Miscellaneous.
Indiscriminate Almsgiving.—Great is the glory of benevolence; it outshines that of wealth and war. Hence, the wide and lasting fame of John Howard. All men revere his memory. The story of his life thrills the soul. None can read it without learning to admire the beauties of his goodness, and the moral gorgeousness of his charity. We enshrine his name in our heart of hearts. But John Howard was not benevolent only—he was wise; his insight into remedies was consummate. He sought to understand the sources of crime, and the character of criminals. He was prudent, methodical, firm; his wisdom and his love went hand in hand. Both his spirit and his understanding were consecrated to the great work which formed his mission.
Many wish to do good; they long to repress crime; they wish to diminish human sorrow; the poor look to them for help. Ready are their hearts to pity and their hands to bestow an alms. But they do not givewisely. Like Howard, they are full of compassion; unlike him, they have no system, no principle of action, no wise mode of dealing with the criminal, the ignorant, and the poor. They give profusely; they do not give thoughtfully; the fruits of their deeds are therefore corrupt and full of evil.
Let us explain. To bestow money, soup, blankets, and Bibles, is an easy duty; plenty of people will come for them; the demand is always equal to the supply. Society abounds with mean, lazy, drunken persons who do not wish to sweat and toil. There are men redolent of strong drink, tobacco, and filth, who “take the liberty of waiting upon your honor” to narrate tales of woe. They cannot get work; they owe five weeks rent; their wives are ill; their children have no bread. They are “poor fellows who wouldn’t come, but hunger is a sharp thorn,” and so on. There are women who knock at the door, and send in little, cramped, flattering, lying notes. Their husbands are in the hospital; they are going to be confined of their sixth child; they have four children ill of the small-pox; they have nothing to eat; they smell of whiskey, but that is of no consequence. A leetle drop they say, is a comfort, and they don’t get drunk.
There are little girls who call upon us to say that their father fell from a scaffold, and greatly needs some money to get him a morsel of fresh meat—the said father being then waiting round the corner for the anticipated gift. There are boys whofollow us from square to square with a wretched whine, and telling a score of details about their daily sufferings, but taking care not to whisper a word of the short pipe, the smoking pudding, the pot of ale, and the visit to the Circus or Theatre, with which they solace themselves after the public labors and sufferings of the day. And there are the dramatic beggars—men who crouch behind a scroll, on which is writtenSTARVATION; the pathetic beggars—women who sit on door-steps, with cold tears rolling down their cheeks; the rural beggars—picturesque beggars—and all other kinds of beggars.
Who is to be held responsible for this army of beggars? To a large extent, (we reply) careless alms-givers. People who give to any and to all that ask, create pauperism. They bribe the feeble and the wicked to adopt the disgraceful profession of a mendicant. In saying this we do not depreciate, nor do we seek to hinder that charity which God loveth. To bestow an alms is often a duty; when well bestowed it is pleasing to God. Not so with almsgiving as it is. That is a moral blight; it has produced a generation of liars, thieves, drunkards, and prostitutes; it is a demon in the garb of an angel; idleness, falsehood, dirt, ignorance, and crime, are its foul results.
We appeal to facts and witnesses. Mendicants, paupers, and thieves abound; they are of all nations. We have them from Ireland, from Africa, from India, and from amongst ourselves. They are of all ages; old and young, parents and children come before us. They are of all kinds; some in silk, some in broad-cloth, some in fustian, and some in rags. Their sores are artificial; their tales are got up; their lives are most unholy shams.
The evil influence of indiscriminate almsgiving is not confined to our own country. The continent is also the sphere of their operations.
“It happened that on two occasions, (saysFraser’s Magazine,) at the interval of about eighteen months, we travelled from Paris to Boulogne, and stopped for a few minutes at a village on the road, of which we have now forgotten the name. An Englishwoman, in an agony of supplication, and with her cheeks wet with tears, rushed to the window of the diligence, and inquired whether there was any Englishman inside. We owned the soft impeachment, when, with an earnestness of manner which would have done honor to an accomplished actress, she stated that her husband, a week before, had broken his leg, and was now lying dangerously ill in the village. Of course, it was impossible to verify her statement, but, we confess to our shame, that we received it without hesitation, and dropped into her hand a five-franc piece. At the same town, eighteen months afterwards, the same woman, with the self-same story, appeared at the window with the old inquiry. We threw ourselves forward with the sudden impulse of surprise; the trickstress recognised us, and fled in confusion.”
