White Slaves | Page 7

heart-breaking way, said she thought she would better commit some crime in order to procure a place in the House of Correction, for there she would have much better quarters, a great deal nicer food, and would only have to make eight pairs a day, while at home she must force herself to make at least a dozen pairs a day, or starve.
Fellow-citizens, what do you think of this? Is there not something wrong in a system of things that permits the authorities of the State or city to enter into competition with the sewing-women of Boston at such a cruel and heartless rate that no woman can work at it and keep out of prison, unless she is assisted by charity? This same South Boston firm gives out men's shirts to be made at sixty cents a dozen. The material for one of these shirts costs twenty-three cents, the making five cents--a total of twenty-eight cents. They retail these shirts at fifty cents apiece, making a net profit of twenty-two cents on an investment of twenty-eight cents for a few weeks' time.
During the last few weeks, as I have gone about among these women, my ears have been haunted with that old song of Thomas Hood, as appropriate now, in the latter part of the nineteenth century, in the city of Boston, as it ever has been anywhere, at any time, in the history of human greed.
With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and thread-- Stitch! stitch! stitch! In poverty, hunger, and dirt; And still with a voice of dolorous pitch She sang the "Song of the Shirt!"
"Work! work! work! While the cock is crowing aloof! And work--work--work, Till the stars shine through the roof! It's, oh! to be a slave Along with the barbarous Turk, Where woman has never a soul to save, If this is Christian work!
"Work--work--work Till the brain begins to swim! Work--work--work Till the eyes are heavy and dim!
* * * * *
Stitch--stitch--stitch, In poverty, hunger, and dirt,-- Sewing at once, with a double thread, A shroud as well as a shirt!
"But why do I talk of death, That phantom of grisly bone? I hardly fear his terrible shape, It seems so like my own-- It seems so like my own Because of the fast I keep: O God! that bread should be so dear, And flesh and blood so cheap!
"Work--work--work! My labor never flags; And what are its wages? A bed of straw, A crust of bread--and rags, That shattered roof--and this naked floor-- A table--a broken chair-- And a wall so blank my shadow I thank For sometimes falling there!
"Work--work--work From weary chime to chime! Work--work--work As prisoners work for crime!"
If Thomas Hood had lived in our day, and could have gone around with me in Boston, he would have had to make it stronger yet, for among us the good, honest sewing-woman must work at least one-third harder than the "prisoners work for crime." And on such wages the prayer with which he continues must be forever unanswered:--
"Oh! but to breathe the breath Of the cowslip and primrose sweet-- With, the sky above my head, And the grass beneath my feet! For only one short hour To feel as I used to feel, Before I knew the woes of want, And the walk that costs a meal!
"Oh! but for one short hour,-- A respite, however brief! No blessed leisure for love or hope, But only time for grief! A little weeping would ease my heart; But in their briny bed My tears must stop, for every drop Hinders needle and thread!"
With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and thread-- Stitch! stitch! stitch! In poverty, hunger, and dirt; And still with a voice of dolorous pitch,-- Would that its voice could reach the rich!-- She sang this "Song of the Shirt."

II.
LETTER OF CRITICISM.
"Slavery ain't o' nary color, 'Tain't the hide that makes it wus, All it keers fer in a feller 'S jest to make him fill its pus."
--JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL: Biglow Papers.
BOSTON, June 29, 1891.
REV. Louis ALBERT BANKS, _St. John's M. E. Church, South Boston, Mass._
Dear Sir:--In the sermon which you preached yesterday, the title, as given in the newspapers, is "The White Slaves of Boston Sweaters." Under the fourteenth amendment to the Constitution of the United States there can be no such thing as "_slave_" in this country. Under the decision of Judge Parsons there has not been a slave in Massachusetts since the adoption of the Constitution. I therefore venture to ask you some questions.
1. How do you justify the term "_white slave_" when applied to the persons whose condition you describe?
2. "Climb three flights to