_MR. DINNEFORD_ had become deeply interested in the work that was going
on in Briar street, and made frequent visits to the mission house.
Sometimes he took heart in the work, but oftener he suffered great
discouragement of feeling. In one of his many conversations with Mr.
Paulding he said,
“Looking as I do from the standpoint gained since I came here, I am
inclined to say there is no hope. The enemy is too strong for us.”
“He is very strong,” returned the missionary, “but God is stronger, and
our cause is his cause. We have planted his standard here in the very
midst of the enemy's territory, and have not only held our ground for
years, but gained some victories. If we had the people, the churches and
the law-officers on our side, we could drive him out in a year. But we
have no hope of this--at least not for a long time to come; and so, as
wisely as we can, as earnestly as we can, and with the limited means at
our control, we are fighting the foe and helping the weak, and gaining a
little every year.”
“And you really think there is gain?”
“I know it,” answered the missionary, with a ringing confidence in his
voice. “It is by comparisons that we are able to get at true results.
Come with me into our school-room, next door.”
They passed from the office of the mission into the street.
“These buildings,” said Mr. Paulding, “erected by that true Christian
charity which hopeth all things, stand upon the very site of one of the
worst dens once to be found in this region. In them we have a chapel for
worship, two large and well ventilated school-rooms, where from two to
three hundred children that would not be admitted into any public school
are taught daily, a hospital and dispensary and bathrooms. Let me show
you the school. Then I will give you a measure of comparison.”
Mr. Dinneford went up to the school-rooms. He found them crowded with
children, under the care of female teachers, who seemed to have but
little trouble in keeping them in order. Such a congregation of boys and
girls Mr. Dinneford had never seen before. It made his heart ache as he
looked into some of their marred and pinched, faces, most of which bore
signs of pain, suffering, want and evil. It moved him to tears when he
heard them sing, led by one of the teachers, a tender hymn expressive of
the Lord's love for poor neglected children.
“The Lord Jesus came to seek and to save that which was lost,” said the
missionary as they came down from the school-room, “and we are trying to
do the same work. And that our labor is not all in vain will be evident
when I show you what this work was in the beginning. You have seen a
little of what it is now.”
They went back to the office of the missionary.
“It is nearly twenty years,” said Mr. Paulding, “since the organization
of our mission. The question of what to do for the children became
at once the absorbing one. The only building in which to open a
Sunday-school that could be obtained was an old dilapidated frame house
used as a receptacle for bones, rags, etc.; but so forbidding was its
aspect, and so noisome the stench arising from the putrefying bones
and rotting rags, that it was feared for the health of those who
might occupy it. However it was agreed to try the effect of scraping,
scrubbing, white-washing and a liberal use of chloride of lime. This
was attended with such good effects that, notwithstanding the place was
still offensive to the olfactories, the managers concluded to open in it
our first Sabbath-school.
“No difficulty was experienced in gathering in a sufficient number of
children to compose a school; for, excited by such a novel spectacle
as a Sabbath-school in that region, they came in crowds. But such a
Sabbath-school as that first one was beyond all doubt the rarest thing
of the kind that any of those interested in its formation had ever
witnessed. The jostling, tumbling, scratching, pinching, pulling of
hair, little ones crying and larger ones punching each other's heads and
swearing most profanely, altogether formed a scene of confusion and
riot that disheartened the teachers in the start, and made them begin to
think they had undertaken a hopeless task.
“As to the appearance of these young Ishmaelites, it was plain that they
had rarely made the acquaintance of soap and water. Hands, feet and
face exhibited a uniform crust of mud and filth. As it was necessary to
obtain order, the superintendent, remembering that 'music hath charms
to soothe the savage breast,' decided to try its effects on the untamed
group before him; and giving out a line of a hymn adapted to the tune of
'Lily Dale,' he commenced to sing. The effect was instantaneous. It was
like oil on troubled waters. The delighted youngsters listened to the
first line, and then joined in with such hearty good-will that the old
shanty rang again.
“The attempt to engage and lead them in prayer was, however, a matter of
great difficulty. They seemed to regard the attitude of kneeling as very
amusing, and were reluctant to commit themselves so far to the ridicule
of their companions as to be caught in such a posture. After reading to
them a portion of the Holy Scriptures and telling them of Jesus,
they were dismissed, greatly pleased with their first visit to a
Sabbath-school.
“As for ourselves, we had also received a lesson. We found--what indeed
we had expected--that the poor children were very ignorant, but we also
found what we did not expect--namely, such an acute intelligence and
aptitude to receive instruction as admonished us of the danger of
leaving them to grow up under evil influences to become master-spirits
in crime and pests to society. Many of the faces that we had just seen
were very expressive--indeed, painfully so. Some of them seemed to
exhibit an unnatural and premature development of those passions whose
absence makes childhood so attractive.
