She hath done what she could

In Short

This work is a vigorous piece of mid-Victorian advocacy, written in 1860 by a dedicated reformer to persuade the ratepayers of St. Marylebone to establish a free library and newsroom. Through a blend of political critique, economic argument, and moral exhortation, the author champions the accessibility of books and newspapers as the most effective remedy for poverty, ignorance, and class division. It has lasted as a spirited historical record of the grassroots struggle to make knowledge a public, rather than a private, luxury for the working classes.

The Story

The narrative begins with a call to arms. The author views the upcoming vote on the Public Libraries Act as a battlefield where the forces of "Progress" must confront the "Mental Darkness Brigade"—a coalition of local obstructionists and "Parish Magnates" who prioritize their own wallets over the intellectual health of the community. He frames the library movement as a crusade against the "Demon Ignorance," arguing that providing the people with reading materials is a practical economic strategy. By his logic, an educated populace is less prone to crime and inebriety, making a library a cheaper long-term investment than the maintenance of prisons or workhouses.

As the argument deepens, the author expands the scope of his mission to include the social and moral rights of the underprivileged. He passionately defends the "man of fustian jackets, and horny hands," insisting that such individuals deserve a place for recreation and instruction after a long day of grueling labor. He draws parallels to successful experiments in places like Manchester and Westminster, where the provision of newspapers and books has bridged the "isolation of class" that plagued Victorian society. He calls upon the clergy of the Church of England to abandon their aloofness and support the cause, suggesting that their own relevance in a modern, progressive age depends on their willingness to provide for the intellectual needs of their parishioners.

The story takes a broader political turn when the author addresses the state of national affairs. He vents his frustration at the "renegade" politicians—notably those like Lord Derby and certain members of the press—who advocate for the education of the poor in speech while simultaneously obstructing the Repeal of the Paper Duty or voting against measures that would lower the cost of information. He reserves particular scorn for the Times newspaper, labeling it a "mercantile concern" that lacks a conscience.

In the final movement, the author directly addresses the women of St. Marylebone. He insists that this is a "Woman’s Question," encouraging them to transcend the "trammels and customs of fashion" to participate in public life and support the library project. He reinforces his conviction that intelligence is the path to better employment for young women and a more equitable society for all. The text concludes with a final, desperate appeal to the conscience of the voters, urging them to act decisively before the opportunity passes. He frames the act of voting for the library as a righteous duty, leaving his readers with the sentiment that they must do what they can to secure this "precious boon" for their neighbors.

How It Unfolds

The Call to the Field The author initiates his argument by framing the library vote as a war between light and darkness, casting his opponents as selfish "do-nothings" who resemble the betrayer Judas. He insists that resistance to the Act is a false economy rooted in prejudice.

The Economic Necessity He presents the library as an engine for social efficiency, arguing that pauperism is directly linked to ignorance. By providing affordable access to books and newspapers, the parish will ultimately reduce the tax burden required to manage a degraded and uneducated populace.

The Role of the Church He challenges the clergy to prove their worth by supporting the library movement rather than focusing solely on building expensive new church structures. He asserts that good books are the best missionaries and that the laity deserves a greater voice in ecclesiastical matters.

The Political Critique The author pivots to national politics, condemning the hypocrisy of the aristocracy and the press for obstructing the flow of cheap information. He contrasts the "noble" and "conscientious" figures of the age with those who use their power to enchain the intellect of the people.

The Final Exhortation He turns his attention to the women of the parish, urging them to abandon social listlessness and embrace their role in creating a more enlightened community. The argument closes with a final, urgent command to vote for the Act, emphasizing that the time for hesitation is over.

The People

The author, Matthew Feilde, stands at the center as the relentless, moralizing voice of the movement. He is deeply impatient with hypocrisy, holding a clear vision of an educated, class-integrated society. He views himself as a servant of the public good, frustrated by the "pompous little men" who block his path.

Mr. Gladstone appears as the author’s political hero—a model of "noble conscientiousness" and clear, logical rhetoric. Feilde champions him as a man "sprung from the people" who truly understands the value of an informed citizenry.

Conversely, the "Parish Magnates" and the proprietors of the Times represent the antagonists. They are depicted as small-minded, vain, and manipulative. Feilde treats them with open contempt, particularly John Walter of the Times, whom he characterizes as a "moral delinquent" for prioritizing profit over the freedom of information.

The women of St. Marylebone are the author’s great hope. He treats them not as mere spectators but as essential, untapped agents of social change. By invoking figures like Florence Nightingale and Anna Jameson, he challenges his female readers to reject their "fastidious" social status and join the fight against ignorance.

In Its Own Voice

The author highlights the accessibility of the library as a social leveling mechanism.

“That all persons, however ill-dressed or poor, who are cleanly, shall be treated as gentlemen.”

The author emphasizes that the desire for self-improvement is universal, regardless of one’s station in life.

“No matter how poor I am, no matter if the rich will not enter my obscure dwelling.”

The author frames the adoption of the Library Act as an urgent moral obligation for the community.

“Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might.”

What It's Really About

At its core, this book is an argument for the democratization of knowledge. It posits that the "Demon Ignorance" is the true enemy of a healthy society, serving as a primary driver of crime, poverty, and class conflict. The author argues that access to information is not merely a privilege but a fundamental necessity for the working man, and that the state—specifically at the parish level—has a duty to facilitate this through the provision of free libraries and newsrooms. The book suggests that the barriers to such progress are not fiscal, but psychological and political, stemming from an elite class that fears an educated populace. Ultimately, it is a call for a more participatory, transparent, and intellectually curious civic life.

Why Read It Today

Readers interested in the history of public policy, social reform, or the Victorian era will find this a fascinating, if sometimes polemical, primary source. It provides an immediate sense of the passion—and the sheer bile—that accompanied the birth of the public library system. It is a work of great energy, filled with the sharp, indignant wit of a man who feels he is fighting for the soul of his community.

However, modern readers should be prepared for the author’s intensely combative style. He is not a neutral observer; he is a polemicist who engages in personal attacks and carries the era's specific, sometimes rigid, religious and class-based biases. His writing is dense with classical allusions and Victorian political references that may require patience to decipher. The text also reflects the period's occasionally condescending attitudes toward the poor, even as it seeks to empower them. Despite these difficulties, what stays with the reader is the author's profound, enduring belief in the power of reading to humanize the world. The warmth with which he describes the "humanizing tendencies in books" remains deeply moving, offering a timeless reminder of why we fight for public access to knowledge.