"How writers, profeſſing to be friends to freedom, and the improvement of morals, can aſſert that poverty is no evil, I cannot imagine."
"No more can I," interrupted Maria, "yet they even expatiate on the peculiar happineſs of indigence, though in what it can conſiſt, excepting in brutal reſt, when a man can barely earn a ſubſiſtence, I cannot imagine. The mind is neceſſarily impriſoned in its own little tenement; and, fully occupied by keeping it in repair, has not time to rove abroad for improvement. The book of knowledge is cloſely claſped, againſt thoſe who muſt fulfil their daily taſk of ſevere manual labour or die; and curioſity, rarely excited by thought or information, ſeldom moves on the ſtagnate lake of ignorance."
"As far as I have been able to obſerve," replied Jemima, "prejudices, caught up by chance, are obſtinately maintained by the poor, to the excluſion of improvement; they have not time to reaſon or reflect to any extent, or minds ſufficiently exerciſed to adopt the principles of action, which form perhaps the only baſis of contentment in every ſtation[114-A]."
"And independence," ſaid Darnford, "they are neceſſarily ſtrangers to, even the independence of deſpiſing their perſecutors. If the poor are happy, or can be happy, things are very well as they are. And I cannot conceive on what principle thoſe writers contend for a change of ſyſtem, who ſupport this opinion. The authors on the other ſide of the queſtion are much more conſiſtent, who grant the fact; yet, inſiſting that it is the lot of the majority to be oppreſſed in this life, kindly turn them over to another, to rectify the falſe weights and meaſures of this, as the only way to juſtify the diſpenſations of Providence. I have not," continued Darnford, "an opinion more firmly fixed by obſervation in my mind, than that, though riches may fail to produce proportionate happineſs, poverty moſt commonly excludes it, by ſhutting up all the avenues to improvement."
"And as for the affections," added Maria, with a ſigh, "how groſs, and even tormenting do they become, unleſs regulated by an improving mind! The culture of the heart ever, I believe, keeps pace with that of the mind. But pray go on," addreſſing Jemima, "though your narrative gives riſe to the moſt painful reflections on the preſent ſtate of ſociety."
"Not to trouble you," continued ſhe, "with a detailed deſcription of all the painful feelings of unavailing exertion, I have only to tell you, that at laſt I got recommended to waſh in a few families, who did me the favour to admit me into their houſes, without the moſt ſtrict enquiry, to waſh from one in the morning till eight at night, for eighteen or twenty-pence a day. On the happineſs to be enjoyed over a waſhing-tub I need not comment; yet you will allow me to obſerve, that this was a wretchedneſs of ſituation peculiar to my ſex. A man with half my induſtry, and, I may ſay, abilities, could have procured a decent livelihood, and diſcharged ſome of the duties which knit mankind together; whilſt I, who had acquired a taſte for the rational, nay, in honeſt pride let me aſſert it, the virtuous enjoyments of life, was caſt aſide as the filth of ſociety. Condemned to labour, like a machine, only to earn bread, and ſcarcely that, I became melancholy and deſperate.
"I have now to mention a circumſtance which fills me with remorſe, and fear it will entirely deprive me of your eſteem. A tradeſman became attached to me, and viſited me frequently,—and I at laſt obtained ſuch a power over him, that he offered to take me home to his houſe.—Conſider, dear madam, I was famiſhing: wonder not that I became a wolf!—The only reaſon for not taking me home immediately, was the having a girl in the houſe, with child by him—and this girl—I adviſed him—yes, I did! would I could forget it!—to turn out of doors: and one night he determined to follow my advice, Poor wretch! ſhe fell upon her knees, reminded him that he had promiſed to marry her, that her parents were honeſt!—What did it avail?—She was turned out.
"She approached her father's door, in the ſkirts of London,—liſtened at the ſhutters,—but could not knock. A watchman had obſerved her go and return ſeveral times—Poor wretch!—" The remorſe Jemima ſpoke of, ſeemed to be ſtinging her to the ſoul, as ſhe proceeded."
"She left it, and, approaching a tub where horſes were watered, ſhe ſat down in it, and, with deſperate reſolution, remained in that attitude—till reſolution was no longer neceſſary!