poor, has no claim on the charity or the
compassion of the middle and upper classes.
If he be an honest man, he will ask nobody to
pity his condition. Class before class, we have
all need to look one another boldly in the face,
to render help to one another, and to return
thanks for help received. We all talk politics;
we all live under laws that expand from the
contracted state of social barbarism, much
more slowly than the nation which they are
supposed to fit. Therefore we are all pinched;
some in one way, some in another. We all
feel that there are laws by which we are hurt
and impeded; those laws we take pains to
detect, and when we think we have detected
them, we lift up our complaint as well as we
are able. That is quite true, quite just. It is
true, also, that in the old condition of society—
the "good old times," from which our legislation
disconnects itself by slow degrees—the
dignity of man was calculated by a very artificial
standard, and much slight was put on
the undignified. There remains, therefore,
more than a fair proportion of the whole
amount of legislative injustice allotted to the
portion of the working classes. That has to
be removed, as time and opportunity permit.
As a class, then, the working men not only
are justified in telling,—but, in duty to themselves
and to their country, are required to
cry out,—when they feel that they are hurt.
The other classes do the same. The help that
we all seek, as politicians more or less
profound—most of us, it is to be feared, shallow
enough—is of that kind which can be furnished
by Queen, Lords, and Commons. But
we must not ask the Legislature to do this, or
to restrain us from doing that which we can
do, or refrain from of our own free will:— The
dirty sloven is at liberty to wash and dress
himself without an Act of Parliament; the
tavern frequenter is not parted by the Whigs
or Tories from his wife and children. A wise
man, whatever his station, is his own helper
to the utmost of his power; and while he
will ask no neighbour to do for him whatever
he has strength enough to be doing for
himself, he does not let his self-reliance inflate
itself into self-sufficiency: where his own power
really stops, he cheerfully asks aid of any one
by whom it can, with reasonable convenience,
be given. The worthy folks who patronise the
lower orders, who dispense fountains of soup,
mints of copper and small change—barterers of
left-off clothes for flattery—condescend not to
bless, but to demoralise the victims of their
ignorant attention. Every man of us, if he
would really be a man, must labour thoroughly
to help himself and those whom he has chained
to his own limbs as partners of his fortune, to
help himself and them for ever onward to
improved conditions in the world without, and
in the soul within. While he does that, he
must extend his help, not as an act of grace or
pity, but as a thing of course, an ordinary
duty, to all other striving men concerning
whom he sees that he is able to be useful to
them; and more than that, without feeling
ashamed, abashed, or overcome with gratitude,
he must receive cheerfully all help that earnest
men in the same way extend to him. In the
case, for example, of the John Street Society,
which we were just discussing, a body of
working men formed for themselves a serious
and laudable design; they did their utmost to
carry it out, but when their strength proved
insufficient, a few pounds from men who had
more money at disposal, a few books from
libraries that would not be much injured by
the gift, a little aid of thought from educated
men, were cordially given and as cordially
received. Why not? It is a mistake to
suppose that gifts like these can only flow in that
direction which the parlance of society calls
downward. A man of the middle class may
depend for all his comfort upon half-a-dozen
people whom he calls dependent on himself.
There is a mutual service; but how often does
it happen that the wages can bear no relative
proportion to the zealous service, the goodwill,
or the affection spent on the employer in
return? What we all want is, perseverance,
self-reliance, constant labour to improve, and
a readiness on all hands to give and to receive
help without flinching. This spirit actuated
the promoters of the John Street Reading-
room established in Carlisle; this ensured its
success, and will ensure success to every
similar institution which working men in
other towns may labour to establish.

We will continue now our sketch of the
progress of this particular institution. It
should be remarked, that we do not think it is
the first, and are not in a position to say that
it is the best of its kind. An institution
founded on the same sound principle exists at
Kendal; others are in Chester and elsewhere.
We happen, however, to be best acquainted
with the details that concern the Carlisle
Reading-rooms; and we wish, by giving details,
to assist the operations of those working men
who may desire to aid with their own hands
in the improvement and elevation of their
class. It is in their own power to emancipate
themselves from the dangerous influence of a
monotonous routine in life, by varying their
day's employment, not only with such thoughts
as books will furnish, but with the active,
voluntary duties of responsible and independent
men. The thought and energy
employed in founding and sustaining by judicious
management an institution of this kind, will
be found by its promoters to be both a
pleasant recreation and a healthy stimulus to
all their faculties. Now, what have they
actually done in John Street, Botchergate?

They began, as we said, in April, 1848, a
few handloom-weavers, paying a few pennies.
In July, 1851, they had one hundred and
twelve members, for whom there were taken
in two daily and thirteen weekly papers,
besides fifteen periodicals; for whose use
seven hundred and eighteen volumes were
arranged on shelves, which had furnished to