Life Without and Life Within; or, Reviews, Narratives, Essays, and Poems.
onward to a shameful, hopeless death; to the rich, to equalize the
advantages of which they have received more than their share; to men, to
atone for wrongs inflicted by men on that "weaker sex," who should, they
say, be soft, confiding, dependent on them for protection; to women, to
feel for those who have not been guarded either by social influence or
inward strength from that first mistake which the opinion of the world
makes irrevocable for women alone. Since their danger is so great, their
fall so remediless, let mercies be multiplied when there is a chance of
that partial restoration which society at present permits.
In New York we have come little into contact with that class of society
which has a surplus of leisure at command; but in other cities we have,
found in their ranks many--some men, more women--who wanted only a
decided object and clear light to fill the noble office of disinterested
educators and guardians to their less fortunate fellows. It has been our
happiness, in not a few instances, by merely apprising such persons of
what was to be done, to rouse that generous spirit which relieved them
from ennui and a gradual ossification of the whole system, and
transferred them into a thoughtful, sympathetic, and beneficent
existence. Such, no doubt, are near us here, if we could but know it. A
poet writes thus of the cities:--
Cities of proud hotels,
Houses of rich and great,
A stack of smoking chimneys,
A roof of frozen slate!
It cannot conquer folly,
Time, and space, conquering steam,
And the light, outspeeding telegraph,
Bears nothing on its beam.
The politics are base,
The letters do not cheer,
And 'tis far in the deeps of history,
The voice that speaketh clear.
Trade and the streets insnare us,
Our bodies are weak and worn,
We plot and corrupt each other,
And we despoil the unborn.
Yet there in the parlor sits
Some figure of noble guise,
Our angel in a stranger's form,
Or woman's pleading eyes.
Or only a flashing sunbeam
In at the window pane,
Or music pours on mortals
Its beautiful disdain.
These "pleading eyes," these "angels in strangers' forms," we meet, or
seem to meet, as we pass through the thoroughfares of this great city.
We do not know their names or homes. We cannot go to those still and
sheltered abodes and tell them the tales that would be sure to awaken
the heart to a deep and active interest in this matter. But should these
words meet their eyes, we would say, "Have you entertained your leisure
hours with the Mysteries of Paris, or the pathetic story of Violet
Woodville?" Then you have some idea how innocence, worthy of the
brightest planet, may be betrayed by want, or by the most generous
tenderness; how the energies of a noble reformation may lie hidden
beneath the ashes of a long burning, as in the case of "La Louve." You
must have felt that yourselves are not better, only more protected
children of God than these. Do you want to link these fictions, which
have made you weep, with facts around you where your pity might be of
use? Go to the Penitentiary at Blackwell's Island. You may be repelled
by seeing those who are in health while at work together, keeping up one
another's careless spirit and effrontery by bad association. But see
them in the Hospital,--where the worn features of the sick show the sad
ruins of past loveliness, past gentleness. See in the eyes of the nurses
the woman's spirit still, so kindly, so inspiring. See those little
girls huddled in a corner, their neglected dress and hair contrasting
with some ribbon of cherished finery held fast in a childish hand. Think
what "sweet seventeen" was to you, and what it is to them, and see if
you do not wish to aid in any enterprise that gives them a chance of
better days. We assume no higher claim for this enterprise. The dreadful
social malady which creates the need of it, is one that imperatively
demands deep-searching, preventive measures; it is beyond cure. But,
here and there, some precious soul may be saved from unwilling sin,
unutterable woe. Is not the hope to save here and there _one_ worthy of
great and persistent sacrifice?
THE RICH MAN.
AN IDEAL SKETCH.
In my walks through this city, the sight of spacious and expensive
dwelling-houses now in process of building, has called up the following
reverie.
All benevolent persons, whether deeply-thinking on, or deeply-feeling,
the woes, difficulties, and dangers of our present social system, are
agreed that either great improvements are needed, or a thorough reform.
Those who desire the latter include the majority of thinkers. And we
ourselves, both from personal observation and the testimony of others,
are convinced that a radical reform is needed; not a reform that rejects
the instruction of the past, or asserts that God and man have made
mistakes till now. We believe that all past developments have taken
place under natural and necessary laws, and that the Paternal Spirit has
at no period forgotten his children, but granted to all generations and
all ages their chances of good to balance inevitable ills. We prize the
past; we recognize it as our parent, our nurse, and our teacher; and we
know that for a time the new wine required the old bottles, to prevent
its being spilled upon the ground.
Still we feel that the time is come which not only permits, but demands,
a wider statement and a nobler action. The aspect of society presents
mighty problems, which must be solved by the soul of man
"divinely-intending" itself to the task, or all will become worse
instead of better, and ere long the social fabric totter to decay.
