Mind Amongst the Spindles — Evening Before Payday

CHAPTER I.

"To-morrow is pay-day; are you not glad, Rosina, and Lucy?

_Dorcas_ is, I know; for she always loves to see the money.

Don't I speak truth _now_, Miss Dorcas Tilton?"

"I wish you would stop your clack, Miss Noisy Impudence; for I never heard you speak anything that was worth an answer.

Let me alone, for I have not yet been able to obtain a moment's time to read my tract."

"'My tract'--how came it 'my tract,' Miss Stingy Oldmaid?

--for I can call names as fast as you," was the reply of Elizabeth Walters.

"Not because you bought it, or paid for it, or gave a thank'ee to those who did; but because you lay your clutches upon every thing you can get without downright stealing."

"Well," replied Dorcas, "I do not think I have clutched any thing now which was much coveted by anyone else."

"You are right, Dorcas," said Rosina Alden, lifting her mild blue eye for the first time towards the speakers; "the tracts left here by the monthly distributors are thrown about, and trampled under foot, even by those who most approve the sentiments which they contain.

I have not seen anyone take them up to read but yourself."

"She likes them," interrupted the vivacious Elizabeth, "because she gets them for nothing.

They come to her as cheap as the light of the sun, or the dews of heaven; and thus they are rendered quite as valuable in her eyes."

"And that very cheapness, that freedom from exertion and expense by which they are obtained, is, I believe, the reason why they are generally so little valued," added Rosina.

"People are apt to think things worthless which come to them so easily.

They believe them cheap, if they are offered cheap.

Now I think, without saying one word against those tracts, that they would be more valued, more perused, and exert far more influence, if they were only to be obtained by payment for them.

If they do good now, it is to the publishers only; for I do not think the community in general is influenced by them in the slightest degree.

If Dorcas feels more interested in them because she procures them gratuitously, it is because she is an exception to the general rule."

"I like sometimes," said Dorcas, "to see the voice of instruction, of warning, of encouragement, and reproof, coming to the thoughtless, ignorant, poor and sinful, as it did from him who said to those whom he sent to inculcate its truths, Freely ye have received, _freely give_.

The gospel is an expensive luxury now, and those only who can afford to pay their four, or six, or more, dollars a year, can hear its truths from the successors of him who lifted his voice upon the lonely mountain, and opened his lips for council at the table of the despised publican, or under the humble roof of the Magdalen."

"Do not speak harshly, Dorcas," was Rosina's reply; "times have indeed changed since the Savior went about with not a shelter for his head, dispensing the bread of life to all who would but reach forth their hands and take it; but circumstances have also changed since then.

It is true, we must lay down our money for almost everything we have; but money is much more easily obtained than it was then.

It is true, we cannot procure a year's seat in one of our most expensive churches for less than your present week's wages; and if you really wish for the benefits of regular gospel instruction, you must make for it as much of an exertion as was made by the woman who went on her toilsome errand to the deep well of Samaria, little aware that she was there to receive the waters of eternal life.

Do not say that it was by no effort, no self-denial, that the gospel was received by those who followed the great Teacher to the lonely sea-side, or even to the desert, where, weary and famished, they remained day after day, beneath the heat of a burning sun, and were relieved from hunger but by a miracle.

And who so poor now, or so utterly helpless, that they cannot easily obtain the record of those words which fell so freely upon the ears of the listening multitudes of Judea?

If there are such, there are societies which will cheerfully relieve their wants, if application be made.

And these tracts, which come to us with scarcely the trouble of stretching forth our hands for their reception, are doubtless meant for good."

"Well, Rosina," exclaimed Elizabeth, "if you hold out a little longer, I think Dorcas will have no reason to complain but that she gets _her_ preaching cheap enough; but as I, for one, am entirely willing to pay for mine, you may be excused for the present; and those who wish to hear a theological discussion, can go and listen to the very able expounders of the Baptist and Universalist faiths, who are just now holding forth in the other chamber.

As Dorcas hears no preaching but that which comes _as cheap as the light of the sun_, she will probably like to go; and do not be offended with me, Rosina, if I tell you plainly, that you are not the one to rebuke her.

What sacrifice have you made?

How much have you spent?

When have you ever given anything for the support of the gospel?"

A tear started to Rosina's eye, and the color deepened upon her cheek.

Her lip quivered, but she remained silent.

"Well," said Lucy to Elizabeth, "all this difficulty is the effect of the very simple question you asked; and I will answer for one, that I am glad to-morrow is pay-day.

Pray what shall you get that is new, Elizabeth?"

"Oh, I shall get one of those damask silk shawls which are now so fashionable.

How splendid it will look!

Let me see; this is a five weeks' payment, and I have earned about two dollars per week; and so have you, and Rosina; and Dorcas has earned a great deal more, for she has extra work.

