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Published fob the Editor by Messrs. PARTRIDGE & Co.; A. “W. BENNETT; and W. TWEEDIE, London.
[Price One Penny.
THE DIGNITY OP LABOUR.
The Dignity of Labour—consider its achievements ! Dismayed by no difficulty, shrinking from no exertion, exhausted by no struggle, ever eager for renewed efforts in its persevering promotion of human happiness,—“ clamorous labour knocks, with its hundred hands, at the golden gate of the morning,” obtaining each day, through succeeding centuries, fresh benefactions for the world.
Labour drives the plough, and scatters the seed, and reaps the harvest, and grinds the corn, and converts it into bread, the staff of life.
Labour, tending the pastures, and sweeping the waters as well as cultivating the soil, provides with daily sustenance the 900 millions of the family of man.
Labour gathers the gossamer web of the caterpillar, the cotton from the field, and the fleece from the flock, and weaves it into raiment soft, and warm, and beautiful; the purple robe of the prince, and the grey gown of the peasant, being alike its handy work.
Labour moulds the brick, and splits the slate,
and quarries the stone, and shapes the column, and rears not only the humble cottage, but the gorgeous palace, and the tapering spire and the stately dome.
Labour, diving deep into the solid earth, brings ap its long-hidden stoves of coal, to feed ten
thousand furnaces, and in millions of habitations to defy the winter’s cold.
Labour explores the rich veins of deeply-buried rocks, extract-
ing from them the gold, the silver, the copper, and the tin.
Labour smelts the iron, and moulds it into a thousand shapes for use and ornament, from the massive pillar to the tiniest
MUSIC IN THE DINNER HOUR.
On visiting a London manufactory we were agreeably surprised by the sweet sounds of music which proceeded from one of the work-rooms. On enquiry we found that several of the hands usually spent a portion of their dinner hour in practising various airs on the flute. This excellent plan is worthy of extensive adoption. Who can listen to the following delightful air, without feeling refreshed for the further toils of the day ?
THE CRYSTAL SPRING-.
Words by E. P. Hood.
Music by John Fawcett.
The Crystal Spring, the Crystal Spring, so sparkling, fresh and free, Let o – thers praise the red wine’s rays,But the
We insert the above Copyright Air, by the hind permission of Mr. Hart, of Hatton Garden, london, music publisher. An edition, with the Four parts, prico
Sixpen on, may be had from him through any bookseller.
needle, from the ponderous anchor to the wire gauze, from the mighty fly-wheel of the steam-engine to the polished purse-ring or the glittering bead.
Labour hews down the gnarled oak, and shapes the timber, and builds the ship, and guides it over the deep; plunging through the billows and wrestling with the tempest, to bear to our shores the produce of every clime.
Labour brings us Indian rice and American cotton, African ivory, and Greenland oil; fruits from the sunny South, and furs from the frozen North; tea from the East, and sugar from the West, carrying in exchange to every land the products of British industry and British skill.
Labour, by the universally spread ramifications of trafle, distributes its own treasures from country fo country, from city to city, from house to house, conveying to the doors of all, the necessaries and luxuries of life, and by the steady pulsation of an untrammelled commerce, maintaining healthy life in the great social system.
Labour, fusing the opaque particles of rock, produces transparent glass, which it moulds and polishes, and combines so wondrously that sight
is restored to the blind, while worlds, before invisible from distance, are brought so near as to be weighed and measured with an unerring exact* ness; and atoms, which had escaped all detection from minuteness, reveal a world of wonder and beauty in themselves.
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THE BRITISH WORKMAN,
Labour, possessing a secret far more important than the philosopher’s stone, transmutes the most worthless substances into the most precious, and placing in the crucible of its potent chemistry, the putrid refuse of the sea and land, extracts fragrant essences arid healing medicines, and materials of priceless importance in the arts.
Labour, laughing at difficulties, spans majestic rivers, carries viaducts over marshy swamps, suspends aerial bridges tibove deep ravines, pierces the solid mountain with its dark, undeviating tunnel, blasting rocks, and filling hollows, and while linking together with its iron but loving grasp all nations of the earth, verifying in a literal sense the ancient prophecy, “Every valley shall be exalted, and every
mountain and hill shall be brought lovr.”
Labour draws forth its delicate iron thread, and stretching it from city to city, from province to province, through mountains, and beneath the sea, realises more than fancy ever fabled, while it constructs a chariot on which speech may outstrip the wind, compete with the lightning, and fly as rapidly as thought itself.
Labour seizes the thoughts of genius—the discoveries of science—the counsels of experience— the admonitions of piety ; and with its magic types impressing the vacant page, renders it pregnant with life and power, perpetuating truth to distant ages, and diffusing it to all mankind.
Labour sits enthroned in palaces of crystal, whose high arched roofs proudly sparkle in the sunshine which delighteth to honour it, and whose ample courts are crowded with the trophies of its victories, in every country and in every age.
