Aunt Eliza's Garret; or Scenes in the Life of a Needle-woman

Front matter

COPYRICHT.-PRICE ONE SHIL1INC. A TJ N T (mm% §mti; OR, SCENES IN THE LIFE OF A HEEDLE-WOMAH. BY G. M. YINER, Esq., Author of " Neville," &c. &c. Work, work, work, While the cosk is crowing aloof; And work, work, work, Till .ha stars shine through the :-iof. It's oh! to b" a -lave, Along with ihe i.ar'cr .... Turk, Where woman bus nev.r a _• ul to sav, Oh, men, with sisters dear ! Oh, ruen, with mothers and wives! It is not linen y.u'rc wearing out, But human creatures' lives. Stitch! stitch ! stitch! Iu p verty, hunger, and dirt ; Sewing at on> J, with double thread, A shroud as well as a shirt! If this is Christian work LONDON: H. ELLIOT, -175, NEW OXFORD STREET, And all Booksellers in Town and Country . 18.4. .melia's last request YUNT ELIZA'S GARRET OR, SCENES IN THE LIFE OF A NEEDLE-WOMAN.

By G. M. VIN ER. Esq. Work, work, work, While the cock is crowing aloof; And work, work, work, Till the stars shine through the roof. It's oh ! to be a slave, Along with the barbarous Turk, Where woman has never a soul to save, If this is Christian work I Oh, men, with sir'crs deart Oh, men, with mothers aud wive: It is not linen you're wearing out, But human creatures' lives. Stitch ! stitch ! stitch ! In poverty, hunger, and dirt; Sewing at once, with double threes A shroud as well as a ehixt ! He ■___o_rt.on: PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY H. ELLIOT, 475, NEW OXfORD ltt._EK 1854.

Preface

. Dear Reamb, A book should either amuse, instruct, or contain something new. Without taking upon myself the credit of being original, I do lay claim to the merit of having endeavoured to amuse. In the fol lowing pages I have not drawn on the imagination, but have related facts that have occurred. In that relation my desire has been to create aorne sympathy for the slaves of under-paying tradesmen, that may ultimately give birth to some practical measures for their alleviation. If the perusal of this little work succeed in inducing some thought upon the matter, I shall feel pleasure in the knowledge that my time ha3 not been employed in vain. G. M. VINEB- Pimlico, October, 1852. LIST OT ENGRAVINGS.. Pact Amelia's Last Request Face Title. George's First Visit to his Uncle's 20 Goodenough's Early Call 52 Scene at the Eagle 110 The Departure 114 The Effects of 111 -paid Labour 12-S Death Bed Promise

Chapter I

Gbstiæ Reader : If you have a short time to spare from your dally business, I pray thee, in thine, imagination, follow me. Iu the neighbourhood of tho Angel at Islington you will discover some newly-erected houses of respectable appearance. Some of these are inhabited by small tradesmen who ha-re their places of business in the city, or as close to its boundaries as possible ; whilst some otherare let out as furnished lodgings to clerks, the chief of whom belong to the law. It is a cold morning in the early part of December, and as you alight from the omnibus at the aforesaid inu, you discover tho pavement to be greasy and slippy in consequence of the fog. The pieshops opposite — that are continually selling kidney pies by hundreds, making you wonder from whence all the kidneys came to supply the demands of the Isliugtonians with that choice article of diet — are lighted with gas.

The linen-draper's young men are busily engaged doing something behind the counter with the gas half turned up, but not a single customer is there in the shop, and the men look dreadfully blue as they go on winding lace round the thiu pieces of wood used for such purposes ; whilst the green -grocer's shop strikes an ague into your bones as you shuffle past its damp cabbages, always endeavouring at the same time to keep from coming in contact with them. The sprats and other fish which are lying on the costermonger's barrow look dull and limp, and the " penny a lumps" seem such enormous pennyworths, that your suspicions, as regards their purity, are at once aroused, aud you feel half inclined to express your private opinion upon the subject to the little thin woman, with a child in one hand aud a plate in another, who is about to purchase one of the aforesaid lumps ; and which, poor soul, is all that she will get for dinner ; and a good one loo, so she thinks, to what she had yesterday.

