The Song of the Shirt Thomas Hood, 1844
With fingers heavy 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!
Seam and gusset and band,
Band and gusset and seam,
Till over the buttons I fall asleep,
And sew them on in a dream!
O men with sisters dear!
O men with mothers and wives!
It is not linen you're wearing out,
But human creatures' lives!
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 fasts I keep;
Oh, 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:
Band and gusset and seam,
Seam and gusset and band,
Till the heart is sick, and the brain benumbed,
As well as the weary hand.
Work, work, work,
In the dull December light.
And work, work, work,
When the weather is warm and bright.
While underneath the eaves
The brooding swallows cling,
As if to show me their sunny backs,
And twit me with the spring.
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 eisure 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 tone could reach the Rich!
She sang this “Song of the Shirt!”
Happy Labor Day!
Anonymous factory scene, early 1900s.
Colonel Mavers On Novelty
Text.—And what is new finds better acceptation
Than what is good and great.
My Hearers: the public eye is ever upon an anxious lookout for novelty; and the public ear is always itching for the same. Change is what we want, and change we must have. I am not speaking of filthy lucre with which men so delight to line their pockets, but of a change of the scenery of the world as we pass through life. Man is a nervous and restless being. He can't be content to look for five minutes upon any one particular portion of the grand moving panorama of the world—but he must be constantly seeing new pictures, however dull and uninteresting they may be; and this is the reason why we wish that to-day were gone and to-morrow were here—when we know that every coming to-morrow shoves us a peg nearer the great and pokerish-looking jumping-off place!
My friends: we are naturally as excited and tickled at anything new as—I won't say as a dog with two tails—but as a baby with a rattle-box. You get a new hat, new coat, or new what-shall-I-call-‘em, and you feel so pleased that if every one else don't take particular notice of either or all, a mental mortification ensues, and you are dead, pro tem., to every worldly enjoyment. A new wife is a novelty; and she is more fondly caressed than one who is old, great and good. In short—and to make my discourse very short—whatever is new is sure to meet with better acceptation than that which is more ancient; excepting old rum, old wine, old tobacco. And old umbrellas—which last named are especially prized on account of their non ability to be stolen. So mote it be!
Originally published in Dow's Short Patent Sermons, Second Series.
Food and Luncheons for School Children
By Jane Ellis Joy, as published in The Mother's Magazine, September 1909
 The formation of the human teeth is nature's warrant for a mixed diet, by which is meant a diet composed of meat and substances of vegetable tissue. The tissues of meat are built up of the chemically changed elements of vegetable matter in the first place, so that when one eats flesh-food, one is really appropriating the nutritive results of a large amount of vegetable substance which has been rearranged in the laboratory of the animals body.
Some mothers have an idea that meat-eating is conducive to the development of cruelty and bad temper in children. It is rather an old prejudice. Those influenced by it restrict their children as much as possible to a diet of bread and milk, with vegetables and fruit. The matter needs a little sifting out. It is true that meat supplies abundant energy to the growing body and mind. The well-nourished brain responds readily to the stimuli of incidents in daily life, and the child asserts its individuality. It is disposed to be executive. It is eager and sometimes strident. It wants its own way, and will try to overcome obstacles which interfere with its purposes. But, be it noted, these very qualities go to the making of what is called force of character, without which a man or woman is a mere cipher in the world. Therefore, the reason urged against meat in the dietary of children is a reason in its favor. Of course a provision must be thrown in that children be trained to confine their exuberance to normal and proper channels. But that is another matter.
Mothers should not take the advice of food faddists too seriously. At places where mothers meet these questions are asked: “Ought children to be allowed coffee?” “Are sweets good for children?” “Should children be allowed pickles, spicy sauces, and hot condiments?” Answers to these questions must be hedged about by conditions. The foreign poor in large cities are apt to be great coffee users. Bread and coffee constitutes the family breakfast, and the children drink coffee as freely as the older ones. These over-stimulated children develop poor, nervous organizations, are stunted in growth, and frequently suffer from defective eyesight.
On the other hand, with a breakfast of buckwheat cakes and sausage, or after having eaten mince pie or rich crullers for dinner or luncheon, a small cup of black coffee will assist digestion. This does not mean that children should indulge freely in these things, or acquire the coffee habit. Puddings and fruit are preferable to pie as desserts for children.
Concerning candy, cakes, pickles, condiments, etc., temperance is better than prohibition. A little condiment will sometimes help a sandwich. Candy and cakes should not be eaten irregularly but as desserts, and in small quantities.
An important meal for school children is the luncheon. As the time for eating this meal is limited, mother should have it ready when the children come from school. A rich, thick vegetable soup made with beef stock is usually relished by hungry children in the middle of the day. Clam chowder and fish chowder in season may be used as variations for substantials; also baked beans.
Daintily prepared sandwiches appeal to children's appetites more than do separate plates of bread and butter with slices of cold meat. Lettuce sandwiches are particularly enjoyed in the spring and early summer. Peanut-paste, when it is of the best kind, makes a wholesome and nutritious sandwich. It is suitable for whole wheat bread. Bread should be cut thin, and first spread lightly with butter. Grated cheese or thin layers of good mild cheese may go into sandwiches.
