The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1886-06-23

| thread! MY Lord and my GoQ, nave mercy
upon the workingwomen Of New York and
Brooklyn. Ispeak thus fully Of the wrongs,
the sufferings of the female employees OF
these cities because no one else speaks or II
they do speak have not heard their voice
for some time. All! we understand the suf-
ferings Of masculine employees better. Last
March. in Missouri. a colored man cene into
my room to made the fire. I said:
"Sam, how much do the people get
lars a month" "Have you familyG'
eyes" said he, "a wife and "hildren." Ten
dollars month! One hundred and twenty
dollars year to support family on! 1t is
only little door open. that, to an awful scene
all over this land, north. south, east and
west. It is not a hullabaloo about nothing.
There are awful outrages being enacted. and
that have been said and done. to overlook
these things ard forget these things.
First of all, there is the hardship Of phys
ical exhaustion. There are athletes who
start forth in the morning at six or seven
o'clock, do their work and return at night
fall, and they are as fresh as when they
started. There are men so constructed that
they can turn their back on the shuttle, or on
the rising wall, or on the forge after day
work, and 60 whistling all the way home.
But they are the exception. I have noticed
that when the factory bell taps for six clock
the most Of the workmen wearily put the arm
in the coat sleeve, and they 60 home resolved
thev will be cherry and make their home
bright and entertain their children. and yet
;ound asleep because tagged out, body,
mind and soul, and they rise
In the morning only half rested,
and there will be no rest for that mans body,
no real, good rest-until he gets in that mar
row spot which is the only comnlete rest for
| L... Ill, .,,1-
| Oh, workingmen and women Of America,
whether you hear my voice, or in some other
way the discourse shall come to you, let me
say, if toll has frosted the color from your
cheek. if the snontaneity has gone out Of
your laughter, if hard work has subtracted
the spring from your step and the lustre from
your eye, let me say. it will all
great holiday. Oh that home, and
no long walk to get to it. Oh, that bread
and no besweating toll to earn it. Oh. that
deep we'll Of rapture, and no heavy buckets to
draw up. Tomorrow, above tho hiss OF the
furnaces and above the groan Of the foundry,
and above the rattle OF the shuttles, hear
voice, not the voice of taskmaster. not the
voice Of master, but the voice Of an I'LL
sympathetic God. l wish the weary men and
women of America would put their heads
down on the pillow stuffed with the down
from the wings Of all Gods promises. There
remaineth rest for all the people Of God.
How many tired peopleare there here to-dayl
A thousand? More than that. Two thou
sand tired people? More than that. Though
all Of you were, the children of luxurious
ease, more than that. There is n woman with
her head bowed. Why? Ask her. "Oh,"
she says, sit has been hard work for me-"
and as she bows her head, or puts her face in
her handkerchief, she says: "Oh. Lord. will
ever get rested-will ever get rested" So
tired are you, sister, motherl So very tired!
"Oh," says someone. "all this is gone
through with: with the invention of the
sewing machine all the hard work Of the
of people are dying amid sewing machines
The needle has killed more than the sword.
But who can take the statistics of women
| crushed under the sewing machine-being
crushed now? A Christian man passing
| through the streets Of New York saw house
of good deal Of destitution. He went in,
and there was woman with a sick child,
and he was telling her what good woman
she ought to be- and how she ought to have
faith in God. "Oh, sir" she said, 81 have no
God work from Monday morning to Sat-
urday night, and find no rest never hear
anything that does my soul any gool.
haven't any bonnet to wear to church on
Sunday. sometimes lneel down to pray,
but I get up very quickly, and I say to
my hnsband:. My dear, there's no
need of my trying to, pray, it don't do any
can't pray And then, sir, to go. right on
from year to year and know there is nothing
brighter ahead, and to see this little one
getting thinner and thinner, and my poor
man almost broken down, and to feel that we
are not getting any nearer God, but all the
time getting further and further away from
Him. Oh, sir, wish I was ready to die"
I'D fl,a OLE
of America. The awful groan comes this
dav through American society.
Then they are the hardships that come from
privation of taste and sentiment. There are
working people who have beautiful homes,
but you know they are the excep: IN. The
most of the working classes live in cramped
apartments, and they live where they do not
want to live, but where they have to live.
can think of but few things more distressing
than for a woman to have fondnesS for art,
for pictures, for sculpture, for music, for
beautiful skies, for glorious sunsets, and yet
pever be able to raise dollar for an oratorio,
and never be able to buy her way to the
country where she can see the blue expanse
of the heavens anil hear the birds sing, and
never have q picture, while sometimes
men Of alluence have works OF art for which
they have no appreciation, and they buy
their libraries by the square yard, and the
pictures they have on their walls are miSer-
able daubs that the artists are glad to get out
of their studios. Yet know men and women
who will reign in the Kingdom of Heaven
finally as artists who cannot have a good
picture, aud they cannot hear sweet sound,
and they cannot play upon beautiful musl-
cal instrument. Oh. We. who are so hindered
in your taste and your sentiment. let me
tell you to look up. The King Of
Babylon mad hanging garden that has
excited the admiration of the centuries.
You have better hanging garden than that.
All the heavens are to be yours, for they be-
long to your father, and what belongs to
your father belongs to you. All these ap-
prehensions and these depressing surround
ings OF the working classes are powerfully
described by one of the English writer's when
ITO be poor mans child and look through
the rails of the playground and envy richer
BOYS for the sake OF their many books, and
vet to be doomed to ignorance; to be appren
ticel to some harsh stranger and feel forever
banished from a mothers tenderness and
sisters love: to work when very weary and
work when the heart is sick and the head is
sore to Sc, a wife or darling child wasting
away and not be able to get the best advice;
to hope that better fool or purer air
might set her up again, and that food you
cannot buy, that dir you must never
hope to breathe; to be obliged to let her die;
to come home from the daily task some even.
ing and see her sinking; to sit up all night in
hope to catch again those precious words you
might have heard could you have afforded to
STAY at home all day. but never hear them; to
have no mourners at the funeral and even have
to carry on your shoulder through the merry
streets the light deal coffin; to see huddled
into promiscuous hole the dust which - is
SO dear to you and not venture to mark the
spot by planted flowers or lowliest stone;
some bitter winter or some costly spring to
barter for food the cloak or the curious cup
heard. or the HenrY's Commentaries on