the Conqueror had neither a shirt to
his back, nor a pane of glass to his windows. Queen Elizabeth was one of
the first to wear silk stockings. The Queens before her were
stockingless.

Comfort depends as much on persons as on "things." It is out of the
character and temper of those who govern homes, that the feeling of
comfort arises, much more than out of handsome furniture, heated rooms,
or household luxuries and conveniences.

Comfortable people are kindly-tempered. Good temper may be set down as
an invariable condition of comfort. There must be peace, mutual
forbearance, mutual help, and a disposition to make the best of
everything. "Better is a dinner of herbs where love is, than a stalled
ox and hatred therewith."

Comfortable people are persons of common sense, discretion, prudence,
and economy. They have a natural affinity for honesty and justice,
goodness and truth. They do not run into debt,--for that is a species of
dishonesty. They live within their means, and lay by something for a
rainy day. They provide for the things of their own household,--yet they
are not wanting in hospitality and benevolence on fitting occasions. And
what they do, is done without ostentation.

Comfortable people do everything in order. They are systematic, steady,
sober, industrious. They dress comfortably. They adapt themselves to the
season,--neither shivering in winter, nor perspiring in summer. They do
not toil after a "fashionable appearance." They expend more on warm
stockings than on gold rings; and prefer healthy, good bedding, to gaudy
window-curtains. Their chairs are solid, not gimcrack. They will bear
sitting upon, though they may not be ornamental.

The organization of the home depends for the most part upon woman. She
is necessarily the manager of every family and household. How much,
therefore, must depend upon her intelligent co-operation! Man's life
revolves round woman. She is the sun of his social system. She is the
queen of domestic life. The comfort of every home mainly depends upon
her,--upon her character, her temper, her power of organization, and her
business management. A man may be economical; but unless there be
economy at home, his frugality will be comparatively useless. "A man
cannot thrive," the proverb says, "unless his wife let him."

House-thrift is homely, but beneficent. Though unseen of the world, it
makes many people happy. It works upon individuals; and by elevating
them, it elevates society itself. It is in fact a receipt of infallible
efficacy, for conferring the greatest possible happiness upon the
greatest possible number. Without it legislation, benevolence, and
philanthropy are mere palliatives, sometimes worse than useless, because
they hold out hopes which are for the most part disappointed.

How happy does a man go forth to his labour or his business, and how
doubly happy does he return from it, when he knows that his means are
carefully husbanded and wisely applied by a judicious and well-managing
wife. Such a woman is not only a power in her own house, but her example
goes forth amongst her neighbours, and she stands before them as a model
and a pattern. The habits of her children are formed after her habits:
her actual life becomes the model after which they unconsciously mould
themselves; for example always speaks more eloquently than words: it is
instruction in action--wisdom at work.

First amongst woman's qualities is the intelligent use of her hands and
fingers. Every one knows how useful, how indispensable to the comfort of
a household, is the tidy, managing, handy woman. Pestalozzi, with his
usual sagacity, has observed, that half the education of a woman comes
through her fingers. There are wisdom and virtue at her finger-ends. But
intellect must also accompany thrift: they must go hand in hand. A woman
must not only be clever with her fingers, but possessed of the power of
organizing household work.

There must be Method. The late Sir Arthur Helps observed, that "as women
are at present educated, they are for the most part thoroughly deficient
in _method_. But this surely might be remedied by training. To take a
very humble and simple instance. Why is it that a man-cook is always
better than a woman-cook? Simply because a man is more methodical in his
arrangements, and relies more upon his weights and measures. An eminent
physician told me that he thought women were absolutely deficient in the
appreciation of time. But this I hold to be merely one instance of their
general want of accuracy, for which there are easy remedies: that is,
easy if begun early enough."

Accordingly, to manage a household efficiently, there must be Method.
Without this, work cannot be got through satisfactorily either in
offices, workshops, or households. By arranging work properly, by doing
everything at the right time, with a view to the economy of labour, a
large amount of business can be accomplished. Muddle flies before
method; and hugger-mugger disappears. There is also a method in
spending--in laying out money,--which is as valuable to the housewife,
as method is in accomplishing her work. Money slips through the fingers
of some people like quicksilver. We have already seen that many men are
spendthrifts. But many women are the same. At least they do not know how
to expend their husband's earnings to the best advantage. You observe
things very much out of place--frills and ruffles and ill-darned
stockings--fine bonnets and clouted shoes--silk gowns and dirty
petticoats; while the husband goes about ragged and torn, with scarcely
a clean thing about him.

Industry is of course essential. This is the soul of business; but,
without method, industry will be less productive. Industry may sometimes
look like confusion. But the methodical and industrious woman gets
through her work in a quiet, steady style,--without fuss, or noise, or
dust-clouds.

Prudence is another important household qualification. Prudence comes
from cultivated judgment: it means practical wisdom. It has reference to
fitness, to propriety; it judges of the right thing to be done, and of
the right way of doing it. It calculates the means, order, time, and
method of doing. Prudence learns much from experience, quickened by
knowledge.