“It happened that on two occasions, (saysFraser’s Magazine,) at the interval of about eighteen months, we travelled from Paris to Boulogne, and stopped for a few minutes at a village on the road, of which we have now forgotten the name. An Englishwoman, in an agony of supplication, and with her cheeks wet with tears, rushed to the window of the diligence, and inquired whether there was any Englishman inside. We owned the soft impeachment, when, with an earnestness of manner which would have done honor to an accomplished actress, she stated that her husband, a week before, had broken his leg, and was now lying dangerously ill in the village. Of course, it was impossible to verify her statement, but, we confess to our shame, that we received it without hesitation, and dropped into her hand a five-franc piece. At the same town, eighteen months afterwards, the same woman, with the self-same story, appeared at the window with the old inquiry. We threw ourselves forward with the sudden impulse of surprise; the trickstress recognised us, and fled in confusion.”
Time would fail us in attempting a complete exposition of the manifold evils of this system, and we will therefore confine ourselves to its influence on the education of destitute children. Now it is plain that whatever depraves the parent injures the child. Make the parents indolent, false, and drunken by reckless benevolence, or by anything else, and you peril the future welfare of their offspring. What do they care about the ignorance, the rags, and filthy aspect of their little ones? Ignorance will excite compassion—rags will induce all kind people to bestow shoes, linen, bonnets, and gowns. Dirt draws money—vermin bear interest. These—brutish ignorance, fluttering rags, uncombed hair, shoeless feet, an unwashed body, a dramatic cast of the eye, and a voice carefully attuned to utter the true whine—“wot tells upon old gemmen and wimmen,” are the stock-in-trade and fixtures of the mendicant; take these away, and you rob him of his capital. What does he or his children want with Ragged Schools? They would bring him no money by going there, therefore he will not send them.
In all such cases as these, and in a thousand more, the children, though awfully ignorant, are wilfully kept from school. They make money; they bring beef to the pot, tobacco to the pipe, cards to the fingers, and rum to the lips. Send them to church! Not so. “Sunday is our best day.” Send them to school! “We cannot afford that,” said a father. “How much will you pay us?” said a drunken mother. Send them to work! “Bedad! we knows better than that!” said a son of ——, we shall not say where. Nay, so profitable is begging that children are hired for the purpose. Hence, the difficulty which many a missionary experiences when he tries to get the right sort of children for the Ragged or Mission School.
“A spirit-dealer in High street informs me that he draws £10 more on the pay days of the Glasgow poor than on any other days of the week. Another spirit-dealer says that the paupers regularly come to him and spend in drink what they receive. I asked him how he knew they were paupers? He replied, that they made no secret of it; he heard them talk about what they got, and how long they had to wait for it. They go in hundreds from the long closes in High street. An inspector informs me, that he observed a lame pauper, not two hours after he had received 8s., carried to the police office drunk on a barrow. He also found a pauper, aged eighty years, so drunk that she was not able to rise from her chair, and singing, ‘The world is bound to maintain me, sing yo, sing yo, sing yo,’ to some other jovial paupers who joined in her revels. He frequently finds paupers drunk on their beds after they have received their aliment; and having spent all in a single night, they live in a starving condition,or beg, or steal, until next pay-day comes round.... Widows, left with children under ten years of age, receive a great deal of out-door relief from this Board, to bring them up. A large proportion of these are dissipated characters, who drink the money which is intended for the benefit of their children,whom they send out to beg, and thus grow up uneducated,and become, if they survive the bad treatment to which they are subjected, pests to society, like their mothers.”
“A spirit-dealer in High street informs me that he draws £10 more on the pay days of the Glasgow poor than on any other days of the week. Another spirit-dealer says that the paupers regularly come to him and spend in drink what they receive. I asked him how he knew they were paupers? He replied, that they made no secret of it; he heard them talk about what they got, and how long they had to wait for it. They go in hundreds from the long closes in High street. An inspector informs me, that he observed a lame pauper, not two hours after he had received 8s., carried to the police office drunk on a barrow. He also found a pauper, aged eighty years, so drunk that she was not able to rise from her chair, and singing, ‘The world is bound to maintain me, sing yo, sing yo, sing yo,’ to some other jovial paupers who joined in her revels. He frequently finds paupers drunk on their beds after they have received their aliment; and having spent all in a single night, they live in a starving condition,or beg, or steal, until next pay-day comes round.... Widows, left with children under ten years of age, receive a great deal of out-door relief from this Board, to bring them up. A large proportion of these are dissipated characters, who drink the money which is intended for the benefit of their children,whom they send out to beg, and thus grow up uneducated,and become, if they survive the bad treatment to which they are subjected, pests to society, like their mothers.”