Labour, a mighty magician, walks forth into a region uninhabited and waste : he looks earnestly on the scene, so quiet in its desolation ; then waving his wonder-working wand, those dreary valleys smile with golden harvests,—those barren mountain slopes are clothed with foliage, —the furnace blazes—the anvil rings—the busy wheels whirl round—the town appears, the mart of commerce, the hall of science, the temple of religion, rear high their lofty fronts,—a forest of masts, gay with varied pennons, rises from the harbour,—the quays are crowded with commercial spoils, the peaceful spoils which enrich both him who receives and him who yields,—representatives of far-off regions make it their resort,— science enlists the elements of earth and heaven in its service,—art, awaking, clothes its strength with beauty,—literature new born, redoubles and perpetuates its praise,—civilization smiles—liberty is glad—humanity rejoices—piety exults, for the voice of industry and gladness is heard on every hand; and who, contemplating such results, will deny that there i3 Dignity in Labour ?
Extract from «a lecture by the Rev. Newman Hall, B.A., delivered in Exeter Hall, in January last, to the Young Men’s Christian Association. The entire lecture is published by J. Nisbet, Berners Street, price fourpence.
THE PLOUGHBOY AND THE PRESIDENT.
The president of a well known college in Kentucky was one morning, while sitting in his study, astonished by the entrance of a single visitor.
The visitor was a boy of some seventeen years, rough and uncouth in his appearance, dressed in course home-spun, with thick clumsy shoes on his feet, an old tattered felt hat on Iris head, surmounting a mass of uncombed hair, which relieved swarthy and sun-burnt features, marked by eyes quick and sparkling, but vacant and inexpressive from the want of education. The whole appearance of the youth was that of an untaught, uncultivated ploughboy.
The president, an affable and venerable man, inquired into the business of the person who stood before him.
“ If you please, sir,” said the ploughboy, with all the h itancy of an uneducated rustic,— “If you pi se, sir, I’d like to get some lamin’. I hear you had a college in these parts, and I th ght if I would work a spell for you, you would help me now and then in gettin’ an edication.”
“Well, my young friend,” replied the president, “ I scarcely see any way in which you mitrht be useful to us. The request is something singular.”
“Why, I can bring water, cut wood, or black boots,” interrupted the hoy, his eyes brightening with earnestness. “ I want to get an edication— I want to make something of myself. I don’t keer how hard I work, only so as to get an edication. I want”—
He paused, at a loss for words to express his ideas, but there was a language in his expressive lip and glancing eye; there was a language in his maimer—in the tone in which these words were spoken, that appealed at once to the president’s feelings. He determined to try the sincerity of the youth. “ I am afraid, my young friend, I can do nothing for you. I would like to assist you, but I see no way in which you can be useful to us at present.”
The president resumed his book. In a moment he glanced at the ploughboy, who sat silent and mute, holding the handle of the door. He fingered his rough hat confusedly with one hand, his eyes were downcast, and iris upper lip quivered and trembled as though he were endeavouring to repress strong and sud den feelings of intense disappointment. The effort was but half successful. A tear, emerging from the downcast eyelid, rolled over the sunburnt cheek, and with a quick, nervous action, the ploughboy raised his toil-hardened hand and brushed away the sign of regret. He made a well-meant but awkward mark of obeisance, and opening the door, had one foot across the threshold, when the president called him back.
The ploughboy was in a few minutes hired as
a man of all-work and boot-black to the ———
The next scene which we give the reader, was in a new and magnificent church, rich with the beauties of architecture, and thronged by an immense crowd, who listened in death-like stillness to the burning eloquence of the minister of heaven, who delivered the mission of his master from the altar. The speaker was a man in the full glow of middle age—of striking and impressive appearance—piercing and intellectual eye, and high intellectual forehead.
Every eye is fixed on him—every lip hushed, and every ear, with nervous intensity, drinks in the eloquent teaching of the orator.
Who in all that throng would recognise, in the famed, the learned, the eloquent president of— college, Pennsylvania, the humble boot-black of —–college, in Kentucky?
DEATH ON THE BAIL.
On Christmas Day night, 18/52, a farm servant, aged only twenty-four, living at Fakenham Fen, near Norwich, had been drinking at the Railway Tavern, and left home “ a little the worse for liquor.” The railway running near to his master’s house, to save time he set off to walk on the “ line.” He was too stupified with drink to keep on the right side of the rails. When he had gone about a mile, the mail train came up and struck him. The engine driver felt a slight shock, but it being dark he could not see the poor fellow. On arriving at the station, he examined the train, when to his horror he found a portion of a man’s body stuck to one of the carriage wheels. Hen
were immediately despatched to the spot where the shock had been felt, and there they found the mangled remains of the poor inebriate. His head was cut off as if by a knife—his heart was laid whole in another direction—whilst other portions of his body were strewed on both sides of the rail. A victim to the sin of intemperance!
Working Men! look on this picture, and let it be a warning to you, never to be “ a little the worse for liquor.”
Public-house and beer-shop keepers! look on this picture, and let it be a warning to you never to hand the glass to your fellow men until they become “ a little the worse for liquor.” —From Cash’s Illustrated Iland-bills.
It is better that the foot should slip than the tongue.—Zeno.
Messrs. Partridge, Oakey, and Co. have pleasure in recommending the following publications to the notice of Working Men.
With Pour Illustrations.
Or, Facts and Figures for Working Men. One Penny.
