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Ho. 32, &a»Tut, 1865.— PnbliBhed Sonthly.— Pric« One Penny.



Begistered for Transmission Abroad.



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" A Woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised. — Give her of the fruit of her hands, and let her own works praise her." — Prov. TT-yj ,

'r - -!z^^- - -'- - ; II n 111




"TUB HAPPY HOMB— READING THE EVENING CHAPIER



iro



THE BRITISH WORKWOMAN.



[August I, 1SG5



THE BOREOWED COFFEE POT;



A BAD HABIT CUBED.
" Whesb did that fine coHed-pot come from, Sarah?"
was the inquiry of Mr. Arnold, as bis eyes rested
upon ibis handsome addition to the appendants of
the tea tray.

'■ Kitty melted the bottom ofi' my coffee-pot yester-
day, the careless thing!" replied Mrs. Arnold, " and
it is not mended yet; and so 1 borrowed Mrs. Lovell's
for this niornln;;."

"1 wouldn't have done that," said the husband.

" ^Vhy would'nt you ?" inquired Mrs. Arnold.

" Oh ! because I would'nt."

" Give a reason. Men are always fierce enough
for reasons!"

"Because I don't think it right to borrow other
people's things when we can do witbout them."

" We could'nt do without a cofiee-pot, could we?"

"Yes; I think so."

" How, pray ?"

"Rather than borrow, I would have made tea for
breakfast, until our coffee-pot was mended."

" A nice grumblinu time there would have been, if
I had tried to put you off with a cup of tea."

" I don't think I am such a grumbler as that, Sarah.
I believe I am as easily satisfied as most men. I'm
sure I would rather drink tea all m^ Ufe than take
coftcc from a borrowed coffee-pot."

" So much for trying to provide for your comfort,"
said Mrs. Arnold, in a complainino; tone of voice.

"I never wish you to do wrong for the sake of
securing my comfort," returned her husband.

" Do wrong! Do you mean to say that it is wrong
to borrow and lend?"

"It is wrong to borrow on every trifling occasion,
for by so doing we may be unjust to others, who are
constantly deprived of the use or possession of such
thinc;s as arc their own."

"1 would'nt like to live in a world as selfish as it
would be, if made after your model," said Mrs. Arnold.

"No doubt it would be bad enough,*' replied the
husband ; " but I am sure borrowers would be scarce."

" But what harm can my using Mrs. Lovell's
coflce-pot for a single morning do, I should like to
know?"

Mr. Arnold answered this interrogatory, not, how-
ever, conclusively enough to satisfy his wife. Mrs.
Lovell's opinion on the subject being much more to
the point, will best enlighten the reader, and so we
will ffive that. Mrs. L ovell was preparing to go
down'to brenkfast when her servant girl came to her
door, and said —

" Mrs. Arnold, ma'am, want's you to lend her your
coffee-pot. She says Kitty melted the bottom off
hers, and it aint mended yet. She just wants it for
this morning."

" Very well," returned Mrs. Lovell. The tone in
which this was said, did not express much pleasure.
As tlie cii'l retired, Mrs. Lovell remarked, in a
crumbling ^ray, to her husband,

" And no doubt Kitty 'II melt the bottom off mine
before night."

" You are not gomg to let her have that handsome
Britannia coffee-pot?" said Mr. Lovell.

"I have no other, and she knows it."

" You might say, that you have only one. She will
think that in use."

" No, she won't; for she is very well aware of the
fact, that we don't make coffee, unless when we
happen to have company."

" As you had not the resolution to say ' no,' you
will have to tnke your chance."

"And the chances will all be ag^nst me. Of that
I am certain. I never lent Mrs. Arnokl anything in
my life, that it did'nt come home injured in some
way. I wish that people would let their neighbours
possess -the little they have in peace. I've had that
set of Britannia ware for five years, and there is not
a bad scratch nor bruise upou any piece of it. If
Mrs. Arnold lets the coffee-pot get injured, I shall
be very angry."

" I almost hope she will," said Mr. Lovell.

"Why, Henry?"

"You will, then, in ull probability, fall back upon
your reserved rights, and throw Mrs. Arnold, in
future, upon hers."

" "What are our reserved rights?"

" In this case, yours will be to refuse lending what
your neighbours should buy ; and hers will be to buy
what she can't conveniently borrow."

"I don't wish to ofiend her," said Mrs. Lovell;
" but, if she does let uiy coffee-pot get injured I shall
be vei'y much put out."



"In other words, you will say something sharp
about it."

"Very likely. I'm apt, you know, to speak out."

" Then I .shall be very well content to see the spout
knocked off, the handle bent, or a bruise as large as a
walnut in the side of your coffee-pot."

