Could I Have Expected Dear Old England To Make Me So Much One Of The
Family As To Treat My Humble Fortunes In This Same Public Manner?
But
it is even so.
This week the Times has informed the United Kingdom
that Mrs. Stowe is getting a new dress made! - the charming old
aristocratic Times, which every body declares is such a wicked paper,
and yet which they can no more do without than they can their
breakfast! What am I, and what is my father's house, that such
distinction should come upon me? I assure you, my dear, I feel myself
altogether too much flattered. There, side by side with speculations
on the eastern question, and conjectures with regard to the secret and
revealed will of the Emperor of Russia, news from her majesty's most
sacred retreat at Osborne, and the last debates in Parliament, comes
my brown silk dress! The Times has omitted the color; I had a great
mind to send him word about that. But you may tell the girls - for
probably the news will spread through the American papers - that it is
the brown Chinese silk which they put into my trunk, unmade, when I
was too ill to sit up and be fitted.
Mr. Times wants to know if Mrs. Stowe is aware what sort of a place
her dress is being made in, and there is a letter from a dressmaker's
apprentice stating that it is being made up piecemeal, in the most
shockingly distressed dens of London, by poor, miserable white slaves,
worse treated than the plantation slaves of America.
Now, Mrs. Stowe did not know any thing of this, but simply gave the
silk into the hands of a friend, and was in due time waited on in her
own apartment by a very respectable woman, who offered to make the
dress; and lo, this is the result! Since the publication of this
piece, I have received earnest missives, from various parts of the
country, begging me to interfere, hoping that I was not going to
patronize the white slavery of England, and that I would employ my
talents equally against oppression under every form. The person who
had been so unfortunate as to receive the weight of my public
patronage was in a very tragical state; protested her innocence of any
connection with dens, of any overworking of hands, &c., with as much
fervor as if I had been appointed on a committee of parliamentary
inquiry. Let my case be a warning to all philanthropists who may
happen to want clothes while they are in London. Some of my
correspondents seemed to think that I ought to publish a manifesto for
the benefit of distressed Great Britain, stating how I came to do it,
and all the circumstances, since they are quite sure I must have meant
well, and containing gentle cautions as to the disposal of my future
patronage in the dressmaking line.
Could these people only know in what sacred simplicity I had been
living in the State of Maine, where the only dressmaker of our circle
was an intelligent, refined, well-educated woman, who was considered
as the equal of us all, and whose spring and fall ministrations to our
wardrobe were regarded a double pleasure, - a friendly visit as well as
a domestic assistance, - I say, could they know all this, they would
see how guiltless I was in the matter. I verily never thought but that
the nice, pleasant person, who came to measure me for my silk, was
going to take it home and make it herself; it never occurred to me
that she was the head of an establishment.
And now, what am I to do? The Times seems to think that, in order to
be consistent, I ought to take up the conflict immediately; but, for
my part, I think otherwise. What an unreasonable creature! Does he
suppose me so lost to all due sense of humility as to take out of his
hands a cause which he is pleading so well? If the plantation slaves
had such a good friend as the Times, and if every over-worked female
cotton picker could write as clever letters as this dressmaker's
apprentice, and get them published in as influential papers, and
excite as general a sensation by them as this seems to have done, I
think I should feel that there was no need of my interfering in a work
so much better done. Unfortunately, our female cotton pickers do not
know how to read and write, and it is against the law to teach them;
and this instance shows that the law is a sagacious one, since,
doubtless, if they could read and write, most embarrassing
communications might be made.
Nothing shows more plainly, to my mind, than this letter, the
difference between the working class of England and the slave. The
free workman or workwoman of England or America, however poor, is
self-respecting; is, to some extent, clever and intelligent; is
determined to resist wrong, and, as this incident shows, has abundant
means for doing so.
When we shall see the columns of the Charleston Courier adorned with
communications from cotton pickers and slave seamstresses, we shall
then think the comparison a fair one. In fact, apart from the
whimsicality of the affair, and the little annoyance which one feels
at notoriety to which one is not accustomed, I consider the incident
as in some aspects a gratifying one, as showing how awake and active
are the sympathies of the British public with that much-oppressed
class of needlewomen.
Horace Greeley would be delighted could his labors in this line excite
a similar commotion in New York.
We dined to-day at the Duke of Argyle's. At dinner there were the
members of the family, the Duchess of Sutherland, Lord Carlisle, Lord
and Lady Blantyre, &c. The conversation flowed along in a very
agreeable channel. I told them the more I contemplated life in Great
Britain, the more I was struck with the contrast between the
comparative smallness of the territory and the vast power, physical,
moral, and intellectual, which it exerted in the world.
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