You and I, dear reader, would have said it had been no dinner at all- Having at length reached . certain street, the mortar of which seems scarcely dry between the bricks, we turn from the main road down towards the New River, and opposite a small church t_s new as the street, we halt. Placing our hand upon the knocker, round which has been fixed • thick bandage to deaden its sound, we make a sufficient noise to allow of our being admitted at once into the residence of Mr. Pratt. We arc shown into a parlour, neatly furnished, but which, nevertheless, has somewhat of the counting house appearance. On the table, a long one, which fre quently fulfils the duties of a counter, are lying various pieces of silks and satins, embroidered in every conceivable pattern. Some of these pieces are destined for waistcoats, some for bonnets, others for ladies' dresses.

There are folding doors which open and allow you to pass from the front to the back parlour. Here you discover a youth, about fifteen, busily engaged with pieces of tin, bent into all manner of shapes, marking the patterns on the " raw material" ready for the needle hands to work up into the finished article. There is, however, a great silence throughout the house, and the marking boy goes carefully on with his work for fear he should create (he least noise. We now pass through the side door and proceed up stairs, and in the front room on the first floor we find Mr. Pratt. Yes, there he is, lying on yonder bed ; and that little woman, with such beautiful dark hair, and dark eyes, and cheeks pale as death, occasioned by too much watching at her husband's sick bed, is Mrs. Piatt. The youth down stairs calls her, however, Aunt Eliza ; and the young girl who now enters the room, and appears about a couple of years the elder of the youth, and who is bearing in her hands a bottle of medicine, carefully and artistically done up iu nice while paper, bearing the direction " Mr. Pratt," and having affixed to its neck another long slip of paper, resembling the neck-band of a clergyman, on which are written the very remark able words, " the mixture as before," — calls her Aunt Eliza likewise ; whilst the little baby iu yonder cot merely smiles and coos in her face, and like most babies of such tender years says nothing.

Mr. Pratt at length opens his eyes, and his wife asks in an under-tone, " if he feels better." No," returned Pratt, in a pettish tone. " Can I do anything for you, drnr '.'" continued Mrs. Pratt, trying to smooth his pillow for him. " You had better take your medicine now, it is near the time." " It does me no good," returned Pratt ; " the man only sends it in because he wants to make a bill, but lie wont get it I know." " You mistake his kindness, you do indeed," returned his wife, pour ing the medicine into a wineglass; "he perfectly understands our circumstances." " Well, well, give it me,' exclaimed Praft, hastily, " I'm too ill to argue with you now. I suppose he has some object in view, some motive, no one acts without it. There, now let me be ;" and having swallowed the medicine, he turned over on his side and commenced groaning.

He did not, however, remain long in that position, but raising himself in the bed, he exclaimed, pressing his hands to his sides as if Ms pains were there : — "My God! what shall I do? Send for the surgeon — rm dying ! I feel I am. Oh, God ! don't let me die t My poor wife, what can she do ? I'm a bankrupt, and have not a penny to leave her. Oh, God ! my chest. Is the doctor coming ? I can't keep in bed, I shall die if I do. Have you given me the right medicine ! Oh, God ! do not let me die." Saying which he sank upoa the floor in a convulsive fit. In a few moments the surgeon entered, aud used his skill to bring the patient round. It was of no avail, death had already affixed his brand mark ; and Pratt, after having remained quiet and insensible for nearly an hour, was again convulsed in every limb ; during one of those awful throes peculiar to convulsions, he half raised himself from the bed on to which he had been listed, and uttering a deep groan, he fdl back upon the pillow an inanimate lump of flesh.

