In returning home from these rounds, amidst filth and poverty, I remember that I was frequently so depressed and exhausted as to throw myself flat upon the rug in front of the fire, scarcely able to move.

The discouraging feature in such visits as I was making, and which must always exist in similar efforts, is that one has no point of religious contact with these people.

Among all the hundreds of families I knew and visited I never met but two that were Protestants. To all words of spiritual warning or help there came the chilling formalism of the ignorant Roman Catholic in reply, implying that certain outward acts made the soul right with its Creator. The very inner ideas of our spiritual life of free love towards G.o.d, true repentance and trust in a Divine Redeemer, seemed wanting in their minds. I never had the least ambition to be a proselytizer, and never tried to convert them, and I certainly had no prejudice against the Romanists; on the contrary, it has been my fortune in Europe to enjoy the intercourse of some most spiritual-minded Catholics. But these poor people seemed stamped with the spiritual lifelessness of Romanism.

At how many a lonely death-bed or sick-bed, where even the priest had forgotten to come, have I longed and tried to say some comforting word of religion to the dull ear, closing to all earthly sounds; but even if heard and the sympathy gratefully felt, it made scarcely more religious impression than would the chants of the Buddhists have done. One sprinkle of holy water were worth a volume of such words.

A Protestant has great difficulty in coming into connection with the Romanist poor. I was often curious to know the exact influence of the priests over these people. The lowest poor in New York are not, I think, much cared for by the Romanist priesthood. One reason, without doubt, is that their attention has thus far been mainly (and wisely) directed to building handsome churches, and that they have not means to do much for these persons. Another and more powerful reason is, probably, that the old "enthusiasm of humanity" which animated a Guy, a Vincent de Paul, or Xavier, has died out among them.

I have known, however; individual cases in our city, where a priest has exercised a marked influence in keeping his charge from intoxication.

There were also occasionally, in this very region, something like "Revivals of Religion" among the people, stimulated by the priests, in which many young girls joined religious societies, and did lead, to my knowledge, for a time more pure and devout lives.

When one thinks what a n.o.ble-minded and humane Priest might accomplish among the lowest cla.s.ses of New York, how many vices he could check, and what virtues he might cherish, and what public blessings on the whole community he might confer, by elevating this degraded population; and then as one looks at the moral condition of the Roman Catholic poor, one can only sigh, that that once powerful body has lost so much of the inspiration of Christ which once filled it.

The plan which I laid out in working in this quarter was in harmony with all our previous efforts; it was especially to influence and improve the children.

It so happened that near "Dutch Hill" was another hill covered with handsome houses and inhabited by wealthy people, "Murray Hill." The ladies in this prosperous quarter were visited, and finally a.s.sembled in a public meeting; and, with the same preliminaries as in the other Schools, we at length organized in 1854.

THE EAST RIVER INDUSTRIAL SCHOOL.

Early in the history of this School, we secured the services of a lady, Miss Spratt, now Mrs. Hurley, who has been ever since the main-stay of that most useful charity.

For seventeen years this woman of refinement and education has spent her days in this School of poor children, and her hours of leisure in those wretched shanties--an angel of mercy and sympathy to every unfortunate family for miles around. Whatever woman falls into misfortune, loses husband or child, is driven from home by poverty, or forced from work by depression of business, or meets with troubles of mind or body, at once comes to her for sympathy and relief. She has become so used to scenes of misery, that to her, she says, "the house of mourning" is more natural than "the house of feasting."

The present writer, for his own part, confesses that he could not possibly have borne the harrowing and disagreeable scenes with which he has been so long familiar, without making a strict rule never to think or speak of the poor when he was away from his work, and immediately absorbing himself in some entirely different subject. The spring of the mind would have been broken.

But Mrs. Hurley lived in and for the poor; her only relaxation was hearing Mr. Beecher on Sunday; and yet, when she occasionally visited us in the country, she devoured books--her great favorite being a translation I had of Plato.

The children, of course, became pa.s.sionately attached to this missionary of charity. During her labors, she was married to a physician, Dr.

