"A complete mistake!" exclaimed Roland, eagerly. "It is one of the principles of the Order to do everything 'decently and in order'! Its aims are to remedy wrong by peaceful means, if possible. Every method of doing so is tried, before such an extreme measure as a strike—say—is resorted to. Why, there is no counting the number of strikes that have been prevented through its agency."
"It's too bad people don't know that," Nora replied.
"They don't want to know it," he said. "Mr. Pomeroy for instance should know, that but for the amicable negotiations of the 'Knights,' he might have had a strike before now. And I am not at all sure that he may not have it yet! Such surly, dissatisfied young fellows as Jim are just the stuff to make mischief. However, if he joins us, we may do something with him. One of our fundamental positions is the dignity of all honest labor. This teaches the men to respect themselves, and that is one step toward respecting others. And then, too, the Assembly meetings afford a place where all grievances can be ventilated—a sort of safety-valve, so to speak, where a good deal of gas can be got off, at any rate."
"I see," said Nora. "How often do they meet?"
"Once a week. By the way, I'm sorry that we haven't succeeded in getting redress for the girls. Mr. Pomeroy wouldn't interfere with his manager;—did not dare, perhaps, for fear he should leave: and Willett is hopeless!"
"Oh, I am sorry!" exclaimed Nora.
"I'm not going to give it up, though," he added, cheerfully. "Of course we'll keep driving away at the matter inThe Brotherhood. And how is my little friend, 'Miss Travers,' and her mother?"
"Oh, Cecilia promises to live up to hername! I've been trying to teach her to read, at which she was very awkward, but she takes much more readily to music," Miss Blanchard replied. "She's trying very hard to play a little on the piano, with her small fingers, and you should see her using a little accordion I gave her. It is quite a picture!"
"Yes, she's a beautiful child! She seemed to me like a disguised princess in a fairy-tale, that day I saw her first. And is the mother getting on well?"
"Yes, she's getting better fast," said Nora, somewhat doubtfully. "But, poor thing, what will she do when she is well?"
"Oh, something must be done for her," Roland replied. "And surely she must have friends somewhere!"
"Miss Spencer, the nurse who attends her, is going to try to find out, if she can only get her to tell her," replied Miss Blanchard.
"Will you permit me to come some day to see the child?" asked Roland. "I should like to see her again."
"Oh, come whenever you like," Nora responded cordially, as she bade him good-night, "come and see her—and me!"
The days seem to go on faster after the winter solstice is turned, and so, too, often do the life and work of men. Roland Graeme, at all events, found the days fly past with an increasing rapidity. He had, indeed, no idle time on his hands. His law-studies and office-work absorbed the best part of his day. His reporting and journalizing filled in all the intervals, and several evenings. The meetings of the "Knights of Labor" always occupied one evening in the week, and sometimes more; for besides his regular attendance at the Assembly to which he belonged, his intelligence and ability were frequently called into requisition, either in getting new assemblies into working order, or in helping to settle difficult matters that came up for consideration. Roland's influence had already made itself felt among the men, with whom a combination of honest enthusiasm, energy and ability like his, speedily becomes a power. Dunning, the head of the Minton organization, himself a shrewd, intelligent man, had soon recognized Graeme's value, and frequently sought his counsel. And with the men generally, his ready sympathy, genial address, and persuasive eloquence had gained an influence that often surprised him, almost as much as did the fair and moderate views and temperate and sensible speeches that he often heard from them. He would laughingly remark to Mr. Alden, that, if the masters, generally, were only as fair and reasonable in their attitude as were most of the men, there need never be a "strike" or a "lock-out." To which Mr. Alden would reply, that, as it had been from the beginning, so it was still, most difficult for "a rich man to enter the Kingdom of Heaven."
Then, in addition to all his other work, Roland had his editorials forThe Brotherhoodto write, as well as all the rest of its editorial management on his hands; and though it was only a small weekly sheet, this work often kept his lamp burning till far into the night. With all these things on his mind, it is no wonder if he began sometimes to feel the pressure—if his color was somewhat less fresh and his face more lined and worn than on his first arrival in Minton. Both Sandy Dunlop and his friend Dick Burnet sometimes warned him that he was "burning the candle at both ends," but his own enthusiasm was like a spirited steed that will carry its rider on, at full gallop, almost in spite of himself.
As forThe Brotherhood, it could not be called a very brilliant success, financially at least. This, however, had not been expected by any one concerned, and was a matter of least concern to Sandy Dunlop, who supplied most of the funds, with a grim satisfaction in feeling that he was thereby doing a little toward "the keeping in order" of bland autocrats like Mr. Pomeroy, for whom the rugged Scotchman had little love. Dick Burnet helped his friend materially, by printing the paper as economically as possible, at the office of theMinerva; though this was, for obvious reasons, kept very quiet. The new paper found, of course, its largest circulation among the workingmen, being a sort of recognized "Organ" in their interests; and a good many business men, who wanted their patronage, used it as an advertising medium, its principal source of profit. But, of the people Roland most desired to reach, few read it, or cared to do so. Burnet, however, went as far as he thought he safely could, in reprinting portions of Roland's best articles on general subjects, as well as some of his selections; and the very fact of the existence of such a paper with such a title and such principles, was not without its effect in the community. Managers became somewhat more pliant; concessions were somewhat more readily gained; negligence of precautions was less common, now that the employers knew, at least, that there was "a chiel amang them, takin' notes," though it need scarcely be said that the "note-taking" individual was not particularly agreeable to the subjects of his notes. For this, however, Roland cared little. His own affairs and the estimation in which he was held, did not, happily, weigh heavily on his mind. He had too many other people to think about, and, as yet, he had no engrossing personal interests; moreover, he could now always find a haven of rest and refreshment in Mr. Alden's pleasant home. The sight of Grace, indeed, always refreshed him, in itself, as did a fine poem or picture. He was content simply to sit and watch her acting "little mother" to the other children, while he talked with Mr. Alden, and his boyish friend, Frank. Mr. Alden smiled a little to himself, as he began to notice the magnetic attraction that drew Roland's eyes constantly in the direction of Grace's girlish figure. It reminded him of his own young days; and he knew that Roland was as romantic as any young troubadour. He, however, had too much real faith to be a fussy or fidgety man, and he could see that Grace was as unconscious of Roland's silent devotion as any prudent father could desire. He knew that, in some things, she was even younger than her years, owing, in part, to her quiet and healthy up-bringing; and he was not afraid of a premature love affair. Nor, indeed, was Roland's the kind of devotion that easily finds expression in "love-making"—though among his papers there were scattered various fragments of verse which sometimes came to him, even in his busy life, and which owed their inspiration to Grace Alden. He would have felt it a desecration of the reverent emotion with which he regarded her, to say a word which would have broken or disturbed the childlike unconsciousness, the calm, even current of her life. Grace was used to having people love her. She could not have fancied what it would be to live without what was to her the very breath of life, but it never occurred to her to think of it, or about herself in connection with it.
So Mr. Alden reassured the slight uneasiness of his wife, and took no notice; but continued to give Roland the benefit of his kindly sympathy and friendly counsel. He was, indeed, with the exception of Sandy Dunlop, the only man Roland knew in Minton to whom he could talk with perfect freedom and confidence in his honest impartiality. And, though Mr. Alden never forced on his young friend his own strong religious convictions, the latter oftenfeltthem; and, without his knowing it, they helped him to keep up heart and hope even in his discouragements, by the recognition of the "Divinity that shapes the ends" of men to other issues than they themselves have designed. Roland's faith in this respect had never quite given way; and the influence of Mr. Alden's strong and happy realization of it very much helped his own.