Chapter II

In due time Mr. Pratt was buried. What hard work it had been to his wife to give her dear husband a decent funeral ! Left without a single farthing of ready money, and no friends of whom she could borrow the required amount, there was no other source open to her bat to sell her piano and a part of her furniture, to raise the sum necessary to pay the undertaker's bill, who, of course, required the money down before he brought the coffin in, and to purchase mourning clothing for herself, her child, and the boy and girl we epoke of in the foregoing chapter. It was the evening of the day on which the body of Pratt had been taken to its last home. The tain was descending heavily, and the wind, fierce and cold, drove it against the window panes, making that peculiar pattering noise which Induces those who are seated before a bright fire to take the poker in their hands to stir the blazing coal, and to draw their chair nearer to its congenial warmth.

Mrs. Pratt was sitting with her baby in her arms, her feet upon the fender, her bright eye staring vacantly into the fire burning in the kitchen grate. The marking youth was sitting opposite to her, nurBing his knee, and the young girl was sitting between them, her right hand rubbiDg the back of her left. The fire burned brightly, and winked, ABNT E!IZ*'» CARRET. 8 and spluttered, and snapped, and threw out little jets of gas, that pre sently burned and blazed away in right good earnest. " Dear me, how it rains," exclaimed George, for that was the christian. name of the youth. " Yes, rains," returned Mrs. Pratt, or rather soliloquised, tt aad how long we may have shelter and a fire to warm and comfort us, God knows, I don't. 1 wish I was dead, and this poor baby too, and lying In the damp cliurch-yard ; I should not then have to battle wi : ■ world, without a single soul to hdp me.

My prospect U as e! as the weather." For a time there was a pause. George still sat, nursing his knee most energetically, and his sister by his side rubbed her hands as slowly __> tver. During this pause we will explain mcce fully to our readers who the Pratts are. Joseph Pratt, just now deceased, had been a clerk iu the city, anc( having been a steady young man had succeeded, in Easing a little i Upon the death of his employer, he determined to commence upon his own account. He was getting on admirably when he was called to his brother's bed-side, who, dying somewhat suddenly, begged of bis brother Joseph to take care of his children, a boy and a girl, respectively named George and Amelia. This, Joseph promised to do, and he kept his word. His wife readily and willingly welcomed the two young orphans, putting them to such work as they were best able of doing.

Shortly after his brother's death, Joseph foolishly agreed to put his name, with another party, to a document as surety for a young man who was to take upon himself the duties of a collecting clerk in a respectable firm in tbe city. The young man before twelve months bad past, was discovered to be a defaulter to a pretty large amount. Tho gentlemen constituting the firm demanded the amount from Joseph Pratt, his fellow surety having embarked for America a couple c f months before the defalcation had been discovered. Joseph paid every penny, and left himself with little or no capital to carry on his business, which consisted in buying up silks, satins, alpacas, and matei i the like nature, getting them embroidered to designs of his own inven ting, and then selling them to the different warehouse* in the city.

K was indeed hard work for him to advance against such an overwhelming catastrophe. He could not now .buy for ready money articles cheap and good, nor could he take advantage of the markets; as a matter of consequence, he got in debt with his silk inercer and others, and being obliged to cut down the working girls in their wages, they did not take that care in their work which they had hitbei to done ; Us jrood.s m(.t With a very slow sale in consequence, and at a great reduction in the AUST ELIZA-! GARRET. 0 price. ThiB was continually praying on his mind, and working hard from morning until night, he became ill, and died In the manner de scribed, leaving his wife and child, and his nephew and niece without a penny, or a relative in the world. The furniture was all they had, and how soon ohc of the creditors might put in an execution it was not pos^ sible to say ; but j udging from their general alacrity, and their anxiety to be the first in, it would not have argued a man's insanity if ka gs.** a week as the longest time for their doing it, especially when two or three had already been issued.