Punctuality is another eminently household qualification. How many
grumblings would be avoided in domestic life, by a little more attention
being paid to this virtue. Late breakfasts and late dinners,--"too late"
for church and market,--"cleanings" out of time, and "washings"
protracted till midnight,--bills put off with a "call again
to-morrow,"--engagements and promises unfulfilled,--what a host of
little nuisances spring to mind, at thought of the unpunctual housewife!
The unpunctual woman, like the unpunctual man, becomes disliked, because
she consumes our time, interferes with our plans, causes uneasy
feelings, and virtually tells us that we are not of sufficient
importance to cause her to be more punctual. To the business man, time
is money, and to the business woman it is more,--it is peace, comfort,
and domestic prosperity.

Perseverance is another good household habit. Lay down a good plan, and
adhere to it. Do not be turned from it without a sufficient reason.
Follow it diligently and faithfully, and it will yield fruits in good
season. If the plan be a prudent one, based on practical wisdom, a ll
things will gravitate towards it, and a mutual dependence will gradually
be established among all the parts of the domestic system.

We might furnish numerous practical illustrations of the truth of these
remarks, but our space is nearly filled up, and we must leave the reader
to supply them from his or her own experience.

There are many other illustrations which might be adduced, of the art of
making life happy. The management of the temper is an art full of
beneficent results. By kindness, cheerfulness, and forbearance, we can
be happy almost at will; and at the same time spread happiness about us
on every side. We can encourage happy thoughts in ourselves and others.
We can be sober in habit. What can a wife and her children think of an
intemperate husband and father? We can be sober in language, and shun
cursing and swearing--the most useless, unmeaning, and brutal of
vulgarities. Nothing can be so silly and unmeaning--not to say shocking,
repulsive, and sinful--as the oaths so common in the mouths of vulgar
swearers. They are profanation without purpose--impiety without
provocation--blasphemy without excuse.

This leads us to remark, in passing, that in this country we are not
sufficiently instructed in the Art of Good Manners. We are rather gruff,
and sometimes unapproachable. Manners do _not_ make the man, as the
proverb alleges; but manners make the man much more agreeable. A man may
be noble in his heart, true in his dealings, virtuous in his conduct,
and yet unmannerly. Suavity of disposition and gentleness of manners
give the finish to the true gentleman.

By Good Manners we do not mean Etiquette. This is only a conventional
set of rules adopted by what is called "good society;" and many of the
rules of etiquette are of the essence of rudeness. Etiquette does not
permit genteel people to recognize in the streets a man with a shabby
coat though he be their brother. Etiquette is a liar in its "not at
home,"--ordered to be told by servants to callers at inconvenient
seasons.

Good manners include many requisites; but they chiefly consist in
politeness, courtesy, and kindness. They cannot be taught by rule, but
they may be taught by example. It has been said that politeness is the
art of showing men, by external signs, the internal regard we have for
them. But a man may be perfectly polite to another, without necessarily
having any regard for him. Good manners are neither more nor less than
beautiful behaviour. It has been well said that "a beautiful form is
better than a beautiful face, and a beautiful behaviour is better than a
beautiful form; it gives a higher pleasure than statues or pictures; it
is the finest of the fine arts."

Manner is the ornament of action; indeed a good action, without a good
manner of doing it, is stripped of half its value. A poor fellow gets
into difficulties, and solicits help of a friend. He obtains it, but it
is with a "_There_-take that; but I don't like lending." The help is
given with a kind of kick, and is scarcely accepted as a favour. The
manner of the giving long rankles in the mind of the acceptor. Thus good
manners mean kind manners,--benevolence being the preponderating element
in all kinds of pleasant intercourse between human beings.

A story is told of a poor soldier having one day called at the shop of a
hairdresser, who was busy with his customers, and asked relief,--stating
that he had stayed beyond his leave of absence, and unless he could get
a lift on the coach, fatigue and severe punishment awaited him. The
hairdresser listened to his story respectfully, and gave him a guinea.
"God bless you, sir!" exclaimed the soldier, astonished at the amount.
"How can I repay you? I have nothing in the world but this"--pulling out
a dirty piece of paper from his pocket; "it is a receipt for making
blacking; it is the best that was ever seen; many a half-guinea I have
had for it from the officers, and many bottles I have sold; may you be
able to get something for it to repay you for your kindness to the poor
soldier." Oddly enough, that dirty piece of paper proved worth half a
million of money to the hairdresser. It was no less than the receipt for
the famous Day and Martin's blacking; the hairdresser being the late
wealthy Mr. Day, whose manufactory is one of the notabilities of the
metropolis.