Pray what new thing shall _you_ get, Dorcas?"

added she, laughing.

"She will get a new bank book, I suppose," replied Lucy.

"She has already deposited in her own name five hundred dollars, and now she has got a book in the name of her little niece, and I do not know but she will soon procure another.

She almost worships them, and Sundays she stays here reckoning up her interest while we are at meeting."

"I think it is far better," retorted Dorcas, "to stay at home, than to go to meeting, as Elizabeth does, to show her fine clothes.

I do not make a mockery of public worship to God."

"There, Lizzy, you must take that, for you deserved it," said Lucy to her friend.

"You know you _do_ spend almost all your money in dress."

"Well," said Elizabeth, "I shall sow all my wild oats now, and when I am an old maid I will be as steady, but _not quite_ so stingy as Dorcas.

I

will get a bank book, and trot down Merrimack street as often as she does, and everybody will say, 'what a remarkable change in Elizabeth Walters!

She used to spend all her wages as fast as they were paid her, but now she puts them in the bank.

She will be quite a fortune for some one, and I have no doubt she will get married for what she _has_, if not for what she is.'

But I cannot begin now, and I don't see how _you_ can, Rosina."

"I have not begun," replied Rosina, in a low sorrowful tone.

"Why yes, you have; you are as miserly now as Dorcas herself; and I cannot bear to think of what you may become.

Now tell me if you will not get a new gown and bonnet, and go to meeting?"

"I cannot," replied Rosina, decidedly.

"Well, do, if you have any mercy on us, buy a new gown to wear in the Mill, for your old one is so shabby.

When calico is nine-pence a yard, I do think it is mean to wear such an old thing as that; besides, I should not wonder if it should soon drop off your back."

"Will it not last me one month more?"

and Rosina began to mend the tattered dress with a very wistful countenance.

"Why, I somewhat doubt it; but at all events, you must have another pair of shoes."

"These are but just beginning to let in the water," said Rosina; "I think they must last me till another pay-day."

"Well, if you have a fever or consumption, Dorcas may take care of you, for _I_ will not; but what," continued the chattering Elizabeth, "shall you buy that is new, Lucy?"

"Oh, a pretty new, though cheap, bonnet; and I shall also pay my quarter's pew-rent, and a year's subscription to the 'Lowell Offering;'

and that is all that I shall spend.

You have laughed much about old maids; but it was an old maid who took care of me when I first came to Lowell, and she taught me to lay aside half of every month's wages.

It is a rule from which I have never deviated, and thus I have quite a pretty sum at interest, and have never been in want of anything."

"Well," said Elizabeth, "will you go out to-night with me, and we will look at the bonnets, and also the damask silk shawls?

I wish to know the prices.

How I wish to-day had been pay-day, and then I need not have gone out with an empty purse."

"Well, Lizzy, _you_ know that 'to-morrow is pay-day,' do you not?"

"Oh yes, and the beautiful pay-master will come in, rattling his coppers so nicely."

"Beautiful!"

exclaimed Lucy; "do you call our pay-master _beautiful_?"

"Why, I do not know that he would look beautiful, if he was coming to cut my head off; but really, that money-box makes him look delightfully."

"Well, Lizzy, it _does_ make a great difference in his appearance, I know; but if we are going out to-night, we must be in a hurry."

"If you go by the post-office, do ask if there is a letter for me," said Rosina.

"Oh, I hate to go near the post-office in the evening; the girls act as wild as so many Caribbee Indians.

Sometimes I have to stand there an hour on the ends of my toes, stretching my neck, and sticking out my eyes; and when I think I have been pommeled and jostled long enough, I begin to 'set up on my own hook,' and I push away the heads that have been at the list as if they were committing it all to memory, and I send my elbows right and left in the most approved style, till I find myself 'master of the field.'

" "Oh, Lizzy!

you know better; how can you do so?"

"Why, Lucy, pray tell me what _you_ do?"

"I go away, if there is a crowd; or if I feel very anxious to know whether there is a letter for me, the worst that I do is to try 'sliding and gliding.'

I dodge between folks, or slip through them, till I get waited upon.

But I know that we all act worse there than anywhere else;

and if the post-master speaks a good word for the factory girls, I think it must come against his conscience, unless he has seen them somewhere else than in the office."

"Well, well, we must hasten along," said Elizabeth; "and stingy as Rosina is, I suppose she will be willing to pay for a letter; so I will buy her one, if I can get it.

Good evening, ladies," continued she, tying her bonnet; and she hurried after Lucy, who was already down the stairs, leaving Dorcas to read her tract at leisure, and Rosina to patch her old calico gown, with none to torment her.

CHAPTER II.

"Two letters!"

exclaimed Elizabeth, as she burst into the chamber, holding them up, as little Goody in the storybook held up her "two shoes;" "two letters!

one for _you_, Rosina, and the other is for _me_.