Hurley, who subsequently was killed in the army during the War of the Rebellion. While she was temporarily absent, and a strange teacher employed, six of the wildest girls were expelled, so unmanageable were they. When she came back, they returned and welcomed her eagerly, behaving perfectly well; and it was discovered that so attached were they to her, they had each carried fragments of her dress as mementos in their bosom!

The peculiar value of our common experience in this School was, that we were enabled through so many years to follow carefully the results of the School on a large cla.s.s of very dest.i.tute little girls. We know personally what was here accomplished. A very hopeful feature appeared soon in the work. The children rose above the condition of their parents; sometimes they improved, by their own increasing neatness and good behavior, the habits and appearance of their fathers and mothers.

More often they became ashamed of their paternal piggeries and nasty dens, and were glad to get away to more decent homes or new occupations.

One great means of influence here was, as in the other Schools, through the regular a.s.sistance of volunteer teachers, the ladies of the a.s.sociation.

It happened that there was among them more of a certain tenacity of character, of the old Puritan faithfulness, than was manifested by some of our co-laborers; having put their hands to the plow, they never thought of turning back. They gave time and labor, and money freely, and they continued at their posts year after year.

The children felt their refining and elevating influence. We soon found that the daughters of the drunkards did not follow their mothers'

footsteps, simply because they had acquired higher tastes. We hardly ever knew of one who indulged in drinking; indeed, one old red-faced tippler, Mrs. McK., who was the best ch.o.r.e-woman on the Hill when sober, eventually was entirely reformed by her children. No child seemed to fall back into the degradation of the parents. And recalling now the rank foul soil from which so many sweet flowers seemed to spring, one can only wonder and be grateful that efforts so imperfect bore such harvest.

I remember the F. family--such a cheery, healthy-looking family living in a damp, dark bas.e.m.e.nt, and almost always half-starved, wretchedly poor, but very industrious! The youngest daughter pa.s.sed through our School, and is now becoming a teacher; another married a mechanic (these girls never marry day-laborers). Still another proved herself a heroine.

We sent her as nursery-maid to a family, and as they were all sailing down the Hudson in the _St. John,_ the boiler burst; amid the horrible confusion and panic where so many perished, this girl had the courage to rush through the steam and boiling water, and save the three children entrusted to her charge. Of course, after this, she was no longer a servant, but a "sister beloved" in the family. A gentleman of fortune, attracted by her appearance and intelligence, ultimately married her. He died, and she was left with a nice fortune. She bore her change of fortune beautifully.

The following is another similar incident from our Journal:

A ROMANTIC INCIDENT IN AN INDUSTRIAL SCHOOL.

"A few years ago I remember an old shanty on 'Dutch Hill,' where a wretched-looking man lived with his pigs and goats, called K----. He was considered a bad man even among his bad neighbors, and the story of him was (I do not know how true), that he had committed murder, and had escaped the law by some legal quibble. He was a swill-gatherer, and had two little bright daughters to a.s.sist him at home. These came to our Fortieth-street School. They improved very fast, and one used to attract much attention from the ladies by her pretty face and intelligent answers. Nellie finally left the school, and was sent by us to the West.

She improved much there, and, after some time spent in different families, came back to the city, where she became an 'operator' on the sewing-machine. While at this business and living in a respectable boarding-house, she attracted the attention of a gentleman of some means and position, much older than herself, who, at length, offered himself to her in marriage.

She declined, on the ground that she was so much inferior in position to him, and that his family would object. He insisted, and declared that 'he wished to please himself, not his family,' and they were married.

"He took his wife away to a foreign country, where his business lay, and there she has been a number of years, gradually improving in manners, taste, and education, living like a lady of fortune, with her maid and carriage, and making herself, in every way, a most suitable wife for one who had been so much above her. We had often heard of her good fortune.

But during our Christmas Festival at the East River School, she herself came in to see it again and thank those who had been so kind to her. We all knew her at once; and yet she was so changed--a pretty, tasteful-looking young lady, with a graceful manner and a Spanish accent now--all the old stamp of 'Dutch Hill' quite gone, even the brogue lost and replaced by foreign intonations. She was perfectly simple and unaffected, and thanked us all for our former kindness with the utmost heartiness; and told her story very simply, and how anxious she still was to improve her education, seemingly not ashamed of her poor origin.