Good manners have been supposed to be a peculiar mark of gentility, and
that the individual exhibiting them has been born in some upper class of
society. But the poorest classes may exhibit good manners towards each
other, as well as the richest. One may be polite and kind towards
others, without a penny in the purse. Politeness goes very far; yet it
costs nothing. It is the cheapest of commodities. But we want to be
taught good manners, as well as other things. Some happy natures are "to
the manner born." But the bulk of men need to be taught manners, and
this can only be efficiently done in youth.

We have said that working men might study good manners with advantage.
Why should they not respect themselves and each other? It is by their
demeanour towards each other--in other words, by their manners--that
self-respect and mutual respect are indicated. We have been struck by
the habitual politeness of even the poorest classes on the Continent.
The workman lifts his cap and respectfully salutes his fellow-workman in
passing. There is no sacrifice of manliness in this, but rather grace
and dignity. The working man, in respecting his fellow, respects himself
and his order. There is kindness in the act of recognition, as well as
in the manner in which it is denoted.

We might learn much from the French people in this matter. They are not
only polite to each other, but they have a greater respect for property.
Some may be disposed to doubt this, after the recent destruction of
buildings in Paris. But the Communists must be regarded as altogether
exceptional people; and to understand the French character, we must look
to the body of the population scattered throughout France. There we find
property much more respected by the people than amongst ourselves. Even
the beggar respects the fruit by the roadside, although there is nobody
to protect it. The reason of this is, that France is a nation of small
proprietors,--that property is much more generally diffused and
exposed,--and parents of even the lowest class educate their children in
carefulness of and fidelity to the property of others.

This respect for property is also accompanied with that respect for the
feelings of others, which constitutes what is called Good Manners. This
is carefully inculcated in the children of all ranks in France. They are
very rarely rude. They are civil to strangers. They are civil to each
other. Mr. Laing, in his "Notes of a Traveller," makes these remarks:
"This deference to the feelings of others in all that we do is a moral
habit of great value when it is generally diffused, and enters into the
home training of every family. It is an education both of the parent and
child in morals, carried on through the medium of external manners....
It is a fine distinction of the French national character, and of social
economy, that practical morality is more generally taught through
manners, among and by the people themselves, than in any country in
Europe."[1]

[Footnote 1: SAMUEL LAING--_Notes of Traveller, on the Social and
Political State of France, Prussia, Switzerland, Italy, and other Parts
of Europe_, p. 55.]

The same kindly feeling might be observed throughout the entire social
intercourse of working men with each other. There is not a moment in
their lives in which the opportunity does not occur for exhibiting good
manners--in the workshop, in the street, and at home. Provided there be
a wish to please others by kind looks and ways, the habit of combining
good manners with every action will soon be formed. It is not merely the
pleasure a man gives to others by being kind to them: he receives
tenfold more pleasure himself. The man who gets up and offers his chair
to a woman, or to an old man--trivial though the act may seem,--is
rewarded by his own heart, and a thrill of pleasure runs through him the
moment he has performed the kindness.

Workpeople need to practise good manners towards each other the more,
because they are under the necessity of constantly living with each
other and amongst each other. They are in constant contact with their
fellow-workmen, whereas the richer classes need not mix with men unless
they choose, and then they can select whom they like. The working man's
happiness depends much more upon the kind looks, words, and acts of
those immediately about him, than the rich man's does. It is so in the
workshop, and it is the same at home. There the workman cannot retire
into his study, but must sit amongst his family, by the side of his
wife, with his children about him. And he must either live kindly with
them--performing kind and obliging acts towards his family,--or he must
see, suffer, and endure the intolerable misery of reciprocal unkindness.

Admitted that there are difficulties in the way of working men
cultivating the art of good manners--that their circumstances are often
very limited, and their position unfavourable, yet no man is so poor but
that he can be civil and kind, if he choose; and to be civil and kind is
the very essence of good manners. Even in the most adverse circumstances
a man may try to do his best. If he do--if he speak and act courteously
and kindly to all,--the result will be so satisfactory, so
self-rewarding, that he cannot but be stimulated to persevere in the
same course. He will diffuse pleasure about him in the home, make
friends of his work-fellows, and be regarded with increased kindness and
respect by every right-minded employer. The civil workman will exercise
increased power amongst his class, and gradually induce them to imitate
him by his persistent steadiness, civility, and kindness. Thus Benjamin
Franklin, when a workman, reformed the habits of an entire workshop.

Then, besides the general pleasure arising from the exercise of Good
Manners, there is a great deal of healthful and innocent pleasure to be
derived from amusements of various kinds. One cannot be always working,
eating, and sleeping. There must be time for relaxation--time for mental
pleasures--time for bodily exercise.

There is a profound meaning in the word Amusement; much more than most
people are disposed to admit. In fact, amusement is an important part of
education. It is a mistake to suppose that the boy or the man who plays
at some outdoor game is wasting his time. Amusement of any kind is not
wasting time, but economizing life.

Relax and exercise frequently, if you would enjoy good health. If you do
not relax, and take no exercise, the results will soon appear in bodily
ailments, which always accompany sedentary occupations. "The students,"
says Lord Derby, "who think they have not time for bodily exercise, will
sooner or later find time for illness."

