ONLY A BARMAID.
BY A LADY CONI’EIBDTOIi. What a quiet sensitive face it was, lit up just then with a flush of half surprise and shame. I could not help glancing at it again as I passed, wondering who the young girl was, what had brought that flush to her face, and how she could stand in that crowded, public place alone. “She is only a barmaid,” said my companion, “ and a now one.” “ Only a barmaid!” I thought to myself as I walked along. What does that word only altogether mean? We sometimes speak of those who work for us, and to whom, wo give wages for their work, as “ only servants, poor things;” but the only, there, is different altogether. It is only, because of the lowly, hardworking dependent position; an only that is both undeserved on their pai-t, and rude and uncalled for on our own; but there is no contempt with it.' With the other, however, there is a sneer of something even worse, that says, as plainly as words can say it, “ Who would be in her place, who would do her work, who would stand as she does behind a bar and sell drink, who would hear all that she hears, and see all that she sees?”
I thought of that gentle face again (how long would it be so ?), and as I walked along, the trials and temptations of “ Only a Barmaid ” came up before me : all their terrible work and trouble, their want of real, true friends —of home, of happiness. I thought of the many fair, young faces like the one I had just seen, placed in the withering, scorching atmosphere of a public bar. How long could their youth and beauty and innocence last there ? How long would it be ’ere a fair spring flower, pulled up and cast upon n heap of smoking ashes, shrivelled up, and withered, and died? Yes ; “ only a barmaid." I wonder if I said anything to thorn about their position, if they would take the' trouble to road it, or if they would just toss the paper aside and say, it is only some of that teetotal rubbish. However I shall try. Now I am not going to abuse you, for you get enough of that as you well know, nor even those who employ yon, who are more deserving of it; for the abusive style is far too common, and never will do any good. I cannot tell the reasons you had for becoming a barmaid ; but I can tell you a few of the reasons why you are one now, and the chief reason, though perhaps you are unaware of it, that you are occupying the position you do is becaxxse you have never allowed yourself to realise it. The next and most important reason with yourself, and you are aware of it, is because you get more money than you would in a private iiouse, with far less to do for it. Another reason is, that you are getting fond of the life, fond of the admiration you get, and the attention that is shown you ; and another is that you might find some difficulty in getting a situation at all to your taste, or of much respectability, if you left the bar. All these objections however to your leaving the bar might easily bo done away with if you wished, and all the reasons that could be given in defence of your position might easily be answered, even by yourself, by far more weighty ones against it. It is quite true that if you were very anxious to do something else you. could get it if yon tried, lieraember, where there is a will there is a way.
But, now, a little about your present life. When you first stood behind the bar you felt shy anil awkward, which only added a little more to the interest you caused, as your em-
ployers very well knew. You were shocked at many things yon saw and heard ; you tried to get out of the way of hearing such things. JSTow you say that you seem more used to them; you pretend not to hear them, or perhaps if what is said is not very bad, you join in with a laugh or some remark. You can afford to dross well, too, and you hear with complacency the compliments (not always high class) paid you on your appearance. You think of these more than you would care to own. You speak of them to all your friends, and, like thq actors on the stage, you seem to live on the praises of the public ; unlike them, however, in this, that you do no genuine work for it.
At first, too, when you began to sell drink, you had some compunction in giving it to the terrible drunkard, whose home was one of wretchedness and misery through it alone. You felt sad, too, sometimes when a poor famished looking child came in and held out the coppers for drink to give a drunken mother that was farmoro needed for bread. But now you have got over these feelings, and. you can serve the ultra polished gentleman with his glass of sodowater in the same way that you serve the most miserable wretch whose palsied hands can scarcely raise to his lips the glass you have given him. To the one, however, you will smila graciously, while you turn from the other with disgust.
Do you wonder that people speak ill of you, and say that you must be very vain and heartless indeed to lead such a life ? Do you wonder that you have few friends, and that so few people of any position go to .places of amusement where you are supposed to go ? No ; do not wonder at it.lt would bo a bad state of things if it wore otherwise, and you must feel this yourself, though, perhaps, you will not allow it, Now, how long does this sort of life last ? How long does the excitement or happiness, if there can bo such, a thing in it, last, even now ?, . Is there never a time when you . are by yourself that you do ' not sit - down and think of friends far away, of a mother or a sister, gone perhaps from earth, who is looking down over you and trying to touch your heart with thoughts of her love towards you ? Is it" of a father in sumo far away home, whose hair is growing grey, whose steps are growing more feeble, who is standing on the very borders of the everlasting land, and who looks round and says how much he misses you, and asks God to keep,you from harm ? Oh, how I wish that I could sit down beside each one of you, and take your hand in mine, and talk to you about your life till you saw what a wrong and useless life it is. Think of, it. ' What is it bringing to, you and to others ? Peace, joy, happiness! . No, ah no, hut sorrow, and misery, and pain. Is there nothing that would make you leave it ? What is the money after all ? It is not the best, the noblest thing, even in this world, to strive for; aiid you would he both good and noble if you could, but' you .cannot in , a bar. Never mind what anybody says ; never , mind what your friends, say about teetotal ravings—ask yourself if it is. easy, if. it is indeed possible to be either good or noble in a bar ; ask yourself it yours is the best life you .could lead, if you could not be .doing something better. Never mind though you got less money, though you could not dress so well, though you °get few or no compliments paid you,
and less kind and flattering things said. Think of the joy of having an approving conscience; think of the love of God shielding yon, guiding you, protecting you, however poor and friendless you were, however hard you had to work, the love of God is so strong that it could make you happy though all the world were on the other side agaiust you. Yes ; ask yoursedf honestly if it is a good life. Would you like to see some loved sister in the same position, hearing the same things, seeing the same sights as you, and leax-uing to drink, as so few of you escape doing ? Would you like to hear her boast, as you have heard your companions, of how many conquests they have made, even of married men,,who flutter round them as the moth around a candle, harming themselves, their families, and their pockets, and much more, though perhaps unconsciously, “ only the barmaid ”as well ? Yes ; what is it coming to ? When you grow old and lose your youth and beauty and fascinating ways, and people speak of you as being too old and ngly for the service, what are you going to do ? Now perhaps an honest man wants to make you his wife if you would only leave the bar; but you will not ; you would rather stay there and hear the rude coarse compliments of the many than have the true honest love of one. Perhaps you say that he cannot afford to keep you as you would like to be kept. How much more true aud womanly would you be if you said instead, “ I know he is poor, but I shall help him all I can.” -Yes; what is it coming to ? How many have you heard of who began as bright and happy as you, but who have sunk so low, so very low, that we dare not even speak of them ? Did they not think the same as you do now, that they would never come to that ?
Oh, do leave it ! For the sake of everything you hold dear, come away from a life so full of temptation of every kind. You cannot resist the current—it is too strong, too terrible—unless you come out of it altogether. You must go with it ! Do you not feel, even now, that you are slowly, surely, drifting down in the track of those who went before ; and you cannot ask God to help you till you leave it : for it is against him that you are fighting. You feel this, you must feel it. Oh that He would put into your hearts such a wish for something nobler, better, that not one of you could stay another moment where you are. J M.
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New Zealand Times, Volume XXXII, Issue 5142, 15 September 1877, Page 5 (Supplement)
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1,776ONLY A BARMAID. New Zealand Times, Volume XXXII, Issue 5142, 15 September 1877, Page 5 (Supplement)
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