by Mrs. S.C. Hall.
Originally published in Ainsworth's Magazine: A Miscellany of Romance (Chapman and Hall) vol.5 #24 (Jan 1844).
Part I.
"Long hours!" How many are there in this wide hardworking world who find the day too long—ay, and the night too—when its hours are spent in bodily pain or mental anxiety still more distressing. "Long hours!" The young, entering full speed on a career of wealth and its glittering accompaniments, gilded and perfumed life, hardly imagine that hours can ever feel long; and certainly one of the greatest of all earthly blessings is to find that time here glides on smoothly and rapidly. We must all expect jerks and upsets, but to my thinking such are more easy of endurance than the lagging loiterings with which some hobble over the course that is set before them. Too much, as well as too little occupation, renders the hours "long;" and we who walk abroad in sunshine, and disport ourselves amid the varied beauties of nature or art, seldom call to mind how "long" this time that we enjoy so much, must be to the panting factory girl in the heated and oil-smelling room, where there is nothing to occupy the mind, and where the body becomes hardly less mechanical than the mighty machinery which roars around her, or how very "long" are the bright midsummer days to the fevered dressmaker, to the suffocated shopman, to the worn-out miner—though for him indeed there is no "long day," only long hours of labour.
It is a morbid and foolish feeling which leads us to complain of what is the inevitable result of our position in society, or of our duties in our several spheres; but without at all touching upon these, there is something extraordinary in observing how we go on in the same round of doings and sayings, simply because we have always so done, and so said, or because "everybody"—that nondescript director of society—does so. "Everybody" has quite as many sins to answer for as "Nobody"—more, indeed; for "Everybody" is active and mischievous, while "Nobody" is passive and inert.
Occasionally we discover, or something is discovered for us, in our daily doings, of so inconsistent and dreadful a nature, that we are lost in astonishment as to how we could have continued to practise, or suffer to be practised, such injustice or harshness towards our fellow-creatures, and the only apology we can make is, that "Everybody" does so. We have been boldly and bravely engaged in putting down the slave-trade, and a glorious thing it was to achieve; but it is only lately "everybody" has discovered that we have been warmed during the winter nights by coal, disembowelled from its mines by a species of long-hour slavery more foul, more degrading, and more barbarous than that to which the negro of the sugar plantations submitted, for he worked where the light shone—he saw the sun rise and set—he heard the song of the wild bird, and the fresh air blew upon his fevered brow, while our white slaves trailed through the slimy mines like beasts, progressing on their hands and knees through the blackness of the weeping mine, with a chain strapped round their bodies,—crawling thus through narrow passages, knowing no light but that afforded by the sickly yellow lamp, breathing no air that was not tainted—creatures born in "Merrie England," beneath the banner of Christ, yet remaining unbaptized, unregenerate, uninstructed, with no guide as to their conduct but the brute instinct of a nature, rendered stagnant and impure by situation, to which we can give no name.
"Everybody" was astonished and horrified at this when it became public; and when "everybody's" eyes are opened there is a fair chance of a complained of evil being redressed—that is, if the attention is kept fixed upon it until the cure is effected; but unfortunately, when "everybody" sets out on a voyage for the discovery of abuses, so many are encountered, that one frequently rubs out the memory of another. The factory system, the most deplorable ignorance of our manufacturing districts, have all excited attention in their turns, and awakened sympathies which are bravely opposed to the interests that would luxuriate upon the produce of national misery. Those great and mighty things have been thought of and talked of by "everybody," until some one began to think that there were many held in a state of mental and bodily thraldom, besides those whom the right arm of the law could relieve.
The damp hair and pallid features of our young milliners and dressmakers, might have told us long ago—at least, during the season of long and almost sleepless hours—that they were taxed beyond their strength; and we were often very sorry, very sorry indeed for them. We said they sat up too late, and perhaps rose too early. We observed to "Madame," with overflowing humanity, that the work-room (we peeped into it through the glass doors) seemed ill-ventilated; and we frequently perhaps inquired after one "young person" or another, whose grace and loveliness had created an interest in her favour. We heard she was gone home, or gone to the country. She was, however, forgotten after one or two more visits to the beautiful "show-rooms;" for other girls, as gentle and as pleasing, and more fresh, had taken the places of our favourites, and so we came away, only insisting that our order, given on Tuesday afternoon, should be completed by Wednesday evening. "Madame" shrugged and remonstrated a little—just a very little. She said they were very busy—had never been so busy—were up all night, and had been so for the last six weeks—that "everybody" wanted their dresses in such haste; and if "every body" wanted their dresses in such haste, why should not we have our order executed to the time? We repeated our instructions in a tone which convinced "Madame" that, if she failed, she might lose our custom; and, of course that being the alternative, she had only to curtsey and promise. The consequence of this want of consideration was another sleepless night to the worn-out girls with whom we had sympathized; and yet, if this truth did occur to us, we consoled ourselves with the idea, "that our dress—our single dress could not make much difference." We could have ordered it two or three days before, but the weather was too hot or too cold to get out, or we were detained by visitors—or—or, at all events, whether we ordered the dress or not could make but little difference; and dressmakers are so unpunctual that we were obliged to say we wanted it a day sooner than we really did. How very, very angry we would be, if told that, in saying we required it one day, when really we did not want it till another, we had been guilty of falsehood! And how our hearts would have rebelled if accused of cruelty.