There are people in the world who would, if they had the power, hang the
heavens about with crape; throw a shroud over the beautiful and
life-giving bosom of the planet; pick the bright stars from the sky;
veil the sun with clouds; pluck the silver moon from her place in the
firmament; shut up our gardens and fields, and all the flowers with
which they are bedecked; and doom the world to an atmosphere of gloom
and cheerlessness. There is no reason nor morality in this, and there is
still less religion.

A benevolent Creator has endowed man with an eminent capacity for
enjoyment,--has set him in a fair and lovely world, surrounded him with
things good and beautiful,--and given him the disposition to love, to
sympathize, to help, to produce, to enjoy; and thus to become an
honourable and a happy being, bringing God's work to perfection, and
enjoying the divine creation in the midst of which he lives.

Make a man happy, and his actions will be happy too; doom him to dismal
thoughts and miserable circumstances, and you will make him gloomy,
discontented, morose, and probably vicious. Hence coarseness and crime
are almost invariably found amongst those who have never been accustomed
to be cheerful, whose hearts have been shut against the purifying
influences of a happy communion with nature, or an enlightened and
cheerful intercourse with man.

Man has a strong natural appetite for relaxation and amusement, and,
like all other natural appetites, it has been implanted for a wise
purpose. It cannot be repressed, but will break out in one form or
another. Any well-directed attempt to promote an innocent amusement, is
worth a dozen sermons against pernicious ones. If we do not provide the
opportunity for enjoying wholesome pleasures, men will certainly find
out vicious ones for themselves. Sydney Smith truly said, "In order to
attack vice with effect, we must set up something better in its place."

Temperance reformers have not sufficiently considered how much the
drinking habits of the country are the consequences of gross tastes, and
of the too limited opportunities which exist in this country for
obtaining access to amusements of an innocent and improving tendency.
The workman's tastes have been allowed to remain uncultivated; present
wants engross his thoughts; the gratification of his appetites is his
highest pleasure; and when he relaxes, it is to indulge immoderately in
beer or whisky. The Germans were at one time the drunkenest of nations;
they are now amongst the soberest. "As drunken as a German boor," was a
common proverb. How have they been weaned from drink? Principally by
Education and Music.

Music has a most humanizing effect. The cultivation of the art has a
most favourable influence upon public morals. It furnishes a source of
pleasure in every family. It gives home a new attraction. It makes
social intercourse more cheerful. Father Mathew followed up his
Temperance movement by a Singing movement. He promoted the establishment
of musical clubs all over Ireland: for he felt that, as he had taken the
people's whisky from them, he must give them some wholesome stimulus in
its stead. He gave them Music. Singing classes were established, to
refine the taste, soften the manners, and humanize the mass of the Irish
people. But we fear that the example set by Father Mathew has already
been forgotten.

"What a fulness of enjoyment," says Channing, "has our Creator placed
within our reach, by surrounding us with an atmosphere which may be
shaped into sweet sounds! And yet this goodness is almost lost upon us,
through want of culture of the organ by which this provision is to be
enjoyed."

How much would the general cultivation of the gift of music improve us
as a people! Children ought to learn it in schools, as they do in
Germany. The voice of music would then be heard in every household. Our
old English glees would no longer be forgotten. Men and women might sing
in the intervals of their work,--as the Germans do in going to and
coming from their wars. The work would not be worse done, because it was
done amidst music and cheerfulness. The breath of society would be
sweetened, and pleasure would be linked with labour.

Why not have some elegance in even the humblest home? We must of course
have cleanliness, which is the special elegance of the poor. But why not
have pleasant and delightful things to look upon? There is no reason why
the humbler classes should not surround themselves with the evidences of
beauty and comfort in all their shapes, and thus do homage alike to the
gifts of God and the labours of man. The taste for the beautiful is one
of the best and most useful endowments. It is one of the handmaids of
civilization. Beauty and elegance do not necessarily belong to the homes
of the rich. They are, or ought to be, all-pervading. Beauty in all
things,--in nature, in art, in science, in literature, in social and
domestic life.

How beautiful and yet how cheap are flowers. Not exotics,--but what are
called common flowers. A rose, for instance, is among the most beautiful
of the smiles of nature. The "laughing flowers," exclaims the poet! But
there is more than gaiety in blooming flowers, though it takes a wise
man to see the beauty, the love, and the adaptation, of which they are
full.

What should we think of one who had _invented_ flowers; supposing that,
before him, flowers were unknown? Would he not be regarded as the
opener-up of a paradise of new delight? should we not hail the inventor
as a genius, as a god? And yet these lovely offsprings of the earth have
been speaking to man from the first dawn of his existence until now,
telling him of the goodness and wisdom of the Creative Power, which bade
the earth bring forth, not only that which was useful as food,--but also
flowers, the bright consummate flowers, to clothe it in beauty and joy!