With Six Illustrations.
THE GOOSE CLUB.
An amusing tale in Rhyme. By X Y Z. Price One Penny.
THE PRESS GANG;
Or, the right side of a Public-house and Play-house. By Mrs. Balfour. One Penny.
UNCLE SAM’S FARM FENCE.
A heart-stirring narrative, illustrative of the Maine Liquor Law, Price Sixpence.
THE OX SERMON.
Price One Penny. Illustrated.
or, Jack Spar and Ben Bowline. In Rhyme. Price One Penny. Illustrated.
Packets containing eighteen copies of “The British Workman ” may lie had post free, by forwarding eighteen pence in postage stamps to the publishers, Messrs. Partridge, Oakey, and Co.,34, Paternoster Row, London.
NOTICES OF THE PRESS.
We have to return our best thanks to the conductors of the Public Press for the favourable notices which they have given of the “ British Workman.” The followingare selections:—
We are much pleased with the first number of a new periodical, with illustrations,—“ The British Workman and Friend of the sons of Toil-,” which contains useful advice and profitable entertainment for the working classes, among whom it deserves to have a wide circulation.
The workman who buys it, and governs himself by its spirit and precepts, will have a good investment of his copper; and the employer who gives it to the employed will have joy of his deed.– North Devon Journal.
One of the best friends of the working man has just appeared in the form of a penny broadsheet, entitled “The British Workman.”—Manchester Examiner and Times.
Well worthy the notice and patronage of working men.
The “British Workman” cannot but be a source of blessing to many.— Wakefield Journal.
We cannot speak too highly of the “ British Workman.”
We believe that this penny sheet will be a missionary for good wherever introduced.
A source of benefit, profit, and instruction to the sons of toil; and as such we bid it a hearty welcome.— Durham Chronicle.
The “British Workman” has been established,we areinformed, “with an earnest desire to promote thehealth, wealth, and happiness of the working classes;” and no person can read the four pages of No. 1, without feeling assured of the genuineness of this statement.— Wilts Standard.
The “British Workman” a cheap and timely illustrated publication.-iSaZtsJMr# Journal.
THE SHABBY SITBTOUT.
I HAD taken a place on the top of’one of the conches, which ran between Edinburgh and Glasgow, for the purpose of commencing a short tour in the Highlands of Scotland. It was in the month of June, a season when travellers of various descriptions flock towards the modern Athens, and thence betake themselves to the northern or western counties, as their business or fancy lends. As we rattled along Princes Street, J had leisure to survey my fellow-travellers. Immediately opposite to me sat two dandies of the first water, dressed in white great coats and Belcher handkerchiefs, and each with a cigar in his mouth, which he puffed away w’ith marvellous self-complacency. Beside me sat a modest and comely young woman in a widow’s dress, and with an infant about nine months old in her arms. The appearance of this youthful mourner and her baby indicated that they belonged to the working class of society; and though the dandies occasionally cast a rude glance at the mother, the look of calm and settled sorrow which she invariably at such times cast upon her child seemed to touch even them, and to disarm their coarseness. On the other side of the widow sat a young gentleman of plain, yet prepossessing exterior, who seemed especially to attract the notice of the dandies. His surtout was not absolutely threadbare, but it had evidently seen more than one season, and I could perceive many contemptuous looks thrown upon it by the gentlemen in the Belcher handkerchiefs. The young gentleman carried a small portmanteau in his hand, so small indeed that it could not possibly have contained more than a change of linen. This article also appeared to arrest the eyes of the sprigs of fashion opposite, whose wardrobes in all probability were more voluminous; whether they were paid for or not might be another question.
The coach having stopped at the village of Cor-storphine, for the purpose of taking up an inside passenger, the guard, observing that the young gentleman carried iiis portmanteau in his hand, asked leave to put it into the boot, to which he immediately assented. “ Put it fairly in the centre, guard,” said one of the dandies; “ Why so, Tom?” inquired his companion. “It may capsize the coach,” rejoined the first,—a sally at which both indulged in a burst of laughter; hut of which the owner of the portmanteau, though the blood mounted slightly into his cheek, took no notice whatever.
The morning being fine at our first setting out, the ride was peculiarly pleasant. The dandies talked of horses and dogs, and fowling-pieces, and percussion-caps ; every now and then mentionint the names of Lord John and Sir Harry, as if their acquaintance lay among the great ones of the land. Once oi: twice I thought I saw an expression of contempt in the countenance of the young gentleman in the surtout, but in this 1 might be mistaken. His attention was evidently most directed to the mourner beside him, with whom he appeared anxious to get into conversation, but to lack for a time a favourable oppor tunity.
While we were changing horses at the little village of Uphail, an aged beggar approached, and held out his hat for alms. The dandies looked at him with scorn. I gave him a few half-pence; and the young widow, poor as she seemed, was about ‘to do the same, when the young gentleman in the surtout laid his hand ently on her arm, and dropping a half-crown into the beggar’s hat, made a sign for him to depart. The dandies looked at each other. “ Shewing off, Jack,” said the one, “Ay, ay, successful at our last benefit, you know,” rejoined the other, and both again burst into a horse-laugh. At this allusion to his supposed profession, the blood again mounted into the young gentleman’s cheek, but it was only for a moment, and he continued silent.
