It seems, on the first view, somewhat odd to talk about choice of
dwelling to a labouring man. It may occur to such a person, that as he
has seldom more than two or three shillings per week to allow for rent,
he must be contented with the humble accommodations that can be afforded
for that sum. This is, to a certain extent, true; but it is not
therefore to be concluded that the exercise of a little prudence may not
put him in possession of some advantages with his two or three
shillings, which the want of that quality would exclude him from. There
are some dwellings so badly situated, in such ill repair, and altogether
so miserable, that a man exposes himself and his family to disease and
every other inconvenience by inhabiting them. Such hovels are usually
tenanted by people who are behind-hand in paying their rent, and so
cannot leave them; or who, being “steeped to the very lips in poverty,”
are indifferent to cleanliness and all other comforts. It is possible
that an industrious and careful family may, for some time, be obliged to
live in a wretched house; but it is their own fault if they continue in
it. In this country the poor are better lodged than in any other in
Europe; and within the last twenty years the increase of population and
of productive labour has caused a demand for cottages, which has covered
every parish, and particularly the neighbourhood of large towns, with an
amazing number of snug little houses, in which provision is generally
made for the comfort of those who inhabit them. Now while there is such
a _choice_ of dwellings, it is very much a labouring man’s fault if he
does not have a commodious one; and if he continue to be the tenant of a
damp, or ruinous, or badly ventilated hut, while the snug brick and
tiled tenement remains vacant, we should say that he is a blind and
stupid observer of an old proverb (which, however, has much sense in it)
that “three removes are as bad as a fire.”
We wish to offer a few plain hints to assist our readers in the choice
of a dwelling. And, first, of situation.
Whoever rambles through our villages must often see a pretty little
cottage, that realizes all that benevolence could wish for a labouring
man’s dwelling. We have seen many such; and the remembrance often occurs
to us, when we observe rich men unhappy, in large mansions, and amongst
splendid furniture. We then think of the contrast which the simplicity
and content of the “peasant’s nest” offers. Who has not looked upon the
whitened walls, half covered with roses and jessamine, and the neat
garden, where ornament is blended with utility,
And said, if there’s peace to be found in the world,
A heart that is humble may hope for it here!
But an agreeable dwelling is not always to be commanded; nor is the
_best_ situation always to be found. If a cottager have a house with a
northern aspect, he must pay a little more attention to his gooseberry
and apple trees, to make them bear as plentifully as those which are
trained in a southern sun. We are only desirous to caution him against a
house that is truly uncomfortable, and that cannot be easily rendered
otherwise.
We would first say, avoid, if it be possible, a low and marshy
situation. There are many dangerous fevers which are produced by the
vicinity of stagnant waters: and houses which from their site are
constantly damp expose those who inhabit them to rheumatism, croup,
ague, and other painful disorders. The same effects are produced by
dwelling-houses which are subject to occasional inundations of rivers.
To be driven in cold weather from the accustomed fire-side to shiver in
bedrooms which have probably no grate; to have two or three feet of
water running through the lower part of the house, destroying many
things and injuring more; and at last, when the inundations cease, to
find the whole dwelling damp and miserable for several weeks: this is a
visitation which no one would willingly seek. If a cottager has
therefore the choice of being on a hill-side, or by the bank of a river,
we think, if he were a sensible man, he would prefer the elevated
situation.
On the _construction_ of a dwelling, we have not much to observe. The
great requisite is the free admission of _light_ and _air_. _Dark_ rooms
are an inconvenience to the industrious housewife which we need not
describe; and rooms not properly _ventilated_ are more injurious to
health than may readily be conceived. Every sleeping-room should have a
chimney. In England, no sitting-room is, we apprehend, without one. But
in Ireland, the peasantry have neither window nor chimney to their
wretched hovels. The smoke of the turf which burns upon their hearth
forces its way out by the door; and the family sit and sleep in this
dark and dirty condition. This would be intolerable amongst the more
cleanly and richer peasantry of this country.
Of the appendages to a house, a good supply of water is one of the most
necessary conveniences. If the pitcher is to be carried a dozen times a
day to a spring or a well a quarter of a mile off, it is almost the
labour of one person to procure this supply; and that labour would
contribute as much to the family earnings as, in twelve months, would
dig a well. No cottager should be without a garden. A rood of land,
properly cultivated, will half maintain a careful family.
