THE STROLLING WORKERS. T HERE ape points of view from which
the English people would appear to be the most leisured people in Europe. It is a law of Nature that all races of men should devote the larger portion of their time to making their living. This is as true of the East as of the West, though the one seems to dream while the other seems to bustle. No one in Europe is better aware of this than the Englishman, no one is more anxious to make not only a livelihood but a fortune. On the other hand, no foreigner could watch without astonishment the way in which the English working classes "stand about." In their" off time" they appear not only to be at leisure but to have known nothing but leisure. They saunter after their pleasure in a way to make crowded thoroughfares at midday almost impassable. The man or woman on business bent who tries to make way quickly against the sluggish stream of foot passengers is looked at askance. The strolling world seems to think that there is something a little unseemly in his or her determination to pass along at a good pace. They do not make an impression of laziness, these wanderers. The look of sloth to be seen in hotter capitals is as absent as the look of vivacious briskness which strikes the stranger in Paris or New York. No; it is simply that a London crowd in the middle of the day walk at leisure unoppressed by the thought of the work they have been doing and will shortly have to do, or of the uncomfortable journey they may have taken to get to that work and will have to take again. They please themselves by looking about them and playing at doing as they like. Leisure sits well upon them. There is something of dignity about an English throng at ease. As a people we are not in the least embarrassed by having nothing to do. We do not burst into chatter, nor gesticulate, nor laugh much. It is said that in no country are the differences of social lot so marked, It is certain that nowhere is the intrinsic sameness of national character, from top to bottom of the social scale, so conspicuous as it is here. We work as hard as any people in spite of a whim which took hold of us after the strain of the war, but we work as we strive to make money not for its own sake. We want money for what it will bring. We are not a saving nation, and we work largely for the leisure which work alone will purchase for us. To an immense number of people it is only "off time" which their dial marks. This fact has its sad side, but it has also its handsome one.
It is impossible not to admire the calm patience of English people in pursuit of amusement. The increasing queues which stand outside theatres display unimaginable patience. They never express the slightest envy of those who can afford reserved seats ; their countenances are cheerful ; their speech when the) address one another is polite. There is, however, very little talk, though evidently much pleasant expectation. There is, we know, a fund of endurance in the young which can always be called forth where pleasure is concerned. But half these patient waiters are no longer young. They are middle-aged, and obviously hard-worked, men and women, yet they stand sucking sweets and staring in front of them without a thought of impatience. Artistic feeling is not very widespread among them. They are not making a sacrifide of their comfort, as a German perhaps might make a sacrifice in order to hear music. They go very largely to make a change--i.e., to make positive instead of negative to themselves the fact that they are "off duty." The waiting is not wholly disagreeable to them. It serves to prolong a pleasure.
The same curious patience is displayed by the little groups of passers-by who gather outside churches to look at weddings, or stand gazing up at houses in which any crime has been com- mitted or any newspaper romance has taken place. They are not deterred by the coldest of winds or the hottest of suns, or even apparently by more or less pressing engagements. Some of the most leisured-looking among the spectators will set off to riln after the bride has come out, or the house they were staring at has had time to imprint itself indelibly upon their memory. Weddings are as a rule very poor shows as seen from the street. The bride never waits to be inspected, and the pretty children who have become part of the ceremonial are hurried down the steps and driven off in a minute. The scene, however, is obviously regarded as worth a good many minutes of standing about. We suppose the reason is to be found in an unconscious search for emotion. Weddings and funerals and scenes of romance and tragedy may all be regarded as illustrations in an otherwise rather dull domestic drama. Far more diverting incidents can be seen every evening upon "the movies." Pictures, however, are less thought-provoking than real life. The person who stands and gazes is able to retain for a few moments a precious emotion which might otherwise fly through his mind "as quick as thought." The brightness of the gala day, the romance of the tragedy or the crime, brings a delight which lies at the root of human nature. An instinct prompts us to dwell and enlarge upon these thoughts. We instinctively wish them not to be evanescent. We all feel the power of music to deepen and enhance the power of words. The first lyrics were all sung, and probably the verse was full of repetitions. All liturgies are repetitive. Emotion of every kind, whether it takes hold of us or whether we fasten upon it and refuse to let it go, is repetitive in expression. No doubt to stand and watch the scene of a tragedy tends to repeat and again to repeat the emotion experienced when it was first heard of—has indeed the same emotional, if not the same mental, effect as reading the details. It enables the interested person to fasten his mind upon the matter as a poet or story-writer might fasten it for him.
But what is the explanation of the groups of people who stand transfixed and staring in front of a shop or factory which is or has been the scene of a strike ? Some days ago a crowd ol both men and women looking up at Mr. John Lewis's shop made it difficult to move quickly at that corner of Oxford Streets Did they find it easier to come to a decision as to who was in the right after having seen the actual brickwork and glass which composed the shop-front ? We are not sure but that they did. The sight probably served to materialize the question at issue and take it out of the region of newspaper abstractions. We all use the expression "to stop to think" When we excuse a silly or rash act we almost always say that it was done because the perpetrator did not stop to think. The Englishman usually not only stops to think, he seems very often as if he cannot think unless he stops. He is not one of the people who can reason while they run. That is why he has hitherto taken the advice of the man of leisure, and why just now he wants a little more leisure in order to feel competent to advise himself. He is most himself when he is most at ease ; and if he is not sparing of his time, it might also be argued that he is not altogether wasteful of his leisure.
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