The slleftCe had hot yet been broken by either party since Mrs. Pratt toad given utterance to the words quoted above. She was still looking into th* fire, and hugging her child to her breast, wondering wBal she should do. She felt that it was necessary to do something, but what that something was she could not divine. The more She eudean voured to think, the greater the difficulty seemed to appear ; attfl 86 she turned her eyes from the fire — which in its brightness seemed tb mock her — towards the chair that was always set apart for heihasbahd, and which she had so affectionately padded and made soft, that his deal bones might rest and comfort themselves of a night before that fire, she shftddered and burst ifit'o tears. "Oh, God!*1 she exclaimed, '"how lonely I shall feel-^-h-s l__-t thoughts were for me* " Don't despair, Aunt," ret ttrned George, putting his knee out tt hi_, hand, and leaning forward towards the weeping woman, ■ I'll try and do something ."

But befote he had finished the sentence-, tl-Oagt he had began it very manfully indeed, he had burst into teats. " And so can _, Aunt ; I'll try _.nd get into 4 gentleman's family." Amelia said this very quietly, 4nd her hands kept up the desited amount of friction, but no tears dimmed h«r eye. " Oh, no, no ! Don't talk of leaving tne like that," exclaimed Mrs. Pratt, or, as we shall continue to Call her, Atint Eliza. " Am I not lonely enough by losing your uncle Joseph . What shall 1 do if yefc both fly from me directly ? As it is I do have some faces to look at, whose feelings are something akin to my oWn." " Yes, Aunt," returned her niewi, " I donvt wish i* leave yott, I'm sure ; and if you think I could help you, and be of Use to yoti, __nd make yoar work come lighter to yon, I WoUld stay with you with all my heart, and never leave you while you wished me stay ; but I've been thinking ever sisiee uncle died hoW we could manage ; I've laid awake at night listening to your sobs, and wondering and wondering how I could help you.

Pm sure it would not do to keep the business on ; we don't understand the markets wdl enough, and if we did, we garret. have no money. I only saw what George and I could do. Unless yoa have some idea, I see no other plan than what I've said. What you and baby will do, I never could make out." "You talk quite coolly," returned Aunt Eliza, "as if want were not Btaring you in the face ; as if you had only to go to the corner of the street and have all your wishes granted you. I hav'nt seen you (bed a tear since — since ." " True, Aunt, I have not, I feel I cannot. I would give anything to do so ; but my head feels hot and feverish, and I have such a heavy weight upon my chest that almost prevents my breathing. It is not for the want of feeling that I don't cry. I never felt so wretched or so lonely as I do this very night.

I feel it here, Aunt — here, in my chest and throat ; but tears, they are not permitted me." Bending her head slightly forward, her eye stared vacantly at the fire, and her band resting in her lap, continued to experience the nervous passing up and down of its fellow. " I did not mean to chide you, dear," returned Aunt Eliza. I see you feel, and thank God, that with it all you can think. I cannot. I have tried, oh, 60 hard, to think what had better be done ; but the only thought that I am capable of, is poor dear Joseph. It steals upon me when I would try and turn my attention to other matters, and takes possession of my mind, driving out all other thoughts As I sit here, and try to think, I fancy I can hear his foot on the step outside ; I seem to be waiting for his coming from the city, and yet I know he's dead.

I look up and think I shall see him in his chair, then for a moment think bow late he i_ ; and yet I know he's dead. I can't divest myself of the thought that he is Dear me, and that I can speak to him. I look around me in the vain hope of seeing him, and yet I know he is dead." " We must not hang upon the past, dear Aunt,," returned Amelia, •* it is the future that we have to think of now. Talk of that, Aunt, — act on that, I think it better." " I can't to-night, indeed I can't ; I will see to-morrow," returned Aunt Eliza. The child in her arms began to cry and grow restless. Her niece reached out her hands to take it from her. *' Oh ! no, do not take it from me ; it is the only consolation that I have. I feel when it is in my arms that I have something of poor Joseph near me still . And he did love it so.

All the time that he was ill he would not let it leave the room ; and when it cried, he always seemed to forget his own pain, and said ' poor thing,' and tried to comfort it. It is all I have to live for now, is this poor fatherless child. If this leaves me, I care not how soon I'm in my grave too.1* GArtr.r.T. 11 For some short time they sat in silence, disturbed only by the patter ing of the rain upon the Window glass, and the howling of the wind. Presently the sound of a distant footstep struck upon the ear ; it gets nearer and nearer ; stops, and then presently is heard in the kitchen a low rumbling knock at the door. " I wonder who that can be !" exclaimed Amelia, turning »to her Aunt. " Do you expect any one to-night ?" " No," returned Aunt Eliza ; " it is some of the work-girls come for their money perhaps."