Mr. Bishop, of the Liverpool Domestic Mission Society, in his annual report for 1852, speaks as follows:—
“As long as people will give to little children in the streets and to beggars at their doors, without the trouble of inquiring into their character and circumstances, so long shall we have a continual supply of juvenile criminals, and numbers of idle, worthless people, living on their wits, to the injury of honest industry, and the perversion of true views of charity. The polite heaps of rags that accost us at our doors and in the streets are, for the most part, tricksters in disguise. One little merry fellow, who has followed the begging trade for dissolute parents ever since I have been in Liverpool, and is particularly successful with the softer sex, will, sometimes, knowing that I am up to the secrets of his business, show me what he calls ‘the crying face,’ which, when necessary, he puts on to the ladies. He is a clever, sharp boy, but I have in vain endeavoured to reclaim him from his Arab life. It is far too profitable to his parents, and has become, I fear, too pleasant to himself. But to show the ill consequences of encouraging such lads—I was lately remonstrating with a man who lives near this family, because of an ungrateful and dishonest trick he had attempted to pass on a benevolent lady, when he said to me, as if the wholesale trickery of his neighbors justified his smaller practices—‘Why, there’s little Ned,’ referring to the boy in question, ‘he brings home every day more than any labouring man can earn, and sure we are worse off than they.’”“The charity of the metropolis is too indiscriminate, says a London coroner, and thus the deserving poor are unheeded, and drunken, reckless characters are well provided for, either by private munificence or work-house relief, which enables them to lead an idle merry life. The money they get is squandered in drink, and at night for a few pence they obtain a bed in a wretched stinking hovel, where all ages, all sexes, and all diseases are crowded together, forming so many plague factories and disease depots. So long as a vagrant can live without working, he will do so. So convinced am I of the consequence of the evil that I have ceased to be a vice-president to the Soup Kitchen. In fact, begging has become a regular trade. A few years ago, one of the fellows who followed that avocation was examined before a committee of the House of Commons, and stated that he had travelled over the kingdom for nine years as a beggar; that he was treated as a gentleman in prison, but most disgracefully in workhouses, especially in Lambeth, where he had to work before breakfast; that a slouched hat and smock-frock, with a bundle of herbs in his hand, formed the best garb for a London beggar; and that there were not ten out of one hundred vagrants worthy of relief. Such (continued the coroner) are the disclosures made by him regarding the begging trade. I am, however, happy that the press has taken up the subject, and trust that it will not cease its efforts until this monster evil is completely put down, and thus prevent charitable institutions being abused, and their funds wasted, upon lazy worthless characters. The jury expressed their fullest concurrence with the opinions and observations of the coroner.”
“As long as people will give to little children in the streets and to beggars at their doors, without the trouble of inquiring into their character and circumstances, so long shall we have a continual supply of juvenile criminals, and numbers of idle, worthless people, living on their wits, to the injury of honest industry, and the perversion of true views of charity. The polite heaps of rags that accost us at our doors and in the streets are, for the most part, tricksters in disguise. One little merry fellow, who has followed the begging trade for dissolute parents ever since I have been in Liverpool, and is particularly successful with the softer sex, will, sometimes, knowing that I am up to the secrets of his business, show me what he calls ‘the crying face,’ which, when necessary, he puts on to the ladies. He is a clever, sharp boy, but I have in vain endeavoured to reclaim him from his Arab life. It is far too profitable to his parents, and has become, I fear, too pleasant to himself. But to show the ill consequences of encouraging such lads—I was lately remonstrating with a man who lives near this family, because of an ungrateful and dishonest trick he had attempted to pass on a benevolent lady, when he said to me, as if the wholesale trickery of his neighbors justified his smaller practices—‘Why, there’s little Ned,’ referring to the boy in question, ‘he brings home every day more than any labouring man can earn, and sure we are worse off than they.’”