Roland was not likely, however, to forget his promise of calling to see Miss Blanchard and the little girl whom he had first befriended. Early in the new year, he called, late one snowy afternoon, when he thought he would be pretty sure of finding Miss Blanchard at home. She was alone in the drawing-room, reading by the window. She expressed great pleasure at seeing him again, and sent at once for the three children; having noticed Roland's predilection for the society of the little Aldens. Eddie, who had by no means forgotten him, rushed at him with a familiar "Hallo!" which rather shocked Nora's ideas of propriety. But Roland responded in the same fashion, and Eddie and he were soon in a merry flow of talk, while Daisy, on his knee, was trying to introduce "Tatters" and give a catalogue of his accomplishments. Cecilia, shy and grave as usual, recognized Roland with evident pleasure, and soon seemed so much at home with him, that she willingly went, at his suggestion, to get her accordion and play him a tune on it.
"She is really quite useful, now," said Miss Blanchard, in Cecilia's absence. "She has great influence over these two, who think her the most wonderful musician that ever was."
"The little Aldens seemed greatly taken with her, too," said Roland, laughing. "Mrs. Alden says she has made quite a conquest of Frank."
"Well, Grace has certainly made a conquest of her," replied Nora; "the child has taken the greatest fancy to her, and I don't wonder. She is such a lovely girl, isn't she, Mr. Graeme?" and as she spoke she looked up, a half mischievous smile hovering about her lips and in her eyes.
"She is, indeed!" replied Roland, with straightforward warmth. He never had any self-conscious impulse to conceal his admiration for Grace. But Cecilia had returned with her accordion, and surprised him a good deal by her correct rendering of a number of airs which she had picked up entirely by ear.
"Why, you are going to be a modern St. Cecilia!" he said. "Do you know who she was?" he added.
"Yes," said the child, smiling, and looking up at Miss Blanchard comprehendingly.
"She says her mother told her she was named after her father," remarked Nora; "of course his name must have been Cecil."
"Does she speak as if he were dead?" he asked, in a low tone, as the child began playing another air.
"She doesn't seem to know anything about him," she replied, in the same tone. "Miss Spencer has an idea her mother may be a deserted wife," she added.
"Poor thing!" said Roland; then turning to another subject, one of the objects of his visit: "I am going to give that lecture of mine that I was talking of, on 'Modern Miracles,' next week," he said, smilingly. "You said you would like to hear it, so I've brought you two or three tickets for yourself and any friends of yours who might do me the honor of coming. The price of admission is a merely nominal one," he added, disclaiming thanks, "simply to keep out 'roughs,' as the lecture is designed mainly for the men themselves. There will be a few seats reserved, for admission to which these tickets are intended; but I don't know that they will have many occupants. Mr. Alden and Miss Grace are going, so in any case you will have them for company, if you care to come."
"Oh, indeed, I want very much to go," replied Nora, eagerly, "and I think my brother will go, too, if he possibly can. He reads your paper regularly, and is much interested in your work."
"I am glad to hear it," he said. "I wish he could influence Mr. Pomeroy a little to be reasonable in meeting the reasonable requests of the men. I am afraid there may be trouble if he does not. We have been doing our best to stave off a strike, but it may have to come. By the way, that young fellow, Mason, seems to have a desperate grudge against young Pomeroy. One of our men says that there's a girl in the case,—that it's jealousy that makes him so set on mischief."
"Oh, impossible!" exclaimed Nora. "Mr. Harold Pomeroy is engaged to Miss Farrell, an intimate friend of mine."
"So I've heard," said he. "But that hardly proves the contrary. Young men do all sorts of silly and wicked things for a little amusement, I'm sorry to say," he continued, gravely. "And sometimes young ladies do so, too! However, there may be nothing in it. I only give it as I heard it."
Nora's mind had been going back to the things that Lizzie Mason had told her, in the beginning of their acquaintance. Was it possible that Harold Pomeroy could be the unknown "gentleman" who "turned Nelly's head with compliments and attention",—who had so upset Jim and poisoned poor Lizzie's piece of mind? The thought made her cheek burn with intense indignation. This would be worse than anything else.
Meantime Roland's thoughts had been taking a different direction; and he presently remarked:
"Waldberg's going to relieve the dryness of the lecture with a little music. He offered, and I thought it a good idea."
"Mr. Waldberg is a friend of yours, isn't he?" remarked Nora.
"Yes, Waldberg and I started a friendship when I first met him, along with a party of jolly students, while I was taking a walking-tour in Germany. He and I spent some happy days, roaming about the Black Forest together; and as I found that he was just about to start for the New World to seek his fortune, I gave him a note to my friend Burnet, the editor of theMinerva, you know. So when I arrived here, I found he had cast anchor in Minton; and we have kept together ever since. He and I recall to each other a good many pleasant associations, as we often talk over the 'Fatherland;' and I keep my German a little in practice. He likes to talk it now and then, of course, though he speaks English so well. He and I and my old friend, Mr. Dunlop, get on very comfortably together. Dunlop has rather a fancy for Waldberg, though he thinks him a little reckless. I sometimes wish he had a little more of Dunlop's sound Scotch principle."
"Oh, I suppose that Mr. Dunlop is the old gentleman I took such a fancy to," said Nora.
"Where did you meet him?" he asked.
"At Mr. Pomeroy's; there happened a discussion there about these labor questions, and he spoke out so strongly!"
"Oh, yes, Dunlop's sound enough on that head, and he's by no means afraid of saying what he thinks. You see, he's rich enough to be able to take liberties, though he likes to live quietly in his own old-fashioned way. He has plenty of time on his hands, and it has been a great interest to him to read this thing up. I should not have been able to startThe Brotherhoodwithout his help, and he's as much interested in this lecture of mine as I am."
"Is he all alone in the world, then?" asked Nora.
"Yes—he seems so. His wife and only child died long ago, and he doesn't care to live by himself. He has his own two comfortable rooms, and he sometimes has Waldberg and me in to dine with him. He has taken up some idea that I must be a distant relation of his, a Scotch cousin of some remote degree, because my mother's name was Dunlop. He has been writing to her about it, to see if he can establish some link of relationship."
Evidently Mr. Graeme must be a great favorite of this old gentleman, Nora thought.
Presently she took up another subject that had been occupying her mind. "Do you know, Mr. Graeme, an idea has come to me about something we might do for some of these poor girls. I was asking Mr. Alden if we couldn't start some sort of club for them, such as I've read about—a place where they could spend the evenings when they chose, where they could have books or music, or anything else they liked. Don't you think that would brighten up their lives a little?"
"Yes, if you could get them to use it," he replied.
"Mr. Alden thinks we might manage it," she said. "And he said he would let us have that committee-room where the 'Helping Hands' meet, and they could use it always, except when there are meetings. So I am going to get it nicely fitted up by some of the young ladies I know here. Miss Farrell's going to help, and I think Miss Pomeroy will, too, if I ask her."
"It would be a capital thing, if you could only bring these young ladies into direct contact with the working-girls, so that they might know something of their lives, and realize their circumstances. That's what people really need, most of all."
"Well, I'm going totry," said Nora, decidedly.
