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Dec. 21, 1850.] ®flf! %ta%tt. 931
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/-5>^ | J^HrlinitlL. ¦
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We should do our utmost to encourage the...
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THE BAD TIME PRESENT. This is no time fo...
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SKETCHES FROM LIFE. IV.— THE NAVVIE. By ...
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software. The text has not been manually corrected and should not be relied on to be an accurate representation of the item.
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Transcript
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Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software. The text has not been manually corrected and should not be relied on to be an accurate representation of the item.
Additionally, when viewing full transcripts, extracted text may not be in the same order as the original document.
Dec. 21, 1850.] ®Flf! %Ta%Tt. 931
Dec . 21 , 1850 . ] ® flf ! % ta % tt . 931
/-5≫^ | J^Hrlinitll. ¦
Iprifnlia .
We Should Do Our Utmost To Encourage The...
We should do our utmost to encourage the Beautiful , for the Useful encourages itself . — GOBTIIE .
The Bad Time Present. This Is No Time Fo...
THE BAD TIME PRESENT . This is no time for sloth or coward fears ; Life ' s battle summons us to bravely strike When Truth is champion'd and Oppression scourg'd . The age is leprosied -with wrong : in vain Do thousands toil to earn their daily bread In bare sufficiency : they toil and starve Midst boundless wealth from their faint sinews wrung . And yet we boast that England holds no slave . No slave !—What , are they free whom ruthless Want Goads through a weary round of bitter tasks , From haggard dawn to drowsy midnight chimes ? Such freedom binds the soul to lifelong woe , And o ' er each quickly-was ting sense sets up The tyranny of Pain . T is well that Law Should equal rights extend to rich and poor ; But rights are mockeries unless they yield Fruition of the good they recognize . Man ' s nature grows upon the physical , Though vivified by breath divine . He needs Food , clothing , shelter , hours of sleepful rest , Sunshine , and wholesome air , and privacy , Wherein the sacred joys of Home may bide . These common blessings stinted , he is lost To higher good ; thought withers in his soul ; His feelings stagnate ; his affections droop ; God disappears amidst the blinding gloom Of his strong anguish ; and he welcomes death As the sole iefuge of his hopelessness . Beneath the garnish'd surface of our State Such misery festers — a most hideous mass Of social rottenness . There , ghoul-like , feed Insatiate Evils , bred in human hearts Quick only with the motions of despair , And bound in darkness fouler than the grave ' s . Shall wo blaspheme our Maker , and pronounce This ghastly spectacle of ruin'd minds The work of His decree ? No : not from Him , The Just , comes this injustice : not from Him , The Merciful , flows this soul-whelming woe . IiOok on the universe , and learn His will Where order smiles through beauty evermore , And mighty elements , in ceaseless play , Are modulated by a soul of love . Our human woes grow only in the soil Of human hearts , planted and cultured there With care perverse , that reaps an endless crop . O for a wiser husbandry , to clothe Life ' s barren spots and dismal wastes with joy , Using God ' s gifts , as they were meant , for all , In just proportion unto toil and need ! Then fainting limbs might rest ; and aching eyes , That strain and darken over ceaseless tasks , Might close in balmy sleep ; and hearts that bleed Against the torturing edge of want might heal . God ' s bounty is not stinted : it transcends The utmost limit of our social need , But waits acceptance in the modes prescribed By laws that would transmute our ill to good , And make good lasting as its source divine . Society was meant for brotherhood , All thought and action blending in one whole Harmonious as the gracious Bow of Heaven , Which spreads its beauty on the murky clouds By unison of countless beams . But we Make it a battle-field , where o ' en the good That ' s won is mutilated in the strife , And tears stand thick upon the victor ' s wreath . J . E . C
Sketches From Life. Iv.— The Navvie. By ...
