Sunday dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1845-1854, 1852-04-04

We have often considered if those sanctimoni-
GUS gentlemen, who turn up the whites of their
eyes at the accidental commission of carnaI
sin, or the omission of cardinal virtue, ever
dream, when they put on their clean and glis-
tening linen of Sabbath morning that every
stitch made in their snowy envelope was accom-
paied by heart-rending sighs, and that every
hem which the poor sempstress made was traced
with her bleeoing fingers. We have often won
dered if when in the sanctuaries Of God, they
ever utter prayer for the poor shirt-maker who
tolls when they sleep, and eats sparingly of a
stale crust, where they would turn away with
loathing fr IL, dinner which would rejoice the
heart of poor man. We repeat, we have often
wondered if these men ever took the trouble to
enter the abodes of poverty, or asked the misera-
BILE creatures FROM whose cheek the bloom is
stolen by long hours of toll, whose busy fingers
cease not to ply the needle from sunrise until the
small hours of the morning, and asked them if
their labor was justly compensated How much
longer and louder would they offer up their
Inscriptions to the Deity, and bemoan with hypo-
critical can't the enormities of depraved world,
if told that they, they instrumental in forcing
poor, forlorn creatures to make under garments
at sir cents each !; and even at that required to
furnish the thread and needle with which thew
are sewed2
We hate your canting hypocrite as we hate
sin itself-for Christ commands men if they take
up his cross, to 60 into the world and do good.
| How many thousands are there in New York
crushed and swindled, and deprived of manhood
and womanhood by the supplicants who worship
at the sacred shrine, and yet permit such atroci-
ties to go on around without ono word of hope to
the sufferers, or of rebuke on the society which
thus permits competition to starve its workers
See that poor ragged creature, whose pallid
face and sunken eye speak louder than the words
of men, the agony and wretchedness with which
she daily contends--consant companions are
they. See her enter that fashionable store, gau-
Oily decorated with the works of her toll. How
humbly she begs- prays-for work All, her Pc
tition'is granted, and on her depesiting dollar
she is permitted to carry away the spotless stufs
out of which she is TO make shirts at six and a
quarter cents !
Now look how daintily that saints that fat,
cosy man of God-passes to the other side, that
he may not be contaminated with the atmosphere
which surrounds poverty. This man will talk
to you by the hour of the spiritual and temporal
destitution of savage islanders, who unconscious
ly rejoice in their native widernesses and ex ort
tears and money for their unreal wants and woes
from his listeners But not word, not whis-
per, will he utter, not finger will he raise, not
tear will he ask, for the crushed sisterhood and
brotherhood around him.
The world, the surface-seeing world, calls this
man a saints he not rather a devil ? Is not
his heart as unapproaohable as the savages, for
whose interest he breaches and prays Oh, the
canting hypocrisy of this man-the marvellous
sycophancy of this Pharisee
Now, look again. See this same woman re-
turn with the fruits of the weary day and mid
night hour-with her dozen of shirts See how
closely the man who is hardened in his trade of
blood, examines them, and declares them spoiled.
Even the sixpence is refused the poor famished
creature, and she is compelled to leave, and
throw herself in the dock if she has but the cour-
age. A sympathizing society will pay coroner
five dollars for pronouncing her suicide-but
not cent would they offer to save her from an
end so awful
Is this an overwrought fancy sketch Enquire
for yourselves, and prove its falsity.