The Not of an English Opium-Eater | Page 6

teterrima, of the feud
between the men. Meantime, the minutes are numbered, the sands of
the hour-glass are running out, that measure the duration of this feud
upon earth. This night it shall cease. To-morrow is the day which in
England they call Sunday, which in Scotland they call by the Judaic
name of 'Sabbath.' To both nations, under different names, the day has
the same functions; to both it is a day of rest. For thee also, Marr, it
shall be a day of rest; so is it written; thou, too, young Marr, shalt find
rest--thou, and thy household, and the stranger that is within thy gates.
But that rest must be in the world which lies beyond the grave. On this
side the grave ye have all slept your final sleep.
The night was one of exceeding darkness; and in this humble quarter of
London, whatever the night happened to be, light or dark, quiet or
stormy, all shops were kept open on Saturday nights until twelve
o'clock, at the least, and many for half an hour longer. There was no
rigorous and pedantic Jewish superstition about the exact limits of
Sunday. At the very worst, the Sunday stretched over from one o'clock,
A. M. of one day, up to eight o'clock A. M. of the next, making a clear
circuit of thirty-one hours. This, surely, was long enough. Marr, on this
particular Saturday night, would be content if it were even shorter,
provided it would come more quickly, for he has been toiling through
sixteen hours behind his counter. Marr's position in life was this: he
kept a little hosier's shop, and had invested in his stock and the fittings

of his shop about 180 pounds. Like all men engaged in trade, he
suffered some anxieties. He was a new beginner; but, already, bad
debts had alarmed him; and bills were coming to maturity that were not
likely to be met by commensurate sales. Yet, constitutionally, he was a
sanguine hoper. At this time he was a stout, fresh-colored young man
of twenty-seven; in some slight degree uneasy from his commercial
prospects, but still cheerful, and anticipating--(how vainly!)--that for
this night, and the next night, at least, he will rest his wearied head and
his cares upon the faithful bosom of his sweet lovely young wife. The
household of Marr, consisting of five persons, is as follows: First, there
is himself, who, if he should happen to be ruined, in a limited
commercial sense, has energy enough to jump up again, like a pyramid
of fire, and soar high above ruin many times repeated. Yes, poor Marr,
so it might be, if thou wert left to thy native energies unmolested; but
even now there stands on the other side of the street one born of hell,
who puts his peremptory negative on all these flattering prospects.
Second in the list of his household, stands his pretty and amiable wife,
who is happy after the fashion of youthful wives, for she is only
twenty-two, and anxious (if at all) only on account of her darling infant.
For, thirdly, there is in a cradle, not quite nine feet below the street, viz.,
in a warm, cosy kitchen, and rocked at intervals by the young mother, a
baby eight months old. Nineteen months have Marr and herself been
married; and this is their first-born child. Grieve not for this child, that
it must keep the deep rest of Sunday in some other world; for wherefore
should an orphan, steeped to the lips in poverty, when once bereaved of
father and mother, linger upon an alien and murderous earth? Fourthly,
there is a stoutish boy, an apprentice, say thirteen years old; a
Devonshire boy, with handsome features, such as most Devonshire
youths have; [3] satisfied with his place; not overworked; treated kindly,
and aware that he was treated kindly, by his master and mistress.
Fifthly, and lastly, bringing up the rear of this quiet household, is a
servant girl, a grown-up young woman; and she, being particularly
kind-hearted, occupied (as often happens in families of humble
pretensions as to rank) a sort of sisterly place in her relation to her
mistress. A great democratic change is at this very time (1854), and has
been for twenty years, passing over British society. Multitudes of
persons are becoming ashamed of saying, 'my master,' or 'my mistress:'

the term now in the slow process of superseding it is, 'my employer.'
Now, in the United States, such an expression of democratic hauteur,
though disagreeable as a needless proclamation of independence which
nobody is disputing, leaves, however, no lasting bad effect. For the
domestic 'helps' are pretty generally in a state of transition so sure and
so rapid to the headship of domestic establishments belonging to
themselves, that