THE MAN OF LABOR.
The accommodating reader will now be kind enough to accompany me to a
far different place from that in which the foregoing dialogue was held.
With an effort of the will--rapid as a spiritual manifestation--we are
there. You see, it is an exceedingly small habitation, built entirely
of wood, and, excepting that beautiful geranium-plant on one window,
and a fine, sleek, contented-looking puss winking lazily on the
other--both, let me tell you, convincing evidence that the household
deities are worshipped on the hearth within--for wheresoever you see
flowers cultivated outside of an humble house, look for cleanliness,
and domestic comfort on the inside--excepting those two things, but
little of ornament is visible. Kind people dwell within, you may know;
for, see, the placid puss don't condescend to change her position as we
near her; her experience hasn't taught her to dread an enemy in our
species.
"Lift the latch; 'tis but a primitive fastening--nay! don't hesitate;
you know we are invisible. There! you are now in the principal
apartment. See how neat and tidy everything is. The floor, to be sure,
is uncarpeted; but then it is sedulously clean. Look at those white
window-curtains; at that well-patched table-cloth, with every fold as
crisp as though it had been just pressed; the dresser over there, each
article upon it bright as industry and the genius of happy home can
make it.--What an appetizing odor steams in from yonder kitchen! and
listen to those dear little birds, one in each window, carrying on a
quiet, demure conversation, in their own sweet way! Do they not say,
and does not every quiet nook echo:
"Though poor and lowly, there is all of Heaven that Heaven vouchsafes
to man, beneath this humble roof; for it is the sphere of her who is
God's choicest blessing--that world angel--a good, pure-hearted, loving
WIFE."
But hark! who is that singing? You can hear him, although he is yet a
street off; and so can she who is busy within there, you can tell by
that little scream of joy.
That is Tom Bobalink, the honest truckman, and the owner of this little
nest of contentment.
But, if you please, I will resume my narrative my own way, for you are
a very uncommunicative companion, friend reader, and it is impossible
for me to discover whether you like the scene we have been looking at,
or do not.
In a few moments, Tom rushed into the little room, his face all a-glow
with healthy exercise, and a joyous song at his lips.
"Hello! pet, where are you?" he cried, putting down his hat and whip.
"Here am I, Tom!" answered as cheerful a voice as ever bubbled up from
a heart, full of innocence and love.
"_Din_ in a _sec_," meaning dinner in a second; for "Tom and Pol," in
their confidential chats, abbreviated long words occasionally; and I
give this explanation as a sort of guide to their pet peculiarity.
"Hurry up, Polly!" cried Tom, with a good-humored laugh, "for I'm jolly
hungry, I tell you. Good gracious! I've heard of people's taking all
sorts of thing to get up an appetite; if they'd only have the sense to
take _nothing_, and keep on at it, it's wonderful what an effect it
would have on a lazy digestion."
Polly now entered with two or three smoking dishes, which it did not
take long to place in order. Now, I should dearly like to give you a
description of my heroine--aye! heroine--for it is in her station that
such are to be found--noble spirits, who battle with privation and
untoward fate--smoothing the rugged pathway of life, and infusing fresh
energy into the world-exhausted heart. Oh! what a crown of glory do
they deserve, who wear a smile of content upon their lips, while the
iron hand of adversity is pressing on their hearts, concealing a life
of martyrdom beneath the heroism of courageous love.
I say I should like to give you some slight description of Polly's
external appearance, but that I choose rather that my readers should
take their own individual ideas of perfect loveliness, and clothe her
therein; for, inasmuch as she is the type of universal excellence, in
mind and character, I wish her to be so in form and beauty.
"What have you got for me, Polly?" says Tom.
"It ain't much," she replied; "cos you know we can't afford _lux'es_;
but it's such a sweet little neck of _mut_, and lots of _wedges_."
"Gollopshus!" says Tom; "out with it! I'm as hungry as an unsuccessful
office-seeker."
"Office-seekers! what are they, Tom?"
"Why, Polly, they are--faith, I don't know what to compare them to;
you've heard of those downy birds, that when some other has got hisself
a comfortable nest, never rests until he pops into it. But them's
politics, Polly, and ain't _prop_ for _wom_ to meddle with."
"I agree with you there, Tom, dear; there's enough to occupy a woman's
time and attention inside of her house, without bothering her heart
with what's going on outside."
"Bless your homey little heart!" cried Tom, heartily. "Oh! Polly,
darling, if there were a few more good wives, there would be a great
many less bad husbands. This is glorious! If we could only be sure that
we had as good a dinner as this all our lives, Pol, how happy I should
be; but I often think, my girl, that if any accident should befall me,
what would become of you."
"Now, don't talk that way, Thomas; nor don't repine at your condition;
it might be much worse."