Yet while the new measures are ripening, and the new men educating,
there is still room on the old platform for some worthy action. It is
possible for a man of piety, resolution, and good sense, to lead a life
which, if not expansive, generous, graceful, and pure from suspicion and
contempt, is yet not entirely unworthy of his position as the child of
God, and ruler of a planet.
Let us take, then, some men just where they find themselves, in a mixed
state of society, where, in quantity, we are free to say the bad
preponderates, though the good, from its superior energy in quality, may
finally redeem and efface its plague-spots.
Our society is ostensibly under the rule of the precepts of Jesus. We
will then suppose a youth sufficiently imbued with these, to understand
what is conveyed under the parables of the unjust steward, and the
prodigal son, as well as the denunciations of the opulent Jews. He
understands that it is needful to preserve purity and teachableness,
since of those most like little children is the kingdom of heaven; mercy
for the sinner, since there is peculiar joy in heaven at the salvation
of such; perpetual care for the unfortunate, since only to the just
steward shall his possessions be pardoned. Imbued with such love, the
young man joins the active,--we will say, in choosing an
instance,--joins the commercial world.
His views of his profession are not those which make of the many a herd,
not superior, except in the far reach of their selfish interests, to the
animals; mere calculating, money-making machines.
He sees in commerce a representation of most important interests, a
grand school that may teach the heart and soul of the civilized world to
a willing, thinking mind. He plays his part in the game, but not for
himself alone; he sees the interests of all mankind engaged with his,
and remembers them while he furthers his own. His intellectual
discernment, no less than his moral, thus teaching the undesirableness
of lying and stealing, he does not practise or connive at the falsities
and meannesses so frequent among his fellows; he suffers many turns of
the wheel of fortune to pass unused, since he cannot avail himself of
them and keep clean his hands. What he gains is by superior assiduity,
skill in combination and calculation, and quickness of sight. His gains
are legitimate, so far as the present state of things permits any gains
to be.
Nor is this honorable man denied his due rank in the most corrupt state
of society. Here, happily, we draw from life, and speak of what we know.
Honesty is, indeed, the best policy, only it is so in the long run, and
therefore a policy which a selfish man has not faith and patience to
pursue. The influence of the honest man is in the end predominant, and
the rogues who sneer because he will not shuffle the cards in _their_
way, are forced to bow to it at last.
But while thus conscientious and mentally-progressive, he does not
forget to live. The sharp and care-worn faces, the joyless lives that
throng the busy street, do not make him forget his need of tender
affections, of the practices of bounty and love. His family, his
acquaintance, especially those who are struggling with the difficulties
of life, are not obliged to wait till he has accumulated a certain sum.
He is sunlight and dew to them now, day by day. No less do all in his
employment prize and bless the just, the brotherly man. He dares not,
would not, climb to power upon their necks. He requites their toil
handsomely, always; if his success be unusual, they share the benefit.
Their comfort is cared for in all the arrangements for their work. He
takes care, too, to be personally acquainted with those he employs,
regarding them, not as mere tools of his purpose, but as human beings
also; he keeps them in his eye, and if it be in his power to supply
their need of consolation, instruction, or even pleasure, they find they
have a friend.
"Nonsense!" exclaims our sharp-eyed, thin-lipped antagonist. "Such a man
would never get rich,--or even _get along_!"
You are mistaken, Mr. Stockjobber. Thus far many lines of our sketch are
drawn from real life; though for the second part, which follows, we
want, as yet, a worthy model.
We must imagine, then, our ideal merchant to have grown rich in some
forty years of toil passed in the way we have indicated. His hair is
touched with white, but his form is vigorous yet. Neither _gourmandise_
nor the fever of gain has destroyed his complexion, quenched the light
of his eye, or substituted sneers for smiles. He is an upright, strong,
sagacious, generous-looking man; and if his movements be abrupt, and his
language concise, somewhat beyond the standard of beauty, he is still
the gentleman; mercantile, but a mercantile nobleman.
Our nation is not silly in striving for an aristocracy. Humanity longs
for its upper classes. But the silliness consists in making them out of
clothes, equipage, and a servile imitation of foreign manners, instead
of the genuine elegance and distinction that can only be produced by
genuine culture. Shame upon the stupidity which, when all circumstances
leave us free for the introduction of a real aristocracy such as the
world never saw, bases its pretensions on, or makes its bow to the
footman behind, the coach, instead of the person within it.
But our merchant shall be a real nobleman, whose noble manners spring
from a noble mind, whose fashions from a sincere, intelligent love of
the beautiful.
We will also indulge the fancy of giving him a wife and children worthy
of himself. Having lived in sympathy with him, they have acquired no
taste for luxury; they do not think that the best use for wealth and
power is in self-indulgence, but, on the contrary, that "it is more
blessed to give than to receive."
He is now having one of those fine houses built, and, as in other
things, proceeds on a few simple principles. It is substantial, for he
wishes to give no countenance to the paper buildings that correspond