Perhaps there never was a time when the depressing effects of
stagnation in business were so universally felt, all the world over,
as they are now.--The merchant sends out old dollars, and is lucky if
he gets the same number of new ones in return; and he who has a share
in manufactures, has bought a 'bottle imp,' which he will do well to
hawk about the street for the lowest possible coin. The effects of
this depression must of course be felt by all grades of society. Yet
who that passes through Cornhill at one o'clock, and sees the bright
array of wives and daughters, as various in their decorations as the
insects, the birds and the shells, would believe that the community
was staggering under a weight which almost paralyzes its movements?
'Everything is so cheap,' say the ladies, 'that it is inexcusable not
to dress well.' But do they reflect _why_ things are so cheap? Do they
know how much wealth has been sacrificed, how many families ruined, to
produce this boasted result? Do they not know enough of the machinery
of society, to suppose that the stunning effect of crash after crash,
may eventually be felt by those on whom they depend for support?
Luxuries are cheaper now than necessaries were a few years since; yet
it is a lamentable fact, that it costs more to live now than it did
formerly. When silk was nine shillings per yard, seven or eight yards
sufficed for a dress; now it is four or five shillings, sixteen or
twenty yards will hardly satisfy the mantuamaker.
If this extravagance were confined to the wealthiest classes, it would
be productive of more good than evil. But if the rich have a new dress
every fortnight, people of moderate fortune will have one every month.
In this way, finery becomes the standard of respectability; and a
man's cloth is of more consequence than his character.
Men of fixed salaries spend every cent of their income, and then
leave their children to depend on the precarious charity and reluctant
friendship of a world they have wasted their substance to please.
Men who rush into enterprise and speculation, keep up their credit
by splendor; and should they sink, they and their families carry with
them extravagant habits to corrode their spirits with discontent,
perchance to tempt them into crime. 'I know we are extravagant,' said
one of my acquaintance, the other day; 'but how can I help it? My
husband does not like to see his wife and daughters dress more meanly
than those with whom they associate.' 'Then, my dear lady, your
husband has not as much moral dignity and moral courage as I thought
he had. He should be content to see his wife and daughters respected
for neatness, good taste, and attractive manners.' 'This all sounds
very well in talk,' replied the lady; 'but, say what you will about
pleasing and intelligent girls, nobody will attend to them unless they
dress in the fashion. If my daughters were to dress in the plain, neat
style you recommend, they would see all their acquaintance asked to
dance more frequently than themselves, and not a gentleman would join
them in Cornhill.'
'I do not believe this in so extensive a sense as you do. Girls may
appear genteelly without being extravagant, and though some fops may
know the most approved color for a ribbon, or the newest arrangement
for trimming, I believe gentlemen of real character merely notice
whether a lady's dress is generally in good taste, or not. But,
granting your statement to be true, in its widest sense, of what
consequence is it? How much will the whole happiness of your
daughter's life be affected by her dancing some fifty times less
than her companions, or wasting some few hours less in the empty
conversation of coxcombs? A man often admires a style of dress, which
he would not venture to support in a wife. Extravagance has prevented
many marriages, and rendered still more unhappy. And should your
daughters fail in forming good connexions, what have you to leave
them, save extravagant habits, too deeply rooted to be eradicated.
Think you those who now laugh at them for a soiled glove, or an
unfashionable ribbon, will assist their poverty, or cheer their
neglected old age? No; they would find them as cold and selfish
as they are vain. A few thousands in the bank are worth all the
fashionable friends in Christendom.'
Whether my friend was convinced, or not, I cannot say; but I saw her
daughters in Cornhill, the next week, with new French hats and blonde
veils.
It is really melancholy to see how this fever of extravagance rages,
and how it is sapping the strength of our happy country. It has no
bounds; it pervades all ranks, and characterizes all ages.
I know the wife of a pavier, who spends her three hundred a year
in 'outward adorning,' and who will not condescend to speak to her
husband, while engaged in his honest calling.
Mechanics, who should have too high a sense of their own
respectability to resort to such pitiful competition, will indulge
their daughters in dressing like the wealthiest; and a domestic would
certainly leave you, should you dare advise her to lay up one cent of
her wages.
'These things ought not to be.' Every man and every woman should
lay up some portion of their income, whether that income be great or
small.
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