Roland rose as if he thought it time for him to go. He took up the volume of Lowell's poems that Miss Blanchard had laid down on his entrance, and opened it where she had laid a geranium leaf to keep her place.
"Ah, I see, you are reading 'The Vision of Sir Launfal'! That is one of my favorites," he said.
"Yes, I think it is a lovely poem," she said.
He glanced at the open page, then out of the window, where, as the daylight was fading, the soft falling snow, clinging to the trees, was conjuring up a ghostly, spectral white forest without.
"We might alter these lines just a little," he said, "to describe that fairy scene:
"'Down through a frost-leaved forest crypt,Long gleaming aisles of snow-clad trees,Bending to simulate a breeze.'"
"'Down through a frost-leaved forest crypt,Long gleaming aisles of snow-clad trees,Bending to simulate a breeze.'"
They were still talking over the poem, when the door opened, and Mrs. Blanchard entered, fresh from an afternoonsiesta, in her pale-green "tea-gown." Nora introduced "Mr. Graeme," whom Mrs. Blanchard expressed herself as much pleased to meet, having heard so much about him of late.
"But why haven't you lights?" she asked. "You're almost in the dark!"
"That's what I like, you know, at this hour, and it seemed a pity to shut out that white world!" said Nora.
"That dreary world!" said Mrs. Blanchard, turning up the gas, while Roland courteously lighted it for her. He declined the offered cup of tea, and was just about to take leave, when the door opened again, admitting Mr. Chillingworth. The clergyman looked surprised at seeing Roland there, though not by any means discomposed by his recollection of the previous meeting. He only remarked, as Mrs. Blanchard was about to introduce him, "I have met Mr. Graeme before," greeting him with something of his former stiffness, as Roland, bidding the ladies a courteous good-evening, took his leave.
"I wish he wouldn't have gone quite so soon," said Mrs. Blanchard. "I'd really have liked to hear him talk a little. He seems quite a mild young man, doesn't he now, Mr. Chillingworth?"
"What did you expect, Sophy?" said Nora, laughing.
"Oh, I expected a beard, at least, and he has only a moustache, and doesn't look a bit fierce or revolutionary! And what has he been talking to you about, all this time, Nora, for Eddie told me he had been here a good while?"
"He kindly brought us some tickets for a lecture he's going to give next week. Will you have one, Mr. Chillingworth?" she asked, audaciously. "If you'll go, I'll give you one."
"Thanks very much, Mrs. Blanchard," said the clergyman, taking the offered cup of tea. "I'm afraid I must decline the pleasure," he said, returning the ticket. "I see he calls his lecture 'Modern Miracles.' Very possibly it is just a pretext for bringing out some of his sceptical views."
"Oh no!" replied Nora. "It's nothing of that kind. I heard him talking to Mr. Alden about it. He only means to give a sketch of the scientific wonders of the age, and show how human ingenuity has almost annihilated space and time. It is chiefly for workingmen, but I had said I should like to go."
"Ah well, you never can tell," Mr. Chillingworth replied, doubtfully. "People bring in their attacks on Christianity under cover of all sorts of things."
"Well, we'll go to the lecture, and give you a full report," said Mrs. Blanchard, lightly.
"By the way," said Mr. Chillingworth, glad to get away from the subject of Mr. Graeme and his lecture, "you'll be happy to hear that Mr. Pomeroy sent me, the other day, a cheque for five thousand dollars, for our new church."
"Oh, isn't that splendid!" said Mrs. Blanchard. "It was very handsome of him! And I've no doubt he'll give more, by and by."
Nora said nothing, but thought of poor Lizzie Mason, and her overworked, starved life, and wondered whether, after all, it had been hisownmoney that Mr. Pomeroy had bestowed.
"Now Nora, let us have some music," said Mrs. Blanchard. "I know that's what Mr. Chillingworth wants."
"You always comprehend my wishes, Mrs. Blanchard," he replied, moving at once toward the piano.
"Oh, Cecilia," said Mrs. Blanchard, "it's time to take the children away for their tea."
The little girl proceeded to comply, rather reluctantly, for she wanted to stay for the music. Mr. Chillingworth had never happened to hear her name before; since, mindful of her first encounter with him, she had generally kept out of his way. He looked round at her now, and said, smiling graciously, as he held out his hand:
"So your name is Cecilia! Why, you are almost a namesake of mine!"
The little girl did not seem to find this a very interesting circumstance, however, and only seemed glad to escape further notice by a speedy retreat, while Mr. Chillingworth luxuriously resigned himself to the enjoyment of the softly flowing "Songs without Words" which Miss Blanchard played so well. By and by, he asked her to sing for him a song with words, naming one of his favorites, "My Queen." And, as he listened to her rich, clear voice, and watched, with æsthetic pleasure, the graceful poise of her head and figure, he thought that she seemed no inapt illustration of "that sweet calm" which was just his own ideal.
Nora found that she and her brother and sister would have several of their friends for companions at Roland Graeme's lecture. Kitty Farrell was bent on going, though Nora, of course, suspected that it was much more for the sake of Waldberg's part in it, than of Roland's. Mr. Archer, despite his somewhat cynical indifference, had some curiosity to see how Roland would acquit himself as a lecturer, and had actually proposed that Miss Pomeroy should accompany him. She, moreover, had very willingly assented. She was a girl of some mind and character, who had grown heartily sick of the inane and monotonously luxurious life she lived, and did not feel much interest in the meetings her mother was perpetually attending. She was glad, therefore, of any new sensation that seemed to offer a little unusual excitement. And the more she heard her father's irritated remarks on Roland's "dangerous doctrines," the more her curiosity was aroused to hear these "dangerous doctrines" for herself. And Mr. Wharton—who had been led, by his discussions with Miss Harley, to reconsider the labor question in some of its aspects—wished to hear all that Roland had to say, as a contribution to the material he was collecting for a contemplated magazine article on the character and prospects of the "movement." Mr. Wharton and Mr. Archer had offered their services to escort Miss Pomeroy and Miss Farrell; as young Pomeroy, who did not care for "any such stuff," had some more attractive engagement for that evening. The party stopped at Dr. Blanchard's,en routefor the lecture-hall, and took up the two ladies, leaving the busy doctor to look in when he could. It was a glorious moonlight night, the silvery radiance reflected back from the pure, white snow, making the night as clear as the day, while the pure, exhilarating air made it a delight to be out.
"What a perfect night!" exclaimed Mr. Archer. "Really it seems a shame to go to sit in a stuffy hall, instead of enjoying it out of doors."
"Well, we don't think of that, you know, when we go to a party," laughed Kitty, who was walking with Nora and Mr. Archer.
"There are some other folks out on a tramp," said Mr. Archer, as a little procession of men and women, singing a rousing hymn, filed along a street not far off. "There goes the Salvation Army, trying to improve the world in its way, as Graeme is trying in his. But what does it all amount to?"
"To something, I should hope!" exclaimed Nora. "And in any case, it's something totry! Surely you are not so faithless as to progress, Mr. Archer?"
"Well, so far as I can see, it seems very like rolling a stone up hill, just to have it roll down again. Things seem to go on, as a rule, much the same, whatever you do," he answered.
"But what might it be if people werenotdoing something all the time?" she asked. "Don't you think it would be a good deal worse?"
"Oh, well, if people like to slave away on that principle—" he said, with a shrug and smile which Nora had learned to detest. "You see I'm not fond of slaving. Perhaps because I have enough of it in my office."