We had not left Uphail many miles behind us, when the wind began to rise, and the gathering clouds indicated an approaching shower. The dandies began to prepare their umbrellas; and the young gentleman in the surtout surveying
the dress of the widow, and perceiving that she was but indifferently provided against a change of weather, inquired of the guard if the coach was full inside. Being answered in the affirmative, be addressed the mourner in a tone of sympathy; told her that there was every appearance of a smart shower; expressed his regret that she could not be taken into the coach; and concluded by offering her the use of his cloak. “ It will protect you so far,” said he, “ and at all events it will protect the baby.” The widow thanked him in a modest and respectful manner, and said that for the sake of her infant she should be glad to have the cloak, if he would not suffer from the want of it himself. He assured her that he
should not, being accustomed to all kinds of wea-v ther. “ His surtout wont spoil,” said one of the dandies, in a voice of affected tenderness, “ and besides, my dear, the cloak will hold you both.” The widow blushed; and the young gentleman turning quickly round, addressed the speaker in a tone of dignity which I shall never forget. “ I am not naturally quarrelsome, sir; but yet it is quite possible you may provoke me too far.” Both the exquisites immediately turned as pale as death ; shrunk in spite of themselves into their natural insignificance ; and scarcely opened their lips, even to each other, during the remainder of the journey.
In the meantime the young gentleman, with the same politeness and delicacy as if he had been assisting a lady of quality with her shawl, proceeded to wrap the widow and her baby in his cloak. He had hardly accomplished this when a smart shower of rain, mingled with hail, commenced. Being myself provided with a cloak, the cape of which was sufficiently large to envelop and protect my head, I offered the young gentleman my umbrella, which he readily accepted, but held it, as I remarked, in a manner better calculated to defend the widow than himself.
When we reached West Craigs Inn, the second stage from Edinburgh, the rain had ceased; and the young gentleman, politely returning me my umbrella, began to relieve the widow of his now dripping cloak, which he shook over the side of the coach, and afterwards hung on the rail to dry. Then turning to the widow, he inquired if she would take any refreshment; and upon her answering in the negative, lie proceeded to enter into conversation with her as follows:—
“ Do you travel far on this road, ma’am.”
“ About sixteen miles farther, sir. I leave the coach six miles on the other side of Airdrie.”
, “ Do your friends dwell thereabouts?”
“Yes, sir, they do. Indeed, I am on the way home to my father’s house.”
“ In affliction, I fear ?”
“ Yes, sir,” said the poor young woman, raising her handkerchief to her eyes, and sobbing audibly, “ I am returning to him a disconsolate widow, after a short absence of two years.”
“ Is your father in good circumstances?”
“ He will never suffer me or my baby to want, sir, wrhile he has strength to labour for us; but he is himself in poverty, a day-labourer on the estate of the Earl cf H.”
At the mention of this nobleman’s name, the young gentleman coloured a little, but it was evident that his emotion was not of an unpleasant nature. “ What is your father’s name ?” said he.
“ James Anderson, sir.”
“And his residence?”
“Well, I trust, that though desolate as far as this world is concerned, you know something of Him, who is the father of the fatherless and the judge of the widow. If so, your Maker is your husband, and the Lord of Hosts is his name.”
“ 0 ! yes, sir, I bless God, that through a pious parent’s care, I know something of the power of divine grace, and the consolations of the gospel. My husband, too, though but a tradesman, was a man who feared God above many.”
“ The remembrance of that must tend much to alleviate your sorrow.”
“ It does indeed, sir, at times; but at other times I am ready to sink. My father’s poveriy an i advancing age, my baby’s helplessness, and
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THE BRITISH WORKMAN.
my own delicate health, are frequently too much for my feeble faith.”
“Trust in God, and he will provide for you: he assured he will.”
By this time the coach was again in motion, and though the conversation continued for some time, the noise of the wheels prevented me from hearing it distinctly. I could see the dandies, however, exchange expressive looks with one another; and at one time the more forward of the two whispered something to his companion in which the words, “ Methodist par-son,” alone were audible.
At Airdrie nothing particular occurred; hut when we had got about half-way between that town and Glasgow, we arrived at a cross-road, where the widow expressed a wish to he set down. The young gentleman therefore desired the driver to stop, and springing himself from the couch, took the infant from her arms, and then along with the guard assisted her to descend. “May God reward you,” said she, as he returned the baby to her, “ for your kindness to the widow and the fatherless this day!”
“ And may lie bless you,” replied he, “ with all spiritual consolation in Christ Jesus!”
So saying, he slipped something into her hand; the widow opened it instinctively, I saw two sovereigns glitter on her palm; she dropped a tear upon the money, and turned round to thank her benefactor; but he had already resumed his seat upon the coach. She cast towards him an eloquent and grateful look, pressed her infant convulsively to her bosom, and walked hurriedly away.