" It can't be that," said George, " I looked their book over myself, and paid them all up with my own hands ; and so I know that that's not it." " Well, it is of no use keeping them in the rain, whoever it is," ex claimed Amelia, taking up the candle and hastening to the door. George and his Aunt being left in the dark sat and listened. "Ah — ahem !" exclaimed some voice that was rather familiar to tbe ears of George and his Aunt. "Good evening, miss. Ahem! I have taken the liberty of calling upon you this evening upon a little business." " Oh. come inside, sir, please," returned Amelia. " Thank you, you're very kind. Ahem ! I hope I have not intruded upon your privacy. I certainly was aware of your serious loss — ahem! — and that, in a great measure, is the reason I have called this evening."

" If I understood you rightly," exclaimed Amelia, in that quiet voice of hers, " you said you had some business — is it urgent ? If not, I would rather that it were left until to-morrow; my aunt is not fit to converse with you to-night." " It is rather urgent— ahem 1 — in fact, it in a great measure concerns your welfare ; at least — ahem ! — your brother's, or I should not have wished to thrust myself sans eeremnnie upon you." "Will you walk into the kitchen?" asked Amelia ; "it is the only place we have a fire in." "Ahem! With pleasure, miss." And straightway Amelia led tho visitor to the kitchen. " Who is it, Amelia ?" asked Aunt Eliza, without turning to look. " It is Mr. Quisby, Aunt," returned Amelia; "he has called upon some urgent business." " It's very cruel of him to come to-night.

Couldn't I have one quiet evening V " Pardon me, Mrs. Pratt — ahem ! — you misunderstand me, indeed yon do— ahem !— and I think I shall be able to convince you that you oabret. have — ahem !" And aster handing his umbrella to Amelia, tie eat dow.i in a chair and commenced warming his I Mr. Sublimus Quizby was a clerk in the city, upon five and twenty shillings a week. He was of the middle height, with dark hair intermingled here and there with a few silvery ones. It was carefully brushed off his forehead, for the purpose of giving him a somewhat intellectual appearance ; his eyes, dark and twinkling, stood out boldly and prominently, looking very much like two large magnified lobstereyes, and made you feel very uncomfortable every time you looked at them, for they seemed to hang by such a little thread, that the least shake in the world would make them drop out; his eye-brows were high and arched ; the nose long and aquiline ; his whiskers were kept closely trimmed, and round his mouth there was — when he was addressing any one in a friendly way — a smile continually playing; but if he were opposing any individual in argument, his face expressed "the sublime indignation* -which he said he felt.

Mr. Sublimus Quizby wished to comSbine the pions and the fast young man together, although, bear in mind, he was fast verging upon fifty. He dressed carefully and neatly, and thought himself in every respect "the cheese." He believed his figure to be manly and commanding, his manner winning and graceful, bis step light and elastic. What hiB neighbours thought of him was, simply that he was a conceited coxcomb, apedantic fool, and an affected puppy. Some used a stronger expression, and Harry, one of the carmen to the establishment Us which Quizby belonged, and who was a bit of a sportsman and dogfancier, has been heard to say, "that he believed he was a cross, between a well-educated monkey and a shocking bud dandng master, and that his mother must have had great partiality for lobgters when they were out of season, and could not be obtained."

Mr. Sublimus Quizby had been sent to a good school when a boy, he therefore fancied himself a well-educated man, always thrusting in, whenever there was the slightest chance, little portions of latin, that he remembered reciting out of the Eton Grammar ; and when amongst those whom he thought did not understand the language, he gave a ridiculous translation, yet something true, and which he thought was very witty and very fast. Sublimus knew everybody, and everybody's business. There was not a single person in the peerage that he did not know and had not spoken to. He had heard Her Majesty speak to Prince Albert, and he had spoken to His Royal Highness. He was a great friend of the mayor of Southampton, of whom he used to say, " my friend, thai mayor of Southampton." He had had an hotel in tbe Isle of Wight, and he would be continually Teciting some anecdote that had occurred GARRET. 13 while he was thare.