"But then, willing serviceisn'tslaving. It's the greatest pleasure."
"So I've heard," he answered, drily. "But then, one must have the will. You see I haven't."
"Stuff and nonsense!" exclaimed Kitty. "You're not half so bad as you pretend to be, Mr. Archer. If you were, you wouldn't be taking us to this lecture."
"I—takingyou!" he exclaimed. "I thought it was you who were taking me! Well, anyhow, we've got here. And it looks as if there was to be a fair audience, of men, at any rate. I expect you'll be the only ladies."
This expectation, however, was not realized, as there were a few others, some drawn by curiosity, some by genuine interest. There were evidently, some few wives of mechanics who had come with their husbands, and who looked really interested in the lecture as it proceeded. Some, Nora thought, must be young working-girls. There was a large gathering of men, evidently workingmen, who nearly filled the body of the hall. In the side seats, to which Mr. Archer led his party, were already seated Mr. Alden and Grace, with Mr. Dunlop, and two or three friends of his whom he had brought to hear his young friend'sdébutas an orator.
At the precise hour appointed, Roland Graeme, and his friend Mr. Burnet, a slender, fair-haired, energetic looking man with spectacles, walked quickly up the platform, and the latter briefly introduced the lecturer. As it was Roland's first attempt of the kind, and as he spoke extemporaneously, from brief notes, he naturally felt somewhat nervous; not, however, so much on his own account, as lest he might not be able to do justice to his subject, and carry the interest of his auditors. Nora watched with sympathetic anxiety the evident effort, in the beginning of his lecture, to keep down his own nervousness, and fix the attention of his hearers on the points which he desired to make, in giving a brief survey of the marvellous achievements of science since the present century began. But soon she saw, with pleasure, that it was no longer an effort; that, as he warmed up to his subject, thought and expression seemed to flow more freely; till, when he reached the second part of his lecture, it seemed to carry him on, like a rapid stream, without conscious exertion. He had lost all thought, it seemed, of himself; and was conscious only of the enthusiasm of his subject. At the end of this first division of the lecture, he sat down for a brief rest to himself and the audience, while Waldberg, who had come in late, played a prettyfantasia, introducing a number of characteristic national airs, which greatly pleased the audience, and helped Roland to a little inspiration for the rest of the lecture.
The second part of the lecture was devoted to pointing out the reality of that great truth of the Brotherhood of Man, which underlies all human history. This principle, he said, was but another name for the inter-dependence, coöperation, mutual trust, which had been the root of all real human progress—without which human beings must have remained a race of selfish and warring savages, little better than beasts of prey. He showed how it had originated and bound together the community; how it had been the basis of commerce; how it had led up to all the discoveries and inventions which had, in turn, supplied it with the means of wider development; how it had practically transformed the whole globe into one great market—glut or famine in one quarter of it meaning low or high prices in another. The market was not yet as open as would be for the true interests of mankind, but he believed the day was not far distant, when protection-fences and custom-houses, with all their expensive machinery, would be things of the past.
Then he traced the working of the same great principle in the field of labor, in the long line of progress,—from the first rude work of the solitary artisan, making even his own tools, through the gradual evolution of machinery and division of labor, through the immense impulse given to this by the application of steam, and, latterly, of electricity; then through the massing of joint-stock capital for the use of this new power on a far grander scale; and, finally, to those gigantic profit-sharing combinations, or so-called "Trusts," which to-day seriously threaten the public interest, but which are only the abuse, by the few, in favor of monopoly, of the great and true principle of brotherly trust and coöperation.
For the abuse, he went on to say, there was only one radical remedy, and that was a fuller extension and wider use of the principle of brotherly trust or coöperation. It must govern all through. It must be extended to the laborer, as well as to the capitalist. The main secret of the success of the latter was his use of this principle. The laborer must learn the lesson, as well as the capitalist. Even at the beginning of the present century, the rich returns awaiting coöperation had been easily seen. How was it that men, generally, had largely failed to enter into coöperative labor? Was it not evident that moral as well as material progress was needed? that the mass of men must more and more learn the value and enter into the spirit of Brotherhood, of brotherly trust?
Having, by means of careful simplifying and appropriate illustration, endeavored to make this position clear to the minds of his audience, Roland went on to the practical application of his text.
Their organization, as Knights of Labor, was, he said, founded on this principle of brotherly trust and coöperation, in order to protect their rights and interests from the encroachments of selfish organizations. He thought theyhadrights to protect, but their success in protecting them would be mainly dependent on the spirit in which they should defend them. They had a right to insist on the shorter hours of work, which their own welfare, under the increased pressure of working to unresting machinery, imperatively demanded. They had a right, too, he thought, to insist that productive labor should receive a larger share of the wealth it produced. But, to make good their claims, they must act, not in a factious, selfish spirit, but in that of brotherly fairness and generous trust. They must be true to themselves, true to their employers, true also to the great outside body of unorganized labor. If they acted selfishly toward these, they would show themselves unworthy of the benefits of coöperation. One of their motives in seeking shorter hours should be the greater chances for employment which would thereby open up to the great army of the unemployed. They must cultivate a spirit of brotherly faithfulness to all men, and of regard for each other's interest. They must teach this to their children, for whom they must secure the best education within their power. They must think not only of rights, but ofduty, of helping others as well as themselves. With thrift, steadiness, mutual confidence and the franchise, the workingmen of America could be masters of the position. If they would refuse to sell their votes to partisan politicians, their intelligence to liquor-sellers, their children to those who would set them to premature drudgery;—if they would be true to the interests of coöperative labor generally, true to the grand ideal of human brotherhood and faith in its realization, they need despair of nothing they could reasonably desire. For this life of ours was not ruled by mere chance, or blind force—whatever some may say. It was under the guidance of a Power of which one of their own poets had said
"Who counts his brother's welfareAs sacred as his own;—Who loves, forgives, and pities;—He serveth Me alone."
"Who counts his brother's welfareAs sacred as his own;—Who loves, forgives, and pities;—He serveth Me alone."
But he would give them the picture of what might yet be, when classes and churches had ceased to waste their strength in war, and men had truly learned to help each other,—in the stirring words of Henry George, words that he could not improve upon:
"It is not the Almighty, but we, who are responsible for the vice and misery that fester amid our civilization. The Creator showers upon us His gifts—more than enough for all. But like swine scrambling for food, we tread them in the mire—tread them in the mire, while we tear and rend each other!
"The fiat has gone forth! With steam and electricity, and the new powers born of progress, forces have entered the world that will either compel us to a higher plane or overwhelm us, as nation after nation, as civilization after civilization, have been overwhelmed before. It is the delusion which precedes destruction, that sees in the popular unrest with which the civilized world is feverishly pulsing, only the passing effect of ephemeral causes. Even now, in old bottles, the new wine begins to ferment, and elemental forces gather for the strife!
"But if, while there is yet time, we turn to Justice and obey Her, if we trust Liberty and follow Her, the changes that now threaten must disappear, the forces that now menace will turn to agencies of elevation. Think of the powers now wasted; of the infinite fields of knowledge yet to be explored; of the possibilities of which the wonderful inventions of this century give us but a hint. With want destroyed, with greed changed to a noble passion, with the fraternity that is born of equality taking the place of jealousy and fear that now array men against each other, with mental power loosed by conditions that give to the humblest comfort and leisure—who shall measure the heights to which our civilization may soar? Words fail the thought! It is the Golden Age of which poets have sung, and high-raised seers have told in metaphor! It is the glorious vision which has always haunted man with gleams of fitful splendor. It is the reign of the Prince of Peace!"