Bring one of the commonest field-flowers into a room, place it on a
table or chimneypiece, and you seem to have brought a ray of sunshine
into the place. There is a cheerfulness about flowers. What a delight
are they to the drooping invalid! They are like a sweet draught of
enjoyment, coming as messengers from the country, and seeming to say,
"Come and see the place where we grow, and let your heart be glad in our
presence."

What can be more innocent than flowers! They are like children undimmed
by sin. They are emblems of purity and truth, a source of fresh delight
to the pure and innocent. The heart that does not love flowers, or the
voice of a playful child, cannot be genial. It was a beautiful conceit
that invented a language of flowers, by which lovers were enabled to
express the feelings that they dared not openly speak. But flowers have
a voice for all,--old and young, rich and poor. "To me," says
Wordsworth,

"The meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears."

Have a flower in the room, by all means! It will cost only a penny, if
your ambition is moderate; and the gratification it gives will be beyond
price. If you can have a flower for your window so much the better. What
can be more delicious than the sun's light streaming through
flowers--through the midst of crimson fuchsias or scarlet geraniums? To
look out into the light through flowers--is not that poetry? And to
break the force of the sunbeams by the tender resistance of green
leaves? If you can train a nasturtium round the window, or some sweet
peas, then you will have the most beautiful frame you can invent for the
picture without, whether it be the busy crowd, or a distant landscape,
or trees with their lights and shades, or the changes of the passing
clouds. Any one may thus look through flowers for the price of an old
song. And what pure taste and refinement does it not indicate on the
part of the cultivator! A flower in the window sweetens the air, makes
the room look graceful, gives the sun's light a new charm, rejoices the
eye, and links nature with beauty. The flower is a companion that will
never say a cross thing to any one, but will always look beautiful and
smiling. Do not despise it because it is cheap, and because everybody
may have the luxury as well as yourself. Common things are cheap, but
common things are invariably the most valuable. Could we only have fresh
air or sunshine by purchase, what luxuries they would be considered; but
they are free to all, and we think little of their blessings.

There is, indeed, much in nature that we do not yet half enjoy, because
we shut our avenues of sensation and feeling. We are satisfied with the
matter of fact, and look not for the spirit of fact, which is above it.
If we opened our minds to enjoyment, we might find tranquil pleasures
spread about us on every side. We might live with the angels that visit
us on every sunbeam, and sit with the fairies who wait on every flower.
We want more loving knowledge to enable us to enjoy life, and we require
to cultivate the art of making the most of the common means and
appliances for enjoyment, which lie about us on every side.

A snug and a clean home, no matter how tiny it be, so that it be
wholesome; windows into which the sun can shine cheerily; a few good
books (and who need be without a few good books in these days of
universal cheapness?)--no duns at the door, and the cupboard well
supplied, and with a flower in your room! There is none so poor as not
to have about him these elements of pleasure.

But why not, besides the beauty of Nature, have a taste for the beauty
of Art? Why not hang up a picture in the room? Ingenious methods have
been discovered--some of them quite recently--for almost infinitely
multiplying works of art, by means of wood engravings, lithographs,
photographs, and autotypes, which render it possible for every person to
furnish his rooms with beautiful pictures. Skill and science have thus
brought Art within reach of the poorest.

Any picture, print, or engraving, that represents a noble thought, that
depicts a heroic act, or that brings a bit of nature from the fields or
the streets into our room, is a teacher, a means of education, and a
help to self-culture. It serves to make the home more pleasant and
attractive. It sweetens domestic life, and sheds a grace and beauty
about it. It draws the gazer away from mere considerations of self, and
increases his store of delightful associations with the world without,
as well as with the world within.

The portrait of a great man, for instance, helps us to read his life. It
invests him with a personal interest. Looking at his features, we feel
as if we knew him better, and were more closely related to him. Such a
portrait, hung up before us daily, at our meals and during our leisure
hours, unconsciously serves to lift us up and sustain us. It is a link
that in some way binds us to a higher and nobler nature.

It is said of a Catholic money-lender that when about to cheat, he was
wont to draw a veil over the face of his favourite saint. Thus the
portraiture of a great and virtuous man is in some measure a
companionship of something better than ourselves; and though we may not
reach the standard of the hero, we may to a certain extent be influenced
by his likeness on our walls.

It is not necessary that a picture should be high-priced in order to be
beautiful and good. We have seen things for which hundreds of guineas
have been paid, that have not one-hundredth part of the meaning or
beauty that is to be found in Linton's woodcut of Rafaelle's Madonna,
which may be had for twopence. The head reminds one of the observation
made by Hazlitt upon a picture, that it seems as if an unhandsome act
would be impossible in its presence. It embodies the ideas of mother's
love, womanly beauty, and earnest piety. As some one said of the
picture: "It looks as if a bit of Heaven were in the room."