It was always the Isle of Wight ; and when the newspaper said anything about Southampton and its mayor, "my friend, the mayor," was always on his lips. He was a great soother, in his way, of the distressed ; he was likewise a great slanderer, and had a very peculiar habit of telling lies in their most mischievous form — that is, by blending so much of truth with them, that it was difficult to separate the truth from the falsehood, and rendered it still more diffi cult for the party slandered to deny it. "Ahem!" and Sublimus gave a good tough tug at his waistcoat, preparatory to addressing his consolatory speech to Mrs. Pratt. "I am really sorry, madam, to see you thus — ahem ! — I can fully appre ciate your feelings. I recollect how my mother felt when my father died. But we must try and bear up against it, indeed we must — - ahem !

You had a very quiet funeral." "Yes, sir," returned Mrs. Pratt, "but not so good a one as I should have wished — funerals are expensive." "You are quite right, madam — ahem! — yon would scarcely believe it, I dare say, ma'am, that when I paid my father's undertaker's bill, I paid down upwards of forty pounds ; I did, indeed, down apon the nail." " Indeed, sir," exclaimed George, who was inclined to be rather mischievous with his tongue: "what upon the coffin nail?" " Fie ! George, you ought to be ashamed of yourself." The smile that was half inclined to break out upon his face made c very hasty retreat, and George, feeling as if he had not done just tht thing, began once more to nurse his knee very energetically. "You said," continued Amelia, addressing herself to Sublimus, u you said, I think, sir, that you had called on business."

"Ahem !" with another tug at the waistcoat, and covering his saw with smiles. " You're right, miss — tempus fugit. It is getting late, and Mrs. Quizby will be wondering whither I am gone ; but — sera nunquam est ad benos mores via — ahem! — that is, young gentleman, when duly translated, ' to turn over a new leaf is never too late.' So taking my hypothesis upon that staadi, I argue also, that to begin in business is never too late, because to-morrow might be of no use— ahem ! When I went to the counting-house this morning, I heard it whispered that Henry, the youth, was going to leave. Recollecting under what circumstances my friend, Mr. Pratt, had left you, for we were old cronies when we met in the city, 1 made up my mind — ahem ! — to speak to the governor on this young gentleman's behalf.

I believe I speak the truth, when I say that I possess some interest with the gover nor — ahem! — I think I may state that without contradiction. He ACNT ELIZA'S GARRET. listened to me very patiently — ahem! — as I lucidly explained to him the circumstances in which you as a family are placed — ahem !" " And his answer, sir ?" asked Amelia and George, in a breath. " Well, I fancy a very fair one — ahem ! — though it held out no pro mise — ahem ! It was simply this : — Let the young fellow come to me between ten and eleven to-morrow, and 111 talk to him about it. Very good, sir, said I, and bowed myself out." "Is he a nice, pleasant man?" asked George, anxiously, after Sublimus had been nearly overwhelmed with thauks. " He is strict, certainly," returned Sublimus, "but a very nice man to talk to."

" Does the one now leaving do so for any fault ?" asked George, " I will explain to you — ahem ! When I saw Henry this morning, who by the way would be a very steady youth indeed, if he were not too much addicted to low conversation — ahem ! — smoking, and having no respect for his elders, and well-educated men, like myself for instance. And you know Cicero says, Adolescenlis est majores natu revereri ; that is, young men should mind their p's and q's when addressing their elders. Well, when he came into the counting-house, I addressed those beautiful words of Ovid to him : — Quis te mini easus ademit ; whidi, when rendered in the vulgar tongue capable of your understanding, is: — what's the row, that takes you from us? He replied, I've got a better birth — ahem ! And you in time may do so too, most likely — will you not ?