No other passenger wishing to alight at the same place, we were soon again in rapid motion towards the great emporium of the West of Scotland. Not a word was spoken. The young gentleman sat with his arms crossed upon his breast; and, if I might judge by the expression of his fine countenance, was evidently revolving some scheme of benevolence in his mind. The dandies regarded him with blank amazement. They also had seen the gold in the poor widow’s hand, and seemed to think that there was more under that shabby surtout than their “ puppy brains” could easily conjecture. That in this they were right was speedily made manifest.
When we had entered Glasgow, and were approaching the Buck’s Head, the inn at which our conveyance was to stop, an open travelling carriage, drawn by four beautiful grey horses, drove up in an opposite direction. The elegance of this equipage made the dandies spring to their feet. “ What beautiful greys!” cried the one, “ I won der who they can belong to?” “He is a happy fellow anyhow,” replied the other ; “ I would give half Yorkshire to call them mine.” The stagecoach and travelling – carriage stopped at the Buck’s Head at the same moment, and a footman in laced livery, springing down from behind the latter, looked first inside and then at the top of the former, when he lifted his hat with a smile of respectful recognition.
“ Are all well at the castle, Robert?” inquired the young gentleman in the surtout.
“ All well, my lord,” replied the footman.
At the sound of that monosyllable the faces of the exquisites became visibly elongated; but, without taking the smallest notice of them or of their confusion, the nobleman politely wished me good morning; and, descending from the coach, caused the footman to place his cloak and despised portmanteau in the carriage. lie then stepped into it himself, and the footman getting up behind, the coachman touched the leaders very slightly with his whip, and the equipage and its noble owner were soon out of sight.
“ Pray, what nobleman is that,” said one of the dandies to the landlord, as we entered the inn.
“The Earl of II.” sir, replied the landlord; “ one of the best men, as well as one of the richest in Scotland.”
“ The Earl of H.!” repeated the dandy, turning to his companion, “ What asses we have been! there’s an end to all chance of being allowed to shoot on his estate.”
“ 0 ! yes, we may burn our letters of introduction when we please,” rejoined his companion; and silent and crest-fallen, both walked up stairs to their apartments.
“The Earl of H. !’* repeated I, with somewhat less painful feelings; “ Does he often travel unattended ?”
“ Very often,” replied the landlord, “ especially when he has any public or charitable object in view; he thinks he gets at the truth more easily as a private gentleman than as a wealthy nobleman.” “ I have no doubt of it,” said I, and having given orders for dinner, I sat down to muse on the occurrences of the day.
This, however, was not the last time that I was destined to hear of that amiable young nobleman, too early lost to his country and mankind. I had scarce* ly returned home from my tour in the Highlands, when I was waited upon by a friend, a teacher of languages in Edinburgh, who told me that he had been appointed Rector to the
Academy at B——.
“ Indeed!” said I, “ how have you been so fortunate ?”
“ I cannot tell,” replied he, “ unless it be connected with the circumstance which I am going to relate.”
He then stated, that about a month before, he was teaching his classes as usual, when a young gentleman, dressed in a surtout that was not over new, came into his school, and politely asked leave to see his method of instruction. Imagining his visitor to be schoolmaster from the country, who wished to learn something of the Edinburgh modes of tuition, my friend acceded to his request. The stranger remained two hours, and paid particular attention to every department. When my friend was about to dismiss the school, the stranger inquired whether he was notin the habit of commending his pupils to God in prayer before they parted for the day; my friend replied that he was ; upon which the stranger begged that he would not depart from his usual practice on his account. My friend accordingly prayed with the boys, and dismissed them; after which the stranger thanked him for his politeness, and also withdrew. Nothing more occurred; but four or five days afterwards my friend received a letter from the Earl of H., in which that nobleman, after stating that he had satisfied himself as to his piety and ability as a teacher, made him an
offer of the Rectorship of the Academy at B—-.
“ Was your visitor fair haired,” said I, “ and his surtout of a claret colour ?”
“ They were,” replied my friend, “ but what of that?”
“ It was the Earl of H. himself,” said I, “ there can be no doubt of itand I gave him the history of my journey to Glasgow.
“ Well, he took the best method certainly to test my qualifications,” rejoined my friend. “ I wish all patrons would do the same, we should have better teachers in our schools, and better ministers in our churches.”
“ All patrons, perhaps, are not equally qualified to judge,” said I, “at all events, let us rejoice that though ‘ not many wise men after the flesh, not many mighty, not many noble are called,’ still we see one here and one there, distinguished by divine grace, to the piaise and the glory of God the Saviour.”
By C. H. Stuart.
The noblest men I know on earth,
Are men whose hands are brown with toil: Who, back’d by no ancestral birth,
Hew down the woods, and till the soil;
And thereby win a prouder fame,
Than crowns a king’s or warrior’s name.
The working men, whate’er their task,
To carve the stone, or bear the hod,
They wear upon their honest brows The royal stamp and seal of God !
And brighter are their drops of sweat,
Than diamonds in a coronet.
God bless the noble working men,
Who rear the cities of the plain ;
Who dig the mines and build the ships,
Who drive the commerce of the main !
God bless them ! for their swarthy hands Have wrought the glory of all lands.
A man should never be ashamed to own be has been in the wrong, which is but saying in other words, that he is wiser to-day than he was yesterday.—Pope.