"Henry! Why will you say so!"

"Because I happen to feel all I say. This bor-
rowing nuisance is intolerable, and its suppre^^sion
can hardly be obtained too dear. How many
umbrellas has Mrs. Arnold lost or ruined for us in
the last two or three years!"

"Don't ask me that question. I've never tried to
keep count."

"Half a dozen at least."

"You may safely set the number down at that.
But, if I could get off with umbrellas, Fd buy a case,
and let her have one a month, and think the arrange-
ment a bargain. The iiact is, I have scarcely an
article of moveable household goods, or wearing
apparel, that doesn't show sad evidences of having
been used by some one beside myself. You know
that dear little merino cloak of Charley's in which he
looked so sweet?"

"Yes. What of it?"

"Last Sunday Mrs. Arnold had her baby baptized.
Of course, she had nothing decent to put on it, and
of course sent for Chiu-ley's cloak. What could I
do?"

" You could have declined letting her have the
cloak."

"Not under the circumstances."

" Hasn't her baby a cloak ?"

"Yes; but it's full of grease-spots — not fit to be
seen."

" It's good enough for her baby, if she doesn't think
proper to provide a better one."

"All very easy said. But I couldn't refuse the
cloak, though I let it go with fear and trembling.
Now just look at it!"

Mrs. Lovell opened a drawer, and taking out the
dove-coloured cloak, with its white and blue lining,
slowly opened it.

" Bless me !" exclaimed her husband, as the back
of the collar was displayed, and showed several
square inches of discolouration. " What in the world
could have done that?"

"Perspiration fi-om the child's head. Charley has
worn it twenty times, yet not a spot was to be seen
before. But this is not the worst. To keep the
baby from crying in church, a piece of red candy was
pushed into its mouth."

" Goodness !"

" And as the baby was cutting its teeth, the result
can hardly be wondered at. Look!"

Mrs. Lovell held up the front of the cloak. From
the collar to the skirt, were lines, broad irregular
patches, and finger marks, dark, red, and gummy.

"That beats everything !" exclaimed Mr. Lovell,

"But that isn't all," said his wife, turning the
cloak around, and showing a grease-spot half as large
as her hand upon the skirt. "After the child was
brought home, nurse took off the cloak and threw it
upon a table, where one of the children had just laid
a large slice of bread and butter."

"Is that all ?" asked Mr. Lovell.

"I havn'tlooked any further," replied Mrs. Lovell,
tossing the ruined garment from her with an impatient
air. "But isn't it too much to bear?"

"What did ihe lady say when she brought 3t
home ?"

"She sent it in by her girl, who said that there
were two or three spots on the cloak, for which Mr*.
Arnold was sorry ; but she thought I could easily rub
them out."

"Humph!"

" The cloak is totally ruined. I don't know when
I had anything to vex me so much. And it was such
a beauty."

" What will you do ?"

" Throw it away. I can't let my baby wear a
soiled and greasy cloak. See!" And Mrs. Lovell
again went to her drawers. "IVe got cashmere for a
new one."

" Well now, this is too bad !" exclaimed Mr. Lovell.
" Too bad ! If I were you, I'd send her the cloak with
my compliments, and tell her to keep it."

" Oh, I don't wi.sh to make her an enemy."

" Better have such persons enemies than friends."

" Perhaps not."

'.'What's the use of your making a new cloak for
Charley? You'll lend it to Mrs. Arnold when she
wants to send her baby out, and the "

"Beg your pardon, husband, dear 1 But I will do
no such thing!"

"We'll see."



" And we will see."

Mrs. Lovell spoke pretty resolutely, as if her mind
were, for once in her life, made up not to be imposed
upon.

On the next day Mrs. Arnold called in to pay her
neighbour a visit.

" I havn't sent home your coffee-pot yet," said she,
durin'' a pause in tlie conversation that followed her
entrance. " I told Kitty, yesterday, to take ours im-
mediately and get it mended; but I found this
morning that she had failed to do so. I never saw
such a careless, forir^^tful creature in my life."

"It's no matter," Mrs. Lovell forced herself to say,
at the cost of a departure from the truth.

" Oh, I thought it was of no consequence, because
you don't make coffee regularly," responded Jlrs.
Arnold; "but, then, I never like to be using other
people's things when I can help it. Besides, our
Kitty is such a careless creature, that everything she
touciies is in danger; and I'm afraid it might get
injured. I noticed a little dent in the spout this
morning."

" Not a bad one I hope ?" said Mrs. Lovell, thrown
a little off her guard by this admission. The tone in
which she spoke expressed some anxiety.