It is a pleasant circ.u.mstance that she has taken out her beloved teacher, Mrs. Hurley, a number of times to drive in her carriage."

Several changes of fortune of this kind have made it quite a natural question, when I visit Mrs. Hurley's School, "What about the heiresses?"

Another girl, I remember, in one of these shanties, who came to school in an old petticoat, and barefooted, a most dest.i.tute-looking child. She was subsequently employed in our own family. I doubt whether many girls of the highest cla.s.ses show a greater natural refinement; and she was as clever in every part of household work as she was nice. She finally married a hotel-keeper in San Francisco, and is doing well.

Generally, the girls married mechanics and people above their rank of life. Some became Protestants; those who married Catholics were never bigoted. A number went to the West, and have done well there.

Mrs. Hurley reckons over at least two thousand different girls who have been in this school and under its influence, since she has been there during the past eighteen years. The condition of all these we know probably pretty well. We count _but five_ who have become drunkards, prost.i.tutes, or criminals! Such a wonderful result can be shown by hardly any preventive efforts in the world. Yet, there were certain cases which we used to call

"OUR FAILURES."

There was the D. family--they lived on the lucrative spoils of their infant, who sold toilet-covers to compa.s.sionate ladies. This little Julia was an imp of deceit and mischief She had, fortunately for her, a worn, sad face, and a capacity and imagination for lying unequaled at her years. With inarticulate sobs, and the tears coursing down her thin cheeks, she told of her dying mother and her labors to get her bread; or, again, she was an orphan supporting herself and her deformed little brother; or her disabled father depended on her feeble efforts for his slender support. The addresses she gave of her house were always wrong; and so, year by year, she gathered in a plenteous harvest from the pity of the ladies.

At home, a little band of able-bodied, slatternly sisters were living mainly on the money thus begged. They naturally became each day more lazy and dissolute; and little Julia more bold and brazen-faced. We tried to bribe the young beggar to go to school, we paid her rent, we offered the sisters work, we remonstrated and threatened, we even set the police on her track, but nothing could check or turn her; she eluded the police as easily as she did the ladies. If she came to school, she stayed but a day; all effort failed against the ingrained slovenliness and vagrancy of the family; day by day they sank; one daughter was seduced, and to their number was now added an illegitimate child. They grew dirtier and more miserable; and here, years ago, we left them. No doubt, Julia is still pursuing her profitable vocation from house to house, and the girls are in yet lower depths.

A STREET-CHILD. (FROM OUR JOURNAL.)

"Some ten years ago, I made many efforts to save a little homeless girl, who was floating about the quarter near East Thirty-second Street. Her drunken mother had thrown her out of doors, and she used to sleep under stairways or in deserted cellars, and was a most wretched, half-starved little creature. I talked with her often, but could not induce her to go to school, or to seek a home in the country. She grew up steadily vagrant. At length we succeeded in getting her away to the family of an excellent lady in Buffalo. There she speedily gave up her roving habits, became neat and orderly under the influence of the lady, attended church and Sabbath School, and altogether seemed quite a changed child.

Unfortunately, the lady was obliged to move to this city, and instead of placing the little girl in another family in the country, she brought her with her to New York, and, no longer having room for her in her house, let her go to her old a.s.sociates. In a few weeks, the nice, tidy little girl began to look like the idle and vagrant young girls who were her companions. She became slatternly in her habits, and instead of seeking a place in some family, she joined a company of poor working-girls, who earned their living by manufacturing children's torpedoes. She lodged in the crowded tenement-houses, and gradually fell into all their low a.s.sociations. The next I knew of her, I heard that she had been seduced under a promise of marriage, and that she was about to be a mother. Again I knew of her, with her unfortunate little babe, driven about from one low lodging-house to another, dependent upon charity for support. Finally, the child was adopted by the parents of her seducer, and she was left free again. Though in extreme dest.i.tution, she would not take a situation away from the city. She resumed her work at torpedoes, and lived about in the tenement-houses, a poor, bedraggled-looking creature. Again, after some time, I heard of her as having married a low fellow in that district. She had only been married a few days when her husband abandoned her, and never returned to her.