If any one had told us that we were guilty of cruelty towards those young girls whom we would have drawn wide our purse-strings to assist, whom we would have given to eat of our bread and drink of our cup, if it had been told us that so doing would serve them, how indignant we should have felt! though perhaps, at the same moment, the brocade was trembling in their damp and slender fingers, and they could hardly open their wearied and aching eyes; and, but for the haste our thoughtlessness had insisted on, they would have enjoyed a few hours of the refreshing sleep, which, if we lack but for a single night, our temples throb and our pulses quicken, and we complain of the long midnight hours, lacking rest. Our thoughtlessness (to call it by no harsher name) occasioned a practical cruelty to a fellow-creature. We did not intend this; but we cause a great deal which we do not intend. A little consideration will prove that we are great gainers by looking things steadily in the face, looking beyond the present into the future, which (so rapid is the flight of time) becomes the present while we are talking. The poor dressmakers have, however, found many to advocate their cause, but the grand redresser of evils is the public. The modiste, of established reputation, will always find young persons, driven by necessity to the sacrifice, to work during the long hours, to the destruction of health, both of body and mind, if ladies do not give sufficient time for the completion of their orders. This is the great point; and it is marvellous, when come to be seriously thought upon, that one female will endanger the health of another by a simple want of consideration.
It is pretty generally known among the higher classes when drawing-rooms are to be held, and sufficiently easy to make preparations for such events without any "run" upon the houses which are only considered competent to execute the orders. The middle classes have generally what may be termed a "long notice" for fêtes of every description; and a little forethought would enable the wives and daughters of professional men to make their toilets without the haste which dooms the very fellow-creatures who minister to the most advantageous display of their personal perfections, to disease and death. It is wonderful what an immensity of good may be done both to ourselves and others by forethought! It is the spirit of immortality brought into active exertion in the every-day occurrences of life—in the simplest household arrangements it is invaluable—in our intercourse with society it is the most useful and most efficient auxiliary to justice, kindness, and good order; and I never hear the impotent excuse of, "I did not think," without a bitter regret that those who have the power should lack the habit of forethought.
Another subject, connected with the broad and comprehensive command of, "Do unto others as you would they should do unto you," comes under our consideration, when we call to mind the late hours to which the shops, particularly in London, are kept open, proving how long the hours must be to those who have no rest. "Every body" seems to have been roused to think of this during the last few months, and it is an evil now likely to be redressed; because shopmen are not like those who labour in the dark and lonely mines, or like children bound to the factory system, or like young girls who are taught to believe complaining akin to crime. Shopmen have had, at least, the foundation of education well laid, and have been thinking and speaking for themselves. They are a numerous, and, in so just a cause, a powerful body, and can do, as I have said, a good deal for themselves if they continue to act, as they have hitherto done, with moderation and good temper; but they may meet and discuss, and some of their employers, particularly master-drapers, may do as they have already done in several instances, in my own immediate neighbourhood, abridge the hours of occupation from fifteen to twelve hours—shut up their shops at seven in summer and eight in winter—which, after all, gives a very short time for relaxation of body, or improvement of mind.[1]
Here, as in the case of our young dressmakers, the remedy of the abuse, the hardship, the cruelty—call it which you will—of those long hours of labour lies with the public. England has adopted a practice during the last thirty years which is at open war with health and intellect-—the practice of turning night into day. Doubtless it will mend itself in time, the excess of the evil in all cases producing the reformation; but it is a practice which presses heavily upon our dependents, and throws society in a great degree out of its balance. Servants must not only rise early, but sit up late. If they do, as is frequently the case, with less repose than nature demands after exertion, their constitutions give way, they fall into ill health, lose the power of retaining their situations, plunge into debt and all its agonies, and find refuge in the hospital, the workhouse, or the grave. If, on the contrary, they lie in bed to make up for the night's watching, every good housewife knows that their work must be badly done, and then they lose their places. This is only one of the ill goings in consequence of the mainspring of the great machine becoming encrusted with one folly or another which is called fashion. I know people who are absolutely ashamed to confess they dine early; they say "not at home" to their visitors, or call it lunch, or anything, rather than allow it to be supposed that they would step out of the path of aristocratic custom, no matter how their duties or occupation demands it.
