Rensselaer Republican, Volume 17, Number 9, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 6 November 1884 — The Lowest Classes. [ARTICLE]

The Lowest Classes.

The lower classes—perhaps we should say the lowest classes —in England have their own especial characteristics, the chief of which is their utter hopelessness of change. There is an expression upon their faces which seems to say: “Walk on nae if you like ; throw mud on me if you piease—no doubt I deserve it. Whether I do or not, I’ve no intention of trying to help myself. Here I am.” The French lowest classes are very different. They are not less brutal, but they are less sodden. There is a smouldering fire in their eyes which seems to say, 11 We bide our time. We have not forgotten the red glare of the Revolution, if you have. We will kindle that brave glow again, some day. Look out, you who wear silk and satin. Why should you wear it, and we wear blouses? Why should you go in carriages, and we on foot? Fortune’s wlieel turns round and round, and our turn will come.” It is the difference between the two nations that, for the most part, the lower-class English never dream of rising from their native mire, while the French never dream of staying in it, and plan, night and day, how they shall pull down the ranks above them, and climb up over their prostrate fortunes, as on a ladder. There is something almost painful in the servility of the English serving-man and woman. The constant, invariable “thank you,” which is heard on every occasion, is preferable to the gruff and often rude treatment one meets with from Americans at home. The servility appears when the “thank you” is misplaced. It implies that yon have condescended in speaking at all to the person xvho gives you his or her thanks. You hand a letter to a servant in a well kept lodginghouse, with a request that it shall be posted immediately, and she says, “Thank you.” “I want fresh eggs for breakfast,” you say. “Thank you.” • “That fire will go out if you don’t put coals on it at once.” “Thank you.” French servauts are polite, but in a different way. They don’t thank you for ordering them about; but they say, “Yes, monsieur.” “With pleasure, madam.” French shop-keepers are polite; but theirs is a treacherous politeness. The French workman, whom you meet in the street, takes pleasure in elbowing you off the sidewalk. Eyil expectations of future reprisals glint in his eyes—sullen memories brood over his dark brows. The French lowest classes are less comfortable to deal with than the English. Carlyle wrote that half the world were born saddled and bridled, and the other half were born booted and spurred, ready to ride them. He knew his England, but he would not have written that in France.— Youth’s Companion.