“The same aristocratic feeling which pervades our fashionable women, operates also on our girls in the lower walks of life,” observed the Southerner; “only that it is there called ‘independence.’ Now, I like independence in men, but I despise it in women. The dependence of women on men is the proper tie between the sexes, and the strong basis of gallantry and chivalry. I dislike your ‘independent factory girls,’ though they did turn out six hundred strong, all dressed in white, to be reviewed by General Jackson.”[3]
“Since you mention the ‘independent factory girls,’ you ought not to forget the girls of our independent press,” observed the Bostonian.
“What sort of girls are those?” demanded my friend.
“They are employed as compositors and pressmen in our printing-offices,” replied the Bostonian, “reducing the wages of our journeymen printers, and preparing themselves for housekeeping by composing the works of our best authors. I know two of them who became expert cooks by composing ‘The Frugal Housewife,’ by Mrs. Child; and a third prepared herself for her approaching marriage by setting up ‘The Mother’s Book.’ These girls, you must know, are distinguished by a highly aristocratic feeling; and would no more condescend to speak to one of our waiting-women, than the wife of a president of an insurance-office would deign to leave a card for the poor consort of a professor in one of our colleges. They dress and act as ladies; and, if you do not believe their claims to ‘gentility,’ they will show them to you in print.”
“It is not more than a month ago, that, while in Washington, I had occasion to call at the office of one of my friends who is an editor of a daily paper. Not finding him there, I entered the press-room, where, much to my surprise, I found three pretty girls, dressed as if they had been measured by Madame Victorine, and in bonnets corresponding to the last fashion of the Rue Vivienne, busily engaged in multiplying the speeches of our orators and statesmen. This, however, was done in the most dignified manner; for when I asked for the master of the establishment, where I could find him, when he would be in, &c. one of them, in lieu of an answer, merely pointed to a large placard stuck to one of the columns which supported the ceiling, on which there was the following peremptory request, printed in gigantic letters:—
“‘Gentlemen are requested not to stand and look about,—because the ladies don’t like it.’”
“And did you then immediately leave the room?” inquired the doctor.
“I had no other alternative,” replied the Bostonian: “if I had remained one minute longer, there would have been an article against me in next morning’s paper. This is a sort of trades’ aristocracy formed by the female part of our population; for such seems to be the disgust of our girls for domestic occupation, that they will rather become tailoresses, printers, bookbinders, or work at a manufactory, than degrade themselves by ‘living out.’[4] And yet I am bound to say they maintain their aristocratic dignity better than many a stockholder’s wife and daughters; and I have never known a single instance in which they did not completely succeed in keeping their fellow-workmen in subjection and at a proper distance.”
“This deserves a sentiment,” cried the doctor; “let us call on our friend from Massachusetts to propose one.”
“With all my heart, gentlemen,” said the Boston lawyer. “I give you ‘The Young Ladies’ Trades’ Union, and their champion Mr. C——y of Philadelphia: may they never reduce the price of labour of their fellow-workmen, but rather succeed in raising their own!’”