“Hunger! ay, its traces were also plainly written there. It is painful
to see the marks of hunger on the human face, but to see the cheeks of
childhood blanched by famine, to behold the attenuated limbs and bright
wolfish eyes, ah! that is a sight.
“The organization of a day-school came next. There were hundreds of
children in the district close about the mission who were wholly without
instruction. They were too dirty, vicious and disorderly to be admitted
into any of the public schools; and unless some special means of
education were provided, they must grow up in ignorance. It was
therefore resolved to open a day-school, but to find a teacher with her
heart in such a work was a difficulty hard to be met; moreover, it was
thought by many unsafe for a lady to remain in this locality alone, even
though a suitable one should offer. But one brave and self-devoted
was found, and one Sunday it was announced to the children in the
Sabbath-school that a day school would be opened in the same building at
nine o'clock on Monday morning.
“About thirty neglected little ones from the lanes and alleys around
the mission were found at the schoolroom door at the appointed hour. But
when admitted, very few of them had any idea of the purpose for which
they were collected. The efforts of the teacher to seat them proved a
failure. The idea among them seemed to be that each should take some
part in amusing the company. One would jump from the back of a bench
upon which he had been seated, while others were creeping about the
floor; another, who deemed himself a proficient in turning somersaults,
would be trying his skill in this way, while his neighbor, equally
ambitious, would show the teacher how he could stand on his head.
Occasionally they would pause and listen to the singing of a hymn or the
reading of a little story; then all would be confusion again; and thus
the morning wore away. The first session having closed, the teacher
retired to her home, feeling that a repetition of the scenes through
which she had passed could scarcely be endured.
“Two o'clock found her again at the door, and the children soon gathered
around her. Upon entering the schoolroom, most of them were induced
to be seated, and a hymn was sung which they had learned in the
Sabbath-school. When it was finished, the question was asked, 'Shall we
pray?' With one accord they answered, 'Yes.' 'And will you be quiet?'
They replied in the affirmative. All were then requested to be silent
and cover their faces. In this posture they remained until the prayer
was closed; and after resuming their seats, for some minutes order was
preserved. This was the only encouraging circumstance of the day.
“For many weeks a stranger would scarcely have recognized a school in
this disorderly gathering which day after day met in the old gloomy
building. Very many difficulties which we may not name were met and
conquered. Fights were of common occurrence. A description of one may
give the reader an idea of what came frequently under our notice.
“A rough boy about fourteen years of age, over whom some influence had
been gained, was chosen monitor one morning; and as he was a leader in
all the mischief, it was hoped that putting him upon his honor would
assist in keeping order. Talking aloud was forbidden. For a few minutes
matters went on charmingly, until some one, tired of the restraint,
broke silence. The monitor, feeling the importance of his position, and
knowing of but one mode of redress, instantly struck him a violent blow
upon the ear, causing him to scream with pain. In a moment the school
was a scene of confusion, the friends of each boy taking sides, and
before the cause of trouble could be ascertained most of the boys
were piled upon each other in the middle of the room, creating sounds
altogether indescribable. The teacher, realizing that she was alone, and
not well understanding her influence, feared for a moment to interfere;
but as matters were growing worse, something must be done. She made
an effort to gain the ear of the monitor, and asked why he did so. He,
confident of being in the right, answered,
“'Teacher, he didn't mind you; he spoke, and I licked him; and I'll do
it again if he don't mind you.'
“His services were of course no longer required, although he had done
his duty according to his understanding of the case.
“Thus it was at the beginning of this work nearly twenty years ago,”
said the missionary. “Now we have an orderly school of over two hundred
children, who, but for the opportunity here given, would grow up without
even the rudiments of all education. Is not this a gain upon the enemy?
Think of a school like this doing its work daily among these neglected
little ones for nearly a score of years, and you will no longer feel as
if nothing had been done--as if no headway had been gained. Think,
too, of the Sabbath-school work in that time, and of the thousands of
children who have had their memories filled with precious texts from the
Bible, who have been told of the loving Saviour who came into the world
and suffered and died for them, and of his tender love and perpetual
care over his children, no matter how poor and vile and afar off
from him they may be. It is impossible that the good seed of the word
scattered here for so long a time should not have taken root in many
hearts. We know that they have, and can point to scores of blessed
instances--can take you to men and women, now good and virtuous
people, who, but for our day-and Sabbath-schools, would, in all human
probability, be now among the outcast, the vicious and the criminal.
“So much for what has been done among the children. Our work with men
and women has not been so fruitful as might well be supposed, and yet
great good has been accomplished even among the hardened, the desperate
and the miserably vile and besotted. Bad as things are to-day--awful
to see and to contemplate, shocking and disgraceful to a Christian
community--they were nearly as bad again at the time this mission set
up the standard of God and made battle in his name. Our work began as a
simple religious movement, with street preaching.”