Only look at it!

It is from a cousin of mine, who has never lived out of sight of the Green Mountains.

I do believe, notwithstanding all that is said about the ignorance of the factory girls, that the letters which _go out_ of Lowell look as well as those which _come into_ it.

See here: up in the left hand corner, the direction commences, 'Miss;' one step lower is 'Elizabeth;' then down another step, 'Walters.'

Another step brings us down to 'Lowell;' one more is the 'City;' and down in the right hand corner is 'Massachusetts,' at full length.

Quite a regular stair-case, if the steps had been all of an equal width.

Miss Elizabeth Walters, Lowell City, Massachusetts, anticipates much edification from the perusal thereof," said she, as she broke the seal.

"Oh, I must tell you an anecdote," said Lucy.

"While we were waiting there, I saw one girl push her face into the little aperture, and ask if there was a paper for her; and the clerk asked if it was a transient paper.

'A what?'

said she.

'A transient paper,' he repeated.

'Why, I don't know what paper it is,' was the reply; 'sometimes our folks send me one, and sometimes another.'

" Dorcas and Elizabeth laughed, and the latter exclaimed, "Girls, I am not so selfish as to be unwilling that you should share my felicity.

Should you not like to see my letter?"

and she held it up before them.

"It is quite a contrast to our Rosina's delicate Italian penmanship, although she is a factory girl."

"DEAR COUSIN.

--I write this to let you know that I am well, and hope you are enjoying the same great blessing.

Father and Mother are well too.

Uncle Joshua is sick of the information of the brain.

We think he will die, but he says that he shall live his days out.

We have not had a letter from you since you went to Lowell.

I send this by Mary Twining, an old friend of mine.

She works upon the Appletown Corporation.

She will put this in the post-office, because we do not know where you work.

I hope you will go and see her.

We have had a nice time making maple sugar this spring.

I wish you had been with us.

When you are married, you must come with your husband.

Write to me soon, and if you don't have a chance to send it by private conveyance, drop it into the post-office.

I shall get it, for the mail-stage passes through the village twice a week.

'I want to see you morn, I think, Than I can write with pen and ink;

But when I shall, I cannot tell-- At present I must wish you well.'

"Your loving cousin, "JUDITH WALTERS."

"Well," said Elizabeth, drawing a long breath, "I do not think my _loving cousin_ will ever die of the 'information of the brain;' but if it should get there, I do not know what might happen.

--But, Rosina, from whom is _your_ letter?"

"My mother," said Rosina; and she seated herself at the little light-stand, with a sheet of paper, pen, and inkstand.

"Why, you do not intend to answer it to-night?"

"I must commence it to-night," replied Rosina, "and finish it to-morrow night, and carry it to the post-office.

I cannot write a whole letter in one evening."

"Why, what is the matter?"

said Dorcas.

"My twin-sister is very sick," replied Rosina; and the tears she could no longer restrain gushing freely forth.

The girls, who had before been in high spirits, over cousin Judy's letter, were subdued in an instant.

Oh, how quick is the influence of sympathy for grief!

Not another word was spoken.

The letter was put away in silence, and the girls glided noiselessly around the room, as they prepared to retire to rest.

Shall we take a peep at Rosina's letter?

It may remove some false impressions respecting her character, and many are probably suffering injustice from erroneous opinions, when, if all could be known, the very conduct which has exposed them to censure would excite approbation.

Her widowed mother's letter was the following:-- "MY DEAR CHILD.

--Many thanks for your last letter, and many more for the present it contained.

It was very acceptable, for it reached me when I had not a cent in the world.

I fear you deprive yourself of necessaries to send me so much.

But all you can easily spare will be gladly received.

I have as much employment at tailoring as I can find time to do, and sometimes I sit up all night, when I cannot accomplish my self-allotted task during the day.

"I have delayed my reply to your letter, because I wished to know what the doctors really thought of your sister Marcia.

They consulted to-day, and tell me _there is no hope_.

The suspense is now over, but I thought I was better prepared for the worst than I am.

She wished me to tell her what the doctors said.

At length I yielded to her importunities.

'Oh, mother,' said she, with a sweet smile, 'I am so glad they have told you, for I have known it for a long time.

You must write to Rosina to come and see me before I die.'

Do as you think best, my dear, about coming.

You know how glad we would be to see you.

But if you cannot come, do not grieve too much about it.

--Marcia must soon die, and you, I hope, will live many years; but the existence which you commenced together here, I feel assured will be continued in a happier world.

The interruption which will now take place will be short, in comparison with the life itself which shall have no end.

And yet it is hard to think that one so young, so good, and lovely, is so soon to lie in the silent grave.

While the blue skies of heaven are daily growing more softly beautiful, and the green things of earth are hourly putting forth a brighter verdure, she, too, like the lovely creatures of nature, is constantly acquiring some new charm, to fit her for that world which she will so soon inhabit.