Of the _fixtures_ of a house we cannot be expected to say much. A
_copper_ and an _oven_ will enable the female to labour most profitably
for the general good. A cottager that can grow his own potatoes, keep
his pig, brew his beer, and bake his bread, has not many necessaries to
purchase of the shopkeeper, and is therefore, to a certain extent,
independent in the best sense of the word.
As to furniture, we would say, avoid _furnished lodgings_. The bed and
table, and two or three chairs, of these places, seldom cost more than
5_l._, the interest of which is only 5_s._ a year. The money annually
paid for the use of such things is almost as much as their prime cost.
There is a satisfaction, too, in knowing that what is about us is our
own. It is better to sit upon an old box or a block of wood than to pay
enormously for the hire of a chair; and we may sleep as soundly upon a
straw mattress as upon an expensive feather-bed. One secret, to be happy
in every situation of life, is this,--not to sacrifice real comfort and
solid independence to make a show. When the cottager has got ten pounds
in the Savings Bank, he may afford his wife a mahogany tea-table. An
American writer has given some judicious remarks upon this subject,
which apply to all classes:--
“If you are about to furnish a house, do not spend all your money, be it
much or little. Do not let the beauty of this thing, and the cheapness
of that, tempt you to buy unnecessary articles. Doctor Franklin’s maxim
was a wise one, ‘Nothing is cheap that we do not want.’ Buy merely
enough to get along with at first. It is only by experience that you can
tell what will be the wants of your family. If you spend all your money,
you will find you have purchased many things you do not want, and have
no means left to get many things which you do want. If you have enough,
and more than enough, to get every thing suitable to your situation, do
not think you must spend it all, merely because you happen to have it.
Begin humbly. As riches increase, it is easy and pleasant to increase in
comforts; but it is always painful and inconvenient to decrease. After
all, these things are viewed in their proper light by the truly
judicious and respectable. Neatness, tastefulness, and good sense may be
shown in the management of a small household, and the arrangement of a
little furniture, as well as upon a larger scale; and these qualities
are always praised, and always treated with respect and attention. The
consideration which many purchase by living beyond their income, and of
course living upon others, is not worth the trouble it costs. The glare
there is about this false and wicked parade is deceptive; it does not in
fact procure a man valuable friends, or extensive influence.”
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However small may be a man’s income, there is one very certain way of
increasing it--that is _Frugality_. A frugal expenditure will enable
almost every body to _save_ something; and as there are now established
throughout this country _Banks_, where the industrious may safely
deposit their savings, however little they may be, and receive the same
sort of advantage which the rich derive from their money, that is,
_interest_, there is every inducement to make _an effort to save_. Dr.
Franklin observes, in his usual forcible way, that “six pounds a-year is
but a groat a-day. For this little sum which may be daily wasted, either
in time or expense, unperceived, a man of credit may, on his own
security, have the constant possession and use of a hundred and twenty
pounds.” Many humble men in England have risen to wealth by such small
beginnings; but many more continue to expend the groat a-day
unnecessarily, and never cease to be poor.
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A certain pope, who had been raised from an obscure situation to the
apostolic chair, was immediately waited upon by a deputation sent from a
small district, in which he had formerly officiated as _cure_: it seems
that he had promised the inhabitants that he would do something for
them, if it should ever be in his power; and some of them now appeared
before him, to remind him of his promise, and also to request that he
would fulfil it, by granting them _two harvests in every year_! He
acceded to their _modest_ request, on condition that they should go home
immediately, and so adjust the Almanac of _their_ own particular
district, as to make every year of _their_ Register consist of
twenty-four calendar months.
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Sir George Staunton visited a man in India who had committed a murder,
and, in order not only to save his life, but what was of much more
consequence, his _caste_, he submitted to the penalty imposed; this was,
that he should sleep for seven years on a bedstead, without any
mattress, the whole surface of which was studded with points of iron,
resembling nails, but not so sharp as to penetrate the flesh. Sir George
saw him in the fifth year of his probation, and his skin was then like
the hide of a rhinoceros, but more callous; at that time, however, he
could sleep comfortably on his “_bed of thorns_,” and remarked, that at
the expiration of the term of his sentence, he should most probably
continue that system from choice, which he had been obliged to adopt
from necessity.
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