, 1888-11-10
TALE OF A PROOF READER

1 have reached the mature age of
twenty-six years without achieving any
other distinction in life than n place as
proof reader in a publishing house. That
may seem n small honor to the unini-
tiatcd, but my work is intellectual and
very comprehensive. That / am capable
of doing it argues for me a wide range Of
information, a mind finely critical. If 1
were not mentally superior to the masses
could | derive a comfortable income from
running down their mistakesl Would
not my own ignorance be apparent on
many a printed page if L did not with
steady hand seize and thurst out of sight
thc Ignorance and carelessness of those
who write? l am closeted all day with
Webster and Worcester; 1 am familiar
with all books of reference. l read
and write German and French, l can
trace every English word to its root,
and translate Latin and Greek. l am
not IN egotist when l tell you these
things, for l must take my place among
the workingwomen of Chicago as one
who is paid far less than the successful
dressmaker, milliner or cook. Indeed, !
have often envied my sisters who achieve
success in either of these lines. The
artist in ~dressmaking commands her
price, Nllt illlllllcI . Idolt dllN 6bN lt lthAltl
her independent; the accomplished cook
whose f~aultles5 dinners lead her on to
fortune-all these create something that
can be appreciated, admired and weakly
initiated. My work is sadly negative.
My sins are those of omission, not of
commission. Who ever hears of the
errors / eradicate, the thought 1 spend
upon the printed page2 For the work 1
do l win the cordial hatred of those who
work about me-the printer, the fore
man, even the inky boy who brings work
to my hands. These all hate me for the
things l do, while / am in constant terror
from things l do not do. What proof
reader has not stood aghast at some glar-
ing error which he did not run to earth
on the first proof, but overlook by chance
on a revise? What il his tired eyes had
missed it them 1t would nave wrought
ruin to an entire volume-and to him.
How l secured my position l need not
relate. 1t was after long and hard fight
for it, which l began at nineteen years.
Till then l had been n ward of charity,
wearing in my baby days the blue check
apron of the Foundlings' home. 1 was
educated at the expense of the church,
and when first l tried my small strength
against the world it was as copyholder
in a great publishing house in Chicago.
l am able now to earn $15 per week
after seven years. l am little of a pes
simist and my life has not been given
over to melancholy, but to work. l give
ten hours of each day to my tasks. That
ahsorbs my energy, breaks my spirit and
will and leaves me tired md depressed.
l nave been employed on Monroe street,
in a house that is old and well known.
Its air is full of foul odors, it Is dark
and without ventilation. 1 climb five
flights of stairs to my work in the morn
ing, taking my way through rooms full
of human beings struggling for daily
bread against greater odds than l, and
throbbing and beating of the great
presses, the click Of the type in the
printers fingers. l see their faces about
me, anxious and poverty tried, and
nave seen them SO for five years, and
sometimes hope dies within me.
Touch a book with reverent fingers, We
who are ignorant of its mechanism.
Over its pages flows the life blood of
many an humble toiler. Mayhap its
fair, white leaves have beer dampened
with women's tears, for so many work
ing women are heartsick and discour.
aged.
Five years of this life will render the
hopeful woman strong minded and cyni.
cal. She will need the ~unlovely strength
she develops in a city that harbors and
gives subsistence to 10000 bachelor1.
Forty thousand strong men, who smoke
and eat, sleep and pursue their solitary
lives, spending yearly means enough &c
keep up homes. And where every
morning 40, 900 women tramp hurriedly
through our streets. n terrible army, eact
with her face set toward some store,
Office or workshop. These women dc
not seek health nor strength nor woman,
siness-they must lose these better Gle.
ments. They will not win wages enough
to keep them through chance sickness
nor certain old age-not one in a thou
sand does that. They will not be
made better, mentally or morally, by
ceaseless toll. They will only clothe and
feed themselves, hat they may come on
the morrow and again, till their faces
are pinched and bloodless and the grace
of youth has left them; till they are not
fit for wives and mothers, for they are
old and sad, and each of the 40, 600
bachelors wants a wife whose temper Is
sunny and sweet and who does not know
the world so well as these working wu.
men of Chicago.
T1e-re was a time in my life when ]