Picture-fanciers pay not so much for the merit, as for the age and the
rarity of their works. The poorest may have the _seeing eye_ for beauty,
while the rich man may be blind to it. The cheapest engraving may
communicate the sense of beauty to the artizan, while the
thousand-guinea picture may fail to communicate to the millionaire
anything,--excepting perhaps the notion that he has got possession of a
work which the means of other people cannot compass.

Does the picture give you pleasure on looking at it? That is one good
test of its worth. You may grow tired of it; your taste may outgrow it,
and demand something better, just as the reader may grow out of
Montgomery's poetry into Milton's. Then you will take down the daub, and
put up a picture with a higher idea in its place. There may thus be a
steady progress of art made upon the room walls. If the pictures can be
put in frames, so much the better; but if they cannot, no matter; up
with them! We know that Owen Jones says it is not good taste to hang
prints upon walls--he would merely hang room papers there. But Owen
Jones may not be infallible; and here we think he is wrong. To our eyes,
a room always looks unfurnished, no matter how costly and numerous the
tables, chairs, and ottomans, unless there be pictures upon the walls.

It ought to be, and no doubt it is, a great stimulus to artists to know
that their works are now distributed in prints and engravings, to
decorate and beautify the homes of the people. The wood-cutter, the
lithographer, and the engraver, are the popular interpreters of the
great artist. Thus Turner's pictures are not confined to the wealthy
possessors of the original works, but may be diffused through all homes
by the Millars, and Brandards, and Wilmotts, who have engraved them.
Thus Landseer finds entrance, through woodcuts and mezzotints, into
every dwelling. Thus Cruikshank preaches temperance, and Ary Scheffer
purity and piety. The engraver is the medium by which art in the palace
is conveyed into the humblest homes in the kingdom.

The Art of Living may be displayed in many ways. It may be summed up in
the words,--Make the best of everything. Nothing is beneath its care;
even common and little things it turns to account. It gives a brightness
and grace to the home, and invests Nature with new charms. Through it,
we enjoy the rich man's parks and woods, as if they were our own. We
inhale the common air, and bask under the universal sunshine. We glory
in the grass, the passing clouds, and the flowers. We love the common
earth, and hear joyful voices through all Nature. It extends to every
kind of social intercourse. It engenders cheerful goodwill and loving
sincerity. By its help we make others happy, and ourselves blest. We
elevate our being and ennoble our lot. We rise above the grovelling
creatures of earth, and aspire to the Infinite. And thus we link time to
eternity; where the true Art of Living has its final consummation.




INDEX.


ABERDARE, Lord, on loss by strikes
Advancement of self is advancement of society
Aiton, Dr., an example of thrift
Akroyd, Edward, founds Provident Society and Penny Savings Bank
  and his workpeople
  and Penny Banks
Ambition, use of
Amusement, meaning and use of
Arithmetic, necessary for domestic economy
Ashburton, Lord, on home economy
Ashworth, Messrs., and their workpeople
Author's mother, an example of thrift
Avarice, differs from economy


BACON, on limits of economy
  his improvidence
Bargain-buying, bad economy of
Baxendale, Joseph
  on punctuality
  and Pickford and Co.
  and railways
  his maxims
Bewick, the engraver
Bilston Savings Bank
Brassey. T., on English work-men
Brewster, D., on education
Briggs and Son, and co-operation
Bright, John, on the wages of the working classes
Brutus, and usury
Buchan, Earl of, an example of thrift
Building Societies
  at Birmingham
  at Leeds
  at Padiham
  at Burnley
Burnley, Building Society at
Burns, and debt
Byron, and debt


CAMPBELL, Dr., the missionary
Canova, humble origin of
Capital, the result of industry and thrift
  advantage of, to workmen employed
Carlyle, T., on manufacturers
  his letter to Whitworth
  on public charities
Carrington, Lord, and Pitt
Cato, the elder, and usury
Chadwick, Edwin, sketch of his life
  his Sanitary Idea
  and Poor Law Inquiry
  and the Sanitary Movement
  and General Board of Health
  on thriftlessness
Chantrey, F.
Charities, public
Christianity, its establishment
Civilization, and thrift
  slow progress of
  and healthy homes
Class, exclusiveness of
Cleanliness, must be taught
Cobbett, W., on Savings Banks
Cobden, R., on self-help
Cold, the parent of frugality
Comfort, and the art of living
Competition, use of
Cooking, good and bad
Co-operation, the secret of social development
  and the middle classes
  and working classes
  Fishery
  tin-mining
  at Hull
  at Leeds
  at Rochdale
  at Over Darwen
  at Northampton
  at Padiham, Manchester, Birmingham, Leeds
  and life assurance
  and friendly societies
  and factories
Corbett, J., on ignorance of domestic economy
Crallan, and lessons on thrift
Crossley, Francis, and Halifax Park
Crossley, John, sketch of his life
  his wife
  his work


