A NEWSBOY’S LETTER.
“I say, Julius, you’re in luck,” said Teddy.
“I won’t be in luck if Marlowe or Ned Sanders gets hold of me.”
“They won’t find you, away out West.”
“Marlowe might. He’s a tough customer, Marlowe is. I mind how he looked
when he got hold of me at Staten Island. Jack ain’t so bad, but
Marlowe’d go a thousand miles to get hold of me.”
“I wouldn’t think of it, Julius.”
“I shan’t lose no sleep. If he don’t break out of jail, I’ll be a man
before he can get at me.”
“Look out of the window, Julius. See them cows harnessed together. What
are they doin’?”
“They’re ploughin’, I expect,” said Julius, who, like his companion,
took a yoke of oxen for cows.
“They don’t go very fast.”
“They look as if they was lazy. They’re the biggest cows I ever see.”
Here Mr. O’Connor came into the car and passed down the aisle, looking
to see that none of the boys were missing.
“Well, boys, how are you getting along?” he asked, pleasantly.
“Bully!” “Tiptop!” were heard from the boys on either side.
“What have you got there, Julius?” asked the superintendent, noticing
the watch chain.
Julius drew out his watch.
“Where did you get it?” asked Mr. O’Connor, a little suspiciously. “You
haven’t spent any of your money, have you?”
“No; it was given me,” said Julius.
“Given you?”
“By that gentleman.”
Mr. Taylor looked up, finding himself referred to.
“Is this the gentleman who has charge of your party?” he asked, turning
to Julius.
“Yes, sir. It is Mr. O’Connor.”
“Mr. O’Connor, the boy’s story is correct. He detected a pickpocket in
the act of appropriating my gold watch and chain. As it was of great
value, I asked his acceptance of the watch and chain you see.”
“I hope you did not ask any reward, Julius,” said the superintendent.
“It was entirely my own thought,” said Mr. Taylor. “I presume the boy
never thought of any compensation.”
“No, I didn’t,” said Julius.
“I am glad you have behaved so well, Julius,” said superintendent,
approvingly. “I am sure you will value your present.”
“It’s bully,” said Julius, enthusiastically.
“Where do you intend to take the boys, Mr. O’Connor?” asked Mr. Taylor.
“I have an invitation from the citizens of Brookville, in Wisconsin, to
make my headquarters there. I am told that boys and girls are in demand
in that town and vicinity, and that I shall probably be able to find
homes for all my party in that neighborhood.”
“I think you can. I know Brookville very well. I have a nephew living
there. He is a prosperous farmer. By the way, I shouldn’t be surprised
if he would like a boy. Suppose I give you a note to my young friend
here to deliver to him.”
“I should be glad to have you do so.”
“If Ephraim takes him into his family, he will have an excellent home.”
“That is what we desire for all our party.”
“Do you generally succeed?”
“Very generally. We seldom receive complaints from the children we have
placed. They are treated kindly almost without exception.”
“How about the other parties? Do they often prefer complaints of the
children?”
“Sometimes, but not often. Considering the training our children have
had in the city streets, they conduct themselves remarkably well in
their new homes. Removed from the temptations and privations of the
city, their better natures assert themselves, and they behave as well as
ordinary children. In fact, I may say that most of the complaints that
come to us are of a trivial nature. People forget that our boys are no
more perfect than their own, and if now and then they pelt the cows, or
leave the turkeys out in the rain, that hardly indicates a depraved
heart.”
Mr. Taylor smiled.
“I have heard of such things, myself,” he said. “I suspect boys are
about the same now that they were fifty years ago.”
“And will be fifty years hence. Of course, they will always need
restraint, and, if they do mischief, they must pay the penalty. Still,
if a boy is simply mischievous, I don’t think he can be considered a
hopeless case.”
“I should say not. I used to do some things myself that were not quite
exemplary. Of course I was punished and in time I steadied down.”
“As you seem to take an interest in our mission,” said Mr. O’Connor,
“you may feel interested to read a letter[A] which I received not long
since from one of our boys in Indiana. It is characteristic, and will
give a good idea of the improvement which emigration makes in their
condition and circumstances.”