"Oh, no, no!" replied Mrs. Arnold, quickly.
"You would hardly see it unless it were pointed out.
But even for so trifling an injury, 1 can assure you I
scolded Kitty well. As soon as I go home, I will
start her off' with my coflee-pot, if she has not already
taken it to the tinmans."

D;iys passed, but the coffee-pot still remained in
the possession of Mrs. Arnold. lu the meantime,
Charley's new cloak of very fine light blue cashmere
was finished, and as Mrs. Lovell was a little proud of
her baby — what mother is not ? — the cloak went out
to take an airing, the baby inside, of course, every
day for a week afterwards.

One afternoon some firiends came in, and Mrs.
Lovell persuaded them to stay and spend the evening.
Shortly after their arrival, a messenger came from Mrs.
Arnold, with a request for the loan of Charley's
cloak, as the mother wanted to send her baby down
the town, that a friend of her 's might see him.

Mrs. Lovell said, "Very well," and took from a
drawer the dove-coloured merino cloak that had
suffered so severely nt the christening, an<l handed it
to the girl who had come from Mrs. Arnold.

In a lew minutes the girl returned with the cloak,
and said —

"It isn't the one that Mistress wants. She says,
please to let her have the blue one. She'll take great
care of it."

Mrs. Lovell took ihc dove-coloured' cloak, and
turned with it to the drawer slowly, debating in her
mind what she shtmld do. She must cither offend
Mr.''. Arnold, or run the risk of having the new cloak
spoiled, as the other had been. She did not. wish to
do the former; but, how could she submit" to the
latter? Just as, in her doubt and hesitation, she laid
her hand upon the new garment, a thought struck
her, and turning to the girl, she said —

"Tel! Mrs. Arnold that she can have the light
cloak in wulcome ; but Charley is going out, and will
want to wear the blue one."

The girl departed, and Charley got an extra airing
that day. Mrs. Arnold was exceedingly indignant,
and wondered if Mrs. Lovell supposed she was
going to send her child out in that "soiled and
greasy thing!"

Towards supper time, Mrs. Lovell's girl asked her
if she wished coffee made.

" Oh, certainly," she replied.

"Mrs. Arnold has our coffee-pot."

" I know. You must go in for it."

The girl took off her apron, and ran in to ISIrs,
Arnold's for the coffee-pot. In a few moments si e
returned, and said —

" Mrs. Arnold snys she can't let you have it before
to-morrow. Hcr's is not mended yet, — and Mr.
Arnold always drinks coffee for supper."

"But go and toU her that I have company, and
cannot do v/ithout it," replied Mrs. Lovell, somewhat
impatiently.

The girl went back, and returned with the coffee-
pot. As she set it down before Mrs. Lovell, she said —

" Mrs. Arnold didn't seem to like it much."

"Like what much?"

"Your sending again. She says her husband
never drinks tea, and she don't kuow how she is
going to moke him coffee."

"But that isn't my coffee-pot!"

" Yes it is, ma'am."

"OU uo. Never!" And Mrs. Lovell took up a
dingy-Iouking afljiir that the girl had brought in, and
eyed it doubtingly. She remembered her own nice



August 1, 1863.]



THE BRITISH WORKAYOMAN.



171



Britannia cofiec-pot, without a scratch or bruise, and
bright as silver. But this was as dull as pewter : a
part of the bottom, an eighth of an inch wide and
three inches long, had been melted ofi or turned up ;
there were several large dents in it; the spout had
received a disfigurinc bruise, and the little jet nob
on the lid was entirely broken off! No, no — this was
not her coffee-pot. But the g^l insisted that it was,
and soon proved her assertion.

This was too much for IVIrs. Lovell. "That my
coffee-pot !'" she exclaimed, indignantly ; and lifting it
from the table on which the girl had placed it, she
set it down uj)on a tea-tray v.*hich contained the
other pieces belonging to her beautiful set of Brit-
aunia. The contrast was lamentable.

" There !" said she, with a glowing cheek, and
voice pitched an octave higher than usual — "take
the whole set into Mrs. Arnold, with my compli-
ments, and say that I make her a present of it."

The girl didn't need to be told her errand twice.
Before Mrs. Lovell had time for reflection and
repentance, she was beyond recall.

The parlour and kitchen of Mrs. Arnold's house
were on the same story, and separated only by a door.
It happened that Mr. Arnold was at home when Mrs.
Lovell's girl came in and presented the breakfast and
tea set, with the compliments of her mistress. The
tone in which the message was given, as it reached
his ears, satisfied him that something was wrong ; and
he was put beyond all doubt when he heard his wife
say, with unusual excitement in her voice —
" Take them back ! Take them back !"
But the girl retreated hastily, and left her in full
possession of the tray and its contents.