DANTZIC, Duke of
Davis, John, on debt
Debt, evils of
  sympathy with
  and great men
Debtors, celebrated, Bacon, Pitt
  Melville, Fox
  Sheridan
  De Retz, Mirabeau, Lamartine, Webster
  Hunter, Vandyck
  Hayden
  Cowper, Marlowe, Greene, Peele
  Lovelace, Butler, Wycherley, Fielding, Savage
  Chatterton
  Steele
  Goldsmith
  Byron
  Foote
  De Foe
  Scott
Deeds, not words
Denison, Edward, on providence
  on London poor
  on thrift
  on thrift in Guernsey
Derby, Lord, on progress
Derby Penny Bank
De Retz, Cardinal
Dirt, a degradation
Dolland, industry of
Donne, Dr., his charity and thrift
Donough, J., tombstone of
Dress, extravagance in
Drill, the magic of
Drink, money spent on
  the Great Sin
  and unhealthy homes
Duncan, H., and Savings Banks


ECONOMY, _see_ Thrift
Education, power of
  is capital
  advantage of
  in Germany
Elcho, Lord, on miners' wages
Elegance at home
Elliot, Sir G., and miners
England, one hundred years ago
English charities
English workmanship
Englishmen, industry and improvidence of
Extravagance, prevalence of


FAILURE, self-sought
Farnham Penny Bank
Fast living, tendency to
Felkin, on workmen's savings
Ferguson Charity, the
Ferguson, the astronomer
Flaxman, the sculptor
Flowers, use of
Foote, and debt
Forster, W.E., on Lister
Fox, Head, and Co., and cooperation
Fox, C.J., and debt
Franklin, B., on thrift of time
  on self-imposed taxes
  his industry
Friendly societies
  defects of
  working of
  objections to
  improvement of
Funerals, extravagance of


GENEROSITY, and economy
Girard Charity, the
Ghent, School Bank at
Gibbon, on Fox
Goethe, on individualism
Goldsmith, O., and debt
Good manners, art of
  among working classes
Good taste, economy of
  and comfort
Grey, Margaretta, on occupation of ladies
Greenock Penny Bank
Greg, W.B., on savings of working classes
Gregory, O., on self-taught working men
Griffiths, on pursuit of money
Grundy, Mrs., fear of
Guizot, on English Charities
Guy's Hospital


HALIFAX PENNY BANK
Happiness in old age
Health, pleasures of, 315; injuries
  to. 316-7
Heriot's Hospital, 309
Herschel, his industry. 77
Hill, Rowland, and Savings
  Banks, 149-50
Hogarth. 80
Home and civilization. 321; and
  children. 322; ignorance
  concerning, 323-4; reform,
  340-1
Huddersfield Savings Bank, 154
Hull Anti-Mill Society, 102
Hume, H., and thrift, 68
Hume, J., on tone of living, 17
Hunter, J., and debt, 269
Hutton, Dr., 73


IDLENESS, wretchedness of, 6
Ignorance is power, 57-9
Improvidence, _see_ Thriftlessness
Inchbald, Mrs., on thrift, 65
Incomes of the working classes,
  41-9
Independence of a good mechanic,
  50
Individualism, 72-3
Industry, _see_ Labour


JOHNSON, S., on economy, 19;
  on poverty, 20; on Savage,
  272; his poverty, 282-3; on
  debt, 283
Jonson, B., and poverty, 271


KEPLER, and poverty, 268
Knowledge, acquired by labour, 6


LABOUR, leads to wealth, 2; is
  never lost, 3; a necessity and
  pleasure, 4; St. Paul on, 6;
  gives knowledge, 6; and progress,
  7; of English workmen,
  36; and thrift, 96, 184;
  makes the man, 160
Laing, S., on good manners in
  France, 368
Lamartine and debt, 267
Lancaster, J., and Sunday schools
Land and Building Societies
Leeds, Industrial Society
  Permanent Building Society
Life assurance, advantages of
  working of
  at a penny a day
Life, uncertainty of
Lister, of Bradford
Little things, importance of
Living, art of
Loan Societies
Lough, the sculptor, sketch of his life
Luck, means good management
  does not make men
Lytton, Lord, on money
  on public charities


MACAULAY, on Pit
Macdonald, A.
Manchester, Bishop of, on agricultural labourers
Manchester Co-operative Bank
  Unity of Odd Fellows
Marlborough, Duke of, his penuriousness
Marriage, responsibility of
  makes economy a duty
  imprudent
Masters, influence of
  want of sympathy between men and
Means, living beyond
Mechanics' Institutes
Melville, Lord, and debt
Method, a masculine quality
  value of
Middle class, co-operation among
Mill, J.S., on combination
  on dollar-hunters
Miller, Hugh, on thrift
  his industry
Milton, J., and poverty
Mirabeau, and debt
Misery, caused by greed and improvidence
  of the man of nothing but money
Money, represents independence
  mistake as to power of
  worship of
  accumulation of
  dissipated by the third generation
Montaigne, on debt
Mortality, laws of
Moses, a sanitary reformer