Death is coming, with his severest tortures, but she arrays her person in bright loveliness at his approach, and her spirit is robed in graces which well may fit her for that angel-band, which she is so soon to join.

"I am now writing by her bed-side.

She is sleeping soundly now, but there is a heavy dew upon the cheek, brow, and neck of the tranquil sleeper.

A rose--it is one of _your_ roses, Rosina--is clasped in her transparent hand: and one rosy pedal has somehow dropped upon her temple.

It breaks the line which the blue vein has so distinctly traced on the clear white brow.

I will take it away, and enclose it in the letter.

When you see it, perhaps it will bring more vividly to memory the days when you and Marcia frolicked together among the wild rose bushes.

--Those which you transplanted to the front of the house have grown astonishingly.

Marcia took care of them as long as she could go out of doors; for she wished to do something to show her gratitude to you.

Now that she can go among them no longer, she watches them through the window, and the little boys bring her every morning the most beautiful blossoms.

She enjoys their beauty and fragrance, as she does everything which is reserved for her enjoyment.

There is but one thought which casts a shade upon that tranquil spirit, and it is that she is such a helpless burden upon us.

The last time that she received a compensation for some slight article which she had exerted herself to complete, she took the money and sent Willy for some salt.

'Now, mother,' said she, with the arch smile which so often illuminated her countenance in the days of health, 'Now, mother you cannot say that I do not earn my salt.'

"But I must soon close, for in a short time she will awaken, and suffer for hours from her agonizing cough.

--No one need tell me now that a consumption makes an easy path to the grave.

I watched too long by your father's bed-side, and have witnessed too minutely all of Marcia's sufferings to be persuaded of this.

"But she breathes less softly now, and I must hasten.

I have said little of the other members of the family, for I knew you would like to hear particularly about her.

The little boys are well--they are obedient to me, and kind to their sister.

Answer as soon as you receive this, for Marcia's sake, unless you come and visit us.

"And now, hoping that this will find you in good health, as, by the blessing of God, it leaves me, (a good though an old-fashioned manner of closing a letter,) I remain as ever, "Your affectionate mother."

Rosina's reply was as follows:-- "DEAR MOTHER.

--I have just received your long-expected letter, and have seated myself to commence an answer, for I cannot go home.

"I do wish very much to see you all, especially dear Marcia, once more; but it is not best.

I know you think so, or you would have urged my return.

I think I shall feel more contented here, earning comforts for my sick sister and necessaries for you, than I should be there, and unable to relieve a want.

'To-morrow is pay-day,' and my earnings, amounting to ten dollars, I shall enclose in this letter.

Do not think I am suffering for anything, for I get a long very well.

But I am obliged to be extremely prudent, and the girls here call me miserly.

Oh, mother!

it is hard to be so misunderstood;

but I cannot tell _them_ all.

"But your kind letters are indeed a solace to me, for they assure me that the mother whom I have always loved and reverenced approves of my conduct.

I shall feel happier to-morrow night, when I enclose that bill to you, than my room-mates can be in the far different disposal of theirs.

"What a blessing it is that we can send money to our friends; and indeed what a blessing that we can send them a letter.

Last evening you was penning the lines which I have just perused, in my far-distant home; and not twenty-four hours have elapsed since the rose-leaf before me was resting on the brow of my sister; but it is now ten o'clock, and I must bid you good night, reserving for to-morrow evening the remainder of my epistle, which I shall address to Marcia."

It was long before Rosina slept that night; and when she did, she was troubled at first by fearful dreams.

But at length it seemed to her that she was approaching the quiet home of her childhood.

She did not remember where she had been, but had a vague impression that it was in some scene of anxiety, sorrow, and fatigue; and she was longing to reach that little cot, where it appeared so still and happy.

She thought the sky was very clear above it, and the yellow sunshine lay softly on the hills and fields around it.

She saw her rose-bushes blooming around it, like a little wilderness of blossoms; and while she was admiring their increased size and beauty, the door was opened, and a body arrayed in the snowy robes of the grave, was carried beneath the rose-bushes.

They bent to a slight breeze which swept above them, and a shower of snowy petals fell upon the marble face and shrouded form.

It was as if nature had paid this last tribute of gratitude to one who had been one of her truest and loveliest votaries.

Rosina started forward that she might remove the fragrant covering, and imprint one last kiss upon the fair cold brow; but a hand was laid upon her, and a well-known voice repeated her name.

And then she started, for she heard the bell ring loudly; and she opened her eyes as Dorcas again cried out, "Rosina, the second bell is ringing."

--Elizabeth and Lucy were already dressed, and they exclaimed at the same moment, "Remember, Rosina, that _to-day is pay-day_."

LUCINDA.