She now hangs about the low lodging-houses between First and Second Avenues, in East Thirty-first and Thirty-second Streets, a forlorn-looking, slovenly woman, who will almost certainly end in the lowest vice and penury."

Thus far in the Journal. Our constant pursuit of this girl did tend, I think, to keep her from utter ruin.

She fell no lower; and subsequently connected herself with one of the charitable inst.i.tutions, where she is living a virtuous life.

CHAPTER XIV.

SCENES AMONG THE POOR.

EFFECTS OF DRUNKENNESS. (FROM OUR JOURNAL.)

"It sometimes seems in our Industrial Schools as if each wretched, blear-eyed, half-starved, filthy little girl was a living monument of the curses of Intemperance. The rags, the disease, the ignorance, the sunny looks darkened, the old faces on young shoulders, are not necessarily the pitiable effects of overwhelming circ.u.mstances. The young creatures are not always cursed by poverty princ.i.p.ally, but by the ungoverned appet.i.tes, bad habits and vices of their parents. On 'Dutch Hill' one can hardly enter a shanty where is a sober family. The women all drink; the men work, and then carouse. The hard earnings go off in alcohol. No savings are laid up for the winter. The children are ragged and unprotected, and, but for the Industrial School, uneducated. It is sometimes the saddest sight to see a neat little shanty grow day by day more filthy; the furniture sold, the windows broken, the children looking more thin and hungry, the parents falling out of honest work--all the slow effects of ungoverned pa.s.sion for liquor.

"I entered, yesterday, a little hut on the 'Hill,' where a middle-aged woman lived, whom I knew. She was sitting near the door, weeping violently. I asked her the reason, and, after a little time, she told me. Her eldest daughter, a girl of twenty, had just been in drunk, and had struck her over the eye; and when her mother was looking at her bruise in the gla.s.s, she had dashed her fist through the gla.s.s.

'"There was no safety there, the mother said, when she came in. If they were away she would burst open the doors and break the furniture, and cut her sewing-work to pieces. 'She is a devil, sir, when she's in liquor!' _Three times_ the mother had had her arrested and sent to Blackwell's Island; 'but somehow, sir, she's always worse when she comes out, and I niver heard her use bad words till she'd been there.

"'Now, G.o.d knows where she lives--they say it's in a bad house; and it's I who am afraid she's gittin' Tommy, her broder, into the same way, for he doesn't come home now. O G.o.d! _I might as well be in h.e.l.l!_' Nothing can convey the tone of despair with which that was said. She told me how the girl had been such a bright little one. 'She was so pretty, sir; and maybe we flattered her, and made too much of her. And her father, he thought she ought to learn the dressmakin' trade, but she felt somehow above it, and she went to be a book-folder downtown. And one day we missed her till late o' night; and thin the next night it was later, and at last her father--bless his poor soul!--he said she shouldn't be out so, and whipt her. And thin she niver came back for three nights, and we thought, maybe, she's at her work, and has to stay late; and we niver suspected how it was, when, suddenly, Mrs. Moore came and said as how Maggy said she was at Mrs. Rooney's--the ould divil--and my husband wouldn't belave it at all; but I wint and bust open the door wid a stone, and found _her_--my own child--there wid a lot of men and women; and I swore at 'em, and the M. P.'s they come and cleared 'em all out, and there was the last of her. She's niver been an honest woman since, when she's in liquor. It broke her father's heart. He died the next Sat.u.r.day; people said it was some sort of dysentry, but I know it was this. G.o.d help me! And, now, sir (almost fiercely), can't you get me out of this? All I want is, to sell my shanty, and wid my two little ones, git away from _her._ I don't care how far!'

"The mother fleeing her daughter. The pretty child becomes a drunken outcast! So ends many a sad history in our city."

THE DYING SEWING-WOMAN.