NAPIER, C., on debt
Nasmyth, J., sketch of his life
  his active leisure
National prosperity is not real prosperity
Navvy's Home, a failure
Newman, on debt
Nightingale, F., and soldiers' savings
No, ability to say
Nobody to blame
Norris, on miners
Northampton Co-operative Society


ORDER
Overcrowding
Over Darwen Co-operative Society


PADIH AM, Co-operative Cotton-mill
  Building Society
Pastoral life, a myth
Peabody benefaction, the
Penny a day, power of a
Penny Bank, Akroyd's
  at Greenock
  at Halifax
   at Glasgow
   at Farnham
Pennies, taking care of the
Physiology, should be taught
Pickford and Co., _see_ Baxendale
Pictures, use of
Pitt, and debt
Post Office Savings Banks
Pounds, John, and Ragged Schools
Poverty, not a disgrace
  sharpens wits
  the skeleton in the closet
Preston Savings Bank
Primogeniture, Right of, causes struggle for wealth
Prodigality, _see_ Thriftlessness
Progress and labour
  of individuals and nations
Prosperity, leads to greater expenditure
Punctuality, Baxendale on
  a household quality


QUECKETT,on Penny Banks
Quentin Matsys, industry of


RAGGED SCHOOLS and Penny Banks
  foundation of
Ramsay, Allan
Ready-money transactions
Reform of Number One
  of home
Republican millionaires
Respectability, abuse of
Rich man, the troubles of the
Richardson, S.
Rochdale, co-operative corn-mill
  Equitable Pioneers Society
Roebuck, J.A., on the working classes
Rural districts, unwholesome condition of
  ignorance in
Russell, Lord, on self-imposed taxes
Ruthven Savings Bank

SALADIN, on wealth
Salamanca, Jose de, on love of gold
Salt, T., sketch of his life
  founds Saltaire
  and his workpeople
Saltaire
Sanitary science
Savings Banks
  the first
  at Ruthven
  used by domestic servants
  used most where wages are lowest
  used by soldiers
  military
  at Bilston
  Penny
  school
  increase of
  Post Office
  statistics of
Savings, _see_ Thrift
Scholarship in the School of Mines
Scotch charities
Scott, W., and debt
Self-help, means self-respect
Sharp, W.
Sheridan, and debt
Sikes. C.W., on thriftlessness
  on Savings Banks
  and Post Office Savings Banks
  sketch of his life
Slavery, in Britain
  in England
  in Scotland
Smith, Joseph, starts a Savings Bank
Smith, Sydney, and poverty
Society, living up to higher
Socrates, on thrift
Southey, his industry
Spinoza, and poverty
Steele, R., and debt
Steen, Jan, and debt
Stephenson, George
Sterne, and poverty
Stone, on public charities
Strikes, losses by, 47, 98-100
Sully, Duke of, on economy, 93
Sympathy between masters and
  men, want of, 180-83

Tact, want of, 95
Tassie, sculptor, 80
Taxes, self-imposed, 39
Taylor, J., on reputation of man
  of money, 294
Thrift, origin and definition of,
  1; an acquired principle, 8;
  gives Capital, 10; is within
  reach of all, 11-3; of time,
  12; needs common sense. 13;
  needs a beginning, 14; is a
  duty, 14; in youth, 18; is
  practical, 19; dignity of, 20;
  in Guernsey, 35; object of,
  65; is Order, 66; of upper
  classes, 67; rules for, 89;
  limits of, 90; is a dignity and
  satisfaction, 93; is conservative,
  107-8; and building
  societies, 109; of Frenchmen
  and Belgians, 115; of private
  soldiers, 133-5; lessons
  in, 145-6; of great generals,
  192; of French workmen,
  231-2; leads to Charity, 286
Thriftlessness, of savages, 2; of
  nations, 9; of individuals, 10;
  selfishness of, 14; dependence
  of, 16; cruelty of, 17,112; in
  prosperous times, 26, 30; of
  English workmen, 36-7, 41-57,
  91, 139
Tottenham Savings Bank, 127
Trades Unions, 99-100
Typhus, a preventible disease,
  335

UNCIVILIZED condition of the
  poor, 32

VENTILATION


WAGES of working classes
Wakefield, P., and Savings Banks
Walker, Robert
Walpole, Horace, on bargains
Walter, J., on pride in work
Washington, G., and slaves
Waterlow, S.
Watt, James
Wealth, by labour
  and poverty
Wellington, Duke of, on military Savings Banks
Wesley J., his account-keeping
Whitworth, J., and co-operation
Winckelmann
Woman, influence of
Women, require to be taught physiology
  domestic economy
  arithmetic
  cooking
Working-men, definition of
  thriftlessness of
  wages of
  extravagance of
  want of self-respect among
  neglect opportunities
  want knowledge
  co-operation among
  strikes among
  their ability to save
  do not much _use_ the Savings Banks
Wycherley, and debt







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