As Roland ended his concluding quotation with all the enthusiasm that it stirred in himself, a burst of applause rose from the audience, which had followed his lecture with riveted attention—only two or three men having gone out during its earlier portion. He had arranged with Waldberg to follow the close of the lecture with another "piano recital," and the young musician immediately broke in with a spirited rendering of the "Marseillaise," followed by the "Wacht am Rhein."
Nora could not help being secretly amused at the choice with which Waldberg, in his desire to make his music cosmopolitan, had followed the peaceful peroration; but of course few of the audience recognized what the airs were, and Roland was far too much absorbed by his interest in his subject, even to notice what his friend was playing. Mr. Archer, evidently, however, was, like herself, amused by the little inappropriateness, as she could see by the slight curl of his moustache.
Roland's good intention of shutting off conventional votes of thanks was, however, baffled by his friend, Mr. Alden, who rose at once to express the thanks of the audience to Mr. Graeme for his clear and forcible lecture. People might and did differ as to the practical solution of the great problems of the day, but there could be no doubt that the spirit of brotherhood advocated by the lecturer was the only one in which they could ever be solved, the only line in which real progress, material, moral or spiritual, could ever be made. He hoped that every one of the audience would carry away with him the inference of the lecturer's plea for the spirit of brotherhood and would try to work it out in the details of daily life.
Mr. Archer listened to Mr. Alden with evident interest, and, with a scarcely perceptible hesitation, was just rising to his feet to second the vote of thanks, when he was forestalled by the slender, pale-faced man with the earnest eyes, whom Nora had observed at the Christmas festival. He, briefly, but in well-chosen words, seconded the vote of thanks, expressing, on behalf of the Knights of Labor, much gratitude to Mr. Graeme for the present lecture, and for his many other services in their behalf. The motion was briefly put by Mr. Burnet, and of course carried with another burst of applause.
As the party in the reserved seats waited for the crowd to pass out, Roland Graeme was warmly congratulated on his forcible address. Mr. Alden shook his hand heartily, and Mr. Archer exclaimed:
"Well, Graeme, I think you'd better take to lecturing, instead of law. You'd make your fortune quicker. But who would have thought that a lecture on 'Modern Miracles' was going to turn out a plea for coöperation! You ought to throw that lecture into the form of an article for theForum. Mr. Wharton here will give you a wrinkle."
"Thanks," said Roland, "for your good opinion; but my lecture wasn't meant for such an enlightened public. Mr. Jeffrey is going to lecture here soon, however, on 'Capital and Labor.' That, I have no doubt, will be fit for any audience. I hope it will draw a good one."
Mr. Wharton looked surprised. Mr. Jeffrey was a well-known writer on the labor question, and he had no idea that Roland Graeme could have been in correspondence with him. As a matter of fact, the correspondence had originated through some articles of Roland's inThe Brotherhood, which Mr. Jeffrey had seen, and which led to the arrangements for this lecture.
Mr. Dunlop had turned to Miss Blanchard, whom he recognized as having been hisvis-à-visat the dinner-party. He had been much taken with her appearance, and seemed pleased to meet her again; and Nora, on her part, was glad to exchange a few words with the honest old Scot. He asked her how she liked his friend Graeme's "new-fangled notions," and nodded approvingly at her warm commendation of the lecture.
"Ay! ay!" he said, "he's going to be a credit to us yet! I believe he's a sort o' Scotch cousin o' mine. Come, Roland, give me your arm home."
Roland had been exchanging a few words with Grace Alden, who was looking charming, Nora thought; but he turned at once to assist the old man. As he bade Miss Blanchard good-night, she exclaimed—"Thank you so much for showing us that the world isn't built upon selfishness, after all!"
Waldberg managed to take Kitty in charge, and Nora and Miss Pomeroy walked on together with Mr. Archer. Miss Pomeroy had been one of the most attentive listeners to the lecture, which had suggested many new ideas to a mind that was craving some new and strong interest. Miss Pomeroy was decidedly clever—had had every advantage of education that wealth could supply—had been abroad, "everywhere," and could talk French and German, as well as Browning. But she wantedpurposein her life, and was discontented, and a littleblaséefor lack of it. "Self-culture," for no definite end, had palled upon her, as generally happens. But this lecture had set her thinking, and Nora found a ready response to her proposal to fit up the room she wanted to furnish for a cosy meeting-place for working-girls, especially for those of her father's works.
"Indeed, I'll do all I can to help!" she said, emphatically, when Nora had unfolded her plans. "I'm justsickof having nothing useful to do! I don't care for the meetings mother likes. There seems too muchtalkfor all theydo. But if I could do something to make anyoneperson a little better or happier, I really should be glad to do it."
"Well," said Nora, "let you and Kitty and any other girls you like to bring, come over to-morrow morning, and we'll talk it over and see what is to be done. Or perhaps we'd better go to the room itself—the day after to-morrow. I'll see Mr. Alden and arrange with him just when we can go and make our plans."
And so it was settled, Mr. Archer declaring that they could call on him for any services they needed in the way of picture-hanging or putting up curtains, these things having been already discussed during the homeward walk.
"Only I'm afraid you're going to be quite too æsthetic for your constituency," he said, laughing, to Miss Pomeroy, as he listened to her suggestions for the little library they were going to include among the furnishings.
"If you'll only get any sort of piano," he said, "and sing them songs, Miss Blanchard, they'll like that better than anything else!"
The proposed meeting speedily took place. Miss Pomeroy mustered six or seven other young ladies who had not very much to do, and were glad to hit on some new occupation; and, after much animated discussion, the furnishing of the room went on in earnest. A pretty rug for the floor, a few bright pictures on the walls, some cosy easy-chairs and a wide sofa, bright curtains for the windows, a neat bookcase filled, for the most part, with story-books for which their former owners had no further use, were contributed by the young ladies, and soon transformed the bare little apartment into a comfortable and pleasant sitting-room. A little parlor-organ, to complete its outfit, was contributed by an unexpected donor, Mr. Archer.
"There, now," said Kitty, triumphantly, when this gift arrived, "I told you he wasn't half as bad as he makes himself out!"
And Miss Pomeroy, who had, by natural selection, taken the place of head of their little committee, was deputed to write a note of cordial thanks for the gift.
It was proposed to inaugurate the new use of the room by a little tea-party, given to as many of the mill-girls as should care to accompany Lizzie and Nellie, who were to be asked to act as envoys. Nora went to see Lizzie on the following Sunday, and explained the plan. She listened without brightening very perceptibly.
"It's very kind indeed, Miss Blanchard," said Lizzie, "and I'm sure we'll be glad to come. But I'm afraid you'll be disappointed if you expect the girls to go there a great deal. You see, we're so tired out, often, we don't care to go anywheres, and them as do, likes to go to something lively. But maybe they'll get into the way of going, after a while."
"Oh well, we're going to have it there, so they can use it if they like. We only want to make sure of their having one pleasant, quiet place where theycango, when they please."
"And have you been to see Mrs. Travers lately?" asked Lizzie, before Miss Blanchard took leave.
"Not very lately," she replied, "I suppose she's continuing to grow stronger."
"She didn't seem very well, yesterday, miss. I think it would be a good thing for you to see her soon."