“Whoso findeth a Wife,
findeth a good thing, > jjj and Obtaineth 3! favour of the Lord.
l’rov. xviii. 22.
A Grocer at Congleton writes, “ We have disposed of two dozen copies of the British Workman for this month. The fact of their being laid in the window amongst the foreign fruit is evidence of our sincere wish for your prosperity.” We hope that other shopkeepers will adopt the excellent exam pie of our Cheshire correspondent.
– A. Slater.—We shall shortly act upon your suggestion.
Alpha.—You can send any number of printed books or papers, (the cover being open at the ends) post free to South Australia or New Zealand for 6d. provided the packet does not exceed £ lb. in weight. The recent postal arrangements will confer many advantages upon the Colonies. Rowland Hill deserves the best thanks of his countrymen.
A Wife.—The following fact will give you a hint. A decent looking country woman called upon a venerable clergyman one market day, and begged to speak with him. She told him with on air of secrecy, that her husband had behaved unkindly to her, and souaht the company of other women, and that knowing him to be “ a wise man,” she was sure he could tell what would cure her husband. “ The remedy is simple,” said the pious pastor, “always treat your husband with a smile.” The woman expressed her thanks, dropped a curtsey, and went away. A few months afterwards she called again, bringing a couple of fine fowls. She told the clergyman with great satisfaction, “You have cured my husband, and I beg your acceptance of these fowls in return.” The clergyman was gratified with the success of his prescription, but was unwilling to accept the fee.
A Villager.—Send eighteen pence in postage stamps to Messrs. Partridge, Oakey, and Co., 34, Paternoster Row, London, and they will send you a packet containing eighteen copies of the British Workman, post
J. Patrick.—The subject of kindness to animals shall have our continued notice. We should be glad if some wealthy friend would offer a good prize for the best Essay from Working Men.
J. Andrew, Leeds.—Thanks for your encouraging letter. You can do much to help us.
A. B„ Glasgow.—You can be supplied through Mr. Gallie, or the Scottish Temperance League.
WIVES AND MOTHERS.
THE POWER OF PENCE.
A Manchester calico-printer was, on his wedding’ day, persuaded by his wife to allow her two half pints of ale a day a3 her share. He rather winced under 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 while the factory was closed.
The wife and husband saw little of each other except at breakfast; hut, as she kept things tidy about her, and made her stinted, and even selfish allowance for house-keeping meet the demands upon her, he never complained.
She had her daily pint, and he, perhaps, had his two or three quarts: and neither interfered with the other, except at odd times, when 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. But these were rare occasions.
They had been married a year; and on the morning of the wedding anniversary, the husband looked askance at her neat and comely person with some shade of remorse, as he observed.
“ Mary, we’r had no holiday sin* we were wed: and only that I haven’t a penny i’ tli’ world, we’d take a jaunt to th’ village to see thee mother !
“ Would’st like to go, John ?” asked she, softly, between a smile and a tear, to hear him speak kindly as in old times. “If thee’d like to go, John, I’ll stand treat.”
“Thou stand treat!” said he, with half a sneer,! “ hast got a fortun, wench ? ”
“Nay,” said she, “but I’n gotton the pint o’ale.”
“Gotton what?” said he.
“ The pint o’ale!” was the reply.
John still didn’t understand her, till the faithful creature reached down an old stocking from under a loose brick up the chimney, and counting out her daily pint of ale in the shape of 365 threepences (i. e. £4 lls 3d) put it into his hand, exclaiming,
“ Thee shall have the ho iday, John.”
John was ashamed, astonished, conscience-smitten, charmed. He wouldn’t touch’t.
“ Hasn’t thee had thy share? then I’ll ha’ no more,” he said.
They kept their wedding day with the old dame; and the wife’s little capital was the nucleus of a series of investments that ultimately swelled into shop, factory, warehouse, country seat, and a carriage.—Rev. J. B. Owen, M.A.
“ MY MOTHER NEVER TELLS LIES.”
Several females met at the house of a friend, in
—–, for an evening visit, when the following
scene and conversation occurred :—
A little girl about five years of age, a child of one of the mothers present, was guilty of rude, noisy conduct, very improper on all occasions, and particularly so at a stranger’s house. The mother gently reproved her, saying, “ Sarah, you must not do so.”
The child soon forgot the reproof, and became as noisy as ever. The mother firmly said, “Sarah, if you do so again I will punish you; ” but not long afterwards, Sarah did so again. When the company were about to separate, the mother stepped into a neighbour’s house, intending to return for the child. During her absence, the thought of going home recalled to the mind of Sarah the punishment which her mother had told her she might expect; and the recollection turned her rudeness and thoughtlessness to sorrow. A young lady present, observing it, and learning the cause, in order to pacify her said, “ Never mind, I will ask your mother not to whip you.” “Oh,” said Sarah, “that will do no good. My mother never tells lies.”
A parent, who was present, in naming the circumstance afterwards, said, “I learned a lesson from the reply of that child, which I shall never forget. It is worth everything in the training of a child, to make it feel that its mother never tells lies.”
J. B. GOUGH’S ADDRESS TQ THE WORKING CLASSES.
DELIVERED IN EXETER HALL.
(Continued from page 8.)