[A] This letter is a genuine production. It is taken from an extremely
interesting work, by Charles L. Brace, on “The Dangerous Classes of
New York, and Twenty Years’ Work Among Them.”
“I should like very much to read it,” said Mr. Taylor.
This was the letter:
“M----, IND., Nov. 24, 1859.
“TO MY FRIEND AND BENEFACTOR: So I take my pen in hand to let you
know how I am, and how I am getting along. As far as I can see, I
am well satisfied with my place; but I took a general look around,
and, as far as I can see, all the boys left in M---- are doing
well, especially myself, and I think there is as much fun as in New
York, for nuts and apples are all free. I am much obliged to you,
Mr. O’Connor, for the paper you sent me. I received it last night,
read it last night--something about the Newsboys’ Lodging House.
“All the newsboys in New York have a bad name; but we should show
ourselves, and show them, that we are no fools; that we can become
as respectable as any of their countrymen; for some of you poor
boys can do something for your country; for Franklin, Webster,
Clay, were poor boys once, and even Commodore V. C. Perry or Math.
C. Perry. But even George Law, and Vanderbilt, and Astor--some of
the richest men of New York--and Math. and V. C. Perry, were
nothing but printers, and in the navy on Lake Erie. And look at
Winfield Scott. So now, boys, stand up, and let them see that you
have got the real stuff in you. Come out here, and make respectable
and honorable men, so they can say, there, that boy was once a
newsboy.
“Now, boys, you all know I have tried everything. I have been a
newsboy, and when that got slack, you know I have smashed baggage.
I have sold nuts, I have peddled. I have worked on the rolling
billows up the canal; I was a bootblack; and you know, when I sold
papers I was at the top of the profession. I had a good stand of my
own, but I found all would not do. I could not get along, but I am
now going ahead. I have a first-rate home, ten dollars a month, and
my board; and, I tell you, fellows, that is a great deal more than
I could scrape up my best times in New York. We are all on an
equality, my boys, out here, so long as we keep ourselves
respectable.
“Mr. O’Connor, tell ‘Fatty,’ or F. John Pettibone, to send me a
Christmas number of _Frank Leslie’s_, and _Harper’s Weekly_, a
_Weekly News_ or some other pictorials to read, especially the
_Newsboys’ Pictorial_, if it comes out. No old papers, or else
none. If they would get some other boys to get me some books. I
want something to read.
“I hope this letter will find you in good health, as it leaves me,
Mr. O’Connor. I expect an answer before two weeks--a letter and a
paper. Write to me all about the lodging house. With this I close
my letter. With much respect to all.
“I remain your truly obedient friend,
“J. K.”
“The writer of this letter is evidently a smart boy,” said Mr. Taylor,
as he finished reading it. “I warrant he will make his way in the
world.”
“I expected he would do well, when we sent him out,” said the
superintendent. “In New York he was a leader in his set, and very
successful in his street trades. But, as you see, he admits that he is
doing much better out West.”
“His Western life will make a man of him. Do you often hear from those
you have sent out?”
“We are in constant correspondence with them. We feel ourselves under an
obligation to look after them still, and to show them that we keep up an
interest in them.”
“It must have a good effect upon them.”
“We find that it does. They are ashamed to misconduct themselves,
knowing that it will come to our ears.”
“Have you sent out many children, in this way?”
“Thousands of our children are located in different parts of the great
West. With few exceptions, they are doing well, and bid fair to
become--some have already become--respected and useful members of
society.”
“What would have been their fate, had they remained in the city?”
“Many would be vagrants, many, doubtless, tenants of prison cells; very
few would have turned out well.”
“It is a great work,” said Mr. Taylor warmly. “I hope you will be
encouraged to persevere. I feel like helping you. Accept this
contribution to the funds of your society,” and he drew two fifty-dollar
bills from his pocketbook and handed to the superintendent.
“Thank you, sir,” said Mr. O’Connor, “I am sure you will not regret your
gift. Every addition to our means enables us to extend our operations.
This gift, for instance, will enable us to bring out six children to the
West and place them in good homes.”
“Will it, indeed!” said Mr. Taylor, gratified. “That assurance alone
abundantly repays me. But I must write the note of introduction which I
promised to my young friend.”