"I can't help it. I try not; but it's impossible, when I see people
dressed up and tittevated out, as I go jogging along with my poor old
horse and truck--I envy them in my heart, Pol--I know it's wrong; but
it's there, and it would be worse to deny it."
"Could any of those fine folks enjoy their dinner better than you did,
Tom?" said Polly, with a cheering smile.
"No, my girl!" shouted he, and the joy spread over his face again--"not
if they had forty courses. But eating isn't all, Pol," he continued,
growing suddenly serious once more. "This living from hand to
mouth--earning with hard labor every crust we put into it--never seeing
the blessed face of a dollar, that isn't wanted a hundred ways by our
necessities--is rather hard."
"Ah! Tom, and thankful ought we to be that we have health to earn that
dollar. Think of the thousands of poor souls that are worse off than
ourselves! Never look above your own station with envy, Thomas; but
below it with gratitude."
It was at this moment that there appeared at the open door, a poor,
wretched-looking individual, evidently an Irishman, and, from the
singularity of his dress, only just arrived. He said not a word, but
upon his pale cheek was visibly printed a very volume of misery.
"Hello! friend, what the devil do you want?" asked Tom.
"Don't speak so, Thomas. He's sick and in distress," said Polly, laying
her finger on his mouth. "There! suppose you were like that?"
"What? a Paddy!" replied the other, with a jolly laugh; "don't mention
it!" then calling to the poor stranger, who was resignedly walking
away; "Come on Irish!" he cried. "Do you want anything?"
"Av you plaze, sir," answered the Irishman, "I'd like to rest meself."
"Sit down, poor fellow!" said Polly, dusting a chair, and handing it
towards him.
"I don't mane that, ma'm; a lean o' the wall, an' an air o' the fire'll
do. The blessin's on ye for lettin' me have it!" so saying, he placed
himself near the cheerful fire-place, and warmed his chilled frame.
"A big lump of a fellow like you, wouldn't it be better for you to be
at work than lounging about in idleness?" said Tom.
"Indeed, an' its thrue for ye, sir, it would so; but where is a poor
boy to find it?"
"Oh! anywhere--everywhere."
"Bedad, sir, them's exactly the places I've been lookin' for it, for
the last three weeks; but there was nobody at home. I hunted the work
while I had the stringth to crawl afther it, an' now, av it was to
come, I'm afear'd that I haven't the stringth to lay howld ov it."
"Are you hungry?" inquired Polly.
"I'm a trifle that way inclined, ma'm," he replied, with a semi-comic
expression.
"Poor fellow, here, sit down and eat," said Polly, hurriedly diving
into the savory stew, and forking up a fine chop, which she handed to
the hungry stranger.
"I'd relish it betther standin', if you plaze, ma'm," said he, pulling
out a jack-knife and attacking the viands with vigorous appetite,
exclaiming, "May the Heavens bless you for this good act; sure it's the
poor man that's the poor man's friend, afther all. You've saved me,
sowl and body this blessed day. I haven't begged yet, but it was comin'
on me strong. I looked into the eyes of the quality folks, but they
carried their noses so high they couldn't see the starvation that was
in my face, and I wouldn't ax the poor people for fear they were worse
off than meself."
"Ain't you sorry, Thomas, for what you said just now?" inquired Polly
of her husband.
"No," he replied, striking his fist on the table. "I'm more
discontented than ever, to think that a few hundred scoundrel schemers,
or fortunate fools, should monopolize the rights of millions; isn't it
devilish hard that I can't put my hand in my pocket and make this poor
fellow's heart jump for joy."
"Point out to him where he can get some employment, Thomas, and his
heart will be continually jumping," replied Polly.
By this time the poor stranger had finished his extempore meal, and
shut up his pocket-knife, which he first carefully wiped on the tail of
his coat. "May God bless you for this," said he. "I'm stronger now.
I'll go an' hunt for a job; may-be luck won't be a stepfather to me all
my days."
"Stop," cried Tom, "suppose I were to give you something to do, what
would you say?"
"Faix, I wouldn't say much, sir," said the Irishman, "but I'd do it."
"Come along with me, then, and if I get any job, I'll get you to help
me."
"Oh, then, may long life attend you for puttin' fresh blood in my
veins," responded the excited Milesian, giving his already curiously
bad hat a deliberate punch in the crown, to show his gratitude and
delight.
"Bless his noble, honest, loving heart," cried Polly, as Tom, having
impressed his usual kiss upon her lips, started to his labor again. "If
it were not for those little fits of discontent every now and then,
what a man he'd be; but we can't be all perfect; don't I catch myself
thinking silks and satins sometimes, instead of cottons and calicoes?
and I'll be bound, if the truth was known, the great folks that wear
nothing else but grand things, don't behave a bit better, but keep
longing for something a little grander still, so _he_ mustn't be
blamed, nor he shan't, neither, in my hearing."