And yet in this city of London are a-set of abject, miserable, creeping slaves; more terrible in their bondage than the bondage of Egypt, or the tenfold worse chattel-slavery of the south. In Virginia a slave stood up before his brethren, and said, “ Brethren, this poor old body of mine is Master Carr’s slave; the bones and the blood, and the sinews, and the muscles belong to Master Carr; but thank God, my soul is the freeman of the Lord Jesus.” There is not a drunkard on the face of the earth can say that. He is a slave, body and mind; every faculty he has is in bondage ; and the worst of it is, he is a self-made slave. The slave in the south is not responsible for the degradation his master puts upon him, when he sets his foot on him, and crushes him down; the drunkard is responsible for every gift God has given him ; for bis intellect and genius; for every power he has, he is responsible and accountable; and therefore his slavery is ten-fold more to be dreaded than the slavery of the south. And yet sueh is the deceptive influence of the drink, that while he is such a slave he boasts of his freedom. Free!
Go if you please, into one of your drinking-rooms, one of your gin-shops, one of your public-houses; see men standing at the counter; look at that pale-faced, pallid-looking gin-drinker; see the eyes large and sunk deep in the sockets, as with his fingers, like the claws of an unclean bird, he clutches that glass of gin. Why,’ lie looks almost as if he bad come up out of bis grave to get his gin, and had forgotten the way back again. It is horrible to look at him. And yet that is a man ! See that other standing ; the dull waters of disease stagnant in his eye—sensuality seated upon his cracked, swollen, parched lip; see him gibbering in all the idiocy of drunkenness. That is a man!
“ That is a Man.”
I know it is sometimes hard to look at the blear-eyed, bloated sot, and feel, “That is a man!” Have .you ever seen that admirable picture by our worthy chairman, “ The man that thinks and acts, and the thing that drinks and smokes ?” * I have looked at the two; and yet the one is just as much a man as the other. God created him with the same faculties; God made him upright—in the image of God oreated he him ; he gave him dominion over the beasts of the field, and crowned him lord of creation. That a man—a blear-eyed,
bloated thing like that! A man What has brought him to that? Has be come to this position willingly and of bis own accord? He has come to it by the deceptive influences of drink—■ by coming to false conclusions, and using false arguments, some of which I will speak of for a minute.
I am not such. a Fool.
When I ask men, young men especially, who are commencing life, why it is they drink, they may ask me why I put the question ? But if I say to you, “ I am afraid that if you drink you will become a drunkard,” what will you say to me ? You will say, “ I am not such a fool as to become a drunkard; I have got a mind of my own as if every man who became a drunkard was a fool, and had no mind of his own! “ I
can leave it off when I have a mind to, and I can drink when I have a mind tojust as if the man who became a drunkard never could leave it off when he had a mind to, and drink when he had a mind to !
“ I have a Will of my own.”
“ I have-got a will of my ownjust as if God never gave the drunkard a will! “ I have a
regard for my family ;” just as if the drunkard was born destitute of natural affection!
(To be continued.)
* We hope to insert this clever engraving, for the gratification of our readers, in an early n miner.
Uncorrected OCR-PAGE 12
THE BRITISH WORKMAN.
Though no doctor, I have by me some excellent
prescriptions ; and, as I shall charge nothing for
them, you cannot grumble at the price. We are
most of us subject to fits. I am visited with
them myself, and I dare say that you are also :
now, then, for my prescriptions.
For a fit of passion: walk out in the open air. You may speak your mind to the winds, without hurting any one, or proclaiming yourself to be a simpleton. “ Be not hasty in thy spirit to be angry; for anger resteth in the bosom of fools.”
For a fit of idleness: count the tickings of a clock. Do this for one hour, and you will be glad to pull off your coat the next, and work like a Negro. “ Slothfulness casteth into a deep sleep ; and an idle soul shall suffer hunger.”
For a fit of extravagance or folly: go to the workhouse, or speak with the ragged and wretched inmates of a jail; and you will be convinced,—
“Who makes his bed of brier and thorn,
Must be content to lie forlorn.”
“ Wherefore do ye spend money for that which is not bread ? and your labour for that which satisfieth not ?”
For a fit of envy: go to Brighton, Cheltenham, or some other place of the kind, and see how many who keep their carriages are afflicted with rheumatism, gout, and dropsy ; how many walk abroad on crutches, or stay at home wrapped up in flannel; and how many are subject to epilepsy and apoplexy. “ A sound heart is the life of the flesh; envy is the rottenness of the bones.”
For a fit of ambition: go into the church-yard, and read the grave-stones. They will tell you the end of man at his best estate. “ For what is your life ? It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanislieth away.” “ Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.”
For a fit of repining: look about for the halt and the blind, and visit the bedridden, the afflicted, and the deranged ; and they will make you ashamed of complaining of your lighter afflictions. “ Wherefore doth a living man complain ?”
For a fit of desponding: look on the good things which God has given you in this world, and at those which He has promised to His followers in the next. He who goes into his garden to look for cobwebs and spiders, no doubt will find them; while he who looks for a flower, may return into
his house with one blooming in his bosom. “ Why art thou cast down, 0 my soul? and why art thou disquieted within me? hope thou in God; for I shall yet praise him, who is the health of my countenance, and my God.”
