The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 15, No. 89, March, 1865: A Magazine of Literature, Art, and PoliticsVarious
General
The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 15, No. 89, March, 1865: A Magazine of Literature, Art, and Politics
Various
American periodicals
Nor were others among the saleswomen less dangerously affected than
herself. Some, of feeble organization, quickly broke down, under this
unnatural discipline, and abandoned the shop, sometimes rendered
temporary invalids, sometimes permanently disabled, while but few
returned to fill their thankless places. Reading, while in the shop,
whether employed or not, was out of the question, as that also was
strictly prohibited. There was therefore no recreation either of body or
mind, even when it might have been harmlessly permitted. It was either
work or absolute idleness, but in no case rest or relaxation.
Under this monstrous system of torture my cousin at length broke down so
completely that she, too, was compelled to leave the establishment. Her
resolute spirit led her to endure it too long. When she did give up, it
was in the hope that entire rest would bring relief. But it never came.
Her physical organization, strong as it was by nature, had been so
deranged that recuperation was impossible. Medicine could do nothing for
her. A curvature of the spine had been established,--she soon became
unable to sit up,--and at this writing she lies comparatively helpless
in her bed, still beautiful in her helplessness. Her health was
permanently ruined by the barbarism of a man so destitute of sympathy
for a working-girl as to deny her the cheap privilege of sitting down
when she could do him no good by standing up. Yet the great
establishment is still continued, with all its gorgeous display of
plate-glass windows, its polished counters, its wealth of costly goods,
and its long array of tortured saleswomen.
These instances of complicated affliction among needle-women by no means
embrace all that came under my notice. They were so numerous that it was
impossible for me to avoid seeing and feeling that no such grief had
been permitted to come over me. I trust that my heart was sufficiently
grateful for this immunity,--for I became satisfied, that, if we were to
thank God for all His blessings, we should have little time to complain
of misfortunes. I know that I endeavored to be so. I labored to take a
cheering view of what we then considered a very gloomy prospect. And
this disposition to contrast our condition with that of others, while it
taught me wisdom, brought with it a world of consolation. I saw that
there was a bright side to everything,--that the sky was oftener blue
than black; and my floral experiences in the garden taught me that it
was the sunshine, and not the cloud, that makes the flower. It became
my study to look only on the bright side of things, convinced, that, if
the present were a little overcast, there was a future for us that would
be all delightful. I was full of hope; and the eye of hope can discover
a star in the thickest darkness, a rainbow even in the blackest cloud.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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