“The charity of the metropolis is too indiscriminate, says a London coroner, and thus the deserving poor are unheeded, and drunken, reckless characters are well provided for, either by private munificence or work-house relief, which enables them to lead an idle merry life. The money they get is squandered in drink, and at night for a few pence they obtain a bed in a wretched stinking hovel, where all ages, all sexes, and all diseases are crowded together, forming so many plague factories and disease depots. So long as a vagrant can live without working, he will do so. So convinced am I of the consequence of the evil that I have ceased to be a vice-president to the Soup Kitchen. In fact, begging has become a regular trade. A few years ago, one of the fellows who followed that avocation was examined before a committee of the House of Commons, and stated that he had travelled over the kingdom for nine years as a beggar; that he was treated as a gentleman in prison, but most disgracefully in workhouses, especially in Lambeth, where he had to work before breakfast; that a slouched hat and smock-frock, with a bundle of herbs in his hand, formed the best garb for a London beggar; and that there were not ten out of one hundred vagrants worthy of relief. Such (continued the coroner) are the disclosures made by him regarding the begging trade. I am, however, happy that the press has taken up the subject, and trust that it will not cease its efforts until this monster evil is completely put down, and thus prevent charitable institutions being abused, and their funds wasted, upon lazy worthless characters. The jury expressed their fullest concurrence with the opinions and observations of the coroner.”
The opinions of such witnesses more than corroborate our statements, and the force of these opinions will not, we trust, be unfelt by our readers. They may ask, what should be done when application is made to them for pecuniary relief? We would suggest—
1. That no money be given to street beggars without inquiry into their cases and an unexpected visit to their abodes.
2. That persons who are acquainted with the tricks of the vagrant class, such as tradesmen, City Missionaries, Ragged School teachers, and others, be applied to on such occasions.
3. That societies whose business it is to afford systematic and well-timed relief in cases of distress, such as the Union Benevolent Society, be more liberally supported, and cases sent to them instead of being personally attended to. The adoption of these or similar rules would tend much to prevent imposture, to add scores of children to our Mission Schools, to increase our power of doing real good, and to rid us ere long of the nuisance and abominable annoyance in our streets of “confirmed vagrants and sturdy beggars.”
Shooting with Red Paint.—A work has lately been published, called “Notes and Narratives of a Six Years’ Mission, principally among the Dens of London.” By R. W. Vanderkiste.The title gives a correct idea of the contents of this volume. The writer, for six years, was an agent of the London City Mission, and labored in one of the most unhealthy and morally depraved localities of that great metropolis, known as the “Cow Cross District.”The volume presents an interesting exhibition of what can be effected, under God, by an earnest and self-sacrificing man. The most romantic narratives are occasionally introduced. The following is one of them:
Shooting with Red Paint.—A work has lately been published, called “Notes and Narratives of a Six Years’ Mission, principally among the Dens of London.” By R. W. Vanderkiste.
The title gives a correct idea of the contents of this volume. The writer, for six years, was an agent of the London City Mission, and labored in one of the most unhealthy and morally depraved localities of that great metropolis, known as the “Cow Cross District.”
The volume presents an interesting exhibition of what can be effected, under God, by an earnest and self-sacrificing man. The most romantic narratives are occasionally introduced. The following is one of them:
“An Old Bow Street officer, who yet lives in the neighborhood, has detailed strange and terrible scenes to me. One I will give as nearly as possible in his own words, omitting some unpleasant vulgarities: ‘One of my mates come to me, as near as I can guess, it might be two o’clock in the afternoon. Says he, ‘P——, you must come up to the office directly.’ It was in Hatton Garden then, sir, close by. ‘What for?’ says I. ‘Oh!’ says he, ‘there’s the Irish murdering one another on Saffron Hill, and the place is blocked up with the mobs.’ So I takes my staff, and my cutlass, and my pistols, and away I went up to the office. It wasn’t a minute’s walk scarce, you know. Well, sir, there they was, breaking one another’s limbs on Saffron Hill, hundreds of Irish with great sticks and pokers; ever so many had been taken off to the hospitals wounded; they was so spiteful, the shopkeepers put up their shutters, and the place was full of Irish, cutting and slashing like mad, and coming from all parts, taking sides and fighting one against another. Well, sir, there was only six of us, and we found we must turn out. ‘My lads,’ said the head constable—and he didn’t like it at all, he didn’t—says he, ‘this is a queer job, but go we must!’ Well, sir, away we went, but it warnt no use at all; the mob didn’t mind our cutlasses a bit; great big fellows come up to us with their pokers, and we warnt in no pleasant situation in no respect. Well, I saw there’d be murder very shortly, and suddenly a thought struck me, and away I went round the corner—may be you knows the shop—it was a shop where they sold almost every thing then. Well, I knocked, but they were afraid to open the door. Says I, ‘It’s me, Mrs. ——, and do let me in;’ so they let me in. Says I, ‘Let me have some red paint of some sort immediately;’so they gave me some rouge or carmine, I don’t know which it was. So I took out my pistols and put in a charge of powder, then some paper, then I wetted a lot of this paint and put it in, and some paper loose over it, and off I went. Well, there was my mates hemmed in, but no lives lost, thank God; they was fighting away; well, a great chap come up to me with a poker or a fender a-fighting with, so I outs with a pistol, and, says I, ‘Stand back!’ and presents it at him. Well, he didn’t stand back, so I fired at him. Well, sir, you may depend on it, (I shall never forget it,) the force of the powder and wadding knocked him right off his legs. It caught him in the forehead, and the red paint made his face look just as if it was all covered with blood. They made sure he was a dead man, and some carried him off to St. Bartholomew’s Hospital, and the mob got frightened at us and dispersed. They didn’t know whose turn might come next. Well, sir, when they came to examine my man, at the hospital, and washed his face, it set ’em a wondering, for they found there wasn’t no wound at all. The man was partly stunned, and soon walked home. Well, sir, the story got wind, and them Irish was so pleased with it afterwards, (when they come to their proper reason and sobriety, they could see it had perhaps prevented real murder, for they was getting terrible spiteful when I let fly)—they was so pleased many of ’em would have done anything for me afterwards. The housekeepers in the neighborhood, too, made us a handsome present, and I was told about that red paint job a long while afterwards, you may depend on it, sir.’”
“An Old Bow Street officer, who yet lives in the neighborhood, has detailed strange and terrible scenes to me. One I will give as nearly as possible in his own words, omitting some unpleasant vulgarities: ‘One of my mates come to me, as near as I can guess, it might be two o’clock in the afternoon. Says he, ‘P——, you must come up to the office directly.’ It was in Hatton Garden then, sir, close by. ‘What for?’ says I. ‘Oh!’ says he, ‘there’s the Irish murdering one another on Saffron Hill, and the place is blocked up with the mobs.’ So I takes my staff, and my cutlass, and my pistols, and away I went up to the office. It wasn’t a minute’s walk scarce, you know. Well, sir, there they was, breaking one another’s limbs on Saffron Hill, hundreds of Irish with great sticks and pokers; ever so many had been taken off to the hospitals wounded; they was so spiteful, the shopkeepers put up their shutters, and the place was full of Irish, cutting and slashing like mad, and coming from all parts, taking sides and fighting one against another. Well, sir, there was only six of us, and we found we must turn out. ‘My lads,’ said the head constable—and he didn’t like it at all, he didn’t—says he, ‘this is a queer job, but go we must!’ Well, sir, away we went, but it warnt no use at all; the mob didn’t mind our cutlasses a bit; great big fellows come up to us with their pokers, and we warnt in no pleasant situation in no respect. Well, I saw there’d be murder very shortly, and suddenly a thought struck me, and away I went round the corner—may be you knows the shop—it was a shop where they sold almost every thing then. Well, I knocked, but they were afraid to open the door. Says I, ‘It’s me, Mrs. ——, and do let me in;’ so they let me in. Says I, ‘Let me have some red paint of some sort immediately;’so they gave me some rouge or carmine, I don’t know which it was. So I took out my pistols and put in a charge of powder, then some paper, then I wetted a lot of this paint and put it in, and some paper loose over it, and off I went. Well, there was my mates hemmed in, but no lives lost, thank God; they was fighting away; well, a great chap come up to me with a poker or a fender a-fighting with, so I outs with a pistol, and, says I, ‘Stand back!’ and presents it at him. Well, he didn’t stand back, so I fired at him. Well, sir, you may depend on it, (I shall never forget it,) the force of the powder and wadding knocked him right off his legs. It caught him in the forehead, and the red paint made his face look just as if it was all covered with blood. They made sure he was a dead man, and some carried him off to St. Bartholomew’s Hospital, and the mob got frightened at us and dispersed. They didn’t know whose turn might come next. Well, sir, when they came to examine my man, at the hospital, and washed his face, it set ’em a wondering, for they found there wasn’t no wound at all. The man was partly stunned, and soon walked home. Well, sir, the story got wind, and them Irish was so pleased with it afterwards, (when they come to their proper reason and sobriety, they could see it had perhaps prevented real murder, for they was getting terrible spiteful when I let fly)—they was so pleased many of ’em would have done anything for me afterwards. The housekeepers in the neighborhood, too, made us a handsome present, and I was told about that red paint job a long while afterwards, you may depend on it, sir.’”