For all fits of doubt,perplexity, and fear, whether they respect the body or the mind, whether they are a load to the shoulder, the head, or the heart, the following is a radical cure, which may be relied on ; for I had it from the Great Physician: —“ Cast thy burden upon the Lord: for he shall sustain thee.”— Old Humphrey
THE EARLY CLOSING- MOVEMENT.
The Working Men of Scotland having experienced the domestic advantages arising from an early cessation of labour on Saturday, seem determined to do their part towards extending the same boon to their fellow sons of toil—the Shopkeepers.
We have received a printed list of resolutions passed at the trade meetings of masons, engineers, machinists, millwrights, smiths, pattern makers, confectioners, bookbinders, joiners, bakers, plumbers, and upholsterers pledging themselves not to support those shopkeepers who keep open after 5 o’clock on Saturday.
Men with placards are sent round the streets every week to remind the public.
In connection with the early closing movement, we have received the most unqualified testimonies from Employers as to the advantages which they, as well as their hands, experience from paying wages on Friday. They have fewer absentees than when wages were paid on Saturday !!
It is, I think, one of the greatest evils of this country that toil has become so excessive, that all considerations of health—all attention to intellectual improvement— and even the time which ought to be devoted to spiritual worship, is lost in that excess of labour which the people of this country undergo.—Lord John Bussell.
We have received many gratifying letters from all parts of the country, and trust that by the help of our correspondents and friends, the circulation will be aised to the self-supporting point, so as to justify our continuance. Hitherto, every No. lias entailed pecuniary loss. The following pleasing letter from an intelligent London artizan affords encouragement to “go on:”—
To the Editor of the British Workman.
Dear Sir,—As you have styled yourself the friend of the working man, I claim the privilege of writing to you, and I beg that you will allow the privilege, and kindly peruse what I have to state.
There are a few peculiar excellencies in our new paper which seem to me to claim for you tiie best thanks of our class. In the first place, you recognize us as rational, intelligent beings, and you reason with us as capable of appreciating argument. Furthermore, you remember that we have souls, and you are not afraid to give us good advice concerning their welfare—a style of address which I have observed to be rare in popular periodicals.
The Lord will be a refuge for the oppressed. Psalm ix. 9.
Again, you do not flatter us, but speak as man to man, with truth and self-respect; and I esteem you for that feature in your editorial style. Another excellence is, that you have not forgotten our wives—bless them; they are part of ourselves, and you could not have taken a surer method of securing our approbation and reaching our hearts. I believe the working jnan’s wife is the great source of his earthly enjoyment, and instrumentally the sustainer of his moral strength; and on that account, as well as that the wife is the educator of his children, your attempts to direct the mind of the wife of the working man deserve his grateful regard.
I may add that I am glad you have not introduced politics or party questions, and that you have not undertaken any part in our disputes about wages; not that I doubt your ability or rectitude, but that I fear your arguments would not meet with fair consideration, and perhaps your motives be misconstrued.
May the “ British Workman ” prosper, and may its editor be spared long to conduct it. Your* very respectfully, A Working Max.
TRUST IN PROVIDENCE?.
Illustration of Matthew x. 19,20,21.
On a bridge I was standing one morning, And watching the current roll by,
When suddenly into the water There fell an unfortunate fly.
The fishes that swam to tne surface Were looking for something to eat,
And I thought that the hapless young insect Would surely afford them a treat.
“Poor thing!” I exwaimed with compassion, “ Thy trials and dangers abound,
For if thou escap’st bei”g eaten.
Thou canst not escap© being drowned.”
No sooner the sentence was spoken,
Than lo, like an angel of love,
I saw, to the waters beneath me A leaflet descend from above.
It glided serene on the streamlet,
’Twas an ark to the poor little fly;
Which, soon to the land re-ascending, Spread its wings in the breezes to dry.
Oh, sweet was the truth that was whispered, That mortals should never despair,
For He who takes care of an insect,
Much more for his children will care,
And though, to our short-sighted vision No way of escape may appear;
Let us trust, for when least we expect it, The help of a our Father ” is near.
GIN, RUM, AND BRANDY.
By THE LATE Gr. MOGRIDGE, ESQ.
Beau Broughton was a foolish fop,
And fiery was his passion,
He thought of little else but dress And folly in the fashion.
At last he took to drinking deep,
Though he was such a dandy,
And then grim Death soon stopped his breath With gin, and rum, and brandy.
But proved at length unsteady,
For he in every drinking bout To join was always ready.
His cheek was red, his eyes were grey, His hair was somewhat sandy: ’Twas not the foe that laid him low, But gin, and rum, and brandy.
Ben Bowline was as trim a tar As e’er a rope’s end handled;
As true a child of Ocean waves As Ocean ever dandled.
And he could sing a thrilling song, And well with words could handy: Ben bore the blast, but fell at last By gin, and rum, and brandy.
Now would you know, and wish to go The nearest road to sorrow ;
To drain the cup of misery up,
And darken every morrow:
The way is open, straight and clear, The method sure and bandy ;
Ne’er stop to think, but freely drink Strong gin, and rum. ami brand