Daily evening star. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1852-1854, 1854-07-14
DAILY EVENING STAR.
THE VOICE OF THE sLoP SHIRT

1t was o little bundle, neatly packed
and lying On the counter. The s;Dp
was old and weather stained, but the
man that kept it, he was old and sin
stained. The hollow in his face looked
out as if mercy had there laid her length
and died; and if there ever was kindness
in his eye, it was before he let his soul
on a life lease to avarice We said there
was little bundle, neatly packed, lying
there, but there was something else-a
bony, BLUSH, knotty-veined, famished-
looking hand-a woman's hand. 1t
seemed as if the blood had never a gen.
.erous tending to these poor veins; or if
it had, hunger kept it back.
Under a ragged green veil, a face peer
ed out that was pinched and homely:
none of your beauty in distress was hers:
the bitterness at her heart had wrenched
all comliness away, and she stood there,
a suffering, miserable slop-shop slave.
Before the woman had spoken, a stran-
ger.entered. At the sound of her voice
he stayed his steps, for the concentration
of years Of agony, -mAtad ont haur hy.
hour, moment by moment. tick by tick
of the clock, seemed infused in that hol-'
low, sepulchral voice
And you won't pay mel"
"Not cent" rung out sharply, like
the twang of a rusty wire; sst'other shirt
was spoiled for custom; you oughter make
half dozen more for nothin."
But my baby was dying while I was
finishing that, and the tears blinded me.
till I cut the button holes too big. / bu-
ried my poor baby-thank God for taking
it from misery-and that's what I want!
the money for. !"
Cant help it-don't whine at me :;
think l can bury all the poor babies in
creation ?''
The woman threw down her veil and
turned to go-and as she reached the
door, she exclaimed in a shrill tone ::
/" You are warm here, and your children
are warm ut home; n,y children are starv-
ing, and freezing, and dying:'' and with
an unearthly shrek she burst from the
shop and plunged on, battling with the
fierce wind.
The stranger who had witnessed all
this, bought the shirt-but with it he
bought also the memory Of that wretched
scene. Day and night it had voice for
his ear, and vision for his eye.
He saw CHASTITY and sinful creatures
moving about the wet pavement, but he
dared judge them not with mans judg-
ment, for he thought of that hollow
voice: "My babe was dying, and the
tears blinded me :" How knew he but
ho1 20
The slop shirt Little do we heed its
voice. 1t comes to US shining and snowy.
No record it bears of the tears that stain
ed its whiteness-they are all washed
away. 1t reminds us not that the heart
broken sighs of the needy have been drop
ped thickly amid its folds. Crowding
about it, we see no wan faces of famished
children. Close-close has it laid with
the shroud over the mothers faded hopes.
1t has seen the last coal die out in the
night gloom. About frozen fingers has
it been wrapped-in laps where luxury
once nestled, has it laid. 1t has felt the
touch of hands once soft and white and
covered with jewels T; it has crowded
back the tears in eyes once blue, bright
and beautiful how cold and dim
All listen well to the voice of the slop
shirt. Say word at all times, and
every where, for the poor sisterhood who
live by stitching. No matter whether
they were bred in palace, or never saw
better than the walls of the hovel-they
are Gods children, held under the lash
of mans hard bondage. Be pitiful, then
whenever Won hear the voice of tho SIon
shirt.-Boston OliUe Brqslch.