“And with what effect?” asked Mr. Dinneford.
“With good effect, in a limited number of cases, I trust. In a degraded
community like this there will always be some who had a different
childhood from that of the crowds of young heathen who swarm its courts
and alleys; some who in early life had religious training, and in whose
memories were stored up holy things from Scripture; some who have
tender and sweet recollection of a mother and home and family prayer and
service in God's temples. In the hearts of such God's Spirit in moving
could touch and quicken and flush with reviving life these old memories,
and through them bring conviction of sin, and an intense desire to rise
out of the horrible pit into which they had fallen and the clay wherein
their feet were mired. Angels could come near to these by what of good
and true was to be found half hidden, but not erased from their book of
life, and so help in the work of their recovery and salvation.
“But, sir, beyond this class there is small hope, I fear, in preaching
and praying. The great mass of these wretched beings have had little or
no early religious instruction. There, are but few, if any, remains
of things pure and good and holy stored away since childhood in their
memories to be touched and quickened by the Spirit of God. And so we
must approach them in another and more external way. We must begin with
their physical evils, and lessen these as fast as possible; we must
remove temptation from their doors, or get them as far as possible
out of the reach of temptation, but in this work not neglecting the
religious element as an agency, of untold power.
“Christ fed the hungry, and healed the sick, and clothed the naked,
and had no respect unto the persons of men. And we, if we would lift up
fallen humanity, must learn by his example. It is not by preaching and
prayer and revival meetings that the true Christian philanthropist can
hope to accomplish any great good among the people here, but by doing
all in his power to change their sad external condition and raise them
out of their suffering and degradation. Without some degree of external
order and obedience to the laws of natural life, it is, I hold, next to
impossible, to plant in the mind any seeds of spiritual truth. There
is no ground there. The parable of the sower that went forth to sow
illustrates this law. Only the seed that fell on good ground brought
forth fruit. Our true work, then, among this heathen people, of whom the
churches take so little care, is first to get the ground in order for
the planting, of heavenly seed. Failing in this, our hope is small.”
“This mission has changed its attitude since the beginning,” said Mr.
Dinneford.
“Yes. Good and earnest men wrought for years with the evil elements
around them, trusting in God's Spirit to change the hearts of the vile
and abandoned sinners among whom they preached and prayed. But there was
little preparation of the ground, and few seeds got lodgment except
in stony places, by the wayside and among thorns. Our work now is to
prepare the ground, and in this work, slowly as it is progressing,
we have great encouragement. Every year we can mark the signs of
advancement. Every year we make some head against the enemy. Every year
our hearts take courage and are refreshed by the smell of grasses and
the odor of flowers and the sight of fruit-bearing plants in once barren
and desolate places. The ground is surely being made ready for the
sower.”
“I am glad to hear you speak so encouragingly,” returned Mr. Dinneford.
“To me the case looked desperate--wellnigh hopeless. Anything worse than
I have witnessed here seemed impossible.”
“It is only by comparisons, as I said before, that we can get at the
true measure of change and progress,” answered the missionary. “Since
we have been at work in earnest to improve the external life of this
region, we have had much to encourage us. True, what we have done has
made only a small impression on the evil that exists here; but the value
of this impression lies in the fact that it shows what can be done
with larger agencies. Double our effective force, and we can double the
result. Increase it tenfold, and ten times as much can be done.”
“What is your idea of this work?” said Mr. Dinneford. “In other words,
what do you think the best practical way to purify this region?”
“If you draw burning brands and embers close together, your fire grows
stronger; if you scatter them apart, it will go out,” answered the
missionary. “Moral and physical laws correspond to each other. Crowd
bad men and women together, and they corrupt and deprave each other.
Separate them, and you limit their evil power and make more possible for
good the influence of better conditions. Let me give you an instance: A
man and his wife who had lived in a wretched way in one of the poorest
hovels in Briar street for two years, and who had become idle and
intemperate, disappeared from among us about six months ago. None of
their neighbors knew or cared much what had become of them. They had
two children. Last week, as I was passing the corner of a street in the
south-western part of the city in which stood a row of small new houses,
a neatly-dressed woman came out of a store with a basket in her hand. I
did not know her, but by the brightening look in her face I saw that she
knew me.
“'Mr. Paulding,' she said, in a pleased way, holding out her hand; 'you
don't know me,' she added, seeing the doubt in my face. 'I am Mrs.--.'
“'Impossible!' I could not help exclaiming.
“'But it's true, Mr. Paulding,' she averred, a glow of pleasure on her
countenance. 'We've turned over a new leaf.'
“'So I should think from your appearance,' I replied. 'Where do you
live?'
“'In the third house from the corner,' pointing to the neat row of small
brick houses I have mentioned. 'Come and look at our new home. I want to
tell you about it!'