If this hint could be taken by our war-makers, it might save a large portion of the miseries which past generations have endured, and which ours may not otherwise escape.
New Work on the Effects of Separate Confinement.—We regret that want of space forbids us to insert in the present number of our Journal a notice of a volume of 300 pages, published a few weeks since by Longman & Co., London, entitled, “Results of the System of Separate Confinement, as administered at the Pentonville Prison. By John Burt, B. A., Assistant Chaplain, formerly Chaplain to the Hanwell Lunatic Asylum.” The positions taken in this volume, and the facts and arguments by which they are maintained, are such as the opponents of separation will find it difficult to controvert or rebut.
Suffice it for the present to say, that in the author’s view every departure from the principle of rigid, individual separation in that prison, has been attended with evil consequences.
The Elizabeth Fry Refuge—Instituted in London for affording a Temporary Asylum for Destitute Females on their release from the Metropolitan and other Gaols, their moral and religious improvement, and the arranging for their future destination and welfare, was founded as a memorial to the late Mrs. Elizabeth Fry. It has been in operation three years, and has admitted above 200 cases, varying in ages from 12 to 35, most of whom have been either provided with situations, restored to their friends, or sent, after a probationary term, to other asylums; and it is gratifying to state that comparatively but few cases of disappointment have occurred.
Ohio Lunatic Asylum.—The Lunatic Asylum at Columbus, (O.,) is now full, containing upwards of five hundred patients. In 14 years there have been admitted 2,116 patients, of which 1,038 were discharged recovered. What is very singular, it is stated that of the number admitted, 505 were farmers, being more than twelve times the number of any other occupation, except laborers, of which there were one hundred and sixty! The next highest on the list is teachers, being 40.
Perhaps the opponents of convict separation will account for this phenomenon on the ground that farmers are isolated, and have so little intercourse with any body or thing except oxen, horses or ploughs; but this would not account for the still more extraordinary proportion ofteacherswho (as others might contend) lost their wits for want of seclusion.
Perhaps the opponents of convict separation will account for this phenomenon on the ground that farmers are isolated, and have so little intercourse with any body or thing except oxen, horses or ploughs; but this would not account for the still more extraordinary proportion ofteacherswho (as others might contend) lost their wits for want of seclusion.
Connecticut State Prison.—The number of prisoners in the Connecticut State Prison at the close of the fiscal year, March 31, was 181; received from July 1, 54; discharged, 40. The balance gained to the Institution during the nine months, ending as above, was $1,247. The Directors say that, under a resolution of the General Assembly, twenty of the convicts have been employed in the manufacture of school-apparatus, and the report very properly advises that these sets be sold to the School Societies 25 or even 50 per cent. below their actual cost.
What a pity it is they could not have taken the advantage of some school apparatus to fit themselves to obtain an honest livelihood. A strange anomaly this—convicts working for schools!
What a pity it is they could not have taken the advantage of some school apparatus to fit themselves to obtain an honest livelihood. A strange anomaly this—convicts working for schools!
Not my Mother!—Well, do you see, at night we used to amuse each other by telling our tricks, urging one another on in daring vice and wickedness. Amongst us we had one uncommon bright girl—a first rate mimic, and she used to make us roar with laughter. Well, this fun had been going on for weeks; she had gone through most of her characters, from the governor to the turnkey, when she starts on a new tack, and commenced taking off Parson Cowper and Father Therry: some way it did not take, so she went back to Newgate and took off Mrs. Fry to the very life, but it would not do; we did not seem to enjoy it—there was no fun in it for us. So then, she began about the ships leaving, and our mother’s crying, and begging of us to turn over a new leaf; and then, in a mimicking, jesting sport she sobbed, and bade us good-bye.
Well, how it happened I know not, but one after the other we began to cry and say, “Stay, not my mother! Not my mother!” Said one: “Let Mrs. Fry alone; Father Therry must not be brought here, nor Parson Cowper—stay, stay!” Well she did stop, but tears were shed the whole of that night. Every thing had been tried with me; good people had sought in vain to convince me of my evil ways; but that girl’s ridicule of my mother I could not stand! Her grief was brought home to me, and not to me alone, but to many. I do believe that night was a great blessing to many. I was so unhappy, that the next day I tried to get out of sight to pray; and when I got to a hiding place I found three girls on their knees. We comforted each other, and then how we spoke of our mothers! Mine was dead; she left this world believing me past hope—but the picture of her grief made me earnest in search of that peace which endureth for ever.