In some families soup is not cared for in warm weather. When this is the case, or for variety, a cup of hot cocoa—made largely from milk or cream—should be served the school children for luncheon. With milk the children should not eat raw apples, or any sour fruit, and of course, not pickles. Some kind of fruit should always be served. When the quickly-perishable kind is not to be had, there are dates and figs, apples and oranges. Bananas should be perfectly ripened and mellow. The yellow variety is right for eating when a few brown spots appear on the fruit.
Children who carry their luncheons to school must depend largely on sandwiches. Jelly and marmalade sandwiches are always acceptable. Use white bread for this kind. The sandwiches should be wrapped separately in small squares of paraffine paper. A few tender radishes, or a few bits of celery, or olives, give relish to the meat sandwiches. Always put in fruit, occasionally a turnover pie; cakes offer almost endless varieties, and a not-to-be-despised article is the pretzel. A drinking cup should be put in the lunch-basket.
Some Nice Ways of Using Up Stale Bread
By Susan M. Shearman, as published in The Girl's Own Paper, September 4, 1897
There are few things more puzzling to careful housekeepers than the difficulty of entirely preventing waste of bread, for it is impossible in most houses to avoid an occasional accumulation of broken bread, and it is not by any means easy to devise ways of using up odds and ends in a palatable manner. Of course much can be done to reduce these accumulations; if the cook be careful she will use stale scraps for making crumbs for various puddings, bread sauce, etc, and she will always keep a supply of baked crusts pounded finely for sprinkling ham or frying fish and cutlets. But no matter how careful she may be, there will always be some pieces remaining over which are unsuitable for these.
Children tire of the usual refuge, plain bread puddings, when they have them very frequently, but even these can be made more attractive in the following way. Separate the whites from the yolks of the eggs, and put the yolks only into the pudding. Then, when it is baked, a layer of some kind of preserve may be spread on the top of it, and over this the whites of the eggs, beaten to a stiff froth. The pudding should be returned to the oven for a few minutes to set the whites of the eggs, but they should not be allowed to colour.
School-room tea-cakes are excellent for using up scraps, and of them your young folks never get weary. Take three quarters of a pound of scraps of cold toast and bread, both crust and crumb, cut these all up into tiny pieces, discarding any burnt bits in the toast. Put them into a basin and pour over them a pint of boiling milk, cover with a plate and leave them for some hours; beat the mixture to a smooth pulp with a fork, removing any lumps which have not softened. Into another basin put one pound of flour, one teaspoonful of baking-soda, and the same of cream of tartar, mix these thoroughly, rub in a quarter of a pound of butter, and add six ounces of sugar. When these are all well mixed, add by degrees the pulp of bread and milk, beating all the time. Whisk two eggs and add to them enough cold milk (about a quarter of a pint) to make all into a thick batter. Have ready some greased patty pans, fill them three parts full, and bake in a tolerably quick oven for fifteen or twenty minutes. The above quantity makes about thirty small teacakes.
This is the receipt for the cakes in their simplest form, but they can be very much varied by adding fruit, caraway seeds, citron, ginger, or any flavouring that may be fancied. Though we call them school-room cakes, they often find their way into the drawing-room for a family afternoon tea. They keep very well for a few days if they are put into an air-tight tin, and they can be heated up again in the oven when wanted.
Bread for making fried croûtons for various savouries can be cut from small pieces. A very favourite breakfast dish is made by spreading anchovy paste upon nicely fried bread, seasoning it with a very small sprinkling of cayenne pepper, and serving it as hot as possible. Many persons like to have fried bread as an accompaniment to sausages or ham and eggs at breakfast.
After a large afternoon party there is often a quantity of sandwiches and cut cake remaining. Stale sandwiches are never appetising, so that the sooner they can be made use of the better. Many of the sweet sandwiches so popular now make delicious fritters. To make the batter for fritters the following is an excellent receipt. Put a quarter of a pound of flour and a good pinch of salt into a basin and mix them, add an ounce of melted butter, stirring it till smooth. Continue stirring while you gradually add a quarter of a pint of warm water. Whip the whites of two eggs to a stiff froth and add them lightly to the batter. Leave it for an hour, and just before using it stir it a little. Dip the sandwiches into the batter and fry them a delicate brown in hot fat. Drain them well on kitchen paper or soft muslin and serve very hot. Small pieces of cake cut to a suitable thickness can be treated in the same way. Any sandwiches which are unsuitable for fritters may be kept fresh until the following day by rolling them up carefully in a damp cloth, and leaving them in a cool place.
 The State and the Child: Fitting the Child for Useful Work
By Magee Pratt, as published in The Mother's Magazine, September 1909
When the State assumed the responsibility for the education of the child, it was upon the assumption that it could do more for the child than the parents could do; by virtue of the greater power that it possessed it put aside parental affection and natural desire, and determined that, no matter what attitude the home might take upon the quantity and quality of instruction, every child must conform to all the educational laws made by the State in its own interest. Let us clearly see what this position implies and what it really does.
Miss Mary's Gazette, Content and Images © 2004 Mary B. Welsch
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