Late hours multiply "long hours," and have their influence on trade, though in a different way. The lower portion of the middle class (for each class has many divisions) have got into the habit of making their marketings and shoppings "of an evening," by this means keeping the shops open to hours most injurious to those who have been standing, with only the rest of a few minutes, from seven or eight o'clock in the morning until nine or ten at night. It is impossible to exaggerate the evil that must arise from such incessant occupation. If it was hard active employment the fatigue would be less, but those engaged in linen-drapers' establishments have neither rest nor enough of active exertion to engage their exclusive attention. They cannot sit down, nor read, nor do anything, but stand from fifteen to eighteen hours daily, and that in a heated and enervating atmosphere, rendered peculiarly unhealthy since the introduction of gas. It is impossible they can perform their duties to their employers or their customers properly to the end of such a day's labour. After a mercer's or haberdasher's shop is closed, it requires from an hour and a half to two hours to replace the goods which I have often, I am sorry to say, observed ladies wantonly turn over and displace without, I really believe, any intention of purchase; so that even if a shop is shut up at nine, it is ten before the shopman can "leave" for his own home. He must be up at seven in the morning to get his breakfast eaten and be at his occupation in time. At seven!—at six, most likely—so that he has only, if home at half-past ten, nine hours and a half for repose, for mental improvement, or, if a married man, regulating and inquiring into the state of his small household. This is supposing the shop to be closed at eight. It is to be feared that, wearied by over-exertion, and suffering from a relaxed mind, many young men seek excitement either in a cheap theatre or a tavern; and if they are weak enough to yield to this, it is a matter of sorrow rather than astonishment.
Indeed, I do not know anything more to be deplored than a youth sent from his pure fresh country home to imbibe the impure air (and, I fear, in many cases, impure habits) of an "extensive business establishment" in London. Minds require to be perpetually strengthened to become, in the end, confirmed in what is right. Every living thing requires relaxation; some in one way—some in another. It is absolutely necessary for a healthy state of body and mind; and it is a positive duty that arrangements should be made to secure what is healthful and instructive to the young.
Mistresses of families are not aware of the evils to which they expose their servants by permitting them to go shopping "of an evening;" but I am certain no person can have been in the habit of purchasing things of various descriptions by twilight or gaslight without discovering, sooner or later, that their "bargain" was anything but a good one. If "everybody" would take this into consideration, and think how much better they could arrange, by right timing, even in their shopping hours, the quantity of suffering that would be relieved is almost incalculable. It is positively wonderful to contemplate the vast quantity of good that may be achieved, without the sacrifice of a farthing, by forethought—by that consideration for the feelings and wants of others which is a positive Christian obligation. I am certain that respectable persons in business would not lose, after the perseverance of three or four months, in closing their houses at an hour sufficiently early to enable their assistants to rest their bodies and improve their minds. The public, in the end, will go where they can be best served. They do not, in nine cases out of ten, patronise a shop from any regard to its proprietor, but from a desire to have their own wants supplied in he best manner; and all those who think and feel rightly would most assuredly rally round the man who made a stand against a bad custom, for the good of his fellow-creatures, to lessen the "long hours of labour."
1. I hope no one will smile at my speaking of the "mind" of a person who is generally regarded as nothing more than an automaton, placed behind the counter for public convenience; but, let it be remembered, that the higher the tone which is given to that persons mind, the more likely shall we be to be well served—the less likely to be imposed upon. A well educated shopman, knowing right from wrong, and having some opportunity of keeping alive that knowledge, will not be so ready to declare a fading colour fast, a damaged silk perfect, a dear article cheap, as he who has no leisure to study the principles of honest dealing, and cultivate a knowledge of that Divine law, whose precepts comprehend the minutiæ of truth, as well as the most extensive views of national justice and fair dealing. If shopmen's minds were of a higher order, we should have less "puppyism" to complain of, and see more discreet and respectful conduct behind the counters of mercers and lacemen.