SKETCHES FROM LIFE . IV . — THE NAVVIE . By a . Surgeon . Many a time , as , rubbing our hands , we have passed briskly to our snug seat at once by the fire and the breakfast-table—many a time has the navvic ' s figure , seen in that passing glance through the window we crossed , smitten us with misgivings ; for , when we reflected that there he had been , on the side of that mountain , labouring away solidly and stolidly , picking out the earth , stroke after stroke , beneath his feet , and making a sufficient shelf thereon slowly , patiently , surely—these tliree good hours that we had been but steaming
and stewing ourselves in bed , we could hardly bring ourselves to believe that we deserved our breakfast : and many a time we have resolved , like Emerson , " that the workmen on the railway should no longer shame us . " We have observed our friend for hours on that strange perch which distance reduced to a nonentity , drilling , picking , shovelling , and blasting ; and we have wondered all the time how on earth it was he did not fall . We have been as attentive as himself , too , to the warning of " Fire ! " and have winked both eyes and ears ( to talk Irish ) more , probably , than himself , while watching the smoke of the fusee , and waiting for the shock of the explosion . And then , on the assurance of " All right , " we have run ( in thought ) with as much interest as he to inspect the expected havoc of the blast . We know , the bigger the piece of rock that fell , the greater was his delight , and the greater
was ours . There is no time allowed the navvie for the gratification of curiosity , however : there he is again picking away in the same " unhasting , yet unresting , " business-like fashion , while the earth and stones clatter down the slope , incessant as rain and continuous as rain , till suddenly , as " Yo-ho ! " rings out from end to end of ' * the cutting , " the whole swarm of them falls instantly into new arrangements . It is dinner-time , in fact ; the waggon stands still ; the hand-barrow , laid down on it 3 side , seems sprawling for help ; the pick , the shovel , the jumper are idle on the ground . Some of the navvies , with their upper clothes thrown loosely over their shoulders , you see running to their not distant lodgings ; while others stroll forward to some eligible spot
where their wives or sweethearts await them with their dinners . Dinner with them consists of bacon , and tea or cocoa ; but many , in lieu of the bacon , have only cheese . The pic-nickers fall often into groups from which the laughter and the talk are hearty enough and loud enough , but hardly Attic . There is a numerous third class , however , who seem to have neither wives nor sweethearts , and who go not home to their lodgings . Members of this class we have seen picturesquely dotted along the middle of a cutting , at due intervals from each other , discussing their dinners on their feet—perhaps , too , in a steam of rain . The meal with them consisted simply of bread and cheese : and we assure the reader that only actual vision can convey the delightful manner in which the clasp-knife dealt now with the caseous cube and now with the cereal ; and carried the sections of either unerringly to the
grinders . It is amazing to every overlooker that the navvie is not momently in receipt of a broken head ; so perilous is his place both below and above . From long experience , liowever , he has learned dexterity ; and you would be delighted to see him , when a break takes place , press himself closely against the side and escape , or throw himsslf boldly headlong with it , thereby , though half-buried , saving himself from the shock of " the muck ; " falling from great heights softer many a time than could have been thought possible . Poor fellow ! he is not always so lucky , however ; but may , not
infrequently , be seen , pale , bloody , mangled , carried home by means of a plank on the shoulders of four of his comrades . Even in such circumstances , however , he is " hard" and " plucky ; " and pleases himself to shout for his pipe or " a drop of summut . " In such seasons " his mate " usually sticks very close by him ; cooking his victuals , administering his medicines , and smoothing the pillow for his aching limbs . He does not desert him , as we know , even when he lies blackening in cholera , but wets his lips and replaces the bedclothes on his restless limbs , till both are superfluous .
By and bye comes the final " Yo-ho" that sends them worn and weary to their scanty suppers , their never-failing pipes , and their early beds . Morning sees them on the mountain-side again , pursuing the same routine . Wet days , Saturdays , Sundays , and paydays , with accidents , and " the tramp" are the only periods of change to them . Wet days do not seem pleasant to the navvie ; his pipe fails to give employment enough ; he seems as restless and unsatisfiable as the fowls . Not seldom , liowever , you hear and see him cheerfully cobbling his boots ; or , it may be , delightfully dealing a wellthumbed pack of cards . Of a fine Sunday , perched on a gate with his pipe in his mouth , or roaming about the country in bands , he appears happy enough ; still we are inclined to believe that even Sunday is not a very happy
day with him . " The pay" may , though we doubt it much , be a happy time to him ; but it is a beastly time to all spectators . Till every farthing of his money has vanished , night and day he is drunk . There they are , he and his mates , for days and days after the pay , staggering about the public-house in the most disgusting fashion j or , like warriors on the battle-field , lying strewn along the borders of the highway , asleep in the most brutal drunkenness , and in broad daylight too , perhaps not noon . The painful coarseness of these scenes is beyond words . We cannot say , liowever , that the navvie is a creature of any delicacy . He is nice in nothing . Many a time we have come upon him
rising and shaking himself from—a couch that quite satisfied him—the corner of a haystack . We have assisted more than once , too , to recover him from the asphyxia induced by the carbonic acid gas of the lime-kiln , by the side of which he had stretched himself for the night . Neither is he averse to barns or other outhouses ; but vexes the farmer by his pertinacious attachment to them . We have even seen him located in a cold , stone cavern , and , ogre-like ( would you believe it ?) munching pleasedly a raw leg of mutton or cube of beef . For , if his lodgings are not nice , neither are his victuals . Bread and cheese is the staple of them , though he may have bacon , when he can afford it , and fresh meat once a week . He cooks for himself not unfre-
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Citation
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Leader (1850-1860), Dec. 21, 1850, page 19, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse.ac.uk/periodicals/l/issues/cld_21121850/page/19/
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