"What's the matter?" enquired Mr. Arnold, as
his wife retreated into the parlour with flushed face
and quivering lip. It was some moments before
she could speak, and then she said something in a
confused way about an insult. Not being able to
understand wh;it it all meant, Mr. Arnold sought
information in the kitchen.

"Whose is tins?" he said to Kitty, laying his
hand upon the Britannia set.
"Mrs. Loveil's," replied Kitty.
"Why is it here?"

"Mrs. LovcU sent it in as a present to Mistress."
"Indeed!" Mr. Arnold looked a little closer.
"Is this the coffee-pot we have been using for this
week pnst?"
"Yes, sir."

"Humph !" Light was breaking into his mind.
"Abusing, I should have said," he added. "And
because the coflee-pot has been ruined, and the set
broken, Mrs. Lovell makes us a present of what
remains !"

Kitty held dovm her head in silence.
After examining the coffee-pot^ and contrasting it
with other pieces of the set, Mr. Lovell made an
angry exclamation, and retired from the kitchen. He
did not re-enter the parlour where he had left his
wife, but took up his hat, and going out of the front
door, shut it hard after him. In about half-an-hour
he rettirned.

" Where have yon been?''his wife ventured to ask,
as he entered the room.

" Trying to repair the wrong you have done."
"What do you mean ?" asked Mrs. Arnold.
"I've bought a set of Britannia ware, for Mrs.
Lovell," replied the husband, "and sent it to her
with a note of apology, and a request from me, as a
particular fiavour, never to lend you anything again,
as you would be sure to injure it."
" Mr. Arnold!"

"It's true, every word of it. I never was so
mortified by anything in my life. I don't wonder
that Mrs. Lovell sent you the beautiful set you had
broken. The fact is, this borrowing system must
come to an end. If you want anything, my dear, buy
it ; and if you are not able, do without it."

Poor Mrs. Arnold burst into tears and cried
bitterly. Her husband made no attempt to soothe
her distress. He lelt a little angry, and when one is
angry, there is not much room left in the mind for
sympathy towards those who have excited the anger.
After supper, while Mrs. Arnold sat sewing, her
face under a cloud, and Mr. Arnold was endeavouring
to get over the unpleasant excitement he had
experienced, by means of a book, some one rang
the bell. In a little while Mr. Lovell was an-
nounced.

"What in the world can he want?" said Mrs.
Arnold.

"More about the coffee-pot," replied Mr. Arnold,
as he laid iL«ide his book.

Mrs. Arnold made no remark, and her husband
left the room where they were sitting, and entered the



parlour, Mr. Lovell, who was standing in the room,

extended his hand, and said with a smile —

"I'm afraid my wife's hasty conduct — for which
she is extremely sorry — has both hurt and offended
you. And as these are matters which, if left to
themselves, like hidden Are, increase to a flame, I
have thought it best to see you at once, and offer all
necessary apologies on her behalf."

"Not hurt in the least!" replied Mr. Arnold good-
humouredly. "And as for apologies, Mrs. Lovell
wants no better one than the wreck of her beautilul
coffee-pot, which I have minutely examined. I'm
glad she sent it *back,* just as she did, and for two
reasons. It gave me an opportunity to repair the
wrong which had been done, and served as a lesson
to my wife, such as she needed and will not soon
forget. No, no, Mr. Lovell ! don't let this make
you feel in the least unpleasant."

"But my wife says she cannot think of keeping the
beautiful tea and coffee set you sent her." .

"Tell her that she will have to keep them. They
are hers in simple justice. If she sends them here,
they will not be received. So she has no remedy.
We want a set, and will keep yours. If a disfigured
coffee-pot has to be used, let it be by those who are
guilty of the abuse. And now, Mr. Lovell, tell your
good lady from me, that if she lends my wife any-
thing more, I will not be responsible; as I have
always disapproved the system, and am now, more
than ever, opposed to it."

This last sentence was spoken playfully. After half-
an-hour's good-humoured conversation, the gentle-
men parted. It was some days before the ladies met,
and then they were a little reserved towards each
other. This reserve never entirely wore off'. But
there was no more borrowing from Mr. Lovell, nor
anyone else; for Mrs. Arnold was entirely cured of
her inordinate love of borrowinjr.



