THE WORLD'S CURSE.

Otago Witness, Issue 2328, 13 October 1898, Page 43

THE WORLD'S CURSE.

Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new, That which they have done but earnest of the things that they shall do. — Lockslet Hall. That is one feeling which we may well take comfort in, and still better, try to live uj to and in — the brotherhood of labour, immense, universal. " Men, my brothers, rr.cn the workers ! " That should be the keystone to all our thoughts on toil and toilers. One works with her hands, — poor hands, how hardened and seamed they are ! — and one with her brains ; one toils to and fro in all weathers, year in and year out, hardly knowing the meaning of home ; one works on from early morn till weary eve and never sees anything bub home ; and yet dear heart of mine, to what heights of nobility, what depths of tenderness, does toil lead us I " Toil is happy, toil is blest, For life would have no meaning, If we did not work and pray." It is not a curse, it is not a sordid detail, a miserable necessity of our existence, a sc inething to escape from at any cost — unless ws make it so. It is true we live late — much of the world's sweet spring time is of necessity a closed book for us. As in a dream we try to realtee that old sweet eos Del of " Laborare est orara"

— the "work is prayer" of the old mastei\ who found art so long and life so brief, yeff were content to pour life's. best years as a simple libation on the altar of Art, counting time as nothing. With us time is everything ; it is money, it is competition ; it is split up into such sharp divisions by the duties and the labours with which we bin Jen ciirselyes, that every moment is precious,, . nd Kest is a strange, sweet word of h.cL'-n meanings and sacred mysteries, -\vhlcV o come to associate with — Death. So much to do, so little done — such a v rying out all round for hands to help, brains to organise, purses to be emptied — ior l'eligion, for Art, for Science— noblest of all for '"Men my brothers, men the workers." For times have changed with vast and rapid strides since those words were written, and the truth is proved of " that which they have done but earnest of the things which they shall do." It is a strange thing to think of the life and soul of labour in this close of our century. On the one hand .stands the little band of wonderful inventors who year after year sharpen their wits on one another, and with inimitable patience and deliberate inventiveness from the toiling world of labour beneath them launch upon the world 'Labour-saving machinery." These wonderful inventions • by which steam-driven iron and steel take the place of living, breathing human beings are perfect specimens of inventive genius in the eyes of the capitalist, whose pockets they fill, but diabolical, soulless complications to the of despairing men and women who are thrust into the famine of idleness to make room for the whirring, clicking, automatic monsters labelled " Labour-saving machinery." One of the most notable men of our time in the field of higher inventions is Edison, a man who is himself a perfect glutton for work, who for years worked 20 hours a day and laughs at his inability or disinclination to work more than 16 hours a day now as an indication of approaching age! Edison goes to his work at 7 in the morning and stays in the laboratory till 7 in the evening, v;hen he returns home to supper. Then he j either goes back to the laboratory, or sits j at home reading up, or making notes on the subjects at which he is working, so that ho may be equipped for the daily questions of detail, etc., which his men look to him to answer. It is true that a splendid physique is necessfiry in order to enable a man to work thus, but it is also true that women, neither very strong nor very young, women in scores all around us, in the workman's tenement house, in the farmer's sunny homestead, in the business or professional man's showy town house, work those hours every day and year. Not Mich hard work, you say, not the same demand upon brains and intellect, not the strained muscles and wearied limbs that are the heritage of man's more strenuous toil, bufc infinitely harder to take an honest pride in, almost impossible to glorify or to idealise, since, when all is said and done, the woman who has toiled all day long has no name to give her work, no special result to point to, no actual recompense to cheer her. She has i " only done her duty," and we do not even thank those who simply do their duty! When the ordinary work of the ordinary woman is better valued and appreciated, when men are brought up in boyhood to understand and reverence all that the daily silent dedication of a good woman's life means to her husband and home, then a new place may be given to woman's work. Then we may no longer feel the drudgery, but, cheered and lightened by recognition and appreciation, stand in the sunshine ot the dignity of labour, companions in the brotherhood, our efforts at home equally honoured with those of " Men my brothers, men the workers " abroad. To bring about this happy revolution in the present ideas of labour and its comparative dignity, women can do much fo* themselves. Bachelor women, and professional women of all grades, married or single, should adopt an entirely different tone about the lives of domesticated women, giving honour where honour is due, and generously confessing that in the patient performance of her duties as a good wife and mother a woman reaches her highest possibility of nobility, love, and unselfishness, frankly owning that in the never-ceasing and varied toil of household 'routine a woman has calls ut)on her skill, her management, and her administrative capacity which would utterly confound many a man. All labour is blessed, all labour is dignified if well and truly done. Women should teach their sons this, striving to lay the foundations for a race of husbands who may make the lives of the women they marry not a reluctant sacrifice to duty, but a cheering, stimulating partnership, each recognising the rights of the other, each reverencing the toil of the other. At present it seems to me tbxt women may well be religious, may well cultivate their conscience, may well " live on sentiment" as their superior husbands and brothers declare. Poor souls! What is it all but the natural reaching out for that approving peace, that balm of recognition, that longing for understanding which is de-

nied them here, because, "Why, bless my heart, they are only doing their duty." ' Yet here is a word of comfort for us surely, my sisters : " He crowns their labour, who though nothing taking, yet have toiled all night thx'ough." • More than the peace of approving conscience, more than the feeble patchwork of ■hopes' and promises with which we cheer one another on, there is a great and deep understanding behind it all, there is One who, Great Overseer of our labour, will count its jyorth. You know that verse of Kipling's : " The depth and dream of my desire, The bitter paths wherein I stray, Thou knowest who hast made the fire, Thou knowest who has made the clay." 'Ah, well! I have not written as I meant. My note book lies beside me, but the notes arc unused. Something else stirred me. From the silence came a murmiu'ing of voices, jsad and tired — voices that have learnt to tune themselves to melodious half-tones in many a crooning lullaby, in many a dark hour of •jsorrow to be shared, adversity to be cheered, f the voices of sister women who seem to my impatient, rebellious spirit uncrowned queens '-—scarce lower than the angels. . From the dusk corners of the great deserted room, trooping through the half-open door, a crowd of familiar faces locked at me, t and in the sad and tired eyes, on the patient lips, in the silvering hair, I saw the crown of life's labour, the sign manual of love tiiumphant over self, of the daily crucifixion of frail lives and yearning souls on the cross of unrecognised labour. To open men's eyes to the nobility and .grave importance of a woman's Avork, to -educate them to a generous and reverential .recognition of what the faithful performance of " only her duty " means to a good woman — this would be a work indeed to be proud of ; this would transform the drudgery of labour — the world's curse — to a noble comradeship, an unspoken prayer, a blessed bond of world- wide sympathy and comfort.