Lizzie spoke as if more was meant than met the ear, and Miss Blanchard at once said she would go next day.
The invalid had been recovering very slowly. The month that she was to remain in the hospital had been extended to two, partly owing to her weakness, partly to the impossibility of her having care or comfort if she left it. When Nora went next day, she met Miss Spencer at the door of the room.
"Come with me," she said. "Mrs. Travers is asleep, and we can talk better in the sitting-room."
They went into the little sitting-room, and sat down. "I am sorry to say," said Miss Spencer, in a voice of grave concern, "that Mrs. Travers got at some brandy one day when I was asleep, and another nurse was on duty. She had just gone out for a few minutes, leaving it, meantime, in an adjoining room, and Mrs. Travers must have seized the moment to satisfy her craving. She was quite overcome by it, when Lizzie Mason came to see her. But Lizzie did not seem at all surprised at it. And the poor thing has been in a restless fit ever since."
"Oh," said Nora, "there was something in Lizzie's manner that made me so uneasy when she spoke to me yesterday, that I felt anxious to come at once. But what a dreadful thing it is!"
"It makes it so much harder to know what to do for her," said Miss Spencer. "Of course we must keep her here as long as we can. I think she is one of the cases that really are uncontrollable by the sufferers themselves,—their will-power being almost gone. For such unfortunates an inebriate asylum is the only hope. I see she is very nervous and excitable. Of course she will be treated here as much as possible forthis, now that we know it."
When Nora related the circumstances to her brother, he was not at all surprised. He had known other cases of the kind, and regarded the pathological state of such people as a kind of semi-lunacy produced by physical causes, and curable only by constant watchfulness and unremitting medical treatment.
"Half the world doesn't understand it, and the other half doesn't realize it, or there would be more sympathy for such unhappy sufferers. We're in a great measure brutal, still, in our treatment of them."
Nora was somewhat consoled by this view of the subject, and tried to make pity for the misfortune overcome her repugnance to the results. More than ever, she felt what a terrible thing it was for the poor child, whose peculiarities she could so much better understand. Dr. Blanchard, too, looked very grave over poor little Cecilia.
The tea-party at the new "Girls' Club," as its founders styled it, took place in due time, and was a fair success. The room was filled with as many young girls as it could comfortably accommodate. There was tea, cake and fruit in abundance, to which full justice was done. Nora and Kitty each sang some simple songs; Miss Pomeroy, who was something of an elocutionist, read "The May Queen;" some others played and read; and one or two of the guests, on being invited to do so, gave recitations of their own, learned at school, in the usual school-elocution style. On the whole, notwithstanding a little awkwardness in the attempts of entertainers and entertained to be friendly and sociable, the evening passed off very pleasantly; even Nelly, for once, seeming a little subdued, but evidently very well entertained. At the close, Miss Pomeroy, to whom this task had been assigned, told the girls they were cordially welcome to use the room whenever they pleased. It would be open on several evenings each week, and they could read, write or talk as they liked.
"And may we use the organ?" eagerly asked one, as they were leaving.
"Certainly, if you will use it carefully," Nora replied at once, an answer that evidently gave general satisfaction.
Miss Pomeroy was rather discouraged, when Nora repeated to her what Lizzie had said during her visit of invitation. The difficulty she had expressed was one that had never occurred to a young lady so differently situated, and she was genuinely surprised, when she at last realized their long hours of steady, monotonous work. She had never before thought about it, or inquired into such matters. And her own life had always been such an easy, self-indulgent one, that this unremitting toil seemed the more formidable to her, in comparison.
"Dear, dear!" she said. "I don't know what papa can be thinking of to permit it! I know he lets Willett do just as he likes. He's so valuable, papa says. Perhaps he doesn't know about it. Why, mamma and he are forever fidgetting about me—so afraid of my over-walking myself or over-exerting myself in any way! And I'm sureI'mstrong enough. I must talk to him about it."
Mr. Pomeroy was rather surprised when his daughter challenged him on the subject. He had never, so to speak, thought of his daughter and hisemployés, "on the same day." He laughed a little at her earnestness, told her somewhat irrelevantly that she was growing fanciful, that she didn't understand these matters, or comprehend differing conditions of life. However, seeing that this matter was a real trouble to her, he promised her that he would see what he could do about it. And it was not very long before Nora heard from Lizzie, with great pleasure, that half an hour had been taken off their time, without any further reduction in their pay. So now, she said, she did not mind the lower wages so much, "that one half-hour did make such a difference!"
Nora was full of this news when Roland called to bring her tickets for Mr. Jeffrey's lecture.
"I'm delighted to hear it," he said. "I believe the young women of America could do more in this matter than any other agency, if they were only thoroughly waked up about it. But," he added, gravely, "I wish Mr. Pomeroy would do something for his men as well as for his girls, and save us the worry and odium of a 'strike' there! I don't want to see one started, if we can possibly help it."
"Oh, I hope it won't come to that," said Nora; "especially when Mr. Pomeroy has done this for the girls!"
"If he would only go a little farther, it would be all right. The mistake is in half-measures. Oh, well, we needn't borrow trouble. It may not come; only—I am somewhat afraid!"
The lecture Mr. Jeffrey was to deliver was well advertised, and excited a great deal of interest in Minton. The name and character of the lecturer were so well known that people were anxious to hear him, on the score of his personality, apart from the special interest of his lecture. That, however, was interesting in different ways to many, and those who took the side of Capital, as well as those who took the side of Labor, were, from their different points of view, equally desirous of hearing what a man regarded as an authority on the subject would say about it. And a still greater interest was excited when it was announced in theMinervathat Mr. Jeffrey, in the course of his lecture, would discuss and meet some opinions which Mr. Wharton had lately expressed in that paper, in opposition to positions Roland Graeme had advanced inThe Brotherhood. Now that so redoubtable a champion had entered the lists, the contest appeared a more respectable one. Even Mr. Pomeroy would scarcely have ventured to call Mr. Jeffrey a "crank," and Mr. Wharton went to the lecture, expecting some intellectual pleasure, at least, despite the promised criticism of his own views.
The Pomeroy family was, this time, represented by two members. Harold Pomeroy had actually braced himself to the exertion of sitting through it, which, with Kitty for company, "would not be so bad after all." His father would not go, but wished that his son should, for decency's sake. Miss Pomeroy was naturally eager to hear more of a subject that had begun to interest her very strongly. The Blanchards were there, of course, and so was Philip Archer. And Mr. Chillingworth, on this occasion departing from his usual indifferent attitude, condescended to show some interest in one of the most important questions of the day. The hall was crowded, for the most part, with a very different audience from that which had been collected to hear Roland's lecture; but a part of it had, by Roland's care, been specially reserved for the workingmen, of the more intelligent of whom there was a good representation; so that "Capital" and "Labor" might have been said pretty fairly to divide the audience between them. Mr. Jeffrey was a tall, spare man, of striking and manly presence, with a slight stoop. His fine broad forehead was shaded by waves of iron-gray hair. His dark eyes and firm mouth carried out an impression of earnestness and decision. He entered the hall, accompanied by Roland Graeme, who briefly introduced him, and listened to his lecture with the combined earnestness of a reporter and a sympathetic auditor.
The lecturer began by expressing the pleasure it had given him to come to Minton, to reinforce the good work begun by his esteemed friend, Mr. Roland Graeme; the pleasure of whose acquaintance he owed to their common interest in the grand movement, in favor of which he had the honor to speak to-night.