"MY LIFE AND LABOURS IN LONDON:"

"A STEP KEABEB THE MABK."*

Ik this very interesting and instructive little volume,
James Inches Hillocks, already favourably known
by his " Life Story," details his Christian work in our
own metropolis, with the same genuine earnestness
which has characterised his former productions.
There is a touching simplicity in this good man's
style to which art is a stranger ; he is always
effective, but never strains after eff'ect — it is as
Blackie remarked of his earlier compositions, "a
piece of real life." We heartily commend the work
to our readers, and to all who are interested in the'
welfare of the poor. Here are two pictures that are
worth pondering on — pictures timt suggest very
serious reflection :

" AFTER THE CHRISTEKIHG."

"Another day, whilst passing along one of the lead-
ing streets, I observed all the children I could see
nmning to a point. Soon shouts are heard, and curses
foUow. In the centre are two women, and with them
is a gir] between thirteen and fourteen years of age.
She is pleading with one of the women, who, making
an effort to strike her, falls heavily on the ground.
The children shout, and some of them laugh. This
enrages the woman, and she tries to run after them.
What a ridicnlous sight ! The other woman has a
baby arrayed in a long and what, some hours before,
had been a white dress. She is ' protecting' the child,
though so tipsy, and can scarcely walk ; but, like her
companion, she can curse, and that very loud.

*■ ' Give me my child, you ,' said the other

woman, for she was the mother.

'• • Never ; I'll see to the child,' was the reply, and a
struggle followed to the danger of the child's Life.

'• I had been watching them for a time. Having
stepped up, and demanded that baby be given to the
girl (its sister) they moved on, the crowd following,
till they came to the next public-house. In they went,
and in I went : and here I was between two fires—
the drunken women and the publican, all of whom
would rather have seen me far enough off. I resolved
on two things — 1. That the child should be protected ;
and 2. That the women should have no more drams.
At last the women promised to go home if I would
disperse the crowd, which was done by the help of
two policemen. The difficulties of my task increased
as we passed along, every public-house and every
street comer brought round about us others like them-
selves."

" ' Come with us ; we dare not go home without you
speak for us. My master will murder me,' said the
mother to me, and I consented. But the police would
not come further than the entrance to the group of
houses in which the women and others of the same

* Freeman. Tleet Street.



social level lived. What a scene was that which followed
the shutting of the street door I The stories I listcncii
to, the fury that was evinced, and the cunning attempts
to find the depth of my pockets, were — even to me
(because of what I had previously known of such heroes
in such strife) — surprising but this mother's ; " ma>^:cr"
(her husband) was as harmless as a dove - he was lying
on the heai-th ■ dead-drunk

'■ * I say, friend, I would not have entered that door
and had it shut upon me, as you have done, for the
best five pound note in the Bank of England,' said
one of the policemen who had lingeretT about the
locality. * I expected every moment to see you pitched
out at one of the upper windows. Do you know what
kind of people they are 1 That girl who held the child
is a street- walker, and she is the chief support of her
father and mother, though not yet fifteen years of

" But those who know life amongst such in London
are aware that scenes like these may be daily ^-itnesscd
by hundreds ; that many a child is thereby made a
cripple for lite ; that many more receive such injuries,
under like circumstances, as cause them to linger and
die. Yet, would my reader believe itP this child,
the mother declared, had just been baptized ! She and
others had been at church, to which a lai'ge number
of cMldien had been brought by their parents and
* god-parents' to be introduced to the church and con-
gregation. AVhat a change this is, from the baptismal
font to these fearful brawls in the lowest drinking
dens ! If that child had /?o(^-pai'ents it had not good



"kept rOR YOtJ, MOTHER.

" Nor have the streets on Saturday evenings proved
to be less interesting to me. For various reasons I
have thought it my duty to traverse thom on that day,
especially after pay-time till midnight, and sometimes
till Sunday morning. In many places the crowd is
almost impassable— quite a fair. One common scene
may slightly indicate my meaning.

'■ I stopped for a little where the butchers in blue
slops were jabbering, ' Buy, buy, buy,' under a flood of
gas-light which struggled with the wind for existence.
A woman stopped, and took up a piece of meat, but
before she had time to ask the price, one of the sellers
said, ' That's the piece, the very thing I have kept for
you, mother.' And he took up the bloody and black
stuff, which anj' sensible woman would not have taken
home to her cat.

"The woman was 'elevated.' Poor creature, she
again looked so foolishly at the meat, then at her
money, when he added. 'Just four shillings, mother :
but four and sixpence to any other save yourself. Just
four shillings — sold again, buy, buy, buy, buy, buy, buy,
a- way!'

" She staggered in at the door towards the counter
to pay for her ' bargain,' to give four shillings for a
piece of carrion, disgustingly black.

"'What a robbery,' said I to myself; 'and the
drunkard is not the only victim.'

" She was a wife and a mother, and her husband and


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