“I was too much pleased to need a second invitation.
“'I've got as clean steps as my neighbors,' she said, with pride in her
voice, 'and shades to my windows, and a bright door-knob. It wasn't so
in Briar street. One had no heart there. Isn't this nice?'
“And she glanced around the little parlor we had entered.
“It was nice, compared to the dirty and disorderly place they had called
their home in Briar street. The floor was covered with a new ingrain
carpet. There were a small table and six cane-seat chairs in the room,
shades at the windows, two or three small pictures on the walls and some
trifling ornaments on the mantel. Everything was clean and the air of
the room sweet.
“'This is my little Emma,' she said as a cleanly-dressed child came into
the room; 'You remember she was in the school.'
“I did remember her as a ragged, dirty-faced child, forlorn and
neglected, like most of the children about here. It was a wonderful
transformation.
“'And now,' I said, 'tell me how all this has come about.'
“'Well, you see, Mr. Paulding,' she answered, 'there was no use in John
and me trying to be anything down there. It was temptation on every
hand, and we were weak and easily tempted. There was nothing to make us
look up or to feel any pride. We lived like our neighbors, and you know
what kind of a way that was.
“'One day John said to me, “Emma,” says he, “it's awful, the way we're
living; we'd better be dead.” His voice was shaky-like, and it kind of
made me feel bad. “I know it, John,” said I, “but what can we do?” “Go
'way from here,” he said. “But where?” I asked. “Anywhere. I'm not all
played out yet;” and he held up his hand and shut it tight. “There's
good stuff in me yet, and if you're willing to make a new start, I am.”
I put my hand in his, and said, “God helping me, I will try, John.” He
went off that very day and got a room in a decent neighborhood, and we
moved in it before night. We had only one cart-load, and a wretched load
of stuff it was. But I can't tell you how much better it looked when we
got it into our new room, the walls of which were nicely papered, and
the paint clean and white. I fixed up everything and made it as neat as
possible. John was so pleased. “It feels something like old times,” he
said. He had been knocking about a good while, picking up odd jobs and
not half working, but he took heart now, quit drinking and went to work
in good earnest, and was soon making ten dollars a week, every cent of
which he brought home. He now gets sixteen dollars. We haven't made a
back step since. But it wouldn't have been any use trying if we'd stayed
in Briar street. Pride helped us a good deal in the beginning, sir. I
was ashamed not to have my children looking as clean as my neighbors,
and ashamed not to keep things neat and tidy-like. I didn't care
anything about it in Briar street.'
“I give you this instance, true in nearly every particular,” said the
missionary, “in order to show you how incurable is the evil condition of
the people here; unless we can get the burning brands apart, they help
to consume each other.”
“But how to get them apart? that is the difficult question,” said Mr.
Dinneford.
“There are two ways,” was replied--“by forcing the human brands apart,
and by interposing incombustible things between them. As we have no
authority to apply force, and no means at hand for its exercise if we
had the authority, our work has been in the other direction. We have
been trying to get in among these burning brands elements that would
stand the fire, and, so lessen the ardor of combustion.”
“How are you doing this?”
“By getting better houses for the people to live in. Improve the house,
make it more sightly and convenient, and in most cases you will improve
the person who lives in it. He will not kindle so easily, though he yet
remain close to the burning brands.”
“And are you doing this?”
“A little has been done. Two or three years ago a building association
was organized by a few gentlemen of means, with a view to the purchase
of property in this district and the erection of small but good houses,
to be rented at moderate cost to honest and industrious people. A number
of such houses have already been built, and they are now occupied
by tenants of a better class, whose influence on their neighbors is
becoming more and more apparent every day. Brady street--once the worst
place in all this district--has changed wonderfully. There is scarcely
a house in the two blocks through which it runs that does not show some
improvement since the association pulled down half a dozen of its worst
frame tenements and put neat brick dwellings in their places. It is no
uncommon thing now to see pavement sweeping and washing in front of
some of the smallest and poorest of the houses in Brady street where two
years ago the dirt would stick to your feet in passing. A clean muslin
half curtain, a paper shade or a pot of growing plants will meet your
eyes at a window here and there as you pass along. The thieves who once
harbored in this street, and hid their plunder in cellars and garrets
until it could be sold or pawned, have abandoned the locality. They
could not live side by side with honest industry.”
“And all this change may be traced to the work of our building
association, limited as are its means and half-hearted as are its
operations. The worst of our population--the common herd of thieves,
beggars and vile women who expose themselves shamelessly on the
street--are beginning to feel less at home and more in danger of arrest
and exposure. The burning brands are no longer in such close contact,
and so the fires of evil are raging less fiercely. Let in the light, and
the darkness flees. Establish the good, and evil shrinks away, weak and
abashed.”