This prologue caused a distinct sensation in some quarters. Harold Pomeroy opened his eyes, and glanced at Mr. Archer, whose moustache curled as usual, though with what expression, it would have been hard to define. Nora gave a slightly triumphant look at both, and Kitty stole a mischievous glance at Mr. Chillingworth's somewhat contracted brow. As for Roland himself, however, though naturally gratified by the recognition, which he did not report, he was quite unconscious of any implied compliment; regarding it quite as a matter of course, that community of interest in any great movement should draw together those who were engaged in it. Mr. Jeffrey, in entering on his subject, remarked that he could not possibly prevent his subject from appearing somewhat dry; but that, notwithstanding its dryness, it was fraught with the deepest interest and importance to human welfare. He began by referring to the unquestionable fact, that "the laboring classes of all civilized nations have been and still are, as a body,poor," while another fact, "that nearly all wealth is the production of labor," would seem to make it natural that all should have possessed some of it, had not something intervened to prevent this result. What that was—that "something," that cause or causes—and whether this seemingly unnatural result could be changed, or modified, he now proposed to inquire.
He then explained the nature of property, as being almost entirely in some way the product of labor. As this, then, was the means of procuring property, and in a healthy state of society the only means of doing so, it followed that "to obtain labor without rendering a fair equivalent, is a violation of the rights of property." No one could deny this. The only difference of opinion would be as to what was a fair equivalent. Do the workingmen of America, for instance, receive for their labor a fair proportion of the wealth they produce?
Following somewhat in the line of Roland's lecture, Mr. Jeffrey then traced the causes that led to more and more unequal distribution of wealth, the great discoveries that have made expensive machinery, division of labor and production on a large scale, essential features of our complex civilization. He sketched the processes by which large concerns have gradually swallowed small ones, by which small mechanics and traders have been gradually driven from the field; while "the master-workmen and journeymen of a hundred years ago are to be found at the bench or lathe of the mammoth workshops of the day, not as independent workmen but as mereautomata, to pull the levers which release the cranks, gears and pulleys of the machinery that performs the former labor of their hands."
This state of things, however, was an inevitable accompaniment of scientific and material progress. If it had this unquestionable disadvantage, we have to take the evil with the good. We could not enjoy our railways and telegraphs, our cheap papers and books, and a thousand other comforts and luxuries of life, without such drawbacks. And while there was truth in the contention of Mr. Ruskin that the minute subdivision of labor tended to destroy the artistic feeling of pride and pleasure in finished work, still this might be more than counterbalanced by the growth of the spirit of coöperation, of brotherhood, in labor. Men might learn to take pride in combined work as well as in individual work, as the soldiers of a regiment take pride in gallant achievements of the whole body. The artistic spirit in work might be called forth, and men might cease to work asautomata, if they felt that they were sharers in an enterprise, not mere "hands." But the increasing inequality of the distribution of wealth utterly prevented this feeling of proprietorship in work, and placed employer and employed in a position of selfish antagonism. How could this be remedied? At this point the lecturer took up a clipping from theMinerva, containing one of Mr. Wharton's articles. That gentleman moved uneasily, and settled himself into an attitude of critical attention.
"Look at Wharton!" whispered Mr. Archer to Miss Blanchard. "He knows he's going to catch it, now!"
It was maintained, he said, by the writer of this article—published in one of their leading journals—that the poor werenotgrowing poorer, that the average laborer of to-day was not more poorly but better paid than the average laborer of the past. The able writer of this article had submitted a formidable array of statistics to prove his position. Well, he was not going to question the accuracy of the statistics. But there is much force in the saying, notwithstanding all that we hear of "mathematical truth," that "nothing lies like figures," that is, when they are called in to prove more thansums. Aside from the great difference in the value of money, which was somewhat set off by the greater cheapness of many articles to-day, there were many other considerations that must not be left out of sight in determining whether the laborer was evenas wellpaid now, as, for instance, in England, two or three hundred years ago. For it must be remembered that comfort, after all, was largely a relative term, depending on our ideas and requirements. A savage would find comfort in a life which to a civilized man would be intolerable. Our growing complex civilization had developed many artificial needs, many of them an integral part of progress, the non-gratification of which involved real privation. He would ask them to hear the description of the interior of an English manor-house, about the time of Queen Elizabeth. They had all heard about the old English manor-houses, with the mention of which they were always ready to associate the most refined and graceful life of the day—the manor-houses of Trollope, for instance, through whom most of us know them. Well, this is what they were like in those days; he quoted from Thorold Rogers:—
"As might be expected, the furniture of the manor-house was scanty. Glass, though by no means excessively dear, appears to have been rarely used. A table, put on tressels, and laid aside when out of use; a few forms and stools, a long bench stuffed with straw or wool covered with a straw cushion worked like a bee-hive, with one or two chairs of wood or straw, and a chest or two for linen, formed the hall furniture. A brass pot or two for boiling, and two or three brass dishes; a few wooden platters and trenchers, or, more rarely, of pewter; an iron or latten candlestick, a kitchen knife or two, a box or barrel for salt, a brass ewer and basin, formed the movables of the ordinary house. The walls were garnished with mattocks, scythes, reaping-hooks, buckets, corn-measures and empty sacks. The dormitory contained a rude bed, and but rarely sheets or blankets; for the gown of the day was generally the coverlet at night."
"Now, then," he said,[1]"compare this 'interior,' with what we see to-day in the home of the average manufacturer, the beauty and luxury, the thousand costly superfluities;—and would any one say that the condition of the laborer had improved in anything like the same ratio? It might even be gravely questioned, in many cases, whether it had improved absolutely. For, although there were many additional comforts within the reach of all but the poorest, still, the unhealthy conditions of life resulting from massing families together, in close and unwholesome houses, more than neutralized the advantages. But if any one wanted to know more of the actual state of things in this free and independent America, let him read in Henry George's 'Social Problems,' certain statements by commissioners of labor statistics. Let him read of the intelligent workingmen of Illinois, that 'the one half are not even able to earn enough for their daily bread, and have to depend upon the labor of women and children to eke out their miserable existence.' Let him read that, in cultured Massachusetts, the earnings of adult laborers are generally less than the cost of living; that—in the majority of cases—workingmen do not support their families on their individual earnings alone, and that fathers are forced to depend upon their children for from one-quarter to one-third of the family earnings—children under fifteen supplying from one-eighth to one-sixth of the whole earnings. Was it any wonder if such children died prematurely, worn out by unnatural labor?" and here he quoted, with telling effect, Carlyle's famous description of the sad fate of the murdered little Dauphin of France, ending with the strong, touching words—"as only poor factory children, and the like, are wont to perish,and not be lamented!" And, to quote Henry George again, let them think of "the thousands who swelter all summer in swarming tenement houses and dirty streets teeming with squalid life! Draggled women will be striving to soothe pining babies, sobbing and wailing away their little lives for the want of wholesome nourishment and fresh air; and degradation and misery that hide through the winter will be seen on every hand." It was pictures like these, he said, that brought home the facts of the case, whether the position of the workers was better or worse. Even Minton, he doubted not, could supply them with some such scenes.
At this point Mr. Wharton took his note-book and pencilled an entry.
"Wharton's getting ready for a reply!" whispered Mr. Archer. "He thinks he's got a point for his answer." But Nora scarcely heard him, so riveted was she in painful interest on the lecturer's words. He went on to another point.
"He knew," he said, "that the laborer was said to be extravagant. Doubtless neither laborers nor their wives were always economical, judged by the standard of the New England housewife. But that required special training—ages of training—and what chance had they to acquire it? But, after all, what opportunity had the laborer to be extravagant, when the price of the day's work would hardly pay the day's board and lodging in a comfortable house in our cities? Do the factory operatives in most countries live extravagantly, or the seamstresses in London or New York? Yet they earn three, four or five times more products than they actually consume, and these go into the possession of the class of persons who live comfortably or luxuriously, without performing much, if any, productive labor, or advancing the moral and intellectual well-being of society. Might not the laborer, on his side, in such circumstances, say that his earnings are swallowed up by the extravagance of employers?"
He next touched the question of "over-production." "There were periods," he said, "when one house is filled with families, one to each room, from cellar to garret, and the adjoining house stands empty for want of tenants able to pay the rent. Goods are piled up in store without sale, while great numbers of the laboring community are ragged, and are begging from door to door for old clothes to shield themselves and their families from the piercing cold; and for the crumbs that fall from the tables of the rich, to keep them from starving! Was such a state of things really the result of over-production? If this be indeed the case, public measures should be taken to avert such disasters by preventing the excess of labor. Is it not strange that, at the time when the amount of surplus production is the subject of national lamentation, the people who produce by their labor the very things which they need for their own use and comfort, are the ones that are often destitute of them, while a few capitalists who do little or nothing toward the production or distribution, are supplied with all the comforts and luxuries of life, at half or less than half their usual price? But a surplus of cotton has never remained because no one needed it! The evil," he went on to say, "does not arise from over-production, but fromunder-consumptionby the great masses, the natural result of the unequal, and, I would add, frequently unjust distribution of wealth, keeping, from the toiling multitudes, what they needed for health and comfort, while the wealthy minority could not possibly use their surplus for their own needs. And so the underpayment of Labor reacted on the profits of Capital." He would not, he said, dwell on the other causes that aggravated the discomforts of the workingman's lot—the unduly long hours of toil that wore him out prematurely, and made him almost a stranger to his children, the long and close confinement of the week; what wonder if, exhausted and weary, he kept out of their churches on the one day of rest! Would not most of his hearers, in similar circumstances, do the same?
Mr. Chillingworth, who had been listening attentively, began to pull his long dark beard thoughtfully, a habit of his, when thinking about a perplexing subject.
"But now," the lecturer said, "having explained the evils, I am going to turn to a possible remedy. Would it not add,shouldit not add to the happiness of every one," he asked, "if we could secure the removal of the grinding poverty and wretchedness, that was not caused by pure misfortune or misconduct? The residuum would be very easily grappled with. If," as he fully believed, "the produce of labor constitutes the natural recompense of labor, why then do not laborers get all they are justly entitled to receive? The laboring classes make their own bargains with capitalists, and one another, and all are equally protected in the property which they lawfully acquire. Undoubtedly, both parties are governed by their own interests, in making their agreements; but the circumstances under which contracts are made often render them very unjust toward laborers. Suppose one of the contracting parties to be in deep water, where he must drown, unless he receive assistance from the other party who is on the land. Although the drowning man might be well aware that his friend on the shore was practising a very grievous extortion, yet, under the circumstances, he would be glad to make any possible agreement to be rescued."
Now, as governments are established to protect the just rights of the governed, he believed that legislation was needed to regulate both the minimum of wages and the maximum of hours. He had faith enough to believe in the ultimate triumph of righteous principles of action, and in the future general fulfilment of the command to every man to "love his neighbor as himself." But, in the meantime, we need legislation in many ways, to protect society from the injustice of those who love their neighbor not at all; and he believed such legislation was needed in this direction, otherwise the selfish and unscrupulous employer would frequently crowd out the humane and just one. Railway companies and joint-stock companies especially require regulation, since corporations, as we all know, have no souls! He thought that joint-stock companies should be prohibited from contracting liabilities beyond their actual capital, since the power of doing so immensely exaggerated their already too great advantages. He believed that the government should, by all possible precautions, preserve unappropriated land for the use of the community, as opposed to selfish schemes of individual aggrandizement. And he was glad that the Knights of Labor took the attitude of opposition to all further grants of land for speculative purposes.
In conclusion, the lecturer hoped that the Knights of Labor would be true to the principles laid down by their public spirited founder. He trusted that they would maintain an unselfish policy. They were committed by their constitution to demand for women equal wages for equal work, and that was well. But they must be generous to unorganized labor also. Their cause must be the cause of labor as a whole. If they were to discriminate selfishly between the organized men and the unorganized, to try to crowd out the tramp or even the criminal who needs the remedial influences of work, they would simply be repeating and perpetuating the injustice against which they desired to protect themselves. Mercy, as well as justice, must be their watchword. For, "there is no justice without mercy,it is just to be merciful!". In such a combination they would find their true policy, their true success. The lecture closed with a peroration similar to Roland's quotation, describing the ideal possibilities of a state of society in which justice and mercy should prevail, and, in the words of the old Hebrew poet, "Righteousness and Peace should kiss each other."
The charm of the lecturer's voice and manner, combined with his clear presentation of his subject, had held the close attention of almost the whole audience, with a few such exceptions as Kitty Farrell chiefly occupied in watching her friend Waldberg, who as usual came in late, and whose services were not, this time, called into requisition. Neither did he approach Kitty after the lecture, leaving her to the sole attendance of Harold Pomeroy.
It was Dr. Blanchard who moved the vote of thanks to the lecturer, saying, that in opposition to the interests of his profession, he was, nevertheless, moved, by the spirit of the lecture, to thank Mr. Jeffrey for his clear exposition of evils which included in their result the production of more disease than any other cause. Mr. Archer, this time, was equal to the occasion, and gracefully seconded the motion. While Dr. Blanchard, Mr. Alden, Mr. Chillingworth and Mr. Wharton were engaged in conversation with Mr. Jeffrey after the conclusion of the lecture, Roland Graeme accosted Nora, with an expression of half-amused concern.
"I am sorry to say," he said, in a low tone, "that strike we have been dreading seems inevitable, after all! and, the worst of it is, they will be crediting this lecture with it, though it really had nothing to do with it. Turner, that man over there," he explained, pointing out the man who had seconded the vote of thanks at his own lecture, "tells me the men have determined to interview Mr. Pomeroy to-morrow, and if he won't make the concessions they want, to strike at once. I suspect your friend, Jim Mason, has had a good deal to do with it. He's very bitter and obstinate. I only hope it will be all quietly done and that the rough element won't be guilty of any violence."
"Oh," said Nora, in dismay, "what a pity! A strike is such a dreadful sort of thing, isn't it?"
"Well, there are strikes and strikes," said Roland, smiling a little. "I rather think this won't last long. And you know there's nothing in a strike contrary to the laws of God or man, however inconvenient it may sometimes be for an employer. A workman has just the same right to demand a just price for his labor, that a merchant has for his goods; and what he has the right to do singly, he has the right to do in combination with others. When there is combination to oppress, there must sometimes be combination to resist oppression. And I think the men ask only what is right."
"I suppose so," said Nora, thoughtfully. "But I do hope there won't be any trouble, if it's only for Lizzie's sake."
"I trust so too," replied Roland, as he bade her good-night.